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rainbowchewynuggets · 1 year

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TMA Encore #10

The fire alarm rings throughout the halls of the archives. A blue-white flare flashes intermittently, casting stark shadows and pins of light on the silvery worms that seep in through every seam and vent in the basement.

Jon skids to a halt as he sees Tim and Martin approach him.

Jon: Are you both alright?

Tim: We’re fine.

Jon: Good. Good. Sasha just headed off to intercept Jonah, so we–

Martin: Look out!

He pulls Jon by the back of his shirt as a writhing flow of worms burgeon from the aged molding of a nearby wall corner. A dozen of them flick outward from the mass toward the spot where Jon was just standing. A few make contact with his arm. He brushes them away feverishly.

Tim: This way!

Tim leads the other two down a long hallway without many weak points. They pass an empty bracket where a wall appliance should be. Some worms slither around on the floor, but can’t get a hold as long as the boys are running.

Tim: Jonah’s down here. I just saw him. So, she can’t be far.

Jon takes about a second and a half to wonder why Jonah wouldn’t be upstairs like he was in the tapes. Not-Jon could have lured him somehow. Easier prey.

Once they reach a safe intersection, Jon stops them and tries to get his bearings.

Jon: Okay, hold on. We need to get to our original places. Tim, you need to split off and head to the CO2 canister room. Martin and I will follow around.

Tim: Then, just come with me!

Jon: He’ll notice.

Tim: Yeah, screw this.

With a single hoist, Tim picks Jon up by the waist and carries him like a rolled-up carpet. Jon exclaims and struggles but can’t get free.

Tim: Come on, Martin.

Martin: R-right.

They march around the corner as fast as they can manage without losing grip of Jon.

Jon: What on earth do you think you’re doing?!

Tim: The real plan. We’re fighting our way out of here.

Jon: You can’t be serious. This isn’t an action movie, Tim!

Tim: Sasha’s idea, actually. Martin liked it too.

Jon fires a look at Martin.

Martin: Sorry.

Jon keeps protesting as they navigate and try to avoid drifts of worms. Pain shoots up their ankles and wrists as a few catch hold. Panic starts to set in as they encounter more and more blank walls and empty wall brackets. They reach the storage room and find it empty.

Martin: Uh, Tim…?

Tim: Where the fuck are the CO2 canisters?

Sasha had to catch herself. Nearly said “Jonah”.

The head of the Magnus Institute is in the middle of thwacking a cluster of worms crawling along the wall with a rolled-up manila folder. He picks a few off of his arm. His pants are tucked into his socks.

Elias: Sasha. You should evacuate--someone pulled the fire alarm. Not to mention there are these things.

Sasha: I know, I pulled it. We better find a route as far away from supporting walls as we can.

Elias: Of course. They’ll take longer to fill up a larger room.

And it’ll make it harder for Not-Jon to sneak up, she hopes. Jonah may be a monster, but they can’t have him feeding the other predator.

Elias: I think the closest room is artifact storage.

Sasha: ...No. No, I think I’d rather try the big file room over this way.

Elias: Why?

Sasha stumbles over the thought of going through there again. Even if the table is gone, any of the other cursed objects could get her. There may be no reason they’d strike now more than any time before, but the thought of her life ending in the same spot again barbs her.

Sasha: Guh–I–if they’re eating through wood fiber, I’d rather have papers fall on me than bathtubs and axes.

Elias: Ah. Good point.

They head off. She lets him lead by a little bit, weighing how much of this he might have been hoping for and how much is genuine surprise. She can’t help but worry how difficult he’ll make himself if he catches on that they know something.

Elias: Sasha?

Sasha: Y-yes?

Elias: Were you also the one who locked all the doors? And removed the CO2 canisters?

Sasha: What? No. I didn’t even know they were.

Her mind races.

Elias: I thought it might have been Jon. He seems very unwell lately.

Sasha: Is now really the time, sir?

They’ve nearly reached the file room.

Elias: You’re right. I can assess the team’s efficacy after this is over. And make changes from there.

Sasha: Well, it wasn’t any of us.

She speaks reflexively and only realizes the implication of another actor after taking a good pull at the file room door.

The second the door swings open, the two of them have to leap back as a wave of worms comes spilling out. They cover Sasha’s feet. She rips them off as quickly as she can, but she misses a few that make it into her socks. When she looks up, Jonah is gone.

Sasha: J–! *sigh*

She moves on in search of another path.

Tim, Jon, and Martin are running out of options. Tim has put Jon down, his muscles tired from toting him around and getting kicked for it. It doesn’t matter. There’s no way back to the original route without crossing rivers of worms. Jon is occupied with watching their blind spots with Martin. He reserves the right to bitch about being manhandled, however. Tim doesn’t even hear him. He’s laser focused on finding their way through the maze of corridors.

All the connecting rooms their plan is counting on are locked. Neither his or Martin’s best shoulder charge can break them down. They don’t really have time to try, anyway. It feels like the worms are coming out faster and faster. The three of them all have little tag-alongs on their arms and legs too deep to dig out. Martin can swear one went down the back of his shirt. There are no CO2 canisters anywhere. The air smells stale, almost putrid.

It feels like they’ve been down there for hours by the time they reach the stairs. Tim stops at the intersection and looks around.

Martin: Wasn’t Sasha supposed to meet us?

Tim calls her name down the halls. No answer. The three of them unanimously decide that they’re not going anywhere without her and dive back in. As they turn around, Jon notices that the heavy security door at the top of the stairs is shut. He’s never seen it shut.

Jon: It looks like our exits are being cut off. The tunnels might be our only option after all.

Tim: I swear to god, I’ll take that door off its hinges if I have to. We’re not going down there again.

Martin doesn’t say anything. He nervously glances between them and the halls with his jaw set.

The putrid smell intensifies.

Jon and Tim graduate to arguing over directions and minutia of risk. The rising tide of silver worms make their choices narrower and narrower, yet they both find grounds to disagree. It reaches a point where they’re fighting over whether or not to open a door. Martin’s eyes and stomach hurt from the smell. He can swear it’s getting stronger the longer they wait. Worms press in from the way they came. He holds his breath, takes a step between his teammates, and opens the door himself.

Tim turns and runs.

Sasha has lost track of time. She was definitely supposed to meet Tim and the others by now. Whenever she thinks she’s found a valid path forward, she ends up with worms or locked doors and has to double back and circle around. Her fingers turn cold as she tries not to picture what kind of trouble they could be dealing with while they’re separated. She hopes Jon wasn’t too irate.

Part of her might be willing to be bolder if the other part didn’t already know what would happen. Death by misadventure. Again. That is, if Not-Jon doesn’t elect to pay her back for her meddling first. She tries to listen for footsteps, but the gut-churning squirming is drowning out everything else. And then, there’s that smell. She pushes forward.

Within the next couple minutes, she thinks she does hear something. A voice, maybe. Instinct tells her to hide, but she isn’t about to go anywhere near the walls. She doesn’t even feel like she should stop moving.

Jon: Back this way.

Sasha: Jon? Jon!

She sprints around the next corner and skips over a heap of worms. She nearly trips.

Her heart sinks through the floor.

Sasha: Oh, god. How–why–?

Martin: Prentiss cornered us. He cleared our way out… kind of. But I think he’s okay. He’s just unconscious.

Jon: We’re trapped. We need to get to the tunnels.

Sasha glances at Martin. He nods decisively.

She marches ahead and scouts their way to the room at the end of the hall. Guilty frustrated tears pool in her eyes as she approaches the door she had risked her friends’ safety to avoid. She kicks away some worms and tries to see if it’ll even open.

The doorknob to the office slides easily in its socket. There are two flashlights, extra batteries, and a first aid kit waiting for them beside the trapdoor. Sasha looks at Jon. He shakes his head like, “Wasn’t me.”

They all know who it was. This was planned. There was never any escape.

Martin sighs.

Martin: Come on. Almost there.

Sasha lifts the carpet-covered plank a crack. Seeing nothing immediately alarming, she opens it the rest of the way and holds it so the others can carefully pick their way down. She grabs the gear and follows.

The tunnels aren’t as quiet as they should be. Soft unintelligible echoes drift up through the darkness in overlapping strains. The noise does nothing to describe what activity could be going on deeper in the prison–only to remind that there is, indeed, something there. Jon tries to ignore it as he holds the flashlight for Martin and Sasha while they work on stabilizing Tim.

He watches the shallow rise and fall of Tim’s stained shirt, trying to keep his worries off of all the red holes and whatever he isn’t seeing with his back turned. His mind still finds room to wander and berate. There wasn’t actually that much evidence to suggest that Not-Jon would find them on their first escape attempt. If he had planned the mess they’re in now, he might have been counting on Jon to stall before. If he hadn’t, they might have made it out. But he just had to get them caught. He had to be sure. The view of the flashlight quivers back and forth. He tucks the handle under his arm.

Once in a while, a sharper noise gets Sasha and Martin’s attention. Jon snaps around with the flashlight extended accusatorily, finding nothing there but some aimless stray worms. They resume.

Martin tries to be precise with the corkscrew, but the wounds are already deep. Slowly, the worms come out, one by one.

Sasha: Maybe we should stop and let him rest a bit. The bleeding might be too much.

Martin puts the screw and Tim’s arm down gratefully. He wipes off his stiff hands on a cheap rag from the kit.

Martin: *dryly* Anybody want to go next?

Jon looks a little sick and hangs his head.

Sasha wraps and ties off a bandage layered with gauze around Tim’s forearm.

Sasha: I, um, might have tipped Jonah off on my way down here. For all we know, he’s already headed for the hills.

Jon: Not unless he miraculously got through to unlock the doors. I’d bet he’s down here somewhere.

Sasha: Along with our old pal.

Martin: I guess we’ll have to figure out a way to keep them away from each other. Fast.

Jon and Sasha look at him.

Martin: Well, what else are we gonna do? Who knows what’s going to happen if he gets what he wants?

Jon: *glancing at Tim* It’s out of our hands, Martin.

“He’s not wrong.”

Jon keeps the flashlight trained on the apparition. The other Martin is perfectly unbothered in the harsh light. The group’s alarm subsides.

Sasha: You must be with The Thing That Used To Be Jonathan Sims?

Not-Martin: I suppose you could say that. Which… would make me What Remains of Martin Blackwood.

Jon, Martin, Sasha: Not-Martin.

NM: Sure.

Not-Martin gives Tim a quick appraisal. He gently rolls back Tim’s pant leg to the knee, revealing a whole series of holes that Martin hasn’t gotten to yet. The others flinch, unsure if it’d be a good idea to try to stop him.

NM: Good lord. That went badly, didn’t it?

His tone is devoid of concern. Tim sucks air as the other Martin scores his hand up the red-riddled leg, forcing the worms out as burnt black coils. The skin is instantly cauterized and healed. The others stare in appalled fascination.

NM: I’m really not a fan of the Desolation… or the Flesh. But they can be made to come in handy.

Tim lolls his head, not quite able to regain consciousness. Not-Martin gives him a quick slap across the face, and he’s wide awake. Tim presses up against the wall, his attention flicking between the two Martins with instant suspicion.

Tim: This the other one?

NM: The one that just saved your leg. Can I see your arm?

Tim notices the absent pain and does some calculations in his head. He submits his arm. The wounds are completely healed, if with an unfavorable hissing sound. Not to mention Not-Martin’s ice hold hands. Tim feels his arm over. Nothing seems acutely out of place. Did his arm hair always grow in that direction?

NM: Sorry it took me so long to catch up.

Jon: Were you part of the other me’s plan all along?

NM: Can’t imagine I would be. I’m trying to stop him.

As Not-Martin works on the rest of them, he explains his objective. He does so as casually as outlining a to-do list. Jon guesses that he’s been here before, too.

In short, Not-Jon really does want to prevent an apocalypse, but his plan is doomed to fail. His logic is deeply swayed by the hunger of the Fears, and he’s unable to see that. Not-Martin keeps trying to interfere, so Not-Jon stalls him as much as he can between interactions with the group.

He asks the group some questions. They don’t exactly trust him, so they give him a general summary of their ordeal from the past few months. No details. The corner of Not-Martin’s mouth pulls thoughtfully. He says that things probably went roughly the way that Not-Jon expected. He usually winds up having to deal with Jonah in the Panopticon.

Jon: Then what was the point of having me hide the statements?

Tim: Nothing. Just keeping you busy.

Jon restrains a glare, unable to argue.

Not-Martin’s gaze searches somewhere above them.

NM: Well… maybe not nothing.

Below, all the worms on the ground wither and die.

NM: And there goes Jane.

Not-Jon struggles to hold together as he overtakes the vacuum created by the absence of Jane. His throat fills up with flossy spores. His skin rots and turns blue with ugly uneven patches of mold. His old worm wounds turn to greasy pits as his tissues shrivel and tear. He is a vague decomposing shape on unsteady legs.

He imagines pulling himself upward, through the rising tide of the Corruption’s desire to rot and hollow. If he keeps pulling, he’ll be able to surmount it. He’s done it countless times before. But it just keeps coming. The pulling is hard. It’s tiring. It hurts so much. He doesn’t stop.

Jon notices Not-Martin through the floor. Not-Martin finishes healing the others and stands up. Not-Jon grits his teeth and steps away from the wall. The Corruption slowly recedes.

————

First

The fact that I hadn’t introduced Not-Martin yet was one of the big reasons I didn’t give up on this project. So happy he’s finally here.

#the magnus archives #mag200 spoilers #magnus pod #tma fancomic #tma encore 10 #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #sasha james #tim stoker #jonah magnus #elias bouchard #the corruption #cw parasites #cw pitted skin #cw blood #cw decomposition

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mr-laveau · 9 months

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Cu-wip-osity tag game >:D

@cash-n-prizes really told me to get my ass in gear and WELL, here I am so here we go!

rules: reveal the titles of the documents in your WIP folder and tag as many people as there are documents. let others ask questions about the ones that interest them, and post snippets or explain the contents as you see fit!

Tagging: there are too many people to tag and i don’t talk to that many people sooooo whoever wants can tag in. Trust me, I cannot tag that many people for this.

And Then there were three - SH, Angel & Baaabe

Roses n’ Thorns - Darlin/Quinn (past) - Darren(Darlin) used to be in a band with Quinn called Rose n’ Thorns. Yes, I did in fact write Darr being in a band with Quinn into his actual backstory, fuck timelines and canon, I do what I want.

Spell slot - Lovely(electro)/Vincent

Gotcha bitch! - Darlin/pack - poly Shaw pack - Darren (Darlin) has a breakdown when the pack throws him a surprise birthday party

In the face of eternity - Lovely(Vampire)

Who’s ya daddy? - SH/Milo (ft. Colm) - Sadhil (SH) realizes that he and Milo have daddy issues, except SH used to work for Milo’s daddy.

Pretty Girl(gn) Walk - Angel/Darlin/David(minor)

Self-portrait - Gavin/FL - Gavin has too many hobbies but this new one is fun.

Stellar Collapse - Starlight

Fed to the Wolves - David/Darlin

The importance of Couch sharing - Poly Shaw Pack - David/Darlin/Asher/Milo

Backup Generator - DAMN Polycule & Lovely(Vampire)/Vincent

Extra Lessons - Sam/FL/Darlin

Come Back to Haunt - David & SH

Do you have an appointment? - Sam/FL - R18

Hate to see em leave, Love to watch em go - Poly Shaw pack - Asher/Milo/David/Darlin - Asher and Milo talk about David & Darren (Darlin) behind their backs but they’re specifically talking about their behinds - R18

Sweet Dreams (are made of this) - Sunshine/Elliott

Dahlia Empowered Records & Profiles Department - audio project - Magnus Archives parody but make it Redacted

Honestly…no - David/Darlin

A Pack of Idiots - Poly Shaw Pack:

"I'm in love with Asher." David said. The room went quiet after that as Sadhil and Milo's eyes locked onto their alpha in disbelief–more specifically disbelief in the fact that David actually said the very thing that everyone in the pack would joke about when they saw him and his beta together in any capacity. The key word there being 'joked' because no one actually expected it to be true. Sadhil had the mind to question the statement further but got beat to the opportunity to speak. "Well no shit, Sherlock." Darren replied. "Took you that long to figure out?" Now eyes were going back and forth between Tank and David, the bigger wolf looking at the usually quiet shifter in bewilderment as they met his gaze with nonchalance. The investigator could already feel the tensions rising and if they knew both of their fellow pack members well enough then there'd be more to this. "What do you mean, long enough?" "–Darr means," Milo is the one to speak up this time, cutting off Tank from making anymore frank remarks and riling the other man up, "that we can all tell." "What?”

