#elias deserves to be left out of the loop actually

[bulkhummus]

a scene from this fic that made me lose my mind

#elias deserves to be left out of the loop actually #this fic made me lose my mind #its so so so good shout out to firefly for reccomending it to me #tma #the magnus archives #tma podcast #elias bouchard #jon sims #tim stoker #sasha james #martin blackwood #long post #art tag

[thehopefulsnowflake]

And again here are more theories and opinions about the magnus archives from my brother

The corruption is one of the "four horsemen"

War and conquest are the military ghosts, and the desolation

Famine and pestilence is the buggy bois

Death is the end, duh

The corruption is colonisation basically

Elias is against having a cat, because they are too powerful, he was very serious about this

Centipedes have a masochistic foot fetish, millipedes have a normal one, don't ask

The woman in Dead Woman Walking is just a Zombie

Is the Woman a victim of the Book of Death from MAG 70

Georgie is a ghosty hunty person

Georgie and Melanie don't seem to be afraid of anything

The Italian mountain troops would have known they were being fucked with

More undead

Reminded him sort of the Meat Men

Also reminded him of the buried on the London underground

The mysterious firing squad intrigued him, did all the men that went up the mountain come back to kill him?

Basira is Drax from gotg

She'll randomly appear and no one will know she's there until she speaks

The chuckle brothers origin story, he means Breekon and Hope

Didn't think the circus had anything to do with the stranger

Breekon and Hope are taxidermy

So they're with the stranger

The Stranger is just everything that doesn't fall under something else

The circus was it's own thing

The cult of the lightless flame is it's own thing

The people's Church of the devine host is it's own thing

The circus is just full of people who you don't know, if you do know them that's sad... He was kinda rambling at this point

Is Sarah Baldwin capable of being bored

Why was she working with Melanie?

Do you just take a liking to ghost people

Did you take them over before of after they were eaten.

The Buried is called The London underground

Is it the Fairchild's? Thinks they're about isolation

Thinks it might be a book

The pit could be an Antlion

Thought that the young woman who was eaten by the pit turned into Gertrude

The young man could be, Gerry, Martin, Salesa, young Jon, Elias.

Thinks The stranger is vanilla in terms of gods and monsters.

The stranger is the least interesting.

Thinks all the Stranger wants to do is just summon a god

For some reason he thinks the Dark should be doing more to stop them, because Rayner wouldn't want that to happen

Martin will rap battle the archive to victory, via poetry from Leitners books

The stranger could just be Lego

He's horny for Rayner, his words not mine

Mr. Sandman brought him a dream

Thinks that the Dark at least can get to their gods dimension but choose not to.

If you make everywhere dark does their god appear?

He asked what would happen if two factions tried to summon their god at the same time what would happen

Thinks that all the Avatars /Entities do the same thing.

Breekon and hope have never killed anyone

Maxwell Rayner is a time travelling shadow demon

Mr sandman is like an angry sandy from Rotg

He made this episode unnecessarily kinky

They're just summoning gods

The stranger is remarkably being left alone

Thinks there is no fighting between factions

If anything they're aided

Is the Fairchild's entity already here

Are they working with the other factions

Says he knows whats going to happen because he "knows how these things go"

The Beholding is already on this side and if another God is summoned then it will be booted

Elias killed Gertrude because she was trying to defeat the Beholding and if it was defeated he would turn into the same thing as below the Library in Alexandria

There were three versions of the unknowing that he thought of

Destroying the concept of identity, the unknowing destroys the concept of personality, individuality, and identity. Turning them into Stranger worshipping entities

The angler fish was the thing in the basement at the Taxidermy shop

Stranger just means it couldn't get any stranger

Or it's deliberate parodies of humans

Breekon and Hope were normal people

Salesa, the chuckle brothers, the meat man, the skin walkers, the taxidermist, the manquien, Not-Sasha, the architects, the circus and to some extent the witches are part of the stranger

Magnus is a stranger that took over Elias

He also thinks Elias is just Magnus who found out how to stick around for a while

But Elias isn't the archive god like he first thought

The twisted detergent is Michael's new entity

Michael is like Loki if he didn't have a brother

The stranger is the big bad

Jon is an idiot, he's a bit slow

His second theory for the unknowing is that It's just going to destroy all knowledge revolving the Elder gods, hence the unknowing, the one he thought the least likely

And third, It somehow increases their powers so that the few people that would recognise them, no longer do. Levelling up in short. Thinks it would work for every entity

Doesn't think The Unknowing would be that big of a shift

The circus and the stranger were different because the Circus dealt with the "Freak show"

Thinks Rayner isn't dead

Dust devils

Dirt zombies

Has only made the connection between the Underground, the pit and the dust storm

Was the kid in the car Michael

Was Michael always the Spiral but just really liked working with Gertrude

Michael is the Spiral, he doesn't worship anything

Elias took Gertrude from him, now he's after revenge

Jon should go chill with everyone at the Archive

Jon should have a sword

While you were busy not having a paranoid breakdown I studied the blade

Michael has a crush on Gertrude

He has a granny kink, he is obsessed with making it all kink related

Michael originally gave his powers away to be with Gertrude

Michael took on this form because he could blend in or brag

He's a monster with a thing for Gertrude

Michael wasn't the same Michael as in the tape

Just trying to trick everyone

Lynne Hammond was lying, goes in line with the church of the lightless flame but it didn't happen

Maybe she heard something similar but it didn't actually happen to her, she was just trying to get some money

He actually feels bad for Tim

Tim should run

John Smith was half telling the truth.

People are in the tunnel's but it's not a government conspiracy

Tim doesn't deserve this

You can tell Basira is used to dealing with idiots

Liked that it cut out when Robin Lennox said let me start again, it's like the archive was trying to make it stop

Thinks the archive doesn't care what is being read to it, someone should read it the Lord of the Ringd

The archive is recording the tape recorders not Elias

Get the dog out

Michael was the crying man, he wanted the dog out

He doesn't want to hurt the dog

"Gertrude why did you leave me? I'll get you one day Elias" based on his Michael granny kink theory

Brian Finlinson was the most coherent in terms of links

Thinks that the spiders were actually there, hiding whenever anyone came around

Lynne is lying, John Smith is half telling the truth, Robin Lennox saw Michael having a breakdown, Brian Finlinson was telling the truth

He didn't remember Peter Lukas ever being mentioned before

Already shipping Peter and Elias

Michael is very sensitive

The Fairchild's and the Lukas' are working together

They don't seem to have an interest in the conflict going on between everyone else

The Fairchild's were in aerospace and Lukas was the ships

Still cthulhu

Even space had a cthulhu vibe

The depth of the ocean or the isolation of space

The Lukas and the archive are working together

There are some of these guys that don't want the entities on this side

Likes the power, doesn't want the full on entities here

The Lukas and the Fairchild's are the cthulhus

They're somewhat working with the archive/the beholding

Is Elias actually a Lukas? Decided yes because he and Peter are married

How much do the Lukas have to do with the Beholding

What sort of arrangement do they have?

Nikola was supposed to be part of the circus but there is a difference between the facimalies and the circus

Thinks that the archive burning down would have no downsides for the Beholding.

They'll summon a god and gazing upon it will kill everyone, everyone dies.

As he was now halfway through the series he explained who he thought was in each of these factions

The beholding, Elias, Martin, Tim, basira, daisy, sims, melanie, sasha, Rosie, Gertrude, leitner. Sasha is caught in a time loop...

The stranger, everyone, has no limits, The maniquein, the taxidermy, the circus, skin walkers, grifters bone, breekon and Hope,  angler fish

The desolation, the cult of the lightless flame, Jims pims aka Jude Perry, Agnes,

People's Church of the divine host, Rayner, Rayner have something to do with the German crypt, Rayner Is also not dead

The diggy boys, the buried, Maggie and Gordon from the dump, dig dude from Dig, whatever was going on with the pit, and the dust storm.

Meat, no recurring. The haans that's it.

Buggy boys, spiders, Jane prentiss

Michael, the twisting deceit, the twisting deceit just is Michael, didn't exist before him

The leitners, the witches are using the books, Gérard, Mike crew,

Cthulhu collective, the lukas', the Fairchild's. Both are just isolation, the Fairchild's are all about being alone, the only time the Lukas have turned up are being alone either in space or at sea

The witches, Mary Keay, puzzle witch, have big crossover with the Leitners, they just have some of leitners books

Trevor is his own entity, is he part of the desease and corruption group

The architects, smirke, smirkes apprentice.

Jared is his own thing. Just found a self help book

It's a giant celestial orgy!

Also Came up with a random spinoff comedy again

Slowly the archive collects strange people

Michael, who is mourning Gertrude... Loudly

They found a worm in the tunnel left over from Prentiss

The worm loves gooseberries

That's Elias, we're not sure what he is

Thats the Admiral, it is a cat.... It runs the place

Rayner is sat in the corner giggling

Leitner started a microbrewery in the basement

Serves bud leitner, you can't get leitner than this

#He keeps coming up with sitcom ideas #the magnus archives #the magnus archives spoilers #tma #tma spoilers #The magnus archives theories

[ash-rabbit]

Abitc Ch 11 Cuts: Part 2

This one actually takes place much earlier, in place of Elias asking after Rosie's shifting accent, looping back into the mention of the chapter 1 shovel.

565 words. Despite the lighter nature, and smaller chance of alienating part of the audience, this doesn’t add much to character or plot. Inaction is more liable to get Elias killed so there’s no point to it, and discussing potential research avenues won’t lead to anything. And it felt like another concession, especially after encountering a microagression everytime I left the house to do something other than walk my dog.

Also, just, maybe, if you did feel alienated by Rosie's spiel, it is perhaps, not a bad thing, to maybe gain a glimmer of understanding of what it's like to be a visible minority in western society. It is also me being mortally offended by Jude Perry joining the Desolation for such a shallow reason. I will not go into it here on how Jude Perry is written like a white woman. Additionally if anyone wants to make a comment about what I did with the fortune cookies and web I will happily address that as someone who is half Chinese.

He wants to ask, but it doesn’t feel like the right time. He skims a statement at random, something about an evil ghost woman with a glasgow smile in a dark alleyway. Likely fake and based on some foreign ghost story, the finagling of how to get out of the situation reads very urban legend.

“Do you recognize this by any chance?” he asks, sliding it across the table.

“Oh, I had a Japanese friend who told me this one. The slit-mouthed woman, if you say no she kills you, and if you say yes she gives you a matching smile. You have to throw candy at her, or tell her she’s average, some variations just say you have to politely excuse yourself” Rosie nods, attaching a sticky note to the page. “It’s a pretty common theme over there. There’s one about public toilets and not accepting the colourful toilet paper. Blue gets you strangled, and uh, the other, red, gets you bled out.”

“But what if your stall is out?” Elias asks, marking another statement down as the opening scene of ‘Hamlet’. Honestly, it’s like these people aren’t even trying. Surely they could come up with something original. “Could I ask for green?”

“That gets you dragged straight to the underworld for eternal punishment.” Rosie snorts. “The best you can do is run or just say no.”

“Really?” He sets the page down. “That could make for an interesting paper. A comparison of cultural values through the analysis of urban legends. Chronologically of course, to measure the societal shifts within each compared culture of course. Maybe a series of books- ah, that’s not important.” He shakes his head, clearing away the old research cobwebs.

“I don’t know, it could be important to someone.” Rosie says with a small grin teasing at the edges of her lips. “When’re you going to write these papers?”

“Me? Ha! The amount of work that would take would bury me. Most legends are only known orally in their native language, and the popular text version is almost never the correct one, usually a propaganda piece. The amount of work to find regional variants would be absurd, if anything it’d have to be a group effort.” He pauses, and leans back, looks at Rosie. “You know, there’s no reason you can’t write it. Anything you say would be better than what the ‘Mongolian Death Worm’ men put out.”

Rosie snorts. “That’s a low bar Elias, but it’s not a bad idea. Shame Research wouldn’t take me.”

“Research doesn’t deserve you.” He says absently, plucking through the pile in search of something worthwhile. Wait. He clears his throat. “Your talents are much better suited to Artefact Storage anyway.” Nailed it.

“Who’re you trying to fool?” she asks, smiling audibly.

“I have a reputation to uphold.” He sniffs.

“You mean the absolute hole you’ve dug yourself into?”

“Exactly so!” He grins broadly, before leaning in to whisper conspiratorially. “It’s a very good pit, full of near impenatrable bedrock and enough silt to deter even the most determined door-to-door salesman.”

“I’m very good at gardening, and I’m sure there’s a shovel that we can use to help dig you up. Place like this, I bet the shovel will do most of the work for me.”

“We’ve actually got a shovel like that.” Elias says. “It’s very sturdy, can cut through stone and everything”

#abitc #abitc chapter cuts #chapter 11 cuts #my writing

[squeeneyart]

Breathe in the Salt - Chapter 17

AO3

Beta reader as always is @thesnadger!

Phone calls will have to do.

Martin has an uneventful Friday night.

“Just- what am I supposed to do, wait for you all to save up for a holiday?”

Martin felt silly, pacing back and forth on the beach and yelling into his phone. A whole day spent too nervous to say anything in that horrible building and there was no keeping it down now, even for his mother. So there he was, outside and cold and freaking out a bit.

Tim sighed. “Look, we’re working on it, but when we got back here we had a mountain of work waiting for us. It’s not the first time this has happened, but if I were the paranoid one I’d say Elias is trying to keep us busy.” 

Pinching the skin between his eyes, Martin said, “I know, I know, it’s not your fault.” Except for all of the stress they’d caused him, all of it for nothing- “Where does it all leave me, though? What can I do?”

“Stay put and do what you’ve been doing. We’ll work things out on our end, but if Evan is… missing, then it’s best you keep your head down. Maybe that’s what he’s doing now that Peter’s back.” Tim paused. “I suppose taking a quick holiday isn’t in the cards?”

“No, not really. Besides, I’d like to still be there in case, I dunno, something happens? Be the man on the ground?”

Tim snorted. “Well, ‘man on the ground’, do your best to stay there. We still don’t know what all that Fairchild business was about, either.” 

