#i have always loved basira and melanie and daisy but it’s like hitting so hard this time round. my girls…… | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

janekfan · 4 years

Note

ive been Searching and Craving for any scenario/canon divergent au where jon and tim make up because jon shows tim thats hes just as much a victim as anyone else and tim is just like... ah. so we're both assholes. and jon insists that tim didnt do anything wrong (and obviously its all very whumpy and hurt/comforty). basically just... tim and jon making up because tim wants to after jon tugs at his heartstrings enough (because im a sucker for the whole "whatve i done" bit)

Here we go!! Sorry these are taking so long but I’m still working on prompts!!!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/26972698/chapters/67878991#workskin

Too Much Chapter 2!

Watching Martin remove the evidence of panic by carefully, slowly, swiping a damp flannel over Jon’s skin, Tim continued holding the cold pack in place. The man between them made a sound, nondescript, shifting enough that his lips parted with a soft sigh as he settled.

“He’s made a right mess of these.” Martin lamented, gingerly lifting one hand to examine the heavy bandages, soiled with fresh blood and coming undone. Not altogether certain he wanted to know what was hidden away beneath, Tim stayed silent. “Would you mind fetching the first aid kit while I get rid of these?” He used the time away to take a deep breath, attempting to gather his rampant thoughts now that he was roped into fixing up their boss. There was always the possibility of giving him the kit and hightailing it out of that place and never setting foot near document storage again but before he realized what he’d done he’d accumulated other supplies he figured they might need and the relief in Martin’s eyes when he slipped back into the room was palpable. Jon’s hands were bare, blisters laid over blisters, broken and bleeding sluggishly from torn welts, one palm layered over with a nasty burn. Tim couldn’t help the noise torn from his throat in sympathy as the walls he’d built around himself began to crumble under the weight of Jon’s wounds--and he wasn’t even the one to bear them! Jon had acquired more scars, more shadows in the gaunt hollows carved into his body by his bones since Prentiss. It was like laying eyes on a stranger, or opening his own and finally seeing what his negligent ignorance had truly cost.

Were these marks, this pain, not proof that Jon had every right to be scared? Paranoid? To suspect them? When it was his own “friends” raising hands violently against him?

“What. Martin, what happened?” He accepted the water, easing Jon’s arm over the edge of the bed and doing Tim the kindness of not reminding him that he’d never cared to know before.

“I couldn’t tell you what caused most of this, but you know. Daisy.” He swallowed, eyes narrowing as he dabbed away the worst of the scarlet slicking his skin and Tim saw red at the reminder. How dare she touch him. “Hush now, you’re alright.” Jon’s arm twitched, an aborted attempt to tug his hand away from Martin’s surely painful ministrations. “Just cleaning these up.”

“Hnn…” Saltwater-soaked lashes fluttered and damn his body’s reactions but Tim was at his side on the cot before he could blink and wholly unsure of what to do now that he was there, settling on running fingers through tangled curls, teasing out the knots as Martin worked. Clouded and slightly crossed, Jon’s glazed brown eyes peered up at him, through him, blinking slow, and Tim could feel the heat of his fever under his palms.

“Hey, bud.” Surprising himself with his own softness, Tim continued combing through his hair. “Close your eyes, boss. Marto’s fixing you right up.”

“Hur’s.” Badly slurred and tinged with vulnerability he wasn’t used to anymore, Jon’s voice sent a chill racing up Tim’s spine.

“I know.” He said anyway. “It won’t soon.” Trust and exhaustion won out, dragging bruised lids closed. “Martin.” Tim didn’t look up, tracing silver strands, so many, with the fingertips. “I would like to know. Please.”

Martin hummed, finished up the first hand, the worst hand, and cradled it over Jon’s stomach in a poor attempt at elevation before starting on the next one.

“I haven’t gotten much out of Jon--not because he won’t tell me!” He amended, remembering the promise Jon had made to be honest with them and clearly worried it would make Tim angry again if he thought he was keeping secrets. “He’s just. I mean.”

“I understand.” After leaving Elias’ office, whatever tenacity and fortitude Jon managed to scrape together after his ordeal with Daisy and Basira had faded quickly. Even Tim wasn’t able to ignore how bad off he was, more along the lines of being unable to explain than lacking any desire.

“I know she, she hit him. He’s bruised all over. Clocked him with her gun I assume, to leave him concussed--I still can’t believe I didn’t notice sooner.”

“It’s alright. We’ve all been. Preoccupied.” Some of them only with themselves.

“He was filthy, covered in dirt and I think bl’blood? Not his. Or, not all of it I think.” Martin rubbed his own neck thoughtfully, tracing a path that mirrored the red grin carving up Jon’s throat. “I think.” He looked into Tim’s eyes, haunted. “I, I overheard them saying he’d been made to d’dig a grave.”

“His grave.” There was no real proof, not yet. But it felt right. And Tim felt sick. “His hands.”

“The burn is bad, I don’t know how he got it.” A crease formed between Martin’s knit brows. “I. Tim.” He sighed. “You’ve been so furious with him.” He dragged both hands down his face. “Jon’s doing his best. Please, you have to believe that.”

“I think I’m beginning to.” He’d yet to stop his detangling. Jon liked when people he trusted played with his hair, especially when he wasn’t feeling well. Unbidden and effervescent, memories rose to the surface of Tim’s mind, each a different moment, beads of time strung on delicate silk strands. Sasha. Sasha, whose true face, true voice, had been written over and worn, her hands on Jon’s shoulders, working out the tension he carried there despite his complaints. Tim himself draping a cardigan over him where he slumped forward on his desk in Research when he succumbed to sleep. A rare moment at someone’s apartment, Jon three drinks in, flushed bright red and ridiculous, throwing himself into Tim’s lap and nuzzling his stomach until he got what he wanted; hands in his hair, on his back, honest to god cuddles. The embarrassment in the morning would paint him vivid with blush and he would accept the painkillers and tea with a shy grin.

That Jon was still in there.

Right?

For the first time in his career Tim chose to come into work early, heading immediately to doc storage to find Jon curled up against Martin, ruddy face squished against his chest and arm slung over his waist as though he’d recently been clinging there.

And if this had been another time, another universe, he would have teased them both, but the shadows under their eyes were beginning to match.

“We had a hard night.” Martin yawned hugely and Tim caught a quick glimpse of glassy brown at the movement but Jon passed out again in the next second. “Nightmares. You remember Crew?” Tim nodded. “Explains the vertigo. He’s going to want to work.” Martin’s palm found its way to the back of Jon’s head, tucked him under his chin as he exhaled, slow and measured.

“And you want him to rest.”

“He won’t.”

He didn’t.

But the dizziness kept him in his office for the most part and Tim helped keep an eye on him, checking up regularly, awkwardly. It was almost like old times. Except Jon was careful not to speak. Not now that he might force answers out of someone. Not now that he might be hurt because of it. Jon was smart. He tried to remember the things he learned because he only seemed to learn the hard way and right now he was trying to figure out Tim while Tim was trying to figure out himself, wary of the change towards him, confused when instead of lashing out, he asked if he needed anything.

“N’no, thank you, Tim.”

“It’s no trouble.” But it was physically painful to watch the gears turn as Jon balanced the possibility of pissing him off with how uncomfortable he was in this situation. “I’ll check back later, yeah?”

“Uh. Y’yeah. Yes. I mean, yes.” Nervously, he shifted between folders. “Of c’course.”

The day dragged and Jon’s fever and groggy exhaustion lingered, kept barely in check by Martin plying him with the painkillers and fever reducers because he refused A&E. It was frustrating, even if he was looking somewhat improved. When they caught him asleep it was often in the throes of a taxing nightmare. He was a shadow in his attempts to avoid them all, to focus on work, and now that Tim was paying attention he didn’t like how Basira was so cold, how Daisy made Jon flinch on purpose, how Melanie went out of her way to collide with him in the narrow hallways. How he was slight enough, unsteady enough that it sent him into the wall.

How he did nothing about it except murmur apologies and move past them as quick as he could.

Jon was back to pushing himself too hard, not bothering to ask for help because he’d never gotten any before so it wasn’t worth bothering with it now. He was alone. Deserted by everyone except for Martin--and oh the way his expression lit up at the sight of him. How soft his voice became when he thanked him for the tea. Tim knew Martin couldn’t see it yet, or wouldn’t let himself realize, but Jon was taken with him. Smitten. And already believed beyond a doubt that he had no worth. As prickly as Jon could be there was so much love in him just vying for a way out.

How could Tim have forgotten that?

Tim paced the length of the archives three times before heading back to check on Jon, alarmed when the office was empty. Worry, both familiar and unfamiliar, twined its way around his heart. He'd watched as the afternoon hours slipped by and Jon became worse and Tim didn’t bother asking anyone he came across; they didn’t care, he wasn’t supposed to care. But there weren’t many places Jon would go and Tim found him in the breakroom stabilizing himself on the sink. He didn’t react, didn’t turn, didn’t seem to know anyone was behind him, and Tim could make out shivery, deliberate breaths. Jon let go, lifting a hand dazedly to his forehead and staggering backwards such that Tim had to steady him.

“Whoa there, Boss.” Softly, quietly, Tim knew his head was still pounding more often than not no matter how adamant his denial. It didn’t stop Jon from flinching like he’d been struck or attempting to whirl around and only making it all that much worse as eyes filled with fear rolled back into his head and Tim had to catch him outright, lowering him to the floor and pillowing his shoulders in his lap. Unconsciously, he laid a palm over his overwarm forehead, dragging fingers back through damp strands rhythmically and wondering how he’d react to waking up with Tim staring down at him. They were dancing around each other, or at least Tim was. Jon couldn’t do much more than sit at his desk in what amounted to pyjamas and pretend to work in an attempt to wedge some normalcy back into his life.

“What happened?” At least now Martin’s inquiry wasn’t accusatory as he knelt beside them and checked over Jon himself. “How long?”

“Minute. Maybe two? He, uh. I surprised him and when he turned…” he trailed off, gesturing with a sigh.

“Ma’tin…” nothing more than a small breath of awareness in recognition of his voice, eyes still closed.

“You should be at your desk.” Lightly scolding.

“Nn...was col’...tea…” Tim met Martin’s eyes with worry at the barely coherent jumble of syllables caught on his sluggish tongue and he held up a hand, signaling him to wait.

“What’re we going to do with you, hm?”

“...Dunno…” He’d failed to understand the gentle ribbing for what it was, instead answering honestly, tearfully, and it tugged on Tim’s heartstrings. Martin chuckled kindly to ease the sting, moving forward to lift his weight off from Tim and standing still to let Jon wind a hand loosely into his jumper, hanging on for dear life with a gasp.

“You sound tired.”

“Mmyeah...tire’...” And that discordant admission alone was enough to cause alarm, doubly so when his body lost all rigidity in Martin’s hold.

“Martin--”

“Shh, Tim. He’s alright.” Protectiveness urged Tim to follow them back to document storage. Concern made him sit down before Martin asked. “Stay with him? I don’t want him to forget and wander off again. I’m gonna get that tea and something for the fever.” Tim supported his chin with a hand, elbow digging sharply into the top of his knee, and watched Jon sleep. With his eyes, he traced invisible constellations over the worm scars dotting his skin and connected their lines to the ink dark splash of lashes twitching as he dreamed. “What’re you thinking about?”

“How much running I’ve been doing.”

“Mm.”

“How much easier it was to ignore all this if I just hated Jon instead. Blamed him for it.” He lifted his fingers in a bitter and general indication of their unreasonably bad situation. “He’s made mistakes. We all have. And his are the only ones I’m not willing to forgive.” Tears prickled at the corners of his eyes, stung. “Why is that?” His skin blushed with heat when his voice broke on a sob and before Martin could speak they were interrupted.

“Head’spounding…” He could barely keep his eyes open.

“Ah, I’m sorry, love, I know, here,” he was like a rag doll when Martin lifted him. “This’ll help.” Tim watched the ease with which Martin navigated Jon. All sweet and kind, steadying his hands when they proved too shaky to hold the cup, testing his temperature with the inside of his wrist when Jon was distracted with swallowing down the medicine.

“Shouldn’t do this.” Whispered, lost and undone, as Martin tucked him in, gripping back tightly when Jon grew dizzy with the change. “M’sorry.”

“You say that too often, Boss.”

“Hush, both of you.” To Jon, “we can all talk later, when you’re feeling better. It’s okay to need help. It’s okay to rest.” And while he didn’t look convinced, he was helpless against the drag of that heavy, insistent tide of exhaustion.

“Never liked to owe people, our Jon.” Martin sighed, frustrated.

“It’s not a transaction. I wish he’d trust that I only want to help.” Tim snickered ruefully as Martin tucked stray salt and pepper strands behind Jon’s ears.

“He’s always been suspicious of decency.”

“That’s not right.” There was a lot wrong with it, and far too much to solve at this moment.

“You look knackered, Martin. Go home.” He needed caring for after keeping them all together like he’d done. “I’ve got it from here.”

“I don’t want to ask that of you.”

“You’re not asking, Marto.”

“Tim--”

“I need to. I. I need to do this.”

Tim was worried that the only reason Martin left him here alone was because he was too tired to spend another night here keeping an eye on the both of them. He only had himself to blame when it came to the loss of trust.

It was no secret his dislike of Jon.

He hadn’t forgotten his treatment of him just the other day. Yanking him up off the ground and shouting at him, blaming him for his confusion and unsteadiness, for worrying Martin while he’d been the one ill and frightened and unmoored on the dusty floor. A mournful cry jolted him out of his musings, and the nightmare didn’t sound kind, wrenching Jon awake and leaving him panting, narrow chest heaving, eyes wide and unfocused in the dim.

“Hey.” Soft and quiet, it didn’t stop Jon from jumping in surprise, nearly swooning when he jerked his head in the direction of his voice. “Back with me?”

“Tim.” Real surprise, he blinked hard, trying to clear his bleary vision. “Yeah. S’sorry.” Jon offered him a sheepish quirk of his lips.

“I’m the one who needs to apologize, Jon.” He swallowed thickly and Tim could hear the click in his throat, somewhere behind the bandage hiding that yawning red grin from sight.

“Wh’what?”

“I’ve treated you unfairly.”

“No, no, Tim. You. You had every right! I was out of line and suspected the worst with no proof and didn’t trust yo--” Jon was trying to get up, ignoring how it had to hurt, and when Tim made to stop him, he flinched in real fear and backed himself into the corner. “S’sorry. I. It’s, it isn’t you, I swear.” Guilt wrapped around Tim’s heart like a thorny vine at his stammering apologies, at the way Jon laughed at himself and scrubbed his face with the back of a bandaged hand, staring up at the ceiling as new tears pooled in his eyes. “A lot’s h’happened.” When he closed them, the damp rolled down his cheeks into the grey at his temple. “I,I,I know you don’t w’want to hear it. But I, I don’t have anything else left t’to offer and I’m so s’sorry.” Jon tucked up his knees and buried his tear-stained face in the blankets he pulled around himself. Scared and small and awaiting derision. Tim edged closer.

"Jon.” He reached out to touch and thought better of it. “I think. I think I'm ready to hear it now." Consumed by constant fear and torment, run ragged for months and months, when Jon risked glancing up at him Tim could finally look past his anger and see him. Flushed with fever, thin and drawn, bruised and beaten and burned.

But still Jon.

Still Jon, terrified of the kind of help he'd been taught by experience not to ask for. Not to accept. Not to trust. Not to need.

“No, n’no, Tim. It’s.” He sniffed, tried to offer Tim a watery smile. “M’not feeling w’well, heh. You know how I, how I am.”

“I know you don’t take care of yourself.” He continued before Jon could interrupt. “I know I’ve left you to deal with this alone.” Indeed, at the very first sign of trouble, Tim abandoned him to his own devices. “I understand why it’s been difficult to trust me.”

“Not just you.” Tim had to strain to hear him, voice tiny, wavering with misery. “It’s so hard to trust, I have to, to think about it, choose it, don’t I. Talk myself out of how a’afraid I am all the t’time. I can’t even trust myself, my words. I. They. It’s easier to not speak at all, if it can be helped. And I try. But. Tim.” Fraught, brown irises nearly swallowed by black pupil bored into him, begged him to listen, to see. “I’m a monster.”

“Jon--” He tugged at messy curls, ignoring the pain it had to cause, the spots of blood, and if Jon would let him, he would need to fix the wrappings after this. He’d folded into himself even tighter, rocking himself just slightly in an attempt at comfort.

“If everyone is saying it, it must be true. But I’m trying. I promise, Tim, I promise. I was hoping it counted for something, anything. I can’t. I.” He broke off, attempting to pull himself together, face contorted and when he noticed Tim’s stricken expression, stumbled on with half-thought out reassurances. “I, I won’t stop! T’trying, that is. I, I, I want to, to be better. I don’t want to hurt anyone. It’s not about counting, it’s about doing the right thing. Or something close to--it never seems to work out, I’m not. I keep doing the wrong things so I know--but I p’promise--and besides, D’Daisy’s watching, if you’re worried, heh.” He laughed, a little broken thing, tears glittering in his eyes. “She’ll put me d’down. If that makes you feel any better.”

And god how could he think Tim wanted that? Jon, living with the knowledge that any mistakes he made could lead to--

Hanging over his head. Just awaiting collapse.

“That’s. Jon, I don’t want her to do that.”

“Oh. Did.” Tim realized the pause was an attempt at managing his powers of compulsion. “Did you want to? Instead I mean?” Tim recoiled in horror at the genuine curiosity, the dull acceptance that they all might be waiting for their chance. Numbness flooded his fingers. And even though Tim knew Jon was trying to use the right words, the ones that would make him feel better, he was furious.

“How could you think that?!” Jon held up his raggedly bandaged hands, the blisters from digging his own grave and who knows what else hidden from view.

“I, I’m sorry, I. You’re right, that was stupid of me. I’m sorry, Tim, I’m sorry, I--” Tim cut him off by sweeping him into an embrace, pressing his face into his shoulder. He was little more than bones rattling around in a scarred and ruined skin, shaking in his arms, his own held away, stiff. Dear lord, what had he done? “T’Tim? I, I’m sorry I’ve upset you.”

“Stop it, Jon.” And he collapsed, spent from his outpouring, breath loud in Tim’s ear. “Just stop.” Tentative, Jon wrapped him up in return. “I’m going to do better.”

“You don’t--”

“I do. And I am.” Damp soaked into his sleeve despite the silence with which Jon sobbed, little more than uneven, ardent gasping as they clung to each other.

“B’but.” He pressed closer, starved for it. “I.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I’ve been so afraid.” Murmured against his shirt, Tim could feel the shapes of his words, the trembling of his lips.

“I’m sorry.”

“Are you. You mean. If, if you--I couldn’t stand it. If it wasn’t real.” Desperately, he whispered, thick with tears. “Don’t think I’d survive losing you again.” Too much loss. Too much all around and not one time had Tim thought about who he still had.

“I’m going to help you.” Tim realized then he’d been crying as well. “Like I should have from the start of this mess.” Gently, he pulled him away, took his damaged hands. “Let me get these fixed up. If Martin sees them, he’ll have both our heads on pikes.” For a moment, Tim was worried it was too soon, that Jon would need to hide this vulnerability from him, and he held his breath, until he nodded, just once.

