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wordslikesilver · 2 months

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Seeing the discourse lately on transmisogyny and coming across new terms like tme and tma being used more than I think I’ve ever seen before because of everything going on had me uneasy, not gonna lie, I always do when I find new terminology from the alphabet mafia because I’m thinking to myself oh boy, more stuff to explain to cis people. Looked into it, it all seems pretty reasonable to me tho for including nonbinary femmes and femme intersex people I’ve sorta just always by default assumed “Trans Femme” was really good given the whole “it’s a spectrum and transmisogyny by definition is talking about the people on the femme side of it who didn’t start there” so admittedly I’ll probably be a grump about changing my vocab soon.

But then I see some new shit in the wake of all this TERF nonsense and bigotry being used against trans women? Detransitioned cis women calling themselves trans women and saying WE don’t understand the concept of gender well? The audacity? Look, changing the labels of a community to be less offensive is something I support so loudly and love and adore. This isn’t that. This is people encroaching on our pride and our identities and pretending the flag we nobly fly, the icon of bravery and unifying love in the face of oppression that it is, isn’t clearly “ours” enough. That it’s something they’re allowed to say belongs to them too so we need to come up with something new to call ourselves when we discuss the pain we face in our lives. Erasing and rewording the definitions of who we are til our identity is gone altogether. Moving the goal posts and telling us to teach everyone a whole new set of labels when the average layman still doesn’t even know that “Cis” isn’t a fucking slur, let alone what it means. Never forget that at your core when you fight against this new bigotry and they try to dance circles around you with their words and misdirect the conversation to stupid shit. Alienation from an already unified identity is a classic means of making it so much fucking harder for the oppressed to have their pleas for basic rights be acknowledged. Never let your people’s pain be silenced by someone pretending to they’re too stupid to know who you’re talking about.

To the TERFs and bigots who find this, and I fucking hope you find this, Trans Woman is not yours to fucking claim just because “gender is a construct and complicated” you will NEVER know the pain people like me have been through. I refuse to acknowledge a claim on my people’s identity because someone managed to misunderstand a concept hard enough and it’s now snowballed into a new form of complicating discussions of deserving basic and equal rights. I have felt the pains a cis woman has felt, I have felt sexist and awful treatment from men, I have been catcalled, I have been stalked, I have been made unsafe, I have been expected to be a mother for no other reason than “all women want them one day” and I have been assumed to be less than a man for some imagined frailty of the fairer sex. I am a woman. We can share that label, I WANT to share that label. We can bond over sapphic love and feminine experiences and hardships we both suffer under a cruel patriarchy. In just the same way, I have never known the pain of period cramps. I don’t have a vagina. I will never have a pregnancy scare and I will never feel the side effects of birth control. I wasn’t catcalled by gross men walking home when I was in high school. I was never sexualized by the media when I was in middle school the way cis girls would see happen to them. I am NOT a cis woman and I will never be one. I grew up as a boy, I lived and I loved as a young man, I saw the world through masculine eyes and was raised being treated as one, I will never pretend I know what it’s like to be a young girl being preyed upon and used by an older man. I will never touch that label because it’s simply not correct at the most fundamental level. I am a trans woman and that made me who I am. After all the people I’ve met and all the experiences I’ve shared, it took time to be so proud of calling myself a trans woman. Holding up the sky would’ve taken less strength of the heart, but now I feel the deepest pride knowing I’ve done something inconceivably harder.

But you, you people cannot take that from me and my sisters. I draw the fucking line at saying you think you have the slightest notion of what it’s like to be transfeminine. To be born in a body that makes people see you as a man from the very first glance, to hear you wrong from the first whisper of your voice. To spend the rest of your life working tirelessly in a fight against your own biology and/or the perception of the entire world whenever it casts its ugly eye upon you. Some of us don’t even have the privilege of fighting those perceptions or the things or own bodies have been programmed to force on us. Some of us don’t even want to have to do anything about how we look because it’s bullshit to have to fight for that basic respect from our peers in the first place and their standards just don’t align with who we are deep down in the first place! Gender is complicated but this isn’t. Have you EVER held your breath in the women’s public washroom and tucked your feet in because you were scared you’d make other women uncomfortable, because you’re not sure if you’re in an accepting space? FEARED what might happen if you step into the women’s change room to put on a bathing suit or your work clothes? Have you EVER been threatened with physical violence and called slurs in front of your own mother on public transit? Have you ever had to tell your doctor you’re ready to drop out of school to show how “sure” (re: fucking desperate) you are to be prescribed HRT? Sure, lots of cis women are on HRT, I treat them as patients all the time. Have you ever had a hot flash at the age of 21 because you were late on your injection? Did you pierce your skin with thin metal once a week for years and years to get the breasts you have? Did your body do irreparable things to your bones and your voice that make it so no one will ever see you as a woman at first glance without thousands of hours of effort, of tears, of sheer fucking focus and fixation on achieving the ideal self you see in your mind and dream of being one day? DID YOU HAVE TO BEG YOUR GOVERNMENT TO LET YOU HAVE THE BODY YOU LITERALLY ALREADY HAD AT BIRTH OR DID THEY NEVER EVEN SO MUCH AS TRY TO GET IN THE WAY OF JUST BEING CALLED MISS ON YOUR GOD DAMN LICENSE? Cis women can’t even begin to imagine the feelings I have felt, building my wings of feather and bones and wax, day after day, dreaming of flying beside my sisters who were born with wings they’ll never fear will melt, all the while remembering the last time someone born in a body like mine flew too close to the sun. Maybe they’ll perhaps know what it’s like to bind them to their back and hide them beneath their shirt, maybe they’ll even have sheered and ripped the bones from their sockets and one day wish they could have them back and sing with the rest of the angels like they used to, but they will NEVER fly on wings like mine, fear the heat from the light that makes life worth living the way I do, fear the same slings and arrows screaming up through the air from down below and even at times from above my head to let me know loud and clear they wanna knock me outta this sky, this sky that’s so beautiful and holy I cry when I touch it, the very first chance they get.

Transphobia won’t ever take the sky from me. My Icarian Wings are made on the foundation of generation after generation of my people who dreamed and yearned to touch the sunlight blue skies and the infinite glittering nights, each of us telling each other, telling ourselves we’ll never fear the light again one day, lifting each other when we fall, soaring higher each time than the ones whose wax melted before we could save them could, warmly teaching each other how to fix our broken wings and freely gifting each other the love it takes to make them stronger for the next flight. Holding each others hands as we dance and show each other how to fly, hand in hand and heart in heart with the angels who call us sister angels. A cis woman having the audacity to flap her never melting wings and saying hers are just like mine, that the name of my people is just a construct so she can say she she’s just like Icarus too, makes me wanna vomit. Pretending she knows what it’s like to watch in terror as all the feathers fall out suddenly in a moment of weakness making her break her bones upon the rocks, listening to everyone around her say “I knew it, I knew his wings were fake, look at him crawl along the ground in the dirt and the mud where he belongs.” Pretending that if two people both have skin, even of a different colour, that since the labels are made up, the sun and society itself will surely treat them the same if the white one calls themselves black.

Transphobia won’t ever take the sky from me. Come and fucking try to take these wings from me and see what happens.

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rosy-cheekx · 3 years

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Heard you were looking for prompts :) 1 of 2 - From favorite tropes: Blind date set up by mutual friends! And maybe combined with "I'm speechless you're so beautiful" from the fluff & kisses (and other stuff) prompts. Go wild with it!

This will go to AO3 soon, but it was a lot of fun to write and a nice distraction from any hypothetical realities the TMA fandom may be experiencing.

Double-Blind: 5K

Martin smelled like espresso. He wrinkled his nose and dusted his hands on his apron uselessly, as if doing so would rid himself of the months of coffee, cinnamon, and hazelnut baked into his skin. It wasn’t all that bad, he supposed, except what was the point in using cologne if it was going to be immediately overpowered?

The bell above the door jingled and Martin jumped, pulled from his thoughts on cologne and what he would like to smell like, given the opportunity. Sandalwood, maybe? Tobacco and vanilla? The musky-sweet smells are nice, they have a nice mix of feminine and masculine to them, almost—

��Ahem.” An exaggerated clearing of the throat, once again whisking him from his distractions. Martin locked eyes on the woman across the counter from him, grinning mischievously. “Welcome back to Earth, Martin.”

“Oh! Oh. It’s just you. Hi, Georgie.” Georgie Barker, a regular customer, moderately well-known podcast host, and most importantly, one of Martin’s favorite people to see at the tiny coffee shop he spent more time in than his own flat.

“Just me? Excuse me.” Georgie pouted and crossed her arms, coily hair bouncing around her face as she shook her head. “I’ll have you know you should be grateful to see me this fine afternoon, Martin Koffee Blackwood!”

Martin grinned and dropped the act. “I always am, Georgie. But I told you, there’s not a—”

“Like I said, you should be happy to see me.” Georgie barreled on. “I have good news.” She cocked her head and pondered the chalk-covered board behind the counter. “Two chai lattes, please. And make one of them extra spicy?”

Martin rang up the order and passed two cups down to Rosie, all the while checking the door surreptitiously, ensuring a little chat wouldn’t hold anyone up. “Okay? Spill.”