“Right. Yeah.” Martin took a moment to tilt his head up at the sky, almost entirely dark. “So, you’ll be the one to contact if things start going sideways?” 

“Seems like it, though I’ll see if we can set up a group text or something. We used to have one for the three of us, but for reasons I will not explore here it was unjustly deemed ‘superfluous’.” Tim seemed to cover the receiver for a moment. “I stand corrected. According to Sasha, it was ‘a gratuitous distraction that only served to flood our notifications with garbage’.”

“...Was it?”

“Oh, absolutely.” Tim’s grin was so audible to be infectious.

Martin laughed a little. “That’ll work. Just in case you can’t be reached.”

“I’ll let you go for the night and give you the details on that once I’m done with all this homework.” There was an exaggerated sound of papers rustling. “Really, I can’t describe the amount of work he’s piled on us. It almost loops back around to Elias being normal Elias.”

“Sure. Good luck.”

“Same to you. And sorry again for the raincheck on dinner!”

“It’s fine. Nothing you could’ve done.”

Click.

Pocketing his mobile, Martin rubbed his face with both hands and willed himself to calm down. It was unfair to be angry at them for needing to do their actual jobs, but if rent needed to be paid then they shouldn’t have promised anything. All he had at that moment was the hope that eventually, long after he was thrown in with Evan, one of them would have the courtesy to come back and record the event for posterity.

“Statement of Ms. Blackwood, regarding the disappearance of her son at his place of employment,” Martin mumbled, kicking at some stones on the ground. “Ugh, that’s morbid.”

Martin looked out over the dark sea, but all that served was to sting his eyes and push his mood down even further. What a horrible habit. Look from the lighthouse, look out to sea, for there is no-

Best to keep his eyes down for the foreseeable future. Unless he’s high up, at which point he’ll keep his eyes anywhere but down. And if he’s stuck in some secret, impossible room, well, he won’t remember which way to look anyway.

--

He was at the table, microwave steamed vegetables and some leftover something or other plated in front of him. Across the table his mother ate in silence save for the dull chewing sounds no one could possibly help. At that moment they were making Martin’s teeth grind. 

A quiet meal could be so aggravating with the wrong person. The tiniest sounds, chewing, breathing, sighing, a cacophony of what should be inoffensive signs of life grating on the ears. 

He’d often heard about the bad effects television during meals could have on family. There had never been one visible from the kitchen, but he could think of many reasons why having one would’ve been a blessing in that house. Even if the one they had could be heard from the other room, there was still nothing to look at but his own plate, the terrible window view, and his mother.

“Is it a porch night?” Martin asked, poking at a sad-looking slice of carrot with his fork. “It’s gotten colder, and darker. Before long it’ll be dark before I get home each day.”

His mother took another bite, a sigh escaping her lips. “Yes.”

“We can’t stay out long,” he warned.

One of her nostrils twitched, but she said nothing. 

“I mean it. You never cover your face.”

“I know what’s best for myself.”

“So do I. It stings my eyes.”

“You won’t outgrow that sensitivity by avoiding it.”

Martin scoffed. “I don’t avoid it.”

This earned him a dainty sniff. “If that were true it wouldn’t sting anymore.”

“Would you-”

“Go get tea started. You’ve let your mouth run enough for one night.”

Martin stood with a sudden force that made him feel like an incensed child who hadn’t gotten his way. He bit his tongue and did as he was told, leaving her to finish her meal. 

The filled kettle was placed gently onto the stove with shaking hands. After switching the stovetop dial, Martin stood with his back to the rest of the kitchen. Tea was made and served in quiet, the tremor still clinging to his hands. The warmth of the cup did nothing to quell the shakes, but if it was noticeable she made no remarks.

Now it was the low sound of her blowing on her tea. The loud sipping noise as she tested the taste. Lip smacking, fingers tapping, everything dragged at the back of his skull, why do people make such noise when they do things?

Finally, he was able to take the cups, his own almost entirely full, and fill the room with clattering and the rush of water out of the sink. It would be enough to rinse for the moment. There would be plenty of time to wash things at any other time.

When the time came, her hand just barely touching his arm, they prepared themselves and went outside. Her breaths were long and loud, in and out through her nose. Though Martin covered his face as best he could, his eyes watered all the same. 

How could she enjoy this?

The walk back indoors, the removal of shoes, the slow movement to her room. Martin just barely stopped himself from slamming her door behind him after getting her to bed, though he had no doubt she’d make a comment on his impatience the next day. There was nothing left but to turn in early himself. What else could he do?

The staircase towered before him, each step upon it harder than the last despite his long legs, but he didn’t look up. Martin could learn from his mistakes if he tried, and he was trying. 

Could she hear him taking his sweet time? Did every creak of the steps set her teeth on edge as she tried to fall asleep?

Martin made it upstairs eventually, and to his bedroom after, though by that point he knew sleep wasn’t coming for him just yet. Checking his phone, he found no new messages or calls, as if he hadn’t kept the thing on vibrate to be alerted of anything new. He dropped the thing on his bedside table after flipping his alarm off. There was work to be done the next day, but he didn’t owe Peter an early start on a Saturday.

As Martin sat on the edge of his bed, the day washed over him and he slumped forward, forearms pressed against knees. He gently tugged his hair out of its elastic, not that it had been all that held back by the end. Running fingers through it, brushing it back and scratching at his scalp, Martin let himself sulk for one more horrible minute.

If they’d stayed, he probably wouldn’t have been able to go out to dinner with them anyway. Irresponsible to have thought otherwise, really. Now there was no reason to worry about it.

Apparently this was what the evening would be: Martin Blackwood feeling snappish and awful.

He would apologize the next day, he thought. His mother, while not helpful, hadn’t actually done anything to make him cross besides exist nearby, and Tim certainly didn’t deserve to be on the receiving end of Martin’s panic and frustration. Only one person deserved that, but chewing out Peter was a sure way to get himself disappeared. So, the options were limited.

He was lucky Jon wasn’t the one who had to call him. How was he not supposed to be angry after Jon worked harder than anyone to convince him that things would work out? The man had outright promised to help Evan even though they had no real plan on how to do that. Sure, it had been heartfelt and sweet, and determination did nice things to his face-

Martin groaned, pulling down at his cheeks. No, anything but that. He wanted to be angry and petty and upset about his possible upcoming death, not disappointed that his one-sided thing was even more doomed than before. Sure, after a bit he would get over it, but it had been a while since he’d fancied someone a little. It was a nice feeling. 

It was even better writing material. Perhaps that would help, writing. At the very least it could prevent another weird scene at the dinner table. What was that line that popped into his head earlier? Could be the start of something cathartic, even if it ended up being complete rubbish.

Reaching down to his nightstand, Martin jumped at the sound of his phone buzzing against wood. From his hunched position he could see an unknown number. He grimaced. Of course he’d get a weird spam call during all this. He let it ring and grabbed his notebook and pencil. There had been a thought earlier, some lines that had a nice cadence despite being off the cuff. A bit boring, but perhaps they could be worked with. Look from the lighthouse-

“Hello, Martin. I’m calling- right, this is Jonathan Sims? From the Magnus Institute? I had Tim give me your number but I’m realizing now that he might not have told you yet. I-”

Scrambling for the phone, Martin dropped the notebook right onto his toes. “Shit-” 

“-wanted to discuss some things with you. Let me know if-”

Finally, Martin managed to press the right button and answer the call. “Sorry, hi, it’s Martin. I didn’t-”

“Oh- yes, hi. Am I interrupting, or-”

Quickly, Martin said, “No, no, I just don’t usually answer unknown numbers, so-” 

“Right, right, I thought that might be the case. Glad I caught you, then.” Jon cleared his throat. “So, how are you, ah, holding up?”

He thought he could sense an attempt in Jon’s tone to be casual. Martin’s mouth quirked downward. “Fine, I guess. Still here.”

“Good. Tim said you’d had some concerns, so-”

“Not much anyone can do about them, is there?” Jesus, could he not be snippy at someone for five minutes? “Sorry, it’s… it’s been a long day. Tim told you, then?”

“Yes, he did. We’ll do our best to get at least one of us back there soon, if not the whole team. Elias wasted no time getting us back to work. For now, phones will have to do.” 

Martin waited for a few seconds, but there was nothing after. “So… is that what you called for? To go over what Tim and I talked about?” 

“What? No. I thought we could... Well, we have some other business that would be best kept between us. Establishing contact felt like the best next step on that front.” Again, there was a strangely long pause, but before Martin could think of anything to say, Jon continued. “And because the goodbyes were relatively abrupt this morning, I didn’t have the opportunity to apologize.”

Sighing, Martin rubbed his eyes. “Well, you didn’t say it for twenty-four hours, so I suppose you get half credit?”

Jon huffed. “I misread the situation and Elias. I hadn’t expected him to downright deny us an extension without discussion, and I certainly never pegged him as the type to have us pack up and leave with barely any notice. We were as shocked as you this morning.”

Not likely. “So, what now? How long do you think…”

“Honestly, I don’t know yet. I want to keep an eye on Elias after all of this strange business, but of course he’s not here.” Martin could feel the scowl on Jon’s face. “It may take some time for any of us to make a trip out there outside of work. I’m afraid you’ll be on your own for the next couple of weeks.”

“Oh.” Closing his eyes, Martin let himself fall back onto the bed. “Okay.”

Quickly, Jon said, “Not much longer than that, I hope. I tend to work on my days off which should cover the extra assignments more quickly, and Sasha or Tim may be able to make a trip out there sooner than I could.” At the end, Jon’s reassuring tone dropped into an irritated grumble. 

Martin smiled a little and fought back a yawn. “Worried they’ll fix things up before you get here?”

“That’s not- I wouldn’t say- I’m sure they’re capable of doing so, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to enjoy sitting on my hands while real work needs to be done,” Jon said, recovering from his indignant sputtering. “I’ve only looked at some of the new assignments, but most of them are guaranteed to be either misunderstandings or blatant lies.”

“You can’t know that just by skimming them.”

“You haven’t had to read some of these things,” Jon said with a tinge of disdain. “No, people love to waste my time and keep me both from my personal research and more pressing situations like your own.”

Martin looked up at his window. “Okay, but mine would probably sound fake on paper though, right? ‘Oh, the lighthouse I work at is tall and makes me dizzy, also I think an old classmate is trapped in the walls?’, or something like that. I wouldn’t believe it.”

“But it’s demonstrable,” Jon said. “And if you’d chosen to put more time and effort into it, you’d have put in the more compelling details. Not that we don’t get statements like that. Some read like a trite pitch for the script someone is workshopping rather than a true paranormal experience.”

“And that’s what’s keeping you busy now.”

“I’m sure you’re glad to hear that important things are happening while you wait. If by the time we return you’ve already been trapped in an impossible lighthouse prison, we’ll have plenty of entertaining material to refill your vocabulary.” A silent, awkward moment passed between them. “Right, okay, not funny.”

“Not really, no.”

“Sorry.”

“It’s… fine.” It really wasn’t, but Martin wasn’t in a state to argue anymore that day. “What kind of fake stuff is it, then? That’s so important you just had to be back?”

Jon groaned. “Don’t get me started. There’s one from a man who claimed to be seeing the same strange fellow at the park everyday, as if he doesn’t also visit that park everyday and by his own logic could be a supernatural creature himself.”

In a way that Martin felt must’ve been some breach of confidentiality, Jon proceeded to lay before him complaints of monsters (“Particularly loud raccoons”), doppelgangers (“Plenty of people look like other people”), and other phenomena that Jon found particularly ridiculous. They were so unconvincing that Martin had to wonder whether Jon was leaving out the spookier details. 

But that was fine, Martin found. Why would he want to hear about anything other than people in ordinary circumstances when his own were decidedly not? And if Jon was happy to talk Martin’s ear off about frivolous things, it worked out well enough for both of them. 

Like before, it didn’t take much to keep the man going. In the middle of a peculiar story of shifting room layouts, Martin asked, “Okay, but there could’ve been something weird about the building, right? Probably not, but-”

“Well, we gave her the benefit of the doubt and Sasha looked into it. It turned out the woman had confused her own flat with the one next to it and unwittingly trespassed through an unlocked door. She was happy enough to drop the whole thing in embarrassment.”

Pushing his glasses up, Martin pressed a hand over his eyes. “Oh God, I would’ve died on the spot.”

“Ultimately she was happy to not have wandered into an alternate universe. I believe Sasha also saw to it that the neighbors practiced proper lock safety without giving the whole thing away.” 

“Happy ending, then.”

“For now. Can’t say it won’t happen again, but it won’t be our problem.” From the other end, Martin heard a muffled voice.  “Sorry, hold on.” 

“Sure.” The call was put on hold, and Martin checked his screen.

Oh god, they’d been on the call for over an hour. When had that happened? Had he been loud enough for his mother to hear him this whole time? What had he even said for that long? He must’ve been saying something. 

Jon’s voice came through again. “Sorry, I’m staying late tonight to get a head start on things. It seems Elias is back, so I’m going to have to let you go. Thank you for your understanding earlier.”

Internally, Martin let out a thankful sigh. “It’s no problem, really. Thanks for checking in.”

“And about the other issue. If there are any questions-”

“It’s fine. We’re all fine here.”

Jon cleared his throat again. “Good. Good night, Martin.”

“Night.”

The call ended, and Martin found himself in the weird place of adding a new contact and staring at the slightly longer list of names. 

Jon had asked for his number. 

For the purpose of talking about Martin’s mother, obviously, but that had only come up two times. The rest of the conversation had been primarily an outlet for Jon’s work frustrations. It hadn’t exactly been a professional call, had it?

No, no, no, that was enough and he was going to bed immediately.

#tma #the magnus archives #martin blackwood #jonathan sims #sasha james #timothy stoker #peter lukas #jonmartin #fanfic #au fanfic #selkie au #breathe in the salt

[lizzylunawizardessfanfics]

Changing History?

Pairing: Demeter!Klaus X Hades!Lizzy

Summary: It was very clear that there was a long history of generations of Demeters and Hades hating one another. being this generation's Hades, Lizzy wished to put the past to rest and try to befriend Demeter. Will her efforts pay off, will Klaus give Lizzy the chance to prove herself, or will the continuous loop keep repeating itself.