It would take time, but they’d made a start.

#TMA #the magnus archives #tim stoker #jon sims #martin blackwood #pining #mending fences #sick #fever #injuries #fears #blood

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jonspurpleskirt · 3 years

Text

Down the Spiral

Tim Stoker & Jonathan Sims, hurt/comfort

Summary: Michael loves playing with the Archivist and so after Not-Sasha is taken care of and Jon is back at the Institute murder charge free it reveals that he has Sasha stashed "savely" in its halls. All Jon has to do to get her out is go through the yellow door. ____

Everything just kept getting worse. That thought hadn't left his mind since the confrontation with Elias. It kept him from his work, making him stare at the statement he had wanted to record hours ago. Something impatient within him tugged to finally get on with it, but his eyes just didn't see the words in front of him and the insides of his head kept resembling a barren wasteland.

There was nothing good in his life anymore. There was nothing good in any of their lives anymore. He had ruined everything. Dragged everyone into the cage with him and locked the door because he hadn't known any better.

If he had just known...

But he hadn't and now they were all trapped here. Nothing waiting for them outside and nothing but hostility meeting them inside. At least that was the case for Jon. He didn't know if Tim and Martin still spoke, still sometimes joked with each other. If Melanie had made friends with Basira perhaps, or god forbid even Daisy. The two of them shared a frightening amount of bloodlust.

He doubted it, though. Whenever he dared to emerge from his office these days the atmosphere in the shared space of the Archives was tense. One or more of them were always gone, Basira more often than not sitting somewhere reading.

Neither of them did much work these days, Jon mused. It was funny that once upon a time that thought would have made him angry.

Jon sighed, glancing over the statement for the upteenth time, saying to himself that now he would finally start and do some work, when loud cursing and several crashes made him jump out of his chair and run towards the door.

He ripped it open with the wrong hand, the burn left by Jude Perry sending a stab of pain through his arm.

Basira, Tim and Melanie were for once all there, and had taken on various defensive poses. They didn't grace Jons dramatic entrance with even the slightest of glances, but the being that called itself Michael grinned and cooed as though it didn't have a knife, an axe and a gun pointed at it.

"Archivist! Just whom I wanted to see~ It is quite hard to get a grip on you, you know. I've been meaning to have a little chat with you for a while now."

Jon squeezed his eyes together to ward of the headache Michaels multiple voices and impossible features always gave him. He breathed through the pain, before looking at the Distortion again, squinting to be able to make out something that resembled a coherent form.

The image still swam in front of him, Michaels smile literally blinding, teeth flashing with too many deeply saturated colours.

"Hello Michael. What do you want?"

"Awww you don't sound excited to see me at all! I've got more of a reaction from your assistants."

The thing pouted, but the grin reappeared fast when it heard the click of the safety of Basiras gun coming off.

"Aha I wouldn't do that if I were you."

The voice it used screeched like nails on a chalkboard and a microphone with its volume set too high. Weapons clattered to the floor as everyone scrambled to shield their ears from the sound. Jon felt a trickle of blood running down the side of his neck and winced.

"There. Better. You people are so rude." The laughter that followed was worse than the voices before, high pitched and low, aggressively amused.

"Michael." Jon hissed and it stopped.

"Yes dear Archivist?"

"Why are you here?"

"Ah." A misplaced chuckle, alltogether fake and a hungry grin. "I've heard you've dealt with Not-Sasha! Congratulations! Do you want the real one back now?"

"What?"

Tim had recovered fast and somehow had already taken up the axe again. He looked more than prepared to chop Michaels head off with it.

"Oh hello! I forgot you were here, too. How did you like my hallways?"

"Fuck you! What are you talking about?!"

Michael shrugged, or what could be perceived as a shrug. It was hard to tell when there seemed to be three sets of shoulders all in various places they shouldn't be.

"It is as I said. I took Sasha into my hallways so she could flee from the thing in the table. And now that Not-Sasha is gone I'm willing to trade her."

"Trade her for what?"

Jon had a bad feeling about this, but he let Tim lead the conversation. Better he ask the questions. Jon didn't want to accidently use compulsion and make Michael angry.

"Why for the Archivist of course! I'm terribly bored at the moment. No good prey out there. And I'd love to see how my hallways work against someone from the Eyes ilk."

"So it would be a game to you." Jon was careful to not word it as a question.

Michaels blinding smirk hit him square in the chest and left him heaving. "Yes, you could see it that way."

"Jon." Basira warned, inching toward him.

Melanies lips were pressed into a thin line, her eyes never strayed from the Distortion, even when tears started to run down her face from the strain. She kept quiet, but it was clear that she would attack if she felt it to be necessary.

"And that exchange."

"Yes." Michael dared him to ask.

"What would it look like."

"No static! My you are truly making an effort! It goes like this. You come here and step into my door and I let Sasha out."

"Jon we can't trust him." Basira hissed.

"I'm an it, actually." Michael purred.

"Whatever."

"I know. I want to see her. Melanie, you know what Sasha looks like. We'll both verify."

"Hmmm, sounds like a deal. Come here."

Jon scowled at the crooked finger beckoning him to come closer. Michaels horrible 8 bit laugh echoed through the Archive again.

"Don't be shy. I won't stab you this time, I promise!"

"What." Tim sounded about as done as Jon felt.

He'd rather not have to explain himself though. He was glad Tim wasn't directing his ire at him at the moment. So he quickly crossed the distance and came to stand stiffly beside Michael, tensing when the entity curled three of its impossible long fingers around his elbow.

"Marvelous!"

Another door that had appeared in on of the shelves banged open and out of it stumbled a woman with clammy tanned skin, big round trendy glasses and warm brown wavy hair, her grey eyes open wide.

Tim stumbled forward to catch her, trembling about as much as her. "Sasha?"

He looked to Jon for confirmation, who had to fight back his own tears. "Yes. Yes."

"That's her." Melanie whispered her own affirmation.

Before the smile on Jons lips had time to fully form he was yanked back, the yellow door slamming shut behind him. It felt like being dragged into a whirlpool while high on LSD and if Michaels realm would have permitted it Jon would have lost what little food he had eaten that day right then and there.

As it was he had to endure the minutes or hours he had to get used to the shift in reality, unsure if he was standing, laying down or sitting. When his head eventually stopped spinning and his eyes and other sensory input systems agreed to work again he found himself standing at a deadend. The door and Michael were gone, but the air was still filled with joyous laughter.

"Welcome to my humble abode little Archivist! I hope you like getting lost~"

Jon frowned at his surroundings that seemed to tilt and wobble under his every step. He was sure Michael was being extra distorting with the surroundings it had thrown Jon into. Jon didn't want to give it the satisfaction of knowing how much that bothered him. Although he doubted he could hide his terror from it.

Time didn't matter in the Distortions halls. It all melted together, turning and twisting into a bizarre fever dream. Jon relaxed as much as was possible with the horrible migraine that had formed behind his eyes. This actually wasn't so bad. He would probably just wander around aimlessly until he would either die from hunger or thirst, Michael would grow bored and kill him or he actually found the exit.

Jon very much doubted the latter. He had no real grasp of his supposed powers and the Beholding only opted to drop in a fact or two about the colours that normal humans shouldn't be able to see.

When he didn't grow tired nor hungry or thirsty in what he presumed was quite a while a new fear formed beside the pounding in his head. What if he was stuck in here forever?

But even that terror dulled over what didn't quite account for time. The hallways got tamer. They were still decorated with garish colours and wallpaper, bits of furniture strewn about here and there. But they had stopped being all wobbly and impossible.

Well they were less impossible. Jon thought as he walked through a wardrobe only to emerge from a mirror into a room with six walls, three doors, a window and a painting.

On and on it went until he felt deep in his bones a rhythm to it all. There was a spiral pattern to the twisting turns of the rooms and hallways. Inverted and containing a lot of deadends, but it was there and all Jon needed to do was follow it.

Down and down he went, even when the path lead him upward or turned him upside down. His head started to feel blissfully empty for once. No worry, no greater goal. He could just exist here in this weird home and wander. He might be as lost as he had been in the real world, but at least here he wasn't hurting anyone.

Electrical lights flickered on and off before turning to torches casting pink shadows across the chessboard walls. He startled out of his haze when he heard the clacking of heels somewhere to his right, a thought thundering into his mind, shattering all other not thoughts that hadn't resided in there.

"Helen!"

"Jon?"

"Helen! I'm here. Stay where you are!"

Jon skidded around the corner and there she was, still wearing her business dress and jacket, chin length brown hair curling around her ears. She was sobbing before he could even get to her and soon he had an armful of crying real estate agent in his arms.

They held each other tight and just weeped for what felt like an eternity, but was still too short.

"I was so scared." Helen sobbed as she drew back just enough to fix her gaze on Jon. "I thought I walked out of the Institute, but instead I found myself back in these horrible hallways and I couldn't find a way out this time, but I just couldn't stop walking, you know? I needed to find some way out. And Jon, Jon! There's an end here. It's close I just know it! You believe me right? That's why you're here? You're also looking for the end?"

Jon rubbed up and down her arms to calm her. "Yes. Yes Helen. I'm so sorry. Had I known-"

"It's alright." She gave him a watery impression of a smile. "It'll be all alright soon. I hear it whispering. Come."

"Now that was quite the show." Michael suddenly stood between them and they sprung apart. It had its arms crossed and a deep frown carved into what could have been its face.

Jon couldn't exactly make out its eyes. And yet he was sure there was a spark of fear there.

"It was nice to play with you." Michael adressed Helen. "But I feel you overstayed your welcome."

A door appeared behind her, standing in the middle of the hallway, no walls around it.

"There is the exit. Shoo."

She looked at Michael with wide, glassy eyes. "No. No I can't. I need-"

And with a sudden, horrible clarity Jon knew what would happen if she didn't leave now. A door locked from the outside. The body of Michael Shelley destroyed. Helen lost.

"Helen. Please believe me when I say that this is better. Don't heed the call. It will only cost you."

Her flitted between Jon and Michael, hesitating. "Why?"

"Michael was human once, too." Jon whispered and understanding bloomed behind her eyes.

"Oh. But can I be sure?"

"I can." Jon assured her. "You can open that door. It's save."

She swallowed. "Okay. Okay. Are you coming with?"

She reached for him, but Jon shook his head. "No. I don't believe my game is quite finished yet."

He looked over to Michael to make sure. The Distortion looked back at him, frown lightened by a pensive look. It didn't feel the need to correct him.

"Okay." Helen said again, sounding like it was everything but. "You'll be fine, though?"

Jon gave her the best smile he could manage at the moment, which wasn't much. "I think so, yes."

"Good then. I'll... see you around. Just. Not here, I guess."

"Yes. Take care Helen."

"You too."

The door clicked softly shut behind her, taking with it the swift breeze of fresh air and gentle midday sunlight.

Jon sighed. "That was... something. Thank you for letting her go."

"Hmmm."

Jon felt a deep satisfaction at how uncomfortable Michael seemed to be at the moment.

"I guess I shouldn't continue to walk down, then?"

"You were walking straight."

"It's all the same here, though, isn't it?"

"Stop that." Michael frowned harder, drawing itself up, terror apparent in the way it shook, after images pulsing off it in waves.

"What?"

"Knowing me."

"Sorry."

"You could just walk back up again, you know." Michael muttered, friendly facade all but forgotten. A near death experience would do that to you. Jon could sympathize.

He nodded, indulgent. "I guess I could."

Michael heaved a sigh that sounded more like the blare of an airhorn. "I'll show you out."

Jon didn't deem it necessary to tell it that it could just manifest a door like it had done with Helen. He got that Michael probably needed a hot minute to digest what had just happened. And for once Jon was more than content with providing some company.

It was Michael who talked first, essentially giving Jon its statement. Jon saw the fierce anger burn behind those multicoloured eyes and was reminded of Tim and his fury at Jons betrayal.

"How much of Michael is there in you, then?" Jon carefully asked, voice so soft it was barely there in order to keep any sort of compulsion out of it.

"That's not the right question to ask Archivist. Because there is no answer to that, that would stay definite. How much of you is in those tapes you record? It's your voice in there. How much of you is actually you? There's no meaningful distinction."

"That doesn't sound right."

"That's because you're too deep inside your head." Michael laughed. It wasn't as grating as usual.

"Thank you for keeping Sasha safe, by the way." Jon whispered into the screaming silence that had enveloped the two as they meandered through the endless expanse of hallway stretching out in front of them.

"You are no fun."

"Pardon?"

Slim fingers crawled like worms across his shoulder. His head spun with a sudden dizzying motion, feeling oddly light. His skin tingled with confused nerves at the points of contact. Unconsciously he leaned into the touch loosing himself in the sensations. The Distortion was less scary now that he knew it. It was actually kind of sad and he might have formed a small grudge against Gertrude for it.

Michael huffed beside him, caught between grinning and frowning. Jon wondered which emotion the Spiral wanted to portray and which one actually belonged to what was left of Michael Shelley.

"That's what I mean. You're not afraid at all! You're enjoying yourself. That just won't do."

It nudged him forward and oh, there was a yellow door there. Jon stepped up to hit and hesitated, hand hovering over the handle.

"What is it now?" Michael grumbled behind him, pout evident in its voice.

"I... I'm not sure if... I'm not sure if it's alright for me to get out."

Michael blinked at him in surprise. Jon shouldn't have been able to see it, but the motion was reflected in front of him.

"I just don't know if it's a good thing that I'm out there. Something is going on with me and at least in here I'm not hurting anyone."

"You... don't want to get out? You like it here?" Shrill, disbelieving laughter filled every nook and cranny of their space, drilling into Jons head and hollowing out his skull. Michael was bent over in a spine breaking way, arms wrapped twice around it and shaking with manic chuckles when Jon turned to frown at it.

"Two people in a row wanting to stay." It giggled, rightning itself. "I really need to redecorate this place." It shook its head, smile sharp yet soft. "No Archivist I will not drag you around as deadweight. Not when you aren't even making an effort of being afraid."

Jon squeaked as he was lifted, knife hands nicking the skin on his cheek and temple. With a heavy thump Michael kicked the door to the Archives open, startling Tim awake, who had been slumped over the desk, facing the door.

"We're baaack!" Michael crooned. "I'll leave you to decide if the Archivist should stay." He dumped Jon into Tims lap, who was barely awake enough to grab at Jon before he slid off.

"But Jon, when you next step into my door I will not let you back out again. See you around~"

Jon tried to identify the exact moment Michael had left the room. It was a futile attempt and not at all enough to distract from the fact that he was currently still inhabiting Tims lap.

"I'm sorry I'll-" Jon tried to stand up, but the arms around him tightened and he was squashed unceremonously against Tims body.

"Jon"

Oh no. What had he done now? He just got here why was Tim already so mad? Was he mad? Oh good lord he was crying. Jon awkwardly turned so he could sling unsteady arms around Tims neck, letting the man bury his head into his shoulder.

"Uhm hi?" He'd really rather go back to Michaels hallways now, please. This was already starting out to be a situation much more terrifying than wandering forever in a fever dream.

"You absolute bastard!"

"Sorry?"

Tim laughed and it was a strange sound. Too normal after who knew how long in Michaels domain.

"No you don't get to apologize. Not when you don't even know what you've done." Tim stood, Jon scrambling to get his feet under him so he wouldn't crash.

Standing on even, unmoving ground was like coming back on land after a year at sea. Tim shaking him did not help his coordination.

"You've been gone for over three months. Over three months, Jon! We had to blow up the circus without you. Elias was pissed! But Sasha managed to McGyver together a remote control for the C4 and it was amazing! Pressing that button was probably the best thing to happen in my life!"

"Wait slow down." Jon mumbled, trying to keep up with Tims flood of exposition while simultanously trying to get Tim to stop shaking him. He was going to be sick at this rate.

Tim didn't seem to hear him. "And then everything was over and Sasha was there, but you still weren't. And that bloody door stayed here all the while, mocking us. It wouldn't open. We tried everything minus blowing it up, figured you wouldn't have liked that. Tried to hunt down other Spiral locations, but no odd door would open to us."

Tim took a huge breath and stopped shaking Jon, his grip tightening when Jon tried to put some space between them.

"We didn't know what to do. And then about a week ago Helen came in to tell us about what happened in the hallways. She's fine by the way. Apologized for waiting so long before coming by. She was sad to see you still missing, left her contact details and wants you to call her when your feeling like the world makes sense again, whatever that means."

Jon knew exactly what it meant. He was sure it would take him a while to make sense of anything that wasn't strobe light effects, after images and nausea. He would have liked to elaborate on that and point out that he really should sit down oh my god everything was spinning.

"We figured if she was out you'd come back, too. And we didn't want you to stumble into an empty Archive so we took turns watching the door. Do you know how hard it was to keep Martin from hogging all the night shifts? The man hasn't slept more than a wink in months I tell you. He looks about as bad as you so if you don't let him hug you and fuss I will play the most embarrassing prank I can think of on you next April Fools day, you hear me?"

Tim shook him once and Jon had to cough and force the bile back down his throat before he could answer.

"Quite."

"Good."

There was another shaky exhale and a much more tentative hug. "You look like shit, come on you can crash at my place."

"I too have a flat, Tim." Jon felt the need to remind him, but let himself be led to the front doors and to Tims car, grateful to finally be allowed to sit again.

"You just came back. No way am I letting you out my sight and give you the opportunity to vanish again. Sasha and Martin would have my head."

Jon frowned down at his hands, flinching when the car sprung to life and grabbing for an empty take out bag, just in case. Tims behavior deeply confused him. The last time he had mother henned him like this was back in Research. Did Michael accidently drop him in a different dimension?

"We're there."

How did Tim get to the side of his door? When had they started to move? When had they gotten to Tims flat? Good lord time didn't make sense anymore.

Jon half stumbled out of the car and followed Tim into his apartment.

"Make yourself comfortable boss. I'll get you some tea, yeah? And food. Try not to fall asleep on me yet. And don't wander off."

Where would he even wander off to? Jon wanted to ask. He forgot about that as soon as his body hit the hard surface of the couch. At least the pillow was nice enough to cushion his fall. Letting out a pitiful groan he levelled himself up again to take his glasses off, rubbing at the spots where the plastic had dug into his skin.

He was glad that Tim seemed to have calmed down during the ride. Maybe doing something had helped. Tim had always been an action guy, needing an outlet for all the pent up energy.

It all felt so surreal. Here he was, out of the hallways, in Tims flat, with Tim being nice to him and the apocalypse over and done with. He would probably get an earful for missing out on that one later. Probably from Melanie. Maybe from Basira and Daisy.

Gods they were alright. He was gone for so long and they were all fine. Maybe a bit more traumatized, if Tims behavior was anything to go by, but alive. And in this economy that was probably the best outcome they could get.

"Sasha, how is she?" Jon asked as soon as Tim came back into the room.

A rainbow coloured mug and a bowl of instant noodle soup was placed on the coffee table in front of him before Tim answered.