Georgie’s phone was in her hand, and she waved it at Martin like it contained the secrets of the universe. “D’you remember my roommate, Melanie?”

Martin nodded, pursing his lips. “Vaguely. I thought you guys were dating.” He raised his eyebrows, waiting for her to elaborate.

Georgie waved a hand dismissively, rolling her eyes. “Not the point. Anyways, she has a friend of a friend-“ Georgie frowned for a moment, “…of a friend who is looking to get back into dating. Mel says he’s short and nerdy and prickly until you get to know him. Apparently a real pain to work with according to the friend.” Georgie smirked and pulled a sticky note from her back pocket. “Thought maybe you’d want his number.”

Martin grimaced at the blue piece of paper as she smoothed it to the counter with a firm motion. “Wow, George. Really selling it.” It was his fault; they had bonded over being queer back in July when Martin had worn his gay and trans pride buttons and Georgie was proudly sporting her own pansexual patch firmly affixed to her laptop case. One lunch break discussing quirky exes later, their friendship had been sealed. Mentioning offhandedly that he was on dating apps and hating every minute of it seemed to have rooted itself in Georgie’s mind and had grown like weeds until she had taken it upon herself to become his personal wing woman.

“Do you even know his name?” Martin asked, regarding the string of numbers on the piece of paper in front of him.

Georgie blushed, shrugging apologetically. “Friend of a friend of a friend. Sorry mate. Melanie said he likes cats, documentaries, and-” she made air quotes with her fingers, “-being uptight.”

“Wow.” Martin chuckled in disbelief. “Really selling it here.”

Rosie sidled by Martin and set down Georgie’s lattes, who shrugged and picked them up after dropping a few coins in the tip jar. “You have his number. Just think about it, Blackwood. Melanie’s friend doesn’t spread the word about someone unless they’re something special.” She blew a kiss (clumsily, considering the cups requiring the attention of each of her hands) and made her way to the door.

“I just want you to be happy!” She called out as the January winds pulled her out the door and into the grey afternoon.

Martin chewed on his lip as he considered. January was always a tough month for him, and he had been feeling a little lonely recently. He really didn’t see anyone besides his coworkers, customers, and his mother. As much as he enjoyed his job, he wouldn’t call anyone there a romantic interest. He folded the sticky note and stuck it in his pocket as his next customer approached the counter. He did like cats, after all. Maybe that would be a good starting conversation.

Jonathan Sims groaned and shifted the stack of books in his hand as he inspected the knee-high table that was buried amongst the fiction books. He hated working the children’s section of the library. Although no food or drink was allowed, there always seemed to be crumbs everywhere. He was starting to wonder if children just manifested them. He made a mental note to come back with disinfectant wipes after putting the stack of child-suitable biographies away and turned, nearly walking straight into the chest of one Timothy Stoker.

“A-ah!” Jon jumped instinctively backward, clutching the books closer to his chest in an attempt to keep from dropping them. “Tim! Good lord, there’s really no need to be sneaking up on me like that.”

Tim grinned wryly and shrugged, taking half of the books from Jon’s arms. “Sorry boss, thought you heard me.” He gestured for Jon to lead the way through the half-sized bookshelves; an unnecessary act seeing as Tim worked the children’s library much more frequently than Jon did.

“I’m not your-” Jon sighed, deciding this wasn’t the hill he wanted to die on today. He made his way through the shelves, sliding books into their correct placements with practiced hands. “Do you need something?”

“Actually,” Tim checked a Dewey code and slid a book into a shelf a few rows down. “I don’t. But you do.”

Jon stared blankly, uncomprehending. Tim chuckled and gestured with a cock of his head towards the research section. “Melanie said she has a friend who has a friend she wants to set up on a date. And while normally, I’d jump at the chance-” he waved his left hand, the silver ring inset with tiny diamonds flashing in the fluorescents, “I’ve been wifed up and I don’t think my dear Sash would appreciate my going on a blind date with a stranger.”

Jon frowned, setting his stack of books down and eyeing Tim. “What, so I have to?”

Tim shook his head, a patient smile on his face. “No, no one is forcing you. I just think—well. It’s been a while since your last relationship and you’ve been a little…testy, recently.” The look on Tim’s face dared Jon to contradict. “Melanie says he’s apparently a really good guy, very kind and sweet and patient. I think his name is Melvin? I kinda tuned out after she wrote down the number she got from her friend.”

Jon scoffed, pushing his glasses up his face as if that would help him comprehend the absolute ridiculousness of what Tim was saying. “Y-You want me to go on a date with this guy, Melvin? Because I’ve been…grumpy? That doesn’t seem very kind to this mysterious date.”

Tim pursed his lips. “I just think you could benefit from seeing someone who doesn’t work here. I mean, we love you Jon, but god, you need to get a social life. I’m practically begging you.” Tim’s purse elongated into a pout, eyes going big and starry. Jon inwardly groaned. Tim was his oldest friend here at the library and he really never learned how to resist that face. Maybe he should ask Sasha.

“One date,” Jon promised. “I’ll do one date. And then you never set me up again.”

Tim grabbed the rest of the books Jon had set down and added them to his stack before whisking himself away down the aisles. “If we’re lucky, I’ll never have to!” He called down the aisles, grinning madly. Jon sighed and grabbed a small pink sticky note that had been stuck to the countertop, running his eyes over the numbers before slipping it into his pocket. He’ll call later.

Martin stared resolutely at the numbers on the blue sticky note, running his thumb over the curled edge of the paper, slightly stained from some sort of milk during the shift. Even his apron pockets weren’t foolproof. The underground was busy and he was jammed between an older woman who smelled weirdly like salmon and a man who seemed utterly too well-dressed to be on the tube. Elbows crammed into his side to keep from nudging anyone, he pulled out his phone and stared at the messaging app for what felt like several minutes. He typed the numbers into the message bar and watched his cursor blip in the body of the message.

Hey whats up?

No, that would be so weird.

Hiya, this is martin!

Georgie never said the man’s name, would this mysterious date know his?

Hey I think the alphabet is missing I and U together.

Gross. Just gross. Martin grimaced inwardly and chewed on his lip, thinking carefully before typing.

Hi! My name is martin. my friend gave me your number, hope thats okay. she said you were really nice and recommended we try a blind date. if this is too weird, I get ignoring it. but if youre game, I am! :)

As he finished typing, he heard the familiar robotic voice of the tube announcing his stop. Quickly, Martin shoved the phone in his pocket and carefully forced his way through the crowd and onto the platform, mind cast to what he had accessible for dinner.

----

It took Jon a few days, until Saturday, to remember to call the phone number they had been given. They could text, they supposed, but they always appreciated hearing someone’s intonation a little better. Especially a stranger, ugh, they shuddered at the idea of not being able to decipher the tone of this Melvin. It was half-past 11 when they decided to call, hoping this would be late enough in the morning to not wake him up.

The phone rang momentarily before a surprisingly feminine voice answered the phone. “Hello. This is Rosie. You’ve reached Swirl Café and Bakery.”

Well shit. This was not what Jon expected. They stumbled over their rehearsed speech, trying to scramble words together in a way that made sense. “Uh-sorry, I must have the wrong number. I-I was trying to speak to Melvin?”

“Mmm, sorry. No Melvin works here. We have a Martin, but he’s off the clock. Would you like to speak to our manager?” Rosie’s voice was clipped and courteous, but Jon could hear the bustle of voices in the background. It must be their weekend rush.

“Ah-uh, no, no thank you.” Jon shook their head into the phone, before remembering that did not translate aurally. “It’s alright. Thank you anyways.”

“Sorry, mate. Thanks for calling!” The dial tone droned on for a moment before Jon hung up, sighing and pressing the heels of their hands into their eyes. That was a waste. Melanie must have been playing them; Jon knew they generally didn’t get along, but they didn’t realize she would stoop so low. Honestly, shame on themself for getting excited about a date.

Later that evening, Jon was cooking and listening to music through the speaker that balanced precariously on a shelf next to their stove. The music was low, with a variety of orchestral instruments and sultry, smooth voices. Jon’s eyes were half closed as they stirred the curry in the pan in front of them, letting the music and heat of the kitchen entangle them in a sleepy feeling relaxing their whole body. As the cello in the song dipped low and resonant, Jon stood still, letting the music sweep them away—

They jumped as the ringer alerted them through the speaker that they had received a text, glaringly electronic compared to the rich notes of cello and viola that had been so rudely interrupted. Sleepy feeling gone as adrenaline washed through their body, Jon sighed and retrieved their phone, checking for the message.

An unknown number flicked across the screen:

Hi! my name is martin. my friend gave me your number, hope thats okay. she said you were really nice and recommended we try a blind date. if this is too weird, i get ignoring it. but if youre game, I am! :)

i meant to send this a few days ago but I never hit send. sorry ab that! rosie said someone called the café asking ab me and i assumed that was you bc i wasnt expecting anyone else and no one involved in the blind date thing ever asked for my mobile number.

if it wasn’t you, oops! either way it reminded me that i had never texted you. :)

Jon squinted at the screen as they read the messages a few times over. That was…a lot of words. So his name was Martin. It was certainly nicer than Melvin. Jon agonized over their words as they typed out a response.