Warning: Angstish

“Shut in!”

“Control freak!”

“Troublemaking demon!”

“Oohh now we’re calling me a demon, real nice one you egotistical jerk!” Lizzy shouted her pastel blue hair floating in the hair and started to turn into blue flames. Letting out a sigh I could only standby and watch as Lizzy and my brother argued; I really wished he wouldn’t instigate her as I couldn’t help but feel bad for her, no matter how hard she tried to be nice whenever Klaus showed up he’d act coldly towards her. “Oh come now calm down you living candlestick,” I heard Klaus dryly say when instantly I heard Lizzy let out a small gasp. “Kl-Demeter that’s enough,” I quickly shouted as I had to remember to not use his mortal name as despite my attempts to put an end to the arguing I was ignored.

“I am NOT a living candlestick first of all! And calm down? Calm down?! You don’t get to come into my domain and tell ME to calm down when you’re the one who started this all,” she shouted as her hair started to fall back down going back to normal after a moment after taking a deep breath. “I’ve done nothing but try to be nice and to be civil yet every time you come here you’re just mean,” she continued letting out a huff before starting to walk over to me as I saw the fake smile taking form on her face. “Goodbye Lizzy,” I said, giving a small smile of my own hugging my friend as I felt her return it as well. “Goodbye Lias, please do take care. I shall see you again in six months,” she said while pulling away from the hug giving my arms a small squeeze before completely stepping away from me. “Persephone let's go,” I heard my brother say in a strict voice and when I walked forward to leave with him I couldn’t help but glance back once more but she was nowhere to be seen, just the falling of dead flower petals that almost resembled ash.

Once upon arrival back home in the world of the living it hasn’t been five minutes back and Klaus was already asking a million questions about if I was okay or if she tried to do anything. Letting out a frustrated sigh I dropped my shoulders letting out a quick “no, no, and no. Now will you stop asking please, the answer is the same as always.” He looked at me and pinched the bridge of his nose which I folded my arms over my chest and stared at him. “What, what’s that look for,” I heard him ask in which I took a deep breath as it was taking everything in me to finally speak my mind. “What you said back there was uncalled for, and quite honestly I’m mad you hurt her feelings,” I said getting to the point as this truly needed to stop, he needed to see he was in the wrong.

“Persephone the only thing that god feels is anger, she does not need your pity.”

“I’m not pitying her and that isn’t true, but then again what do you know? You haven’t even made an attempt to get to know her!”

“Pardon me, do not raise your voice to me!”

“You don’t get it Klaus! She’s my best friend and all she wants is to be able to get along with you and maybe even be your friend, yet here you are pushing her away before giving her the time of day,” I argued back letting out a huff.

~~~ Klaus’ POV ~~~

Blinking I looked at my younger brother in shock as he got loud with me as he certainly has never been like this before. Letting out a small scoff and to think he was standing up for the god of the Underworld, it didn’t matter how many Hades come and go; they will all be the same.

“Apologize.”

“Pardon me- what?’

“You’re going to go and apologize to her.”

“I will do no such thing.”

“Fine then, I just won’t talk to you until you do so,” Elias said, turning around and starting to walk away from me. “Persephone,” I called his name, but he showed no sign of turning around. Letting out a small growl when I no longer saw him in sight, I couldn’t believe it's come to this. Standing there for a moment I finally gave in and created a portal to go speak with the god.

Arriving back into the gloomy and fiery surroundings I was approached by one of the denizens with a weapon in its hands. “State your business! You’ve already collected the goddess so what could you need from our queen,” it demanded in a questioning manner. “I’ve come… Seeking an audience with Hades,” I said pausing as I couldn’t believe I was doing this. “Follow me then,” the demon said after a brief pause, lowering its weapon and starting to lead the way which I silently followed. Walking through the castle I looked around as admittedly it looked a lot cleaner than how it looked when the last Hades was in control. Moments after walking we entered what looked to be the study room or a library. “The queen will be with you momentarily. Do not touch or break anything,” the demon announced before giving the warning and closing the doors after it left. Rolling my eyes I looked around and decided to examine a few things to kill time.

Over the large fireplace was the mural of Hades herself with her three headed hellhound, she had a soft smile yet it didn’t match the sad look in her eyes- no, no, I wasn’t going to be another fool falling for any tricks or lies. Walking around the room I stopped by the table that had a closed book that caught my attention. Leaning over I read the cover: The Hades tales: Lizette as on the spine of the book after I picked it up I noticed it had engraved 2019 -, so it was pretty much like the book I received when I started. Looking around to see if anyone was in the room I looked back down and opened it to read a little, this would be the best way to get insight on any evil plans she could be plotting.

Entry 4:

Another failed day of attempting to leave the Underworld; it’s official I’m stuck in this fire hole. Though now that I’m apparently a god, goddess? Eh whatever I am I cannot help but wonder about my mortal life; actually I couldn’t help but wonder if I’m here because I died. Not like I’m going to get any answers from anyone or anything for that matter. It’s going to take a while to get used to all of this and all of the duties, but hopefully things will go alright.

Rolling my eyes I continued to flip through a couple more pages till I stopped on another entry.

Entry 17:

I’ve finally managed to restore the garden! Even if many of the plants and flowers are dead or deadly they still deserve to be tended to like any other. Things haven’t been easy, but I’m grateful to the other gods who reside here that have pointed me in the right direction of what I should be doing. As I’ve become very proud of myself; I have declared that depending on the judgments of the souls that appear here that those who are deserving of a second chance will be reincarnated. Though I cannot control how they are reborn, at least they can watch over their loved ones to see them grow… It can only get me thinking of what will become of me when my time comes: will I get to be reborn into a new life or will I just disappear and cease to exist to be forgotten for an eternity with only the tales from this book be all that is left of me.

It was much to my surprise that I learned that she wasn’t keeping the souls condemned here, no wonder why it doesn’t feel as congested as it has in the past. My eyes softened at the words of how she questioned what happens after this life that not even I have really even thought of it that way. Peeking around there was still no sign of anyone in the room so I continued to read through. Then I came upon a more recent entry that looked very long.

Entry 60:

Truly I don’t know why I bother anymore, why do I continue to put the effort into befriending Demeter; I’ve easily given up on befriending the others who dislike me for the very same reason as his… Maybe because it’s simply because Demeter is Elias’ brother, but regardless it shouldn’t hurt so much every time he insults me and there are days where I can take it but even then I can only take so much. I fully understand I cannot change the history of what’s taken place, but that doesn’t mean it has to keep repeating itself right? To whoever reads this after-

“Oh what do I owe the return of the goddess of harvest,” I heard the familiar voice that disrupted my reading and quickly looked up to find where the god was to see her walking across the other side of the table. Before I could even speak I heard her say, “Oh don’t tell me, maybe you’ve come back to remind me just how much you despise me. Or maybe how you hope I rot in hell; oh wait I’m already doing so haha.” She had a straight face as the flat laugh at her own poor joke, the laughter that sounded nothing like the ones that I’d hear whenever she spoke to Elias. Clearing my throat I responded, “I never seek to be making returns here unless it’s for my brother, but no I haven’t returned to simply insult you… I’ve come to apologize.” Hearing that laugh from before I watched as she leaned against the wall and folded her arms with a raised eyebrow.

“You coming to apologize to me, surely it isn’t of your own accord... Let me guess, dear sweet Lias got angry with you and threatened you. To which of course god forbid you’re ever on his bad side that you’d pretty much do whatever to be in his good graces again,” she said pretty much hitting the mark. “Regardless if you are correct or not I’ve come to apologize and then be on my way,” I simply replied to which I saw her baby blue eyes roll. “Then don’t bother apologizing to me. Tell him whatever you wish, but I don’t want empty apologies. I’ve said my apologies and I’m tired of repeating myself so I won’t any more,” she outright told me as I blinked a couple of times not having expected that from her. “Whether you accept it or not I apologize for my… Rudeness,” I apologized for the sake of doing it though seeing her like this gave me an odd feeling.

I noticed her eyebrows knitting together as she was looking at me until I saw her making her way over to me. “Why do you have my book?! Give that to me,” she loudly asked before coming right up to me and snatching her book back and holding it close to her. Looking at her I think this was the first time we were ever this close and actually looking at her… Did she always look this pretty? “I thought reading it would give me insight to see if you were planning anything evil… But from the few I have read there was nothing sinister I could see. Forgive me for intruding into your personal book,” I said honestly before again apologizing though this time I was serious. She was silent with a pout on her face while looking me in the eyes, seeming to debate something mentally before soon enough a small sigh left her lips. Snapping myself out of whatever trance I felt myself slipping into I cleared my throat. “Yes well. Now that things have been settled… I shall be taking my leave,” I said excusing myself as with that I’ve used my powers to head back home.

~~~~~~

There were times when Persephone would grow bored and demand to go visit Hades; however it hasn't been six months yet, so I would take it upon myself to accompany my brother to make sure he would not stay too long. Of course I’d keep my distance, but watching the two interact slowly over time I came to see that their relationship was as my brother had said many times in the past, purely platonic. She certainly was a strange Hades as she never really behaved like one, but I wasn’t going to admit that out loud. Of course we still argued and fought as there were occasions I’d be forced to take part in the conversations the two would have; very much like the one they were having at this moment during tea.

“Again? To think Hercules would keep trying at this point,” I listened to my brother comment about her story from the other day. “You don’t think he could be in love with you,” was the next thing I heard my brother bring up only to hear Hades' laughter instantly afterwards. “Oh lord I hope not haha. Don’t get me wrong, when he isn’t trying to swing his blade at me Ted can be nice… He’s just not that bright,” she replied instantly before adding on “And besides let’s be honest; who is going to love me, of all gods romantically?” Letting that comment sink in I couldn’t help but feel this strange pit in my stomach.

“Well what about Rex? You’ve been telling me how you two were writing letters back and forth as of lately,” Elias brought up possibly trying to prove a point or something. Exactly knowing who my brother was talking about: the goddess of good counsel, Themis. Hades only seemed to shake her head in a no manner. “Or what about Vain? He comes to visit often no; surely a man with that kind of dedication to make time for you is bound to harbor feelings for you right,” Elias seemed adamant to prove her statement wrong. A name of a god I did not like; Kratos was a man I did not care for nor did I get along well with, but why did the possible thought of the brute being involved so closely to Hades bother me so much? It wasn’t like I myself harbored any feelings towards the lonely god... She simply shrugged her shoulders resting her chin into the palm of her hand.

“Yes he comes to visit when he pleases and brings the heads of his enemies as an ‘offering’ to give to me… But I really don’t think it has any more meaning behind it,” she said, shooting down that idea in a heartbeat. An exaggerated sigh came from Elias as he stood up from his seat before saying, “Lizzy there is someone for everyone, just because it isn’t now doesn’t mean that being doesn’t exist. Now pardon me I shall be right back.” With that my brother started to walk away from the table and exited the room with creaking doors closing behind him now just leaving just us.

A silence filled the room only hearing the soft crunch sound of Hades taking a bite of some fruit. Glancing over to her, her gaze was down at the plate I found myself carefully looking at her; how her pastel blue hair cascaded down off her shoulders like a waterfall, the way she delicately ate the slices of fruit. It was almost hard to believe this was the same god I was supposed to hate. Deciding to break the silence I softly cleared my throat and asked, “Do you really think no one would ever love you?” Watching as she picked up her head I noticed an eyebrow raise up when looking at me. “Why would it matter to you? Actually I’m surprised you haven’t agreed with me already and added how I’m just simply an unlovable god,” I listened to her say instead of actually answering my question while slouching in her seat and crossing her arms over her chest. Internally I couldn’t help but wince, honestly hearing her say that so openly felt like a jab to the chest; however I guess that was my own fault for how I’ve mistreated her.

“Lizette list-” I began to talk trying to call her by her mortal name until she cut me off.

“Don’t call me that.”

“What?”