"She's amazing. I mean she's doing well. She was in way better shape than you coming out of there. But I guess you didn't exactly go in at the heighth of your power. She said she was afraid for awhile, that Michael would keep her forever. But she was also curious how the hallways worked and she kinda got lost trying to figure them out? She chatted with Michael whenever it popped up to gloat. It kept her updated pretty well actually, which is kind of creepy. I think out of all of us she had it the easiest."

"That's... that's so good to hear." Jon breathed.

Tim chuckled. It sounded suspiciously wet. "Yeah. Come on sit up and eat your shitty soup."

Before Jon could move on his own an arm curled around his waist and hoisted him into a sitting position.

"I can move myself, Tim." Jon grumbled, leaning heavily into Tims side either way. Just for the contact, he told himself. He could totally sit upright if he wanted to.

"Of course boss."

Tim turned on the TV as Jon ate, the soothing chatter of news reporter talking about the weather filling the air. Jon was half dozing, unsure if he had eaten much at all when Tim moved him again.

"You want to clean up before going to bed?"

Jon took stock of his body, weighting his options. It was as if his muscles only now began to realize the amount of miles they had walked. His scars itched and pulled and the cut on his throat as well as the burn on his hand pounded against the confines of his mangled skin. His head felt like it was stuffed with cotton, a bit of vertigo still throbbing in the back of his skull, while his ears still echoed faintly with piercing, inhuman laughter.

"No?"

"Okay. Sit tight boss I'm gonna get you a blanket."

Sit tight... Where did Tim think he would go, if he wasn't even up for taking a shower?

"You got better, too." Jon said in lieu of a thank you when a heavy blanket got draped over him.

"Hm. Blowing up a building helped."

"Ah yes, arson. The best therapy of all."

Tim laughed at that. "You'd be surprised. But actually I did get a therapist at Sashas request. I blew up at her a few times in between and she didn't take it well. I wanted to be better for her."

"Good." Jon mumbled, half asleep. "That's good."

"Yeah. Sleep well."

"Hmhm."

He woke up in the middle of the night. Or was it day? It was dark, but the curtains were drawn so he couldn't be sure. It wasn't to a full body flinch like he was used to waking up with. Just a slow, disorientated blinking into wakefulness.

The flinching came later, followed by a yell when he made out a blurry shape sitting in the arm chair mere inches away from him.

"Good Lord, Tim! What are you doing?!"

"Making sure you're not getting kidnapped." Was the brightly given answer.

"That's creepy." Jon grumbled, rubbing his eyes and settling his glasses back on the bridge of his nose.

"Well you're not the only one allowed to be spooky."

"M not spooky."

"Suuure. So Martin and Sasha will be by in a bit. Wanna tell me what all that about going back through Michaels door was about?"

Jon sighed. "He- it just threatened me."

"Really? Cause it kind of looked to me like it was kicking you out."

"I have it on good authority that I can be rather annoying, yes."

Tim crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes at him. "Does that mean I and the others need to make sure you take the right doors from now on?"

"No?"

"That's not very reassuring, Jon."

"Why do you care all of a sudden?" It was said out of exhaustion and Jon immediately regretted it, seeing Tims face fall. "I'm sorry I shouldn't have said that."

"No." Tim took a shuddering breath, mussing up his hair with the hand that wasn't clutching at his own shirt. "No, that's fair. I've been an ass to you before... Fuck before you literally fed yourself to the Spiral in order to get Sasha back."

"You don't have to feel guilty about that."

"I do! But that's not just it. You've missed a lot. And I got better, but I'm still so angry most of the time. But when you were gone I was also fucking terrified. For Christs sake Jon we were friends once. And I just let you barter your life away like it was nothing. I was happy. When Sasha came back and you were gone I was even happy for a while."

Oh no he was crying again. They both were. He knew because Tim had gotten up to draw back the curtains before dropping onto the couch at Jons feet.

"I... it didn't last long. Call me selfish, but after a while all I wanted was for us to be complete again. You know the original four. It took me a bit to realize that I was mourning."

Tim barked out a broken laugh. "I've probably not slept about as much as Martin."

"You should then. I'm here. I'm not going anywhere at the moment."

"I can't. Every time I try I panic that you will be gone when I wake up."

Jon mulled that thought over in his head, an odd tingle flooding his body. "Lay down with me then?"

Tim stared at him for a moment, biting at his lip and barely stopping before drawing blood. "That... that sounds like an idea. Yeah. Let me draw the couch out first."

They could have just gone to bed, but Jon just about managed to drag himself to the armchair. And Tim hadn't offered so Jon wouldn't pry.

Tim collapsed on the couch and immediately reached out an arm and made grabby hands. Jon huffed out a small chuckle and obliged, trying not to seem too eager.

"We'll have to get up again when Sasha and Martin visit." Jon noted, snuggling into Tims chest with a sigh, whole body thrumming at the none violent contact.

"Sasha has a key." Tim muttered into his hair, spitting out some of the loose strands right after.

Jon shook his head. There seemed to be quite a lot he needed to be caught up on. And as they tangled their legs together Jon found that for once the future didn't look as threatening as it usually did.

#tma #the magnus archives #jonathan sims #tim stoker #hurt/comfort #fanfiction #michael distortion #helen richardson #canon divergence #my writing

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that-one-girl-behind-you · 3 years

Text

Illicio 19/?

Part 18

CWs for this chapter: -Depression -Parental neglect -Past implied suicidal ideation (These are present in the very first POV, and are related to Martin's past. Please feel free to skip it if the topics make you uncomfortable) -Canon character death

----

Gerry's never been to the Lonely before, though he's felt its grip on him many times in his life.

It has loomed over him ever since he was a child, alone and confused and fearing and craving his mother's hugs in equal measure. Back when he first started learning about the fears he did wonder why it never struck, why it never pulled him in to devour him whole. It was only later that he understood what made him so resistant to this particular fear.

You defeat the Lonely with love, and Gerry has never been short of that.

XIX

Martin is seven years old the first time he realizes how utterly and completely alone he is. Back then he still goes by a name that isn't his, and he doesn't yet have the words to describe why it feels wrong.

He looks around at all the children in his classroom; their clothes look clean and smell good, and their mothers not only pick them up from school, but they look happy when doing so. He asks mum once why she never smiles, does something hurt? Maybe the doctor can give her more pills?

Mum doesn't respond. She merely gives Martin that long, serious look that always makes Martin think he said something dumb, and goes to her room, leaving Martin alone with his cold supper and a slow gathering fog that he can't see.

Martin is fourteen years old when he first understands he's unwanted. He's begun to figure out who he is, and his clothes are ill-fitting, just like he himself is, bouncing around between groups of people that aren't really his peers, and merely accept his presence like one would any other part of the scenery.

Mum is no longer subtle, and the look isn't serious as much as it is distasteful, no matter how hard Martin tries. He would like to tell someone about this, but when he thinks of reaching out he remembers the only messages in his old school notebooks are those of well-meaning teachers, wishing him luck and praising a potential that Martin knows isn't there.

He's sixteen years old, when Martin comes to the conclusion that he's perhaps meant to be alone forever. Mum's illness has gotten so bad that Martin has to drop off school to work and care for her. She doesn't look at him anymore, not even when Martin finally shows up looking like he's always wanted to. He doesn't know exactly how to feel about this, because as much as he didn't want a fight, it's yet another proof that his existence is irrelevant in her life.

He tries to tell himself this is just his poor self esteem. Of course his mother loves him, she's his mother. She kept him alive, she cared for him, she's just... ill. And she's always been strong-willed. To a child it might've looked like irritation, but Martin is an adult now and he's learned life is not at all like in Hallmark movies, and if he sat down to cry every time mum didn't say 'I love you' back, he'd seldom have time to do anything else.

Martin is twenty two when he accepts he's exhausted. Of this life, of his mother, of himself. He wants to do something about it, but the pill bottles behind the bathroom mirror scare him just as much as the University pamphlets he hides under his pillow.

He strides up to the imposing looking building by the river with his forged CV in hand because he doesn't know what else to do. He gets the job, but as the Head of the Institute shakes his hand to dismiss him, Martin looks at Elias Bouchard's bright green eyes, and knows that he knows. That somehow this man has realized he's an impostor, that he's gotten this far only by convincing people he's far more capable than he actually is.

But he needs the money, and this job is far less demanding than anything else he could've gotten with his lack of credentials. He signs the contract, and he doesn't notice the jealous cling of the fog around him, as the Eye turns its gaze on him.

------------------------------------------

"What is this place?" Tim asks when they come into the cavernous chamber.

Basira looks around, nailed in place by the unsettling feeling of relief she's experiencing. The cells are empty behind their rusted bars, but Basira can See the outlines of the prisoners where they died when they were Known by a power they couldn't even begin to understand.

"It's- it's a place of Beholding," she mutters. She hates it here, hates how comfortable she feels in this place that's so permeated with death. It's another reminder of what she is, of all the shit she let pass; it's a bit of a bad joke, that after looking the other way for so long she's now become something that can't look away. "Jon's up there. And Martin too."

"What about Gerry?" Tim asks.

"I dropped him there. Not sure where he went after." They whip around at the new voice, and sure enough the entrance to the passageway they came through is now a very large version of Helen's door, with the Distortion herself swinging too-long legs as she sits on an enlarged doorknob. "He was in quite a fit about Martin, though."

"Well, better late than never, I guess." Tim grunts.

Basira rolls her eyes, because of course Tim has been so lost on his personal drama of whether or not he wants to forgive Jon that he hasn't noticed anything else. Still, her mouth twitches; it's a good distraction from the constant wondering about Daisy. She cups her hands around her mouth, taking a tentative step forward.

"Jon? Did you find them?" she calls out. No one responds, and Basira gets a muted pang of surprise at the way her stomach drops with worry. Maybe she did care after all. "Get ready. Elias was here. And Lukas too."

"That's comforting," she hears Tim grumble behind her as he follows her lead. It feels... it's different.

It's not Daisy. It will probably never be Daisy again, but it feels good to have a team at her back.

------------------------------------------

The Lonely smells like tears.

It's a deceptively simple smell, building up like bad memories and a knot at the back of your throat.

Much like in the Dark, there's no colors here. Unlike the Dark, there is nothing here, not even fear, or the certainty that there is something waiting for you to give up and consume you.

The Lonely doesn't care about you.

No one does, or you wouldn't have ended here. Do you care about this? You have always cared so much. It was exhausting, and it did nothing but cause trouble to you and the ones you thought you loved.

Isn't this a lot easier? You don't have to feel anything, here. You can't hurt anyone here.

"-on? Can you hear me?"

The scent of lavender hits softly like a memory, and Jon blinks until he can distinguish between the cold inside him and the cold around him.

"Gerry?" he asks, but his hand closes around nothing.

"-m here." Gerry's voice reaches him from far away, even though Jon is sure they were holding on to each other when they entered.

"I- I can't see you."

"-ou feel me?"

He can, Jon finds. A thread of white-hot steel pulling at the left side of his chest, the ghastly feeling of lips on his own.

"Yes. Yes, I can." A love that is felt but not seen, just like-

"-ind Martin," Gerry says from his corner of the Lonely, which could be an inch or a mile away. "-ocus on that."

That- that makes sense. Martin is still human, he's the most at risk here. Once they find him, they can get out, and the other will follow. Should follow.

"Okay, I- be careful." Jon tries to add something else, but the words that Gerry uttered so easily on the kitchen floor that night feel impossible to push out.

"-ove you," Gerry whispers, before his presence fades away.

'Me too,' Jon thinks fiercely, desperately and futilely. 'Me too, and I will find the two of you if I have to Know every inch of the Lonely, until it can't keep you from me.'

The Beholding purrs in delight at the declaration. It doesn't care why the Archivist uses it as long as he does. Jon should probably care about that a little more than he does, but the only thing in his mind now is Martin, and the need to get him out of here before he can't distinguish between it and himself.

------------------------------------------

"Can you see the entry?" Tim asks, stepping away from the dry corpse in the center of the room.

"Not really," Basira shrugs. "I can see where their trails end, but- we can't go in, Tim."

And that's that, he supposes. She says it with such finality, with such certainty, that Tim has no choice but to accept it as fact.

Martin is gone.

Martin, the last of them, the only one untouched by all this shit. Martin who brewed them tea and pretended he wasn't making cow eyes at Jon even though he behaved like an absolute ass. Martin who found Tim at his living room with fire in his veins and offered him the same unconditional friendship they'd shared before everything began to go south.

He warned them about this. He warned both of them and the worst part is he can't even be angry at Jon about it, because Jon is gone too, and because he himself wasn't able to keep Martin here, he wasn't enough.

This is- he's the only one left. They're all gone, and they slipped through his fingers even after he got a second chance, one after the other, Danny, Sasha, J-

"I wouldn't touch him right now if I were you," Helen says somewhere in the room, and it's only when he opens them that Tim realizes he's shut his eyes; he looks in time to see Basira's hand retreating from his shoulder, as Helen speaks again. "Should I go get Melanie?"

"No," Basira says immediately. "She's out. We don't- we don't go to Melanie unless there's no other choice. We have to-"

"We have to what?" Tim snaps. He's so tired of this, of losing people- he liked it much better when he'd just woken up and all he could feel was rage. "Let's just pop your eyes out too, so I can blow the fucking place up." And himself too, if he's lucky.

"Could you stop moping around already?!" Basira whips around to face him. Her eyes are burning with intensity, and her fists are clenched and shaking by her sides. "You've seen him walk from worse, you've walked from worse. Now- now we have to- I don't know what happened here, but if Elias walked out of jail exactly today, then it's got to have something to do with Martin, or-"

"Or Jon's marks." The answer hits Tim like a slap to the face.

'You're just missing one, aren't you?'

'The Lonely, yes.'

'How convenient isn't it? Martin's sudden promotion.'

'I'm well aware it's my fault, Tim, thank you.'

What else could it be? Whatever Elias is planning-

He turns to her, and in her eyes he finds the same understanding, the same clicking of pieces he just went through. The fourteen marks were deliberate, orchestrated; Annabelle Cane's statement was nothing short of a confession.

It doesn't change anything, not really, everything that happened, everything Jon did is still there, a wound that scarred badly and that still aches when pulled at, but-

"We have to get them away," Basira says.

But at least for now, Tim has a purpose again.

------------------------------------------

Gerry's never been to the Lonely before, though he's felt its grip on him many times in his life.

You defeat the Lonely with love, and Gerry has never been short of that.

Whether or not it's been paid in kind is another matter entirely, but he loved his mother, and he loved Gertrude, and he loved every soul he helped save from a fate worse than death. It has to be enough now, and if it isn't... well, Gerry's always been good at making round pegs fit into square holes, and this won't be the exception. He won't let Martin be the exception.

He wanders across the Lonely for what feels like hours, when he spies a figure hunched on the floor. There's no heart to race in his chest, but Gerry hurries his steps when he recognizes the muted black of Martin's hair, the tired curve to his shoulders.

"Martin? Martin!" Gerry exclaims, falling to his knees across from him, and swatting away at the thick fog that lays around the man like a cloak. "Fuck, I- it's so good to see you. What the hell were you thinking?!"

Martin doesn't look at him, doesn't even look up, and when Gerry lays his hands on his shoulders there's a thin layer of cool dampness that he wipes away hurriedly.

"Huh. I didn't expect you'd be here," Martin's voice echoes oddly, like it's carrying across water. "I thought they'd stop if I let them put me here. Did they send you here too?"

"I- n- no, Martin." Gerry tries to crouch lower to enter his field of vision, before he carefully lays a hand on Martin's round cheek to softly pull his face up. "No, we- Jon brought me in. We came here for you.

"Jon." Martin's grey eyed focus on him, and Gerry feels like he's been punched in the gut. He can't taste the emotion in Martin's voice like he can with Jon's, but he doesn't need to. He's heard the kind of sorrow poured in those three letters.

"Yes, he- he's here too. Now that I got you, we just need to-"

"You should go to him."

"I mean, yes, we both need to-"

"I think it's better if I stay here, Gerry."

"...What?" Gerry scowls, then feels his eyes widening in terror when his hand starts going through Martin's cheek. "Shit- Martin no! We need-"

"I really loved him, you know?" Martin's silhouette is growing harder to see, like a mirror fogging up.

"Of course I know, you- Martin you pretty much only tolerated me because of him, I know you love him."

Martin lets out a chuckle; it's a low, sad sound that makes Gerry's stomach churn.

"At first, I suppose." He shrugs, and his contour grows a bit fainter. The only thing Gerry can see clearly is his sad little smile, like some twisted version of the Cheshire cat. "I was sad at first that you- but you turned out to be so amazing, in the end. I was happy he found you."

Fuck. Fuck, fuck- Gerry tries to grab at him again, but his hand just goes clean through.

"Martin, it's- it's not over. We're not done, he wants you, he still-"

"I think it's time to go now-"

"Martin Blackwood you're not going anywhere," Gerry snaps. This can't- this is not going to end like this. He won't let it. They were supposed to sit down and talk about the future, there was going to be a future to talk about, for fuck's sake! "I will follow you to the end of the Lonely if I have to, you're not going to shake me off this easily."

"I really liked that about you too. You made me feel wanted."

"That's because I do, you idiot!"

------------------------------------------

"They're safe, see? At least for now." The voice is insidious, frustrating. It gives off the feeling of practiced politeness, empty pleasantries that mean even less than cold, uncaring silence. "It's very heartwarming, if ultimately futile, of course."

"I take it you're the reason I can't reach them?" Jon asks coldly. He can feel the Forsaken rearranging itself as they speak, the space between his and the two silhouettes hunched over in the distance growing wider and wider, so that every step he takes towards then moves him ten steps back.

"Does it really matter?" Peter asks. "They don't need you there, and it's only a matter of time before they give up."

"I will find them first," Jon says simply; there is no other choice, no scenario where they don't come out of this together. He'll make sure of it.

Peter laughs, and the sound echoes oddly around Jon, like only the ghost of it was reaching his ears.

"I doubt so. But you're welcome to keep trying."

"Why don't you come speak face to face, Lukas?" The fog around him takes on a sickly green hue where the glow of his eyes illuminate it, and the Lonely curls more thickly around him, hiding Peter from his Sight, from his reach. "Afraid of being seen?"

"I've dealt with your kind before, Archivist."

"So that's a yes, then."

"Fooling around with that toy of yours really have you some undeserved bravado, didn't it?" He sounds a bit disgruntled now, Jon notices with a muted, dark amusement. "Since he's not human, I'm not sure if he can even be consumed here, you know? I wonder if he'll just walk around forever until he shuts down."

"I'm not his only anchor," Jon scowls. That much is true, isn't it? Melanie-

"Please. Do you really believe he'll walk away without you? Both of you? Anchors are very effective, Archivist, as long as you aren't tied to a sinking one." Peter's smirk is palpable in his voice, and Jon grits his teeth. That's- it's not entirely wrong. Gerry's far too selfless, far too dedicated to putting others before himself.

"He'll do it for Martin," Jon says with far more vigour than he feels. That was the plan, and Gerry's not stupid in the least. Out of the three of them, Jon's the one that has a highest chance of survival here. If he has a chance to at least pull Martin out-

"Oh, but Martin doesn't want to go." Peter chuckles. "You let him fly too close, Archivist. This is his place now."