Running Memories - Darlin focused

Can You Roll a Charisma Check? - Lasko/Listener (pre-canon listener) - Lasko finds out that someone new has joined his DnD group and he’s definitely gonna have to roll high if he wants to impress them

Out for Blood - Sam/Darlin - R18

What if we all dated each other? - DAMN Polycule

In-Spectre - Yes I know that’s name of an anime, I’m being funny - SH/Milo:

"Why don't I take you dancin' some time?" "You got two feet shorter than myself there, toots. You think you can keep up?" Sadhil smirks.

Bad Dog - (Dom) Darlin/ Sam - R18:

"Course not." The vampire huffs. "I know you better than that Darlin." "Do you really, doc?" Darren smiles as crosses his arms and slowly strides over to Sam from across the bar with a sly grin. "Because I know for a fact that there's a side to me you haven't met yet and he wants to make you beg like a hungry mutt." Sam Collins has never in his life wanted anything more than just to let his mate have their way with him right now. He doesn't have time to question why when the one thing racing in his mind is to let Darren use and abuse him like a bone for his wolf to chew on, and he'll be damned if he doesn't let tonight be the night for that to happen. "Where?" "As much as I would like to fuck you in one of the stalls here, I want your ass on a bed where I can have it to myself tonight."

Broke Back Mountain - Sam/Huxley

Ghostly Touches - Lasko/SH/Milo - R18

Don’t Hold Your Breath - DAMN Polycule

Two Birds - David/Darlin

Worth of Chance - SH & Colm

Sway - Vincent/Lovely

Heart Strings - Asher/Baaabe/Darlin

Keeping Track of Things 1 & 2 - Darlin/Sam (feat. BE & Fred)

Reset Button - Lovely(Vampire) & Sam

Ghosted - SH/Sam/Darlin

Parks & Recreation - Darlin/David

Anyways, have fun~

#redacted asmr #redacted audio #redactedverse #redacted fandom #ask meme #ask #ask game #inbox #redacted fanfic #redacted fanfiction #redacted asmr fanfic #redacted audio fanfic #writing wip #wips

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nyessasundries · 1 year

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TTRPG design WIPs (part 1)

I was inspired to look back at a game in progress that I've been tinkering with for a long time, and of course that forced me to see everything else languishing in my WIPs folder, so I figured I'd give a little rundown here of what I have in various stages of development.

Untitled Cooperative Survival Game

This is the first game I ever started designing, and while it needs some refinement, it is in a reasonably playable form...as long as you're inside my skull and don't require much of anything actually written down yet. The premise of the game is that the characters are a group of survivors stranded in an uninhabited wilderness and have to work together to:

survive

explore the environment they've found themselves in

find a way to get out

The game has a heavy emphasis on cooperating with the other members of your group to prioritize the most important needs with limited resources and an incomplete understanding of the challenges you face.

Per My Last Email,

(yes, the comma is part of the title)

This is another game that is mostly finished and was, in fact, available for free in its incomplete form on my Itch page for a while before I decided to take it down for the next stage of revision. Per My Last Email, is a comedic epistolary game of eldritch horror and office politics, where you are trying to survive an interdimensional invasion of your office job long enough to clock out and go home. You play via email (or post in a Discord server or something to simulate emails), taking credit for every success you can while shifting the blame for your failures onto your co-workers as much as possible, all while things in the office get progressively weirder.

It mainly needs some random tables, a revamp of the progress tracking system, and some refinement to the overall structure/turn order for asynchronous play. Playtests have thus far been tricky due to the perpetual issue of people getting busy with life and forgetting the game exists.

Paramnesis/Paramnesia

Less well developed in terms of mechanics, this may end up being my first foray into designing a PbtA game. The overall structure of PbtA feels right, but I definitely have some specific mechanics in mind that go beyond the usual PbtA format. Paramnesis (or Paramnesia, I haven't decided which form I like better) is a paranormal investigation game initially inspired by podcasts like The Magnus Archives, Archive 81, and The Black Tapes. In the game, players investigate strange happenings that at first seem disconnected, but ultimately tie together with personal mysteries in each character's past. Key to figuring it all out is striking a balance between healthy skepticism and openness to the weird as the characters confront things beyond their understanding.

The GM is encouraged to not have an overarching mystery in mind from the start of a campaign because players have opportunities at certain key moments to declare when the current investigation relates in some way to their personal mysteries. Ultimately, players and GM work collaboratively to find the shape of whatever is behind it all. My biggest challenge with the design of this game will be to give GMs the right kind of guidance to tie threads together without having control of all the strings.

Anything You Can Do

As the title may suggest, this is a two-player game about variety show rivals attempting to out-do each other and win over the crowd. However, something happens to put the show in jeopardy, and you must work together—or against each other—to make sure the show can go on. This is my first game to use playing cards, and the mechanics are pretty fleshed out but could use a little refinement; then I just have to do the actual writing part (why is that part always so hard?). I'd also like to see if I can work out a version for three or four players, but that may come after the initial release.

I think I'll leave it at those for now, and come back to some of my less well developed projects and concepts in a later post!

Which of these projects interest you the most, and which would you like to see me work on first?

#ttrpgs #indie ttrpgs #ttrpg design #my wips #my games

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inktheduck · 1 year

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Explaining the tabs.

Brief summary: Let me talk about what's in my Magnus Institute binder! :D<

As I am listening to The Magnus Archives I will be taking notes! Honestly it is because Jonny boy here has a quiet and calming voice. I either had to sit still and risk falling asleep, or go about my day missing whatever important info he is dropping.

So my next conclusion is that I take notes. Keep my hands and brain busy, y'know. I am very logical and not at all being extra about this podcast experience.

Take heed that the labels were given spur in the moment. It’s bound to change or have more folders added. I have a feeling this is going to get messy... :|

BEHOLD THE TABS:

Rough Notes: Scramble for information.

These will be the notes I take while listening to the podcast. I've written names, dates, and places down. Brief descriptions of said persons and the gist of what they went through. It looks very messy. But hey, they call it rough for a reason. Notes will be written in episodic order.

Refined Notes: So posh and clean!

Taking a look at my rough notes and annotating transcripts if I can find them I can write my findings in a organized manner! The structure will likely go as followed;

Title. Statement code(?) assigned by Gertrude Robinson. Statement Giver. Intro description given by Jonathan Sims.

Overview of events. Dates, places, and people appearing in the episode (both in the statement and recording).

Personal commentary.

Dates: This will take a long, long time.

There are many statements given over 200 years I assume. Bit by bit I will record the chronological events that take place in the show. This will take a long, long time.

Names: I will have a page for everyone

I will have a page for everyone who ever shows up or is even mentioned in The Magnus Archives. Who they are, what episode(s) they show up in, and what they have done.

This tab will also be...extensive...and very full. Perhaps I'll have them be in alphabetical order? I'm also thinking to have the institute employees and statement givers in their own sub-categories. Main cast privileges I guess?

Places: A long record of places.

When they were mentioned and what happened there. I may add maps! :D<

Goners: Originally going to be "Missing/Dead".

but I think "Goners" is the best description. The Goners tab will consist of three (3) sub-categories: Missing, Dead, and...Something Else.

Descriptions will include: Name of person. What happened. Date of being a Goner. Assigned sub-category.

Connections: There are patterns. Everywhere.

Reoccurring imagery, behaviors, appearances will be recorded.

For example, I remember two separate statement givers who mentioned people who are really into fractals. Not sure why or how they are connected, but these concepts are too similar to dismiss. The same goes for eye motif. (Seriously why the eyeballs?)

I am aware of the concept of "entities" and "avatars" but vaguely know the names of them. (There are like, 12 of them?) Being spoiled with this knowledge might be helpful to be prepared for future events and how to counteract them :O

or ruin surprises and immersion for me :(

Conclusions: Wrapping it up baby B)

This will be the section where I theorize how to deal with these situations or people(?). I will incorporate my statement commentaries to make a comprehensive conclusion. Specifically about these "entities" and "avatars".

Preventative measures. Self defense. Aftercare.

I think these statement givers/victims fall on a spectrum. You have:

Those who indulge in risky behaviors. Who go out of their way to find trouble. They do it to either fight or embrace these "entities".

Those misfortunate enough to be in the crossfire. They were just trying to live their lives and they got shot by tragedy. Trouble found them. And it hurts.

I feel like people are going to think I'm insane for being so thorough. Maybe they're right. :(

But this is my project, not theirs. >:)

#tma #tma podcast #the magnus archives #tma spoilers #the magnus institute #ink in the archives #hah #at this point I'm like the American intern.#love ya hehe

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douglysium · 29 days

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Episode 7 TMP Quick Thoughts

Housekeeping and Prologue

Hello, this is Douglysium and you might not know me as that guy who wrote over 100 pages of analysis on the Eye (which can be read on Tumblr here (https://douglysium.tumblr.com/post/735599414228484097/the-relationships-between-the-dread-powers-the) or Google Docs here (The Relationships Between the Dread Powers: The Eye- Knowledge is Fear and Ignorance is Bliss)) or as that guy who wrote an article on the Extinction (which can be read on Tumblr here(https://douglysium.tumblr.com/post/717929126195003392/what-would-avatars-of-the-extinction-be-like-a) and Google Docs here(What would Avatars of the Extinction be like?: A TMA Speculation)). Suffice to say I might be a bit of a TMA fan. Also, spoilers for TMP up until episode 4. You can read my ramblings on the last episode here (TMP Quick Thoughts 6).

However, Protocol offers a very unique opportunity and experience for me because I didn’t actually get into TMA until after it was over and I binged all of it. So this is my first time experiencing something even remotely similar to what the original TMA fans probably experienced when waiting for each episode week by week and slowly having to put everything together with the limited information they had. So I decided to throw my hat into the ring since this might be my only chance to do something similar. However, I’m working on some longer form TMA content so I can’t spend as much time on these articles giving a bunch of super detailed thoughts. I will try to keep these short and that inevitably might mean some could have questions about why I think or predict certain things and in those cases I would probably recommend you read at least some of the two articles I mentioned above to get a better idea of where I’m coming from. This also means I won’t be giving you a play-by-play of every single thing that happens in the episode so I encourage you to listen to or read them yourselves and feel free to comment if you feel something is important.

These reviews are probably going to end up focusing mostly on the Entities and their manifestations as they are what I have thought about the most and spent the most time interpreting and there’s been a lot of… interesting theories floating around about how the Entities are manifesting that I want to go over.

Finally, I’m just going to say it right now, spoiler warning for all of The Magnus Archives. I know that Jon and co said one could start with Protocol and be fine, and while that’s probably true, media like this tends to be made in conversation with or take into consideration what came before it in the irl chronology in order to connect them. While I’m sure you could skip The Magnus Archives, I don't really see the point of skipping over it when we are already getting characters from TMA showing up in TMP in Protocol. So to me it’s pretty clear that if we want to understand the full picture of TMP and all the things it is trying to say then we can’t just try to pretend TMA doesn’t exist or scrub it away. Just because you could understand what’s happening without the context in broad strokes doesn’t mean you're getting all the nuances.

These articles are meant to be quick and short so sorry if there’s typos and if I don’t address every possible question or possibility. I don’t want to repeat myself too much in this series outside of the prologue so be sure to skim some of my other articles.

Episode 7 “Give and Take”

Like always we cut to a computer spying on some characters (something something Entities, person, or monster watching). In this case it is Alice giving Celia a tutorial on how to work the computers… and in less than 5 minutes into her second appearance Celia has already become one of the most suspicious characters in the entire series so far when she says “Yeah. I mean, it’s an old system, but it could have been worse. It’s not like we’re wrestling with tape recorders and manila folders. ” which implies that she might not only be familiar with these kinds of things but that she is also referencing The Magnus Institute. Since we know that the Institute in TMA used both tape recorders and paper documents to record and archive statements. Sure this could be a coincidence but this is just such an absurdly oddly specific and otherwise random thing for Celia to say and she phrases it in a manner that would imply this is an experience she has had directly.

The way Celia continues to talk yet further hammers in that she’s sort of expecting or used to this. She even questions Alice’s half baked explanation of why the computer’s talk in this interaction-

ALICE

“Not really. Colin, he’s the weird IT guy, he reckons some of the system runs through the sound card so it just spits them out randomly.”

CELIA

“You’re sure?”

ALICE

“Well, no. But it kinda makes sense.”

This not only implies that Celia understands that there could be another explanation for what’s happening with the computers but it also shows that Alice may not believe these statements are as fake as she lets on, or at the very least she thinks Colin’s explanation doesn’t any sense, but I suppose believing in some weird technobabble from the IT guy probably makes more sense then believing people are turning into trees born from guilt or violins being satiated by sacrifices of blood and / or violence.

Celia then asks if Alice and company have ever bothered checking to see if the statements they get have anything in common and eventually mentions this while asking if it is possible to look up specific files “Oh I don’t know. Every case about being buried alive or meat or… whatever. ” An oddly specific thing to ask and the patterns Celia asks about as an example would be patterns that are very familiar to viewers of TMA. Specifically, if you were to look through statements revolving around being buried alive or meat you would find that they usually have to do with The Buried and The Flesh.

Alice does mention there’s a search bar that doesn’t work and so Celia would have to go through them manually. I wonder if this is intentionally done so that anyone who’s really adamant about finding a particular file would need to look through a bunch of statements or something (The Eye’s whole “seeing too much” and all that’s pointed out by MAG 200 and some other parts of TMA). The last time statements like this were disorganized it was because Gertrude purposefully disrupted the Archives to throw Jonah off but I don’t know if such a thing would be possible here. Maybe one or more IT managers have been purposefully messing around with the system’s code (which could explain Colin’s frustration with said code). But I’m not sure if that really makes any sense even if Colin does say the code in the system makes no sense. It’s possible that the code doesn’t make sense because it literally just shouldn’t work but it’s also possible that Klaus or someone else purposefully made the coding obtuse for some unknown reason. It could also be a mixture of both, maybe most of the code doesn’t and shouldn’t work but specific parts of it do allowing for extremely specific things to be manipulated or changed.

Before we get into the statement we need to address the elephant in the room. Something that I missed when originally listening to this episode and something pointed out by others is that Celia is actually a name we have heard before in TMA. A character by the name of Celia is actually one of the survivors living in the tunnels with Melanie and Georgia as part of a cult worshipping them. However, that actually isn’t even the first time we’ve seen her since we know she actually changed her name and used to go by Lynne Hammond and she appears in MAG 100 (I Guess You Had to Be There) rambling about ghosts and fire, as well as MAGs 190 (Scavengers), 191 (What We Lose) and 194 (Parting) as part of Georgie and Melanie’s cult. I don’t recall Celia ever getting a new last name in TMA and the Celia in TMP goes by Ripley but they are both voiced by the same voice actress (according to the wiki anyway).

Okay, so this Celia character must be the same person right? Well… there’s a big question we have to ask ourselves and that’s how the fuck Celia could’ve gotten here and I think there are a 3 broad answers that are the most likely.

The first, most basic, answer is considering that we later see parallel versions of some other characters it’s possible this Celia is merely a parallel version of the one from the TMA universe and that potentially she is worshipping the Entities or something as a parallel to how she worshipped Melanie and Georgie. However, this explanation has a hole since even if you were 100% adamant that Smirke’s 14 still exist in this universe the tapes and manilla folder stuff are oddly specific. It’s possible that she somehow interacted with this universe’s Magnus Institute (I have no idea how old she is) and that the tapes could still exist somewhere as they were probably pulled to this universe along with the Entities.

The second answer is that Celia got dragged here with the Entities but I find that possibility to not make a lot of sense. Annabelle hypothesizes that when the Change is undone the Entities will be sucked into a new universe. Theoretically, this would mean any monsters would get dragged along with them, as monsters are literally part of the Entities, and what happens to Avatars is a bit up in the air to a degree. If the Avatar’s body can still function biologically (that is to say they don’t have their skull caved in like Annabelle and their body wouldn’t just stop functioning the second the Entities leave) they might just be left behind. If the Avatar is actively being kept alive by one or more Entities (and isn’t just having their aging slowed down or halted) then one of two things could happen: they would just die or end up dragged along with the Entities. Annabelle also mentions that it might also depend on how close you are to the Entity and how much of you is made up of said Entity. Presumably normal people would be left behind. While Annabelle is mostly just speculating and could be wrong, her point is somewhat backed up based on what we hear about Simon. Since Melanie says in MAG 200 “I mean, I just don’t think people would exactly be understanding. You remember what happened when they found Simon Fairchild?” and “And he’s not just some powerless left-behind avatar, you know? We’re talking about ‘The Archivist’.”