Hello Martin. That was me who called the café…I hope it didn’t cause problems for you. Blind dates aren’t usually my thing, but my coworkers think I need to get out more. I’d be happy to meet you for dinner or coffee. Even if we don’t get along, we can say we’ve done it.

Unless, of course, you’re rather sick of coffee. I prefer tea anyways.

…not “done it” done it. Just. Had the blind date.

Jon winced at their follow up texts. God, that was embarrassing. Martin probably didn’t even take it that way until they bothered to clarify. They shook their head, warding away the growing anxiety in their chest and tucked their phone in their pocket as they turned their attention back to the simmering curry. Jon had embarrassed themselves enough for one night.

----

Martin chuckled at the texts that came through; one slow and the two follow-ups rapid. He could feel the awkwardness through the messages, desperately trying to give a good impression. He chuckled to himself as he set down his dinner plate.

dinner sounds perfect. but same about the tea! and about the coworkers tbh, my friends think im making friends with the espresso machine. which, i am, but only bc its good company haha.

btw i never got your name?

Martin’s phone was silent the rest of the night, as he plodded his way through a mediocre dinner and shower before settling into his armchair, desperate to work on his poetry. Words came slowly to him recently, thoughts about the world and darkness and the intersection of fall and winter. He really should up and move to somewhere warmer, he thought to himself, before laughing the notion away aloud. Yeah, right. He rolled his eyes and tried to focus on the poetry prompts book he had found at the charity shop. “Use noncolor words to describe a color.” Great. Martin settled back and tried to focus, but kept finding himself checking his phone impulsively, the foamed latte art he’d photographed, one of a cat he was particularly proud of, stared back at him judgmentally.

As he drew his evening to a close, Martin almost missed the buzz of his phone, now plugged in by his bed, as he brushed his teeth.

Congrats on the espresso machine. And my name is Jon. Anywhere you want to go for dinner?

________________________________________________________________

Jon hesitated, thumb hovering over the icon that would open a video chat with Tim. He didn’t want to come off nervous, but… he was.

Texting had been going well. Martin was good at keeping the conversation going and genuinely seemed to enjoy the long texts Jon had sent regarding his irritations with the research he was conducting as a part of his master’s in literature, asking him questions about details Jon had added for context. Martin was easy to talk to, too, he always seemed to have an opinion on subjects but always ones Jon was happy to hear, even if he was objectively wrong about spiders and oolong tea. Martin had sent an awkward text, letting Jon know he was trans and that if that was a dealbreaker he should tell him now, one Jon had blushed over and responded that he was nonbinary himself, and that it certainly wasn’t. The “okay fantastic! :))) remind me of your pronouns? he/him for me.” that followed it up had made Jon’s heart sing.

They had agreed to meet at an Italian place, equidistant between their flats and not too fancy. Martin had commented about getting ice cream after, but Jon wasn’t sure if he was joking or not, since it had also been a jab about Jon’s preference for rum raisin. Thus, he was staring at his wardrobe, paralyzed with indecision. Tim had offered to help, which Jon had initially rejected since he’s “not a child Tim, I’ve dated before. And I know how to dress myself.” But lord if he wasn’t wishing for someone to lay out his clothes and tell him to behave. He grimaced and jabbed the video chat button, bracing for the onslaught of teasing to come.

----

Martin adjusted his collar for what must have been the twelfth time, sucking on his lip as he waited at the reserved table. He hadn’t been there long, no more than five minutes, but his anxiety had been building up all day and a part of him was absolutely certain Jon wasn’t going to come. Neither of them knew what the other looked like; what if Jon saw him and had dipped out immediately? He was wearing mint green, as he had promised, so Jon would recognize him, and brought a bouquet of daisies, mostly because it felt weird not to bring anything, but he didn’t want to be too romantic. Not roses or anything. Besides, Jon said he liked daisies, said they reminded him of an old friend. Martin hoped it wasn’t too weird. He brushed his auburn curls out of the way of his eyes, part of him regretting not having gotten a haircut first, but he tucked those thoughts aside as he surveyed the restaurant from his vantage point.

He blinked in confusion as he watched long curls make their way towards him. Dark black hair, streaked with white, half bunned up in the back and rest left to hang loose, skimming purple-covered elbows. Martin wasn’t sure if they were wearing flowy grey pants or a skirt, but either way, the faint black pattern to them was stunning and Martin couldn’t help but watch the swoosh of the hemlines. As the person got closer, Martin realized they were tiny, stylized eyes.

“Ah-you’re Martin, right?” It took Martin a second to realize this absolutely beautiful person was talking to him.

“hmm—Oh! Yes! You must be Jon.” Martin stood, unsure whether he should shake Jon’s hand or hug him or? But Jon solved the problem himself by sitting, and so Martin did as well. “It’s nice to finally meet you…in person, that is,” he added, grinning shyly. “You look lovely, by the way.”

Jon blushed. “Ah, thank you. Y-You too. O-or handsome, whichever you prefer.” He sipped his water and fidgeted with his hands, eyes flicking around the room nervously before coming around to rest on Martin.

Martin shrugged. “A compliment is a compliment, they all work. Speaking of—what pronouns are you feeling today? I remember you saying it varies.”

Jon shook his head slightly. “I’m not going to pitch a fit either way, but ‘he’ is just fine.” It was nice to be asked. The library respected his pronouns, of course, but something about Martin going out of his way to make sure he was on the same page was… It made Jon’s heart thud deep in his chest.

They made small talk about the travel, the weather, Italian food preferences until the waiter came and relieved the tension. Martin felt his shoulders relax after they both ordered; it felt more real somehow.

“So,” Martin asked, sipping his water demurely, a smile tinged on his lips. “Melvin, huh?”

Jon choked on air for a moment. His mouth gaped open and shut again and Martin couldn’t help the grin overtook him. Jon’s embarrassment was sweet; his cheeks flushed and he bowed his head slightly. It was a lovely look on him. “For the record, that’s what I was told by my coworker, Tim.” Jon made air quotes with his fingers. “‘Melvin or something.’ Who was I to question your name?”

“Right, and I’m glad you respect names ‘n’ all. But Melvin?” Martin chuckled to himself, shaking his head. “I’m not the decimal system guy.”

“Nn-mmm,” Jon shook his head, nose wrinkled in a way Martin found particularly cute. “That’s Melville. Melville Dewey.” Jon emphasized, back straightening. “Distinctly different. I’m a librarian, actually.”

“Oh!” Martin blinked. “That makes sense. You work with Melanie, then, I assume?”

Jon grimaced again. “Unfortunately.”

“She’s not that bad!” Martin insisted. “I’ve met her once or twice and she’s been very polite.”

Jon rolled his eyes. “For someone who’s getting a degree in parapsychology, she seems very judgmental.”

“Oh? And what are you studying again?”

“English Lit-hey!”

Martin grinned behind his glass of water. “Just saying, I haven’t met an English Lit student who wasn’t obscenely pretentious.”

Jon faltered for a second and slumped his shoulders in defeat, though his voice still seemed to carry humor, albeit dry. “Unfortunately, I am no exception.”

“Well, I didn’t say I didn’t like it.”

Dinner arrived smoothly, shrimp scampi for Jon and eggplant parmesan for Martin. They ate slowly, chatting more about Jon’s graduate degree, Martin’s affinity for fiction and poetry, and their shared interest in tea.

“So, are you vegetarian?” Jon gestured to the eggplant on Martin’s plate. Martin wobbled his head slightly, not quite a negatory shake of the head.

“It’s complicated. My mother has—had—a sensitive stomach so we didn’t eat meat growing up. I think that turned me off the taste. And there’s something about the texture,” he shuddered. “Weirds me out.”

Jon’s eyes were sharp, boring holes into Martin’s in a way he should have found alarming, but instead found soothing. “Mine, too.” His tone—softer, almost reverent, clued Martin in: he wasn’t talking about being vegetarian.

Martin nodded, and gently placed a hand on Jon’s, the one that hovered near his drinking glass. “I’m sorry.”

They were quiet for a moment, Jon’s hand was small and warm under his, and Martin could feel a thin silver bracelet clinging to his wrist. Martin was amazed by how perfectly his fingers rested over Jon’s, how nice it must feel to hold hands with him on a walk or side by side against the world. Jon cleared his throat suddenly and reached for his glass, gulping down water while staring steadfastly at his plate.

Martin felt his own blush rise through his cheeks and pushed a stray noodle around his plate. “So, here’s a question,” he began, eager to clear the tension. “You said earlier your friend Tim gave you the number to Swirl, right? I don’t know a Tim. So how did he know me?”

Jon frowned, cocking his head. “Technically, I got the number from Tim but that was via Melanie. She said her roommate was friends with…well, friends with you.”

“Mmhmm, that makes sense. I know Georgie from the coffee shop.” He was about to continue when he saw absolutely paralyzed look on Jon’s face. “You…you alright?”

Jon was stock still, pausing the forkful of shrimp that was en route to his mouth. “Sorry, Melanie’s roommate is Georgie?”

Martin nodded slowly. “Yeah, Georgie Barker, that podcaster. She gets her an extra-spicy chai latte from Swirl most days and that’s about the most I know of the relationship. Why, you know her?”

