#Tim Stoker has ruined me and I do NOT know why | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

bluejayblueskies · 3 years

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storge

n. familial love, born out of familiarity or dependence; a natural, unforced, instinctual love

Words: 3.3k

Fandom: The Magnus Archives

Relationships: Danny Stoker & Tim Stoker, Sasha James & Tim Stoker (background)

Characters: Tim Stoker, Danny Stoker, Sasha James, Minor OCs

Additional Tags: AU - No Supernatural, AU - Everyone Lives/No One Dies, Internalized Acephobia/Arophobia, Implied/Referenced Arophobia (minor), Aromantic Character, Asexual Character

Summary:

Danny finished the last slice of the pizza they’d ordered, stared at the credits scrolling across Tim’s television screen from the cheesy Valentine’s Day rom-com they’d just finished watching, and said with feigned casualness, “I don’t think that’s for me.”

Tim, who had wanted that last slice of pizza, thank you very much, rolled his eyes and said, “Well, then I’m picking the pizza toppings next time. Maybe then we won’t have a pizza that only tastes like jalapeños.”

Read on Ao3

Or, read below (additional warnings below the cut):

Additional warnings: - character forcing himself to stay in a romantic situation even after he becomes uncomfortable - character mentioning the possibility of forcing himself to have sex with someone (doesn’t actually occur)

So here’s the thing: Tim is terrible at giving gifts. It doesn’t matter how long he’s known someone or how many of their favorites he can list off the top of his head—he still always ends up getting them something so incredibly, horribly generic because he just can’t do it. Sasha’s never going to let him live down the time he got her the exact same mug she keeps in the archives because he panicked, okay? And it was the only thing he could think of that wasn’t just candles or soap.

(“I honestly would have preferred soap,” Sasha said as she covered her mouth with one hand to stifle her laugher, the other still grasping the mug. Tim was significantly less amused.)

The one silver lining to the whole thing is that it’s never been a problem with Danny. Not because Tim is necessarily any better at getting gifts for him, but because Danny treats each and every gift from Tim like it’s something incredibly special and unique. Once, Tim got him a six-pack of plain black socks—just to test his theory that Danny was just being nice, or maybe just as a joke (or possibly both)—and Danny said, with a million-dollar smile, “You know, I was just thinking the other day how cool it would look to pair a patterned sock with a black one. This is great, Tim!”

Yeah, Tim’s pretty sure that Danny’s just fucking with him at this point. But honestly, Tim doesn’t really mind. It takes a lot of pressure off him during any of the traditional gift-giving seasons because he knows that whatever he gets Danny, Danny will just smile and thank him like it was what he’d always wanted.

Maybe that’s why Danny does it, Tim thinks as he stares at the dozens of tabs open on his computer, each for a different online retailer. To relieve the pressure.

If so, then Tim’s really ruining the whole thing now, isn’t he? Because instead of doing that follow-up Jon requested two days ago, Tim’s been agonizing over whether to get a mug or a shirt or a pin, or maybe something more personal like those sunglasses he’d seen the other day, or—

Or maybe something from the million other terrible ideas Tim’s had. With a long, drawn-out groan, he pushes back from his desk, stands with a too-loud pop of his back that has Sasha glancing up from her paperwork with a grimace, and makes his way to the breakroom.

He needs coffee.

As he waits for the pot to brew—because he’s the only one who drinks coffee in the archives (and yes, Sasha’s intricately named espresso beverages are technically coffee, but he doesn’t deign to count them)—he closes his eyes and tries to convince himself, yet again, that there’s a good reason he’s putting himself through this, and that no, it is not a stupid idea that has a ninety-nine percent chance of backfiring horribly.

It had gone like this:

Four months ago, Danny had finished the last slice of the pizza they’d ordered, stared at the credits scrolling across Tim’s television screen from the cheesy Valentine’s Day rom-com they’d just finished watching, and said with feigned casualness, “I don’t think that’s for me.”

“Oh, absolutely not. Last time you put pineapple and pepperoni on it, which is grounds for termination from topping-decisions for life.” Danny paused, and then he took his eyes away from the television, looked at Tim, and said, with distinctly less casualness, “I meant the movie. Um. The romance part, specifically.” Then, with a disarming smile: “I’ve got the comedy more than covered, after all. I told you I got that wedding gig, right? Maybe I can try some of my jokes on you.”

Danny opened his mouth again, clearly ready to launch into a demonstration of his latest vocational pursuit, but Tim’s brain had finally parsed Danny’s words enough to say, maybe a bit too abruptly, “Hold on, hold on. Let’s go back to the romance bit, yeah?”

He really, really hoped the statement had come off less accusatory and more encouraging. It must have worked because Danny’s smile faded into an expression that didn’t look afraid, only nervous. Still, Tim felt the need to add, with the edges of his words sanded down into something softer, “Obviously, you don’t have to tell me anything you aren’t comfortable with. But I’m all ears.”

“Mm, they are pretty big,” Danny quipped. “Only going to get bigger, too.”

Tim just sat back on the couch, crossed his arms, and waited. The credits on the screen continued to roll, the peppy pop music that accompanied them disrupting what might have, in any other situation, been an awkward silence. It still felt like an awkward something.

Then, Danny sucked his bottom lip between his teeth, worried it for a few seconds, and said, “Okay, so- you remember telling me about when you figured out you were ace, right?”

“Right,” Tim said.

“Right,” Danny echoed. He fiddled with the silver ring on his left thumb absently, like he always did when he was nervous or when he had a million things racing through his head and he was trying to decide which thread to pull that would make them all come together into a neatly-stitched pattern. “Well, I guess all the stuff you said about liking sex but not wanting it with anyone in particular got me thinking about things that I like. And, uh. Things that I don’t.”

There was another pause. The television screen had gone dark and the silence that stretched over them didn’t feel awkward anymore. Just heavy. Danny gave the ring on his finger another twist and said, “It had never really occurred to me that I could like to do something but not with anyone in particular, you know? Like- okay, so I enjoy flirting. I think all those stupid, cheesy pickup lines are hilarious, and seeing how people react to them is really fun. I mean, sometimes people laugh, sometimes people get annoyed, and sometimes people blush. But I never want anything out of it, you know?”

Danny stared at the blank screen; the profile of his face showed a smile, but the lines of his forehead and the creases around his eyes were tight. Wordlessly, Tim moved closer so that his shoulder pressed against Danny’s, light enough that it wasn’t oppressive but a grounding presence all the same. From the way that Danny relaxed slightly at the touch, Tim decided that it was a good move.

“One time, actually, someone offered to buy me a drink. You would have liked him, Tim—he had this really strong jawline, little bit of a five o’clock shadow, bright red hair. So I got the drink, and we talked, and even though he was funny and I had to stop sipping my drink because I kept choking on it when he would tell another joke, I just had this itching underneath my skin, like I just couldn’t get comfortable. But,” Danny said with a tight smile, “I ignored it. I told myself, You flirted with him first, Danny Stoker, and this is what happens when you flirt with people. Sometimes, they flirt back. So I had my drink. And then another, you know, because drinks are like potato chips, you can’t have just one.

“He didn’t ask me to- to come back to his place or whatever, which was- god, I don’t know what I would have done.” Danny bit his lip, leaned more heavily into Tim’s shoulder. “Probably would have said yes? And I don’t need you to tell me that that would have been stupid. I know.

“Instead, he gave me his number on one of those fancy business cards—I don’t really remember for what company, I threw it away as soon as I got home—and told me to call him. And I knew, as soon as he said that, that I wasn’t going to. That it- it wasn’t fun anymore, because there was this expectation to deliver.” Danny’s forehead creased, and he shook his head slowly. “No, that’s- that’s not quite right. An expectation to reciprocate, maybe?

“The thing is, the idea of romance and dating and all of that sounds interesting in theory, and sometimes I can even imagine myself doing it—albeit not with anyone in particular, just like as a thought exercise I guess. I tried, a few times, to put a specific face to whoever I was going on lovely Italian wine tours with or- or hand-feeding grapes to on a bed on some island. Tim, don’t make that face, wine tours and grape feeding are peak romance. Uh, I think.

“Anyway, anytime I tried to imagine dating someone instead of just dating, I got that same itching feeling under my skin. And I thought, well, I’m just not picking the right people. It’s got to be someone I really like, you know, someone I care about. Clearly, red-haired guy had not been the one.

“And then… I found someone. Her name was Ash and she was just everything I ever could have wanted. She was funny and brave and did this little thing with her nose when she laughed that made me laugh, and she was a much better rock climber than me but I was better at rappelling because she could never trust herself to lean back unless someone guided her down, and I really, really thought that it could be her, you know? I knew that I loved her, and even though most of my standard lines bounced right off her, a few stuck. If I tried, really tried, I even thought I could picture it: every single corny, cheesy date I’d ever imagined, with her face cut and pasted into the image. It was a bit like a bad Photoshop edit, you know, where the edges clearly didn’t fit? But I ignored it because it fit well enough, and she made me happy.”

Danny took a long breath and let it out just as slowly. Tim thought of a million things to say, a million reassurances, that he eventually let sink to the back of his mind and dissipate. Instead, he fought back against the instinct to break the silence with a laugh or a word or just a noise and instead leaned further back against the couch. Patience was not his strong suit, but he could do it for Danny.

Finally, Danny continued, “And then one day, she… she asked me out. I guess I must have looked pretty shocked because she laughed and said that she’d been flirting with me for weeks, just like I’d been with her, and so there was no need to look so surprised. The thing is, I hadn’t even noticed. Every time she’d made some joke and I’d laughed, I’d thought that was just normal. Being friends, you know? Maybe that’s stupid, given that I’d been flirting with her too. Maybe not. I don’t know.

“I said yes. And spent the next four days regretting it. I just couldn’t stop thinking about it. We were planning on going out to dinner that Friday, and the entire night before I got maybe an hour of sleep? I just kept thinking, you know, is she going to want to hold hands? Is she going to want to kiss me? Is she going to want to do more than kiss? What about other things, the wine and the grapes and rings and weddings and kids and—”

Danny cut off with a sigh, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes. “Yeah, so I called her an hour before I was supposed to meet her at the restaurant and said that something had come up and I couldn’t make it. Which was a lie of course, and I’m pretty sure she could tell because instead of asking what was wrong or what had come up, she just said okay. In a voice that sounded like it very much wasn’t okay. And when she hung up, I realized we hadn’t scheduled a new date. And it filled me with so much relief that I just felt guilty, because I still loved her, you know? And I just couldn’t understand what I was doing wrong, why I liked to flirt but felt so uncomfortable when it actually worked, why the idea of dating didn’t bother me until it became a reality, why every single ‘crush’ I had just felt so forced even if I cared about the person so much it hurt.

“And then you told me that you were ace, and you talked about how it felt to be ace, and I just couldn’t stop thinking about Ash. I didn’t think that your situation was the same as mine, but it just—it felt close? So I finally thought to look up how I felt. And I’m still not one-hundred percent sure what label fits or whatever, but just knowing that there’s labels at all, that there are people out there who feel the way that I feel and that I’m not just- just doing it wrong—god, it was just this huge weight lifted off my shoulders.”

Danny laughed, a bit harshly, born more of a release of nerves than of humor. “Is it a bit weird that I still really like to flirt? Maybe I should give a disclaimer before every pickup line: Hello, I’m Danny Stoker, I’m some flavor of aromantic and asexual, this flirting is purely platonic. Hmm, that’s a bit wordy.”

Then, a smile cracked Danny’s face in two, tinged with more than a hint of devilish teasing. “Maybe I’ll make a business card.”

Finally, Tim broke his vow of silence with a snort. He nudged Danny’s side with his elbow and said, “It can be a family venture. Stoker and Stoker, aspec brothers in crime.”

Danny’s smile softened into something subtler, and he said, with an unusual amount of sincerity in his voice, “Thanks, Tim. I… I mean, I didn’t think you would react badly, but still. Thanks.”

And Tim’s heart broke just a little, and he pulled Danny to his side and wrapped his arms around him tightly. “Never,” he said firmly. “I’m really glad you told me, Danny. Really, really glad.”

So yeah. Tim can’t mess this gift up, because Danny had trusted him with this part of himself, and Tim really, really wants to support him in every possible way. Even if that way involves cheesy novelty mugs striped with the colors of the aromantic flag.

Ugh.

Tim grabs his distinctly not cheesy plain black mug of coffee and makes his way back to his desk, entirely absorbed in a swirling mess of thoughts filled with blacks and greens and whites and purples. Which is why he doesn’t notice Sasha sitting at his desk until he nearly sits on top of her.

“Christ,” Tim says, jumping back so quickly he nearly spills his coffee. Sasha barely acknowledges him; she’s too busy typing away at something on his computer, and when Tim looks over her shoulder, he realizes with a sickening horror that she’s closed all but a few tabs on his computer. Tabs that he’d carefully curated. Tabs that he needs.

(Tabs full of indecision and terrible, terrible ideas. But he needs them all the same.)