Which to me would imply that Anabelle was at least mostly right with the biggest question being if Annabelle died or was dragged into the universe. It is possible Annabelle was just wrong and that the people dragged to the new universe were random or maybe certain domains dragged people with them. This second explanation also has some holes since Celia later mentions that CHESTER’s voice sounds familiar and Sam gets an email from someone named “John.” IF Jon and Martin somehow did get dragged to this universe or connected to it that would punch a hole in this theory since while Jon became literally part of The Eye (via becoming its pupil) Martin didn’t seem to be any sort of Avatar or Monster. It’s possible Martin got dragged along with Jon because he was in the same area as Jon, because he is closer to The Eye and / or Lonely than we thought or something else entirely but idk for sure but I feel like there’s also a 3rd possible answer.

This third answer being that Celia followed the Entities through the gap in reality sometime after the Change had been undone. As I pointed out in the last Quick Thoughts there’s actually no confirmation that the hole would automatically close once the Entities were pulled through it and I don’t think there’s any reason to assume that it would just seal itself. In addition to this we know the Entities (such as The Web) could actually reach through the gap to a certain extent. This is seen in MAG 114 (Cracked Foundation) when Anya Villette is seemingly pulled through the gap. Anya notes “Thinking now I know that there wasn’t any light down there, but… that horrid gap was clear as day, darker than just the simple lack of light that surrounded it. And then I was at the edge looking down, and those eight spindly arms reaching up to pull me in. I couldn’t have screamed even if I wanted to.” and when she wakes up she notes that the date is off. The date was originally April 23rd but somehow it had become April 8th after what is presumably The Web pulled her though.

This third answer proposes that Celia had a similar experience and an Entity pulled / beckoned her through or that she even purposefully followed them through somehow. This could explain why she is aware of the tapes and folders the Institute had and she even comes across a tape in one of the tunnels during the Change after meeting Jon but this also doesn’t really answer how she found out about Entities like The Buried and Flesh. Not everyone dragged to each Domain seems automatically aware of the Entities or which Entity their Domain belongs to but it’s possible that some of the remaining characters from TMA simply filled her in on the truth after the fact or that Georgie and Melanie tried to explain what was happening before even if she didn’t initially believe them. It’s also possible that Celia was just dragged to some weird Domain where the 14 Entities and knowledge of their categories was somehow implemented into their fear.

Maybe after Melanie and Georgie’s cult members were dragged back to their Domains from the tunnels Celia lost faith in them and began worshipping the Entities as some sort of gods? She wouldn’t be the first person to do so since The Cult of the Lightless Flame, The Church of the Divine Host, and Peter Lukas all refer to their respective Entity as a god and seem to believe them to be such. Not that I can completely blame them for that conclusion. But it’s also possible that she simply realized the truth of the Entities somehow or came to some other conclusion. Maybe she is in fact here to help Jon or somebody else for some reason? If the gap is still open maybe she is just banking on being able to travel back and forth somehow? Although, that might be a little much even for TMA and multiversal travel in TMA doesn’t feel that easy or controlled.

Let’s move on to the statement though. Immediately, the statement hits us with a familiar name: “Hilltop Centre branch of Oxford Peoples” which points to a possible connection to Hilltop Road in TMA. I didn’t actually plan for this to happen right after I mentioned the possibility of the gap in reality. I wonder if what the computers show is truly random or if there is some sort of logic to them? We know that Jonah mentioned he would try to make sure Jon found specific statements to guide him on the right path and it is odd that the OIAR computers randomly showed Gwen Lena’s secret and showed Alice that Sam was trying to access classified documents. It could just be a random information leak but maybe someone or something is trying to pull the strings and trying to guide them somewhere with a trail of breadcrumbs. Either way CHESTER continues to give the statement.

It details messages from Dianne Margolis complaining about a company's neglect in addition to describing a strange event that unfolded At the Hilltop Centre branch of Oxford People’s. The first odd thing to happen is that upon being promoted to the manager position due to the death of the previous manager Dianne had a period of probation and, according to her, upon completing it “It soon became apparent that though Mr. C Clayton was my line manager,

neither he nor the Human Resources Department would provide any managerial oversight or support and any requests for assistance sourcing a replacement volunteer for my former role would go unanswered.” and she takes matters into her own hands by printing out and posting A4 flyers around Hilltop Centre. On November 13th, 2015 an applicant walks in and Dianne notes “The young man's interview was not exceptional as he had no experience in charity work, no driving license nor any demonstrable experience in retail. He claimed, however, to know the Hilltop Centre better than anyone and as he was the only applicant in the role I elected to give him a try.”

I might as well spoil some of my assumptions right now and say that I believe this statement reeks of parallels with The Stranger. We’ll get into more specific examples later but I think it’s interesting that the man is seemingly unremarkable and lacks a driving license. While the man could have easily had other forms of identification a driving license is also a pretty notable form of identification. It could simply be that this man doesn’t know how to drive but it’s kind of weird that Dianne didn’t immediately say this man’s name. Almost like she didn’t know it… almost like this man is a total stranger. Someone she doesn’t know (and The Stranger feeds off the fear of the unknown and uncanny).

Dianna says “He even personally donated a rather large false plant in a somewhat disconcerting ceramic pot modelled on a shouting human face.” which I admit could be rather vague but I think it could be an Entity like The Stranger trying to feed off of the fear of the uncanny. Not only could that explain the weird human head but The Stranger in TMA had a precedent for handing out weird and seemingly random items. Sometimes it was stuff like Breekon and Hope passing around the artifacts of other Entities and at other times it was students passing out apples with teeth in them.

This man eventually says he has a friend who also wanted to volunteer and while Dianne was extremely suspicious of this offer “given that the site still needed at least 5 more staff members and Mr. C. Clayton was no longer replying to my messages, I had little choice but to interview them.”

The first person we hear about is a young woman who had a name Dianne can no longer remember. Which I actually think is an interesting note since The Stranger especially has a precedent for causing memory loss (even if we have seen it occur with other Entities). When Jon and co disrupt the Unknowing they all lose their memory for a time and can’t even recall who they are or what they are doing. In MAG 165 (Revolutions) we see Not-Sasha watch over a Domain that takes the form of a merry-go-round with people fighting over faces. People with no faces must fight over the faces of others to rip them off and regain some sense of identity and when they lose their face it is said “And soon enough they will forget they ever even had one, rest assured; it’s best to step the dance and keep your face secured as much as you are able. Just. Keep. Running.”

In case there is any debate about what The Stranger embodies in MAG 200 it is stated “And as they learned to know their friends and kin, so too did they learn to fear the unknown figure, the coming of the stranger” and in MAG 092 (Nothing Beside Remains) Jonah tells Jon “We thrive on ceaseless watching, on knowing too much. What we face is the hidden, the uncanny, and the unknown.” while in MAG 111 (Family Business) Jon says “The Stranger is the unknown. The uncanny.” and Gerard doesn’t correct him. Theoretically the fear of the unknown would probably often include the fear of forgetting something as you would know longer know it. The idea that there’s something you once knew but now you don’t and so it is unknown. This obviously would overlap with The Spiral a lot with the fear of your senses being wrong but that’s a whole thing for another time and plenty of Entities overlap with stuff all the time. All I’m saying is that there’s a strong precedent for The Stranger making people forget stuff or making things hard to remember.

This mysterious woman apparently laughed a lot with the man and Dianne mentions she gave them a warning “but they insisted “it’s all for a good cause” and there were no customers at the time.” One thing The Stranger also has in spades is odd seemingly random behaviors, such as Breekon and / or Hope eating a butterfly and having other weird mannerisms in TMA. I assume the idea here is that you don’t know why they are doing it or it’s just supposed to seem uncanny. This second volunteer also gives her own gift “...in the form of a large Bearskin rug. I attempted to contact Mr C Clayton to enquire about our policy regarding real fur items, especially ones of such size, but was informed that he was on a “personal development sabbatical” and thus unreachable. I elected to store this in the back room, especially given the sharpness of its teeth.” It goes without saying that in TMA there was a strong connection between The Stranger taxidermy, skins, skinning things, etc.. Especially ones that look uncanny or strange.

Three days after the probation of the second volunteer the mysterious lady says she has more friends who want to volunteer. Dianne says “As I was still technically understaffed I agreed to meet with them. I normally would not have accepted so many new starters at once but with the Christmas period approaching and still no reply from Mr. C Clayton I feel I made a managerial decision that was clearly within my jurisdiction.”

The next two volunteers “made donations of a large chandelier of dark glass and an oversized gramophone with a collection of records of what I believe to be religious plainsong. I was surprised that young adults would donate such exotic items and explained it was not necessary but they insisted claiming it was “all for a good cause”.” I assume that at this point Dianne has no idea why they keep saying “all for a good cause” or what they mean by it. Which could feed into the fear of the unknown or uncanny.

I think it’s interesting that Dianne doesn’t know where Clayton is but we get a possible explanation “Mr. C Clayton had not yet returned from his sabbatical which I had by then learned was with full pay in the Seychelles. I'm sure he had a lovely time.”

On the 30th of November Dianne gets 4 more volunteers “It seemed that my instructions had been misconstrued and all of them had already been offered a position. I explained that this was contrary to the Oxford People's Trust's normal hiring policies but I elected to nonetheless offer them a probation in order to fully fill the volunteer roster for the Christmas period.” We also get more odd gifts “All four of them started the same day and despite me being very clear that it was not necessary they had also brought personal donations in the form of A crudely-carved rocking horse, a grandfather clock that leaked some sort of dark oil, A heavily vandalized set of the Encyclopedia Britannica and an extensive collection of abstract canvas artworks respectively.” Dianne notes that she is quickly losing control of the situation as they don’t remove the “gifts” despite Dianne’s orders. Then on December 1st she “arrived to find that the new hires had already opened the shop. To be clear I had not provided any keys and remain unsure how they obtained a set. I intended to pursue the matter immediately but was initially unable to locate them behind all the additional donations they appeared to have accepted.”

These new donations apparently weren’t fit for sale and Dianne recalls “...two large, soiled Crinoline dresses, a Chaise Longue with cushions filled with some sort of coarse sand, a taxidermied vulture, a rusty antique printing press and a collection of old medical equipment that had seemingly been recently used. There were many, many additional items but I was unable to take a full inventory as the shop floor was overfull.” Once again we get a reference to taxidermy and the medical equipment could be a reference to something like the medical students from MAG 34 (Anatomy Class). Dianne manages to find the original volunteer and she tells him that social gatherings are not allowed in the center during work hours to which the man responds by saying they were all volunteers and when she tells them to leave the premises they just laugh and keep bringing in new items. So it’s clear that there’s a lot of people in this center at this point.

Dianne decides to try to call for some intervention from the head office and “began to push my way through to the landline but as I did so I saw yet more people entering the shop with donations: some sort of leather kite, an oddly curved brass telescope, a wheelbarrow full of shifting fossils, an armload of swords, lengths of rope… and they were all laughing and calling out to one another “it’s all for a good cause!”” The shifting fossils makes me wonder if some of these objects are in fact artifacts (artifacts that shift or move around in such a way are often connected to Entities like The Spiral and could potentially allude to some others. Maybe The Extinction or something if you want to go full tinfoil hat theorist). It wouldn’t be the first time The Stranger has messed around with the artifacts of various Entities since Breekon and Hope were all about giving people strange unknown supernatural objects to feed off of their fear.

People continue to pour into the center and “As more and more people arrived, pressing into the shop, the central shelving was toppled and items were being damaged underfoot. A tin bathtub filled with moldy food, a stack of old dental retainers, a brace of half-butchered pheasants, jars of what appeared to be pickled hands;” and Dianne soon finds herself trapped in the center by the sheer amount of people. She loses sight of the exits and “The pressure grew unbearable and I was pinned on all sides, my shoulders crushed against an ancient diving suit filled with sawdust, with my neck wrenched under a broken picnic hamper whilst bloodstained china was ground beneath my feet. There wasn’t even enough space to fall now. ” “I tried to scream but could only manage a wheeze as I began to blackout. My limbs were contorted and gouged by unseen edges, my mouth filling with the copper taste of imperial coins pouring down on me from a jar above.” Gunshots start going off but all the volunteers keep laughing even as Dianne “could feel the deadened thud of impacts” and “ could see spatters of gore through what gaps there were in the items all around me.” There was thud after thud and eventually the laughter starts becoming drowned out by flames.

The pressure on Dianne suddenly lessens and she crawls her way through the crowd and all kinds of detritus out of the center. Once out she tries to get back to her feet only “to be shoved to the ground by a heavyset man in black clothing, who demanded I identify myself while pressing a gun against the back of my head.” As expected of any normal person in this situation Dianne freaks the fuck out and starts crying from fear (she also has a broken rib) but luckily the man seems satisfied with this response and “he threw me roughly over his shoulder and walked away from the Hilltop Centre as the charity shop blazed behind us. I swear I could still hear them laughing over the thudding of machine guns and the roar of unchecked fire…” Before I talk about this man Dianne says “It has been made very clear to me that I am not to identify the security firm that took this action, so I shall not do so here. Nor am I aware of which individual or organisation hired them, except in as far as I know for a fact they were not working for the Oxford People's Trust” and to write the fire off as an accident with no further investigation. Dianne says she can provide contact info if need be but advises against it.

So what is the deal with this man? Based on what Dianne was told I think it’s safe to assume that the man actually did start the fire and that the reason he spared Dianne is because her breakdown confirmed that she wasn’t one of the “volunteers.” Is this man some sort of Hunter like Daisy or Trevor? Maybe he’s more like Dekker and isn’t directly aligned with a particular Entity? He could even be a part of the Starkwall private military contractors involved in the “The San Pedro Square Massacre” mentioned in episode 4. It is unclear at the moment but I’m at least leaning towards that idea that for whatever reason this man went out of its way to kill the volunteers.

While one may at first assume that the gun fire was coming from objects the “volunteers” had brought into the store going off it actually sounds like the gun fire was being aimed at the center as it burned down. If that is the case then this man probably isn’t operating alone. I wonder how much various parts of the government in TMP know about the supernatural and if this man is affiliated with them or the government has things in place meant to try to keep the Entities in check somehow.

I’ve made it pretty clear that if I had to assign this statement an Entity based on what we’ve seen in TMA I would point to The Stranger. You could also make a solid argument for The Buried and themes of being trapped and crushed both literally and metaphorically. Dianne feels like she has no other option and becomes trapped by the strange crowd. You could also make an argument for The Lonely because while Dianne isn’t alone physically she clearly seems to have been abandoned by Clayton and her higher ups and left to deal with this mess alone. Additionally, The Lonely manifests as a faceless crowd in MAG 48 (Lost in the Crowd) so it’s not like it can’t manifest as people or at least something resembling people. Maybe their odd behavior was meant to alienate Dianne and make her feel even more alone?

The statement ends and surprisingly Celia seems shaken by the voice despite how otherwise familiar and confident she seemed about the statements. Maybe the voice sounds familiar to Celia…? Okay, time to address the second big elephant in the room. CHESTER sounds like Jon from TMA and shares the same voice actor and if we assume that Celia is the same Celia from TMA that would explain the reaction as she has met Jon and would thus recognize the voice. I mean, she even states herself that she does recognize the voices and asks Alice if she knows who the voice actor is. I’m going to be honest, part of the reason I didn’t bring up the voices or any theories around them is because I admit I kind of just wrote them off. Since there was no conclusive say up until this episode I assumed that it was simply Johnny reusing voice actors but I realize now that was a wild presumption for me to make. Especially since while it is true that one of the voices sounds like Martin the other one sounds unfamiliar to me which is an odd choice.

It is possible that during the shift from universes Jon and Martin somehow got melded with The Eye or metaphysically trapped somewhere or some other wacky shit. If Jon and Martin somehow are connected to the computers that could explain why the computers have odd quirks like giving away random information and notifications. It could be someone trying to help or nudge things in a certain direction but this is still all very uncertain and up in the air. In my previous essays I mentioned that I think Sam shares certain traits with characters like Jon and from this standpoint I wonder if Jon notices the parallels somehow and is actually trying to stop Sam from making some of the same mistakes he felt he did.

We cut to another scene and the transcripts clarify that we are listening in through Sam’s phone as he asks Colin a question, and this is where we get the big reveal. Sam asks Colin “Uh anyway yeah, I was wondering if you knew who “John” was?” and explains “I got a weird email from “John” with a random name and an address and it looks like it’s from an internal email so… ” Of course, Colin has no idea who this is and confirms that no one named John works at the OIAR. Colin then gives an ominous warning by saying “Listen mate. If you’re going to get

this worked up over a weird email you’re going to freak when you see the real stuff.” Sam questions this and Colin only says “Oh you’ll see” and Sam asks Colin if that’s why he taped over his webcam.