Jon put the fork down, shrimp forgotten, and sighed, running his thumbs along the bridge of his nose, pushing his thin-rimmed glasses up to his eyebrows. “Y-yes, she’s kind of…my ex.”

It was Martin’s turn to freeze. “Sorry?”

“Mmm, yeah, we decided we were better as friends. It was back in Oxford. But I don’t exactly see her often much anymore.” Jon winced at his own words, as if he knew how bad they sounded.

Martin sat back in disbelief, chuckling to himself. “Y’know, she said you were a ‘friend of a friend of a friend.’ D’you think she even knew it was you?”

Jon cocked his head in thought. “I guess not. I mean, I think the whole library staff has been gunning for me to relieve some tension. I wouldn’t be surprised if they’ve been looking for a blind date for me for months now.”

Martin grinned, eyes sparkling. “Well, no matter. It was lucky for me.” Lucky again, was Martin, when he was rewarded with Jon’s warm blush.

----

The bill had been a painful affair, with both Jon and Martin vying for the privilege of paying. Martin struck a deal: he’d pay for the dinner, and Jon would pay for ice cream. Jon knew the differences would widely outweigh when it came to cost but he relented, and the self-satisfied smirk that blossomed over Jon’s face was payment enough.

Martin pointed out the ice cream parlor was a few blocks away and, though it was January, they decided to walk. The fresh snow on the ground glinted against the orange street lamps, and Jon laughed under his breath at the way Martin took great care to step on any unusually large clumps of snow, like he had a personal vendetta. When Jon’s chuckle had made it past the scarf he had wound round his neck and mouth, Martin had glanced over, embarrassed.

“I like the sound of it,” he mumbled, suddenly very meek for a man his stature. It was, regretfully, endearing. Martin was tall, but he was big too, and it was obvious underneath the layer of soft cashmere and chub, there was rigid muscle, and beneath that still, a gentle heart. Jon was struck by him, in more ways he had prepared himself for, and it felt second nature to slide his gloved hand into Martin’s and give it a solid squeeze of acknowledgement.

“Do you think it’s too cold to get ice cream?” Jon asked, watching a cloud of breath float by his lips.

Martin shrugged. “Technically? Yes. But who’s going to tell on us?” Jon swung their entwined hands a little. “Unless…you don’t want to?” Martin added, eyes locking on Jon’s before his head followed.

Jon shook his head. “No, I want to. I believe we have a debt to settle and I have a personal score involving rum raisin.” Martin beamed, clearly pleased, and Jon was certain the snow around him melted right off with the warmth of his smile. Jon leant into Martin’s side a little, and they continued in silence until they reached the ice cream parlor, the entrance to which glowed with pink and white LEDs.

Jon smugly ordered a scoop of rum raisin and was delighted to find Martin “didn’t hate it,” though he insisted his mint chip was better. That was genuinely the best Jon could hope for; not even Georgie in all her unusual tastes enjoyed his rum raisin sensibility. “My grandmother loved it when I was a kid,” he explained between bites, stirring the ice cream with his spoon. “It was the only flavor she kept around the house.”

“Not even vanilla?” Martin gasped in mock disbelief. “Any sensible person would say you’ve been tricked into enjoying it.” Jon chuckled and elbowed Martin mildly.

Jon found himself lingering over the bowl, realizing that the end of their dessert meant an end to the date. Martin seemed to be acting similarly, putting his spoon down between bites and taking more and more thoughtful swallows between their bouts of conversation.

“You-you took the tube here, right?” Jon asked, setting his finally-empty bowl off to the side. At Martin’s confirmation, Jon clenched his fist below the table. “Do you want to walk to the station together?”

Martin’s eyes lit up, nodding eagerly. “I had meant to ask, actually! I wanted to make sure you got there safe.” Jon winced at the blush that overtook his cheeks, though it was easy to blame it on the chill of the ice cream and the frigid night.

The walk to the tube was longer and the pair, heavily sated by pasta and dairy, were quiet, making soft comments about the snow or the odd remaining Christmas decorations, hands clasped tightly and shoulders pressing into the other. The fluorescents of the underground shone brightly, normally a beacon calling travelers home in the night, but to Jon it felt like a dreadful curse. He truly hadn’t expected to enjoy his evening with Martin so much, but they had just clicked. It felt like a shame to let it go.

Swiping their cards, Jon and Martin passed through their respective turnstiles and stood at the bisecting tunnels through which the various lines waited to take them home. They faced each other in silence, hands still interlocked, unsure of how to begin.

“If you’d like to,” Jon murmured, eyes shifting focus to Martin’s curls, plastered to his forehead from the snow; his collar, peeking through his coat; the way the shell of his ear seemed to have a nick missing (was it from a childhood accident? Just the way it was grown?). “I’d like to go out again.”

Martin squeezed Jon’s hand, and Jon’s eyes flitted back to Martin’s own; they were grey-blue and reminded Jon of his childhood sea. “Mmhmm, yeah.” Martin rolled his eyes at his own words and tried again. “Yes, Jon, I’d love that.” Martin moved to hug Jon, a gesture Jon eagerly accepted, relishing the warm arms encircling him and the feel of Martin’s chin resting on the crown of his head. As they pulled away, Martin’s eyes flitted across Jon’s face and the hand around his back moved, cautiously, to rest on the side of Jon’s neck.

“I…I don’t want to presume,” Martin said quietly, and Jon was distinctly aware of how empty, how big, the station was. “Is it okay if I kiss your cheek?”

Jon blinked rapidly, nodding wordlessly, before clearing his throat. “Ah, um, yes. Please.”

Martin’s smile was soft as he pressed his lips to the apex of Jon’s cheekbone, almost into his hairline. Jon was sure the blush that rose across his face this time certainly couldn’t be explained away by the snow, but he honestly wasn’t really sure he cared.

#tma #tma fanfic #the magnus archives #the magnus archives fanfic #fanfic to a tea #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #jmart #jonmartin #georgie barker #rosie zampano #tma rosie #tim stoker #meet cute #blind date au #this is my love letter to TMA #prompt answer #fanfic prompt

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gerrydelano · 3 years

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Do you have any tma fics with trans femme rep because I would love to read it l. You probs don't remember me but I was the (recently realized transfemme) 16 year old who wanted to play Juliet for school in the comments for tsp it was an eye opener for me, and put alot of complicated feelings to words, I've been on the hunt for more transfemme media in tma fics but I'm find so little😟 so I'd like to believe maybe I'm just looking in the wrong place??

oh goodness hi, i do remember you!!!! this is such a lovely message to receive when i’m always scared of my inbox after making serious posts. i spent the night foraging and i have a good chunk of recs right here for you!

i’m actually going to say this for people who aren’t aware of the statistics here:

even just searching the tags, there are 474 for “trans male character” but if you search “trans female character” you get 32. out of those, only 20 of them are not explicit, and maybe 10 out of those that aren’t uncomfortable in other ways. combined with looking in the nonbinary tags, we only ended up with 19 recs total, which. is actually devastating and i really hope people realize how much that says about our priorities. we can and must do better. myself included!

for now, i’m going to start with some updates to GTCU fics first to get them out of the way, but i’ve asked my friends for other clean recs to share with you as well! they found things even outside of that tag, so hopefully this helps! i wrote little blurbs under all of them to state just how much focus there is, too.

01. hand in hand [series, complete, by yours truly]

this is the series of oneshots i did for bi jonuary! if TSP was an eye opener for you, and you haven’t seen these yet, there is a lot of discussion of jon’s gender exploration in here and even some closure with his experience in chess! it permeates all seven of the fics as a recurring and purposeful theme.

02. Pharos By Right [series, ongoing, yours truly]

we have four transfem main characters in this series! sasha, gerry, georgie, jon. sasha is a trans woman and it comes up right in chapter 2 of the first installment, but she actively talks about it in chapter 7 when she gives her statement. jon, we already know his backstory, but he’s actually going to end up doing really different stuff in this story because the whole plot is different! georgie, i’ll explain below (so excited about this.)

and gerry, again you know what i did with him in TSP, but here? we get to see sasha is the one who helps him start transitioning, and it’s going to be a major part of things in a different way than before because of that connection. community is everything! my next chapter that i’m currently working on actually literally starts with them celebrating when he starts self-medicating estrogen right then and there in the office LOL. 🥳

03. breathing like i never did [oneshot, TBA, also yours truly]

this fic already featured GTCU-typical transfem jon, but i have a surprise announcement: i’m going to revamp it VERY soon and change it so that georgie is a transfem butch.

this fic is over a year old, the first one i wrote for this fandom, and since then my HC has changed and i think it’s for the better! this is something you don’t see represented often, and ever since seraf (💙) brought up the HC it’s been living in my brain rent free.

i’ll edit this blurb accordingly when it’s finally changed, but rest assured it’s coming very soon! and already has transfem jon in it to start, so still counts.

04. Sail Close to the Wind [multichap, ongoing, renwhit]

this is the second major installment in ren’s series, come what may, and while you do have to read the other parts to understand the plot, i’m listing it specifically because it actually features a young trans girl, aminah! her transness is actually explored explicitly and explained to callum, the POV character, and she is the best, i love her so much.

the first installment, head in the lion’s mouth, does talk about sasha and joy (one of danny stoker’s friends) being trans women in some aside mentions, but it’s not really enough for me to say “ooh this is a fic with loud transfem rep!” either way, though, they’re included very organically and it’s nice to happen upon when reading, you know?