“I hope,” Tim says with a voice that’s only slightly on the saner side of panic, “that there’s a perfectly good reason why you’ve thrown a wrench the size of a small house into my gift planning process? Because otherwise, I am three seconds away from freaking out.”

Sasha waves a hand at him, still not looking away from the screen. “All your gifts suck, Tim.”

“Hey!”

This time, Sasha does look at him, something apologetic in her eyes. “Sorry. But they do.”

Sullenly, Tim says, “Danny doesn’t think my gifts suck.”

Sasha sighs and turns back to the computer. “Danny loves you a lot more than he loves your gifts. But that’s not the point.” She types something on the keyboard, navigates through a few windows without even taking the time to look at their contents. “You’ve been scowling at your screen all day, Tim. And I know it’s not because of that Remmier case that Jon assigned because I finished that yesterday.”

“Oh. Thank you?”

“Yup. You owe me coffee.” Sasha types a few more things, squints at the screen, then makes a noise of triumph. “There. Get him that and thank me later.”

Then, Sasha’s out of his chair and back at her own desk, leaving behind only a warmth that Tim can feel as he takes his own seat and finally gets a good look at what’s on the screen.

Huh.

Tim orders it. And a few days before Danny’s birthday, he has an idea. Maybe the only good gift-giving idea he’s ever had.

So the next time he’s at the shop, he picks up some supplies. And for someone who majored in anthropology and doesn’t know the first thing about graphic design, he’s quite happy with the final product.

And when Danny unwraps the box on his birthday, sat on Tim’s couch with empty boxes of Thai takeout in front of them, the first thing he sees are the cards, set right on the top. It’s a silly little design, a set of two mountains striped with the aromantic and asexual colors, and next to them:

Stoker & Stoker, Inc.

Aspec brothers in crime

Where the flirting is platonic, NOT erotic!

Underneath the cards, there’s a new climbing rope, striped with greens and whites and greys and blacks, and a matching set of metallic purple carabiners, something that Tim absolutely never would have thought of but that’s perfect nonetheless. Danny takes a card in one hand, runs the thumb of the other over the edge of the climbing rope, and looks at Tim.

And Tim thinks he gets it, then. Why people put so much time and effort into giving people thoughtful, meaningful gifts. Because Danny’s expression isn’t fucking with him or relieving the pressure or just being nice or even this was what I’d always wanted. It’s something truer, something softer, something that sits in the pit of Tim’s stomach and burns softly, warming him gently from the inside out

Yeah, Tim’s never going to be able to go back to generic gifts after this. He’s going to need a much larger coffee budget.

(This conviction lasts, at least, until later in the evening, when Tim confesses that Sasha helped him with the gift and Danny laughs and says I figured, before saying in a quieter voice that the climbing equipment is great but the cards were Tim. That the black socks and novelty mugs and vanilla candles were generic but that they were Tim as well and that Danny had made it a game to try and guess what Tim was going to get him that year, keeping a bet with Sasha on how long it would take Tim to accidentally give him the same gift twice.

Hey, Tim says, but his mouth is twisted into a smile. He ruffles Danny’s hair in that way he hates and says that he’ll stick to the basics from now on, then, and they put on some shitty comedy that Danny insists on watching and eat ice cream until their stomachs hurt.

And if Tim sees Danny glancing at the business card every so often, wearing a smile so soft it’s almost melting, he certainly isn’t going to mention it.)

#tma #the magnus archives #tma fic #the magnus archives fic #aspecarchives #tim stoker #danny stoker #sasha james #my writing #my fic #internalized acephobia //#internalized arophobia //#acephobia //#arophobia //#aroace danny stoker #asexual tim stoker #sex-favorable tim stoker #i am once again on my stoker brothers bs

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beholdme · 3 years

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All the Many Shades of Gerry - Chapter 18

Chapters: 18/19

Fandom: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Gerard Keay/Jonathan “Jon” Sims | The Archivist, Martin Blackwood/Gerard Keay, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan “Jon” Sims | The Archivist, Gerard Keay/Jonathan “Jon” Sims | The Archivist

Characters: Martin Blackwood, Jonathan “Jon” Sims | The Archivist, Gerard Keay, Tim Stoker (The Magnus Archives), Sasha James, Gertrude Robinson, Elias Bouchard

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe, Library AU, Librarian Jon, Artist Gerry, Trans Male Character, Trans Martin Blackwood, Canon Asexual Character, Asexual Jonathan “Jon” Sims | The Archivist, Ace Subtype - Sex Positive, Polyamory, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Romantic Fluff, Falling In Love, Boys in Skirts, Kissing, Demisexual Gerard Keay, Minor Character Death, Past Character Death, Canon-Typical Child Neglect, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Flirting, Minor Jonathan “Jon” Sims | The Archivist/Tim Stoker, Adventures in Hair Dying, Happy Ending, Banter, Gerry has a lot of sass, Gerard Keay is Morticia Adams, Jon is a very grumpy Librarian, Martin adores them anyway.

Summary: In which Gerry is a kaleidoscope and Jon and Martin can’t help falling in love with him.

He happens to love them back.

Find it on Ao3

[1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] [9] [10] [11] [12] [13] [14] [15] [16] [17]

They cook, they feed him, they chat away about inane things. Their presence soothes Martin and their voices fill him with the warmth sucked away by his unexpected encounter.

Gerry helps him make tea after dinner, and they all sit at the table together, even the cats sleeping nearby, cuddled up into one big, grey and black fluff ball.

"I think," Martin begins, voice croaky, "That I would like to tell you now."

"We're ready to listen if you're ready to tell us." Jon offers softly. Gerry reaches over to take one of his hands, turning it over to kiss the palm sweetly.

Martin talks, voice quiet and even.

"In the beginning, it was just a normal relationship. Except for the fact that he was almost twenty years older than me, and about a million times richer. I didn't know that at first, of course. He was just a middle-aged man I met in a gay bar, who didn't seem to mind that I was trans. I felt secure in our relationship, if not exactly nurtured or adored. I had never felt very secure before, and it seemed like enough, you know?

"He took me out, brought me a few things in the beginning. He was very dominant, sexually, but I was a lot less sure of my own preferences back then and I thought it was fine. He never even blinked at my trashy flat or cheap clothes, and I didn't even realise just how much money he had for a long time. Maybe I just can't really comprehend that much money, even now.

"When I was twenty-two, my mother died, and…" He huffs out a shaky, emotional laugh. "Well, I was a real mess. I lost my job, and almost my flat. Peter started paying for things, my rent, clothes, meals. He said that I needed somewhere to live and had to eat and look presentable, and it was his pleasure to provide those things for me. It made me feel a bit gross, but I struggled to find another job, and so I accepted it."

Martin hesitates here, before continuing. "The problem started when I wasn't interested in sex one night."

"He forced you?" Gerry interrupts to ask dangerously, threat explicit in his quiet words. His eyes seem to glow faintly in the growing dark of the room, as the sun sets. He wishes, more than ever, that he had helped Jon kick the shit out of Peter Lukas, instead of stopping him.

Martin sighs, eyes pressed tight closed for a second. "Not exactly. He simply pointed out that he paid for me to exist. So I made myself interested."

Gerry's hands tighten into fists and he moves them under the table where Martin can't see them anymore. Jon suddenly looks very pale. They share a look, neither able to see much difference between 'forcing' and what sounds a lot like financial abuse to them.

Martin pulls his legs up to his chest, curling around them as he goes on. "Our relationship became a lot more transactional after that night. I disengaged whatever feelings I had left for him and simply drew all my emotions down deep into myself. I wasn't ashamed to be getting paid for sex, but I felt like I had lost my own consent in the matter. Peter honestly seemed like he had gotten exactly what he wanted. Money was nothing to him, and he had someone to take out on his arm or shag whenever he wanted, without the work of a real relationship, or the complications of unfortunate attachments.

"So, if I needed something, I told him. He set a date, took me out, fucked me. He gave me however much I needed."

Martin shrugs, looking down at his hands. "I honestly hated it. Not because of the prostitution itself, sex has always been very nurturing for me, and I sometimes caught the idea that it was only another way to care for people, and being paid for that is perfectly fine, if you're doing it for the right reasons. The real issue was Peter himself. He had this way of making me feel… bereft and hollow, even before the money came into it."

A few tears track down his face, although his face remains rather blank, in a numb way. It's only as he admits the next words that his voice breaks and the heartbreak works its way out again.

"I was very foolish. Looking back, I can see that I was still a child in a lot of ways. I put myself into a situation that damaged me, but I accept the consequences of those actions, both then and now. I- I-"

"Martin," Jon whispers, warm love clear in his voice. It's nothing but an offer of support, one that he desperately needs right now.

He presses his eyes shut, forcing away the stutter and the lump of tears. "I knew I wasn't going to be able to get out of it, even if I got a crap, minimum wage job that I was qualified for. So I started applying for any work that was available. I made every application exactly what they wanted, and I hoped for the best. When Elias offered me the job at Magnus, I took it happily. Since then I found out that Peter knows him, and probably arranged the job for me, but at the time I had no idea. Looking back, I know that it's a miracle that I got out of it at all. Peter could have chosen to make my life a living hell. Instead, he accepted the several firm rejections I offered him.

"He promised me that we weren't done, that I would be back, but he left me alone. I was done. I moved on with my life, even if I had to lie to do it." Martin sighs, shakes out his shoulders, the most difficult part over now.

"I had always planned to be open about it with my next relationships, but they were so fleeting that it never even came up. By the time I fell for Jon, it had become a secret, one I was loathed to dig up for a relationship I was convinced wouldn't last. I thought to myself, 'Why ruin something that makes me happy?' I assumed it would fall apart anyway, and it was easier to allow it to be in the past.

"But I am sorry. I'm sorry that I never told you. I'm sorry you had to find out from him. I'm sorry that we've been together for more than a year and we basically live together, and I've put you in this position. I love you both, very very much."

"When did you eventually decide that our relationship was going to last?" Jon queries, genuine curiosity in his voice.

There's a beat of hazy silence at the abrupt change in tone and topic.

"Oh, ah-" Martin stumbles over his words, unsure how blatantly honest to be. He chooses the real truth, no matter how unfortunate. "The day that I got Luna was the first time I really accepted that you both loved me."

Jon simply raises an eyebrow, completely unconcerned. "What about you, Gerry?"

"With you," Gerry responds easily, "at the hospital in Morden, when I was so panicked that I couldn't decide if I wanted to kill you or handcuff us together for the rest of our lives. With Martin-"

He breaks off with a laugh, colouring slightly. "It was the day we dyed my hair purple."

"The first time we had sex?" Martin asks, surprised at such a hedonistic answer.

He laughs again, more confidently this time. "No, actually, although that was spectacular. It was afterwards, when you braided my hair for the first time. That was the first time anyone had ever braided my hair. It made me feel so… So honoured. Like I was the most precious thing to you."

"Gerry, you are the most precious thing to me. You both are." Martin whispers, tears creeping back into his voice.

"Good, because the feeling is mutual, and we desperately need you around to keep us in line," Jon tells him, voice unusually firm and confident.

"What about you?" Martin remembers to ask him, at risk of floating away in his post confession haze. "When did you know?"

"With Gerry, it was when we were teenagers. I kissed him for the first time, and he laughed at me. I just knew he was my soulmate." Jon rolls his eyes at this, but his voice is full of blatant affection. "With you, Martin, it was- Well, to be quite honest with you, there was no one special moment. It was a million tiny moments, all of them special and perfect to me. Every cup of tea, every frown while you were writing poetry, glasses pushed haphazardly up into your lovely hair. The easy, glorious look on your face the day you met Gerry for the first time, as if you weren't even capable of not falling in love with him, just as I hadn't been. It was especially the days that I would come out of the library and find you waiting for me after work. This weight of total surety would fill my chest and leave me gasping, needing you."

Jon sighs, his own eyes a little bright. "I suppose it was really the night you kissed me in the rain, and every soft moment since then has only affirmed the way I knew you were it for me."

Jon smiles at Martin so beatifically that he forgets to breathe for a moment.

"We love you too, Martin," Gerry tells him, reaching out to grasp a hand. Jon takes the other. "And we wouldn't want you any other way."

***

The next morning, Martin wakes to find Jon eyeing his phone intently. Gerry is asleep on his other side, and he feels warmly cocooned between them. Gentle cloudy light fills the space, encouraging the comfortable cozy atmosphere of their bed.

"What's wrong, love?" Martin asks sleepily, snuggling into his side.

"I got-" Jon pauses, utterly flummoxed. "I got paid a bonus."

"What?" Equally perplexed, Martin takes his phone, squinting as he tries to read the screen.

The banking app is open, and there is indeed a deposit there, Jon's normal salary amount, but on completely the wrong date.

In the purpose box, it simply reads 'Entertainment Value'.

"You don't think," Jon starts, hesitant, "that Elias paid me…"

"For hitting Peter Lukas?" Martin finishes, "His own husband."

They blink at each other, bewildered.

"Does that seem… slightly cursed, to you?" Jon whispers as if Elias might hear him. Even worse if Elias could hear them, and would probably enjoy being accused of having a cursed relationship.