“I have no attachment to that name. Just because it’s written in my book doesn’t mean I have any memories of that name so it means nothing to me. And besides I didn’t think we were anywhere near a mortal name basis,” Lizzy proceeded to explain. I didn’t answer right away trying to find how to properly say what I wanted without sounding rude. “You’re right we weren’t… But I’ve been seeing what my brother has been trying to tell me, I realized I’ve hurt you a lot because I didn’t want to believe that a being could change how a god is supposed to be,” I started off with but didn’t stop there. “I know we fight because of me, because it was all I knew with how all the stories from past Demeters' I’ve read yet… Here you were trying to make that difference and I kept fighting it. I’m sorry Lizzy,” I finished talking and apologized in the end even if she didn’t accept it. After that things got a little bit easier, not perfect but better than the beginning.

~~~~~~

It was a new month as of course it was that time again where the god of thunder threw his monthly get together. “Are you ready,” I called out asking my younger brother as I hated going to these gatherings every single time as unfortunately Albert would never allow me to skip one, speaking of skipping I could only wonder if the ruler of the Underworld herself would be going. Hearing footsteps I saw Elias join me giving a nod of the head in a yes manner so with that I made our portal to Olympus. Greeted by the familiar surroundings already many of the gods and goddesses present greeted us while we made our way to the ballroom. Many were dancing or mingling, crowded as usual. “It seems that she isn’t here yet,” I heard Elias mutter under his breath as it was obvious that he was looking around for Lizzy. “Perhaps she decided to skip this month's party again,” I simply stated as that was one of the things I’ve envied about her; she managed to skip out on countless parties until the god of thunder himself goes to force her to come.

“Ah you made it, it’s so great to see the both of you,” the sound of the all too familiar cheerful voice was already making me feel slightly annoyed. Turning to where the voice was coming from and much to my surprise there Albert was with Lizzy right beside him, she didn’t look all too happy about being here; though then again I couldn’t blame her. Instantly Elias and her greeted each other with a hug as seeing her smile caused a small stir in my chest. There was a brief moment when our eyes met as I wasn’t completely sure how to react so I gave a small nod of my head along with a slight smile which she returned with an awkward one of her own. “Well as usual I hope you guys enjoy yourselves! If you pardon me Elias I’ll be borrowing her for a little bit,” Albert said, wrapping his arm around her shoulders bringing her to him. “Do I really need to dance, I thought making an appearance would have sufficed,” she asked while getting dragged away. “It won’t kill you to loosen up and dance once in a while Lizzy dear! Besides I’ve missed your company,” I could hear Albert say as soon enough disappeared into the crowd of gods and goddesses.

A small scoff came out as I felt myself slightly getting more irritated by Albert’s actions than normal. “Brother are you alright,” I heard Elias’ voice bring me back as I looked over to him. Giving a curt nod of my head I replied, “Of course I am, why wouldn’t I be?” He seemed to give me a questioning look and seemed to shrug his shoulders lightly. “It just seemed like something was bothering you is all,” Elias said as I didn’t really do or say anything to his comment. After him excusing himself to go off to walk around I was left on my own finding myself to lean against one of the columns watching everyone dancing. That was when I got a glimpse of Albert and Lizzy dancing together and it only seemed to put me in even a worse mood seeing them together so close. Was this my punishment for how I poorly treated her in the past, was this to feel the pain that she’s felt herself; regardless it wasn’t pleasant. I tried to do everything I could to not feel anything for the ruler of the Underworld, yet here I was in love with her and it hurt. As the party progressed I found myself slightly drinking as I could only watch from the distance while Lizzy was currently chatting with Albert, Elias, and Rex as she looked like she was enjoying the conversation.

“So this is where you’ve been the whole time,” I heard the annoyingly cheerful voice of Hermes in my ear as I didn’t bother to look at him. “Not now Hermes I’m really not in the mood to really converse with anyone,” I stated wishing he’d simply go away. “Aw come now don’t be a party pooper! Oh are you watching your brother with Lizzy and them, Elias was telling me that you and Lizzy have been slowly getting along better,” He rambled on as I let out a sigh. It was when I noticed Kratos himself joining their group and greeted her with a hug, even going as far as kissing the top of her hand; nope I have had enough of watching this. Ditching my drink I simply started to walk over to them leaving Hermes on his own to his own rambling. As I drew closer I seemed to have caught the groups’ attention as Albert seemed to open his mouth. “Ah Klaus so you decided to join us! I was just about to go looking for you,” he said, wearing that usual happy smile that I hated, it always seemed so fake. I didn’t respond while I simply went up to Lizzy and grabbed her upper arm though making sure not to hurt her before starting to pull her away. “Come with me,” I said having mixed feelings as maybe having a few sips of that drink wasn’t a good idea. “Hey what are you doing?! Demeter what’s gotten into you,” I heard her asking while I just kept walking until we were alone out on one of the balconies.

Feeling the cool air against my warm face felt refreshing and helped me recollect myself a little. Feeling her arm rip out of my grasp I looked down at her as she had a confused yet stern look on her face. “Demeter what was that all about,” she questioned me, her arms now crossed.