Silence stretches over them for a moment, the echo of Jon's breathing the only sound for miles.

"...You brought him in here, though." That's what Gerry said, what the Eye confirmed. Martin chose to come willingly, but it was Peter who opened the door. "You can kick him out. Both of them."

Peter doesn't respond immediately, and Jon focuses on the two silhouettes that he can see, but will never reach, not as long as the Lonely keeps pushing them apart.

"I could. For a price."

------------------------------------------

It feels like his words resonate around them for an eternity, before the odd dissonance of the Lonely takes it away completely.

Martin is still there, barely visible and barely tangible under his bruising grip, the only sound between them is Gerry's agitated breathing.

"Martin?" Gerry asks carefully. While Martin has stopped fading away into the fog, he doesn't seem to be getting better either. But if his words kept him here, then- then maybe there's still a chance. "I'm- I know I'm not Jon, but- but I came here for you, alright? I wanted to come for you."

But it doesn't work that way, does it? You can be the most desired, the most loved person in the world and still be alone.

"Why?" Martin asks. His eyes fix on Gerry's, grey and empty of any and all emotion, but it has to mean something, that he hasn't left, that he still wants to know.

"We need you," Gerry answers truthfully. He doesn't know too well what it means, but it's been a while since this was just about Jon.

"You know that's a lie, Gerry." The corner of Martin's lips twitches into a humorless smile.

"It's not, it's-"

"I think I want to stay. Nothing hurts in here. It feels... quiet. We can all be happy, like this." There's a longing in his voice when he says it, a soft wistfulness that Gerry doesn't trust right now.

"Martin, I'm- listen to me," Gerry asks, nearly begs. He shouldn't have been the one to find him, he realizes with a start. It has to be someone he loves, he remembers telling Melanie so long ago. And still the fact remains that Gerry's the only one here, and if he's not enough, then he'll have to remind him of the one who might just be. "Think of why you did this, think-

"...What?"

"Martin, who is your reason?"

------------------------------------------

"You want me to stay in their place." Jon says quietly, clenching a fist in the fabric of his jumper as the realization dawns on him. "Why?"

Peter stalks around him, watching him under the cover provided by his patron. He can feel the Eye searching for him, but its intensity is growing fainter by the second, as the Archivist begins to bend under the weight of his own doubt.

"Trust me, Jon, the Eye has given me plenty of reasons. But I must admit I'm simply not too happy with Elias at the moment and I'm very curious to see what he'll do if you don't make it out of here." Bit of an understatement, honestly.

"I-"

"That's the offer," Peter interrupts. "What do you say, Archivist?"

The desolate questioning in Jon's face is an absolute delight to behold.

"Take your time. Though I feel like the choice should be easy. Or are you hesitating because your pet undead will die without you anyways? You can't have everything, Jon." Peter tuts consolingly. "Either he dies out there, or the three of you stay in here."

"You said- you know Elias is planning something. He-"

"Oh, he'll try to get you back of course." Too much invested in this one, years of orchestrating his marks and survival. Elias won't just start over, Peter isn't even sure he could start over, without the Mother's webs that drape over this one's shoulder as a blessing. "Granted, I'm not sure how much of you there'll be left by the time he works his way back into my good graces.But that's not necessarily a bad thing in your books, is it?"

"...It isn't." The thrum of the Eye in the air fades a little more, when Jon lets his head drop.

Peter isn't terribly surprised. He might not be Martin, whose entire core calls to the Forsaken like they are one and the same, bit Jonathan Sims is still am incredibly lonely man.

It's about regret, in his case. Peter can feel all the mistimed connections that haunt him, when he reached out only to find it was far too late and he'd pushed way too far. The memory of waking up alone in a hospital room, and knowing he was neither expected nor wanted back.

"I thought so. Your friends will be much safer without you, Jon. You know that." He's not sure how much more convincing Jon actually needs, but it can't hurt to double down, he decides as he stops his pacing by his side and leans in to whisper in his ear. "You can't hurt anyone here."

"I... I suppose so."

"You know so." And Peter does too. Won't it be poetic, to keep Elias' pet in here as revenge for his own sabotaged ritual? Not much he can do, if there's no one to wear the crown. "It's all up to you, Jon. What do you want?"

Peter has dealt with beholders before, far more than he should, actually. He knows how they work, how for all they preach omniscience, they home in on a purpose, and become blind to everything else. Gertrude wanted war, Elias wants power, and this sad, broken man wishes uselessly for redemption, and if he can't have it, he'll have immolation.

"So? What will it be?" he asks.

Jon's head tilts up slowly, and Peter freezes at the intense neon green of his eyes, and the downward curve of his tightly pressed lips.

"A statement, I think," he says, and all around him the Watcher's eyes burn holes through the fog, pinning Peter in place like stakes, their focus so heavy it stings.

He tries to remain calm, to keep his fear from the Eye. This is his domain, and he can't be harmed here, not even by Elias' trained dog-

"Peter Lukas, you will give me your story."

------------------------------------------

His reason.

Did he have one?

Was it saving the world, or did he just want to look good while killing himself? Was it revenge against these things that took all the ones he loved, or spite at not being taken himself?

This place makes it hard to think. All you can do is sit and feel the emptiness inside you, smell the tears and listen to the silence. Was that his reason, finding a place to escape to? Maybe he just wanted to rest, for once, forever.

He's so tired.

There's a man before him. His hands are heavy on Martin's shoulder and face, but so careful, like he's made of glass or secrets. The man's eyes are beautiful, desperate mix of greens and blues, and his lips curl around words that barely reach him, words Martin doesn't know if he wants to hear.

He did have a reason, didn't he? It had a name and a face, a lopsided smile and eyes swimming with sadness.

Didn't he hate Martin? That's what they had in common, isn't it? Before the worms, before the fear.

Where is he now?

Martin remembers him, dead in all but name, laid on a hospital bed like a broken doll. His hand is limp in Martin's own, l and every time he presses it to his lips Martin swears it's grown colder.

Was that his reason? What was he more afraid back then, the thought that he wouldn't wake up, or that he might?

The man before him speaks again, and his hands on him feel heavier, warmer.

He doesn't like him, Martin remembers. How easily he stepped into the Archives, how well they fit together. Martin looks at him, and he doesn't know if he wants to tell him to go away or ask him what took him so long, why couldn't he have come before Martin gave up on his future for a chance at saving Jon's?

Martin tries to recall the man's name; maybe it'll help him figure out why he's here. It's a good name, he's sure, because he's a good man. A simple name, the kind you say with a smile. An incredibly, absolutely, undeniably mulish and irritating name, what on Earth is he doing here?!

Martin came here to keep him safe, because even knowing this was a trap for Jon, it was the only way to get Elias to stop hurting him, why would this idiot follow him in?!

Now all the work he did will be for nothing, because Martin knows as sure as the sky is blue that Gerry won't go away, won't let him fade into the grey. He'll find Martin again and again and again, until he answers his question, or the Lonely consumes them both.

This was a gamble he took to try and protect him, and now both of them are here and Jon is lost in here too, and Martin wants to scream at the absurdity of it all.

------------------------------------------

"Did you pack-"

"I packed the first things I saw, Basira, if they don't like it they're going to have to suck it up."

"That's fair."

"Where are they going?"

"North. Daisy had- she has a place. A cottage on the countryside."

"Oh, Martin will eat that stuff right up."

------------------------------------------

"-tin come on." Gerry tries again. Martin is still there, still tangible under his hands, but he still won't talk, won't look at him, the only sign of life to him is the slight furrowing of his brow. "Think- think of him, he's coming for you, we both did. Tim would've come too if he'd been there I'm sure, he's a prick but he loves you. So many people care, Martin, but we need you to care too, we-"

It's alright, he tells himself with just the slightest edge of panic. He's got time, and he'll keep going until the Lonely steals his last breath from his lungs, they are not going to lose Martin.

"Just- you have to- Martin I know you have what you need to break it, but you need to remember it yourself. You need-"

"I need you-" Martin's voice rings out clear and firm, without the ringing of the Lonely, and Gerry freezes. Martin's eyes are bright and green and burning with righteous indignation as he scowls down at him. "-to stop being so incredibly infuriating!"

And then Martin is collapsing against him, and it's all Gerry can do to hold him steady as a wave of relief washes over him.

"I'm- sorry?" He asks, his voice tinged with confusion.

"No you're not," comes Martin's sullen voice, muffled against his shoulder.

Gerry lets out a bark of somewhat hysterical laughter, tightening his grip around Martin's frame. He feels solid, and growing warmer by the second, and Gerry feels a little like he did when Jon opened his eyes after so much begging.

"No, I'm not."

------------------------------------------

The man gasps in exhaustion and pain, as the last of his tale tumbles out of his lips.

The Archivist watches, adds the story to his archive with the same delight with which one would enjoy a feast.

It's a pathetic, hilarious joke that Peter Lukas ultimately dies protecting the Pupil's secrets, when the Archivist demands the truth.

The Eye hums in delight, and the Forsaken shies away from its unblinking gaze, from the power of its chosen, from the future this promises.

It knows with glorious certainty that when the Archive speaks next, the world will listen.

------------------------------------------

Martin feels the Lonely break around them like something being ripped from his chest.

He misses it immediately, the pungent smell of salt and humidity, and the emptiness inside him. The arms around his shoulders, the scent of lavender and ink under his nose, the warmth of another body pressed tightly against his is overwhelming.

"-'re back!" He hears Basira scream somewhere, and the sound of echoing steps coming closer.

"Hey there," Gerry whispers somewhere close to his ear. "I have someone for you."

And Martin's heart drops, because he knows who that is, and he knows what he said the last time he saw him. How could he forgive him for that? For turning him away when he came to him with a promise of freedom, of a future together? Of-

"Martin?" Jon says his name like a prayer, like he doesn't know if he's more afraid of his silence or his response, and when Martin lifts his face from Gerry's shoulder, he finds that he looks much the same, his teeth worrying nervously at his bottom lip as his dark eyes search Martin's face for... for what?

"Jon." Martin's own voice is a pitiful, exhausted thing, but the name sounds just right in his lips, like a memory, like an answer to a question he can't bear to think right now.

It's like Jon's strings have been cut, and he goes down on his knees by their side, slotting himself right under the arm Gerry lifts for him. Martin has a spare second to think of how well they fit together, before Jon buries his face in his chest and it hits Martin that he's here too, held between them like he belongs, like they were waiting for him.

"I'm sorry I didn't find you," Jon whispers into his chest. He feels nothing like Martin imagined, and is somehow much more real for that. "I'm sorry I let it get this far."

What could he possibly say to that? That it's not Jon's fault that Martin wanted to die? That he's sorry too, because now Jon has all the marks and nobody knows what that means, but it can't be good?

Objectively speaking, Martin knows it would've been much better for them -maybe even for the whole world, who knows what Elias is thinking?- if they'd let him in the Lonely.

It's tough to voice that aloud however, with Gerry's arms around him and Jon tucked so perfectly under his chin. Their presence hurts, but Martin hasn't felt this much like himself ever since Tim first came, and he knows he needs them here precisely for this reason. Without the Lonely's overbearing, suffocating presence all around him, it's all too easy to see just how close he came to losing himself.

"...I've missed you," Martin says in the end, probably long past the time they've stopped waiting for an answer. Still, it's the truth, and Martin's spent so long denying it that it feels almost like another lie. He tightens his arms around Jon, partly to check if he's allowed, but mostly to confirm he's actually real and there.

Gerry clears his throat a little. "Would you like me to leave you two alone?" he asks quietly.

'You found me,' Martin wants to say. 'You found me, and you didn't let go, why would I want you to leave?'

Words are still difficult though, especially with the fog still trying to pull at him, yelling at him from all sides that he doesn't matter, that they saved him out of some misguided sense of heroism, and not any particular interest for him. That it is he who is intruding, that they could've lost each other, and it would've been his fault.

Martin shakes his head and shifts to lean a bit more comfortably on his shoulder. His neck is already starting to smart from bending down, but even the pain is a blessing, a reminder that he's alive, that he's human and can feel things, good and bad.

The faint scent of lavender drifting up from Gerry's hair and Jon's comforting weight in his arms are grounding. Soothing.

"Martin?!" Tim's arrival is heralded by the room growing warmer, as if to chase away the remnants of the fog that clings to Martin's tired bones. "Fuck. You're- are you alright?"

"Right as rain," Martin rasps out, cracking an eye open -when did he close them?- to look up at him. Even splashed in blood and dirt, Tim's a sight for sore eyes, the concern in his gaze so simple and sincere not even the Lonely can twist it into loathing. "What are the bags for?"

"Management said you had too many vacation days saved up," Tim croaks with a laugh just this side of hysterical. "We booked you a holiday."

And Martin would like to respond to the joke, he really would, but his eyelids are growing heavy with exhaustion, and it's all he can do to aim a smile -who knew he could still do that?- his way, before he lets go.

"You have to get away before he comes back-" is the last he hears Basira say.

It's not over, he remembers, they're not done. But for the time being, they're all together and they're safe, and Martin is here because they want him to; it still feels like a lie, but nothing else makes sense and he has to allow the tentative, absurd hope that it might be true.

Martin decides that, maybe for once, the rest can wait.

#vit writes #jongerrymartin #jgm #illicio

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littleladymab · 4 years

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did someone say stardust!jonmartin AU

I DID, and @pizza-snake and I have been talking about it all day. We have some details all worked out, but not a very coherent outline of those facts. Will I write a full fic for it? Maybe, but until then, I will write snippets and add to this list of ideas:

Tristan is Martin, who is trying to win the approval of his Mother

He promises to bring her a star to show how much he does love her!!!

Dunstan is Tim, so he’s actually Martin’s roommate.

He’s a good friend, and is also “yo, listen, you don’t have to prove anything to her???? She’s an awful person to yoU????”

He had a dalliance on the other side of the wall once, won’t stop talking about her, Martin is convinced she’s made up but is too kind to say so.

He's been trying to go back but he can't schmooze the guard anymore because he wizened up to Tim's antics

Lamia is Jonah, an aging warlock who just wants to stay young and powerful forever.

He hears of a fallen star and wishes to retrieve it so that he can have it’s eyes

The successors are the other Avatars

NO They’re not related they are just trying to do a power grab when Gertrude dies

Septimus is Peter Lukas

Primus is Simon Fairchild

Una is Sasha

Which makes Ditchwater Sal the Stranger, who keeps her prisoner!

Gertrude dies and persnaps she has this powerful gem that can be used to let whichever Avatar has it to bring about their own Apocalypse or something and as one final ‘fuck you’ to the avatars she just ollies it into the stratosphere

It hits Jon, The Most Disagreeable Star to ever fall to Stormhold.

Georgie is Captain Shakespeare, her first mate (and girlfriend) is Melanie, and Daisy and Basira are there too

When I write this as a Full Fic, I will have shenanigans, don’t you worry (you remember in the book how there is this whole secret society mentioned and then it’s only mentioned twice and never discussed and it’s like what the HELL DOES THIS ALL MEAN yeah I need to give the girls SOMETHING to do)

And for sticking around, here’s a little scene for you all to enjoy

++++

Dancing vs Dueling

Georgie settles into her stance, hands lifted carefully before her, weight on her back foot.

Martin stares at her dumbly, his grip completely wrong on his sword, and confusion written over every inch of him.

She taps the blade of his sword with her own. “Come on, Blackwood. At least try to pay attention.”

He flushes as he settles in to mimic her stance, though with a bit more flair that completely necessary. Alright, so maybe he has had a little training, but not nearly enough. “Right,” he says. “Sorry.”

“No need to be sorry,” she says, “just follow my movements.”

Dueling is a dance of its own. It needs two people on even footing, a balance of rhythm. A back and forth between partners.

Against Melanie, it has always felt like an argument — but a scripted one, the sort of witty reparté and banter that belong on the stage. Dancing and dueling, though Melanie is a better dueler than a dancer. But it is a pace that is comfortable and familiar and Georgie loves it as much as she loves her partner.

The first few steps with Martin are a fumble, but Georgie is patient (and strict). Each error she resets them back to the beginning. “Again,” she says, as Martin shuffles the wrong foot forward on an advance. “Again,” she says, as he grips too high up the hilt. “Again,” she says, as he nearly stabs Basira with a blade pointed too low and his own shoelaces coming undone.

He doesn’t argue. He just resets on her command.

Dueling is a dance that is hard to learn, but Martin proves an apt student.

Jon, on the other hand, is incredibly stubborn. Rivals Melanie’s level of stubbornness, though she knows better than to say it outloud. (She is certain that Martin has picked up on it as well, though, and enjoys sharing the look of fond exasperation with him when the pair is at odds.)

One look at Jon, and Georgie knew that he is not cut out for dueling. His wrists, for one thing, barely look strong enough to wield the carving knife at dinner.

So she teaches him to dance instead.

If he is what she suspects him to be, then he’s not a very graceful one. Perhaps the rhythm of the heavens abandoned him when it was forced to inhabit such knobby knees and bony elbows.

“Chin up,” she says when she catches him staring at their feet again. “At least try to look like you enjoy my company.”

This gets him to flush in embarrassment, and he mutters an apology that’s something along the lines of how he does, actually, enjoy her company. And that’s why he doesn’t want to be rude and tread on her feet.

“I appreciate the sentiment, but I’m a strong woman,” she tells him, sweeping him across the deck of her ship as he stumbles to keep up. “I’d rather like it if you looked me in the eyes while we’re dancing.”

He looks up at her sharply, as if she had said something that made him alarmed, but all she does is wink and his lips form a perfect moue. He must have practiced that while looking down and observing the rest of them.

When Georgie and Melanie dance, she can feel Jon’s eyes on them — studying their movements, their footwork, the unspoken give and take as they obey the beat of the song.

The next time she dances with Jon, he’s more sure of himself. He rarely checks his feet. He keeps Georgie’s gaze, like a challenge, and she can’t help but smile. He dances like it’s a duel, a game of take and give.

“Dancing is a partnership,” Georgie tells him as she stops them mid-beat.

His brow furrows. “I know.”

“I don’t think you do.”

This time, he frowns. “I’m doing it exactly as you and Melanie dance.”

She expected that, figured it, and rolls her eyes fondly at him. “Then maybe you should dance with Martin.”

Jon stutters, and to her amusement, the blush turns to a soft diffused glow across the surface of his skin. “Why—?”

“Are you really asking me that question?”

He at least doesn’t answer that.

“Martin?” Georgie calls, turning to glance over her shoulder where the other man is currently looking extremely overwhelmed by the drills that Daisy is trying to run him through.

Martin looks up eagerly at the sound of his name. “Yes?”

“Care for a different sort of footwork lesson?”

“Georgie,” Jon hisses, tugging on her hands to try and pull her attention back.

“Jonathan,” she teases, and steps aside as Martin arrives. Georgie gently passes Jon’s hands over to Martin and backs away with a courteous bow. “A hint: Avoid getting your feet stepped on, and you’ll make a decent duelist yet.”

To her utter amusement, neither of them are looking at her as they nod.

From the upper deck, leaning over the balustrade and looking down at the scene as she mans the gramophone, Melanie gives Georgie a knowing smirk. She starts the song over again from the beginning without waiting for the command.