"Yes, completely cursed. What is up with those two?" Martin looks as if he's smelled something bad.

"We absolutely cannot spend this money, right?" Jon asks. "Lest we are cursed with their relationship dysfunction."

"Correct," Martin responds firmly, shuddering. "Can we donate it to the animal shelter?"

"I think that's a wonderful idea." Jon's relief at this resolution is palpable.

He does it straight away, as if even having the money in his bank account might ruin their lives.

They let out a simultaneous sigh as the transfer goes through.

"That is wild," Martin mutters as he snuggles back down.

Jon tosses his phone away, no longer interested in it. Instead, he wraps his arms around Martin, burying his nose in his lover's hair. It smells of bergamot and tea leaves and the ocean in winter, just like Martin himself, and Jon luxuriates in the moment.

"I love you, Martin K. Blackwood." He whispers into the soft air.

"Even if I don't actually have a middle name?" Martin whispers back.

"Especially because of that." Jon chuckles.

They lay together, the gentle moments of the morning flowing around them. Later, they get up and shower together. They drink tea in front of the big windows in the living space. Martin reads a book from Gerry's shelves, his own books still packed, and Jon wanders off to play his piano where it is randomly set up, right in the middle of Gerry's typical painting area.

Gerry himself appears downstairs, still sleepy and bleary-eyed. He curls up with his head in Martin's lap, listening to Jon fill the flat with gentle music.

It's the soft sort of moment that each of them had been wishing for all their lives, full of love, and family, and a home of their very own.

#the magnus archives #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #gerry keay #jongerrymartin #fic #also on ao3

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jonspurpleskirt · 3 years

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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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voiceless-terror · 4 years

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Only a Dream (The Magnus Archives)

Whumptober 2020 Day 15 Alternative Prompt: Nightmares

Fandom: The Magnus Archives

Characters: Jonathan Sims, Tim Stoker, Sasha James (Mentioned), Martin Blackwood (Mentioned), Elias Bouchard (Mentioned)

CW: Blood, Injury

Summary:

In his first week as Archivist, Jon has a nightmare that feels like a vision. Tim tells him it’s nothing, so Jon lets it be nothing.

“You with me now boss?”

Jon blinks his eyes open, crusted as they are with sleep and tears. He does not understand where he is or where he came from; he only knows that something terrible has happened and it’s his fault.

“I don’t..” he mumbles, rubbing his eyes in an attempt to gain clarity. “...Tim? Why are you- how did you get in here?” He is in his bedroom, safe and sound. It hurts to look at Tim, it reminds him of a loss he’s never had. How can you grieve for someone standing right in front of you?

“You called Martin,” Tim sits at the edge of his bed, his eyes narrowing in concern. “You don’t remember? You must have been really out of it. He was all worked up, said I had to check on you. Good thing I did- you left your door unlocked.” Why would he call Martin? Martin’s not his friend. Martin’s not even good enough at his job to be considered a colleague. He feels like a thousand lifetimes have passed since he left the office earlier that day and Tim looks more concerned as the silence grows between them; he leans over and places a hand to Jon’s forehead.

“You’re burning up,” he murmurs. “Have you taken anything for that?” Burning up. There was fire in his dream, a lot of it. And Tim- Tim. He grabs at the arm that retreats from his face and holds it.

“Tim,” he whispers desperately. “I think I...I had a bad dream.” The words feel childish on his tongue but they are true. “But I think...I think it was i-important?” He needs to tell someone, needs to spill out the words so he doesn’t forget. He needs a witness.

“Uh, alright,” Tim says and he sits back at the edge of the bed. Good. “D’you...want to talk about it?”

“Yes. Yes!” Jon croaks as he sits up in bed a little too eagerly, head spinning with feverish need. “Will you...are you listening?” It’s very important that Tim listens.

“Course, boss,” the smile is just to humor him, he knows this. Tim finds this amusing. “Now tell me all about it.”

“There was...there was a house.”

It was a house in the sense that it housed something, but it was not an ordinary home and it was not for people. There was a tree in the yard, silhouetted against a perfect streak of lightning that was painted across the sky, frozen and wrong in every way. A woman hung from that tree once. A stained metal plate on it’s siding reads 105. He knocked at the door and it opened with an aching creak as if the house were moaning in pain. Jon saw something creep out of the corner of his eye.

“There were spiders everywhere. All over.”

“Spiders! Spooky. I know how you hate ‘em.”

Hate was an understatement. The house was full of shadows and he could only follow movement by their change in the light. There was a basement in this house but he wasn’t supposed to go in there. Not yet. Even though it called to him with answers spoken in his own voice. There was a hand at his arm, cold and unyielding and it led him in the right direction.

“It was Sasha, but it wasn’t. Not really.”

This Sasha was a blank canvas and a painted smile. She kept handing him statements, too many of them and they kept slipping through his fingers even though he knew they were important. His body was starting to ache like his bones were too much and not enough but she kept going and he kept walking, right into a dining room. The table was set but there was no food. Each plate held something incongruous- a bullet, a rib, a worm- and only one person sat at the head of the table, a small remote-looking device on their plate. It was Tim.

“But you were full of holes-”

“Gross! Why would you ruin a pretty face like mine?”

“And you were so angry.”

“Doesn’t sound like me.”

This Tim had a hollow voice and a feral laugh. He was mouthing words that Jon was glad he couldn’t hear for they looked to be filled with a ferocity and hate he wouldn’t be able to bear. He was staring at Jon’s face but wasn’t looking him in the eyes. It was then that he caught his reflection in a mirror above Tim- he was full of holes too. Bleeding and unhealed, unlike Tim’s scars. And he looked so very sad.

The room was getting too warm so he stepped back, closing the door on Tim and it felt like an end, like if he reopened it Tim would be gone. There was a coldness coming from the stairs and he knew somehow that Martin was up there. So he walked and walked and it got colder and colder and Martin was there but Jon couldn’t find him. It was important that he spoke to Martin. But Martin didn’t want to see Jon.

“Now I know this is a dream. Martin would never!”

So he kept going up and up and it hurt more and more but there was someone in the attic. Only it wasn’t an attic, it was a tower with too many windows and a warped floor. Elias was there, bathed in a green light and looking out the window but when Jon approached he turned to him. He had a gift and he placed it in his hands with a beatific smile. Told him he was doing a good job, and Jon smiled back.

He opened his hands and in his palms were two glowing, green eyes staring right back.

“That’s nasty. Where do you come up with these things?”

“I think I did something really, really bad, Tim.”

“Yeah, you did. You dreamed up this creepy little caper and you told me about it.”

“You don’t-” his mind struggles to find the words and he feels the dream slipping from him. He should have written it down or recorded it. “-you don’t get it.” Jon is tired and he feels himself slumping back down, teetering on the edge of consciousness. One week in the Archives and he’s already lost his mind. “What does it mean?”

He sees rather than feels Tim’s pat on his leg. “Stay put. I’ll grab some meds and you’ll be in la-la land momentarily. No scary dreams, I promise.” His tone is patronizing and Jon wants to scowl.

Tim leaves the room and Jon is alone. The clock on the wall ticks in a repeated, comforting manner that echoes in the silence. A spider creeps along the floor and he wants to yell at Tim to kill it but he can’t summon the energy. Best to let it be.

He asks Tim about the dream later that night but is waved off. “Just a run-of-the mill fever dream, don’t worry about it. Means nothing.”

Tomorrow he will come into work and stare at Martin and Sasha for a little too long. When Elias hands him a file he will flinch and Elias will stare. But his skin is smooth and he doesn’t hurt and the dream will fade to an itch and then to nothing.

You can’t live in nightmares, after all. Eventually you have to open your eyes.

ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27025453

#whumptober2020 #nightmares #no.15 #blood cw #injury cw #altprompt #fic #tma #the magnus archives #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #tim stoker #sasha james #elias bouchard #my writing #my creepiest yet honestly

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nat-20s · 3 years

Note

PROMPT! the first time the s1 archive gang hangs out outside of work (any variation of the group, doesn’t have to be All of them)

This is only the Archive Assistant sqaud, bc I’m sorry Jon, but no bosses allowed. Also it’s VERY silly and soft bc sometimes u just wanna write nice things u know

(also also fuck I lovecompletely missed that this said “first time” they hang out but uhh. I hope u like it anyway.)

Tim Stoker like to think that, sometimes, not to toot his own horn, but he can be something of a genius. When a cousin’s cousin had offered to let him use their cozy little cabin for a night or two in exchange for help with moving, he had been struck with what could only be humbly described as “inspiration of the most divine nature”. For, as nice as a Friday evening away from it all by himself sounds, it’s so much nicer for a Friday evening away from it all to serve as Archival Assistants Bonding Time™. Or well, more like Tim and Sasha, Who Are Already Best Friends Forever, Figure Out What Martin’s Deal Is, Because For A Guy So Chatty, He Sure Is Mysterious Time™, but that’s not nearly as catchy. Truly, his plan was brilliant, bringing two compatriots and an excessive amount of food and drink to a spot away from the prying eyes of the world and bosses, and feast in the openness and silliness that comes from having a great fucking time.

His plan, and his genius, were tragically derailed. While he knew on their drive up that the air was rapidly getting cooler, Tim couldn’t have even pretended to predict that an hour into their stay would bring a freak blizzard that means they’re snowed in for the next three days, which was 3 times longer than he had accounted on spending with his coworkers/friends. There was more than enough food to last them, and almost enough alcohol, but as Sasha so kindly put it:

“First you make us reenact the first scene of every bad teen slasher movie, now there’s a fucking white out. If we lose power, I’m telling you, there is absolutely going to be a murder.”

“Pfft, no way. The guy who owns this place is one of those weird ass prepper types, there’s a back up generator for the back up generator. And even if we did lose power, we’re all much more the “huddle for warmth under a shared blanket in front of the roaring fire” types than the “get panicked and stab someone in darkness” types, right? Back me up here, Marto.”

Martin, who at three shots in is both hilarious and mean, directs his response to Sasha. “in the event of a black-out I vote we kill Tim. I can take him down and you can finish the job.”

Sasha tips her cup at him, saying, “I like the way you think,” at the same time that Tim yells out, “Hey! Why am I the one dying?!”

Sasha tells him, “Duh. This whole thing was your idea, which makes you the Dr. Black* of this situation. Any good mansion murder mystery dictates the the host dies first. Then, in a moment of entirely unplanned synchronization, her and Martin start chanting, “Host dies first! Host dies first!”

“Okay, you know what? Fuck both of y’all, it’s not my fault that you’re both thoroughbred city slickers that can’t handle being in a cabin with plumbing and running water and electricity. Didn’t either of you go camping as kids?”

Sasha replies “No I’m far too pretty for that,” while Martin bursts out laughing. It takes about 20 seconds for him to settle down. Wiping away a tear, he elaborates, “Sorry, sorry, just. Can not imagine my mother on a camping trip. I mean, sure, she probably hoped at one point or another that I’d be lost in the woods as a child, or maybe even now, but I think that’s a bit different.”

Tim leans over the kitchen counter, placing his chin in his hands as he says, “Oh shit, Martin lore. Spill the deets.”

Sasha, who’s loyalties tend to sway towards whatever’s most interesting in the moment, piles on with, “You called her your mother, not your mum. That’s means she’s pretty much a right bastard, or a member of the aristocracy, which is just another term for right bastard but you got to grow up as a rich kid. Am I right?”

It’s clear the the two of them have made a grave mistake. All joviality flees Martin’s expression, and he shrinks down both his physical presence and his voice to something that could easily be overlooked if someone wasn’t paying attention. “Oh, um, well, I definitely didn’t grow up as a rich kid. And, it terms of the ‘right bastard’ thing, she’s not- er. That’s to say, she’s- she’s sick and. She’s doing the best she can, given, given everything.”

Martin pointedly looks at his hands while Tim and Sasha panickedly look at each other. They go to either side of him, and when he doesn’t flinch away, they each place a comforting hand on his shoulder. Tim immediately feels the itch to fill the heavy quiet, and he happens to know he has quite the talent for blazing on ahead after these kinds of moments. It’s how he’s survived basically party for the past decade. “Ooookay, I’m gonna go ahead and say that all depressing familial reveals shall be held off until at least the second night of being trapped. While Sasha may have irritatingly few skeletons in her closet in that regard-”

“I have Tory grandparents?”

“We all have Tory grandparents Sash, that’s absolutely nothing. As I was saying, while Sash’s family is boring and semi functional, you and me are gonna do some fuckin’ commiserating on our journey from work friends to friend friends. However, I’m going to have to be 40% drunker, go through a decently strong hangover, and then once again get hair of the dog drunk before I can even start to consider heading down that path. And in that spirit, I think it’s time to start up the drinking games. Truth or dare might end up a bit too heavy for our needs, but Never Have I Ever should suit us just fine. I know I’m gonna regret saying this considering Sasha is 100% going to target my ass, but I think we should establish that whoever puts all ten fingers down first has to chug the rest of the box wine.”