~~~~~~

Back inside Elias was glancing over at Albert with a concerned look on his face. “Are you sure it was a good idea to take it that far,” Elias asked which Albert simply gave a small chuckle and gave the goddess of Spring a pat on the head. “Everything will work out one way or another. Besides, if he wasn’t given that push then what would have given him the drive to be honest with how he feels,” Albert said plainly as Vain showing up wasn’t a part of the god of thunder’s plans, but it seemed to help. Elias let out a small sigh before saying, “I sure hope so.”

~~~~~~

“Stop calling me Demeter,” I said instead of answering her question.

“Wait what? Then what do you want me to call you… Are you feeling alright?”

“I said stop calling me Demeter, I want you to call me Klaus,” I repeated myself but not stopping there. “Before you say anything I know- I know there was a time when I said I never would be on a mortal name basis with you, but I take that back.” She looked at me shocked with her baby blue eyes but after a moment they went back to normal. “If… That was all you wanted to say, that's fine but that didn’t call for you storming over and dragging me off like you did,” she replied. I felt my heart banging against my chest, taking a deep breath. I said, “But that isn’t all I have to say… I like you Lizzy, I’m in love with you.” All was silent except the winds blowing past and the faint sound of the music playing inside. “That isn’t funny,” I heard her say as now I was confused. “What,” I asked in return. “If- if this is some twisted sick joke of your’s it isn’t funny kay! Don’t go saying you love me if you don’t because I won’t be able to take it,” She explained as I could hear the cracking in her voice. “For the longest time I’ve been convincing myself to move on because I knew I never stood a chance, that you’d forever hate me because of who I am! So please- please don’t say you love me if it’s just a lie,” she continued as I felt my heart ache and sting as if pricked by needles; tears were falling down her face.

I walked up to her cupping her face in my hands to wipe her tears away. “I love you. I’m so sorry that I was so cruel to you, that for so long I just pushed you away and no amount of apologizing will make the things I’ve said go away… But I can only hope that you’d allow me to prove to you that I am serious,” I said, looking at her this close under the moonlight she was even more beautiful than usual. “Why now, what made you have a change of heart,” she asked, feeling her smaller hands overlap my own. “Because when I finally did take the moment to give you a chance I saw what a good person you were, you really aren’t like any of the Hades that came before you. For some time I kept my distance in fear of the possibility I grew attached; I’ve read past Persephones’ books and I found out their happiest days were with their Hades… And if I had to suppress my own feelings for the sake of my brother’s happiness I was willing to do so,” I said explaining myself as it felt good to get this all off my chest. “So… Will you give me a chance,” I asked patiently awaiting her response. A minute or two passed until she gave a small nod in a yes manner before I felt myself smiling with joy. Leaning down I pressed my lips to her soft ones; she slightly smelt of pears and honey. Pulling away I felt myself finally feel completely calm and relaxed which I felt her slim arms wrap around me completing the embrace.

“Could we stay out here a little while longer?”

“Hehe sure Klaus; I could use a break from being in there anyway.”

#god au #wizardess heart #fanfic #wizardess heart fanfic #lizzy luna #klaus goldstein #albert auburne #randy march #vain #rex blanc #ted #elias goldstein

[ollieofthebeholder]

and some say love is holding on (and some say letting go): a The Magnus Archives fanfic

Also on AO3. Takes place immediately after Episode 159: The Last. Title and song lyrics from Perhaps Love by John Denver, which is going to end up being the lynchpin of an eventual JonMartin playlist.

Perhaps love is like a resting place, a shelter from the storm It exists to bring you comfort, it is there to keep you warm And in those times of trouble when you are most alone The memory of love will bring you home...

~*~*~*~*~*~

The exhaustion hits the second they cross the threshold from the Lonely’s domain to the real world. Jon is shaking from head to toe, worse than the last time he went more than a couple days without a statement, and the confidence and energy with which he brought them out seems to leave him in a rush, like water swirling down a bathtub drain. He could easily sleep for a week.

At his side, Martin’s knees buckle, and he’s trembling so hard it seems like he might actually fly to pieces. Jon tries to support him, but he’s a head shorter and a good deal skinnier than Martin and it would be an effort under the best of circumstances, which these are decidedly not. He intends to guide Martin gently to sit down on the floor, but it ends up being an ungraceful, barely-controlled mutual collapse.

“Let’s just rest here for a minute,” Jon murmurs, trying to catch his breath.

“Do we really have time?” Martin asks, also gasping for air like they had to work a lot harder to get out than they did.

They probably don’t, actually. Trevor and Julia are up there somewhere, cutting a swath through the Institute’s staff, or trying to anyway. The thing that took Sasha’s place is on the loose, too, abandoning all pretense at humanity. Daisy has given herself back over to the Hunt—Jon knew that was what she was going to do without even having to use his abilities—and even if she did it to save them, to save him, she did it knowing she won’t be coming back from it this time. God, if there is an actual God, only knows where Elias—Jonah—has gone or what he’s up to, what he’s plotting now. There may not be a new entity coming into being or a ritual they need to interrupt, but there are still a lot of very dangerous things out there and most of them very much want to kill them. Or at least Jon.

But they’re both exhausted. Jon’s never used his abilities against another avatar before, or such a reluctant subject, and it’s taken a lot out of him. And Martin—God, Martin. Martin stood up to Peter Lukas, to the avatar of the Lonely. He fought his way back from the brink of being claimed. There’s no way he’s not completely worn out. Whatever might be happening on the surface, Martin needs to rest and Jon is going to give him that.

“I think we’ll have to make it,” he says. “The time, I mean. Whatever’s going on...we won’t be of much use like this.”

Martin gives a soft hum, maybe of agreement, maybe just of acknowledgment. They sit there for a few moments, leaning against one of the smooth stone walls, arms still wrapped around each other’s shoulders. There is no sound in that vast, empty room but their harsh and ragged breathing. Jon concentrates on Martin’s heartbeat, close to his ear because of his height and the way they’re sitting. The steady, even thudding comforts him, reminding him that Martin is alive and safe and there. He’s not okay. Neither of them are by a long shot. They haven’t been for a long time, probably since they started working at the Institute. But they’re together and they’re alive, and that goes a pretty long way.

After a bit, Martin says quietly, “The...thing. Not-Sasha. Peter set it loose, Jon.”

“I know,” Jon admits. “It came after us. After me. Trouble is, Trevor and Julia are up there too.”

“The...? I thought they were in America!”

“They were. Followed me here. Finally figured out I’d taken Gerry’s page from that damned book.” Jon sighs heavily. “Daisy fought them off once before, but they came back. They were cutting their way through the Institute. We—Basira and Daisy and I—we were going to try and fight them off, but then the thing that took Sasha’s place came out. Decided Trevor and Julia were a better target than me, I guess? Basira told me to go and I don’t have any real idea what happened after that.”

Martin gives a short laugh that somehow sounds amused, tired, and slightly bitter all at once. “There’s something I never thought I’d hear you say again.”

“Yes, well, I do have to concentrate most of the time to read minds,” Jon says, trying and failing to smile. “And I had something rather more important worrying me.” He pauses, then adds, “What...happened? I know this is the Panopticon. I know Elias is Jonah Magnus body-hopping, and I know Peter Lukas took you into the Lonely, but...what happened?”

“A lot,” Martin says. “Or maybe it just...felt like a lot. I don’t know if I can...” He looks around, then gestures with his free hand off to Jon’s left. “Should be on there.”

Jon turns to look and sees one of those damned tape recorders. Honestly, he should be used to them turning up everywhere these days, and he mostly is, but he’s got to admit he’s surprised to see it here. “Did Jonah bring that?”

“No, I did. Or, well, it came with me.” Martin shrugs. “Didn’t turn it on consciously or anything, so I’ve no idea what’s on there, but I can guess. Tends to turn itself on when something important is going to happen.”

Jon considers the recorder for a minute. It sits innocuously enough, and it doesn’t seem to be running at the moment, so whatever is on its tape is a past recording. It’s just out of reach from his present position, but there is a black nylon strap trailing off one side. He stretches his leg out as far as he can go and kicks ineffectually for a bit before he finally manages to land his heel in the center of the loop. Slowly and carefully, he drags the recorder towards him until it’s close enough that he can reach out and snag it with his free hand.

“Wouldn’t it have been easier just to get up and grab it?” Martin says. “Or wait until you were up to moving that far?”

Jon doesn’t even give the idea of bantering back a second’s thought, nor does he consider putting a gloss on his reasoning. If anyone deserves the immediate, instinctive, and above all honest answer, it’s Martin. “I’d have had to let go of you to do that,” he says as he hits the rewind button. “And I’m honestly afraid if I do, something else will try to take you away again.”

For a moment, there’s no sound in the room but the whir of the tape spooling backwards. Finally, Martin says, “I know, you put a lot of effort into dragging me out of there once already. Shame for that to go to waste.”

A knot forms in Jon’s chest. God, what the hell did Peter Lukas do to Martin? Or...has he always thought like this? “You honestly think I’d have done that for anyone else?”

There’s another beat before Martin answers. “I mean...yes?”

“Martin...”

“You already did it with Daisy—”

Jon is shaking his head before Martin gets all the words out. “That wasn’t the same thing at all.”

“She was trapped in the domain of another...power. You went plunging in, found her, and brought her back out again, alive and well. Seems like the same thing to me.”

“It’s not,” Jon insists, looking up into Martin’s face. “For one thing, the reasoning was completely different. I went to find Daisy because I felt guilty.”

“Guilty,” Martin says flatly.

“I’m the one that brought her into that mess,” Jon says softly. “I’m the one that didn’t prepare properly for what would happen in the Unknowing and got her mixed up in it. And I just...we lost Tim. I lost Tim. I couldn’t bring him home. I could bring Daisy home safe. I went after her because I thought it would help my guilt if I could see her alive, and with Basira again.”

“Did it?”

“Sort of? I still...” The tape pops as it hits the beginning of the reel, but Jon ignores it for the moment. “I still feel guilty about Tim. I think I always will. Not just him getting killed, but...all of it. I couldn’t fix that, and no matter what I do for anyone else, I never can make it up to him. I’m not sure if I could have even if he’d survived. I don’t know if he would have let me. But at least Daisy was out of there, and I knew I’d done what I could for her. And she’s been doing all right, more or less. Or was, until today. Even if she did join the Institute to get away from the nightmares. Basira’s still inclined to beat up on me a bit, but Daisy doesn’t seem like she blames me, which helps.”

Martin sighs and slumps back against the wall. “Think that tape’s ready.”

Jon knows a dodge when he hears one, but he decides not to call Martin out on it just yet. Instead, he presses the play button and lets the tape go.

It is the one Martin had with him, starting with him and Peter Lukas first coming into the tunnels. Jon’s stomach lurches every time Lukas talks, the buttery-smooth words eroding Martin’s self-confidence and serving to isolate him further. It’s no wonder Martin tried to make Jon leave him in the Lonely, if this is how the bastard talked to him every time they interacted. His heart twists violently at Martin’s voice—the way it shifts from nervousness to trepidation to fear to outright panic—and then Elias’s voice comes through and his heart nearly stops dead. He listens to both of them taunting, toying with Martin, both of them for some reason urging him to kill Elias—to kill Jonah...

And then Martin refuses.

Jon’s lips part, but no sound comes out. He stares speechlessly at the tape recorder as Martin’s voice spills out, telling Lukas what he was thinking, why he did what he did, how he figured out that Lukas was lying to him for some reason. He stands up to Peter Lukas, the avatar of the Lonely, to his face, and refuses to kill a man who richly deserves it, a man nobody would blame him for destroying. Jon can picture him, shoulders squared and head held high, a defiant glint in his eye as he stares down not one, but two fears trying to claim him, and remains, solely and unequivocally, Martin.

He’s never been prouder.

His heart stutters again when Martin starts to ask a question and then vanishes. There’s a loud squeal of static, and Jon can almost hear voices in it, but it’s too much effort to try and force knowledge out of a magnetic tape right then, so he leaves it. And then he hears his own voice, piecing together the little bit he was able to glean from the surface of Elias’s—Jonah’s—mind, replaying the conversation leading up to him opening his mind, finding the path to the Lonely, and going off after Martin.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” Martin says softly when the tape ends with a final-sounding click.

“What, you wanted me to leave you there?”

“Yes! I mean...I can’t say I’d like being there, but...damn it, Jon, the whole point was to keep you safe,” Martin blurts out. “Weren’t you listening? Did you not listen to a single thing I said? All right, I know I didn’t give you all the information, but I couldn’t, not and risk Peter starting to toy with you. As long as he thought I was really staying away from you, you were safe, from him at least. And I thought with Elias locked up, you’d be safe from him, and I knew—Elias told me you listened to all the tapes, so I knew once the recorders started popping up again you’d hear them eventually. I tried everything I could to keep you safe, and you just—walked into the Lonely like it was nothing!”

“No!” Jon says forcefully, and he grips Martin’s shirt tightly, forcing his attention onto him, forcing him to listen. “It wasn’t nothing, Martin, and you know that. It was the hardest thing I’ve ever done in my life. Ever. I had no idea if I was going to be able to get out again, if we were going to be able to get out again. When I went into that coffin to find Daisy, I left a rib as an anchor by the door, so I’d know where the way out was. I had a plan, as...ill-advised as it was, but I did have one. I didn’t have that when I came after you, and I knew there was a chance this was a one-way trip. But it would have been worth it, do you hear me? I don’t care if I’d been trapped in there forever, because if I hadn’t gone in there, you would have been alone, and I couldn’t let that happen. I couldn’t, Martin.” He closes his eyes, trying to stop the sudden rush of tears he can feel threatening to spill over. “All this time...I trusted you. I did. I knew you knew what you were doing. I trusted you to have a plan and to be all right. And you did, and I am so very, very proud of you and what you did. But you...I didn’t just need you to know what you were doing. I needed you to be all right. And when I found that tape you left me, and I realized where you’d gone, I...I panicked. A lot. Nobody would help me, and I was so damn desperate I tried to force Helen to take me to the center, take me to you. I was never afraid for myself, Martin. Not throughout any of this. I was afraid for you. I needed you to be safe, and I was so afraid that I’d be too late.” He draws in a deep, shuddering breath. “I thought I was.”

He looks up and sees Martin staring at him, his eyes wide and wet behind his glasses and lips parted slightly. His expression is hard to read—Jon’s leaning towards disbelief, but there might be a little bit of fear there, too. He could probably know if he wanted to, but in the first place, he is very tired and that’s a lot of effort, and in the second place...well. He’s never pried into Martin’s mind, even accidentally, except once to know where he was because he needed to see him so badly. He’s not about to start now—not here, not in the aftermath of what’s probably the most terrifying thing they’ve faced down since Jon took over as Archivist, which is saying rather a lot.

“Martin,” he whispers again, and it’s halfway a prayer and halfway a question.

Martin shakes his head slightly, although it doesn’t seem like it’s in answer to the unspoken question. “Don’t do this, Jon,” he says, his voice breaking. “Don’t...don’t just tell me what I want to hear. I know you know...I know you listen to the tapes. I know you know how I—don’t play with me. Please.”

“I’m not playing, Martin,” Jon says, his heart breaking all over again. “I meant what I said. Just now. In the Lonely. What I’ve been...I should have told you so long ago. I need you, very much. I care about you. I—” His voice hitches. He hasn’t said it to anyone, in so many years—maybe not ever—has he ever said it? Has he ever meant it?

Well, he means it now. With his entire heart, with whatever he has that still passes for a soul, with everything that is within him. All the twisting paths his mind has taken these last two years, since the first time he really looked at Martin as he sat opposite the tape recorder and insisted on giving his statement, coalesce and unfold into a single, beautiful truth. But it sticks in his damned throat, and he can’t seem to manage to actually just say it.

“He was wrong, you know,” Martin says softly. “Elias. Jonah. Whatever. He was wrong.”

“About what?” Jon asks, a little taken aback by the twist of the conversation. Has he misjudged? He was so sure...

“What he said when he caught me burning those statements. My distraction. So Melanie could get those tapes.” Martin blinks hard. “You listened to that tape, right? He said...that’s when he told me you listened to all of them.” Again that short laugh layered with emotion. “Like that was going to change anything I said.”

“I, ah—no, not that one,” Jon confesses. “Not yet. I...Melanie told me your plan worked. I was...more focused on the statements. And I wasn’t sure I wanted to relive that day. I almost did, the other day, after I told you about...how to quit, but I—I just haven’t yet. What did he tell you?”

Martin swallows hard. “He said...he assumed you’d told me to burn the statements while he was gone. Said I’d do anything you told me to. It’s not that. I’d do anything for you. You know that, right?”