05. Pendulum (Road to Damascus) [part of a series, complete, renwhit]

in this installment specifically, there are multiple scenes where tim flashes back to knowing sasha in secondary school, and her being a trans girl comes up frequently! especially in relation to her parents being super supportive, him growing out his hair alongside her to help keep eyes off her while she socially transitioned in school, and meeting her again in adulthood when she’s fully come into herself and is more confident. i feel like that would resonate with you! and the whole series is a banger.

OKAY now stuff that isn’t ours but that i trust implicitly.

06. all moments meant to pass [oneshot, complete, seraf]

this is one of seraf’s contributions to the bi jon event! it’s about trans lesbian sasha reaching out to and connecting with jon about gender and ostracization, it’s really soft and honest and beautiful. DEFINITELY give it a read!

07. secondhand nostalgia ( or: prides never attended ) [multichap, ongoing, seraf]

also for bi jonuary! includes trans butch georgie (seraf is the one who pioneered that HC!) and another girlfriend of hers, tasha, who is a trans woman. and the next chapter will include trans sasha, as well!

08. timeline of your tender heart [multichap, complete, verboseDescription]

another bi jonuary, featuring a lot of jon talking about gender! it might not be as hefty as some others listed here, but angel’s writing is soothing and beautiful, and there is gender to be explored.

09. Bailey School Kids [multichap, complete, verboseDescription]

this fic. is one of my cherished, treasured, Most Loved fics of all time about gerry surviving his cancer and living with roommates in america (the same ones mentioned in TSP!) one of gerry’s roommates, basil, is amab nonbinary (mentioned in hand in hand, too!) the other, kira, has a transfem girlfriend, and the two of them do take gerry out to buy skirts after talking about some gender dysphoria he’s been shoving down because he doesn’t think he has time for it given his lifestyle. it’s VERY sweet and i fully recommend it, i hype this fic up so much that it’s leaked into ALL my own work too.

small break for safe fics that angel found for me while i was asleep. he went through various nonbinary tags to try and find transfem ones! i have not touched any of these and probably wouldn’t have on my own but he vouched that some of them are cute as hell.

10. gender? isn’t that a spice? [oneshot, complete, fuckeliasbouchard]

jon and martin talking about gender!

11. Solidarity [oneshot, complete, schrijverr]

jon working up the nerve to wear a skirt to work!

12. what harm you can help [oneshot, complete, ncfan]

gerry & agnes meeting! him being nb isn’t super relevant, but i hear it’s very nice. i personally love the gerry & agnes strange friendship route, when people actually acknowledge that she’s Old. also this is the longest fic here, i think? about 11k.

13. let you look [oneshot, complete, squipport]

tim helping jon find a dress! pretty short, like most of these are, but sweet.

14. i am the fifth dimension [oneshot, complete, librarby]

jon coming out & pronoun discussion!

15. you can talk to me [oneshot, complete, celosiaa]

mostly trans martin, but does have jon doing genderly things!

16. to noise-making [multichap, complete, mercuryhatter]

gender group hangout! by another friend of mine<3 i haven’t read this but i trust michael’s depictions of gender.

17. centreing [oneshot, complete, HirilElfwraith]

this is about closeted nonbinary jon, but it’s about how he’s actually alright with that and he’s comfortable with himself; he microdosed E in uni, but kept it to himself and is reflecting happily on it! which is honestly a very worthy narrative, as well. i may not write him ever physically transitioning at all myself, but i REALLY respect this take on it and i LOVE to see it.

18. Time to think, to live [multichap, complete, Kitkire]

new addition! it does mention some experiences with transphobia and dysphoria, but this is about jon discovering some stuff with martin during safehouse time!

overall, there are a fair amount of discovery fics for jon out there, i just. don’t tend to read many because they often go with the transmasc jon route and? not my cup of tea, like, at all. but these all seem lovely, and i hope you like them!

though i will say that i. find it kind of uncomfortable that almost all of these are about jon, but there is... virtually nothing for the canon women in the podcast. at all? there’s nothing in this fandom for the girls in general, but like. i’m obviously all for nb jon, but if you’re going to write transfems... you should be thinking about the women who are already there, mate.

this is the link to what i filtered before when searching to try and make it safe; there’s only 11 in here, and some of them are just, not heavily focused on being transfem or anything so i’m not sure what your feelings are.

but here are a few last ditch efforts dfkfhdkjh i am so sorry there are only two that i hadn’t already listed, wasn’t immediately put off by, or that weren’t more focused on someone else.

19. did it hurt (when you fell from heaven)? [multichap, ongoing, Haberdashing]

i haven’t read this one, but i asked a friend to check it out, and they said it’s sweet so far! it’s urban fantasy T4T tim/sasha, and i’m always interested in anything that also incorporates chronic pain into it tbh.

20. avatar groupchat (chapter 20) [multichap, ongoing, gayprophets]

each chapter of this is kind of a stand-alone, so you CAN skip around. it has great reviews and is certifiably hysterical. chapter 20 is like... you know how when you’re trans & talking with friends who are also trans? the chapter isn’t about that necessarily, but it does come up a few times.

also, the whole fic is rated M but it’s just for brief scattered jokes, and there are none that i can see in that chapter in particular.

the trans melanie fics in the search consist of a jonmartin baseball au that doesn’t put any focus on her (angel didn’t even remember her being trans in it, and after skimming there’s only one vague mention), and a really small wtgfs drabble that has zero mention of her being trans, so i didn’t put them here but you can always peek them anyway. not problematic, just not relevant!

sometimes i hesitate to look at people’s trans melanie content in general because it can get dicey in the sense of “why do you see her as trans” given her canon connection to violence, but! i know that it can be done beautifully (namely by transfems) but if you come at it with a focus on her arc about healing, recovery, putting up boundaries, removing herself from situations that hurt her, it has the potential to be so good and i know that max @femmedionysus is going to be writing fic about that for @melaniemonth this upcoming april! keep an eye out for that! i trust max with my life and with my wife.

ADDITION: seraf also writes transfem butch georgie and transmasc femme melanie and that may also come up during april!!!!!!!! it’s AMAZING. those are SUCH cool things to explore, especially considering the “contradictions” most people perceive in those words before really thinking about it. also keep an eye out for that!

g-d, i’m so genuinely disheartened by the ratio here. i don’t mean to sound so defeatist, but i think acknowledging the scarcity here (to anyone else who may have clicked on this, not you, juliet, who has already gone through the search yourself) is important. i’ve contributed to it myself, even if all of my m/m content includes transfem nb guys in some capacity. i need to write more of the girls!

i hope saying this is just an encouragement to write more things you haven’t explored yet, and experience the joy in that!

but back to juliet: there is also always the possibility that people haven’t used that tag/didn’t tag it at all! that does lead me to believe it wouldn’t have been a focal point anyway, but i know i’ve forgotten before, too. maybe if you search “trans [character]” individually you might find stuff, too! that’s how i tagged sasha in mine before i realized i should put it in the broader tag, as well.

either way, i really hope that there’s at least one thing on here that you haven’t already read. i’m glad to see you’re still around, i hope you’ve been well! 🧡

if anyone has other fic recs with a focus on transfem characters that explore their experience that i missed, please link it in the replies!

but keep in mind the parameters by which i narrowed these down to begin with. if you rec proship content, i will throw rocks at you. love and light <3

#fic rec #juliet #anon #asks #the magnus archives #tma #transmisogyny tw #just because i bitch a little about the lack of visibility and how much that sucks :'-)

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spacestationdaedalus · 3 years

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soft tma prompt #5 - you always know how to make me smile

my first soft tma prompt that isn’t jm! featuring pre-canon Jon and Tim friendship. cw for minor injury and brief mentions of blood.

ao3 link here!

...

When Tim makes his first trip down to the Archives, Jon is losing a battle against his new office door. Which is to say, they're off to a great start. He also has a stack of papers pinched between his lips, both hands occupied with the old set of keys and the tarnished door knob.

"Whatcha got there, Boss?"

Jon makes a little mmm around the papers before pulling them from his mouth. "Just some paperwork I picked up from Rosie. I believe she has some for you and Sasha as well."

Tim was referring to the door and it's distinct lack of opening, but that works, too. The wry grin slides easily across his face, and he can't resist giving Jon just a little bit of a hard time.

"What, you couldn't have picked it up for us while you were up there?"

Jon sputters, bits of his careful professionalism lost between breaks in his words. "Ah- I didn't, uh, I didn't think-"

Tim raises his hands in what he hopes is a placating sort of gesture. "Hey, hey- relax, Jon. I'm just teasing. I have to get the rest of my stuff from upstairs anyway."

Jon lets out a breath, and then- "What, you haven't killed that desk plant of yours yet?"

Oh, the bastard. Tim still doesn't know how he holds that deadpan so well. Although he swears he can see the barest, faintest hint of an expression at the corner of his mouth.

Tim squares up his shoulders, dramatic, in an effort to turn that hint into something more. "No, Jon. Jonathan is doing wonderfully, I'll have you know. I think his complexion is better than yours."