Colin eventually notices Sam’s phone and freaks out since he has a sign that says “No external electronics”. Colin seems to take Sam’s phone and says “It’s already recorded too” and there is a scuffle that the transcripts confirm ends with Sam’s phone breaking.

Before we move on to the next part let’s go over this. Obviously, the name John rings familiar to TMA fans as the name of the protagonist from TMA. Right now I think the two biggest possibilities are that Jon is in this universe and somehow tied to CHESTER or the computer, or that this is Jon’s parallel counterpart from this universe sending an email while trying to look into The Magnus Institute or something. The second possibility seems a bit more dubious and obtuse I admit (especially since Sam notes that the email had an internal address. Something that can easily explained by the computer itself sending the email). Once again we see Colin’s paranoia about being watched which lines up with what we saw in the TMA’s Institute and the feeling of constantly being watched noted by characters like Jon. Colin also proves to be right in his paranoia since someone / something (besides the audience) is listening through Sam’s phone. I have to wonder what “real stuff” Colin is talking about. Maybe a direct encounter with the Entities, monsters, Avatars or some sort of creepy artifact storage? He could be talking about the statements ramping up in horror or something but that seems odd even if not impossible, and the way he talks seems to imply to me at least the possibility of interactions that are more direct than receiving strange messages.

Start Here If You Came From the Reddit

We do get something Colin could possibly be referring to when we cut to Gwen and Lena via a landline. I think it’s interesting that the transcripts clarify “LENA puts the phone down and the line disconnects but we can still hear. ” which points to more supernatural surveillance. Maybe The Eye, maybe something else who knows.” Gwen reveals she knows Lena’s secret with the video the computer showed her (and she made copies of the video) but it’s made apparent that Lena didn’t actually kill Klaus. But rather, faked Klaus’ death. Gwen even says “Because I suspect the only thing worse than being convicted for attempted murder is being punished by the people who paid for it. ” and “According to my source, they believe this man to be quite dead.”

This could be a subversion on TMA. In TMA a creepy boss (Jonah / Elias) kills a man (Jurgen) after he comes out of hiding in addition to killing Gertrude. But while our first assumption here would usually be that Lena (a creepy boss) killed a man who came out of hiding (Klaus) it appears that this is actually reversed and she saved him. It’s possible that Lena might be trying to do the right thing or believes what she is doing is a necessary good as opposed to a plot designed to trap the world in an eternal hellish fearscape. Lena remarks on Gwen’s source by saying “Source. Singular. Interesting.” I wonder how Gwen knows who Lena’s bosses are. Is her source one of the computers? Her last name is Bouchard which could point to something supernatural going on but she also doesn’t seem to know exactly who Lena’s bosses are and I can’t just assume that she also has weird abilities like Elias / Jonah. She might have just found and questioned Klaus with that in mind. She could also just be Elias’ daughter. We don’t know if Jonah got to Elias in this universe (he probably didn’t) and we don’t know how old Elias was so is it possible Elias could’ve had a daughter had Jonah not body hopped to him? Although, Gwen could just be a relative or a character with no immediate or obvious counterpart to TMA.

Lena says “You have ambition, Gwen, I will grant you that, but not a lot of imagination. You are blackmailing me personally, correct? For what? I am not a wealthy woman, certainly not compared to your own family. What is it that you want?” and Gwen replies “I want “in”. ” Lena says “It’s simply a bit unexpected. Perhaps you have more stomach for this work than I gave you credit for. And I have been needing someone to step up to the real work for quite some time now. “ and after being prompted elaborates “(Pulling out paperwork) If you want answers and authority, you’ll have your chance to earn them. I am appointing you as the new “Externals Liaison.””

Obviously, I have a lot of questions about Gwen’s motivations. I don’t know why she seems so cagey on top of feeling that she deserves to be boss of the OIAR. Without context I have no idea why she would care so much since she seems to be good on money based on Lena’s comment about her family. Maybe she was simply cut off from her family but that still raises a lot of questions on why Gwen feels so strongly about this in particular. Not just being promoted but mastering an obtuse categorization system for various creepy stories while working odd and long hours in a basement with like 4 other people. I have no idea what “in” means yet. Also, both Celia and Sam note the interview for this OIAR job as strange and Alice mentions Lena goes through a lot of effort to weed people out. So I wonder what Gwen said / encountered that convinced Lena to hire her in the first place?

According to google, a liaison’s job is to “facilitate communication and collaboration between departments, teams, or organizations.” and this random pdf I found (https://www.embs.org/wp-content/uploads/2022/02/Liaison-establishment_Erin_9_Feb2022.pdf) says “A Standards Committee External Liaison is an information conduit that enables sharing of information from a Standards Committee/Subgroup to an organization external to IEEE” This does potentially shed some light on whatever Gwen was doing with Mr. Bonzo but I’m going to bite my tongue since I’m trying to handle these in order as they appear as much as possible so my thoughts don’t end up jumbled and ideally someone could read most of these essays as they listen to each episode.

People who have read my other stuff probably know that The Eye doesn’t just have a big emphasis on watching but information in general. In MAG 200 it is described as being born from the fear of “seeing too much” and Jonah has the ability to shove information into the heads of people like Melanie and Martin. Additionally, people like Jon can force people to give statements and by extension force them to remember or revisit the past. The Eye isn’t just about someone seeing too much of you but also the possibility that you might see too much of something else and regret it. This could connect to Gwen’s new position as Externals Liaison if I maintain my argument that the OIAR is somehow connected to The Eye because of the statements the computers read and constant surveillance.

In essence in a similar manner to how the job of the Archivist is to be an “archive” by acting as a living chronicle of fear through watching and comprehending various horrors the Externals Liaisons job might be to transmit information or see other horrifying things they are interacting with. Lena does also mention “I have been needing someone to step up to the real work for quite some time now.” so I wonder if the goal is to promote the people working at the OIAR if they manage to reach a certain qualification or metric.

If one is to argue that the OIAR is somehow connected to one or more Entities this wouldn’t be the first time multiple factions tied to different Entities could be connected (since Gwen’s new job seems to require acting like some sort of messenger or middleman). In TMA the Lukas and Fairchilds worked together. The Daedalus space station’s involved a collaboration between the Fairchilds, the Lukas family and the Church of the Divine Host. I wonder if the OIAR is directly involved with every Entity (and maybe different branches deal with or connect with different Entites) or if one if it’s tasks is to somehow work with or manage other factions? Is the government somehow trying to keep the supernatural manifestations in check by making deals when possible and trying to fight the rest? I don’t know and most of this is just tinfoil hat wearing spitballing.

I also have to wonder who Lena’s bosses even are. Is she working with or for the Starkwall private military contractors? Is the government trying to sweep something under the rug? I can’t say.

Conclusion

Spoilers for some future episodes:

Are there multiple factions aligned to different Entities working together even more than before. Maybe the government made some sort of agreement or offering with them. In TMA we know the police often turned a blind eye to Section 31 when possible as long as they dealt with all the supernatural stuff? Is her job to witness what the other factions are doing like some weird take on the Archivist?

Idk for sure but if you take a step back and look at it this is definitely one of the more eventful episodes (or at least the one setting up the most threads and questions at the moment).

#tma #tmp #the magnus archives #the magnus protocol #theory

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rosy-cheekx · 3 years

Text

Alone Again, Naturally

Three times Martin should have called for help.

(I twisted my ankle on Sunday and was bummed bc I missed my partner so…this happened…oops.)

Martin’s phone was missing, though he was pretty sure he knew where it was. That thing, that wormy, writhing mass of a woman had it. Destroyed it. His only chance of rescue from this nightmare. Replaying the image of dropping the phone, abandoning it as he ran, would do him no good. His coworkers hadn’t noticed he was missing, or if they had noticed, they hadn’t stopped by. And they shouldn't, of course, it would only put them in danger. But still, it stung a bit, to know that he’d been gone for what, three days now? and no one cared.

He could become a statement from this, Martin realized, his death narrated in Jon’s smooth, clipped voice, and then they would finally learn what happened to that large, oafish researcher who was transferred to the archives with them and disappeared overnight.

Martin sighed through his nose noisily, as if he could expel the dark thoughts with the sound. “Christ, Blackwood. Getting awful morbid there.” Talking to himself had become a staple of his isolation. For one, it drowned out the ever-present knocking on the door and the squelching rustle of the worms. He honestly wasn’t sure whether the sounds were still real or if they had become such a constant that his brain just filled them in anyways.

His voice was the only other sound available to him with his computer not working and his phone gone. His clock radio had played static on every channel, and he had been grateful for the white noise at first. But the longer Martin left the radio on, the sound began to morph from the hissing of dead air to a choir, indecipherable and haunting. There were no words and yet he could understand the message: come home to us. We need you, we miss you, let us show you how much we love you. With us, you’ll never feel lonely again, we promise. Martin had come to, hand on the doorknob to his flat, radio in hand. After that, he had removed all the batteries from anything that could make noise. Since then, he could only trust his own voice; everything else was a trap.

The can opener, unfortunately, had been electric too. He had been so proud of his purchase, a real attempt at adult cooking. (He never seemed to use the manual ones and could never get the grip right.) With the power out, assumedly caused by Prentiss, he had to get creative when it came to “making dinner.” For Martin, this meant sawing open a tin can with a serrated knife, eating it with a fork, and praying no metal shavings were lurking in each mouthful. Tonight’s feast: another can of tinned green beans and the last can of pineapple. He didn’t even like green beans, why had he ever bought these?

Martin gritted himself against the awful sound of metal on metal as he cut into a tin of beans, hissing sharply through his teeth and letting his mind wander. Maybe he could strain the beans? Let them dry? It would probably be better than the wet and soggy mush he was bound to find. Maybe he could put some crackers on them for a crunch? Pretend it’s a bad soup? As he was finishing his indelicate surgery, Martin tipped the can into the sink a little, hoping to strain the bean juice and improve the meal even a little. As he removed the last of the lid, he saw it.

There, in the sink, wiggling its way out of the drain. Another worm. Martin shrieked and jumped back, dropping the can in the sink with a clatter. He grabbed a roll of paper towels and began to stuff them down the sink, plugging up the drain as best he could. For extra measure, he plugged the faucet as well, suddenly terrified of accidentally swallowing one in a glass of water. Once the adrenaline rush had passed, Martin felt it: a stinging in his palm. They must have jumped at him, must have bitten him. It would be over soon, he knew it. He would be like Prentiss, a mass of tiny bodies. He braced himself to feel something, but nothing changed. Martin frowned, chewing on his lip in confusion, and hazarded a glance down to his hand. There was no worm in his palm, nothing wriggling and biting deep into his muscle, just a slice along the flesh of his thumb, dripping blood from where he must have cut himself on the tin can.

Sheepishly, Martin rolled his eyes at his defeatism. Did it hurt like hell? Yes. But he wasn’t going to become a worm monster. Not today. Grabbing a few more sheets of paper towel, Martin hissed in pain as he pressed them to his wound, making his way shakily to the paltry first-aid kit he kept in his bathroom. He was clumsy in his wound care, only able to use one hand to open the kit and the individually wrapped plasters, while the other pooled blood in his palm uselessly. The antiseptic had stung like hell and the plaster was off-center, but eventually, the job was done. Martin had managed.

“See?” He asked himself softly. “All better. We didn’t want the green beans anyways.” Martin was alone, but he would be fine. He could take care of himself.

——

Martin’s phone had become less and less useful since his time in the Archives. Sasha and Tim had been distant in the end, their group texts dwindling into occasional messages regarding whether not someone had contacted so-and-so regarding their statement. He and Jon had called and texted quite a bit, before the Unknowing, when Jon had been in China, America, and wherever else Gertrude’s breadcrumbs had led him. But since the explosion, their messages lay at a standstill, a “good luck! come home safe :)” still waiting to be sent to “Jonathan Sims--Boss.” He used to call his mother every week, but the outgoing calls had dwindled as she returned less and less of them, until he received an apologetic voicemail from Steady Waters Care Home a few months ago.

Now, the only messages he received were his work emails and an occasional text from Peter with a request or two regarding The Magnus Institute. Not even spam calls reached him anymore. That was all fine by Martin. He was busy running the institute; he didn’t have time for social calls, even if he wanted any, which he didn’t. Martin had taken to leaving his phone in his work office, knowing he wouldn’t need it outside the building anyways. It was becoming something like a desktop mouse to him in its versatility.

It was a Thursday, and it was late--Martin’s watch read 11:09. Thursdays were Martin’s days to deliver paperwork to the archives. He could only ever do it at night when he was sure Jon had either gone home (or was asleep at his desk at the very least). Peter Lukas had been working Martin to the bone with all the paperwork he would hand off with a wave of his hand and an “I’ll be back next week Martin. Please don’t call me,” and this week’s stack of statement requests, financial approvals, and quarterly reviews would fall to Martin instead. Who knew running a front for feeding an all-seeing eldritch deity would require so many business expenses?

Martin. Martin knew. He had reviewed and approved each and every one.

It was the week after Halloween, so the list of those eager to give a statement was longer than usual. Hellweek, Tim used to call it, a grin on his face as Jon would frown and shake his head. The stack of folders Martin carried in his arms eclipsed his eyesight as he carefully made his way down the hall, the Lonely silencing his footsteps and the shuffle of his clothing. The elevator was broken this week, thanks to a visit from one of the Fairchilds. Martin clumsily opened the door to the stairwell, turning to the side slightly to see the steps that descended into the basement he knew so well. Cautiously, he began his way down the stairs, arms clutching the stack of paperwork and binders tight to his chest. The basement was eerily silent; even Martin’s muted steps echoed in his ears.

The door to the Archives creaked slightly, and Martin realized his mistake: he hadn’t propped the door. The thin streak of light that painted his way down the steps thinned and faded in time with the slow squeak of the door. The click of the latch sealed his fate: Martin was in the dark. He didn’t mind the dark, in principle, though his new awareness of the Fears heightened his concern considerably. He stepped down slowly, feeling for the steps with his foot as he went.

Halfway down the stairs, Martin heard a soft flutter as a few papers shifted in his stack. He hoisted the pile and tried to readjust it as he stepped once more. The combination of the changes in the balance of the papers and his weight combined were too much for his brain to process at once and he overcompensated on his step, putting his weight down a little too early. Martin felt the rush of adrenaline as he tried to catch himself, hands clutching uselessly at the paperwork in his hands as if it could save him and he felt himself tumble to the ground. Falling sideways, he hit his shoulder hard on the steps, momentum carrying him down the remaining steps to the floor. The loose papers not held in binders and folders scattered in what Martin was sure was every direction.

Martin was frozen on the floor, pain pulsing through his shoulder. He sat up tentatively, patting himself down as he set down what remained of his stack of folders. He wasn’t bleeding, but his ears were ringing and his arm hurt like hell. Listening carefully for the sound of anyone reacting to his presence, he rotated his shoulders carefully, wincing as throbbing radiated up his arm. He must have dislocated it. Patting his legs down, Martin found his phone in his pocket. He must have forgotten to put it on the charger. He...he could call someone, should call someone. His shoulder was dislocated.

He could call Jon.

He pulled up his text messages, the cursor blinking back at him, blinding in the dark. Jon was surely awake, he knew that man’s sleep schedule was worse than his.

good luck! come home safe :)

safe :)

safe.

“Shit.”

He couldn’t call Jon. It would undo everything he and Peter were trying to build up. It was all for Jon anyways, to keep him safe, to keep them all safe. No. He had to do this alone. It was best that way.

Martin sat himself up carefully. He had taken enough first aid courses (rather, he had watched them for free on the internet) to know how to set it back in place and he knew it would not be pleasant. He drew his right knee up, and clumsily unknotted his tie, using it to secure his arm to his knee. Martin closed his eyes tight and leaned away from his knee, rotating his shoulder as he stretched away, wincing in anticipation until he felt the wet pop of his arm slotting back into place. Sparks shot through his vision, his only grounding point in the dark, and he huffed out a cross between a moan and a curse.

He carefully made a fist with his re-set hand, tensing the muscles in his arm. Determining it to be good enough, Martin felt his way to his feet and grabbed the wall to steady himself. He knew there was a light switch somewhere--ah.

The light clicked on and he winced at the sudden change, letting his eyes adjust behind the safety of his lashes. When he opened his eyes again, he surveyed the mess of his paperwork, gathering it methodically. It took him another half hour, back against Tim’s old desk, to resort his files before setting them in the file basket he had installed on the door to the Archivist’s office, the rest going on the desk of Jon himself. He would see them all in the morning. At least Jon was home, resting.