Sasha pipes up with, “Ugh, no, not drinking games, that’s such twenty-something bullshit. I expected better from you.”

“Hey, Martin is a twenty-something, so that still works fine actually-”

“Tim!”

“What?”

Martin’s directing wide, bordering on frantic, eyes at him, and Tim is almost certainly missing something, though he can’t for the life of him figure it out. Sasha’s head is bobbing slightly between the two of them, and shes apparently able to parse what Tim has not. “Oh! Martin, uh, I already know that you’re 2, and it’s cool.”

“Did..did Tim tell you or?”

Tim scoffs out an “I wouldn’t!” even though there’s a distinct possibility that, entirely on accident, he would, and Sasha makes a reassuring coo. “No, no, babe, nothing like that. It’s just that, uh, the Magnus Institute is kind of notorious for not doing any background checks pretty much ever, so when I get a new coworker, I..do it myself.”

Martin’s face blanches, and his eyes somehow get even wider. “Oh god, please don’t tell Jon or Elias, I know I don’t have the credentials, but I really need-”

“Woah, woah, I’m not gonna do that. First of all, archival assistant squad, we ride together we die together in a snowed in god forsaken log cabin, secondly, it’d be hypocritical as fuck if I got up your ass about qualifications. Not a single one of us is qualified for our jobs, not even Jon. Maybe especially not Jon. It’s like, raise your hand if you have a degree in library sciences. No one? Okay, cool, that’s not weird at all for an archive. Actually, maybe bring that up next time he gives you shit. He’ll be all like ‘bluh bluh, you didn’t document this spooky bullshit well enough, it’s not up to the High Standards here at Spooky Bullshit Emporium’ and you can be like ‘whatever buddy, you’re an English major, what do you fuckin’ know?’. It’ll be devastating. He’ll be devastated.”

Martin laughs in the manner of someone who knows that they shouldn’t be, and his shoulders relax into a lower position. “Why would you want me to devastate him? I thought you guys were friends?”

“We are, which is why we all collectively need to get back at Jon for acting like such a prick. He’s always been a bit temperamental, but I honestly don’t get what his deal is, especially with you. I mean, c’mon, you’re great, being mean to you is like kicking a puppy.”

“Thanks? I think?”

Tim pipes up with, “Oooo, since drinking games are apparently too childish for Sasha, what if instead we play ‘What’s Jon’s Deal Anyway, Featuring, Seriously, Why Target Martin, The Baby of The Archives’-”

“-That feels a bit reductive of who I am and I also I think I’m technically older than Jon?-”

“-Whoever comes up with the best explanation, and by best obviously I mean most entertaining, gets an all expense paid trip from the other two to one of the charity shops I know we all frequent.”

Sasha snorts, “Wow, a whole twenty quid, who could resist such temptation. But also, I’m in, I think I have a winner and I have a violent need to out-cardigan Jon.”

Martin’s relaxation is gone again, which Tim thinks need to be fixed through aggressively passing a glass of wine towards him. He takes it without protest, takes a long drink, and says, “This seems more like 3 am conversation than a 9 pm one.”

Sasha gives an encouraging nudge, prompting another drink, and replies, “Yeah, well, I am not gonna make it to 3 am. I’ve got about an hour until the Alcohol Sleepiness sets in, and I know Tim will be right behind me.”

“Sashaaaaaa, you’re ruining my reputation as a young-at-heart, party-all-night kind of guy.”

“Babe, you’ve complained about your bones aching often enough that you’ve never had that reputation.”

“Surrounded by mean drunks, that’s what I am. I should be pitied.”

Martin shoots a glance towards Sasha, then replies, “You’d be more pitiable if this entire thing wasn’t, you know, entirely your own fault.”

Sasha nods sagely, “It’s true. If you were pitiable then maybe you wouldn’t have to die first.”

“You know what? I am uncomfortable with the energy that’s been created in this room, how about we divert some of that towards complaining about our bosses, as coworkers who are hanging out and having a good time and not bullying me are supposed to do.”

Sasha giggles slightly as she leans down and presses a kiss to Tim’s cheek. “Aw, sorry, Tim. I promise to double cross Martin when if becomes killing time.”

Tim melts a little, even as he’s replying, “Wait, when?” Martin takes another sip and says, “Whatever. I could take you both.”

How the hell are you supposed to resist a set up like that? With an over the top wink and cheesy grin, Tim says, “I bet you could, big guy.”

He’s expecting a slightly flustered reaction, maybe a higher pitched voice and a blush, if he’s lucky. He gets all of those things, but it’s Sasha saying, “Oh my god.” Martin only gives him a raised eyebrow and level stare, and Tim makes a mental note to reevaluate his dedication to only considering Martin in a strictly platonic fashion. Sasha continues talking, cutting through the..tension? with, “Okay, now I am uncomfortable with the energy that’s been created in this room. Tim, tell the studio audience what you think is up with Jon.”

Tim blinks, hard, gives a shake of his head, and says, “Oh, obviously the Jon we know is dead. His ‘promotion’ to Head Archivist was actually Elias killing him off and replacing him with a robot that has the command If: see Martin Then: be dick. Don’t worry Marto, now that Sasha is aware of the issue, she’ll surely be able to reprogram him.”

Sasha hums a bit, then says, “I buy it. I think my explanation’s better, but Elias does seem the “kill a dude and replace him” type. Like if I was gonna suspect any particular person of murder he’s in the top five.”

“Seriously? Elias? Somehow has middle manager vibes even though he’s the head honcho Elias? Mr. ‘I probably wore boat shoes and khaki shorts for the entirety of university’ Bouchard? Voted most likely to put a thin layer of mayo in between two pieces of white bread and claim it’s a sandwich Elias? The area man that’s almost certainly gone on record as saying that golf and networking are his favorite hobbies Elias? He’s far too boring to have committed a murder.”

Tim’s looking at Martin with shock and delight, and he knows Sasha is wearing the exact same expression. “More of this. Please describe more of the things that Elias is.”

“I mean, sure? Uhh, guy that would pay $80 for a dime bag because you told him it’s a premium strain. Person that ironically says things like “kids these days” and “the youths” and you know he’s talking about people well into their 30s. Genuinely believes that if you can afford a cell phone then you shouldn’t be complaining about being poor, because apparently a one time purchase of around a hundred bucks is the same as trying to pay monthly rent. Tells people to haul themselves up by their bootstraps. Thinks he got to where he was ‘without anybody’s handouts’ even though he’s had a trust fund since he was 15. Writes weekly editorials to the local newspaper complaining about the liberalization of media, and they’re like ‘sir, please stop submitting to us, we’re just trying to talk about Lisa’s gardening club’ because they can’t professionally tell him to fuck off. Thinks salt and pepper are the only spices one could ever possibly need, everything else is simply excessive. Somehow gay and homophobic. Like, yes, he’s taken a male lover, but he’s also seconds away from calling you a slur at any one time. Actually, no, that’s too interesting, and I refuse to believe he’s had a lover. Legally, he cannot have a lover, I’ve decided, so just gay and homophobic, both in theory alone. Has said that Boris Johnson is “a bit much, but really not so bad, and much better than any of the alternatives, really.” All of the cousins in his family banded together and officially got him banned from any sort of major holiday dinners. Basically every shitty boss you’ve ever had, especially if you’ve worked retail, rolled into one.”

Tim lets out a low whistle. “Damn, all right. Get fucked Elias.”

Sasha emphatically agrees, “Get fucked Elias.”

They all clink their glasses together, and then there’s a beat of silence before Martin says, “I’m pretty sure robots can’t get eye bags.”

Tim and Sasha let out a “huh” and “hmm?” respectively, so Martin elaborates. “You posited that Jon had been replaced with a robot. Pretty sure robots aren’t able to look that tired.”

Tim snaps. “Drat, you’ve pointed out the one flaw in my impeccable logic. So what d’you think is up with him? I know you don’t have the Before The Archives comparison, but I think you could provide a fresh perspective.”

“Oh, fuck, I don’t know. Two months ago, I might have had some choice words, but first off, you all genuinely got on, so it didn’t really make sense for him to be awful all the time, and secondly ever since the, um, worm thing, he’s actually been pretty nice? I haven’t heard any snide comments, and whenever I mess something up he’s a lot more, um, gentle about explaining what wrong. He actually complimented my work the other day so. I guess I think Jon’s deal was that he was stressed out and I was very nervous and not very good at my job and he picked up on that?”

“So you think he’s like a horse.”

“Explain.”

“He sensed your fear and he became skittish and irritable in kind.”

“Horses can sense fear?”

“Horses can sense everything.”

“That’s fucked up.”

“Right?”

“Guys, we’ve gone on like four different tangents in one conversation. Martin, I’m very glad to hear that Jon’s changed his behavior towards, because it means I don’t have to yell at him on your behalf, you’re getting to see the person that me and Tim both know who is actually pretty cool, and also mostly because it feeds perfectly into my winning theory.”

“What, you’ve got something better than Martin’s ‘accurate but boring’ reasoning or my ‘super cool but now that I think about it for .5 seconds actually kind of a bummer robot’ knowledge?”

Sasha’s incredibly self-assured when she says, “I sure fuckin’ do. Jon’s secretly been in love with Martin the whole time, and he’s been previously overcompensating by acting like he hates him.” which makes Tim choke on air and Martin emphatically reply, “Fuck off, he is not.”

“No, no, hear me out, I have, I have receipts, as the kids say. First point of evidence: Martin’s stupid hot, and there’s no way that Jon is straight, so obviously he’s not gonna be impervious to that.”

“What?”

“Oh come off it Martin, it’s just a fact. Like, me personally? I don’t even do the whole romance thing, but the first time I ever saw you I blacked out slightly and thought ‘Now there’s a man I could raise some ferrets with.’.”

“I, um, I, well. Is that...supposed to be a euphemism for something?”

“What? No, I’ve just always wanted ferrets, and asking someone to raise pets with you is like the height of romance, I’m pretty sure. Back me up here Tim.”

“On the ferret thing or the Martin hot thing?”

“Either? Both.”

“Aight. Yes, asking someone to raise ferrets with you is basically a marriage proposal if that someone is Sasha, and I hate to break it to you Martin, but you’re incredibly good-looking. We’re all incredibly good-looking, to the point where I think the only qualification for the archives staff is being a straight up hottie. OH! We should name the group chat “straight up hottie squad”. Anyway, yep, point for Sasha.”

“Not a point for Sasha, even if I believe you about about my, em, physical attractiveness,-”

“-Don’t have to put belief in a fact, Marto-”

“-that doesn’t mean anything. By that logic, he’s equally as likely to be in love with either of you, and my money would be on Sasha if it was anyone, because you’re clearly his favorite.”

“Ah, but that’s exactly why it isn’t me, but thank you for the transition into my second point which is: Jon is the kind of person that sees anything that might make him vulnerable and starts aggressively defending himself against it, and what’s more vulnerable than a crush? He’s not crushing on Tim, because Tim’s fucking great, but sometimes he’s also the walking, talking embodiment of sensory overload, and while I myself I love that, Jon clearly gets a bit overwhelmed by it at times. He’s not into me, because he knows better than that, and overall I’m pretty non-threatening to his whole thing, so of course he’s going to be the most relaxed around me. You, on the other hand, are single, hot, kind to animals and people alike, and make a great cup of tea. Incredibly crush worthy, thus incredibly threatening, thus Jon acting like That.”

“Hmm, this still seems like something that comes from watching one too many corny rom coms, and that’ s coming from someone who loves corny rom coms.”

“I also love corny rom coms, but that’s completely beside the point. Because, okay, sure, if Jon had just been a weird asshole to you, I wouldn’t be like ‘oh, yeah, that’s a classic case of covering for something’ but you’re right about him being nicer since the worm thing. So nice, in fact, I shall be bringing in Timothy as my star witness that’s going to blow this whole case wide open. Martin, you may not have heard how Jon has started to talk about you, but me and Tim sure have.”

“God, yeah. Like if we thought he wouldn’t shut up about you before-

“-which he wouldn’t-”

“it’s gotten way worse now.”

“I think the whole life threatening worm woman flipped a switch for him and now he’s all fuckin. ‘Oh, Martin should stay in the archives, let me give him the place that I sleep.”

“Oh, Martin, I don’t think he should go out on too many research trips anymore, I’d much prefer for him to be ~nice and close~”

“Oh, Martin, good lord, did you know that his tea is quite good? I’m think it might actually be the best I’ve ever had.”

“Oh, Martin, his work’s rather improved, don’t you think? It’s really quite impressive, especially considering all the stress he’s had to endure.”

“Oh, Martin, I just want him to take me into his big, strong arms and whisk me away from all of this.”

“He did not fucking say that last one.”

Sasha throws her arms up in the air. “He may as well have!”

Nodding sagely, Tim replies, “This whole thing holds water. I vote Sasha gets the shopping trip. Martin?”

Martin stares at his drink as if it has any ability to give him any sort of answers, then lets out a sigh with his entire body. “You know what? It’s probably nicer than whatever the fuck is the truth, so sure, why not? Let’s get Sasha her cardigans.”