Jon's expression morphs into a proper scowl. "I told you not to name that damn thing after me."

"I can't just change his name, Jon! He already knows what it is."

The frown lines deepen around Jon's mouth, which for some people would be the opposite of a smile. But not for Jon. Not as long as Tim had known him. It's more...tangential, really.

Tim lets him off the hook for a reply, and sighs. "Although the lack of, uh, windows down here might make things a bit tricky."

Jon is still eyeing him with that characteristic glare, but he nods. Not quite sympathetically but something close to it. "Right. It is a little… hmm. Dim. But I'm sure you'll figure something out."

Tim extends a hand for the papers, and Jon passes them over with a muttered thank you as he fumbles with the keys once more. After a few moments Tim considers offering to try, because quite frankly it's starting to get painful, when a dry and rusty click comes from inside the lock.

"Ah! Finally, the damn thing-" Jon mutters to himself. He turns the knob, and with a confidence and finality he'll soon regret, walks face first into the still-closed and very solid office door.

Tim is a lot of things, but a liar isn't one of them. And he would be lying if he said he didn't laugh - although mostly from the shock of it, and only for a split second before it morphs into a sympathetic wince.

"Oh, christ- are you alright?"

Jon's eyes are squeezed shut, hand over his face for a second too long, and Tim knows he's actually hurt something. He tries to wave him off with his free hand, a punched out hiss of I'm alright, it's nothing, but Tim isn't having it. He puts a hand on Jon's shoulder, feather-light, something Jon could shrug off if he wanted to - which he does, most of the time, and Tim respects that - but Jon seems to allow it. Tim wants to take that as a win, but now, it might be more of a bad sign than anything.

"There's a break room down here, right?"

Jon nods tightly, gesturing down the hall. The irony of Tim leading the way when it's his first time down here isn't lost on him, especially given his, rather fraught history with directions. But it's not a large Archive. They find the break room easy enough, a dingy thing with a small table and kitchenette. Tim thinks it looks like something out of his great aunt's house, and it’s probably just as old as she is. But it'll have to do.

"Really, Tim, i-it's alright-" Jon manages as he sits down in one of the rickety chairs. Tim isn't inclined to believe him, and the new trail of blood dripping slowly from below Jon's fingers only cements his resolve.

The fridge may be pathetically empty, but the freezer does have ice, which is more than Tim could have hoped for. He finds some napkins in the cabinet as well, and passes them over to Jon. He takes them, leaning his head back-

"Woah, woah, hey - make sure you lean forward, Jon."

Jon levels a stare at him from across the table, around his hand. "Thank you, Tim, but I do know you're supposed to lean your head back when your nose is bleeding."

"Yeah, if you want to choke on your own blood." This man is going to be the death of him, Tim is certain. "I'll bet you twenty pounds you're supposed to keep your head forward."

Jon eyes him for another moment, and sighs, before leaning forward over the table.

"Fine. But it's coming out of your paycheck."

The quip surprises him, and Tim barks out a laugh as he wraps a handful of ice cubes in a layer of cheap napkins. Not the best solution, but it's the one he has. "Area man loses all financial benefits of promotion by making terrible bets with his employees."

Jon makes a strangled sort of sound, and Tim panics for a moment before he realizes it's a laugh. Well, not quite a laugh. Jon doesn't really do that. But it is a chuckle, and a pleased smile spreads across Tim's face as he passes Jon the makeshift ice pack. He'll take it.

…

"What should we tell Sasha?"

"What are you on about, Tim?"

"We gotta come up with something good. Adventurous. Like, you fought something off in Artefact Storage."

"Tim-"

"You got in a bar fight."

"For some reason I don't think she'll believe me."

"Stopped an armed robbery."

"That's worse, somehow."

"Oh, I'm sure we'll think of something before she's back in tomorrow."

"Hmm."

"And make sure you keep ice on that!"

"Yes, yes, alright."

And then, quieter. "Thank you, Tim."

#the magnus archives #tma #tim stoker #jonathan sims #tma fics #soft tma prompts #my writing #cw blood

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yellowvixen · 3 years

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Small update, my 4th year at uni is starting and everything is a bit hectic so I’ll be posting art a lot less frequently than I have been for the past few months. Still drawing tho! I have two tma pieces on the go for a big bang, I want to draw more hfth stuff and I even have some landscape studies that I might post soon! But if I disappear for long stretches of time, it’s bc of uni.

Hope everyone’s having a little less stressful time than me lol

#i'll be fine but ghjkfhgkg #vixentalks

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ieatmypizzawithaforkandknife · 3 years

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TMA: Episode 4, “Page Turner”

Summary: Jonathan reads the statement of Dominic Swain, regarding “a book briefly in his possession in the winter of 2012.”

And now things are getting good. We’ve finally hit things that even I can tell are going to be part of the larger plot - specifically, the introduction of Jurgen Leitner. I am incredibly curious about the 1994 “incident” Jonathan mentions at the end of the episode that lead him to believe all the Leitner books had been “dealt with” (although with all the shady af stuff going on I wouldn’t be surprised if he was intentionally mislead to believe that). The most unsettling thing for me in this episode, as it always is, was the body horror - as soon as Dominic described the binding as possibly “real leather, probably calf”, I had an intense reaction of Put That Thing Back Where It Came From Or So Help Me. The details about Mary’s tattooed vs. untattooed skin and her murder were entirely unnecessary, my mind had already supplied all the detail I needed, thank you very much.

However, I was very happy that not immediately putting the book down and leaving that shop was probably the only really dumb move Dominic made in this story. He immediately tried researching the title and the name in the nameplate, he consulted some booksellers, he researched Mary and Jared Key as soon as he could. He made all the right choices (besides that first one) to lead him to surviving this incident not only unscathed but, honestly, better off than before (since he got a couple thousand pounds out of it at the end).

When I first noticed that so many of the protagonists were surviving these seemingly perilous stories, I was actually a little put off, because doesn’t that mean that things aren’t actually as perilous as they seem? Then I remembered survivorship bias (which I first heard about here on tumblr in that post about WWII planes - who ever said tumblr isn’t educational?). Which puts everything in an entirely different light, because if someone needs to survive the incident in order to make the statement, then how many more paranormal things are happening that the Archive (and the audience) have no idea about? Half a dozen people went missing in the “anglerfish” episode, and we wouldn’t have heard of a single one of them if it weren’t for that one guy who did survive. Not a comforting thought.

There were so many little clues and interesting tidbits in this episode that I don’t know if I’ll remember to mention everything (and I’m sure I missed noticing some). The first one that comes to mind is that eBay listing - in 2007, for “Key of Solomon, 1863, owned by MacGregor Mathers and Jurgen Leitner”, sold to deactivated user GRBookworm1818. I started a timeline of events and I’m earmarking 1863, even though I have no idea what the significance of “Key of Solomon” or MacGregor Mathers is yet. I’m thinking the deactivated eBay user has to be someone from the Institute, since it was founded in 1818 (according to Jonathan in the first episode), but “GR”? No clue. Also, if it was someone from the Institute, then that means someone there knew there were still Leitners floating around post-1994. I don’t like it. I don’t like any of it. (Edit, like, 10 minutes after posting this: I’m a fucking idiot. GR is Gertrude Robinson. This sucks.)

This is the second episode that I recall where the protagonist has some kind of sleep disturbance - the first one was episode 2, “Do Not Open”, where the protagonist started sleepwalking because of the creepy coffin in his living room. This could just be a general “dreams/sleep disturbances” theme found in horror stories, but it’s coupled in both cases with the protagonist becoming preoccupied mentally by the thing that we’re led to believe is causing their sleep disturbance. So it’s interesting.

This is the first episode that I recall with “eye” imagery. Unfortunately it’s hard to avoid THAT as a spoiler, so of course I’ve been keeping an eye out for it. (Get it? Get it?) There was a detailed picture of an eye on the wall in Mary Key’s apartment with a cryptic message below it: “Grant us the sight that we may not know. Grant us the scent that we may not catch. Grant us the sound that we may not call.” No clue how that’s going to come back to haunt us, but I’m sure it will.

This is the second time we’ve seen Latin in connection with the paranormal (the first being the three words in the trailers) and the first time we’ve seen Sanskrit. I don’t have anything else to say about it - I just get excited any time fiction breaks out the dead languages. I want to say it’s going somewhere, but that could always just be wishful thinking.

I think I’ll end it there. There was just a TON to this episode and it’s probably the reason I’m doing these posts at all. Hope anyone reading this is enjoying it and as always feel free to jump in with non-spoilers as you wish!

#personal #liveblogging #is this liveblogging?#The Magnus Archives

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feathered-serpents · 4 years

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Alright so here’s my In Depth Critic Hat post

Note: I’m talking about story structure stuff not in text implications or more meta problems just so you know before diving in

I’m disappointed that this episode was a Flesh episode and not because Flesh is my least favorite fear, but because it’s a repeat of a previous domain and it means we’re probably gonna repeat domains for awhile. I had it so solidly in my head that we were gonna hit 180, and that would be the Eye’s domain, and then the format would be different for the rest of the season. I’ve been proved wrong I think- 180 will probably be Daisy stuff, not Elias stuff.