Jon and Martin stand hand-in-hand in the middle of the deck, the rest of the crew clearing a space for them — and at least pretending like they’re not looking. Their heads are bent close together, having a brief muttered conversation before their hands settle into the correct place and Martin takes the lead.

He’s a surprisingly decent dancer, considering how rough his dueling was at the beginning. And where Jon would strain against Georgie’s lead (the way that Melanie would, the conversation that he doesn’t know the words to that he tries to perform anyway), he submits himself to Martin’s careful pace.

Georgie ascends the short flight of stairs to join Melanie on the railing, letting her arm slip around the other woman’s waist. “Too soon?” she asks as they watch Jon and Martin stutter their way through the steps.

“More like took long enough,” Melanie replies with a scoff. She tilts her chin down at the two men, as Jon laughs at something and ducks his head against Martin’s chest. “Do they think they’re being subtle?”

“Jon’s glowing, I don’t know how that is for subtle.”

“Even when he’s not, Martin looks at him like he’s seen the sun.”

Georgie snorts and tilts her head against Melanie’s. “Try not to sound too bitter, love, or else I’d think you’re jealous of them.”

Melanie gives an answering snort of her own. “Was I ever that soppy?”

“You were that oblivious.”

Melanie just groans, but doesn’t push the conversation, and instead they continue to watch the two dance.

#i'm writing a second scene but i am tired i will finish it tomorrow #the magnus archives #a lil miss fic #OH MY TUMBLR DASH SURE IS EATING MY INDENTED BULLET POINTS I'M SORRY

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centaurianthropology · 5 years

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The Magnus Archives Season 4 Binge-a-thon (Contains spoilers through the finale)

I’m back! Life and work have been crazy, but I really wanted to binge the half-season since I last listened in order to get in on the season finale. It’s been quite the experience. The last time I binged TMA was season 1, since I started listening at the beginning of season 2. I had really wondered which way was better listening: twenty minutes every week, having things play out gradually, or in one huge go.

I have to say, things flow really well as one run-through binge. I couldn’t say I hands-down prefer doing it this way, but that the structure really holds up as a binge. Plus, the evolving storyline begins to run at a less gradual pace. The build-up of tension is strong, and I really ended up enjoying my binge.

I think part of the danger of listening to each week is that you get lost in the minutia. It lets you pick over everything, which can be great, but it can also be frustrating. The character choices are that much more maddening when you have to wait a week to see how things turn out (and one character in particular in this latter half of season 4 I found particularly frustrating, so I think that listening week by week to that would have been a challenge).

I figured I’d go through some thoughts on the episodes, starting with where I left off at ‘Decrypted’ and going from there. I’ll be talking about episodes in little chunks as I go, with random comments in each section:

Decrypted, Infectious Doubts, Threshold

It’s interesting how much the Lonely was infecting the whole Institute at this stage in the story, although during these episodes it seemed like everyone hadn’t quite noticed it. Or they’d gotten so used to it during Jon’s coma that they stopped noticing how bad things were getting.

Listening now, it seems like Basira got hit the hardest, and that combines with the fact that she also seems to notice it the least. While in season 3 she was the level-headed one, here she’s trying to take that level-headedness too far. She wants all the answers so she can make the best decisions, but she refuses to wait for answers, and she refuses to acknowledge that those answers might be complicated.

The Lonely may also be the explanation for her detachment. As in the plot as she is, she’s desperate to not engage emotionally with any of it. Even Daisy seems to be held at arms-length, and Jon is labeled a monster without any unpacking of that term or what it would mean. She also seems to refuse to address how close Jon and Daisy’s behaviors have been, at their worst, and that Jon is in the throes of his hunger, while Daisy was starved of hers forcibly. She chooses to remain calm and chooses to work to overcome the Hunt, but her initial detox program was very much not of her own choosing. She has simply chosen to stick to it, to embrace the good thing that came out of her imprisonment in the Buried. Jon is struggling because he’s not being forcibly weaned, and no amount of Basira calling him a monster is going to prompt him to stop.

I think that Basira, at this point, is perhaps the most blinkered of the characters. She’s so focused on results that she refuses to do any sort of self-inventory. She’s so convinced of her own rationality that she misses the places where she’s irrational: Jon has always been a semi-threat to her, so she can much more easily slide into thinking of him as a monster. Daisy, on the other hand, was her partner; someone she trusted and cared about. It’s much harder to look at someone you love and call them a monster. She can see the shades of gray in Daisy, but it’s easier to ignore them in Jon.

As much as I think Basira likes to think of herself as the rational one, I think Melanie and Daisy fit that better at this point. Both have passed through their own marking by one of the powers, and both have had their own time as monsters. And that gives them both an outsider’s perspective on the situation, and an insider’s perspective. And both had to be forcibly wrenched away from their respective powers. As much as Melanie resents being torn away against her will, without any say in how it happened, she now has the perspective to look at Jon’s monstrousness as both something very not good, but something complicated. Her own feelings toward Jon are complicated. He helped her, but he took away her free will to do it. He’s a monster, but so was she.

Daisy is even further along that path of understanding, having been given a LOT of time to think in the Buried about herself and her choices. She understands far more than Melanie, and far far more than Basira how the lines between monster and personal choice blur until there is no hard line between them. She has to own all her choices, because she may have been deep in the hunt, but being chosen by a power often happens because you love it as much as you fear it. With perspective, she knows that her choices were awful. That she was awful. But in that moment, she chose the Hunt every time.

She wants to help Jon and Martin, but also knows that people need to want her help before it can really be given. I think that’s why she left as soon as Martin told her to go. If he wanted to reject her help, she couldn’t stop him.

Melanie is also embracing perspective, choosing to go to therapy. Choosing to make herself better. If she’s doing that, her demand that Jon also do better carries more weight. He’s not yet wrenched free, but he like Daisy still has choices to make. They’re just a lot harder when he’s inside looking out.

Jon, of course, is deep into his own monsterhood, his guilt, and his isolation. The guilt is keeping him at least a little grounded, but the isolation is definitely not helping him not become a monster. People overcoming addiction have to make the choice themselves, yes, but they also need support. They need people to hold them accountable, but also know what they’ve been through so genuinely useful advice can be given. Confronting Jon was necessary to prevent him descending further, but I feel like Daisy’s understanding and Melanie’s therapy probably helped more than Basira’s “You’re a monster; don’t eat people” statement.

Martin wasn’t in any of these episodes, but he continues to reach out in ways that keep him at as much of an emotional arm’s length as Basira, simply without any of the confrontation. He gave the tape to Daisy and the others after he found out about Jon feeding on people, but didn’t confront him himself. He’s avoiding all contact with people, making it ‘easier’. He may have a plan, but he’s also deeply infected by the Lonely. Like Basira, I wonder if he has much perspective on himself. They both think they’re playing things smart, but they both seem to be missing glaring parts of the world closing in around them.

Weaver, Extended Surveillance, Concrete Jungle

Jon’s addiction is tied into desire, and also into terror, and also it’s as much a choice as it is for people addicted to drugs to take their next hit. They do know it’s not good for them, but they make the choice, because it feels good, because they love it as much as they hate it. And that analogy, in spite of never being directly brought up in these episodes, continues to be driven home by the statements he reads. A relationship with an addiction is complicated, and is often used as a substitute for something else initially. How much of Jon’s embracing of the Eye was originally driven by his terror of the Web, deep seated and still child-like? I think he fears Annabel Caine more than any other avatar, because she strikes at his worst fear: to be manipulated, to be pushed back to his childhood helplessness, to be lured and consumed against his will. Isn’t it better, from his perspective, to be consumed by his will, by a power he knows and in many ways loves?

One thing I’ve noticed is that the people who are servants of powers embrace those powers as much as they fear them. It’s not a new revelation to say that Jude Perry loves the Desolation, or that Jane Prentiss both loved and feared the Corruption. But seeing that in Jon is harder, because he has something that they seemed to lack: moral qualms about what he’s doing. He can acknowledge that the Beholding is as bad as any of the others, but how much of that is an intellectual acknowledgement? How much of him revels in the Knowing in a way in the same way Jane reveled in the song of the hive?

But of course, in his isolation, he’s struggling to hold onto those intellectual moral qualms, when the hunger is so strong. He can recognize the justifications for harm in other monsters, and even in himself, but his recognition isn’t the visceral pull that the hunger is. And with a very rickety support system, it feels almost inevitable that he’ll tip over and feed again. His one saving grace right now seems to be that his skill at analysis is just as powerful when turned against himself as it is when it’s turned outside. He knows he’s slipping. He knows that he no longer cares as much about investigation, about the victims of statements, as he does getting his next story, his next hit. And no amount of admonishment is going to stop that craving.

The other thing that seems to keep him anchored is Martin, but that’s an anchor growing more and more distant, closer to his intellectual understanding and further away from the deep-seated emotional attachment that might be enough to overcome the hunger. Jon is continually concerned about Martin, wondering how he is to anyone who will listen. I think of Gertrude being Agnes’ anchor, both holding one another to the world. That was done to them, but I have to wonder if Martin and Jon have started anchoring one another simply through affinity. Martin is trying to cut off all ties, but he keeps looking out for Jon. He can’t help but try to keep Jon good and as human as possible.

The conversation between Georgie and Martin was interesting. Georgie has chosen to help Melanie because Melanie isn’t as deep in it as Jon, and because Melanie is actively seeking therapy and help. Georgie seems firmly in the camp that she’s willing to help, but will only help those actively helping themselves. And I get that. She is an outsider reaching in. And she needs to protect herself as well; she’s right that tying oneself to Jon is probably going to get one killed. She’s not obliged to die for him, or for anyone. And from her perspective, he isn’t even reaching for the ropes being thrown to him.

Contrast that with Martin’s perspective, which is that Jon needs help, and that waiting until he helps himself could be disastrous. This is also right, but the problem is that if Jon is drowning, Martin isn’t really getting in the water any more than Georgie is. He’s avoiding Jon, but is offended that Georgie is doing the same. I can only hope she held up a mirror to his own decisions. He’s choosing to protect himself every bit as much as he’s ‘falling on the grenade’ in order to try and stop the Extinction. And trying to protect Jon from afar is as much a defense of himself as what Georgie is doing. Both are reasonable. Jon is self-destructing. But Martin was also right that he needs help. And for someone to help Jon, they almost certainly have to wade into all the danger that being around him entail. Georgie’s decision not to be that person is frankly the healthier decision. No one owes anyone drowning with them. But that’s a decision each person has to make: how much are they willing to help? How much of a life-line do they throw? Georgie has helped, but also protects herself and respects Melanie for doing the same. Daisy is helping a decent amount because she’s been there, and with a few bad days she could end up right back where Jon is. It’s why people with addictions are often the ones to help others with addiction. You sort of have to understand it from the inside.

Martin doesn’t know he understands it from the inside, because he doesn’t realize how much he’s falling to the Lonely. Disappearing whenever personal confrontation occurs isn’t healthy. He was an open wound of caring and emotion before, so it’s understandable that he’s swinging the pendulum to be less vulnerable, but he’s swung it too hard, and he’s drifting away. And as much as he wants to help Jon, he’s not. If he really wants to be Jon’s anchor, he has to be willing to open up all his emotional wounds again. And he has to make that hard decision knowing how much it could cost him. Or he has to let go entirely. He’s in limbo, Jon anchoring him, but the tie between them is frayed.

‘Cul-de-Sac’ offered up a way to take hold of that tie and make it strong again. The Lonely very nearly claimed the narrator as a victim, but in the moment he was almost totally lost to it, a call from his husband and the words “I love you” brought him back. It gave him a way out, and as much as he believes he has to trust Martin’s decisions regarding his work with the Lonely, he also knows that the Lonely is seductive, that it has you do its work for it, that Martin is plagued with self-doubt and self-esteem issues, and that the Lonely is feeding on that. Jon is trying to trust, but Jon also needs to reach out and help, just as much as Martin needs to do the same, if they both choose to take that route.

Basira has also apparently not made any real choice regarding whether or not she’ll help Jon. She continues to be around Jon, but isn’t helping. She’s very intelligent, but increasingly … black-and-white, which makes her blinkered. And Elias was right: it also is making her predictable. It’s like she’s trying to be more like Daisy as Daisy becomes more like Basira used to be. But her taking a harsh tone with Jon and telling him ‘just don’t do it’ is likely to go exactly as well as everyone who’s ever told a drug addict to just stop. Stopping is usually the hardest thing an addict ever has to do, and increasingly, Basira seems to want things to just happen. If Daisy has learned patience, Basira has lost hers. And that means that she also seems like she’s lost perspective.

And then there’s Melanie. I really like that Melanie is sort of taking the middle-road of Georgie’s approach and Daisy’s. She’s stuck there, and she’s still interacting with Jon. Hell, her reactions to him pulling facts out of the ether are more like frustrated rolling of eyes than genuine anger at this point. But she’s also unapologetic that helping the Eye—whether it be passively or actively—is wrong. For her own good, she’s opting out. She knows she could get sick. She knows she could die. But she is making a choice. And like Georgie, I can respect that choice.

Elias continues to be an evil delight. Seriously, what a fantastic villain. He gloats, he’s gleeful, but also urbane and intelligent. The little moments of vulnerability sometimes feel like manipulation, so it’s hard to tell exactly how much he could be damaged. He, of all people, seems to have taken Annabel’s advice to heart. He is always either under- or overestimated. And that just makes him fun.

Big Picture, A Gravedigger’s Envy, Love Bombing

Simoooon!!! My favorite wacky wizard is just as much a delight as I had expected. He’s a ton of fun. He’s old and he’s full of joy, and he’s horrible. He’s my favorite. I also managed to predict that he was centuries old! So pleased to find that out.

It’s interesting to find out that so much of the rituals are bound up in the feeling and the fear. All the ways the powers manifest or work are based on those feelings. So rituals are made up because they ‘feel’ right, and it seems like they all fail because none of them genuinely generate the fear necessary to bring one power into ascendance over the others. It seems that the balance is not only something most are dedicated to, but that it’s harder to upset on a global scale than people thought. Robert Smirke, for example, seemed to think that the world was balanced on a knife’s edge, one second away from falling to a power. And every fear took a cue from him and generated a ton of rituals. But none of them have worked. Because the truth definitely seems to be that none of them know what they’re doing. They’re groping around for greater meaning, when it’s all really based on feelings and impressions. That may make Simon one of the most effective avatars, as well as one of the most sanguine with the way the world works. He’s not trying too hard to make the Vast win because he’s realized how difficult and potentially pointless that might be.

The end of ‘Big Picture’ has another confrontation between Basira and someone, this time Martin. She’s taking the same tack with him as she did with Jon: telling him she doesn’t trust him, that he’s an idiot for working with Peter, etc. Again, acting as Daisy might once have done, and again, I don’t see that she accomplished much. She let Martin know that Jon’s heard of the Extinction, that he trusts Martin, and that’s about it. Beyond that, they’re much in the same position. Whatever her goals are in this situation, they’re either escaping me, or she has no real goals aside from being angry at everyone around her for not being as useful to her as she wants them to be.

Helen, on the other hand, is as helpful and delightful as Simon, while being just as dangerous and malicious. She’s becoming more and more the Distortion, less an less Helen as she lets go of her guilt and embraces the feeding and the hunger. She’s Jon’s ally, but is also unpredictable and is clearly playing her own game, learning the maze under the Archives, but refusing to let him in on what lies at its heart. Their discussion about Jane Prentiss, about choice, throws more light on Jon’s choices.

And the thing that sets him apart from the other monsters: his guilt, his burning humanity. And his connection to others. She looks at this as temporary. Not the feelings, which may well persist, but the effect those feelings have had on his actions. And I think that’s the hard truth that Basira has failed to impart as an outsider: Helen, as an insider to being a monster, gets that there is no hard line between the one-you-were and the one-you-are. She gets that being a monster is as subjective as the powers or the rituals are. It’s about feeling. And Jon clings to his feelings and his connections. And because of this he’s been finding excuses for his behavior. But he still chooses it. He knows that he shouldn’t want the drugs, but he keeps giving in to the temptation before the guilt spiral starts over again. They all choose, and their choices may be guided by having no good alternatives, but the choice has always been his. Of course he gets to keep what makes him fundamentally Jon, because Jon is the perfect Archivist. He didn’t need personality traits grafted onto him. They came ready made for the Eye. How long had it waited for someone just like him?

But the thing about choice is that it’s yours. Accepting that he makes the choices and that they are his alone means that he can control them. He can take whatever control he can muster, even in the face of danger and death. He can make the choice Melanie did, or a different choice. He can choose to act, knowing that his actions are owned only by himself. There’s power in that, every bit as much as there is responsibility.

And Daisy is the perfect example of that. She doesn’t want to go back to the Hunt. She’d die first, but she also will let that Hunt slip back in just a bit to protect Jon from Trevor and Julia. Hearing her and Jon work through her impulses to listen to the blood, to find her way back to calm with his help, was one of the first indications that he really does get that choice. And I find myself hoping that if he can help Daisy, he can learn to make those same choices, and that she’ll be there to guide him back when he needs it.

Bloody Mary, Cost of Living, Reflection

Jon going looking for knowledge the Eye didn’t want him to know was encouraging, and the revelation of Eric Delano’s page was a hell of a thing. First, of course, there was James Wright (watching everyone through pictures and any eye available) before there was Elias, and Elias ‘changed’ a lot. Another point for the Elias-is-Jonah theory, perhaps.

There was also the confrontation of Gertrude with a former assistant, how emotionally distant she was from him and the others, and how hungry she was for knowledge. She wants explanations, not stories though. More practical and less lyrical than Jon. And less emotional. Jon feels thing deeply and desperately. It might be his salvation, as I’ve mentioned, but also it makes him just as human as her, despite his more outward monstrousness.

Eric was definitely in an abusive relationship with Mary, but after the betrayal and what Gertrude put him through, she seemed preferable. And that’s thing, isn’t it? Betrayal and under-handedness hurt worse than straightforward evil in the TMA world. And so Eric accepted Mary and blinded himself to get out of the Institute, and wasn’t even too hurt that Mary turned right around and killed him for his sacrifice. He found the way out because he had someone he loved: his son. Much as tearing the bullet out of Melanie broke her free of the Slaughter, Eric tearing his eyes out let him free of the Beholding.

Could Jon help but entertain that fantasy? Running away, tearing out the part of himself that is a monster once and for all? No more hunger, no more temptation.

But Martin’s right. He can’t do it. Because Jon is still choosing the Beholding, he still loves to Know. He’s turning away from freedom actively. And for Jon, running away with Martin was just this perfect potential ideal, but would never become reality without some really fundamental commitment that both of them lack right now. As much as Jon is sunk in his love for what he knows, Martin is sunk in denial about how much he might actually mean to Jon. He can reject Jon’s proposal easily, because he can’t believe Jon would ever really give up power just for a chance to run away with Martin.

Martin is sunk deep, and Jon, who could reach him if he tried, isn’t trying. Just as he isn’t tearing his eyes out. He’ll be passive, and he’ll look at Martin like an ideal, but the real issue is that neither of them is reaching out to one another as a PERSON. As more than the ideal that they’ve both seen one another as. Being an anchor is all well and good, but eventually you need to dig in and get to know one another to have a true reason to stay human. And they’re both lacking that right now.