Sasha lets out a whoop. “Hell yeah! Can’t wait for spree, assuming all three of us get out of this cabin alive.”

“Okay, nope, clearly Sasha needs another distraction. Got any suggestions, Martin?”

“Uh, wasn’t a karaoke machine part of the sales pitch for this place?”

“Martey babey, yes! I wouldn’t have thought you’d spring for that sort of thing!”

“If this were a public bar or something where I’d have to listen to drunk strangers and they’d have to listen to me, then no, I’d rather have my brain pulled through my nose a la mummification. But with only you guys and fourish drinks in? I’m down to clown.”

“Sash, you with us?”

“Dunno, what songs are there?”

Tim shrugs, and heads to the storage closet that contains all the various entertainment equipment. It takes a bit of searching, and a bit more digging, but he’s able to unearth the ancient portable karaoke machine. He also grabs some of the jigsaws, mostly on the thought that sometimes a bitch just wants to hang out with their friends and do a puzzle. Also because in light of the fact that they’re stuck inside with no sort of access to the outside world for two days longer than planned, there’s pretty much no way that they’re not going to reach a point where they all say fuck it let’s do a puzzle.

Plugging in the machine, it takes a solid several minutes to boot up, which is the perfect length of time to take it upon himself to take one for the team and chug the box wine himself, with Sasha and Martin chanting in the background. When he finishes, they cheer, and then Martin immediately shoves a glass of water for him to down as well, muttering something about how he wants him to be alive in the morning. Tim can tell he’s well inebriated by now, because the simple thoughtful gesture is enough to make him a little bit misty-eyed, and Sasha can attest to alcohol turning him into the world’s biggest sap. In order to avoid prevent himself from becoming the kind of person who says “I love you” in a gradually more sloppy repeat, he starts flipping through the discography of the now running machine. “Alright y’all, it looks like we got 80s songs or...80s songs. Ooo, they have the Grease 2 soundtrack.”

That gets him a well deserved “No!” from both parties, with Sasha adding on, “Not even if it was Grease 1. I’m putting an embargo on musical theater in general.”

“Oh come on, some musicals are better than other. Right, Marto?”

“I’m with Sasha on this one.”

“Boo. But fine, what do you want?”

Martin and Sasha glance at each other, and Tim’s amazed at how well the bonding night-turned-long-weekend has gone so far, considering they seem to have already mastered the art of silent communication. Martin speaks first, with, “They got Dolly Parton?”

The process of scrolling through individual letters to type is achingly slow, but luckily all he needs to get through is “DO” before she shows up. “They do.”

Sasha says, “Do they got 9 to 5, by Dolly Parton?”

Tim’s eyes light up with realization as he says, “They do,” and in a moment of spontaneous understanding, all three of them know that they’re not simply going to sing 9 to 5. No, they’re going to do a full blown music video for the benefit for nobody but themselves, because why the fuck not.

The next hour is spent in a very silly fashion. They figure out how to use the cabin’s layout to their advantage, assign various parts of the song to each person, and practice their inexpert choreography a few times with the song tinnily blasting from Sasha’s phone. The final result is hardly of professional quality, but it is of making them all giggle quality. It starts off in a relay like manner, each of them in a different area to coordinate with “Tumble of out bed and stumble to the kitchen” (Sasha on the couch), “Pour myself a cup of ambition”, (Tim at the coffemaker), and “Yawn and stretch and try to come to life” (Martin at the fridge), with them finally crowding around the karaoke machine together to scream sing the chorus. Despite their practice, they quickly go off key, and while they might end up with low points for accuracy, they get full marks on enthusiasm.

When the song ends, it takes them a few minutes to settle down into something less giddy. As they do, Sasha, out of breath, says, “Fuck me, I’m sleepy now. What the hell?”

Tim hums in affirmation. “Goddammit, I’m tired too. Let me guess, Martin, you’re young enough that you could go all night?”

“No? I’ve never pulled an all-nighter in my life. Actually, I know that it was supposed to be in case the power went out, but huddling together under a blanket in front of a fire sounds really nice? I mean, um, if you guys were down.”

Sasha leans her head against Martin’s shoulder and takes on the expression of a deeply content cat. “Mmm, I call Martin, he’s warm.”

“Absolutely not, I also want to leech Martin’s warmth. You good with being in the middle?”

Martin’s practically beaming, but his voice manages to almost fake being put upon. “I suppose it’s a sacrifice I could make.”

With Sasha already half asleep, Martin brings her over to the couch, while Tim gets them all set up. He manages to find the kind of big, fluffy blanket that all cabins should contain and wraps it around their shoulders. Luckily for them, the fireplace is gas lit and can be put on a timer. He sets it for 30 minutes, even though all three of them are going to be long passed out before them. Sasha is already softly snoring away, and Martin’s head keeps drifting down and snapping back up. Tim curls up against Martin’s other side, and even though all three of them are going to wake up with aching backs and worse heads, he thinks he really just might be a genius after all.

*Why is Mr. Boddy’s name Dr. Black in the UK. I hate that. Why would you not have the dumb joke of naming the victim “boddy”. Hey brits explain your crimes.

#anon #replies #nat fic #tma #martin blackwood #tim stoker #sasha james

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tmararepairs · 4 years

Text

Claimed, thank you!

Pinch hit #1

Deadline is February 13. If you can fill in for this, please send an ask and include your ao3 username!

All requests are for fic. Details under cut. Ships include: Eric Delano/Mary Keay, Georgie Barker/Alex Brooke, Georgie Barker/Karolina Górka, Georgie Barker & Jonathan Sims, Georgie Barker/Jonathan Sims, Gerard Keay & Gertrude Robinson, Gerard Keay & Jonathan Sims, Jonathan Sims & Alice "Daisy" Tonner, Martin Blackwood/Gerard Keay/Jonathan Sims, Martin Blackwood/Gerard Keay/Jonathan Sims/Tim Stoker, Martin Blackwood/Sasha James/Jonathan Sims/Tim Stoker, Martin Blackwood/The Vast

Request 1 by Rozzlynn Eric Delano/Mary Keay (Fic) Summary A closer look at their relationship would be interesting! How did Eric reconcile the sort of worldview that let him judge Gertrude for 'ruining lives' with his love for Mary even knowing she was a murderer? How did his love of ghosts and danger play out in his job and their marriage? How useful was he to her, before she decided to get rid of him? Did he have any qualms about the way Mary was raising Gerry those couple of years when he was trying to quit so he could be there for his son? Could go for something set during canon, or a divergence where he survives for longer somehow? (Doing something that convinced Mary he was worth keeping once he was blind? Doubting her and breaking up over Gerry's future, with Mary's part in those events shown? Third party interference triggering a different path, e.g. someone targeting the Archivist's assistants, and Mary stepping in for Eric's sake, with butterfly effect consequences?) Creepy pregnancy fic? A second child?

DNW: - Pure PWP (though explicit content is welcome in fics that also show their lives outside of sex). - Eric committing sexual violence. (On the other hand, if you have a plotbunny that involves Mary being awful to Eric as part of their relationship deteriorating, feel free to go with that. But don't feel that you have to write violence between them, of any sort.) - A sole focus on book-ghost Eric, since by then the 'real' him is dead and he doesn't feel quite how he did while alive, and the show's covered his state of mind at that point. - Child!Gerry dying or suffering beyond-canon-typical abuse. - Noncanonical side ships coming up. (To err on the side of caution.) - Waterworks/scat.

Request 2 by Rozzlynn Georgie Barker/Alex Brooke, Georgie Barker/Karolina Górka (Fic) Summary What sort of chemistry did Georgie have with Alex? What sort could she have with Karolina? Something about fairly fearless and practical girls sticking together. Prompt ideas:

- Alex comes back as an end avatar. Georgie, with her emotions still not really working, but no fear in the mix, and some lingering love still present, has a hard time figuring out how to react. (Tries to work out what happened to Alex? Tries to rekindle whatever she thinks she ought to feel? Finds out Alex is taking victims, and destroys her to save others, leaving her emotions all the more a mess? Could be before she met Jon, or something she hides from him while they're friends or dating, or Jon is really creeped out and worried by all this - maybe Alex almost kills him.)

- Entity swap alternate encounter for Georgie and Alex at uni - something where Georgie still comes out fearless, but things play out differently for them?

- Karolina seems extremely unflappable, showing no fear even in the statement nightmares when she's crushed to death. And yet the fears still have more of a foothold with her, since she's not as wholly immune to dream violence as Georgie. Something where they meet, and are both interested to see how someone else is dealing practically with the horrors of the world they live in? With Georgie relieved that, hey, here's someone who won't imply she's stupid for not fearing danger. And trying to help Karolina find even more genuine equilibrium, if she figures out that she's still struggling on some level - a heavily repressed fear response buried under fatalistic acceptance? Is she too fatalistic to fully enjoy life, her feelings choked by the pressure that has her still shedding dust everywhere? Does Georgie manage to help?

- Possible Georgie/Melanie/Karolina, if Melanie's already in the picture, maybe trying to bring up things learned from therapy.

- Sensory play, to help process things, with plot- and characterisation-relevant discussion of the results.

- (For dark humour, could add Georgie and Karolina falling asleep together, and both of them being in an 'oh fuck off, Jon' mood when they see him in their nightmares a few minutes later. Not that they can talk in the dreamscape, but, y'know. Mood.)

DNWs - Georgie dying, or still feeling fear. (Not counting something partially set before her encounter, so long as she's fearless afterwards.) - Melanie getting excluded from anything around the time she'd be there in canon. - Noncanonical side ships coming up (besides passing mentions of prior partners). - Apocalypse - Noncon (though dubcon from the extreme difficulty any of them might have processing feelings would be ok, so long as they work with each other when they actually piece things together). - PWP - Waterworks/scat.

Request 3 by Rozzlynn Georgie Barker & Jonathan Sims, Georgie Barker/Jonathan Sims (Fic) Summary I'd be really interested in something from their uni days! Building on what Georgie's said about that time: "I numbly got myself some water, and ignored my weeping mother. She tried to hug me, but her arms just slid off my limp shoulders. And that was my life for several months. Eventually, the memory began to fade, and I started to feel again. I took the year out of university under the umbrella of ‘medical reasons’, and by the time I met you I was, well, I don’t think I’ll ever be the same person I was before, but I had started being able to actually live again."

Given that Georgie was only starting to be able to feel things again (minus fear), and Jon seems to have always been an emotional wreck to some degree even when he tried to come across as functional, and uni's a place where young people tend to have some ups and downs adapting to adult life for the first time even if they're not dealing with supernatural trauma... well, that must have been a weird time for them, right?

- Jon being bad at dealing with anything on an emotional level, still getting used to not living with his grandmother, trying to keep up academically, exaggerating his accent, getting carried away with things he dives into with his problems with moderation, but maybe still having trouble focusing on the sort of work that requires him to 'read the same book twice'.

- Georgie having enough trouble processing her own emotions that she doesn't register as an issue things that she'd criticise Jon for by the time she's gotten to where she is in canon.

- Both of them going through the motions a bit, with 'functional adult' life things as well as relationship things. The presence of another person encouraging them to somewhat keep up healthy habits like food, rest, study breaks and keeping deadlines, even when they'd feel a bit dissociated on their own? And/or one of them going off the rails in a 'students making bad life choices' way, and getting some solidarity from the other (sure, let's stay up three days in a row to study, then build a marshmallow fort just because we can and fall asleep in it and wake up with sticky hair').

- Experimenting with sex/kink? Any shade of ace for Jon; if sex-repulsed then figuring out what other kinds of intimacy they'd enjoy, if sex-indifferent or -positive then figuring out how much they feel from that kind of activity (and from nonsexual stuff too, cause why not)? (I'm not looking for PWP, but would be interested in stuff with awkwardness, character/relationship development, humour - including any plotbunnies where they give up on experimentation that's not working out and have a laugh about it.)

- Either or both of them getting triggered by a reminder of their supernatural encounters, and trying to cope without actually explaining what happened. The sound of knocking at a bad time bringing up memories of Mr Spider? A friend watching a crime show with corpses on screen that act as a reminder of things that are still unpleasant to recall even if they don't incite fear? Georgie missing Alex and needing some space? Jon's survivor's guilt flaring up and making him a bit paranoid for Georgie's safety, trying to subtly check friends' bookshelves for Leitners when they visit (and not being subtle, so just coming across as really weird)?

- Going on a trip during the holidays or after graduation? Georgie learning how prone Jon is to wandering off and getting lost? A restaurant meal where Jon sees a spider and has to kill it, even if it means getting too close to another table / the kitchens / the ceiling? Georgie getting annoyed at rude posh people and wistfully thinking that Alex would have confronted them (and possibly punched them), and maybe feeling pleased when Jon questions them over something a bit pedantic until they want to punch him?

- Breaking up when Georgie's recovered to the point where she's getting more functional than in her first few years after the End incident, and seeing more of a problem with Jon's behaviour? And Jon seeing that as things ending really badly because it feels like she's gotten to know him and decided he's not good enough, even over things that she didn't used to mind?