This is not Jonny’s fault! This is totally my expectations that I built up and I’m aware of that. Also I think- I’m gonna say it, I miss the old format. Not that I haven’t loved episodes this season, I have! Pretty much every episode in the 160s I adored, and I ADORED 170 not only because it was all about Martin, but also because it was the closest to the old format: First person. A person talking about themselves and their experiences. Which is what made me fall in love with TMA in the first place

I do get that season 5 is about fear made manifest and it makes sense contextually to change up the format, but I do miss the old format and basically I just wanted to see it again. I think we probably will, but just not as soon as I was hoping

There is an upside though! Repeating domains means we’ll get to see multiple ways in which these fears make themselves manifest, and that makes me excited. That is going to be super cool. So I’ll get over my disappointment, but I did want to just get it off my chest for a moment

#tma #tma spoilers

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magnusartandfactsstorage · 4 years

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I am embodying the title of my blog aka I finished TMA and I’m finally all caught up :D (and my guesses for S5 plot)

Oops so I didn’t journal or art a few days because of school and work things. With lots of projects coming up, I’ll probs be dormant for some days bc life things as well, but I’ll be back with more art things and more posts soon!

But WOW what an ending to season 4 and all the adventure that is Season 5. Elias straight up played up Jon like a whistle in EP160, and as much as we all know EliasJonah is a complete pile of evil, my reaction during the S4 finale was lots of screaming followed by “THAT WAS SMOOTH AS F*CK”.

Going into S5, I was happy to know that Daisy is Most Likely Not Dead, though being taken over the Hunt is certainly “not ideal”, and I hope Daisy gets Good Things in this season. Its definitely going to be quite an adventure of a season, with lots of walking. For any RWBY fans out there, I just hope it won’t be like S4/S5 with lots of walking and talking lmao, but I have pretty good faith and Jonny and Co. to give us some spicy stories. Also I loved EPs157&164 for their Annihilation Vibes. Also EP161 reminds me how much Sasha was my fave and I had really hoped that she was going to do lots of cool stuff and now Gertrude just makes me make headcanons of Archivist Sasha.

Also, shoutout to @toomanyhandbones making me start TMA on a deal with them, it’s been fun and now I get to experience TMA withdrawal in the 6 days between episodes like the rest of y’all. Also I am enjoying the fact that I can actually see their posts and TMA memes now bc I don’t have to worry about spoilers. Also its cool having someone to talk about headcanon and wild guesses for S5 :D

^^In terms of wild guesses, for the record this is my theory for S5: Jon was able to move the entities into our world, and we hear that the entities can’t go back to where they were before. My guess on saving the world involves Jon needing to sacrifice himself by dragging himself and all the Fears into the Lonely, because that seems to be the only plausible place for the fears to go. The only fear that remains is the Lonely, with the poignant moral being that the only way to defeat this remaining fear is through connecting with other people and building community.

#the magnus archives #tma #journal #tma s5 predictions #tma s5

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yaboyspodcastpalace · 5 years

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I was tagged by @flammenkobold and @iamalivenow, thanks you two !!

Author Name:

Taniushka12, as always

Fandoms You Write For:

I mean, right now only magnus archives, but i also have some wolf359 and a lot of old haikyuu fics in there

Where You Post:

ao3

Most Popular Multi-Chapter Story:

eeeeeeh, also from hq, Long Live The King w/ 10 kudos, an oiyams story where i take fhq and make it Interesting lmao

Favourite Story You Wrote:

!! Long live the king is one of my top stories even if I never finished it, I created pages of lore and stuff for it!! hq aside, from wolf 359 it would be Close your eyes and I'll kiss you. Tomorrow I'll miss you (a minffel fic) and If Jesus had the power then so do I (To rise up from the dead and take up to the sky) (a cutter centric fic)

for tma id say The dance of the spider and the flame (a timartin / jontimartin w/ web!martin and desolation!tim where those two cuddle and also think abt killing elias) and A moment of peace and quiet (a jonsasha right after she gives her statement abt michael u_u)

Story You Were Nervous to Post:

like... all of them? being a fic writer when the mayor fanbase speaks english and english isnt your first language is very discouraging

How Do You Pick Your Titles:

sometimes song lyrics, sometimes cool phrases i think in the moment

Do You Outline:

LMAO no........... sometimes? with one shots i kinda have it all seen in my mind and hope ill remember when i eventually sit down to write it (spoiler generally i dont) but the few times i want to write something longer than a one shot then yeah i try to do... some sort of outline

How Many of Your Stories are complete:

from 43 tma drafts i have... 8 posted (id say 11 finished tho, bc theres three drafts that i finished but idk if i should post them or not yknow)

In-Progress:

WELL, rn these are all the drafts i jump on when i have a flicker of inspo/motivation:

story of the sailor and the merchant: a lonely trinkets fic :))))))))

dear mom (with love): some lonely!martin angst

i’ll give you my heart baby (hope it tastes good): flesh!timartin smut

a little pause: jontimsasha fluff 😔✊

give me hope in silence (it’s easier, it’s kinder): tender jontim the night before the unknowing

shave: petermartin w/ sharp razors, need i say more?

Coming Soon:

hmm probably Punto Caramelo, yet another desolation!martin fic for the pile, this time martin having a hard time w/ strong emotions and telling jon that he only cares abt him bc hes the only one whos left “alive” from the og crew (and his least favorite)

bc im a self indulgent asshole and really enjoy martin hurting ppl and Specially Jon :^)

Do You Accept Prompts:

eeeeeh...... honestly i only write for p specific ships bc i have p low motivation, but if anyone has a prompt w/ said ships then Please hit me up !! :D

Upcoming Story You’re the Most Excited For:

right now story of the sailor and the mechant babey!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! i need more salesa!!!!! more peter/salesa!!!!!!

Tag Five Fanfic Authors to Answer These Questions

@fataldrum, @cuttoothed, @madmaudlingoes, @mymomanddadaregonnabesomadatme and anyone else who wants to do it :))

#thank you !!!#statement ends #gosh i really wanna finish more of my fics.... i have good fics....

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looseinthecatroom · 6 years

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This “live” blog (or just reaction in that case I suppose?) under the cut and in one post because this ain’t a fandom where we can have spoilers and thoughts running around willy nilly so soon after an episode comes out!

- Poor sweet Jon. Poor confused detonator losing disaster. Better hope that slight immunity to The Unknowing you get from vague archivist powers kicks in soon.

- “ ’Ello Daisy!”

Here it comes! I don’t know what “it” is! But something very bad is definitely going to happen to one of you! Personally my bet’s on Breekon and Hope getting their asses kicked in.

- Roughly 20 seconds later:

*Horrific strangulation noises and Daisy laughing manically.*

Eyuuup.

- Diiiid Basira just whoop Tim’s angry little butt like it was nothing out of self defense or am I misreading that and Tim just landed a pretty weak hit which then confused her?

I choose to believe that she just whooped his butt personally.

- “Ohhhh! You caught me! I’m...... Sasha!”

I fucking love Nikola.

- Issssn’t going so deep as to not know what a hand, or a gun, or what have you, is anymore kind of a teensy bit right of center for the Stranger? It feels more Spiral then Stranger to me at least as I/we understand them right now.

‘Course I’ll be the first to tell you that the overlap between entitys is hella common and hella intentional given how little we/humanity is supposed to understand about them / roll my eyes when someone’s trying way too hard to fit something within a statement super neatly into a single powers domain, sooooo. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

- “Pathetic.”

My ass:

- =( Gertrude (/Nikola. Obviously ~Is it partially her? Is it in no way actually her opinion? Who knoooows?~ is intentional.) leave the failure boy be. You were head archivist for 50 years if I recall. He’s got time. Weak sauce taunt Gertrude/Nikola.

- LOVE the chewy symbology to dig into in how Nikola’s voice isn’t present for for the last “This is your fault!” of their guilt trip.

-Leitner: “Before you left me to get my head bashed in”

by a brutal extended pipe murder. Finish the sentence Leitner. Any excuse to use that phrase again is a good one.

-Leitner: ”But you’ve somehow managed to fit more bad decisions into two years then I did in a lifetime!”

Oh. My poor self hating disaster archivist. That one isn’t even remotely true AND I doubt even Jon would be thick enough to believe it without the Unknowing’s influence. =‘(

Also he knows who Jurgen is without any prompting at all so.... time seems to be nearly up for keeping him confused Nikola. >.>

- OH! Duh! Daisy has “vague servant of an entity powers” herself too. Thanks for that Hunt and/or Slaughter. That’s why she’s a bit more on the ball then the others. Nearly forgot about that till he called her an animal.

- “Almost a shame you don’t know your own coffin. But you will.”

- Basira is back sans angry Tim. She did in fact clock him.

- Listening to Basira puzzle stuff out makes me think that Melanie and Martin were back benched for this one because writing wise it would have given us way too much insight into the soul of their character and the way they function under real pressure for right now. I’m all for more character development for those two. Like probably more then any of the other assistants, but yeah, it doesn’t feel like the right time for it (Particularly for Martin) with all the other shit going on right now.

The last thing Martin needs right this instant is a do or die situation AND also Jon almost certainly wouldn’t kill him off without resolving the crush plot line / just more of his character in general so... yeah. No Martin in THE center of the action this time.

- Jon: “I see you...”