When Martin emerged from the Archives, he glanced down at his watch, wondering if it was too late to hail a cab. He frowned at his watch; the face was cracked, the hands stuck at 11:11. He must have cracked it in his fall. “Make a wish,” Martin mumbled to himself, rolling his eyes. He was pretty sure his wishes were out of reach, hopeless. As long as he would be safe after all this, Martin could sacrifice a few wishes.

——

Martin was on a walk. He had been doing that a lot, since his and Jon’s escape to Scotland. There was something comforting about the long stretches of rolling hills and rocky cliffsides, utterly devoid of menacing fear entities or bosses hellbent on destroying the world. Jon would come with him sometimes, especially in the early days when leaving each other’s presence was challenging to say the least, but Martin sometimes just needed the space. He loved Jon, he knew he did, and Jon did too, but sometimes the presence of another would build up and stifle him, an unbearable heat radiating off of Jon until Martin had to just go for a bit.

It was raining today, a bassy rhythm beating down on Martin’s umbrella as he walked a familiar cliffside path. He could see a rocky beach below him, waves made of roiling ink, more black than blue. The rain was comforting to him, distinguishing this ocean spread before him from the ocean of the Lonely and drowning out any thoughts that passed through Martin’s head. He stepped around a patch especially muddy gravel, glancing down and seeing a ghost of a reflection staring back at him.

Martin had been in a cold place today, withdrawn from the rest of the world. He had felt the fog blossoming over his mind and had known he needed to go for a bit, center himself, remind himself he was real. Rome wasn’t built in a day, and neither would his sense of self again, though he was making progress. Jon understood that sentiment, perhaps better than anyone else in the world, and had kissed him softly at the doorway, squeezing his hand in an unspoken promise. Martin tensed his own hand in a fist, still feeling the heat of Jon’s calloused palm under his, reveling in the idea that someone loved him the way Jon did, that someone loved him the way Jon did and that Martin loved Jon back. Martin felt his body solidifying under the rain, felt the wind buffet against him rather than pass through him.

Martin was thinking about going home when it happened.

Home, or Daisy’s safehouse, was a humble affair: reinforced windows, minimalist, a few guns hidden in the floorboards, lots of fresh fruits and vegetables from the village down the hill. It had been easy to reassign this place in Martin’s mind as home. He hadn’t felt at home since...well, definitely not since Prentiss. Maybe not before either.

The rain was letting up, and the brolly was forgotten in favor of letting the rain drop down into his hair, sopping his curls and plastering them to his skin. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt so content to be in the rain. Things weren’t good, but they were the best they’d been in a while.

The next thing Martin knew he was on the ground, ankle twisted and both shins scraped, blood and dirt mingling on his legs. He tried to stand up and cried out as his ankle immediately gave way, the hope of putting weight on it dashed on the rocks of the beach far below him.

Martin Blackwood crawled to a tree, leaning his back against it, not minding the dirt that was sure to collect on his back and rump. He winced and massaged his ankle, already feeling it begin to swell under his fingertips. With his free hand, a silver scar shining between his forefinger and thumb, he reached for his phone from his jacket pocket, hands shaking as he clumsily dialed the only number in his list of favorites.

“Martin?” Jon’s voice was warm through the tinny speakers. “I hope you’re well.” It was carefully not a question, though Martin caught the notes of careful concern.

“Tch-” Martin sucked air through his teeth. “I fell, Jon. I twisted my ankle, I think? Can’t-ah-can’t walk.”

“Oh. Martin, dear,” Jon’s voice was softer, and Martin could practically see his love’s fingers, itching to do, to fix. “Do you need me to—I can come get you, if you like. I haven’t…I haven't looked. But I can, if you want me to.”

Martin smiled despite himself, hearing Jon’s cautious phrasing. “Please, yes. I’m pretty sure I’m near a picnic park, if you want to drive there and get me? Not sure this is a drivable trail.”

“Did you pass anyone?”

“…no?”

A pause. Martin heard static crackling through the phone. “No one will be there. I Know where you are, Martin. I’ll be there soon.”

Ten minutes and enough ice packs to ease the pain of a full rugby team later, Martin was laying in the back of Jon’s small car, heat blasting on him to dry his now-soaked clothing. There were perks to having an all-knowing partner, it turned out.

Later that evening, Martin was tucked into the couch, his head pleasantly nestled in cushions and his feet in Jon’s lap, who was carefully massaging his feet and ankles, probing for any long-term injuries with his Eyes. A mug of tea grasped between his hands, Martin sighed softly and felt warmth flood his face. He hadn’t been alone this time. He wouldn’t be alone ever again.

#the magnus archives #tma #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #jonmartin #jmart #magnuspod #jon sims #fanfic to a tea #I twisted my ankle a few days ago and was sad my partner couldn’t comfort me #so this blossomed #enjoy!#hurt comfort #TMA fanfic #the magnus archives fanfic

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voiceless-terror · 3 years

Text

Ep. 192 Spoilers: Jon’s thoughts on the Panopticon, Rosie’s statement, and Jonah Magnus.

Martin says goodbye.

Georgie does not, and neither does Jon. She thinks carefully about the words she speaks, now that she knows their power. Jon appreciates this, here at the end.

There are Archivists (colleagues) in their path, blocking their way. They’re you, they’re what you might become - but they aren’t, because Jon’s managed to do what none of them could. He is the Archive and they are shadows and dust, forever doomed to guard the tower and never truly know the favor of their God. And they will heed his call.

Ceaseless Watcher, see your servants approach. Herald their arrival and bid them welcome into our your sanctum.

They move. Jon and Martin start their climb.

It’s dizzying, their ascent. Jon can feel the power thrumming heavily in his veins as they grow closer. The tunnels, while not so cut off as Upton House, were so numbing. He felt pitiful, mundane, sapped of all energy. And this is his world, isn’t it? He should never have to feel that way. Jon feels guilty for this thought, of course. He’s felt guilty all his life, that will never change. But now he feels powerful, and that is altogether different.

He answers the call, accepts the gentle but insistent tugging. It speeds his steps and devours his fear and it feels so terribly good. There’s a voice but it’s distorted by a familiar static; if he focuses hard Jon thinks he hears Elias’s Jonah’s voice, but he can’t be too sure. It’s all the same now.

Martin calls to him, tells him to slow down. He tempers his excitement, tries to keep it light. Corrects his Shakespeare. He feels guilty for enjoying this, despite his terror. Martin’s his reason. Martin keeps him grounded. Martin’s right behind him- no he isn’t. Jon pauses.

The door that bars them from Elias’s office is the same as it always was, but on a nightmare scale. His fingers itch to reach out, he’s so close, he wants to see but then- of course.

Rosie.

She’s always barred his way. From his time as a researcher, to his promotion as Head Archivist and even now, trapped in a hell of her own making. He regards her with a strange mix of pleasure and pity; she doesn’t deserve this, none of them do. But the familiarity soothes him.

They need an appointment. Martin scoffs, tries to get through to her. Jon insists. She buzzes Jonah with some reluctance, and where Jon expects to hear the crisp, clear voice he knows so well, there is nothing but static.

But Rosie understands this static. Is Jonah even speaking to her? Or is she hearing an echo of times past, an eternal chorus of ‘Send him right in’ or ‘We’ll need to reschedule.’ It would be fitting.

She refuses them once again. Jon relents, drags Martin away. The Eye has a gift for him, one last statement before he sees what could be the face of his God made visible. He never thought much of Rosie, never really knew her.

But now he will.

Jon sees her- a woman fast approaching middle age with nothing but the ruins of a failed marriage and a need to start over guiding her hand. Elias, young but so very old, staring down with cold grey eyes.

So why do you want this job, Ms. Zampano?

How strange. Even after all this time, Jon never knew her last name.

She needs money, she needs something to do, she instead says she’s curious and tells herself it’s a lie but is it, really? She’s always had a wild imagination. Her mind goes to the strangest of places and yet she does nothing, nothing about it.

Jon watches as he enters the picture. So young, he thinks, but then again it had only been two years ago, hadn’t it?

The things they said about him in the break room.

He knew of it peripherally, but that didn’t make it hurt any less. Snickers when he passed by a room of former colleagues in an ill-fitting suit, hair gelled within an inch of its life. He remembers he bought new shoes when he got the promotion. They didn’t match any of his clothes. Everyone knew what a fool he was. Once, an email went around, forwarded to him by accident (or perhaps not). The first few replies left a sour taste in his mouth, and he deleted it before finishing. He buried his head in the sand, in more ways than one.

The sort of things that passed across Mr. Bouchard’s desk about him.

Jon wonders how many complaints Elias ignored. He only concerned himself with the most important ones, god forbid they anger the donors. But now he sees the stack filed away in a folder that will never be opened. In a strange, perverse sort of way, Elias was the only one on his side. The only one who wanted him. How sad.

Insecure, aggressive, desperate to be taken seriously.

I don’t want to hear this- but he does and he speaks it for his God to hear and perhaps Martin, only steps away. It sounds like a confession Jon doesn’t mean to make. He knows how pathetic he was, he can’t change it or take it back. Just a bark with no bite, Martin told him in those precious few weeks at the cottage.

He watches as Sasha- that’s Sasha, the real Sasha, scared but brave and angry as she rushed down the corridor. That’s her voice, not clouded by the static of a tape but just in the other room, if only Rosie would open the goddamn door he could finally see her-

But the Eye gives, and the Eye takes away. This is Rosie’s story; not his, not Sasha’s. The worms come, Sasha is gone, Daisy drags him past Rosie and he feels her pang of sympathy more than he sees it; Rosie keeps her face impassive, even when paralyzed with terror. Melanie and Tim- Tim, angry and whole- pass by for but a moment, and Rosie watches, waits, perfect servant of the Eye that she is, perfect backup plan. Nosy Rosie.

Peter Lukas is here, smiling his empty smile but now Peter Lukas is dead, Jon made sure of that. He thinks he understands what Daisy felt; the call of the blood, the satisfaction behind a finished hunt. The thrill of his first kill soon replaced with fear and loathing and oh god, what have I done?

And now here they are. Rosie sits and waits for guests that never come until they do, now there’s two monsters on her doorstep side by unholy side. But Rosie knows monsters well.

Mr. Sims, was it?

Yes, yes! That’s his name. Sometimes he’s shocked to find he still has one. Martin’s Jon is not the same. Sims- that was his father’s name. His mother’s name. His grandmother’s. He can’t put a face to any of them anymore but he wants to hold on to that remnant of his childhood, lonely and sad as it was. His name is Jonathan Sims, and he’s here to see Jonah Magnus.

Jonah Magnus sees. Jonah Magnus can do nothing but see now, forever tangled in his own web of fear made manifest again and again and again, a perpetual cycle, an exquisite agony. It’s a sickness, like Jordan Kennedy said, but it’s a sickness that Jon would weep to have if only for a moment. Jonah got what he wanted, but for all of his Sight he could never know what the outcome of that desire would be. He’s one with the eye now.

He’s won.

ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29068671

#my writing #tma #the magnus archives #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #rosie zampano #elias bouchard #jonah magnus #jonmartin #tma spoilers #mag ep 192 spoilers

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dathen · 3 years

Text

Word Search

Characters: Jonathan Sims & Sasha James Word count: 1,172 Spoilers: None Other Tags: Nonbinary Sasha, Nonbinary Jon, Agender Jon, Autistic Jon, Autistic Sasha Link on ao3

Summary:

Despite the unwelcome shift his promotion brought to their interactions, rambling about linguistics with Jon was an easy pastime to fall back on. -- Featuring burgeoning Jon and Sasha friendship, mutual infodumping, and Fun with Gender (or lack thereof). Set during early season 1; written for the @t4tma event.

Sasha fidgeted with her jewelry. It wasn’t the usual nervous energy that she rode like an ocean wave while chasing down a lead or digging into a subject that snagged her attention. No, today, she just felt...off. Was it the new outfit? It was a bit dressier than her usual trousers-and-cardigan style, with a full length skirt that she’d finally found to be long enough for her height, and a scarf that she bought for the soft texture alone. Maybe it was the jewelry…? But that was the same as she usually wore, and yet each time she passed the mirrors in the break room or washroom that off-balance feeling returned. Finally, she gave in to the impulse to take off her earrings before snatching a file from her desk and marching towards Jon’s office. A distraction would help.

“Found that statement you said was missing in the sequence, Jon,” Sasha announced as she opened the door and poked her head in. (Oh good, he wasn’t recording. Though she was pretty sure the others were exaggerating how grumpy Jon got when interrupted; he never seemed too bothered when she dropped by out of unannounced boredom.) “Looks like it’s still missing a page, though—no translation with it.”

Sasha was surprised that Jon’s answering sigh didn’t send papers flying off his desk. “If it was translated at all. Nothing about the state of this place would surprise me,” he answered. Jon took the offered file and peered at it with what was now a too-common scowl, but the sourness radiated exhaustion.

Oh, he was wearing earrings again today. Small silver hoops not too different from a pair she saw Tim wear sometimes. I wish I could look like that when I wear earrings. She stomped on that thought with a short shake of her head. Where on earth did that come from?

“Looks like my staples were a good idea,” she pressed on with as much brightness as she could muster. “At least if we get a translated copy, we can be sure it won’t get separated from the rest.”

The tired scowl melted into a tired smile. “Thank you, Sasha. That has been a very helpful solution.”

The gratitude in his voice stifled the usual irritation she felt at being called "helpful" by someone she’d seen fidgeting before his first interview with Mr. Bouchard. How someone who’d been hired during her fourth year here ended up with her dream job...no, she wasn’t in the mood to wallow in that on top of everything. Instead, she flopped down into the chair across from him. “Mandarin, looks like. Don’t we have a sister institute in Beijing? The Pu Songling Research Centre? Maybe it’s from their archives.”

Jon hummed. “We can inquire if they originally lent it to the Institute; I don’t know if they translate to other languages in their collection, but perhaps they could put us in touch with someone who can…?”

“Either that or run it through the ol’ google translate. My Mandarin is a bit rusty.” At that Jon laughed, a tight-lipped huff of a thing. He used to laugh a lot more before his promotion, and she found she missed it. Sasha grinned before she continued. “I did try learning some once! When I was sixteen. I thought the writing was so nice, and wanted to impress my Gran. Didn’t last long, though.”

“I’ve heard it’s remarkably difficult to learn,” he said.

“Oh, for sure. Switching to French was easier, though I wasn’t a fan of memorizing word genders for everything.” Her thoughts skipped ahead a step or two, and she found herself adding, “Did you know that Mandarin only has a single pronoun for all genders?”

Predictably, Jon brightened and sat up in his chair, suddenly looking like someone who’d slept sometime in the past few days. Despite the unwelcome shift his promotion brought to their interactions, rambling about linguistics with Jon was an easy pastime to fall back on. “Is that so?” ��

“Yup! I won’t pretend that the rest of the grammar wasn’t brutal, but that almost made me jealous, you know?” Sasha answered, toying with the edge of the cardboard folder.

Jon’s attention was like a physical weight. “Jealous how?”

“Dunno, I kind of wish English had something similar, you know? Instead of needing words that say right out ‘I’m a woman’ or ‘I’m a man!’” She kept her voice light, but shifted in the stiff-backed chair. Sasha hadn’t expected the sudden discomfort, but saying the words aloud felt suddenly vulnerable, like pressing a finger just beside an old bruise—just enough to ache.

The Encyclopedia Look immediately fell over Jon’s face (apparently, according to Tim, Sasha had one too; she wondered if it was as obvious as his). “You know, even in English some people use singular ‘they’ for their pronouns. It’s been used as a singular gender-neutral pronoun for hundreds of years; examples easily date back to the fourteenth century. Did you know that ‘you’ used to be plural as well?”

“I did know that! And formal, too—it’s funny to think how ‘thee’ and ‘thou’ were the informal means of address.” Sasha forced down the urge to continue the thought; English shedding the formality divisions in its grammar was a subject she could talk about for hours, but she was curious where this was going. “Still, I had my papers marked up with enough use ‘he or she,’ not ‘they’! back in secondary to know I can’t get away with it now.”

“That’s changing,” said Jon with a sudden fervor. “And besides, people aren’t research papers.”

Sasha hesitated, that off-balance feeling suddenly returning. It wasn’t discomfort this time, but why did it suddenly feel so personal?