DNWs - Self-hate over asexuality as an orientation. (Worries about compatibility are fine, and they could get upset over activities going badly, so long as heavy acephobia isn't involved; if he doesn't blame his orientation any more than he blames hers. Or they could both be biromantic ace, with no reason to blame that for their problems.) - AU where they didn't break up, or where they got back together. In other words, keep them exes for the parts of the timeline where that's canon. (But the fill could be set entirely before the breakup.) - Noncanonical side ships coming up (besides passing mentions of prior partners). - PWP (I like plotfic, with or without explicit content) - Noncon/waterworks/scat

Request 4 by Rozzlynn Gerard Keay & Gertrude Robinson, Gerard Keay & Jonathan Sims (Fic) Summary Some Gerry lives fic? With some of the same prompts as the Gerry ships request, if you feel like using them as a setup for platonic bonding rather than a shippy polypile:

- Gerry helping with Gertrude's plan to kill Jonah and destroy the Institute, which succeeds this time, and maybe meeting & bringing in some of the others while they're still working in Research / Artefact Storage / the Library. (Since non-Archive staff can quit without blinding themselves, fair to assume they're not tied closely enough to Jonah to die if he dies? So only Gertrude has to worry about that part. Maybe Gerry helps her to the hospital?)

- Gerry finding out that Gertrude is part-desolation (she mentions burning inside, and her ritual circle mitigating the worst effects - can she light a cigarette with her bare hands?), and/or finding out she's working with Leitner too. Possibly precipitated by a spooky attack that they deal with together?

- Gerry being alive and meeting Jon, giving him more info/warning about Beholding at some point in the timeline. (Early enough that Jon tries to turn down the Archivist position and warn off the others too? Gerry knows that Jonah killed Gertrude and tries to enlist some help in taking him down? Early s1 Jon gets warned off live statements by a Gerry who learned why Gertrude usually avoided them, and they try to protect themselves and the archive assistants from Jonah's attempts to organise attacks on the Institute to traumatise Jon with every entity?)

DNWs: - Completely mundane AUs. - Character death or full monsterhood for Gerry, Jon, or Jon's assistants (canon's got that covered in many ways and I'd like to see their living potential explored). - Apocalypse - Shippy Gerry/Gertrude or Gerry/Jon (except Gerry and Jon in a polypile, but that's in another request, see below). - Other noncanonical ships, in general. (Platonic focus preferred for this one, but if, e.g., Basira/Daisy or Georgie/Melanie somehow comes up, ok to mention that that still happens.) - Noncon/waterworks/scat.

Request 5 by Rozzlynn Jonathan Sims & Alice "Daisy" Tonner (Fic) Summary Something exploring their friendship post-coffin? They seem to end up getting each other's mistakes without condoning them, understanding how much of it was supernatural coercion, trauma response, and their own flaws, and sharing a very dry, dark sense of humour. They've seen some interesting sides of each other, and moved past the attempted murder and supernaturally inflicted trauma nightmares even though both must've been pretty awful at the time. Neither of them have many other friends who could get exactly how badly messed up their lives are and stick with them, besides those who are actively unrepentantly evil like Helen (and whatever mix of denial and turning a blind eye Basira's approach was, and Martin who wanted Jon to do better but refused to get directly involved during his own crisis).

- Jon and Daisy supporting each other's attempts to stay relatively human? Discussing the past, and the others? Daisy keeping an eye on Jon while Basira and Rosie are dealing with the people who come to the Institute to give written statements - the sort of thing that led Jon to tell Martin that their intervention was exactly what he needed?

- S4 canon divergence, with one of the finale episodes taking a different turn?

- Jon and Daisy managing to do something positive for the others (Basira, Melanie, Martin)?

- Passing mention of the 'normal' institute staff being creeped out by running into Jon and Daisy (both of them looking dangerous and half dead, with rumours about murders and disappearances still following them around). Daisy coping better than Jon with this. Basira effectively being the archivist everyone deals with if they can help it. (Melanie's not quite as scary as she used to be, but she's barely around... Who'd have thought Martin would end up siding with the evil new boss...?) Though if you go with this prompt, at least part of the fic from Daisy or Jon's pov preferred, rather than entirely outsider pov.

- Melanie trying to pass on therapeutic advice and activities (based on whatever mundane version of events she told her therapist about them); Daisy and Jon trying to listen, not necessarily liking all of it, and putting some of the activites into practice bc they need to keep busy (maybe not necessarily lasting long before making a dark joke of it, maybe finding it helpful anyway).

DNWs - Feral!Daisy within the fill, unless she manages to come around without permanently reverting to the Hunt or going on a killing spree against innocents in the meantime or anything. - Jon taking statements within the fill (except from other monsters if they bring on a crisis, like with Peter). - Apocalypse. - Shippy Jon/Daisy, except in a Basira/Daisy/Jon/Martin polypile where some of them share and/or are friends with benefits. - Other noncanonical ships coming up. - PWP - Noncon/waterworks/scat.

Request 6 by Rozzlynn Martin Blackwood/Gerard Keay/Jonathan SimsMartin Blackwood/Gerard Keay/Jonathan Sims/Tim Stoker (Fic) Summary Have fun with an AU that gives them a chance to shine? Divergences from the canon while Gerry was around, or alternate settings, so they can be alive together. Prompt ideas:

- Gerry helping Tim after Danny's death, or meeting Danny in time to avert it.

- Gerry telling Jon more about Gertrude and the supernatural than he had the chance to in canon, and helping his statement addiction stabilise at around the same level as Gertrude's, questioning any impulsive use of compelling so that Jon thinks it through and gets stricter with himself (especially with Martin and Tim's input), trying out protective measures to mitigate the statement nightmares for everyone involved (since with the tattoos and everything he learned working with Mary and Gertrude, Gerry seems to know a thing or two about channeling and hiding from the eye, using supernatural powers without losing himself).

- Jon still finding Eric's tape eventually, and Gerry hearing about his dad's life that way, while the others deal with the knowledge of how to quit.

- Exploring the tunnels and Jon meeting Leitner under different circumstances, Gerry finding out 'wait that really was him?' and Leitner still being scared after he beat him up that time, Martin trying to stop another fight, Tim wanting to find out more about Smirke from Leitner.

- Gerry meeting the others while they're still working in the Research & Library departments; they all help with Gertrude's plan to kill Jonah and destroy the Institute, and make enough of a difference that it succeeds. (Since non-Archive staff can quit without blinding themselves, fair to assume they're not tied closely enough to Jonah to die if he dies? So only Gertrude has to worry about that part. Could include Sasha helping as a friend, and Basira and Daisy lending police support? Maybe after Gertrude quits, the next Archivist that Beholding picks is someone at the sister organisation in China or America, and Gertrude gives them some advice.)

- Alternate careers with section 31 equivalents. E.g. Jon as a surgeon (his grandma made him study medicine) with an eye for dealing with supernatural injuries? Tim got into architecture or the occult side of publishing, or became a cop? Martin got into something really random from applying to absolutely everything with a fake cv - maybe working several jobs / nightshifts and giving a statement after running into spooky trouble? Or working at the occult store with Jane and Oliver, and meeting Gerry while he worked at the bookshop? (How much more exasperated would Martin have been if he knew Jane before she went wormy and she still besieged his flat? Maybe Gerry helped, and Jon worked for the ECDC?)

- Mixed feelings over the holidays, since they all have/had difficult family situations. Learning to look after each other (Martin feeling appreciated for his efforts to take care of his loved ones, Tim feeling supported, Jon feeling that he can protect them all and there's no crisis to jump at or information he's missing, Gerry feeling understood by people who know about the supernatural and want to build a life free of the worst of it alongside him). Holiday preparations with their friends - Sasha, Georgie, Melanie, The Admiral. Jon's tendency to need mental stimulus and to get carried away manifests as ridiculously overdoing something like gift shopping, cooking attempts, or planning a trip (and still overlooking things he should've foreseen - so it's a good thing problem solving is a team effort).

DNWs: - Completely mundane AUs. - Other noncanonical ships coming up. (Unless you want to include Sasha in a plot where she lives, joining the main polypile, or a triad with Melanie and Georgie. Mentions of oc previous partners are also ok.) - Self-hate over asexuality as an orientation. (Worries about compatibility are fine, so long as heavy acephobia isn't involved; if Jon doesn't blame his orientation any more than he blames anyone else's. Any shade of ace is ok.) - Character death within the ship. (Not keen on book!Gerry for this, as he didn't want to exist that way for long.) - Anyone in the ship going unrepentantly evil as a full monster. - Apocalypse - Noncon within the ship. (If you want to include an element of hurt/comfort over any of them having previously suffered bad things outside of this ship, then feel free.) - PWP - Waterworks/scat.

Request 7 by Rozzlynn Martin Blackwood/Sasha James/Jonathan Sims/Tim Stoker (Fic) Summary Have fun with an AU that gives them a chance to shine? Divergences from the canon while Sasha was around, or alternate settings, so they can be alive together. Prompt ideas:

- Sasha meeting the others during a misadventure in Artefact Storage (while Jon and Tim worked in research and Martin worked in the library).

- Sasha finding out how Gertrude really lived in time to help with her retirement plan, getting the others involved one way or another. They kill Jonah and make plans for what to do after the Institute's destroyed, counting their blessings that they never worked in the Archive.

- During the chaos and panic of Prentiss' attack, Sasha accidentally knocked Elias into the tidal wave of worms before she made it to the fire suppression system and saved the others. (Jonah's body in the panopticon is alive and kinda stuck there, so they all live). They're upset about losing the head of the institute... until they listen to Gertrude's tapes and learn what's really going on. Jon tells the others how much he's becoming like Gertrude (nightmares, compulsion), and when they know everything the audience knows as of current canon, he quits with the others' support to stay human.

- Hurt/comfort over near-death experiences

- Going on a long holiday together after it's all over. Sasha and Jon picking museums to visit, Jon and Martin lingering in bookshop cafes, Martin and Tim picking scenic outdoor routes to visit, and Tim trying to get the others involved in sporty outdoor activities (too bad they're all nerds, but they give things a go, mostly).

- Alternate careers with section 31 equivalents.

- Mixed feelings over the holidays, since they all have/had difficult family situations, assuming Sasha fits Jonah's trend of hiring people without many attachments. Learning to look after each other (Martin feeling appreciated for his efforts to take care of his loved ones, Tim feeling supported, Jon feeling that he can protect them all and there's no crisis to jump at or information he's missing, Sasha feeling intellectually fulfilled with nothing left to truly fear). Jon's tendency to need mental stimulus and to get carried away manifests as ridiculously overdoing something like gift shopping, cooking attempts, or planning a trip (and still overlooking things he should've foreseen - so it's a good thing problem solving is a team effort).

- Sasha and gay!Martin bonding platonically in a polypile, finding it's a relief to be able to talk to each other without the particular kinds of pressure that come with their romantic relationships with Jon and Tim, to the extent that the ship feels all the more like found family for each of them thanks to the other's inclusion.

DNWs: - Completely mundane AUs. - Other noncanonical ships coming up (besides mentions of oc previous partners). - Self-hate over asexuality as an orientation. (Worries about compatibility are fine, so long as heavy acephobia isn't involved; if Jon doesn't blame his orientation any more than he blames anyone else's. Any shade of ace is ok.) - Character death within the ship. (I've had my fill of 'the others mourn Sasha' for now.) - Anyone in the ship going unrepentantly evil as a full monster. - Apocalypse - Noncon within the ship. (If you want to include an element of hurt/comfort over any of them having previously suffered bad things outside of this ship, then feel free.) - PWP - Waterworks/scat.

Request 8 by Rozzlynn Martin Blackwood/The Vast (Fic) Summary Okay, so Martin canonically: - is claustrophobic - had many bad times besieged in buildings and lost in tunnels and corridors - wrote poetry about wandering the countryside like a cloud - is bitter about never having had the chance to travel - is a bit conflict avoidant, and ended up feeling so trapped by a terrible situation that he found some relief in isolating himself (didn't miss the shouting, couldn't bring himself to want to deal with his problems anymore), even while he was suicidally depressed over it all.

What if the Vast got ahold of him? Prompts for various bits of a possible timeline:

- In s3, Martin insists on accompanying Jon on his research trip abroad, to help with the work and to look after him. (Nobody can deny that Jon needs looking after, by that point, and Martin is his assistant.) They have an encounter with the Vast in a plane, or on the road through China or America's wide open spaces. Though they survive, Martin's infected in a way that builds over time, like with Melanie and the Slaughter.

- When they're back in London with the plan for the Unknowing organised, Martin persuades Jon to use the Archives budget for a corporate team building day in the countryside, to try to address the interpersonal issues between the staff. The event goes a bit strange.