Jon nods. He’s known that for a while now, ever since Martin was “out sick” for two weeks and then came tumbling back into the Archives with the news that Jane Prentiss had been holding him hostage in his own apartment, without his phone. At first he thought, if only to himself, that Martin’s insistence on investigating so deeply was out of some inane need to prove himself, but somewhere around midnight, lying awake in his bed and finding himself wondering if the other man was comfortable and—most importantly—safe in the Archives after all, he came to the sudden realization that it wasn’t that at all. Martin knew, even before Jon did, how badly he needed to know all the details of the statements, and he went looking in the hopes that it would make Jon happy. It hasn’t escaped Jon’s attention that Martin is the only one on the team who’s recorded more than one or two statements, either. He shouldered the burden without question or complaint, for no other reason than to help Jon out. Martin has become the only person in the Institute Jon trusts completely and without question, because if anyone has earned that trust, it’s Martin.

“I just...I figured you knew how I felt,” Martin mumbles. “Even aside from the tapes. I know you just...know things sometimes, too. And, let’s face it, I’m not exactly subtle. Tim—” His voice hitches slightly on their friend’s name. “Tim used to love taking the piss out of me for it. So even if you weren’t psychic—”

“I’m not—all right, fine, I’m psychic. But I’ve never read your mind,” Jon tells him. “I—I try very hard not to invade people’s privacy, especially the people I care about, even accidentally. And I’m—I can be somewhat oblivious at times,” he adds with a self-deprecating laugh. “I suppose...I suppose I didn’t see it because I thought there was no possible way I could be so lucky.”

“Lucky?” Martin repeats, sounding faintly surprised.

Jon reaches up with one trembling hand and cups Martin’s cheek. “To have you feel the same way about me that I do about you.”

He tries not to voice his thoughts aloud, tries not to think about what Martin said the first time, when they were still trapped in Peter Lukas’s hellscape. I loved you. Not present tense, past tense. Loved. Jon knows, with a certainty that has nothing to do with the Eye, that he’s not going to stop feeling this way any time in his life. And if it’s now as one-sided as he always assumed it was, well, he’s lived with it this long. It won’t bother him too much.

Both the Eye and his own, actual brain chime in to inform him that he’s only kidding himself. It will bother him; it will hurt deeply to know that he could have had a chance at happiness, at maybe a little bit of peace, and he missed out on it forever because he couldn’t get his head out of his arse long enough to tell Martin why he agreed so readily to leave him behind before traipsing off to blow up a circus. He hopes like hell that Martin’s words were just an effect of the Lonely, that the world they were in warped his mind and made all his thoughts and feelings in the real world seem distant and unreal, because as terrifying as that thought is, the idea that Martin might have really stopped loving him is worse.

Of course, he thinks bitterly, see previous statement regarding there being no possible way I could be so lucky.

There seems to be an eternity in the heartbeat between Jon’s statement and the small, broken sound that escapes Martin’s lips. He turns his head slightly and brushes his lips against the palm of Jon’s hand, just for a second, then leans into the hand and wraps his arms around Jon, tight and secure. Jon can’t help the gasp of relief as he returns the embrace as fiercely as he dares, silently offering up a prayer of thanks to whatever higher power has decided to give him a damned break for once in his life.

“I—” Jon tries again, but the words stick in his throat just as hard. He wants to say it. Needs to say it. Needs Martin to understand. But they just won’t come.

“I know,” Martin whispers, his voice thick with tears. “Me, too, Jon.”

There are no words, in any language, to describe the emotions that flood over Jon with that. Or maybe there are, but Jon can’t think of them. All he can think is thank you thank you thank you as he presses his face into the space between Martin’s neck and shoulder. He doesn’t deserve this. He’s never deserved Martin, his loyalty and quiet devotion, everything that’s served as a touchstone, a way to ground Jon to reality, the one thing keeping him from losing himself completely. It’s been hard, keeping his distance from Martin since he woke up from his coma, but he realizes it hasn’t exactly been a picnic for Martin either. Jon at least had Basira and Melanie and Daisy, even if at least one of them wanted to kill him at any given time, and even though none of them are Martin, none of them could ever understand him the way Martin has from the very start. Martin had no one, and even if it was his choice—or he was pretending it was, anyway—it had to hurt. All those months in close, near-constant proximity to Peter Lukas, the avatar of Isolation, would destroy a weaker man than Martin Blackwood. Jon knows, with utter certainty, that he would never have been able to survive that. He would have given in. He would have broken. But Martin stayed the course and survived.

And then Jon almost lost him anyway.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, the sound muffled by Martin’s shirt. “I’m so sorry. If I’d...”

“Don’t,” Martin chokes. “’S not your fault. You didn’t—this isn’t on you.” He lets out another short laugh, but there’s no bitterness in it this time and it makes Jon’s heart lighten a little. “You saved me.”

“You saved me first. We’re even.” Jon tries to laugh. “Actually, I think you’re still well ahead.”

Martin huffs, but doesn’t argue. Jon senses it’s less because he agrees and more because he doesn’t have the energy. “Don’t suppose you know the way out of this maze.”

“That...no. I don’t,” Jon admits. He shifts back enough to look up at Martin’s face, but he doesn’t let go. He doesn’t know if he can right now. Maybe not ever. “I only got down here because—Jonah called me. I’d like to think I’d have been able to find you, but these paths are...”

“Distorted?”

“Yes, that’s probably the best word for them. I doubt I could have retraced your steps and made it.”

Martin’s lips twitch in a smile. “Maybe it’s like leaving the Lonely. Maybe you just have to pick a direction and keep moving that way.”

“No, that wasn’t it,” Jon corrects him. “It wasn’t that I knew where the exit was, either. I didn’t...not exactly.”

“You said you—” Martin stops. “No. You said you knew the way out. That’s it, isn’t it? The only way out of the Lonely was together.”

Jon brushes his knuckles against Martin’s cheek fondly. “I knew you were still part of the Archives.”

Martin blushes. He takes Jon’s hand in his and kisses the back of it gently. “Well, then, maybe we can find our way out of here together, too. If you’re ready.”

Jon can feel his own cheeks heating up. He nods. “I think I’m about as ready as I’ll be able to be down here. You?”

“Same. Feel like I could sleep for a week, though.”

It’s on the tip of Jon’s tongue to suggest they collapse in the back room of the Archives, where Martin stayed when they were worried about Jane Prentiss, but he holds off. First of all, he suspects neither one of them wants to relive those days, especially as Prentiss was closer than they’d suspected. Even now, Jon’s heart lurches and stutters when he remembers those worms working their way through the walls, how close they came to getting to Martin when he was alone and vulnerable, and he doubts Martin has forgotten that either. Second, and more importantly, Jon is fairly certain the Institute is going to be crawling with police, between the thing that isn’t Sasha getting loose and Travis and Julia outright murdering people. The Archives are almost certainly a crime scene, and there’s no way they’ll be able to stay there, even if they want to.

“We might be able to get some sleep down here first,” he says instead.

“Not sure how much sleep I’d actually be able to get with...” Martin trails off, glancing over to where Jonah Magnus’s body lies. “And what if he comes back?”

“Both excellent points. Upwards, then. And let’s hope there’s nothing worse waiting for us than Basira.”

They manage to get to their feet. Jon isn’t sure who assists whom, but they struggle up together. Before they start to move, though, Jon tugs Martin around and hugs him again. He’s not sure he’s quite ready to head through the tunnels, through the Spiral’s domain, and up to the undoubted chaos awaiting them in the Institute. He just wants another moment of quiet. And more than that...he just needs to reassure himself, again, that Martin is here, solidly present and warm and safe, or at least as safe as they can be in the world they inhabit.

Martin hugs him back, just as tightly. Jon can feel the same emotions roiling through him as he does, relief and love and the lingering remnants of fear. He tries to shut them out, tries to do Martin the courtesy of not prying into his brain, until he realizes that it’s not his abilities as the Archivist, it’s simply that Martin’s feeling those emotions so strongly that anyone who knew him could pick up on them. It may also have to do with the fact that he’s shaking slightly.

“Has anyone touched you since you...came back?” Martin asks in his ear. He sounds a little sad.

It takes Jon a moment to realize what Martin means. “I did get a hug from Melanie right before she...resigned. Other than that, nothing very pleasant.” He looks up at Martin, whose eyes radiate so much sympathy it almost hurts. “You?”

“That’s on me. And I don’t...you need that, Jon. I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault. I could have...asked someone.” It’s ridiculous, and Jon knows it, and he knows Martin knows it. Basira is prickly and stoic and very much not the touchy-feely type, and Melanie was angry with him for so long, partly because of the bullet in her leg and partly because Jon was a convenient target for her feeling of being trapped. And while he and Daisy have come to an accord, she’s got her own traumas and neuroses to deal with and Jon’s never been sure where the line between his needs and hers might lie. Once upon a time he might have been able to count on Georgie for at least a few friendly touches, but, well, that bridge was well and truly burnt. But he won’t let Martin blame himself for this. “Let’s just agree that we both need to agree to stop ignoring our needs in favor of protecting the people around us and practice being a little kinder to ourselves, hmm?”

Martin’s lips twitch in a smile. “I promise to ask next time before I assume I know what the best thing to do to protect you is.”

Warmth flows through Jon, and he returns the smile. “And I promise to do the same.”

Martin bends over and presses his forehead against Jon’s. Jon closes his eyes, feeling calm soak through him. It’s probably a ridiculous thing to feel, as the likelihood that things are going to be all right even for a little while is slim to none, but he’ll take it while he can.

Whatever is coming, Jon is sure it’s nothing they can’t face together.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Perhaps love is like the ocean, full of conflict, full of pain Like a fire when it's cold outside or thunder when it rains If I should live forever and all my dreams come true My memories of love will be of you...

#the magnus archives #tma #jonmartin #ollie writes fanfic

[bubonickitten]

Summary: Jon goes back to before the world ended and tries to forge a different path. 

Chapter 4 is up! 

Previous chapter: tumblr // AO3

Full text & content warnings below the cut.

CWs for Chapter 4: description of a panic attack; blood & injury (within a dream); canon-typical worms; canon-typical horror/nightmare imagery (think MAG 121: Far Away). Also, some canon-typical scopophobia in the form of the continued presence of some unwanted and very rude eldritch tagalongs.

      Chapter 4: Interlude

    �� Calm down, Jon tells himself, quaking with panic. Breathe. Four seconds in, hold seven seconds, eight seconds out. Just –

  Wait. He has no body. He has no lungs. How – how is he supposed to breathe with no lungs? He can’t – he can’t –

  Stop, stop, stop – shut up and think about it, he reprimands himself.

  No lungs means he’s not hyperventilating. No heart means there are no palpitations. He still has a body, he’s just – disconnected from it right now. And even if he wasn’t, during his first coma he had no pulse or respiration, so – so there’s no way he’s experiencing the physical symptoms of a panic attack right now. He’s imagining it.

  Forget about breathing for now. Think about – think about the positives –

  His plan worked. Sort of. Yes, he’d hoped the rift would take him back to the very beginning – before he started reading statements to that damn tape recorder, before he’d started compelling answers without even realizing he was doing it, before Prentiss and paranoia and burned bridges and the Circus and Sasha and Tim –

  Oh, God. If he could have showed up just a few months earlier, he could have stopped –

  Stop, he thinks, imagining Martin talking him through his racing thoughts, like he used to do whenever Jon got like this. Think about what you can change.

  This is still an improvement on the future he left behind. The world hasn’t ended yet, and now he has an advantage that he didn’t have last time. He knows who Elias really is, what his plans are, and all the little traps that he set along the path.

  Jon can still stop the Grand Ritual.

  Okay. What else?

  He might not have been able to prevent Daisy from ending up in the Buried, but he can still save her, just like he did before.

  And he knows more about Peter’s intentions this time, knows about the Extinction and the extent to which Peter might be exaggerating its imminent threat. He… he can keep Martin from succumbing to the Lonely.

  …can’t he?

  Yes. Yes, he can. He won’t entertain any alternative. He knows Martin much more intimately now, knows himself more intimately. The first time around, it took Jon far too long to identify how he felt about Martin, to find the right word for it, to admit it to himself – and then, it took him even longer to confess it out loud. He was almost too late.

  There is the pressing question of how to approach Martin now. It depends on how soon Jon can wake up and how much of a stranglehold the Lonely has on Martin by then. Lonely or not, though, he probably won't be receptive to a love confession at this point in their timeline. From Martin's perspective, it would seem to come from nowhere. He wouldn't believe it. As difficult as it is to accept, Jon knows that he can't corner Martin with a declaration of love and expect to pick up where they left off. 

  But Jon also knows what words used to comfort Martin and how he liked to be held and where his boundaries lay. Jon had painstakingly learned the best gestures to convey his affection – how best to help Martin believe that he is loved, that he deserves to be cared for, that he doesn’t have to be lonely. Hopefully it will be enough. Hopefully those things are still true, present tense. And if they aren’t, Jon will unlearn it all and relearn how best to be there for Martin here in the past – present, now.

  Jon is feeling calmer already. Okay, good. Go on.

  This is before he started to actively hunt for statements. It’s too late for him to save the ones who came before – and even though they came to the Institute willingly, and even though he didn’t know at the time he took their statements that the nightmares were real, he still feels guilty about the nightmares – but now he knows better, and he knows he can stop.

  He will not take live statements this time. He won’t. It doesn’t matter what it does to him, he just – he won’t do it.

  Keep going. What about the others?   

  Jon isn’t sure exactly what the date is, but based on Martin’s visit just now - his last visit, Jon thinks with a pang - Jon is definitely too late to warn them about the Flesh attack. That means the Slaughter likely has a strong hold on Melanie by now - but if Jon can wake up earlier than he did before, maybe he can save her before she gets any worse. Maybe this time he can find a better way to approach the bullet situation. Maybe. She probably still hates him, but it’s worth a try.

  He can warn Basira about the true motives behind Elias' false leads. Last time, Basira felt like she had to carry everything on her shoulders, but maybe this time, he can give her the support she needs - if she lets him. Maybe this time he can earn her trust again. Maybe this time he’ll even deserve to be trusted.

  And maybe… maybe he can even salvage his relationship with Georgie – if she’s amenable, that is.  

  All of that is bound to be easier said than done, but at least it’s a starting point.

  Now if only he can figure out how to wake up.

      Time has even less meaning here than it did in the apocalypse. Jon can’t Know or even guess at the passing of time as he drifts aimless in the void. He splits his time evenly between panicking, talking himself down from the panic, planning, and sleeping. Or – something like sleep, anyway. It’s more like his mind just goes blank, and it’s – rather nice, actually. It’s the first dreamless rest he’s gotten in years, even if it is under such grim circumstances. 

  It doesn’t last, though. One moment he is nothing and nowhere at all, and the next he’s in a very familiar graveyard surrounded by very, very familiar fog. 

  So much for dreamless sleep, he thinks. A moment later, the muffled sound of crying reaches him through the mist.

  He waits, then, to be overtaken by the nauseating sensation of being puppeted. It was a familiar routine. The dream would string him along, stopping him before each victim in turn. He would be compelled to behold their torment, unable to flee or speak or even close his eyes. It never got any easier, but at some point it had become his new normal, and during his previous coma, after six months of the same endlessly looping nightmares, he did start to feel numb to it all.

  During the apocalypse, though, he didn’t sleep. He didn’t dream. There was no need, not when the nightmare was all around him and he could See all of it at every moment. A creeping sense of dread washes over him at the prospect of returning to this again every time he tries to sleep, and he realizes that the old numbness has worn off. He isn’t looking forward to cultivating it all over again – and he doesn’t know if he can take months of this nonstop a second time.  

  As he stands there lost in his own head, time ticks by second by second until finally he notices that he’s waiting for a compulsion that… doesn’t seem to come. It never takes this long for the dream to commandeer his body.

  Jon decides to take a step forward, and his legs surprise him by obeying. That’s new. He stares blankly at his feet until another choked sob, louder this time, cuts through the fog. He cautiously takes a step toward the sound, and then another, and another, expecting the entire time for the dream to rip his agency away from him again. It doesn’t. He finds himself at the lip of the grave, as usual – but for the first time, he came here of his own volition.

  When he looks down, he sees her sprawled at the bottom of her lonely plot, one hand scrabbling weakly against the earthen wall. The skin on her arms is pallid and covered in gooseflesh; her face is covered in dirt, but where her tears have eroded watery tracks down her cheeks, the skin underneath is ashen. She looks… grey, colorless, as washed out as the mist clinging to her. The moment she sees him, a soft, broken wail clambers up her throat.

  Naomi Herne.