Jon seemed to notice her faltering. “O-of course, it’s not the only way to depart from the binary,” he rushed on. “I mean, I still use 'he/him' because those are comfortable for me, and—“ He froze, eyes flicking towards the wall before he picked up the statement and held it in front of him like a shield. “A-anyway, ah...yes. If someone asked me, I’d have no issue using ‘they’ for someone who asked me. Regardless of what the Chicago Manual of Style has to say about it.”

It didn’t seem to be a pointed comment (except a grudge against the style guide), but Sasha felt the sudden conviction it was meant for her, even if Jon didn’t mean it for her. Sasha felt the familiar bite of curiosity that she knew wouldn’t let go, but for once she wasn’t sure if it was directed outwards or inwards. But Jon looked a bit flustered, still feigning interest in the unreadable document in his hands, and it was getting near the time that she agreed to meet Tim for lunch. “Good to know,” she answered easily, then tapped the top of the statement. “I’d best get back to work—let me know if you hear back from the Research Centre.”

She had some thinking to do.

------

Thank you to the Magnus Writers discord for answering the absurd amount of questions and fact-checking I somehow needed for a 1k word fic, to evanescentjasmine and Ixempt for the beta reads, and to TheDeafProphet for inspiring the concept! Also an extra shout-out to the Magnus Writers mod team for being my own Linguistics Mutual Infodumping Squad.

#tma #the magnus archives #t4tma #tma fic #jonathan sims #sasha james #my writing #HEY HEY I WROTE A THING!!!#FINALLY!!!

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rinaswritings · 3 years

Text

One Slips Through The Cracks

Summary: What if, instead of the tapes, only one statement managed to slip through into a new universe. Perhaps, specifically, Jonah’s statement from 160. And, perhaps, it manages to fall into Martin’s hands. Cue Martin dismissing it as a weird joke, until he gets hired on as an archival assistant. And things start getting... familiar

OG idea from this post: x

Martin barely notices it at first. An innocuous file, sticking out of his case, scuffed with the permanent marker he took to it in an attempt to hide its second-hand nature. Could have been in there for weeks, really. He sighs, wondering if Hana is playing another prank on him. He pulls it out and- god, are those spiderwebs? Maybe not Hana, then. He flips it open, noting the high quality paper.

Statement of Hazel Rutter regarding a fire in her childhood home.

How did he end up with a statement from the archives tucked away in his things? No way it was Gertrude. He couldn’t even remember the last time he saw the Head Archivist, and had only heard rumors of assistants in that basement. Maybe someone from the library borrowed it, and it somehow ended up in his bag? Well, no way he’s headed back to the institute at this hour. It’ll have to wait until morning.

He’s just about to close the folder when he spots something curious. The first page seems… short. Are the rest of the pages research notes? Can’t hurt to read it, right?

Hello, John.

Apologies for the deception, but I wanted to make sure you started reading, so I thought it best not to announce myself.

I’m assuming you’re alone; you always did prefer to read your statements in private. I wouldn’t try too hard to stop reading; there’s every likelihood you’ll just hurt yourself. So just listen.

Now, shall we turn the page and try again?

This doesn’t seem to be the statement. Is someone using the archives to pass notes? Why would they do that? The spark of curiosity grows into a raging fire. Martin doesn’t consider himself much of a gossip, but this is just too weird to pass up. He does work for a paranormal research institute, right? It’s only healthy.

…

IS SOMONE WRITING FUCKING FANFICTION ABOUT HIS WORKPLACE?! Gertrude Robinson, Jonah Magnus (probably), and him. Martin. Also some guy named Jon? And what’s all this about dread powers and marking? And Jane Prentiss? Peter Lukas?

This was honestly just too weird. He was absolutely going to HR with this, what the actual fuck. It’s certainly… inspired. Evil gods (?) and the end of the world? He would be a bit flattered that someone liked him enough to include him in their institute fanfic, but sliding it into his bag was crossing a line.

And who were the other people included in it? Sasha… could that be Sasha James? From research? Whenever she dropped off a late book, she always included a biscuit or two. She was nice. Helen sounded like she wasn’t working for the Institute, maybe. Melanie, Detective Tonner… and Jon. The man meant to ‘keep an eye on him’. The next Archivist? Gertrude wasn’t that old yet.And the statement was from 1992, so there’s honestly no way-

No, Martin, stop thinking about it. It’s someone’s weird fanfic that they decided to give you. Wait, was it Hana? This seems too extreme for her but…

Tomorrow. It’s a problem for tomorrow’s Martin. For now, he’s going to get Mum to bed and then spend the rest of the night relaxing. Maybe watch some shitty telly.

The next morning, he trudges up the stairs to the dusty office. After a brief description, he’s shuffled off to a small room where a sour faced woman introduces herself as Diane. She clacks away at an ancient computer, barely acknowledging him. Martin settles uncomfortably into the rickety old chair, and begins to describe the strange situation he’s found himself in. Diane types away without responding. He wraps up the strange tale and sits in silence as she slowly finishes typing away.

“And you have the text with you?” Diane looked over her glasses at him, a bored expression on her face.

“Y-yeah, uh, here!” Martin dids into his bag, pulling out the folder containing the offending document. He passes it over to her, hands shaking. Why was he so nervous? She flips it open, and then glares back at him.

“Where is it?” she drawls.

“What? It’s right there, in the folder!” Martin stands and looks over her desk. Sure enough, the folder is empty. “It, it was…”

Diane flips the folder closed and shoves it back at him. “We are busy. Please come back when you have actual evidence.”

Martin’s too stunned to apologize as he shuffles out of the office. Did it somehow slip out of the folder? It had to, there’s no way it just disappeared like that. Unless there’s some kind of malevolent force that decided to mess with him for fun. But if it was targeting him, why so much focus on Jon?

He shakes his head and takes a deep breath. Nothing he can do about it now. Time to go to work. He walks down to the library, and groans. Someone is pacing back and forth in front of the empty desk, looking irate. He almost considers turning back and facing Diane’s wrath. Instead, he heads towards the desk.

“Beth’s not at the desk?” Martin calls out to the man. He stops in his tracks, and whips around, glaring.

“Obviously not. And I don’t expect anyone soon, as it’s been five minutes.” He glares at Martin.

“I’m so sorry to hear that. I had an issue to take care of, and I thought she could handle it.” Martin placates him, slipping behind the desk. He feels bad about shoving the blame off on her, but he really doesn’t have the energy to deal with this. “What can I help you with?”

The man looks a bit surprised, but quickly settles back into his surly state. “I requested a book nearly two weeks ago, but still haven’t received it. It’s Paranormal Specters of Eastern Europe, Volume 3. Allen Jackson.”

Martin searches their catalogue as fast as he can, scanning entries. The man taps his fingers on the desk, glaring. What a winning personality.

“Ah, looks like we just got it in last night! I would have sent you an email today, but it looks like I don’t need to anymore. Give me a second to pop back and grab it for you.”

“Finally.” the man grumbles. Martin almost runs to the back, ready to get this man out of the library. It takes a minute to dig through the shelf, as it had been scanned in but not sorted yet.

“Alright, got that for you! All I need now is your card.” Martin says as he emerges from the back. The man slams his card on the desk and looks off. Martin gently picks up the card, scans it in, and then scans the book.

“And that’ll be due back in 30 days!” He slides the card and book across the desk back to him. “Oh, it looks like you have a book due tomorrow. Would you like to renew-” He looks up from the screen to see the man already walking away.

“What a prick.” he whispers to himself. He’s about to exit the account when he spots the name.

Jonathan Sims.

A shiver runs down his spine as he glances to the empty doorway. Just a coincidence. Nothing more. He takes another deep breath and sets his bag on the desk, which immediately falls and spills its contents everywhere.It’s official. This day was awful. Just for a laugh, he opens up the file that started it all. Of course, that horrible fanfic is there in full.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

#tma #the magnus archives #martin blackwood #time travel au #ostc

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calamity-unlocked · 3 years

Text

Got tagged by @izzizzels and for this procrastinating fanfic writer ask game, and immediately jumped on the chance - editing is a pain and I'll take any distraction I can get.

1) How many works do you have on AO3?

Seven! I actually have a lot more on my laptop but I’m way too insecure to ever upload them. Or I did upload them and deleted them a day later. My fic folder is a dark place.

2) What’s your total AO3 word count?

~102k.

3) How many fandoms have you written for and what are they?

I’ve uploaded fics for four fandoms: Amphibia, Dimension 20, Critical Role and The Magnus Archives (…one is not like the other). But again, I’ve written tons of short drabbles and oneshots for other fandoms. YA-books, cartoons, DC & Marvel, etc.

4) What are your top five fics by kudos?

- A Theory of Butterflies and Other Insects

Atobaoi, my beloved <3 Gen longfic, still ongoing. This roleswap AU is almost halfway done and boy am I having a blast writing this. This reimagining of the canon show takes a deep dive in exploring the girls’ flaws and strengths as they each arrive in a different place; Sasha with the frogs, Marcy with the toads and Anne with the newts. The concept in itself isn’t wholly original but I’d like to think that I’ve made it stand out with its lore, mysteries and twists. There’s still much to come.

- Late Night Vigils

I wrote this Magnus Archive oneshot around 3 am and although my perception of Daisy as a character has shifted as the podcast progressed, I still really like this surprisingly fluffy fic of her and Jon bonding over their similar trauma.

- King's Gambit

Marcy and King Andrias have a jolly good time playing chess! I’ve played chess on a national level for a couple of years and I just can’t stop peppering in those delicious metaphors.

- The Emptiness in Loyalty

Oh, this is an oldie, mostly disproven by canon at this point. Critical Role oneshot, focusing on Astrid and her relationship with an institutionalized Caleb/Bren from the point of his breakdown to his escape. It’s very bittersweet and although my writing has definitely improved, I still occasionally look at it with fondness.

- The Hare and the Fox

Queen Sasha AU lives rent free in my brain. This two-chaptered fic of a very different Marcy and Sasha reuniting after many long years is unflinchingly brutal and it was so much fun to write.

5) Do you respond to comments, why or why not?

I always try to do that! Even just with a ‘thank you’. I get immensely excited when someone drops a comment analyzing atobaoi or theorizing about the plot, that is the best feeling in the world and I want to show how I appreciate it, even if it takes a little while to respond. Fanfic is great because the line between author and reader is so thin and I enjoy the sense of community it fosters.

6) What’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending?

I was originally going to say The Hare and the Foxbecause it ends on a very bleak note, with few things being resolved. But then I remember the knife to the gut that is King’s Gambit. That Hurt No Comfort tag is there for a reason.

7) Do you write crossovers? If so what is the craziest one you’ve written?

Mmmmm not really, the closest thing is a Fantasy High AU set in the world of Dragon Age.

8) Have you ever received hate on a fic?

Nope! I did get some skeptic comments when I posted the first chapter of atobaoi, but a lot of those people are still reading along and say the sweetest things whenever I update.

9) Do you write smut? If so what kind?

Nope!

10) Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Yes and no – very long story, very complicated. Let’s just leave it at no.

11) Have you ever had a fic translated?

I have not!

12) Have you ever co-written a fic before?

No, and there are (I think) only two people I would consider co-writing a fic with, but I would feel a bit less anxious proposing marriage to them than asking them to collaborate, so. We’ll see.

13) What’s your all time favourite ship?

I’m not much of a shipper! If you’d point a knife at me I’d probably say Perc’alia or Shadowgast, but mostly because of their fantastic dynamics rather than the romantic aspect. Romance in itself is not very interesting to me.

14) What’s a WIP you want to finish but don’t think you ever will?

* stares longingly at my extremely self-indulgent post-Night Marcy Memory Loss fic *

15) What are your writing strengths?

Creating coherent narrative arcs, creative plot twists, and emotional scenes. I tend to focus a lot on the (overall) plot of my stories and make sure they’re sturdy without any holes or weaknesses.

16) What are your writing weaknesses?

Characterization and detailed descriptions. This is partially because I am not a native English speaker and sometimes struggle to get a good grasp on the language.

17) What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

I’m not a fan of the Gratuitous [Insert Foreign Language] trope, mostly because in my opinion a lack of research and/or linguistic awareness often leads to butchered language, which always bothers me a lot. Translation footnotes or parentheses, while sometimes necessary, don’t help out much and often distract from the pacing.

When writing dialogue between two characters, one of whom has a second language, I rely on my own experience, throwing in a word or two in situations where it would make sense while the reader is still able to follow the conversation. When two characters are discussing something in their native language I just describe they’re talking in their native language.

18) What was the first fandom you wrote for?

Oh gods, please don’t ever ask about that phase of my life, but Voltron. To look at those unfinished fics in my folder is like gazing into the abyss.

19) What’s your favorite fic you’ve written?

The Tales A Dead Man Tells takes a close runner up, but after all the effort and love I’ve put into it, A Theory of Butterflies and Other Insects comes first place. I started dipping my toes into the Amphibia community after posting this fic and the outpour or support and enthusiasm was heartwarming. I’m really glad to be here and I can’t wait to show you all what's in store.

Tagging (and feel free to ignore this if you so choose) @camomile-t, @ghostadventurespirit0rb and @borkthemork

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dotsayers · 3 years

Text

20 Questions: Writer’s Edition

tagged by the beloved @myrmidryad

this is a LONG one so here’s a cut to avoid do you love the colour of the sky syndrome

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

101 after a recent purge... no one may know about my Past

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

329004! used to be about 350k but again... purge

3. How many fandoms have you written for and what are they?

on ao3 i’ve written for (chronologically) doctor who, skyfall, discworld, les mis, star trek, lord peter wimsey, marvel (various), in the flesh, red vs blue, roosterteeth rpf, check please, hockey rpf, star wars, daredevil, rivers of london, dishonored, emmerdale, dirk gently, holby city, hot fuzz, kj charles, guardian, the covert captain, taskmaster rpf, good omens, ghosts, roswell new mexico, leverage, schitt’s creek, the magicians, 9-1-1, it chapter two, the magnus archives, the old guard, the mandalorian, the ritual, the locked tomb

way back on the pit of voles i wrote for twilight, harry potter, hetalia and xmen first class. and on the newsround chatrooms i wrote exclusively harry potter fic about my oc neville and luna’s daughter

as you can tell i am not prone to staying in one fandom writing wise, i tend to end up with one complete fic and seven abandoned wips concealed deep in my google drive

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

finally see what it means to be living (captain marvel, carol/maria, i really hit the zeitgeist with this one i think i was something like the fifth fic in the ship tag)

do whatever you think (the magnus archives, this series is actually #2-7, then #8 #9 and #11 for me so i’m going to cheat a bit)

standing in a world of my own (daredevil, matt/foggy/karen, another zeitgeist hit! really miss writing for daredevil actually... it’s a perennial fave)

a winding road that stretches towards the truth (iron man, tony/rhodey, i STILL don’t know when this got so many kudos. i swear i looked away when it was at 100 and suddenly it ended up here)

where the long shadows grow (star trek aos, kirk prime/spock prime, thank god some people are checking the prime kirkspock tag is all i’m saying!)

5. What’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending?

i don’t really Do angsty endings... possibly a blanket of stars just because i ended it on something of a cliffhanger and then completely zoned out of rnm for long enough that i forgot where i was going with it. there was definitely the intention of fixing things but then i just... did not do that. and now the show is on s3 and i’m over a season behind! life comes at you fast

6. What’s the fic you’ve written with the happiest ending?

where the long shadows grow, because it reunited kirk prime and spock prime and they DESERVE TO BE HAPPYYYY. i’m a complete sucker for presumed dead/back from the dead stories, actually, so on a similar theme i have two (TWO) daredevil fics which follow the trope, one about ray coming back post-s2 (might never be normal again) and one about foggy and matt reuniting post-endgame (in the corner, taking up space). this is the only time i will ever acknowledge endgame ever again

7. Do you write crossovers? If so, what is the craziest one you’ve written?

i do write crossovers! in fact i am often roundly mocked by my friends for the increasingly esoteric nature of my crossovers. way back in secondary i wrote a twilight/labyrinth crossover where angela was sarah and jareth’s daughter because i had a massive crush on a girl who liked both twilight and labyrinth. however, since that has been comprehensively scrubbed from the internet, i think my craziest crossover is probably part three of ‘traced upon the skies’, already an esoteric crossover of rivers of london and hot fuzz, when i added in a crossover with the horror movie ‘the ritual’ just because i wanted rafe spall’s character to be happy

8. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

EXTREMELY rarely and only with extreme embarrassment. i will not be any more specific than that

9. Do you respond to comments, why or why not?

i used to really struggle with doing this, to the point that i had over 300 comments just. lingering in my inbox unanswered. so i decided to give those up and just commit to answering them from then on, which has been working fairly well for about a year and a half now. i love getting comments but i get overwhelmed really easily and struggle with replying in a way which feels meaningful without getting in my head about it!