- After the Unknowing and the Flesh attack, when Martin stops expecting Jon to wake up and says goodbye, maybe he nopes out and flees into the Vast, aware that it's been stalking at his heels? (Intending to lose himself there forever, not become an avatar who hurts others.) - Maybe, months later, he runs into Simon Fairchild while falling through the sky, and hears news about the Institute. When he hears that Jon's awake, that he's still got something tethering him to the world, he drops out of the Vast. - In his absence, Peter made a deal with Basira? (She already thought she couldn't trust anyone but herself. Peter figured she was lonely enough, and had to find the Extinction research to convince her to work with him.)

- Or Martin still makes the deal during Jon's coma, but Peter adapts his approach, sensing the Vast's influence. Either he thinks it'll help draw Martin to the idea of seeing everything via the panopticon, or he worries it'll put him off staying underground there, no matter how unlimited his vision may be as a result. So he either encourages Martin to isolate himself in a Vast-aligned way (research trips out in desolate places, with enough Institute paperwork to avoid withdrawal), or tries to train it out of him (confining him to the building, trying to instill agoraphobia). - At the office, Martin opens the windows even in awful weather, works on the rooftop on his phone or tablet, gets distracted by the sky, etc.

- Things reach a crisis point one way or another, and Jon follows Martin into his space within the Vast. (With different avatars having different powers, and several places falling within each entity, like Forsaken having the graveyard, ocean, beach, suburbs, etc... Maybe Martin's Vast niche is a cloudy sky far above a beautiful green landscape that never gets any closer, evoking an overwhelming mixture of grief and relief that everything below is out of reach; beautiful from a distance, but closing the distance would be too painful to consider.) Jon still tries to talk him out of it, unwilling to leave without him. Either they both leave, or neither of them do? - If Peter doesn't manage to send Martin to the Lonely & tempt Jon in after him, Jonah gets frustrated over the bet being useless. (Mike Crew's already covered the Vast, why couldn't Peter do his job properly??)

DNWs - Peter/Martin, Simon/Martin. In general, Martin being genuinely ok with anyone he knows is an unreformed mass murderer. (If the prompts give you a whump idea that leans on assault by one of them as an extra factor in his depression, making the Vast a relative sanctuary of gentle fear, then go ahead with the noncon, but don't go out of your way to include it otherwise.) - Jonah ships. - Martin knowingly & willingly killing a victim. (Fighting another avatar in self defence would be ok. The Vast maliciously messing with his perceptions and reflexes so he's not actually sure what he's done while badly dissociated could work, if a plotbunny needs something like that.) - Martin or Jon dying more unambiguously than being Vast-stranded indefinitely (as the upper limit for a worst case scenario). - PWP. (Though that seems unlikely here, as any smut between Martin and an entity would need a plot to establish even what and how. And honestly, I can't say I'm keen to read about Martin jerking off in midair. So, uh, don't reach for explicit content unless you've got a plotbunny that involves it in an emotional arc?) - Heavy internalised acephobia. - Waterworks/scat.

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beholdme · 3 years

Text

All the Many Shades of Gerry - Chapter 5

Chapters: 5/19

Fandom: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Gerard Keay/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Martin Blackwood/Gerard Keay, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Gerard Keay/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist

Characters: Martin Blackwood, Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Gerard Keay, Tim Stoker (The Magnus Archives), Sasha James, Gertrude Robinson, Elias Bouchard

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe, Library AU, Librarian Jon, Artist Gerry, Trans Male Character, Trans Martin Blackwood, Canon Asexual Character, Asexual Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Ace Subtype - Sex Positive, Polyamory, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Romantic Fluff, Falling In Love, Boys in Skirts, Kissing, Demisexual Gerard Keay, Minor Character Death, Past Character Death, Canon-Typical Child Neglect, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Flirting, Minor Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist/Tim Stoker, Adventures in Hair Dying, Happy Ending, Banter, Gerry has a lot of sass, Gerard Keay is Morticia Adams, Jon is a very grumpy Librarian, Martin adores them anyway.

Summary: In which Gerry is a kaleidoscope and Jon and Martin can't help falling in love with him.

He happens to love them back.

Find it on Ao3

[1] [2] [3] [4]

Gerry has always thought it was very appropriate that his first kiss (with Jon, and overall) happened in the forgotten stacks of a local library. The scents of books and ink had surrounded them, something he still associates with Jon and youthful adoration to this day.

He was seventeen and desperately trying to pass his A-levels in the crumbling ruins of his fucked up life. Jon was nineteen and ready to have a breakdown and drop out of second-year uni. Their messes had conveniently lined up enough to give them space to fall in love. It was a messy, chaotic type of relationship, but that was who they were and it suited them just fine.

They somehow ended up as unlikely study partners after trying to check out the same book for their respective English classes, and then, almost without even noticing, they were inseparable.

Gerry was drawn to Jon because he was steady but in a frenetic, rebellious kind of way. His eyebrow piercing and painted nails also helped.

Jon was enamored with Gerry because he flirted and held his hand and accepted him for exactly what he was and nothing else mattered.

One night, after admittedly too little sleep and too much caffeine, Jon decided he wanted to try something new. It was impulsive. He should have asked first, but instead, he moved without thinking, and somehow Gerry was pushed back against a bookshelf, their lips pressed together in a rather forceful way.

Gerry laughed at him.

"Not exactly the reaction I was hoping for," Jon pouted, drawing away, but not so far that Gerry wasn't able to draw him back with his hands on Jon's hips. Jon's hands, previously bracketing Gerry's face, slipped up to tangle in Gerry's soft, badly dyed black hair.

Fortunately for Gerry, Jon was exactly the right height for Gerry to draw him close and press a kiss to his temple. "You just surprised me, is all. I wasn't expecting you to do that. Like, maybe ever?" He laughed softly, again, an incredulous well of hot affection opening in his chest.

"I was curious," he replied, shrugging. His face burned, with both embarrassment and sappy pleasure. "I thought maybe it would be nice."

"Oooooh." Gerry grinned wickedly, "We'll have to keep trying, then. You know, for investigative purposes. We can't leave a hypothesis improperly explored."

Jon silenced his nonsense by drawing their lips back together, and Gerry happily obliged him. At that moment, Gerry decided to make every kiss better than the one before, so Jon would always feel the need to come back for more.

It turned out they enjoyed kissing one another very, very much. Gerry still appreciated everything Jon offered him and never pressured him for anything more, or extra, or too much. Jon was still steady but wild. Gerry always seemed to end up shirtless. Young infatuation was a beautiful thing, both to behold and to endure.

*******

By the time Jon meets Martin, he's kissed a few more people.

Georgie, for two dizzy years in grad school. Tim, on one memorable and drunken misadventure. A few others sprinkled here and there.

But he couldn't remember ever feeling that same reckless drive to push himself into someone else's space and live in their gravity, the way it had been during those breathless months with Gerry.

As soon as he lets his unfounded anger for Martin's mere presence in his orbit fade, Jon feels himself drawn to Martin's magnetism. His kindness, his gentleness, his constant awareness of Jon's mood and wellbeing.

The way he brings him tea even though he would have insisted he didn't like it and didn't want it. Martin did it anyway because Jon could let it cool or drink it, but the gesture behind it stood all the same.

Jon doesn't imagine that Martin could ever forgive his months of snide remarks and cold disregard, but he does, and Martin somehow manages to like him anyway. Because that's just who Martin is, always finding something to love in even the most desolate places.

"Let me get you a taxi." Martin presses after a dinner date.

"Let me get you a taxi." Jon presses back.

"I live one block away!" Martin laughs and can't resist pulling Jon towards him by the elbows. Jon grabs his lapels with sloppy confidence born of laughter and wine.

The air is full of gentle moisture, not quite raining, just blanketing the world enough that they feel locked away in their own world for the moment. Nevermind that they live in one of the most populous cities in the world. At that moment there is nothing but Jon and Martin and the warmth between them, forging an intoxicating attachment to rattle the stars.

"I want to kiss you," Martin whispers the confession into the space between them, pressing their foreheads together and breathing Jon's air.

"I really wish you would," Jon offers him in return.

Their lips press together gently, deliberately. Martin is taller than Jon by enough that he gets the supreme satisfaction of dragging him slightly up towards him, crowding into his normally sacred personal space.

For a moment, they feel airborne, standing in their huddle of space and time. Their lips move together, dragging and drugging them.

Martin gasps softly as they pull apart to breathe, all their emotion pouring out into the space between them.

"Come home with me," Martin pleads softly. "Just- for time together. I don't want this to end."

"Yes," Jon whispers back, "I think I would like that very much."

It is only one block away, and they walk hand in hand, pausing occasionally to press soft lips together again and again.

*******

Gerry tries to keep a balance of spending time with both Martin and Jon and seeing them separately. He also makes sure to give them space to be together on their own, and never inserts himself between them.

Even after several months, he feels like a guest in their relationship, and for the time being, he doesn't mind existing in that space. He finally knows he wants to keep them both, and he is willing to wait for the natural progression of their relationship to carry them along.

He is still willing to do his part in it, of course.

Gerry likes to go into the bookstore, get flirted with by Tim, flirt with Martin in return. Drink tea or coffee and read books on the comfortable couch in the corner, all the while watching Martin brew drinks and care for his customers.

Martin works 5 or 6 days most weeks, often helping man the counter himself, between the admin of running the place and herding Tim and various baristas. So Gerry is quite taken aback when he goes in early one Monday afternoon to find Martin nowhere in sight.

After a quick check with Jon to make sure it's not a normal absence, Gerry makes his way the short walk to Martin's flat.

At first, there's no answer to his knock. He knocks again. He texts Martin's cell. He calls it too. A pit settles into his stomach, although he knows it's far too early to panic.

He knocks one more time and even calls out for Martin through the door, before going quiet to listen.

After a few nerve-wracking moments, Martin does actually open the door a crack, peering out at Gerry with red, tear-stained eyes.

"Martin? Are you okay, love?" Gerry tries to push forward, but the door doesn't open any further. "I brought you tea. From the shop, even, so it's definitely good."

"Why?" Martin asks in such a bleak voice that Gerry is taken aback.

"I-" He starts, mouth gaping at Martin's completely alien manner. "I thought you might like it. That it would bring you some comfort if you were sick or something."

"Or something," Martin says, the total blank sadness in his voice filling Gerry with biting concern.

"Please let me in." He presses his hand more firmly into the door, and Martin eventually yields, although Gerry knows from unfortunate personal experience that it's more from lack of caring than anything.

"Make yourself at home, I guess." Martin offers the space ahead of him as he moves further into his flat. He collapses on the couch, curling into a fetal position on the cushions.

Gerry's heart burns, both with sympathy and empathy. He has an idea of what might be causing such a bad relapse of Martin's depression, although the topic of mothers is always carefully danced around between the three of them. He puts the tea down in grabbing distance and he goes to Martin's wardrobe to fetch his favorite fluffy blanket.

"You don't have to tell me what's wrong. But I want to be here for you." Gerry tells him firmly as he wraps Martin up in it. "Is there anything specific I can do for you or do you want me to suggest some stuff?"

Martin blinks up at him. "I don't know…"

"I can put the TV on and sit nearby. I know I don't have Jon's voice, but I could read to you. Put on a podcast?" Gerry throws out the suggestions, keeping his tone gentle and neutral. He doesn't want Martin to sense that this is difficult for him in any way. He can process his own emotions later.

"Anything." Martin shifts over onto his side as silent tears resume a steady trail down his face. Gerry walks over to the bookcase and selects a book he has seen Martin reading a dozen times, the spine well broken and the pages yellowing.

He sits on the floor in front of Martin, near enough for him to hopefully be able to absorb some of the goth's errant body heat. He starts reading, keeping his cadence slow and steady, hoping to provide comfort and grounding.

He reads for almost an hour, and he thinks Martin actually sleeps through most of it. He drinks the tea, although it's already cold.

Eventually, he slows to a stop and closes the book, but doesn't move, hoping Martin will stay sleeping.

"I'm sorry." Gerry is startled by Martin's croaky voice and turns to look at him.

"You have nothing to apologize for."

"I do," Martin starts, rubbing at his checks and sitting up against the armrest. "I'm a disaster and you had to come all this way and waste all this time just because I can't get my shit together."

Gerry's eyes narrow at this nonsense, but his tone remains gentle. "None of the time I spend with you is ever wasted. I care about you and I want to be here for you. I wish you had called me or Jon so that we could have come sooner."

Martin's face falls at the mention of their mutual boyfriend's name. "Of course. You came for Jon. It would have been pretty bad if he had seen this mess."

"That is not what I said, and it's not what I meant." Gerry's voice rises, from hurt at Martin's words, at the way his mental state twists Gerry's heart in his chest. He pulls himself up onto his knees, putting himself firmly in Martin's personal space and leaning in close so Martin can't avoid his eyes or his words. "Martin, allow me to make myself completely clear. Because I won't allow you for one second longer to believe that you are some kind of consolation prize for me, that I tolerate your presence because I feel like you and Jon are a package deal. That anything I do to show you affection or effort is for Jon's benefit. You are a gift to me. The way I feel for you is completely independent of my feelings for Jon. I love us all together, but you. You fill me with hope and laughter and the warmth of a perfectly brewed cup of tea. I want you just as much as I want Jon, and my heart will never be the same if you were to walk away from me. Please don't push me away because you think I only feel this way about Jon. Because that is the furthest thing from my truth."