Martin is drifting hard. Realizing that he might only think he misses Jon’s voice, that he cares about Jon, that even his love is getting lost to the Lonely is very hard to hear. Because Martin threw himself into all this to save Jon, and he’s not even horrified that he’s losing the original motivation for giving himself to the Lonely. He seems to be going through the motions, letting everything happen, taking the easiest and least ‘noisy’ way out. And that’s the draw of the Lonely right there, isn’t it? There’s no real pain to lose yourself, because by the time you’re lost, you just don’t care. Martin is being eaten by apathy, and that’s the hardest thing to shake. He just doesn’t care enough to do it.

I really appreciate Jon finally confronting Basira about her hypocrisy. The fact that she’s willing to give Daisy over to the Hunt to keep her alive, but is demanding that Jon starve himself to death if he has to is the height of hypocrisy. It’s also deeply disrespectful of Daisy’s very difficult choice. I appreciate that Jon stood up for Daisy’s stand, and I hope that it causes Basira to reflect about how she’s gone about her approach to Jon and Daisy.

Because honestly, they’re both questioning their natures. Daisy understands better, but Jon is actively exploring his nature, and the nature of monstrousness. ‘Cost of Living’ is the perfect example of the entitled nature of a monster’s survival. Each time she was confronted with their death, she found someone to exchange a life with. And what was at first a one-off quickly became a continuous vampirism, one ‘unworthy’ life after another. At each step she blamed the victim, explained her actions by the good she was doing. Jon feels the same pull, but also a revulsion for her self-justification.

And some people would rather do anything other than serve that sort of monstrousness. Melanie gouged her own eyes out, leaving the Archives as definitively as possible. I’ll miss the hell out of her character, but I am so glad that she found a way out. I’m glad that, of all of them, she was the one who seized Eric’s solution. Jon would never do it. Basira won’t do it. Martin won’t. But Melanie still could. She tried so hard to leave for so long that it’s fantastic she gets to go on her own terms. And I’m so glad Jon respected her decision; that she left as bravely and calmly as possible for leaving by ambulance.

Rotten Core, Panopticon

So Martin or someone else left his final tape to Jon. Peter might have left it, Annabel could have done, so many others could have. But the simple question is, what will Jon do with the information that Martin is walking off to oblivion?

Dekker’s final statement was something I wasn’t expecting. It makes sense with the Extinction storyline gearing up, but it’s still strange to hear the end of this remarkable and remarkably eventful life. And to go out in such a horrific way is tragic. He searched for the Extinction so long, only to get taken down by the Corruption. Just accidentally stumbled on John Amhurst, and though it’s good to know that Dekker properly contained Amhurst, it leaves his work unfinished. But then, I think the work of people like Dekker or Gertrude always have unfinished business when they’re finally killed.

Jon is not nearly so sanguine with death. Hearing that the Extinction may be slow or strange or not real at all, he can’t not follow Martin down into the tunnels. He tried to get a second opinion from Melanie, who is with Georgie—in all senses of the word—but she’s out. He tried to go to Helen, who is not interested in helping because it entertains her more if he finds out what’s in the tunnels on his own. She may think he’d just go home and give into his hunger, but the one thing that anchors him is in those tunnels. So Jon is definitely going in.

At least he waited for Daisy and Basira, as much as it must have killed him not to go charging in. And he’s lucky he did. Peter Lukas set the Not-Them loose again, and Trevor and Julia are also back to finish Jon off. And of course, Elias has also made a jail break to be there for the final show of whatever it was that Peter planned.

And it directly affects him, of course, because we finally got that confirmation: Elias Bouchard and Jonah Magnus are one in the same. Jonah left his body behind in the Panopticon that lies at the heart of the labyrinth, permanently jacked into the All-Seeing Eye. That was the Watcher’s Crown, attempted first as himself, and again in other bodies. Peter wants to overthrow Elias, to replace him with a willing puppet in Martin. The temptation of having that sort of power must have been undeniable.

But it all still hinged on Martin choosing to serve the Lonely, to give himself freely to the Panipticon and to Peter’s power. And Martin has been playing this game well. Telling Peter what he wants to hear, all to see what his end-game was. Listening to Peter and Elias duke it out verbally over him, Martin clearly knew that this was never about the Extinction. This was just a stupid bet about whether or not Peter could steal Martin away.

So Martin refuses. As much as he wanted to kill Jonah, he refused the game (but in so doing handed the victory to Jonah).

The reason he knew that Peter wasn’t being straight with him about the Extinction was more than a little heart-breaking, but very in keeping with why he couldn’t believe Jon would really run away with him: Martin cannot believe that he’s important enough to be made a priority, let alone to be made a hero. And so, even though Elias won the round, Peter had one more game to play: he threw Martin into the Lonely, and both he and Elias waited for Jon to arrive. Because consuming the Archivist would certainly wrench the ultimate victory from Elias’ hands.

But Elias is far too calm, and far too pleased with this turn for it not to be just as much set up in his favor as Peter’s. He might have verbally warned Jon against going into the Lonely, but he was all too eager to show him the way. This is just more of his game, and I’ll be interested to see how it plays out.

The Last

Which leads us to the penultimate episode of the season, Jon plunging into the Lonely after Martin. The end-game of whatever bet or game Peter and Elias have been playing with one another turns out to have hinged on first Martin giving into the Lonely, and then Jon following him down. Elias’ biggest pawn is on the line, and Peter has put himself on the line, letting something like the Archivist into his world.

At first, Peter clearly has the home advantage over Jon. He confronts Jon with the fact that he and Martin have been chasing the ideal of one another for so long, but they don’t really know one another. But Jon is pissed, and Jon is hungry, and when faced with dying for Martin, he didn’t even hesitate. Peter doesn’t understand love, or any connection. And so he can’t understand how deeply tied Jon and Martin are to one another. Hell, I don’t know if they quite understand it, except that they’d walk through hell to find one another.

So instead of giving in, Jon fakes his own drift into the Lonely to draw Peter in close, and then goes after him hardHearing Peter’s story was interesting, but not particularly sympathetic. He was created to be a Lukas, certainly, but he also relished it and wallowed in the upper-class life he was given. He wallowed in his loneliness, and hated everyone around him. Sure, his family messed him up, but he embraced it while other siblings didn’t.

So hearing that Gertrude took down his ritual with a call to a newspaper? Amazing. Wonderful. Perhaps my favorite takedown of hers ever. I laughed out loud at Peter Lukas drowning in community outreach.

And hearing Jon tear him apart? Also amazing. Potentially terrible, because once you open that door, it’s hard to close it, and Jon’s “Stubborn fool” is as close to truly being lost to the monster as we’ve heard Jon on tape. But if Jon had to feed, tearing Peter apart wasn’t a bad way to do it. But of course, that means Jon doesn’t get an answer as to how Elias gets him.

But Jon does get Martin. And that reunion? The “I see you”? So beautiful. They’ve built to that moment for so long that the quiet conversation, walking out of the Lonely hand-in-hand and so gentle, was utter perfection.

Which is why having this be the second-to-last episode of the season is so ominous.

The Eye Opens

Here we come to the end, and we begin with domesticity and a continuation of the gentle quietness started last episode. It seems, from the date of the statement, that Martin and Jon did get at least some time together before this episode to settle in and be together, and it shows. There’s a comfort and a familiarity between them I’ve never heard. Whatever time they’ve spent getting to know one another, they clearly fit together exactly as well as they’d hoped.

They may be on the run, uncertain if Trevor or Julia or the Not-Them are still alive, but it has an almost honeymoon feel to it. They’re in contact with Basira, but seem distant from all that, here in their coccoon in the woods with its crackling fire and poetic cows.

And it’s really lovely. Hearing them together, quiet and gentle and happy, was wrenching if only because it came so early in the episode. And then it hits. Jonah, smuggled in as a disguised statement, slipping in and taking over Jon’s body and forcing him to read against his will. You can hear Jon struggling not to read at first, perhaps knowing what was coming, but Jonah’s will was too strong. He’s too good at control to let Jon slip his noose here at the end.

And the end, as it turns out, is the end of the world. It’s discarding the Watcher’s Crown as a botched job, and instead embracing a new ritual: the Magnus Archives. The transformation of Jonathan Sims not into the Archivist, but into the Archive.

And Jonah will become king of the ashes of a ruined world.

Jonah, Rayner, Lukas, and likely Fairchild all came together to become not only the first to realize that the world was almost guaranteed to end, but to figure out how to handle it. Only Smirke kept to his guns and refused to embrace the end. He tried to use balance to prevent it, to keep it from ever tipping over, but one by one the others embraced one power and decided that if the world was going to end, then it should end to their benefit.

Jonah tried the Watcher’s Crown, sitting in the Panopticon, but failed except to become a mind freed of his body. He built the Institute to help himself with the race, trying the Watcher’s Crown again and again, each new body dying and giving rise to another.

And then he realized that the Watcher’s Crown was a flawed ritual from the off. All the rituals were flawed. All the rituals were doomed to failure, because every ritual only involved a single fear. And so there wasn’t enough fear to keep it going. Every one, even the ones not stopped, failed under its own weight.

The true ritual was the Archive itself. Turning a person into an Archive, and through him, with every other power burned into him, tearing open reality. Because the true ritual HAD to have all the fears involved, because all fears are one fear, each blending into each, each reliant on another. And so all powers had to come through at the same time, with the Eye watching over all.

And Jon has been marked by every single fear, chosen by Magnus after he survived Mr. Spider. Stabbed by Michael, burned by Jude, thrown into freefall by Mike Crewe, cut by the Slaughter when he tried to save Melanie, went into the Buried bodily to rescue Daisy … more and more and more until he went into the Lonely to save Martin and took the final step. He consumed stories, consumed lives. He embraced his own power in destroying Peter. He chose to be the Archive at every turn, built himself as a record, wove a tapestry of every fear to create something greater than each alone.

And so Magnus used his Archive. He used Jon’s body and his power, and then left Jonathan Sims, both tied to and gutted by the world he created, behind as the world cracked open. We finish the season with Jon and Martin, clutched together in their cabin, Jon knowing that the whole world has been consumed by the powers and by his own embrace of the Archive.

“Look at the sky, Martin. Look at the sky! It’s looking back.”

The Future

And so we head toward the final season of ‘The Magnus Archives’. Daisy and Basira may both be alive, or Basira isn’t sharing the fact that she’s already killed Daisy as she promised. Melanie and Georgie got out, but there’s not a lot of getting out of an apocalyptic world.

And the world is apocalyptic. Jonah intends to sit the throne of this world, but I’ll be interested to hear if things go to his plan, of if the powers are so much larger than him that he is swept aside as every other living being will be. This seems like the sort of plan born of hubris, from a man so desperate not to die that he’ll burn the whole world to survive it. And I just don’t see fully manifested fears giving much of a shit about Jonah Magnus.

And that leaves Jon and Martin. Jon is having a well-deserved breakdown over his part in this, but I don’t think he’ll get to do so for long. If the Archive was needed to rip the world open, it may be the only way to repair it. Whether that requires Jon to die, or Jon to lose every bit of Archivist in himself to do it, or something else entirely remains to be seen. But he at least has Martin this time, and I genuinely hope that whatever path they walk in the final season, they walk it together. That they fall together or rise together. One or the other being alone at the end would be the worst possible outcome for them at this point. They anchored one another in the Lonely, and they might well be the thing that pulls one another through to saving the world. Going down together might be a sort of bittersweet happy ending for an Archive and the man that keeps him human. What will the world be like now that all the powers are here? Would people like Simon and the other avatar glory in this new world, or does a complete manifestation of all the powers make moot all the appeal of their gods? I’m interested to find out who might be interested in a return to a normal world, and who love their new reality.

40 more episodes until the end. It’s been a hell of a binge, and honestly? I’m very interested to see how thing play out come April.

#The Magnus Archives #analysis #I'm back!#whoo!

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somuchbetterthanthat · 5 years

Note

If you could hit me with a no. 10 on the prompt list for JonMartin and completely destroy me emotionally, I would be very grateful? :D

10 - not said to me. :). :). :). (how dare u.). Disclaimer that 1) i don’t know what martin’s poetry looks like; 2) i myself have written a few bad poems before 3) IN FRENCH. so, yeah. Please, please don’t judge me too hard.

It’s not about what I say, by Martin Blackwood.

I create warmth; carefully measured for your hands,Sweeter than they all expect, even you, to make amends.

“And… You believe him?” Elias asks.

His tone is mild as ever, which tends to make Jon more agitated even on his best days, and this is definitely not one of those - he’s left Martin down in the Archives to settle in, and he can’t stop thinking of his pale, tired face, or the way his eyes had immediately checked the whole room nervously as soon as he’d thought Jon wasn’t paying attention anymore.

“Well, yes,” Jon says impatiently. “I can’t imagine why he would lie about that, and we’ve all been made aware of Jane Prentiss months ago -”

“Mmh, he isn’t a bad liar,” Elias says, which - is a very odd and Elias thing to say, Jon supposes. “But alright, I’ll see what I can do, call the police perhaps. If you’ll please tell Martin to come see me -”

“Not today,” Jon says categorically. Elias’ eyebrows raise somehow even higher than before. “He’s exhausted, and terrified.” he justifies, with no idea why his neck warms up. “He needs rest. You can hear his story tomorrow, surely.”

“Of course.”

Jon nods. “Right. Well. Thank you. On his behalf. For letting him stay -”

“If you don’t mind me saying, Jon, I’m quite surprised of how… ardently you seem to be taking this,” Elias says lightly. “You’ve been very vocal before about your… disapproval of Martin.”

Jon flushes; he can still very well recall the… heated discussion he and Elias had a few months ago, when Elias told him Martin would join them in the Archives. Still; this is not - this is much bigger than any personal feelings, surely Elias can see that -

“I may not like the way Martin works, but I’m not heartless,” he says at last. “He’s - he’s just had a very traumatic experience. I’m not going to begrudge him some kindness just because he’s horrendeous in latin. Besides he’s -” Jon tapes his fingers stiffly on his side. “He’s a… a good man. And if I had been a bit kinder in the first place, perhaps he wouldn’t have been stupid enough to go back there in the first place just to, to prove a point to me.”

And i feel guilty, he doesn’t add; I feel guilty that I’ve been so pleased not to have him around, I feel guilty I didn’t think to check on him properly when he didn’t return my calls, I feel guilty I sent him there in the first place -

Elias seems to understand, like he always does. “Well, that’s a lesson learnt I suppose,” he says. “We’ll see what comes of it soon enough, I’m sure.”

I offer whatever I can, through the dark you take refuge in; I stay here even when you bite, because I don’t need to be seen.

“Tim, one more thing,” Jon says before he can’t stop himself.

Tim turns around to look at him with tensed shoulders, lips pursed and eyes ready for a fight. It makes every single bit of Jon’s agressive instincts rise up as well, but he tries very hard to keep his voice mild and professional when he says:

“I know the situation is…”

“Fucked-up?” Tim says when Jon can’t seem to find the proper word.

“Right,” Jon sighs. “That. I understand it’s been - hard on you but if you would please refrain for taking in out on Martin -”

“Excuse-me?” Tim exclaims, and closes back the door loudly behind him. “Oh that’s rich, Jon, that’s - are you kidding me right now?”

“You’re mad at me,” Jon retorts stiffly. “Yell at me all you want, but I’ve overheard you and Martin yesterday and -”

“You overheard did you?” Tim bites. “That’s none of your business what I say or not say to Martin -”

“Yes, it is!” Jon snaps. “Weren’t you the one who wanted me to be a proper boss? Well, as your boss, I’m telling you there’s no need to take out your anger on your colleague, especially when, out of all of us, I think Martin deserves it the less -”

Tim scoffs with angry disbelief. “You are such an arshole,” he says. “You’re so - You’re such an hypocrite! You literally spent your days before going off at him for the stupidest reasons and now I’m being called off because I got annoyed at his endless cheerfulness once?”

“I’m just saying -”

“No, no, I get what you’re saying,” Tim cuts him off. “Bet that’s going to make Martin’s day too, really; oh, hey Martin, of course i’ll take that cup of tea, Jon said I had to, because he doesn’t want us to hurt your feelings. Get this: next time he might even admit that you’re not a murderer! That’s true love right here!”

“I -” Jon tries again, cheeks flushed and stomach twisting unpleasantly. “If you’re going to make a joke out of this -”

Tim stares at him for a second, and then he shakes his head, looking disgusted.

“God, you’re so - Fine, boss. Be nice to Martin. Added to my to do list of the day. I’ll just go now, or I may punch you, and god forbid I get fired.”

And though you may never hear, surely you must notice,That I fight for you, the small and the big, monsters or police -

“Hey, Jon?”

“Mmh?”

“I’ve been thinking about your colleague,” says Georgie above his head.

Jon opens his eyes back to stare at her, baffled: “Why were you thinking about Martin?”

He knows immediately he’s made a mistake, though, because Georgie’s hand goes back to play with his hair and she gives him a cheeky grin, the kind he’s learnt to dread years and years ago.

“Who says I was talking about Martin?” she asks, and she even has the nerves to waggle her eyebrows at him. He scowls, cheeks flushed.

“Well, if it was Melanie, you would have said her name, for a start. As for Tim and Basira I - well -”

He doesn’t have any excuse; he knows this, and she knows this, and he knows she knows this. Her eyes are sparkling.

“No,” he says.

“Oh, come on,” she laughs. “I was testing a theory, and you’ve proven me right.”

“No,” he repeats, more firmly.

He knows exactly what she’s thinking and it’s - absurd. Utterly, entirely, completely -

“He sounds sweet, from what you’ve said,” Georgie continues, happily ignoring him. “And like he cares about you, which is important, you’re really terrible at taking care of yourself, Jon.”

“I am not, under any circumstances, having this conversation with you,” Jon tells her.

“Who else are you going to talk to about your feelings, uh?” Georgie asks, and then, grins harder. “Martin?”

“Isn’t there an implicit law, somewhere, that forbids exes to talk about each other’s -” Jon stops right there. He’s made another mistake. God, he’s bad at this. Or perhaps Georgie is very good. There’s no words for what Martin is to him, he supposes. He’d like to think they’re more than coworkers, but he’s unsure friends can really apply when he’s spent the last few months unable to trust him for anything at all, and the last few years before that berrating him for poor work ethics. He groans.

“You could ask him out,” Georgie suggests, her voice kinder now. “Have dinner with him, see what’s going on here.”

“Right,” says Jon. “And then what? We date until I become a monster? Until he dies horribly because I made another mistake? Or, perhaps, until the end of the world arrives and we don’t know how to stop it?”

“…Jon,” Georgie sighs softly.

“I - sorry,” Jon mumbles. “I just… I just don’t think dating should be high on my priorities right now.” Georgie opens her mouth again, but he adds, empathically: “Besides, and that is a very important fact, I am not in love with Martin Blackwood. Which means this whole conversation is pointless.”

There’s a blank; The Admiral purrs on Jon’s chest, his claws digging into his sweater rather uncomfortably. Georgie’s eyebrows rise up. Oh, thinks Jon. Third mistake. He’s really, really quite terrible at emotional talks.