10. Have you ever received hate on a fic?

yes lmao it was for a harry potter fic on ff.net where harry got sorted into hufflepuff instead of gryffindor. it wasn’t a very good fic but i think the fact it was clearly written by an 11 year old should have scared off at least some of the less flattering comments.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

i don’t... think so? i don’t know how i’d find out to be honest, my vanity googling is rarely very effective

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

yes! as bronze may be much beautified (skyfall, mallory/bond) got translated into chinese, i was extremely pleased. i think it’s mandarin but the ao3 page for the translation doesn’t say and my mandarin is.................. extremely poor

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

also yes! me and jess little-smartass have written a lot together, although only our star trek/les mis series has been published, more’s the pity. we spent a lot of les mis fandom time workshopping aus and we were always extremely correct about all of it, imo

14. What’s your all time favourite ship to write for?

oh god. i think probably kirk/spock, although there’s some recency bias to that since i reread space manhattans recently and was reminded of my love for them. i really like writing jon/martin but i’ve mostly done that from outsider pov which is a bit different to writing shipfic, i think. joe/nicky from tog was also something i really liked writing but i struggle with plotting longer fic with them

15. What’s a WIP that you want to finish but don’t think you ever will?

i recently went through my abandoned fic folder so i actually have a few options for this. the obvious choice would be ‘any of the hockey ones’ but i did delete most of those just for my sanity. more recently i started writing a vaguely smutty pre-the thing mac/fuchs fic for alex @milkdrinker5000 which i really WANT to finish but am struggling with. most obscure answer (even beyond the thing) and most likely to remain unfinished is the insanely in depth post-tog booker/copley fic i had planned out back in about october. i wrote a good 6-7k of that one and then i realised it was going to be, like, difficult, and decided if i was going to put that much work into something it may as well be the novel im meant to be writing

16. What are your writing strengths?

once a friend told me i had an excellent facility for dialogue and ive thought about it every time i write ever since. i love writing dialogue and i think i’m good at knowing what sounds ic and what is right out.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

one of the things i struggled with for a really long time, and honestly still have trouble with, is depicting action in words. once i wrote a hockey fic which featured multiple hockey games and i spent probably four times as much effort editing those to make sense and be interesting that i’ve ever done on a talkier scene.

18. What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

i’ve done it but only when i knew more or less what i was talking about - i did italian at school so i felt confident using it for nicky in something particular and real. i try not to italicise when i drop in words from other languages, which is what i usually do when i’m using a language i haven’t studied in depth (for example, joe’s use of arabic in some of my fic), and to only use words which i’ve heard used by native speakers in that context. i think if you don’t feel confident using another language, generally speaking, you shouldn’t do it. and for god’s sake don’t use google translate for a full sentence

19. What was the first fandom you wrote for?

harry potter on the newsround chatboards. ariana lovegood-longbottom my sweet child

20. What’s your favourite fic you’ve written?

this used to be an easy question because hands down the fic i was proudest of on posting it was i’ll be seeing you. i spent a year and a half on research and writing! but these days i do cringe a little at my hockey fic, and i think i’m prouder of some of my shorter works. let’s do a curveball and say layer on layer, down on down, which is my favourite of my rnm fics and the one i like most from a narrative voice perspective. getting michael right was stressful and i’m still proud i got it down for a TIME LOOP FIC, my absolute favourite trope

tagging @little-smartass and @leescoresbies just in case they want to try this

#gin i can't BELIEVE you wrote for xiaolin showdown. iconic #text post tag #tagged in #writing tag

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sazandorable · 4 years

Note

how did you find the Choice Of script? did you look into anything else, like Twine or Inky before settling on it? as someone interested in these kind of games, i'm v interested in your thoughts given the scope of what you pulled off here. pass on ur lessons to the plebs pls. (when you have time and spoons)

(Context: this is about the Magnus Archives dating sim game I made, and ChoiceScript is the free-to-use programming language used for the ChoiceOf games)

how i found it:

So the dumb story, as I recall it, is that years ago I stumbled on the Choice of the Dragon dragon-simulator, and that was just exactly my jam xD (Another big one published since then is Choice of the Cat!). And then I found out that the code was open for use and that there was an active community of casual game-makers, and it sounded really fun, and I tried my hand at making a couple little games over the years (only really finished one silly one, though, as a gift for a friend).

why that one:

I have been dabbling in making small games, mostly for myself or for friends, for a while; I’d attempted Ren’Py back in the days, of course, but I was just a teen and didn’t have enough coding knowledge at the time (nor enough artistic or writing skill) and was very confused, so it’s likely that this bad old first experience played a role in scaring me away from that software (though I still have it installed...). I also hyperfixated on RPGMaker for a month or two, a couple years ago, but nothing has come out of that yet either.

The biggest reason why I latched on to CS was the fact that unlike Ren’Py or RPGMaker, it was conceived for text-only games (though you can insert pictures). It’s perfectly possible to get really complex and long and do it all yourself even without any visual artistic skill, it’s all just writing!

I don’t know of Inky, but I have played quite a few games made with Twine, though I haven’t tried making anything in it. I know it’s very popular because it’s free, accessible and easy to pick up, and there’s lots of little indie games about queerness or mental illness floating around, I just... never quite got it even while playing it (I don’t see the point of hiding text?). It obviously has a lot of potential and I’ve seen interesting stuff, but it just didn’t really grab me as something I wanted to try out. I’m not sure how well it would suit for a dating sim? Branching, for sure, but I’ve only seen very few games actually make use of variables?

Meanwhile Owen makes their CYOA TMA games in Google Slides which is absolutely fascinating and has lots of very fun mechanics too (though you couldn’t pay me to actually sit down and try doing that, holy heck)

Anyway, I mostly used CS this time because I already had experience with it, and had had a lot of fun. So I was already familiar with what that would entail and what options I had to make the gameplay interesting, and whenever I daydreamed about making a Magnus dating sim it was the obvious choice I had in mind as something I, personally, could reasonably achieve on my own in a few months.

how to:

So CS is completely free for use. There is a wiki that details every function rather clearly, and forums with a reasonably active community. And critically, there is the CSIDE application which makes writing and testing and debugging so much easier and streamlined (though it’s not necessary and I started out with just a text editor and manual playtesting. that was not fun tho). Finally, Dashingdon is a platform one dude set up to host in-progress and non-official games.

A finished game consists of just a folder with .txt files (plus illustrations if you wish), and you upload that to Dashingdon (or host it somewhere else) and you get a link and you’re good to go! Dashingdon even handles the save file plug-in script.

I have found it all extremely easy to use, although the start always takes some getting used to and, as for a lot of things, I recommend making a trash first game just to explore what you can do (and playing other games for examples), before you start on your real project with a bad basis.

It DOES require the basic understanding of how coding and algorithms work, but the language itself is extremely simple, the syntax is all pretty transparent, and CSIDE makes debugging very easy too. All in all it is intended to be usable by people who are writers first and not programmers, and imo it achieves that.

For fun, here’s what (a neat-ish-looking part of) my project looks like in CSIDE:

Most of my bugs are "i can't read" or "ah i forgot to edit this copypasted line" issues.

in conclusion:

All in all, ChoiceScript might not be the best suited ‘platform’ for every sort of game (Twine seems good too, and a classic dating sim in Ren’Py with character sprites and emotes and CGs would obviously be hilarious), but I definitely recommend CS to anyone passingly interested in choice/branching games and telling interactive stories.

I think it’s a good and accessible starting place especially for beginners, but it’s a robust tool for experienced game-makers too, and I definitely personally really like it, even after a few years of messing around with it.

/o/

#callmearcturus #tma dating sim #cyoa #choicescript #choiceof games #choice of games #dating sims #the archives sim #videogames

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patriciasage · 3 years

Text

blocks and repetitions

Author: Patricia_Sage

Fandom: The Magnus Archives

Summary:

"Don't worry, Jon, I'm just as annoyed by you as I am by all the rest of these nerds." Tim sits on a nearby box, indicating for Jon to do the same. He looks affronted when Tim picks up the mug again, but visibly stops himself from commenting on the code violation. "My brother had a stutter. Not as bad as yours. But I went to a few of his speech therapy appointments and picked up on a few things."

[season 3 spoilers]

read the full story under the break, or visit me on AO3

"When he introduces himself, don't fucking interrupt him," Tim says cheerfully before opening the door to the haggard-looking young woman.

She frowns, her chapped lips opening into a question. She's interrupted by Jon snarling from his desk. "I t-told you to ssstop doing that, T-T-Tim."

"Doing what?" Tim asks innocently. Jon rolls his eyes and dismisses him with a gesture of his dark hand. Tim closes the door with a dazzling smile that quickly falls. Sure, Jon being his boss had settled strangely in his stomach, but Tim found that his frustration could be balanced with a generous amount of irritating the hell out of Jon.

Jon's voice comes low and muffled through the door. "My name is J-J-J-Jonathan Sssims, Head Archivist."

"Oh," the woman says in delayed understanding.

Jon sighs. "Yes. Your ssstatement?"

Tim knows his anger is misplaced. It's not Jon's fault that Elias chose wrong. But he will always be on Sasha's side and seeing her hide her disappointment when she speaks with Jon in the break room makes Tim want to lash out.

So his heart wars with its defence of Sasha and its protection of Jon. Because no matter how mad he is, Tim can't help but see a brother in Jon. His brother.

******

"Yyyou don't in...terrupt me."

Tim looks up from the coffee cup in his hand to see Jonathan Sims looking at him from the other side of the shelf, his perpetual frown visible through the spaces between the boxes. Jon had started working in the Research Department only last week, but he had probably been twice as productive as Tim in the past two months.

"Why would I?" Tim responds, quickly placing his coffee on a nearby shelf before continuing to pretend to sort through folders.

"You... do fffor everyone else."

"Do I?"

"Yes!"

The sound of cane on concrete accompanies Jon's route around the stacks and soon he's glaring up at Tim properly. Tim suppresses a smile.

He doesn't want Jon to ask about Danny. It hurts him to say the strategically boring story he's made while imagining the circus in his mind. He redirects. "Did you ever get speech?"

"Yyyes, b-b-believe it or not."

Tim chuckles. Jon's shoulders relax.

"When I was yyyoung, I-." He takes a breath and something awful and familiar clouds his expression before he collects himself. "I-I lived with my g...grandmother." When he gets stuck on a sound, his face freezes in a wince. Danny was blonde and fair-skinned and different from Jon in basically every way, but in that moment Tim can't help but recognize his brother. His chest feels warm. Jon continues, "Shhhe didn't have t-t-time for it."

Jon is awkward, as if he's not accustomed to sitting and talking with a friend.

Tim offers him a sip of his coffee. Jon declines in affronted disgust. Sasha finds them soon after, Tim nearly tipping over, laughing, while Jon flails and shouts at him about spilling coffee in the Archives.

******

Martin has a crush on Jon.

It took a bit of deduction, but Tim finally figured it out. Now that he knows, it's painfully obvious. Sasha had been aghast that he had missed it.

Tim watches Martin watch Jon and, for a second, tries to imagine them as a couple. Martin is big and soft and bright. Jon is small and sharp and dark. They would be cute together in a cartoonish way.

But Martin needs to stop fussing.

Jon is fragile, physically and mentally, but he won't admit it and he definitely doesn't want others to address it. And Martin is a caregiver to his bones. When Jon shivers, he lends him a scarf. When Jon forgets his cane in the break room, he brings it to him. When Jon stumbles on the stairs, he steadies him. Even when Jon snarls in response, defensive and proud.

Sasha had been reading a book on "love languages" last month. Martin is the king of acts of service.

Tim isn't particularly invested in Jon's happiness and he's only just met Martin. But he's bored and it would be way more entertaining to watch Martin succeed than to watch him get snapped at.

Tim sends an email and Martin's computer chimes in acknowledgement, startling the man out of his wistful look. Jon also glances up at the noise and catches an unsuspecting Martin's eye, making the large man blush. It's impressive how such a large man can shrink himself down. Tim rolls his eyes.

Jon puts the textbook he had been reading on the couch next to him. His glasses perch forgotten among the dark curls on top of his head. "Is that the S-" he gets stuck on the sound and Martin swoops in. Jon suppresses an irritated sigh.

"The Sarabande case? Let me check - no, it's from Tim."

Tim's betrayed glare is lost on Martin, who is too busy watching Jon. The Head Archivist notices Tim, though.

"G...get to wwwork!" Jon demands, standing. Tim mock salutes him.

Sasha chooses that moment to appear in the doorway with a tray of Starbucks coffees. "I couldn't remember your order, Martin-" She nearly runs into Jon. "Oh."

"Oh!" Jon spits back. He gestures to the drinks. "Ssstop wa-wa-waste-" Jon cuts himself off with a growl and storms down the hall to his office.

"Whoops," Tim says as the door slams.

Sasha smirks at him. "What did you do?"

"Nothing! God. This is what I get for trying to help Martin's love life. I'm never being nice again."

Martin turns red. "What?" He frowns suspiciously at his computer screen.

"Did you set up a dating profile for him or something?" Sasha places the drink on Martin's desk as he begins to sputter.

Tim leans back in his chair with a groan. "Just read it, Martin, for fuck's sake."

Sasha leans against Tim's desk. Tim grabs for the caffeine and sends a thankful kiss through the air to her. She winks. Tim no longer feels irritated.

"Oh." Martin says softly. He's reading through the website Tim sent him with a thoughtful and guilty look. He doesn't even freak out at his coworkers knowing about his crush on their boss.

Sasha raises an eyebrow and Tim turns his computer screen to her in response, the link still open in his browser.

tips for speaking with someone who stutters

She nods approvingly before sitting at her desk.

Martin may sometimes have trouble with research, but he's an expert at kindness. Tim is surprised at how much it impacts his interactions with Jon.

Their boss seeks out Martin at lunch, excitedly talking about their shared interest in ancient history. He smiles when Martin brings him tea. He's concerned when Martin calls in sick. Tim even saw him blush once when Martin lent him a cardigan for the train ride home.

Tim's quite proud of himself. If only his relationship with Sasha could change by reading one article.

******

Jon doesn't stutter when he's reading a statement.

Tim knows that sometimes reading can help a person speak more fluently, but it has never had this much of an impact on Jon. It's those statements, the ones that can only be recorded on tape, the ones that feel chillingly real.

Tim listens to Jon's voice, droning and smooth, and he shudders.

******

Tim stands in front of Nikola Orsinov, the thing responsible for killing the two people he's loved the most. The detonator feels warm in his hand.

"T-T-Tim!"

"It's okay, Danny."

He presses the button.

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bytheangell · 4 years

Text

Matching More Than Jackets

(Read on AO3) Square Filled: Seelie Drinking Games for @shadowhunterbingo Pairing: Jeliorn (Jace/Meliorn) Rating: Teen and Up – Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Tags: feels, banter, alcohol, happy ending <3 Summary: Jace and Meliorn start working together more and more often... and when Jace has something on his mind, perhaps a few bottles of wine will give him the courage to ask, and get him an honest answer in return. -------------

Ever since the Downworld Councils took off in the Shadow World, the amount of overlap in Shadowhunter and Downworlder aid in things they used to keep separated - things like tracking demonic activity and taking down nests - increases dramatically. Jace and Meliorn in particular seem to be paired up more and more often since their shared bond over the Alliance Rune left the two of them more in sync with one another than they would be with anyone else. Even if that isn’t the case, it really isn’t any surprise Alec keeps teaming them up given the results they get every time they go on a mission together. Plus, not many of the other Downworlders seem to be able to put up with Jace. Their loss.

This past week in particular was a challenge, involving an attempted stake-out in a forest that seemed to be laden with booby-traps all involving vines which would move to snake around ankles if you stood still too long, or animals with poisonous venom particularly inclined to attack without being provoked. It didn’t take long after Jace went out alone the first time for him to turn back around and request a Seelie to accompany him instead, someone who could just as easily manipulate the nature around him to not attempt to kill him every two seconds.

He doesn’t specify which Seelie. He’s hoping for Meliorn, but understands if the Seelie doesn’t want anything to do with Jace or his missions at this point… not after after the last one they went on, which included a fuck-up so spectacular Jace doesn’t even want to think about it.

Except Meliorn is exactly who shows up, and Jace is equal parts surprised and immensely relieved.

“At this point you might as well get me a matching leather jacket, Herondale,” Meliorn teases, but Jace only rolls his eyes.

“Maybe if you get me to the middle of this forest I’ll have one custom made for you,” Jace counters.