His declaration sits heavy in the air between them for a moment, almost shimmering where Gerry can practically see it hanging in the air.

"But, I-"

"No, no buts. I'll accept 'thank you, Gerry, you light up my life too, Gerry.' No arguments. No buts. This is a space where we can accept that people love us."

"Thank you, Gerry," Martin says slowly, pulling Gerry closer to hold the sides of their faces together. Gerry wraps his arms around Martin and rocks them gently. "You fill life with colour, my Gerry."

"Much better, love. I'd really like to kiss you now, if you-" Gerry breaks off as Martin pulls him closer and slots their lips together. The kiss is full of desperate desire to bring Martin closer to Gerry and further from his forsaken loneliness.

Gerry slides himself up off the floor, not breaking contact, and sits astride Martin's lap. Martin sneaks his hands up the back of his shirt, hands confident and familiar from months of tactile flirting and easy affection.

Gerry anchors himself to Martin, and Martin anchors himself to Gerry, and at that moment they feel the nexus of their relationship, both with each other and with Jon, lock firmly into place.

#the magnus archives #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #gerry keay #jongerrymartin #gerard keay #also on ao3

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bluejayblueskies · 4 years

Text

hypothesis

Part 16 of Whumptober 2020

Fandom: The Magnus Archives Characters: Jonathan Sims, Martin Blackwood, Tim Stoker, Georgie Barker, Annabelle Cane Tags: Whump, Graphic Depictions of Violence, Body Horror, Unreality

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It was probably foolish, Jon thinks belatedly. To assume that the second time he looked toward their next destination and saw nothing but nothing, it would be another utopia. A place to rest. Peace, even if he wouldn’t remember it.

This place is none of those things. Jon doesn’t know if this thing of spiraling webs and fractured realities has ever truly known peace. It might have once been Hilltop Road, if something as simple as a name could ever be assigned to a place that isn’t a place. Now, it’s less a where and more a when. And when is now, and then, and will be.

It’s everything that has never been, and Jon does not deal in hypotheticals.

The threshold steps over him, and he begins to fracture.

“Here you go.”

Soft hands pass Jon a steaming mug of black tea—stronger than he usually takes it, but with enough milk and sugar to compensate. The steam fogs his glasses, and in the moment it takes them to clear, he remembers cold beaches, and figures dissolved into mist, and the last cries of a man who only wished to die alone. Then, his vision clears, and it’s gone. And Martin’s there, his skin a vibrant mix of pinks and peaches that wash away the greyscale still lingering at the edges of Jon’s vision. “Thank you,” Jon says, and he marvels at the way a simple set of words coaxes a wider smile onto Martin’s face.

“So,” Martin says, settling next to Jon on the soft green couch they’d picked out a few weeks prior as an ‘early Christmas present for themselves’. “How was your day?”

Jon takes a long sip of his tea. “Oh, you know. Grading papers and trying to pretend like I don’t supernaturally know the answer to every question I’m asked.”

“So, the usual?”

“Yeah, pretty much.” Jon curls tighter into Martin’s side, unable to hold back a soft sigh of contentment as Martin’s lips press gently against the crown of his head. “You?”

“Bread is still bread, and when you own a bakery, bread is pretty much all there is,” Martin says, which draws a soft chuckle from Jon. “Oh, I almost forgot!”

He reaches behind him and pulls out a small, tightly-wrapped package. He presses it into Jon’s hands with a delighted anticipation. “I got you something.”

“I can see that,” Jon says, amused. He turns it over in his hands; it has an unusual weight to it, and it yields slightly under his touch. “What is it?”

“If I told you it would ruin the surprise!” Martin chides. “Just open it!”

Jon smiles, and tears away the paper.

And freezes.

“Martin,” he says slowly, nausea rising from within him. “What… what is this?”

Martin grins, and he has too many teeth. “It’s my heart!” he says pleasantly.

The heart pulses in Jon’s hands, and he drops it on instinct. It hits the ground with a wet splat.

Martin looks at him, with a face slanted just a bit to the left, and says, “Why? Why did you do that, Jon? Do you not want it?”

The heart continues to beat, and Martin begins to laugh, and Jon begins to scream.

Jon’s convulsing on the ground, and Martin doesn’t know what to do.

“Jon, Jon, Jon!” Martin says, placing as firm of hands as he thinks is safe on Jon’s shoulders and squeezing tightly, if only to keep him from knocking his head against the wall. “Oh, fuck, please wake up Jon. I- I don’t know what to do.”

He hesitates, then places a hand on Jon’s face, trying to get him to- well, to what, Martin doesn’t exactly know. But he has to do something.

Jon’s eyes snap open in a brilliant flash of green and silver, and when they meet Martin’s, Martin can see everything.

No. Not everything. Everything that’s not. The spaces between what’s known, what’s real. The stories never written, never known, never archived. It’s a spiraling, metaphysical blind spot, and it’s tearing Jon apart.

Martin tries to blink, but he can’t look away.

“Hey, boss!”

Jon sighs, setting his mug aside. “I really wish you would stop calling me that, Tim.”

Tim grins and leans against Jon’s desk, his hand casually brushing Jon’s as he sets it lightly on the desk beside him. “Well, you know what they say about old habits. Besides, it’s only been—what, a week since you fired me? I believe I’m entitled to a bit of a grace period.”

“Tim,” Jon says, in the voice of someone long-suffering. “I did not fire you. I had you and Sasha and Martin transferred from the Archives.”

“Potato, potahto,” Tim says with a pout. This time, the brush of his hand is less than casual as he takes Jon’s hand deftly in his own and presses a chaste kiss to Jon’s knuckles. “You just didn’t want to deal with those pesky office romance guidelines. I know you saw last month’s email about them.”

Jon snatches his hand back, trying very hard to ignore the hot flush rising to his cheeks. “I- I did- that was not a part of my considerations!”

“Just a very fun coincidence, then,” Tim says with a wink and a shrug. “Either way, as pleased as I am that we can all stop dancing around each other at work—because I know it was starting to stress Martin out; that man is not as subtle as he thinks he is, particularly when he starts leaving half-finished cups of tea all over the flat, because we both know his nervous tick is making tea—I do have to wonder whether you intend to organize the entire Archives by yourself now. Even you, a chronic workaholic, have to acknowledge that that’s just a bit unreasonable.”

Jon sighs and runs a tired hand down his face. “Yes, I- I know. I just—well, you heard the tape. I… I’m stuck here. According to Gertrude—"

“If she’s even remotely telling the truth, and not just incredibly senile.”

“—I’m in danger now, and I will be until… until I die. Until something kills me.” Jon feels the terror rising within him again, the kind that had given him many sleepless nights shaking with panicked sobs, with two pairs of arms trying to wring from him the fear that now sits nestled so snugly within him. “But you—all of you—you don’t have to be. This- this place, it’s not safe for any of us, but if it’s just me down here, I… I think you’ll be safe.”

Tim hums, as if in thought. Then: “Well, that’s just bullshit.”

Jon sighs, because he knows what Tim’s going to say, because they’ve had this conversation so, so many times since Jon had uncovered the tape, covered in dust and cobwebs and tucked neatly under a loose floorboard. “Tim, I am not having this argument again, you know that I’ve done the research and what Gertrude said checks out—”

“No, that’s not it,” Tim says, and when Jon looks up, he sees that Tim is smiling, ever so slightly. “You think we’re safe? That locking yourself down here, scared and alone, is safe? I’m still going to die, Jon.”

Jon recoils slightly. “Wh… what?”

Tim’s smile grows wider, and his skin begins to peel away from his face. “I’m still going to be stripped, slowly, of everything that makes me me, and I’m going to die alone, and scared, and it’s going to be all your fault.”

Jon scrambles back, away from his desk, and hits something warm and yielding behind him. Its breath hits his neck, hot and sticky, and he doesn’t dare turn around. “No, no it’s- it’s going to be okay, because I know now! I know, so- so I can fix this!”

Tim laughs, then, and it bursts every blood vessel in Jon’s ears. “That’s always been your problem, Jon.” He closes the gap between them and places a hand slick with blood beneath Jon’s chin, tilting his head so their eyes meet. Or, at least, where Tim’s eyes used to be. What used to be eyes. “Knowing.”

He presses a harsh, bitter kiss to Jon’s lips, and it swallows him whole.

Jon’s lying on the dirt and broken sod outside the shifting place that had once been Hilltop Road, and he isn’t breathing. But his eyes are wide—so, so wide, staring up at nothing, glazed over with a dull silver that reminds Martin, unsettlingly, of a blind man, trying desperately to remember what it felt like to see.

“Jon, please wake up,” Martin begs, holding Jon’s face between his hands and trying to cut through whatever fog has overtaken Jon’s sight, continuing to consume him from the inside out. “We’re out—you’re here now, you’re safe. Please, just- just wake up. The Eye can see you here, it- it should be able to help. Why isn’t it helping?”

“Because what he’s seen cannot be unseen,” a mild voice says, and the face that Martin sees when he turns abruptly to face the speaker is all too familiar. “I’m afraid,” Annabelle Cane continues, “that this is a bell that cannot be unrung. No matter how much you may wish it so.”

Harshly, Martin says, “This is your fault.”

Annabelle looks amused. “Hardly. That place belongs to no one now. Not to the Mother, and certainly not to the Eye. It is… perhaps the only truly free thing that still exists in this world.”

“How,” Martin says, his voice tight, “do I bring him back?”

“You can’t.” Annabelle stares at them with something that might be pity, if it weren’t masked by the barest hint of a smile. “Not without sacrificing something in return.”

Martin doesn’t hesitate. “Show me.”

Annabelle’s teeth flash white as her smile emerges in full. “As you wish.”

“I just think it’s a bit… unrealistic, that’s all.”

Georgie snorts, nudging Jon’s side with a bony elbow. “Oh, sure, because when I decided to make a podcast about supernatural phenomena, realistic was my first priority.”

“I just- ghosts?” Jon lets out a small laugh of disbelief. “I didn’t think you believed in ghosts.”

“Ghosts? Eh. Maybe, maybe not. The supernatural? Definitely.”

Jon hums, idly scratching underneath the Admiral’s chin where he sits curled on Jon’s lap. He earns a soft noise of content for his efforts. “I don’t suppose you have any evidence of—”

“Yes, yes, because god forbid we believe in anything without evidence.” Georgie rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling when she continues, “You could still help, you know. Could be interesting to have the whole skeptic angle going on. People would eat that shit up.”

“Plus, someone has to be there to reign in your frankly excessive use of sound effects.”

Georgie’s elbow meets Jon’s side again, more firmly this time. “Okay, rude.”

Jon opens his mouth, perhaps to make another remark about Georgie’s tendency to ‘overuse slang to the point of incomprehensibility,’ when a motion just behind Georgie’s shoulder stops him cold.

Georgie frowns at him. “Jon, what—?”

The figure moves again, materializing out of the shadows—or perhaps out of the wall entirely, it’s hard to be sure—and Jon hisses, “Georgie, behind you.”

Georgie turns, and freezes. For a moment, Jon thinks that she’s just scared—paralyzed with fright, that someone’s broken into their flat, and she’s trying very hard not to make herself a target.

Then, he sees the pale white hands, wrapped around her wrists and arms and throat, and he’s sure they hadn’t been there before, but now they’re squeezing, and Georgie is slowly choking, her face draining of color to match the hands in pallor, and the Admiral’s vanished, and—

And the figure is standing next to him now, looking at him with something he can only describe as desperation. “Jon, wake up. This isn’t real. This isn’t you.”

Jon can’t stop staring at Georgie as she finally, horrifyingly, goes limp, and the hands slide away in slick satisfaction. He reaches out, like he’s going to touch her, like he’s going to do something to fix this, but his hand stalls halfway there, and he just lets out a strangled sob.

“Jon. Jon, look at me.” There’s a hand, turning his face toward the figure, toward icy blue eyes and soft cheekbones and ginger curls that Jon somehow knows are soft to the touch. “Look at me, and tell me what you see.”

Jon stares into eyes that are entirely unfamiliar, and at a face that he is sure he does not know, and feels a hand that has never touched his squeeze it tightly. “I… I don’t…”

The hand cupping his face strokes a thumb over his cheekbone, so gently. “Jon. Look at me.”

Jon Looks. And everything else falls away.

Jon doesn’t need to know, Martin thinks, as they flee from the when that had never been Hilltop Road. About Annabelle, and about what had happened in that place that’s already slipping like water on wax from Jon’s memory, and about what Martin had to do to get him back.

About what Martin had to leave behind.

And as they walk further from that place that the Eye is blind to, and Martin feels the first of his memories begin to fade away, he remembers the way that Jon had blinked up at him, as if awaking from a trance, and said, “Martin,” and he knows that it was worth it.

#whumptober2020 #no.16 #hallucinations #the magnus archives #fic #body horror tw #unreality tw

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