“In love?”

So you see, dear one, there are many things I could say to you,I have, before; and I will again, that much is true -

“Look, Jon,” says Basira. “I do care about what’s happening with Martin, but out of all of the things to take out from these tapes, I don’t think that finding him is the priority.”

“Fine,” Jon spits; he’s still clutching the last tape recorder in his hand, as if it could somehow make Martin appear right now, in front of him. “Then I’ll just go find him alone.”

“Jon,” says Daisy calmly between them.

“What?” Jon snaps. “What is it Daisy? What is it you all want me to say? That I’m going to deal with this - this Extinction business right away? I don’t care about a new threat to the world. We have plenty of things ready to destroy the world at any given moment! This whole place is a monument to it! I may very well be on the path to destroy it myself, not that I would know if that’s the case because that’s the information I apparently can’t get by thinking hard! So excuse-me if for once, for once I prioritize -”

“For god’s sake Jon, Martin’s a big boy,” Basira cuts him off, exasperated. “He’s made his choice, he’s very clear about it. He doesn’t need you to throw yourself into danger recklessly again, he needs you to think. Look at all of this! He’s carved you the path for it so if you could just -”

“What did you do, all those months Daisy was trapped in the coffin?” Jon asks abruptly.

Basira looks like he’s just slapped her. “This is not -”

“You searched for her,” Jon continues fierce and angry; his mind pulling at Basira’s thoughts; she stares at him, and when their eyes meet they both feel the gaze of the Eye, staring down at them, heavy and passive. “You searched for her, again and again, you did not give up because there was no body, which meant there was hope. And yes, sometimes, that meant leaving Martin and Melanie at the Institute, unprotected; but you did it, because you loved her.”

“Stop that,” Basira says, very, very coldly. “Get out of my head, Jon;”

Jon does but, for once, he doesn’t waste his breath apologizing. “I am going to find him,” he says. “Because I love him, and because I refuse to believe it’s too late. Everything else can wait.”

But I don’t need to tell you that I love you,Because I know you’ll understand it in everything I do.

“Jon,” says Basira, very quietly. She understood already of course. Jon’s throat is tight.

“I know,” he says, and that’s ironic, that’s so - he wants to laugh, and he wants to cry. “I know.”

“What?” says Martin, worry and urgency in his voice. “What is it?”

“There’s a way to get out,” Jon tells him, very softly. “Of course there is. I just - need to know it.”

“…Okay?” Martin frowns. His hand is still gripping Jon’s arm, warm and comforting, and Jon feels little tears prickle at the corner of his eyes. “Do you - why do I feel like i’m not going to like it?” he asks.

“It’ll be fine,” Jon breathes out. He stares at him, drinks him in, pale and freckled and entirely focused on Jon, as he always were; all this time, doing everything for him, as if Jon deserved any of it - “It’s going to be fine, Martin.”

“You usually say that when it’s not,” Martin says.

Jon laughs. “Right, I guess I do. Basira -”

“Yeah,” she says. “I’ll handle it.”

“Thank you,” he tells her softly. There’s a beat, and then she awkwardly squeezes his hand. “Good luck,” she tells him, and gets up, rising up her gun.

“Wil one of you just tell me what’s going on?” Martin snaps.

Jon turns towards him again; carefully, hesitantly, he lets his fingers run over Martin’s cheek. Martin freezes;

“Martin,” Jon begins. “I -”

I love you, he doesn’t say. What’s the point? Why add to their pain, when there’s already so much of it? I love you, he doesn’t say, and lets his hand fall at his side again, ready to open the door and drown.

#the magnus archives #THIS IS SO LONG OH MY GOD #sorry for the bad poetry #it IS really really bad but for once let's blame me and not poor martin #tma stories

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edelwoodsouls · 5 years

Text

the light behind your eyes

The Magnus Archives, JonMartin, pre-relationship

You'll never go through with it, he said. Watching the blood drip, maybe he doesn't know Jon as well as he thought.

Word Count: 2464

Ao3

inspiration

(this art and this show apparently single-handedly cured my months-long writers block, i only started the show like a month ago, holy shit im in love)

The Institute's halls are darker than they used to be.

He's not sure when it happened, really. Just a few short years ago, he could have called this basement home. It didn't matter that he was sleeping there, that his real home was writhing with worms - that wasn't what gave it that comfort, that warmth. But the knowledge that someone was always there, the camaredie of close-quarters living and near death experience...

He misses it. He misses Tim, with his awful sense of humour. Sasha's laugh. Even Melanie's angry tirades about whatever was pissing her off that week.

He misses keeping Jon company over slowly cooling cups of tea late into the night - not talking, not acknowledging each other, simply existing quietly in the same space, an assurance that he wasn't alone-

He laughs out loud at the thought, the sound echoing like a gunshot down the hollow corridor, because isn't that the point? He's miserable, he's lonely, so it must be working. It'll all be worth it.

But still. The corridors feel cold and empty. Even though he knows Melanie is around somewhere, probably using the pages of some ancient research tome as cigarette paper, and Daisy has been haunting the spaces between the stacks for the last few weeks. And Jon, of course, most likely recording another statement and pretending it satisfies that primal itch in his soul that screams for fresh trauma.

It feels more like a haunted, ghostly archive than the home of several nearly-human disasters who should really be banding together for emotional support.

In these moments, with the others sequestered away in their own problems, Martin likes to wander the halls himself. It's so hard to leave the office without making human contact usually, but over the last few months he's come to sense the pathways of the others, how best to avoid their company. Almost like a sixth sense, or - ironically- a third eye. He takes the chances when he can, stretching his legs, letting himself get lost in the ghosts of better memories.

He's not sure if it's voluntary, or a method of making himself feel more Lonely.

It's the early hours of the morning now, not that he can tell without windows. He hasn't seen sunlight in so long, he's sure his skin must be paler than the pages of a Leitner - even turning on the overhead lights makes him squint.

His footsteps echo off the brick. It must be raining outside, he thinks, because there's an odd, sharp smell in the air, damp and cloying. He almost wants to run outside, feel it on his skin. Maybe it could wash away his - his Loneliness? His attachments? Which would he prefer to lose more at this point?

He can't deny the power that slipping through the cracks, going unnoticed but noticing everything, makes him feel.

His feet guide him thoughtlessly, in tracks he's paced a hundred thousand times before. Through the stacks of old statements, still barely organised from Gertrude's original mess - fifty years is a hell of a lot of statements to manage, after all, especially when the mess is deliberate. Past Tim's old desk - it's Daisy's now, technically, but Martin's never really been one for change.

Of course, his feet always lead him to Jon's door.

He hates to admit how many times he's sneaked up to the small porthole window in the door, peeking in to check in on the archivist. He's seen Jon recording statement after statement, seen him staring absently into stone-cold coffee for hours, seen the absent-minded scratching of burn scars, the many times he's been straight up passed out on top of a mound of files. Only sheer will-power has kept the door firmly between them.

He'll only sneak a quick look, Martin tells himself now, tugging absently at his shirt sleeve. Just to check that the archivist is still alive and breathing - not that anything else is possible now, he supposes.

His thoughts are interrupted by the unmistakeable sound of Jon groaning, a low, agonised noise that sounds forced out involuntarily, through gritted teeth. Martin's heart stutters. For a moment, his feet still. Then he's speeding the rest of the way down the hall and, before he can think better of it, throwing open the door.

Martin freezes. Hand gripped white-knuckled around the door handle, to keep himself standing upright, to keep himself grounded so he doesn't throw up at the sight before him.

That scent is thicker in the air the moment he opens the door, and he realises with a plunging horror that it isn't raining outside, that the stench now shoving its way down his nostrils is metallic and all-too familiar.

Jon is sat at his desk, as he always is, slumped over it, head held in his hands like he's about to fall asleep on the pile of blood-soaked papers below. But it isn't fatigue dragging at him now. It's the steady stream, the waterfall of crimson forcing its way past his palms, curling past his fingers in almost mesmorising, intricate patterns, dripping audibly onto the statements below.

Spread before him among the papers are an assortment of tools. A kitchen knife, a letter opener, a screwdriver - is that a blowtorch? With a sick sense of humour, Martin notices the corkscrew he had kept so closely for protection during the Filth's first attack, now sticky with blood, clutched limply in between Jon's fingers.

His voice cracks as a strangled noise emerges froom his throat in place of words. He swallows down the bile, resisting the urge to clamp a hand over his nose. "Jon?"

Silence stretches deafeningly across the table. Jon doesn't even react to the sound, though his limbs are shaking with a brittle tension.

The corkscrew slips slickly from between the archivist's fingers, clattering on the table like a gun going off, and yet the silence rings louder still. There's an awful static in the air, like when Jon uses his abilities, except now it doesn't seem to stop, doesn't seem to end, just reverberates in his head to the point of pain. Like the very air is crying out silently in pain.

A small sound emerges from behind Jon's hand. He still hasn't moved, hasn't looked up, but Martin would recognise that dry chuckle, tinged with disbelief, any day. It's a sound that's brought him no small amount of delight to hear over the years, even when that disbelief was more indignant and exasperated at Martin's incompetence, because it meant that he had Jon's attention - had, in some way, broken through that stiff upper lip that Jon had once been adamant on presenting.

Now it sends a horrified shiver down his spine. There's no pain in that laugh, just a resignation.

"Martin." The word is spoken so softly he almost doesn't hear it - a whisper, a prayer; a drowning man accepting his fate.

Panic rears, finally, inside Martin's chest like a suddenly startled animal. "Jon, Jon are you okay-" Stupid, stupid, of course he's not bloody okay, but what else can he say, with Jon sitting so calmly as he bleeds out onto his desk? "I'll- uh- hang on a sec, I don't have my phone with me, I'll call the ambulance, oh god-"

You won't go through with it, Martin had said, in a voice as cold as he could make it, as detached and unwelcoming as he could bear. You're a coward, looking for an excuse.

Hit Jon where it hurts the most, cut off any emotional connection keeping them tethered. It's the only way, he told himself, ignoring the sick satisfaction he got from finally scaring Jon the way Jon had often scared him.

He'd really thought he was right, but apparently he doesn't know Jon as much as he thought he did. Or maybe it's his fault, he drove him to this. Who and what has Jon got left, without Martin? Abandoned by those he loves, treated as expendable by Basira, blamed for things he can hardly control by Melanie and Tim, left alone to face that wide, unrelenting eye that pulled their strings.

Jon is far more Lonely than Martin has ever managed to be, and he isn't even trying.

The words continue to fall from his mouth in a panicked babble. "Do you have your phone with you, Jon? Jon? Or did we reconnect the landline after the last attack? I know the hospital ignores calls from the Magnus Institute when possible, but surely they can do something, it's gonna be okay-"

"Martin." Jon lets one of his hands shift slightly, and a trickle of red bursts forth onto the pages. "I guess-" there's that endearing, terrifying laugh again- "I suppose its for the best, that you didn't agree to come with me."

"What?"

"Would've made this a bit awkward, if you'd said yes."

And finally Jon raises his head, and Martin is horrifyingly unsurprised when deep brown irises meet his own. Blood still drips from the nearly-healed whites of his eyes, spilling over like tears. He can see the tissue knitting back together before his eyes, until the only evidence that anything awful ever happened is the drained pallor of Jon's skin, and the sticky wash of half dried blood spread around him like a pool. He's clearly been at this for a while, judging by the dry patches, and the variety of tools at his disposal.

Martin can't take his eyes off the sight. "I..." The words vanish on his tongue like so much smoke.

It's almost worse, he thinks, that Jon is healing so quickly. That the one avenue of escape offered to the rest of them is closed to him forever by the very thing he's attempting to flee. He hadn't regret saying no to Jon, shutting him down, not with the very existence of the human race hanging in the balance - and he still doesn't. It's the mental image of him hidden away in his office, unnoticed, hacking away at his own face for hours without anyone so much as wondering where he was, noticing his cries of pain, that makes him sick with guilt.

"No need for an ambulance, Martin," Jon's face tugs into an awful almost-smile. "I'll be right as rain any second now. But if you happen to have some painkillers, I wouldn't be opposed. Bit of a headache, you see."

Despite himself, Martin lets out a disbelieving laugh of his own. How the hell did they get here? He even misses the long hours of investigation, the haunting paranoia. Even that was better than this resigned certainty of tragedy. None of them are planning to survive this, and if they do? Where the hell can they even go from here?

His feet carry him over the threshold into the office, and he can almost feel the Lonely loosening its clutches, just a little. He offers a hand out, surprised at how steady it remains in front of him. "Come on, Jon."

Oh, how that soft, shocked expression on Jon's face makes his heart break. The fingers that clasp around his feel like burning, an electricity leaping across his skin. When was the last time he touched another person, skin to skin?

It takes a long time to clean up the blood. Martin wishes it could take just a little longer, every touch rekindling an unnameable something in his heart. Sat in the bathroom, Jon is quiet, retreating into himself. His newly healed eyes are vacant. Martin sponges away the crust from Jon's sickly skin, brushes it from his hair, and Jon simply yields to his touch like a doll.

They find a fresh change of clothes in his locker, but judging by the stale air released from the compartment Martin is pretty sure Jon hasn't changed clothes in a long time. When was the last time he took a shower? Brushed his hair? Hell, Martin can't remember the last time he saw Jon eat. Does he even need to eat anymore?

He throws the bloodstained clothes away, and leads Jon back to his office. The statements on the desk are barely legible beneath the crimson, but as he goes to throw them away, too, Jon's hand catches his wrist, the first voluntary movement in almost an hour.

"Jon?"

"I...need those."

"They're unreadable."

"Not to me."

Worrying his lip, Martin silently hands them back, watching as Jon smooths them out carefully on one of the only clean patches of desk. As if he can feel the gaze on him, Jon looks up, finally meeting his eyes once again. God, that softness in his stare is an arrow in Martin's heart. He's painfully aware that he's viewing Jon without any of his walls up, stripped bare, at his lowest. Once he might've considered it an honour that Jon trusted him this much - wanted nothing more, really - but now he just wishes Jon would get angry at him again. It would make this so much easier.

Martin swallows, throat suddenly a desert. "I have to go."

Jon doesn't look surprised, or even hurt, just nods, gaze never leaving his. It occurs to him that the last time they spoke, Jon probably thought it was the last time he would be able to lay eyes on him.

Silence yawns across the room.

"Talk to someone?" It comes out more of a desperate plea than he would've liked. "Daisy, or Basira, or Melanie-" he knows even as he lists them that only Daisy would be willing to bear Jon's company at this point, and she's hardly in any better a place mentally.

"Okay, well..." Words can hardly be adequate enough in this sort of situation. "Don't, uh, don't get too Lonely, Jon?" The archivist's expression sharpens at that. "Before you can't come back from it."

A second of hesitation. Jon nods slightly, jerkily, as if he hadn't even considered the possibilty. "As long as you remember, I'm always here, Martin. I- I trust you, but if you need an anchor... I can be your rib."

"How romantic," Martin snorts drily, before he can think better of it. A flutter of panic ignites in his chest, but Jon just nods, and the flutter becomes something more like hope.

It's not an assurance that everything will be okay. They both know the impending disaster rushing towards them at full speed as they themselves hurtle towards it.

But it's a promise. A thin, invisible cord, anchoring the two of them together.

Today, whatever fresh hell this is, they can take the punches and commit the sacrifices until they're bled dry.

But tomorrow - what if. If there is a tomorrow, any semblance of future? They can take on the world, together.

He leaves the door ajar when he slips back into the corridor.

#the magnus archives #jonmartin #fanfiction #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #own work

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yszarin · 5 years

Text

See below for me, being emotionally compromised by Zombie

- Basira! Basira-and-Georgie! Basira’s sounding a little - oh. She’s it. That’s probably why. Why is she it? Where’s Melanie?

- No other visitors where’s Martin, where’s Martin damnit

- JON! He still seems like a disaster? So probably still Jon?

- oh god asking about Tim, I’ll just leave my heart here shall I?

- Daisy will be back and it will be awesome. But I don’t imagine it’ll be in any sort of way that Basira will enjoy.

- Oh nooo Jon why must you know that’s there. OH NO The Archivist

- excuse you, animals are very important, have you never petted a dog and had them lean on you? probably not.

- oh wow this statement-giver is a piece of work, I’m really enjoying it but I thought you said you liked animals? his poor fish

- oh man this person is still terrible, but eurgh the looking at people and always finding them to already be looking at you makes me feel so uncomfortable

- “a cavity wrapped in skin” damn Jonny-Sims-The-Writer is so good at the words

- at least Stranger-monster is changing his shirt I guess?

- also has Jon’s voice been getting steadily stronger through this thing? I like that.

- aww, no spooksome follow-up notes - would have been nice to hear how the statement giver’s getting on, although I suppose it won’t be well

- I’m glad he’s worried about still being a person, at least? I don’t think Mike or Jude ever did, so it could be worse.

- Tim’s kayaking on the Nile, it’s all fine, he’ll send a postcard soon, I’m sure.

- “What did he do to Martin?”, end me. I have a mighty need for protective!Jon. and also to know the answer to this question.

- we don’t seem to be getting the Magic Compulsion Static at the moment - is Jon not strong enough to compel people? Basira didn’t know what was up with Martin but she did know about Tim, and those were both direct questions, which Jon had previously been unable not to compel on, if how carefully he’d been talking to the others previously is anything to go by. Can he control it now? Is he not doing it or is it just not showing up on tape?

- Jon protesting the idea of Martin working with Peter, ahhhh my heart.

- ahhhh please follow up on Melanie I have things to knowwww, what’s happened to her? why isn’t she around? I love her and all her Elias-murder attempts

- “better ones” how bad is Jon’s dress sense? is this the coat he wore to meet with Jude? The What-The-Ghost shirt?

- Jon, if you want tea you’re going to have to get Martin back. Do it For The Sake Of The Tea.

- so, ah, not to wildly theorise, but maybe just because Basira’s not seeing Martin in the Archives, it doesn’t necessarily mean he’s not there - presuming he still belongs to Beholding, I doubt he can really go very far away. The Lonely seems like it’s got some sort of parallel isolation chamber dimension for its victims to hang out in. We know Peter puts people there, and that that presumably feeds The Lonely. Maybe Peter’s busy with this whole running-the-Institute lark, and can’t go and find as many people as he did, and of course his first priority must be The Lonely, so it’ll be taking care of the Institute and its employees that takes the hit, unless there’s someone in the Isolation, feeding fear to The Lonely? I can see Martin, recently rendered the only remaining conscious member of original team Archives, volunteering to be a battery to keep the others safe, especially if something seems to be up with Melanie. I’m not sure the theory really covers the idea that he seems like he’s working on something with Peter, but I’ve had it now.

- I really enjoyed this episode, it’s setting up a lot of good-terrible things to come and I am really properly hyped for the rest of the season. Hopefully next week we’ll be off to Have Some Fucking Words with Peter Lukas? maybe throw in a few Paddington Hard Stares. I’m very ready for more protective!Jon.

#the magnus archives

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dathen · 4 years

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TMA 164 liveblog dump

Spoilers under the cut!