There’s a group of warlocks planning to try and summon a Greater Demon. Try being the key word here, because Jace doesn’t plan on allowing them to succeed. Just like Jace hoped, Meliorn’s connection to nature overpowers the spells put in place by the warlocks every single time. Jace wants to help but all of the ways he has to ‘help’ the situation harm the plants or animals - he could cut aside his share of vines, or catch a few of the snakes that lunge at them with teeth bared, but Meliorn insists they do this in a way that leaves as much of the nature unharmed as possible. Jace always thought that was just some power play the Seelie Queen liked to be obnoxious about just to annoy them, but as it turns out, it’s a pretty serious thing for all of them. So Jace stands back for the first time in his entire Shadowhunting career and allows Meliorn to do almost all of the work until they reach the first of the warlocks.

From there on it’s all Jace, with his weapons and runes and magic-dampening handcuffs to catch what end up being three young warlocks entirely off-guard, taking them back to the Institute to hold overnight for processing. While Jace finishes up the paperwork to tie everything up with a neat little bow, Meliorn leaves and comes back with a bottle in hand.

“How is the… how did you put it? Bureaucratic bullshit?... coming along?”

“Just finished,” Jace announces, closing the folder in front of him. He knows what Meliorn is about to offer because this has become an unspoken thing for them, for Meliorn to show up with drinks after a mission and end up having to drag Jace down the hallways to his bed at the Institute before he passes out in a hallway, but not before incriminating himself at least half a dozen times in the process. Business as usual.

“Just in time for a celebratory drink, then. After that outing I believe we both earned one,” Meliorn says, holding up the bottle of Seelie wine in his hand.

Everyone in the Shadow World knows not to trust Seelie drinks. That caution goes double for alcohol, and triple for the wine. It affects everyone differently, and to varying strengths, though it almost always has the underlying effect of mild truth serum.

What everyone doesn’t know, and what Jace stumbled upon entirely on accident one night after mixing up two bottles at a party, is that Seelies are particularly susceptible to mundane wines. It’s a curious little piece of information he doesn’t immediately share or exploit, saving it for the perfect time.

And the perfect time, it seems, is now. For all the banter the two of them share, Meliorn is always so infuriatingly on guard and in control. Jace wants to see him unwind - really unwind - just once.

“Sure,” Jace agrees easily, with a slow smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. “But I was thinking this time we even the playing field.”

Jace goes to the corner of the office and pulls out a bottle of deep red wine, watching the briefest flicker of surprise cross Meliorn’s face at the gesture.

“What?” Jace asks, eyebrow raised. “You think it’s fun to keep getting me drunk after our missions so I tell you all my secrets, but I can’t do the same?”

“If you think a little mundane wine is going to get me to spill my secrets to you, Jace Herondale, you’re not giving me enough credit,” Meliorn says, but Jace can tell by the way he’s carefully eyeing the bottle in Jace’s hand that he’s bluffing.

“Then prove it.”

Jace pours a glass and hands it to Meliorn, who sighs lightly before taking a sip.

“Oh,” Meliorn says, eyes wide with surprise. “That’s not half bad.”

“I sprung for the good stuff,” Jace says, not bothering to clarify that only means he grabbed the oldest one there. All of the alcohol in here is leftover from Alec’s old stash, and Alec mostly had it for guests and Magnus, so of course it was the good stuff. He pours himself a glass of the Seelie wine, and they both sit down to enjoy.

They fall into their usual routine then, except that after a few glasses Meliorn is much more talkative than usual. He’s also laughing more, and once or twice when their feet meet under the table or their hands brush, Meliorn allows the touch to linger. Jace tries not to read too much into it, then tries even harder not to think about how much he doesn’t mind.

Finally, Jace works up the courage to ask the question that’s been on the back of his mind since their last mission.

“Why did you save me?” Jace blurts out, the words only slightly slurred.

“Why wouldn’t I save you?” Meliorn counters.

“No,” Jace insists. “Don’t do that thing where you turn everything back into a question to mess with my head. The last time you got stuck with me, with that ravener demon - I was a fucking asshole and I didn’t listen to you and you should’ve just let it get me.”

“Jace-”

“You shouldn’t have gotten yourself hurt just to save me when it was my fault we were in that mess to begin with,” Jace rushes on. “You’re like, the king of self-preservation and rational decisions. So why did you jump in front of it like that to save me?”

Meliorn frowns. “Do you really think so little of yourself,” he asks, but it’s different from the evasion before. Softer. “That you don’t think you’re worth saving?”

“I don’t want to die if that’s what you’re asking,” Jace says.

“You could fool me sometimes,” Meliorn mutters, the words slow and slurred, but not as bad as they should be for the amount of wine he drank. He clears his throat. “What I mean to say is, that’s good. Because I don’t want you to die.”

Jace isn’t expecting that answer.

“Why?” Jace asks again.

“ ‘Why?’ ‘Why?’ - you’re worse than a mundane child, honestly,” Meliorn sighs. “Because I like you, against all of my better judgment. That’s why.”

Meliorn doesn’t seem at all embarrassed by the admission, but it makes Jace flush in his cheeks up to his ears, a redness he hopes he can play off from the alcohol.

“...why?!” Jace manages, only realizing what he said after he said it and clasping a hand over his mouth. “Sorry. I wasn’t saying it to be an asshole, I swear.”

Meliorn laughs. “For someone who seems pretty used to being the center of attention, I’m surprised you don’t simply expect everyone to like you.”

“Well, sure, people like me at parties and stuff. But they don’t like me enough to nearly die for me,” Jace clarifies.

“Now you’re just being dramatic, I didn’t nearly die. That was you, remember?” Meliorn hides his teasing smirk behind his glass as he drains it of the last of his wine, which also happens to be the last of his bottle.

They sit in silence after that, Jace busying himself with the last of his own bottle to buy himself time to think.

“For what it’s worth, I’d nearly die for you, too,” Jace finally admits.

“You really can’t bring yourself to say you like me, can you? And to think, we could’ve had matching jackets.”

Jace rolls his eyes, and for the first time in a long while feels like maybe he has something worth being a little vulnerable for.

“I like you, too,” he says, and goes to stand up - or at least, that’s the plan, if the wine didn’t hit him all at once and send him swaying to the side and back down into the table to catch himself. Meliorn is up and by his side in an instant, slinging Jace’s arm over his shoulder.

“Alright, time to get you to bed,” Meliorn says, and Jace’s brows furrow.

“How am I still the drunk one,” Jace whines.

“Because I switched the bottles halfway through while you weren’t paying attention,” Meliorn admits.

Jace wants to be mad, but he can’t quite bring himself to do more than half-heartedly glare at Meliorn, especially as the knowledge registers that Meliorn’s confession, and the touches, and how much he laughed and genuinely seemed to enjoy himself tonight, wasn’t just because of the alcohol.

“You know, it is late. You could stay the night, if you wanted,” Jace offers when they get back to his room.

Meliorn shakes his head. “Unfortunately I’m expected back at the Court-” Jace’s heart sinks until Meliorn continues, “-but next time I’ll plan for it.”

Jace grins like a wine-tipsy idiot from his bed. “Next time,” Jace agrees.

He likes the sound of that.

(The next time Meliorn shows up to the Institute it isn’t because there’s a mission: it’s because Jace has a matching leather jacket for him, custom-embroidered with the leaf and vine patterns that travel the length of Meliorn’s face and neck. And later that night when Meliorn does stay over, true to his word, Jace discovers that isn’t the only place the tattoos are.)

#ShadowhunterBingo #jeliorn #jace herondale #meliorn #shadowhunters #i just like these two a lot okay #elle writes a few deadbeat lines #long post

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cuttoothed · 5 years

Text

What’s going to happen in the Lonely? No idea. But I know there’d better be a heck of a lot of softness afterwards.

(AKA I write hand holding and snuggling for 1500 words; Jon, Martin, and JonMartin, featuring Elias “Smug Bastard” Bouchard.)

When there is nothing for so long, everything is overwhelming. Martin feels the whoosh of his breath in his lungs, the rough stone of the old prison gritting under his hands. It feels real, in a way he wasn’t sure he’d ever feel again.

Jon, he thinks.

Jon was with him, at the end. They had stood together, and Jon’s hand had curled shyly around his. It helps, if we’re touching, he explained, and Martin’s face heats with the remembered warmth of his voice.

I love you, Jon had told him, his words trembling but clear, That’s why this works. I can pull myself out, and I think I can pull you out too.

I love you, Martin had blurted in reply, and Jon had looked so wonderfully startled that Martin wanted to kiss him. He hadn’t, of course, there was no time, there was never any time, but Jon’s hand had squeezed his tighter, and he smiled.

Then we can pull each other out.

Martin shuts his eyes, a lump rising in his throat, staggered by the wave of emotion that sweeps over him. When there is nothing for so long, everything is overwhelming. He shakes himself out of it and looks anxiously around.

Jon is lying several yards away, a small, crumpled figure on the floor. Elias - Jonah Magnus, god, this just keeps getting weirder - is crouched beside him on one knee. Martin’s heart leaps in his chest and he scrambles over there, barely getting off his hands and knees before he’s down at Jon’s side again.

“...was it like?” he hears Elias say, soft and intent, and Jon is blinking up at him, eyes unfocused, and his voice is scarcely more than a hoarse whisper when he says:

“It was...desolate, and magnificent.”

Jon’s eyes lock with Elias’ and for an instant, Martin feels like he’s interrupting something private, some transcendent connection he can’t even see. But then Jon’s eyes flicker across to his, and Jon gives a smile that’s only for him, Elias forgotten.

“Martin…” he rasps, and Martin’s heart lurches again at the softness in his voice.

“I’m here,” he says, “Jon, I’m here.”

He helps Jon to sit up, carefully, conscious of Jon’s thinness, the fragility of his body. Martin chews his lip with worry, and Jon smiles at him again, tired and worn. His hand reaches for Martin’s, just like it did in the Lonely, and Jon pulls his hand up to press a careful kiss to his knuckles.

“I never doubted you for a second,” Jon tells him, and Martin feels a surge of warmth, love and pride and relief. They’re here, they’re both here, and it’s more than he could possibly have hoped.

“This is all very sweet,” Elias drawls, and Martin jumps. He’d almost forgotten about the man “But perhaps we should leave here, hmm?”

“You want us to go with you?” Martin stares disbelievingly. “Why on earth would we do that? In fact, now that Peter’s gone, why shouldn’t I stab your body, Jonah? Put an end to all this?”

“Please, Martin,” he says with a wince, “Call me Elias. I’ve rather got used to the name. As to why you shouldn’t kill my...body, well, there’s still the fact that you don’t know what will happen to everyone at the Institute. And the fact that you won’t be able to find your way back without me. Jon is in no condition for navigating the tunnels at present.”

Martin opens his mouth to argue, but Jon’s hand presses gently to his cheek.

“He’s right, Martin,” he says wearily. “Let’s get back to the Archives first. Then we can worry about him.”

The journey back through the tunnels is slow and arduous. Martin doesn’t remember it taking so long on the way there, but he hadn’t been cold and drained from the Lonely then. And he’d spent most of the walk with his mind racing, flitting between fear and longing and frantic calculations of what Peter might be up to. All of it wrong, of course. But it had passed the time quickly. On the return, Martin is aware only of Jon’s slight weight pressed against his side, trembling. The memory of Jon’s voice that keeps replaying in his head, I love you, that’s why this works. I love you. I love you. Time drags by as he thinks about how desperately he wants the two of them to be somewhere alone, and safe, so they can talk.

That isn’t possible with Jonah “Call-Me-Elias” Magnus strolling just ahead of them. He’s mercifully quiet for the most part, at least, though every so often he does point out some feature of architecture or geography that makes Martin want to strangle him. Jon must feel him tense, because at a few particularly irritating moments, he gently squeezes Martin’s arm with his fingers.

“It’s all right,” he murmurs, and Martin feels himself relax minutely. At last the tunnels begin to look familiar, and then they are climbing through the trapdoor into the Archives, a scene of scattered papers and overturned furniture, blood spatters on the walls.

“The...not Sasha…” Jon rasps, slumping into a chair, and Martin feels a stab of grief in his chest. He hates Peter for that, if nothing else.

“And hunters as well, if I’m not mistaken,” Elias notes, glancing around.

“Well there’s nobody here now,” says Martin. “And we’re out of the tunnels, so talk.”

Elias opens his mouth, and three uniformed police officers burst through the door.

As it turns out, the Institute has been fully evacuated and cordoned off. The police had become rather alarmed at the sound of footsteps in the Archives, not expecting anyone to be walking around down here. Elias explains glibly that they had hidden in the tunnels at the sounds of gunfire, and had become lost for a time. Martin spends the whole exchange wondering why they haven’t arrested the bastard yet, but they seem to pay him no mind whatsoever.

“You know he escaped from prison today, right?” he tells one of the officers. She frowns with concern and steps away to talk into her radio for a few moments, then shrugs.

“HQ says he was released. All charges dropped.”

Martin gives up, and turns back to Jon, who’s waving off the medic trying to insert an IV into his arm.

“I’m fine,” he grumbles, “No, these are old scars - Martin, tell him.”

“They are,” Martin confirms. “And he won’t go to the hospital, no point trying. I’ll take care of him.”

The medic gives up and leaves them alone, and Jon goes back to texting Basira. She’s okay, he tells Martin, relieved, but she’s gone to stay with her parents for a few days. There’s been no sign of Daisy since the attack, and Martin hears the worry in his voice as he says it. Martin doesn’t really know Daisy, has barely spoken to her since she came back from the Buried, but he already knows he’ll do anything he can to help someone that Jon cares for so much.

After a little more prevarication from Elias, they’re given permission to leave. Jon seems a little less weak now, though Martin is glad to see him grab a stack of statement files off Basira’s desk as they pass. He could use them.

They pass the police cordon, and Elias turns to the two of them, hands tucked into the pockets of his expensive coat.

“Well,” he says, “This has been an interesting day. Well done to you both.”

“That’s it?” Martin demands. “After all that, just...well done?”

“I don’t know that there’s much more to say at this juncture, Martin. I imagine it will be a week or two before the Institute is re-opened, so consider this a paid holiday.”

“I won’t do it, you know,” Jon says, frowning. “I know you think you’re close, and I don’t know precisely what the Watcher’s Crown is, yet, but you can’t do it without me. And I won’t.”

“How unfortunate for me, then,” Elias says cheerfully. “I’ll expect to see you both back at work in a couple of weeks.”

He turns on his heel and is gone without another word. Martin lets out an explosive breath.

“Bloody hell.”

“Yes,” says Jon, “I think that about sums it up.”

Martin sighs and scrubs his hands over his face. There’s so much they need to figure out, to plan and research and do and -

He stops himself short. He’s standing on the street with Jon, after all this time apart, after Jon said that he loved him. Frankly, Jonah Magnus and the Watcher’s Crown and the rest of the world can go to hell for a little while.

“So, do you...want to get something to eat, or…”

Jon gives him a smile that’s painfully shy this time, and Martin’s heart beats hard in his chest.

“That would be nice,” he says. “Could we get takeaway, though? I uh, I need to - ” He gestures with the stack of folders in his arms.

“Oh, right! Of course, absolutely. Do you...want to come to mine, then? There’s a great Thai place just down the street from me?”

“Yeah - that sounds great!” Jon’s face lights up, and Martin could cry at the simple joy of being here, now, with him. Daring, he slips an arm around Jon’s shoulders, half to support him, and half just to pull him close. Jon comes willingly, presses warm against him, his bundle of folders still clutched in his arms.

Martin guides them down the street to the Tube station, and they wait on the platform with the earth thrumming under their shoes, evening commuters coming and going around them. It’s all very ordinary, and Martin thinks about how he must look to the people around them: a tall, unwieldy man with his tired looking boyfriend nestled against him, half dozing on his feet as they wait to go home. He likes that thought.

“Jon,” he says after a few minutes.

“Hmm?”

“What you said earlier, that you never doubted me - did you mean that?”

Jon looks up at him, surprised.

“Of course.”

“Why not?” Martin asks, and he doesn’t understand why the answer is so desperately important to him now, except that he’s not sure anyone’s ever trusted him so entirely in his life. And he’s not sure he deserves it. He was so close to being gone, at the end.

Jon’s expression is solemn when he reaches his hand around the back of Martin’s neck and pulls him down. Their lips brush, very gently, and then Jon’s eyes are intent on his, his fingers still curled into the hair at the base of Martin’s skull.

“Because you’re Martin Blackwood,” he says. “And I trust in that.”

#the magnus archives #tma #my fic #jonmartin #tma spoilers #tma 158

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