  “Why are you doing this?” Naomi croaks weakly. It’s a refrain that Jon has heard time and time again, and he feels his heart clench painfully in his chest – or at least, a convincing psychosomatic simulation of it. “Why won’t you just leave me alone?”

  “I’m so sorry, Naomi,” Jon whispers.

  They both flinch simultaneously. Naomi flings herself bodily against the wall and Jon jolts backward into thin air so abruptly that he loses his balance and ends up in a heap on the muddy ground.

  He’s never, ever been allowed to speak in this place. Years of apologies have sat heavily on his tongue, piling up and crowding his throat with every live statement he consumed, and never once has he been able to let them out. And more than that, it’s – it’s his voice. It’s not the Archive, it’s just… it’s just Jon. Staring ahead in stunned silence, he brings one hand to his throat and lets it rest there.   

  “I… I…” Naomi’s hoarse voice drifts up into the fog, confused and frightened.

  Limbs still trembling, Jon crawls over to the edge of the grave and looks down again. Naomi watches him, her eyes wide and pale and wet.

  “You… you spoke to me.”

  “I…” Jon clears his throat uncertainly. “I – yes, I – I suppose I did.”

  “You’ve never spoken to me.”

  “Yes,” Jon murmurs, massaging his throat again.

  “Why?” When Jon doesn’t reply, Naomi smacks her palm against the muddy wall of her plot and raises her voice. “Why?”  

  “I –” Jon shakes his head and tries to corral his thoughts into some semblance of order. The fog in his brain just might be as thick as the haze choking the cemetery. “This is the first time I’ve been allowed to speak.”

  “That’s not good enough!” Naomi shouts, rising to her knees now. “Do you realize – do you know how long it’s been, how many times I’ve been forced to sit here, watching you just stare down at me with… and – and how many times have I asked, how many times have I begged for you to just – just say something, or look away, or do anything else other than – than watch me?”

  “I…” Jon clears his throat again. “You gave me your statement on 13 January, 2016. I’m not sure what the exact date is right now, but – I think it’s December? 2017.”

  “Almost two years!” Naomi’s voice cracks. “I can count in double digits the number of decent nights’ sleep I’ve gotten in two years.”

  “I know,” Jon says quietly. “I know, and I’m – I’m so, so sorry.”

  Naomi looks like she wants to rail against him some more, but she seems speechless.

  The apologies are throwing her off. She wants to scream at a monster, and you’re robbing her of the opportunity –

  Jon had forgotten how strong the Knowing is in this place. He swats at the nearest group of eyes hovering around him, and the influx of information is interrupted as they scatter and fade out. Whether he successfully distracted the Eye or simply redirected his own attention, he doesn’t know, but either way, he finds the quiet – at least for the moment.  

  Naomi watches the movement with utter bemusement, then schools her expression back into defiance and suspicion. “So what changed?”

  “I’m… not sure, exactly. This is the first time this has happened, and…” Jon pauses, suddenly feeling self-conscious staring down at Naomi from six feet above. “Do you want –” He cuts himself off. He’s going to have to get used to dancing around questions again. “I can help you out of there. If – if you’d like.”

  “Why?” She sounds less incensed now, but fire still simmers just below the surface of the word.

  “I’ve – I’ve wanted to this entire time,” Jon says haltingly. “I did try, at first, when all of this started. I tried to reach down to you, but I – the dream has never let me move or talk or – or blink before.” 

  Naomi stares at him with narrowed eyes, arms crossed over her chest defensively. “I don’t trust you.”

  “I… yes, I suppose that’s fair.”

  Naomi falls silent. Jon watches her gaze flit nervously from eye to eye to eye as they blink open in the open air out of nothing and then pop out of existence again like soap bubbles, an endless shuffle of Watchers of varying sizes. The light they emit bounces off the water molecules in the air around them, illuminating the fog and bathing the entire area in a sickening greenish glow.

  “Here, let me try…” Jon trails off, closes his human eyes and focuses on shutting the others, hoping to make himself appear just a little less monstrous. At one point he manages to pare their numbers down to just a couple dozen before all at once several dozen more blink open again, every one of them immediately swiveling to fix him with a reproachful stare.

  He’s so preoccupied with glaring back at each of them in turn that he jerks when a hysterical giggle bubbles up out of Naomi’s throat. Now it’s Jon’s turn to look bemused. When his human eyes meet Naomi’s, she laughs harder. She still sounds tear-choked, but Jon can feel the fright draining away from her.

  “Naomi…?” Jon tilts his head slightly, brow furrowing in consternation.

  Naomi wipes tears from the corners of her eyes as she tries to catch her breath. “It’s – nothing, nothing. You just… you looked so put out, and it’s just – it’s hard to feel intimidated by a monster when it’s pouting like a toddler chasing peas around a plate with a fork.”

  Jon feels his face heat, and then suddenly a quiet, involuntary chuckle is clawing its way up and out of his throat as well. It’s just – the tenor of her teasing is so, so reminiscent of Martin.

  “Sure,” he says, his voice taking on the same teary-and-tickled tinge, “bully the penitent monster.”

  Naomi stifles another giggle and doubles over, shivering with the surreal hilarity of it all. Both of them stay like that for a long moment, fighting back the bizarre combination of tears and laughter. Jon can’t remember the last time he’s laughed like this, and the realization brings another swell of tears to his eyes.

  Eventually, Naomi stands on wobbly legs and rubs her eyes, carelessly smearing the moisture and dirt on her cheeks into a thin paste.

  “Well?” She stands on tiptoe and stretches one hand up toward him. “Are you going to help me out of here?”

  With a surge of gratitude – he’s being allowed to help someone for once – Jon stretches out flat against the ground and reaches down. A single eye sprouts uninvited on his palm and he scowls at it until it melts into his skin and out of existence. He looks back at Naomi, expecting fear and disgust, but she just looks fascinated and more than a little amused. When he extends his hand again, she reaches back. Their fingertips just barely brush and he scoots closer, head and shoulders leaning over the edge until Naomi’s clammy hand is clutched firmly in his.

  “Are you actually going to be able to pull me out? You don’t look like you have any upper body strength.”

  “Every day with the schoolyard bullying,” Jon sighs, reaching out a second hand to grip her wrist more firmly. She takes his cue and does the same, clasping his wrist with her other hand until it aches. “It’s a dream, Naomi. I don’t think physical laws matter much.”

  She begins to pull herself up, her bare toes digging into the wall as she clambers up. She slips a few times, and Jon grimaces as he takes more of her weight.

  “Seems like the dream’s decided your noodle arms are just as useless here as they are in the real world,” Naomi says with a strained grunt.   

  “Watch it, I might just drop you.” Jon panics as the retort leaves his mouth and he hastens to add, “I’m – I’m kidding, I wouldn’t – that was in poor taste, I’m sorry –”

  “I know,” Naomi says with a breathless laugh. “Are you always this awkward?”

  With one final burst of energy, she heaves herself upward and Jon shuffles back, pulling her over the edge until she has enough leverage to drag herself up the rest of the way. They both lay there for a few minutes, waiting for the adrenaline to fade.

  “Thank you,” Naomi murmurs shakily.

  “The least I can do, right?”

  “The absolute least.”

  Jon lets out a tired chuckle. When he realizes that one hand is still linked with one of Naomi’s, he starts to pull away, but she tightens her grasp and the look in her eyes turns panicked.

  “Please,” she blurts out and then looks away, embarrassed. “I’m – I’m not trying to make it weird, I just –”

  “It’s okay,” Jon says quietly, and gives her hand a reassuring squeeze. “I understand. We can stay like this for now.”

  Naomi nods gratefully. She still looks a bit mortified – the color is returning to her cheeks, Jon notes – but more than anything else, she seems relieved. They spend the next few minutes in a slightly awkward but mostly companionable silence.

  “I really am sorry, Naomi –”

  “You said.”

  “– but I don’t know how to stop this from happening.” When Naomi doesn’t reply, Jon continues: “I – I promise that if I find out, I’ll do whatever I can to stop it. I just – I wanted to say that, if this is a fluke – if next time we find ourselves here, I’m back to…” Jon hesitates for a moment. “Remember your anchor.”

  “My… anchor?”

  “The first time you got lost in the fog – think about how you found your way out.”

  “Evan,” Naomi whispers, and Jon nods.

  “Next time you find yourself here, if you’re alone, or – or if I’m… unresponsive, remember your anchor. And - and it doesn't have to be Evan, it can be anyone or anything that tethers you to the world you came from. I don’t know if it will lead you out of the fog in a dream – it might not even allow you to leave the grave – but it should… it should help you remember that you're not lost. That this is a dream, and you will wake up from it.” He swallows and closes his human eyes. “That the fog doesn’t actually go on forever, even if… even if sometimes it might seem like it.”

  Naomi is silent for a long moment before she speaks again.

  “Will you stay with me until I wake up?”

  “I – I – yes?” Jon stammers, taken aback by the idea that she’d want to willingly pass the time in his company. “Yes, if you – if that’s what you want.”

  “I wouldn’t have asked otherwise,” Naomi says. She rolls her eyes, but it comes off more as indulgent than annoyed. “Keep talking?”

  Jon opens his mouth and closes it again. He’s never been a great conversationalist, especially with people he doesn’t know well, and it’s not like he’s had much chance to practice for… a long time. Not since he lost Martin. There was Helen, of course, but their chats were seldom rewarding, even before Jon was reduced to speaking in statements.  

  Apparently Naomi senses his struggle, because she fills the silence for him. “Do you have an anchor?”   

  Jon is glad of the assistance. Answering questions – that’s something he can handle.

  “Yes,” he responds, just a bit dreamily, fighting back a smitten half-smile. “Yes, I do.”

  Naomi raises an eyebrow.

  “I… can tell you about him, if you’d like?”  

  “Sure, why not?”  

  “Alright then.” Jon fidgets nervously; being open about this sort of thing doesn't come naturally to him. “Statement of Jonathan Sims, regarding his anchor, and all the intricacies of being Seen.”

  “Wow,” Naomi says flatly. “I take it he’s the one responsible for changing you from an arrogant prick to a besotted puppy?”

  “He… may have had something to do with it,” Jon says, simultaneously fond and abashed. “He’s a poet and a hopeless romantic, and it may or may not have rubbed off on me. Now, do you want to hear this story or not?”

  “Definitely, but I reserve the right to make fun of you when you’re done.”

  “That seems like a fair deal, considering the past couple years.”

  “I think so.” Naomi gives him an expectant look. “Well? Go on.”

  “His name is Martin K. Blackwood.” Jon doesn’t bother holding back his smile this time. “The ‘K’ doesn’t actually stand for anything – he just, and I quote, ‘liked the way it looked’…”

  It doesn't take much prompting for Jon to start rambling about Martin, and it takes him a few minutes to remember that Jonah might be listening in. He hadn’t been planning on mentioning the apocalypse to Naomi, but he reminds himself to be careful not to mention any major events that haven’t happened yet, anything that might hint at his foreknowledge of Jonah’s plans.

  There is a risk of raising suspicion just by talking about Martin in such affectionate terms. At this point in his timeline the first time around, Jon was fully occupied with regularly having his life threatened – and then routinely, studiously refusing to process that ongoing complex trauma in any remotely healthy way. He didn’t exactly have the time or breathing room or emotional capacity to examine his developing feelings for Martin, and even if he had, he wouldn’t have been able to tolerate the vulnerability of admitting it to himself, let alone to Martin. 

  But Jonah can’t always be watching them; he has to assume that he misses out on things from time to time. He probably won’t think too hard on mundane slice-of-life moments involving tea and poetry and debates about what criteria should be used to identify a good cow, as long Jon is vague about the time frame and contextual details of each story. He avoids explicitly putting a label on the nature of their relationship and tones down any particularly romantic interactions. In the end, he succeeds in sounding like he has a not-so-subtle crush on a coworker and is both too emotionally repressed to acknowledge it and too unobservant to realize that it’s reciprocated. (It’s… not a difficult act to pull off.)

  Jon manages to get through several non-incriminating anecdotes like that before Naomi wakes up. He hopes he’ll still have his voice the next time he sees her. It’s… nice, to talk to another person after so long with only the Distortion to keep him company.

  He stands and brushes himself off as well as he can, which isn’t much. Resigning himself to the drying mud clinging to him, he steels himself and prepares to continue his well-traveled tour of the dreamscape.

      Jon’s first stop is Dr. Lionel Elliott’s anatomy lab. Jon manages to snatch the apple away from him before either of them have to catch a glimpse of the molars hidden inside it, but it doesn’t stave off the bone-crunching contortions that always dominate this part of the dream. It takes Jon some very long, very painful minutes to talk Elliott down from his fear long enough to redirect the dream’s trajectory, and even longer to convince the man that he means him no harm.

  Jon does eventually manage to coax him out of the dissection lab and into the hall – (“I think sitting on the floor out there is preferable to staying in here with all the…” – and here, Jon gestures at the nearest blood-spurting heart) – but they don’t get very far into their conversation before Elliott wakes up.

  They’ll have to see each other again the next time Elliott sleeps, though. Jon can try again.

      Next up is Tessa Winters, sat at her computer. She nearly has the keyboard to her lips before Jon manages to reach her. In his haste to stop the dream sequence, he overturns the table and sends the entire setup crashing to the floor, yanking the keyboard away from her for good measure. Tessa promptly drops to the ground and makes a grab for the nearest shard of glass from the broken monitor.

  Unable to control her own body, she shoves the glass between her lips and crunches down on it before Jon can wrest it from her. When it slices into the roof of her mouth, an identical gash opens up in Jon’s, and soon both of them have blood running down their throats. As Tessa reaches out a shaky hand to snatch up another piece, Jon catches her wrist.

  “Tessa, listen to me – you don’t have to do this anymore.”

  The look she gives him is a perfect mix of enraged and terrified, and she tries desperately to pull away.

  “Tessa – Tessa!”

  Shaking her head frantically, she shuts her eyes tight, sending tears streaming down her cheeks. Jon chokes a bit on the blood still pouring freely out of the cut in his mouth. He can only imagine what a sight he must be right now: covered in mud, teeth stained red, all those hungry eyes looking on. He’s loathe to use compulsion, but…

  “Tessa, look at me.”

  She abruptly stops struggling and a glimmer of cognizance flares in her eyes. A moment later, she rips her hand away from his grip and backhands him across the face.

  I probably deserved that, Jon thinks. He puts both of his hands up in a nonthreatening gesture and leans away from her, giving her space.

  “What is wrong with you?” Tessa seethes. She spits blood onto the ground through her teeth, never once breaking eye contact with Jon. With his human eyes, he notes. “I’ve been having this dream for nearly a year and – and…”

  “You… know that this isn’t just a dream.” It isn’t a question; Jon already Knows the answer.

  “It’s a very lucid dream.” She’s clearly aiming for decisive, but Jon can detect the waver of uncertainty concealed underneath. Tessa looks away and wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, leaving a crimson streak painted across her skin. 

  “You don’t really think that, though,” Jon says gently. He could tell from the first time he met Tessa in her nightmares that she knew there was an element of the supernatural at play.

  “Then what? You’re – you’re secretly a monster in disguise, siphoning off people’s ghost stories? Feeding on nightmares like some kind of – what, dream vampire?” 

  “I…” Jon frowns. “I’ve never heard it phrased that way, but I suppose? Sort of? I mean I was – I was human once. When you first gave your statement, I hadn’t realized what I was becoming just yet. I was having nightmares like this, but back then I still thought they were just… bad dreams.”  

  “So why are you suddenly talking to me now?”

  “The dream has never let me talk before. Usually I don’t have control of my body, I just get piloted around and made to… well, Watch.”

  “And what, I’m supposed to feel sorry for you?”

  “No, I – not at all, I just –” Jon sighs. “I’m answering your question. The reason I’m just now speaking to you is because this is the first chance I’ve gotten to do so. I don’t intentionally bring you here and I wish it would all just stop. But…” He falters, struggling to get the words out. “But it is because of me that you’re brought here, and so I – I owe you an apology.”

  “Why?” Jon looks at her questioningly. “You’re saying you don’t bring me here, and that you didn’t know what would happen when you took my statement. So, what are you actually apologizing for? Because you feel guilty, and you think saying sorry will make you feel better? That’s not an apology, that’s a cop-out.”

  Jon’s first impulse is to deny it, but he stops himself, because that is the impression he’s giving, isn’t it?

  “I do feel guilty,” he admits, “but apologizing isn’t going to make me feel better, trust me. I’m sorry because… like I said, even if I didn’t expect or intend this specific outcome, it’s still because of me that you’re here. I need to take responsibility for that.”

  Jon gnaws on the inside of his cheek nervously, trying to organize his thoughts. Taking Tessa Winters’ statement was, in retrospect, a watershed moment for him. He had taken several live statements by that point, but all the earlier statement givers had made their way to the Institute independently. (Well, except Helen – Jonah had confessed that he was the one to lead her to the Institute – but Jon didn’t know that at the time.) Tessa was the first time Jon actively and knowingly brought someone to him – and he did it under false pretenses.

  It’s been eating away at him ever since that first nightmare they shared.

  “The forum post that drew you to me,” he says in a rush, “asking for statements.”  

  “What about it?”  

  “I’d never solicited statements before then. People would just come to the Institute on their own.”