WELL THAT SURE ISN'T A FOREBODING NAME I almost gotta laugh at how terribly these themes lined up, RIP rusty quill

"Beaujester Real" returns for the patreon thanks slfkjsdf still a legend

oh I hate this! I hate this!

oh I’m getting that hefty Brexit commentary through the metaphor BUT ITS NOT EVEN A METAPHOR ANYMORE

holy xenophobia batman

“they dress in blue and red and white, sometimes splashed with crimson red” convenient this works for both our countries god I thought this would hit hardest on plague level but nope the real horror is MAGA/Brexit all along

KEJDJJFJDNFIFIND MARTINS MIDDLE NAME OH GOD THAT “YOU THINK MARTIN IS MY REAL NAME” SHITPOST WAS RIGHT IM HOWLING

(also east asian martin hc GO GO)

JON STOPPING HIS OMNISCIENCE DEMONSTRATION TO RANT IN BETRAYAL I’M CRYING I LOVE THEM

“I believed you! That’s ridiculous, I thought; that’s not a real name, but you wouldn’t LIE to me—“ I CANT STOP LAUGHINF STOP THIS EMOTIONAL WHIPLASH AFTER WORST STATEMENT

Basira is alive and moving!! looking for Daisy!! DAISY IS OUT THERE!!!!!!!!

“Daisy, I’m sorry—“ ;A; “She thinks she’s going to kill Daisy, like she promised, but she’s conflicted” ;;A;; ;;A;; this isn’t emotional whiplash this is emotional blender

I’m genuinely surprised bc I thought of all of them, Basira would be the most likely to be trapped in something, I AM SO RELIEVED

can’t see melanie or georgie!! the fic theories are right!! the fear immunity!!

Jon having the Panipticon’s power is both sexy and horrifying in implications

“we are something between a pilgrim and a moth” MOTH JON MOTH JON MOTH JON!!!!!

ANNABELLE CANE WAS CALLING MARTIN I KNEW IT WAS THE WEB I KNEW IT WAS THE FUCKING WEB I’m glad they didn’t keep us in suspense for that one long

all those “Martin’s been web all along” theories just got demolished, he couldn’t have refused to pick up a call from her if he was on their side, but I doubt that will stop the theories

I bet the reason why jon can’t see annabelle is the same reason he can’t think about the web lighter

I am literally shaking from now cute jon and martin are, martin’s little “ah!” when jon admits he guessed something rather than Knowing it

“I’m starting to get a bit self conscious, being your post-apocalyptic google~” THE WAY HE SAYS THIS IS SO CUTE SO FUCKING CUTE CUTE JON NATION CUTE JON IS THE TRUTH

also I love Jon hinting that he wants to stop soon and martin agreeing and asking for one more, like I love that even for not Hard Boundaries they feel comfortable saying when they’re wearing down on something and know the other will respect it

MARTIN GOING SOFT SO FAST WHEN JON HURTS HIMSELF WITH THE KNOWING AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

oh boy oh boy I can’t wait to post screenshots of the times Jon rushed to calm Martin down with “hey, hey, hey, it’s okay—“ next to screenshots of martin’s “hey, hey, it’s okay, we’ll go slow for a while”

I can just picture Martin curling around Jon and tucking Jon’s head under his chin as he says this Jon muttering his weak little “alright” into Martin’s chest bblvlbllrbrbrlrbrbrlrbrr

yesssss Jon calling out the Distortion pretending to be Helen Herself as a lie I KNEW IT AND WILL INCLUDE THIS IN MY ESSAY

BRLGKRJGHLRKFBRKR “THE HAPPY COUPLE” oh my god I remember when we were fantasizing about how “more explicit relationship” would happen in s5 and “what if a villain taunts them about how cute they are together” was one THIS SEASON REALLY IS GIVING US EVERYTHING

helen: I always knew you crazy kids would make it work ^_____^ martin, warily: thanks. THIS IS REAL DIALOGUE?? THIS IS REAL????????

also it is just like the Distortion to actively sabotage Jon’s attempt to save Martin and laugh at him in his desperation, only to turn around and act chummy like a gossipy old friend placing bets on their relationship

HERE IT COMES HERE COMES OTHER PEOPLE BLAMING JON FOR THE APOCALYPSE RAGE TIME RAGE TIME fandom better not pull any bullshit

but of course the Distortion would try to paralyze Jon with mind games and guilt and make sure he doesn’t undo the fun new world

Martin I’m sorry but you suggesting Helen might be able to help is the lowest brain cell thing you’ve ever said. She literally just smelled the world loudly and called it a wonderland.

Martin, to the beating heart of the apocalypse: Jon honey darling don’t be rude Martin, to the manifestation of a fear power exulting in a dead world: Excuse me what you just said is rude to me

Martin: So...no shortcuts then. Understood. I’m not leaving you on your own. Helen: *gasp* Such devotion! BGNBBTBRHGLGJKTLGKTBGBBEHGBGBTBBTBFB ARE YOU KIDDINGNGNG NGNG MEEEE

I don’t trust her at all but can we PLEASE have helen trail along behind them the whole journey commenting on all their cute couple moments?? frodo and sam need a gollum after all

“Such devotion! You really don’t deserve it. But you know that already!” Jon.... ;;A;; ;;A;; god helen really is out to crush the humanity out of him with despair so he gives it up, going right for the jugular of not deserving Martin’s love

“Just taking a moment to look. You two are such an adorable couple!” jonny: I spent the whole hiatus creating this sign titled “Martin and Jon are in love and a couple and it’s wonderful” I hope you enjoy being beaten over the head with it ^_^

Jon, venomously: I am NOT nor have I EVER BEEN adorable!! Martin: Okay, first of all, not true. JFJFJFJJFJDNDFJJFJF MARTIN THINKS JON IS ADORABLE MARTIN IS PRESIDENT OF CUTE JON NATION AND HE’S RIGHT not about helen (wtf martin) BUT ABOUT CUTE JON?? correct as FUCK

Jon, adorably: I’m not CUTE I’m DEADLY

someone PLEASE sound clip jon denying that he’s adorable there are tears in my eyes I love him so much I’m going full cat parent

I am so glad Mir introduced me to the phrase “cute aggression” because I got it bad and it is suffocating I gotta go punch a WALL is that why helen is running around killing people?? cause of too much cute aggression over jonmartin???

#the magnus archives #tma #tma spoilers #TMA 164 The Sick Village

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reasonablywittyatbest · 5 years

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The Depths - A Fan Statement

Part of the Lost Statements Series:

Tumblr | AO3

Statement of Jack Miller, regarding an encounter on Lake Superior in his childhood. Statement number 9971202, 12th February, 1997. Basira Hussain recording.

Statement Begins.

I’m not sure this is the kind of story you lot want, but it’s the story I have to tell. I’ve been sitting on it since I was a child. I’m not really sure what compelled me to tell it now, but I saw a piece about the institute on some website about the paranormal and I knew I wanted to come in and share my story.

My parents were both American expats, and every summer they would take me and my siblings to visit our family in the states. They had a cabin not too far from Lake Superior, and we would spend as much time as humanly possible out by the lake. Some of my aunts and uncles had boats and those would be the best times. They would haul us kids out behind them in a rubber tube doing their best to send us into the water. I loved it, every minute of it; until I was probably seven or eight. The water stretching out to the horizon, and the deep blue depth were as familiar as my family. The lake had always felt safe, like home to me as a child.

That was until I found out just how big it really was.

That year a friend of the family had joined us at the lake. I don’t even know whose friend he was, really. I don’t even remember his face any more. But I remember what he said to me.

We were waiting for my aunt and uncle to finish getting the boat on the water. I remember it so clearly, he told me: as large as South Carolina! 1,335 feet deep, ‘who in the world knows what could be living down there?’ Sounding for all the world like he was just so proud to have some knowledge to impart to the younger generation, all while stinking of beer. What a terrible thing to say. I couldn’t stop thinking about it.

Soon my child’s imagination had populated the entire lake with monsters, and dangers, and all manner of terrible things. When it was my turn on the inner tube I didn’t want to get off of the boat, thoroughly convinced something would grab me and pull me down and down and down, until I would never see the light of day again. I started crying, and no matter how much my family tried to convince me I wouldn’t get on the inner tube. I didn’t even want to be on the boat anymore, spending my time on the shore reluctantly playing in the surf with the younger cousins. I even had nightmares.

My parents soon got fed up with it, done trying to gently coax me back onto the lake. Wishing to soothe their irritation I reluctantly went out on the boat again. I was soon talked into being pulled behind the boat on the inner tube as well. All the time, I could just… feel the vastness below us; that deep, dark unknown, waiting for unsuspecting prey. But I dutifully got into the inner tube. I actually had fun again, for awhile; until it got so rough I was finally flung from the tube and into the open water.

I hit the water pretty hard, it knocked the wind out of me with a loud thwap and I sunk like a stone. I struggled to get my bearings. I tried kicking out to propel myself to the surface but it didn’t seem to work, I couldn’t seem to find it. I twisted around and around looking for a hint of light filtering through the water. But there was nothing. It was dark in all directions. And I was sinking, sinking deeper and deeper into the dark. I struggled as I sank, desperate for air. I might well have been struggling against the hand of god for all the good it did.

And as I started to sink I felt something behind me; something with a different… density than the water around me, something big. The first hint was all the hair on the back of my neck standing on end, even in the water. That creeping feeling, absolute certainty something is right behind you. A shiver shooting down my spine as the temperature of the water around me dropped. As I writhed and struggled in the dark it crept ever closer until I knew it was inches away from touching me, my skin tingling in anticipation of it.

I was dying, I knew I was dying, and I wasn’t going to find the surface. There was only one option, my oxygen deprived brain soon concluded. I had to turn around and look at whatever was behind me.

I regret it. I should have let myself die there, rather than having to live all this time with the knowledge I have.

I turned slowly, edging on unconsciousness. It wasn’t just big. It was everything. It stretched out on all sides into everything and nothing. Its vastness stretched out on either side of me as if to embrace me, pull me into it. Yet it had no idea I was even there, so insignificant and small I was. Right before the impossible nothing everything enveloped me I finally opened my mouth and started to scream, and scream, bubbles streaming out of my mouth in no particular direction.

I was still screaming when they pulled me out of the water. Still screaming in between desperate gasps for air and coughing as I lay on the dry deck dripping dark pools of water. It took ages and ages for me to calm down. I tried to tell them but they all brushed it off. According to them I had simply blacked out when I hit the water the wrong way and it was just some sort of trippy near death experience.

But I can assure you it was no such thing. Whatever I encountered that day was real. I have had to live with the knowledge that our universe holds thing so incredibly large that there is no way our existence can even matter since I was so young. I never went back, the next year I begged and pleaded until my parents agreed to let me stay with friends of mine rather than go back to the lake, but I know its still down there, waiting for someone. Waiting for Me.

Statement ends.

. . .

Ugh, I don’t know why I bothered to do this. It still feels terrible. It didn’t make anything better. I… Stupid tape recorder, who’s even listening now.

Fine.

You know, it wasn’t too bad here. Before. Even if I was a prisoner and had a literally evil boss. Everything was in motion, we were working towards something. Now it’s like everything’s stopped, at the worst point in time. Tim is dead, Daisy is… gone. Melanie’s losing it, Martin is off doing what ever and Johns in a coma. And we’re… under attack. Not yet, but it’s coming. I just hope we’re ready when it happens.

Happy now? I hope it’s satisfying.

#the magnus archives #magnus archives #my writing #fuckyesme

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friendlycybird · 5 years

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Season 3 Reactions - Part 1

I’ve developed a strange association since I’ve begun listening to The Magnus Archives. I don’t know how it started but somehow, my go-to food choice for listening is, for some reason, Cup of Noodles. Chicken Flavor, Typically. I don’t understand how this happened, or why, but I strongly associate Cup of Noodle with TMA and I will never understand it, I’ll just go with it. So it is with a Styrofoam cup of cooking noodles set beside my computer that I begin this post.

I’m halfway through season 3, which I was told way back when I was halfway through season one would be the big Lore building season. I just didn’t anticipate how much. I know so much more now then I did at the end of last season, and I’m fully aware I’ve only scratched the surface. So, as of right now, here’s what I think of the first half of season 3.

81. Jon’s awareness of his personality flaws dating all the way back to childhood is, on one hand, good. On the other, I’m always wary when I hear a parental figure described as having “done their best” with a troublesome child...I’m never convinced that was a healthy upbringing.

82. I have a lot of feelings about Martin’s unwavering faith in Jon. Well, unwavering may be a slightly strong word for it but I almost cried when he had that pleased reaction to being told people say he and Jon are close.

83. I love Georgie. Also, I am of course, not surprised that it was a circus display, of all things, that went wrong in this statement.

84. I am so happy that Martin’s reading statements now? I mean. I’m not happy for Martin since reading statements is obviously extremely draining and difficult but I love Martin so getting more of him is always good for me, however bad it may be for him. Also, Melanie stepping in to replace Sasha gives me some...mixed feelings. I really like Melanie and I’m glad to have her on board but this...this kinda makes it real, you know? I think this is when that last bit of hope I was still stupidly clinging to, even after Leitner stated point-blank that Sasha was dead, finally died as well. Sasha’s well and truly gone and has been since season one. It’s Melanie’s turn.

85. I’ve heard this rhyme before. Taking it to its logical conclusion like this was deeply unsettling.

86. This episode was a reminder exactly why I didn’t use to listen to TMA at night. I’ve become a lot more flexible on the subject, and yes, I regret it. I fully intended to sleep with the lights on after I listened to this episode. My partner needed it off so she could get to sleep though so I gave in and settled for just not being alone.

87. I’ve listened to... thirteen episodes after this one. Thirteen. When I listened to this episode, Gertrude’s closing comments were...largely nonsensical to me. All I knew was that something was that she’d been injured somehow, and that this statement suggested an unexpected alliance between avatars and a rushed timeline for The Unknowing. Already a lot of information. I just went back and read the transcript of her closing statement and...there’s so much here. The connection between Gertrude and Jude Perry was one I picked up on a couple episodes later. Looking at this now, it seems like a pretty clear who’s-who of the biggest players currently on the board.

88. I love Martin and I genuinely feel so bad for him with all this. Recording statements is hard and change is harder and everyone expecting him to know things.

89. It’s not often anymore I hear a piece of media and have a bone-deep jealousy of the performer. Jude Perry is a character I want to play. Her dialogue, her *statement*, her power, her...god. She’s just. She might be my favorite antagonist.

90. Poor Tim. He tried to leave, he actually tried to just pack up and go, and it almost killed him. He hates this place with everything in him and hates himself for working there but he’s not ready to die just to stop.

91. I can not tell you how taken aback I was by the fact that the first line we hear from Mike Crew is “You’re sure I can’t get you a cup of tea?” The fact that it seems all he really wants is to be left alone with his powers makes him...I can’t properly say sympathetic. Not after episode 75 but close enough that I’m a little sad Daisy killed him.

92. I was...genuinely prepared to come out of this hating Elias. God knows everyone who was in that room did. I don’t though. Elias comes off to me as nothing so much as the tutor who’s finished his masters thesis on a subject and is sitting down with a first-year undergrad in that subject and trying to explain that yes, I absoloutly could tell you exactly how all of this works but if you don’t learn it for yourself you’ll never pass your tests. Except, with the stakes turned up to 11. I think about Elias a lot. I don’t...I’m not as attached to him as I am to the others, to everyone else who was in that room...but I like him. He’s...interesting.

93. Admiral is a good kitty, comforting Jon like that at the beginning. But the exchange toward the end I will never be over is “I don’t want to talk about it.” “Tough.” “Look, I’m moving out anyway, so just...just forget it. I’m out of your life. Alright?” “No.” - Just. Georgie’s absolute refusal to take Jon’s shit and insistence on actually properly *helping* him - I love her.

94. I remember we’ve seen this philosophy before, the idea that “The moment that you die will feel exactly the same as this one.” the idea that the present and the future are not distinct from one another. I can’t remember what episode it came up in before but also the thought that - accepting that? Accepting the...smallness? Of the universe? Of the human experience? Would just kill you where you stand or, if you survive it, stop you from ever feeling fear again? That’s...a powerful statement really. And one I’m not sure I agree with? It’ll take some time to unpack the philosophy here.

95. Poor Martin. I say that a lot but no really, poor Martin. He’s trying so hard and it’s all just too much. For him to give up on professionalism is just sad. His exchange with Basira at the end is another look into the philosophy it seems the show is building. What do you do in the face of helplessness? “You make the best of things.” Basira says. Of course, as interested as I am in the overall message of TMA (beyond always carry a fucking flashlight, which was the lesson I took from season 1 and now there’s one clipped to my purse) I’m even more overwhelmed by the fact that the idea of escaping himself never occurred to Martin.

96. Feels good to get some answers about Breekon and Hope finally. Proper ties to the circus it seems, although the questions from episode 93 all still stand. TMA is really good at it, at giving you an answer, and it’s definitely an answer you know something you didn’t - and yet, none of your actual questions have been answered.

97. As if it wasn’t enough that the statement hit a little closer to home than the typical TMA episode as I live in Oregon, so less then 500 miles from whatever the fuck that pit was. Of course, when the statement occurred I was safely down in California but all the same, unnerving. As if THAT WASN’T ENOUGH. Fucking. Orsinov fucked me up, guys. I was *shaking*. I don’t know what it is but she is, as a character, well beyond terrifying. I. I don’t have words for how much she scares me. I don’t even know why. I just. Everything about her is just. Fuck.

98. I quite enjoyed Tim pointing out the problem with the “They can never know I have to project them” bullshit that Jon is prone to. That said, I find it ironic that Tim can, in the space of a page, go from calling the Institute, and by extension the Eye, evil, to saying “ignorance isn’t going to save anyone.” - because that’s what The Eye seems to be. Just knowledge. Observing, Learning, Knowing. It’s not...at least...I don’t know that it’s as evil as Tim thinks it is. Ruthless, detached, inhuman, yes. Evil? I’m not at all sure of that.

99. Another American Statement, this time about The Dust Bowl. We also get names of several more...powers. The Spiral, The Buried, The Hunt. But more then that. We find out that Michael use to be Gertrude’s Assistant! Which. Is he like Mike? Did something change him? He always felt...older...than that? It would explain why he seems to have so much curiosity toward the archive and the archivist though...

100. and finally, an anthology of sorts, of what happens when people who don’t have The Archivist’s ability try to take statements live. Two things stand out to me about this. The first? Martin, you absoloute sweetheart why are you trying to pay the woman? She gave you fuckall and might not even have been telling the truth. And also... “Elias can be quite... ‘protective’ of his people.” Like. !!!!!!! I mean. After reading that statement, that whole speech for Jon before everyone got there back in episode 92... after all that and people like Peter Lukas still see Elias as ‘protective’ ...I..you know I think it might be true? His total lack of anger when Melanie tried to poison him and just the fact that he’s trying so hard to prepare Jon? I don’t know. It’s funny, I’m always inclined to think the best of people. With Elias though, I’m not so quick to think there might be anything genuinely good to him, but, I definitely can’t see him as evil either.

#Cybird Says Things #about TMA #The Magnus Archives

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