  “And?” Tessa fixes him with an intense look. “What changed?”

  “Well, I… I had an ulterior motive in posting on tech savvy message boards specifically.” Jon picks at his cuticles, human eyes carefully averted from Tessa’s. “The laptop you helped me with, it belonged to my predecessor. I didn’t learn until after I was selected to replace her that she was murdered. It was an unsolved case, and I… I needed to know why. I thought, if I could get access to her computer, maybe there would be a clue somewhere.”

  “And if it wasn’t for that post…”

  “You would never have come to the Institute. You wouldn’t be here now.”

  A full minute passes before Tessa speaks.

  “Did it even help?”

  “Not as much as I would have liked, no,” Jon says with a short, humorless laugh.

  Tessa’s lips move wordlessly for a few seconds before she eventually snaps, “Why the hell did you feel like it was your job to solve a murder, anyway?”

  “It seemed unlikely that it would ever be solved – the police certainly didn’t seem invested in it – and I was worried that I would be next.” Jon rubs the back of his neck for a few seconds before twirling a lock of hair around his finger, tugging gently. What does it say about his life that he misses when things were as simple as a workplace murder? “There’s more to the story, but – suffice it to say, I was paranoid and stubborn and - and unstable, and people got hurt because of it.”

  The silence stretches between them for several minutes this time before Tessa speaks again.

  “I don’t forgive you.” Jon winces before he can think better of it, and Tessa continues: “But your apology is accepted.”

  Jon gives her a baffled look. “I… I don’t understand.”  

  “I can appreciate a genuine apology, and you seem sincere enough.” Tessa shrugs. “Sounds like you acted out of disregard for others, rather than out of malicious intent. Still not great, but I don’t think one action defines a person.” Her expression hardens and her voice turns firm. “But that doesn’t mean I have to forgive the action. And I’m not ready to forgive, not when I’m still living through the consequences. Maybe not ever.”

  “That’s fair,” Jon says, and he means it. “Especially since – well, I don’t know how to stop the dreams. If I find a way, I’ll do it, absolutely, but for now… I can’t promise an end to this.”

  Tessa makes a noncommittal noise.

  “I am hoping that I’ll maintain basic bodily autonomy going forward. That way, I can – I can try to intervene again, the next time you get trapped in the loop. I’ve done this a couple times now, with other dreams. So far, it seems that if the script gets interrupted, we can ride out the rest of the dream without the nightmare component.”

  “And if you go back to how you were before?”

  “Then I’m forced back into the role of Watcher, I suppose.” The thought of it fills him with dread, but he isn’t about to make Tessa process that with him, so he quickly moves on. “But – but I think maybe you don’t need me to break the script? It might be enough to just… memorize how you feel right now.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “This is the first time you’ve been here and still had control of your own actions. The moment you’re sat in front of that computer, you become a passenger in your own body.” Jon gives his hair another gentle tug as he hunts for the right phrasing. “Find something – a word, a gesture, a memory, anything – that you can associate with how you feel right here, right now. Something sensory, or at least simple enough that you can remember even when – when your thoughts start to disintegrate.”

  “'The angles cut me when I try to think,'” Tessa recites quietly. It sends a shiver up Jon’s spine, and he Knows it does the same for her.

  “It’s an accurate description, isn’t it?”

  Tessa gives him a suspicious look. “You can feel it?”

  “Yes.” Jon shifts uncomfortably at the memory of it. “Like having your consciousness shredded until everything is sharp edges and… and noise.”

  Jon can feel Tessa’s anger soften a bit, and he Knows that it’s not out of forgiveness. It’s because she feels vindicated, knowing that the one responsible for her suffering is at least facing the same torture as she is. She feels a twinge of shame over that feeling, he Knows, but even if she didn’t, he wouldn’t hold it against her. Honestly, he isn’t ready to be forgiven any more than Tessa is ready to forgive him.

  “Anyway,” he says, unceremoniously shoving the Knowing away, “breaking the association between the computer and the loss of control might be enough to snap you out of the usual dream sequence.”

  “Trick my brain with a bit of classical conditioning?” Tessa snorts. “That’s your advice?”

  “Just a suggestion.” Jon shrugs. “I’ve found it helpful from time to time.”

  “Alright then, Pavlov’s monster.”

  Jon gives an awkward little laugh. “Never heard that one before, either.”

  “I’m sure I can come up with more,” she says, and graces him with a very small, very tentative smirk. It feels remarkably like an olive branch – or maybe just the ghost of one. He doesn’t feel like he deserves even that.

  Tessa refuses Jon’s offer to stay with her until she wakes up, so he stands and takes his leave.

      Jon isn’t walking for long when the dreamscape shifts around him again. Rain patters down on the asphalt of a lonely road, stretching onward and outward with no end in sight. The harsh police lights refract off of the rain and the mist, the incessant bright flash sending a stabbing pain right to his temples.

  He drifts towards the coffin on autopilot, never once breaking his stride, and he throws the chains aside. Before he can think twice about it, he walks down those familiar steps, taking two at a time in his haste to get through this segment of the dream as quickly as possible.

  The instant the soil closes in around him, he reflexively calls Daisy’s name. It takes him three desperate shouts before he remembers with a sinking feeling that he won’t find her here. The coffin doesn’t allow for sleeping or dreaming, and it will be another few months before Jon can go in after her.

  As soon as he resigns himself to that realization, the earth falls away and he’s standing in a coffin of a different sort, watching Karolina Górka from across a sweltering, buckling train car. All around them, the twisted metal groans and strains under unimaginable pressure. Karolina does not respond to his explanations, his apologies, his offers to help, his questions. She simply watches him, as he used to watch her, and smiles, until the train car collapses in on her and the scenery fades.

  Next time, he tells himself, fighting back nausea and guilt. There has to be some way to reach her, and he has plenty of time to figure it out. Next time.

      When Jon finds himself in front of Helen’s door, standing solitary in open air, he’s half-tempted to fling it open, finally see where it leads in this place. He has to force himself to turn away – 

  Which, as expected, gives him a full view of the undulating carpet of ants. He scans the swarm diligently, watching it writhe and twist until he catches sight of a hand reaching out to him, and he lunges to grab hold of it. As soon as Jordan is free of the horde, he shrinks away in terror, and Jon can feel the way his emotions vacillate: gratitude, confusion, fear, suspicion.

  “This way,” Jon says urgently, trying to keep his mounting fear out of his tone and waving Jordan forward. Jordan looks hesitant until the incinerator door materializes beside them, heralding the appearance of Jane Prentiss. “Keep walking.” Jon's voice is definitely taking on a panicked edge now, despite his best efforts. “Don’t look at her.”

  Much to Jon’s relief, Jordan listens and hastens after him. In this part of the dream, Jordan has always stood there frozen, eyes darting between the Archivist and the hive, unable to decide which was the lesser of two evils. This time – for now, at least – Jordan seems willing to take his chances with Jon.  

  Jon, of course, can’t fully avert his gaze. Even as he walks away, a few mutinous eyes watch behind him, captivated by Jane and the simmering worms wriggling and tunneling through her flesh. Jane’s burning stare burrows into him like larvae, and he fights the urge to scratch.

  “Cover your ears.” Jon is careful to keep the compulsion out of his voice. Luckily, Jordan complies of his own volition – and not a moment too soon, as the hive begins to screech out its death knell only seconds after the words leave Jon’s mouth. He watches as Jane’s eyes liquefy and run down her cheeks. All the while, she screams and screams and screams until finally her throat crumbles to ash along with the rest of her.

  Jon stops then, bending over with his hands on his knees, trying to quell his trembling. Jordan nearly runs right into him, throwing himself backward at the last moment and hitting the ground with a grunt. He takes one look at Jon and begins to scramble away. Now that Jane Prentiss is gone, all of his terror can be directed at the sole remaining monster.  

  “W-wait,” Jon says, voice raspy. “I – I don’t want to hurt you.”

  Jordan stops moving, but continues to stare with wide, terrified eyes.

  “I know what I look like, and I’m – I’m sorry about that, I don’t have control over them.” Jon gestures half-heartedly at the eyes phasing in and out in the air around him. Their focus darts about in all directions, greedy and possessive and eager to See everything there is to See. Even just a momentary glance of their restless movements elicits a burst of annoyance, and he can’t resist once again striking out at the nearest grouping of them. They instantly dissipate and Jon turns his human eyes back to Jordan. “But I want to help.”

  “You’ve never helped before.”

  “I know. The dream wouldn’t let me.”

  “But now suddenly it will?”

  “Yes, and I’m hoping it stays that way. But – but if it doesn’t –”

  Before he can finish, Jordan flickers out of sight as his real body wakes. Jon groans in frustration. He would have liked to outline a contingency plan in the same way that he did with Naomi and Tessa, but… hopefully the next time Jordan sleeps, Jon can continue the discussion. 

  The eyes that he had previously banished pop back into existence one by one to his left.

  “I really, really hate you, you know that?”

  In unison, they all blink and reopen, slow and purposeful. He tries not to assign personality to them, but he can't help thinking that they look amused. 

  Jon swears, turns away from them, and kicks the ground uselessly. Hopefully Jonah isn’t watching this impotent little outburst, but just in case, Jon takes the time to glower up at the Eye looking down on him before he stalks off. It definitely makes him look even more like a petulant child, but at the moment, he can’t bring himself to care.  

      Jon paces feverishly in front of the door to the dissection lab, scratching absently at the back of his burned hand as he tries to calm his nerves. In one fluid motion, he reaches out to grab the door handle, then shrinks back again and runs his fingers through his hair with an agitated sigh. At this rate, she’ll wake up before he works up the courage to go in there.

  He reaches toward the handle again, but stops at the last moment and raps his knuckles lightly against the door instead. Knock-knock, his mind supplies, sending a chill down his spine.

  Even though he’s expecting it, he still starts at the answering, “Hello?”

  Jon steels himself and opens the door, and suddenly he’s eyes-to-eyes with –

  “Georgie…”

  The customary sadness and pity in her expression fade away, replaced by faint surprise.

  “Jon?”

   End Notes:

- JON GETS TO USE HIS WORDS AGAIN! Finally. (There will still be some more Archive-speak peppered in throughout later chapters, though.)

- I took some liberties with Naomi's and Tessa's characterization, since we only got an episode each of them + some glimpses of their nightmares in MAG 121, and Naomi was in the middle of grieving during her episode. Hopefully they don't come off as too OOC, but either way, I was having fun writing their dialogue like this, so I just kinda ran with it.

- The scene with Georgie was running long, so I decided to end it there and pick it up in the next chapter. (Chapter 5 should be ready by this weekend, hopefully.)

- Btw, it was very tempting to title this chapter “How Am I Gonna Be an Optimist About This?” because Bastille’s “Pompeii” has been stuck in my head for days now and honestly?? It's probably not a bad song choice for these first four chapters.

#the magnus archives #tma #tma fic #jonathan sims #tma spoilers #long post

[charterandbarter]

I have seen some TMA/TAZ crossovers floating around (thank you @inkedinserendipity btw). I have never seen a TAZ but uh that eye imagery! If y’all will permit I would like to throw in my own two, angsts cents hahaha man I need sleep.

MASSIVE SPOILERS FOR BOTH PODCASTS AHEAD

Alright, premise time:

What if that Hunger was all the Entities fused together? What if John was replaced by Jon & Jonah?

let’s say tma post canon is a bit like this: jon and martin make their way to the panopticon. jonah magnus is there, the heart of the world like the bastard he is. You have the key who opened the Door, and the bitch who twisted it into the lock. In the ensuing confrontation, jon opens the door again, drags every Entity kicking and screaming into its maw, and locks it for good with him on the other side.

But the thing is, he doesn’t go alone.

What’s an Archive without an Archivist? What use is a living chronicle of fear if there’s no beating, squishy, pitifully human heart to experience it? The Entities are always hungry, and as much as Jon’s performed beautifully before the Change, he’s sorta not the right,,,flavor of fear the Entities need. Getting the sum of human suffering shoved into your head can put a damper on the little terrors, yknow.

(so many jons. Jonny sims why must you do this to me)

ANYWAY! I will insert a readmore later maybe, when it is not 2am in my timezone & my brain allows! Apologies for you mobile people.

SPOILER WARNING FOR TMA AND TAZ: BALANCE

There’s two people who could fill the “squishy fear generation machine” role by the time Jon and Martin make it to the Panopticon. And Martin’s just made friends with the personification of backdoors.

Jon gets to say goodbye before Martin and Helen go. Maybe he has time to let Martin Know all the infinite ways he loves him. It still hurts.

Jon and Jonah fall through the door. The Entities swallow them whole.

it’s not really like Jekyll and Hyde, nor is it like Jon and Daisy trapped in the Buried. It’s just...hatred. Hatred, self-loathing, despair, and the regret of a thousand hopes shattered to stardust. By the time Jon and Jonah go through the door Jon’s compiled quite the Archive, but even all that suffering has a limit. When the stories finally run dry, they turn on themselves, on their only remaining humans left, until the difference between jon and jonah and the fears is nothing but so much churning stomach acid. A feedback loop of misery.

They cannot die. They can’t remember why. There is only yawning dread, and the desperate desire to fill it.

Martin Blackwood‘s plane is safe, of course. The Door will stay shut. But not every world has that luxury.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. They were supposed to get more time.

(how does it feel, Jonah Magnus, to be the Archivist? How does it feel to Know that the suffering of millions, including your own, is all your fault? how does it feel to remember the years of gaslighting, abuse, manipulation, and coercion that you inflicted, just because you were afraid of something as small as Death? how does it feel to hate yourself? how does it feel to commune with your fucking god?)

they tear through worlds and yank at the reins that keep them together, even as the two people holding those reins scream in mutually shared/felt agony. It’s hell, and it goes on forever.

When it comes time to play chess, it is Elias standing before Merle in a crisp, black suit. When Merle asks if the Hunger is his friend, it is Jon’s voice that chuckles before answering. And when They call existence horrible, who’s to say which person is actually talking anymore?

(As Merle dies, They notice the blossoms in Merle’s beard look like chamomile flowers. Something deep inside Them aches. It’s been a long time since They’ve had a cup of tea).

(I’ve only heard Merle Highchurch speak once, but in that one time he said life was about the joy you choose before insulting an elder god to his face. This man has Martin Blackwood/Absolute King™ energy don’t change my mind)

“Kiss my ass, you sanctimonious bastard.” Merle Highchurch says.

“Huh,” For a moment, a shiny burn scar glows through the fire licking Their hand, “I feel sad.”

Merle dies. The ache grows.

(For Them--The Archive, The Archivist, Jon--Merle is an anchor. For Jonah—and he Knows, now, he was Jonah Magnus, former king of the world—Merle’s a warning eons too late.)

I don’t know enough about taz balance to work out the rest of the details, unfortunately. I do know the image of Hunger!Jonah Magnus (no longer bound to Jon after an Arms Outstretched 2.0 moment) getting FUCKED UP by the Tres Horny Boyz delights me.

Really, though, Hunger!Jonah can enjoy his immortality trapped in Lucretia’s barrier-bubble-thing like the blind goldfish he is. But by the deities above and below Jon and Merle sitting on the beach looking out into the sunset is near and dear to my heart.

Perhaps it would be appropriate if Jon dissolved into the waves. There are worse ways to die than with a friend at your side and memories of chamomile tea. I’m sure Jon would think it’s more than he deserves, and yeah TMA is a tragedy so maybe it does fit the bittersweet but cathartic ending we’re expecting in canon.

However, I am a] a sap, and b] of the mind that if you can pick, learning to live well is better than hoping to die well. So here’s an alternative for my fellow saps:

When the dust settles, there’s one more refugee that the Bureau takes in. He’s pretty skinny even for a human, and his scars are weird as fuck, but hey everyone in the world just went through a multiplanar apocalypse so who are they to judge? He’s quick. Quiet. Has a strange accent, and loves to read. Maybe Angus Mcdonald likes him. If so, then he can’t be that bad.

(The moonbase libraries aren’t anything like the Archives. Jon can’t tell if that’s good or bad yet, but he has time to figure it out. It’s...nice, to read something for fun again.)

It takes a long while to grow from a level 1 to a level 17 caster, but Jon has time. He can--not recover, exactly, but settle into himself. Learn how to be, without being of use.

Does Jon become an Aberrant Mind!sorcerer with eyes that still inspire paranoia? Or a Conjuration Wizard that can summon tape recorders? Who the fuck knows. He certainly doesn’t! What a blessing—he doesn’t Know!

Jonathan Sims made it out alive. With enough work, perhaps he won’t regret it.

(Maybe this world has therapists. There’s a bone lady shooting fireworks floating around, surely a therapist won’t call him crazy if he tells them the truth, right?)

tl;dr: let Jon get adopted by the Tres Horny Boyz at the end of Story & Song while Jonah Magnus dissolves into seafoam, please. One day Jon brings Martin to the taz!plane via permanent Gate spell so they can have a kickass honeymoon on the literal moon. Martin brings a dog. The base goes bonkers. Everyone is crying. Let the survivors of the tma!plane LARP their DnD dreams.

#tma spoilers #taz spoilers #crossover #let jon do magic #jonah magnus can choke 2k20 #edit later #if anyone wrote a fic for this i would combust witb joy #feel free to use as a writing prompt that would make my life