AYYE there it is. Time’s up girl.

- “Sarah”: ”Probably the Hunters idea. She killed one of the courier's.”

Time to drop that /Slaughter part apparently. Hunt it is.

- Ohh. Oh. I DO like what the avatars bickering with each other tells us about how close they are (well, aren’t then) to the pure ideal of the Stranger.

- Ok. Or Tim just ran off confused to go maul someone else.

- “Shall I?”

Oh hell yeah. Good audio is good.

Also? “My asshole boss”?

Aye Tim. Yeesh.

You know, Mike LeBeau’s comment about wanting to just slap Tim sometimes is hella relatable, and I was glad that even his actor is definitely feeling it this arc. >.>

If Martin weren’t Martin (pushover) and Jon weren’t Jon (piss self esteem) Tim probably wouldn’t have gotten this far along his “Jon’s a dick (Or even still properly your boss tbh) and not a victim (a paranoid disaster, but a victim) here” train of thought.

- SO

Soooo...

Kaboom.

Well Basira ran away given her last bit.

Daisy is in a probably explosion proof coffin, and either safe for now or very much already dead/worse then dead, so that’s her sorted.

Jon and Tim? They’re in the same room. Now. Jon’s not going to die yet probably. Yeah it COULD be that kind of show. I definitely don’t want to tempt fate here, but I just don’t see Johnny killing him off just yet for a whole buncha reasons unless it IS that kind of show, and they really need that gut punch to work with. (pls no. thx)

Soooo... the slightly deus ex machina of a power of some sort intervening to save him? Elias using yet unknown Beholding powers to save him? Another power’s avatar pulling his ass out of the fire again? At least it probably won’t be Helen, a.k.a. the one who usually shows up to save him, because having him rescued from this exact building by powers twice would be a bit bland, let alone by the SAME power twice. So who knows.

OH, know what WOULD be a good path to head down and not feel to arbitrary OR repetitive??

Mr. Spider to the rescue? >.>

Learn some stuff about the Web maybe? Could be a thing. Could not be a thing. Wouldn’t be a BAD time to start off/set up more Web plot lines by any means.

At any rate, imma have to guess that some fun / not as used / maybe mostly new plot line is about to get some love, because bitch, I don’t see any other smart way out for these nerds. >3>

(Of course, I might have missed something. Some clever escape setup that was already there within the current arc’s plot lines. It IS TMA after all. =p)

#the magnus archives #the magnus archives spoilers #spoilers #the magnus archives liveblog #the magnus archives: stranger and stranger #mag 119

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rosy-cheekx · 3 years

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“You’re such a dork.” for the emotional writing prompts! I don't know anything about critical role, really, so for TMA :)

I spy, with my little eye, Bryce’s attempts to shove her own interests into her fics. Anyways, I am an American in college so I was basing this on my own experiences oops. Enjoy!

Date night was Wednesday evenings. Jon and Martin both found it preferable for a variety of reasons; it was the most likely nights for happy hours at the pubs in town, guaranteeing a cheap drink, and keeping to a weekday night minimized the chance of Jon seeing one of his students out. He hated seeing his students. Not that he hated them of course, he really rather liked them…not that they would ever know that. Being a professor, of parapsychology of all things, was rather rewarding. He knew the content inside and out (it felt good, using the mark of The Eye to actively work against it, to pass along information instead of consuming). And they didn’t seem to mind him either.

That was the thing about university students. They really didn’t care about who he was or where he came from. The fact that he was a scrawny, scarred Englishman in a lecture hall in Scotland didn’t matter to them. In the classroom, all they cared was whether he taught the material well (he did) and was kind to those with late assignments (he was. He had been a university student once too; he remembered the anxiety and depression that took him and his mates in waves). He was a good professor; Jon knew that objectively in the marks his students received. But in the subjective? His student had decided they liked him.

This had dawned on him at the end of his first semester; when he was inundated with emails of sincere thank-you for a great semester, for being such a helpful teacher, for taking the time to help review, et cetera. Martin had grinned at him, poking a tongue out his mouth and making some remark about teacher’s pets coming full circle (Jon was never a teacher’s pet though. He had always asked too many questions. He welcomed those questions with open arms now, to be the teacher he hadn’t had.)

The next semester it had been more obvious that students liked him now that he knew where to look. It was in the open “good-mornings” and questions about his weekend plans, and in the fact that he had the best attendance records of his department. It was in the way they asked genuine questions about his material and the waitlists miles long to get into his sections. Later on, it was in the gentle ribbings about his looking tired and the grey hairs even as they celebrated his fortieth birthday with him, bringing in cupcakes and sneaking in between lectures to decorate his office and the sincere questions over his scars, his life, his relationship with Martin (his introductory lecture always featured Martin and Her Regency, their thick orange tabby). To make eight wonderful semesters short, he was familiar with his students, and they weren’t afraid to be familiar back. Which was wonderful in the classroom and all, but not when he was trying have a relaxing evening with his husband.

Which brings them back to Wednesdays. Wednesdays were the days least likely to have students out in town, he had learned from Dr. Kerrigan, the positive psych professor, because Thirsty Thursdays started off the weekend’s partying and drinking for the undergraduates. Wednesday was the day students, in theory, buckled down to finish homework and give themselves a free weekend.

So here they were, Martin in a collared shirt, printed with tiny flowers, and jeans, hair bleached white from the Lonely and curling softly at his temples; Jon in a slouchy ribbed turtleneck and high-waisted pants, his own thick curls half-piled atop his head. Jon was listening intently as Martin spoke animatedly, talking about his own day as a guidance counselor at the local primary school.

“…and I swear Jon, if it wasn’t bad enough that Kimmy has decided never to speak to Lawrence again, now Lawrence has confided in me that he is positively in love with her.”

“Did he say that verbatim? In love, I mean.”

“I mean, no, but he said he was willing to give her all his Squishmallows for a playdate. Squishmallows. That’s real eight-year-old commitment, right there.”

Jon barked out a laugh and put on a puppy-eyed expression, grinning all the while. “Martin Blackwood, do you hereby take Jonathan Sim’s stuffed animals, to have and to ho-”

A gentle swat to the knee with Martin’s shoe cut Jon off. “Oi! Respect my children. They may be fools but its not their faults their brains aren’t developed yet. And yes, I know, ‘they’re not developed ‘til twenty-five and you can argue that your students’ brains aren’t developed either.’ But it’s different. They’re babies.”

“And I’m the All-Knowing One,” Jon mused thoughtfully around a forkful of food, earning him another love-filled kick.

“Speaking of,” Martin pointed to Jon with his glass, eyeing him deliberately. “Midterms next week, yeah? How do you think it’ll go?”

Jon shrugged, scratching at the back of his neck. “Alright, I hope. First exam went well but could’ve been better. I’m worried about Avonni, honestly, he’s nodded off a few times in class and I’m not confident he has someone to get the material from.”

“He has you.” A pointed, snow-white eyebrow.

“Right, but sometimes students don’t want to ask for notes because they think I’ll say no. Maybe I should email him. Speaking of email! Did I tell you what Suzanne sent out?”

“Oh no, what?”

They carried on like this through their meal and into dessert, and not for the first time Jon was struck by the sheer normalcy of it all. His greatest concerns were Suzanne’s passive-aggressive emails and his students, not the inevitable destruction of reality as they knew it to be. They were scarred, inside and out, everyone who had escaped The Magnus Institute was, but they were safe and free and happy. In defiance of everything that had happened to and because of them.

“Dr. Sims!”

Uh oh. Spoke too soon.

Bite of lava cake halfway to his mouth, Jon squeezed his eyes shut, rolling his eyes back in his head and willing there to be another professor with the surname Sims in the restaurant. When he opened his eyes, Martin was valiantly trying to suppress a smile as he eyed something, someone, over his head. Jon twisted awkwardly in his seat to see—

“Parker. What a surprise.” His voice was warm but carefully measured, and the dark-skinned boy waved, shit-eating grin on his face. “I have told you that you can call me Jon.”

“Yeah, I know, but you earned that doctorate! And “Doctor Jon” sounds awful, like you should have your own show or something.”

He hadn’t earned that doctorate, actually, but Martin’s expertise in lying and the disastrous apocalypse that had left everyone disoriented meant it had been easy to exaggerate some of Jon’s CV and manufacture a fake diploma.

“I do have my own show. Monday and Wednesday mornings, where I teach a bunch of caffeinated undergrads parapsychology,” Jon replied easily. “You’re welcome to tune in.” He liked Parker; he was a bit of a class clown, liked to ask off-topic questions or pretend to sneak a look at Jon’s answer sheets, but he was sharp and knew his stuff. Jon respected that. He reminded Jon of someone he dearly missed.

But Parker had already turned his attention to Martin, who was watching the interaction with mirth in his eyes. “Hello sir! I’m Parker McMichael, Jon’s favorite student.” Martin shook the extended hand and nodded in mock seriousness.

“Of course. Pleasure to finally meet you. Are you the one with the essay on ESP or the one on psychokinesis?”

“Neither,” Parker shook his head proudly, short dreads swaying gently with the movement. “The Validity and Continuity of Near-Death Experiences,” he made a mock marquee with his hands, arching curved fingers to indicate the title hanging in the air. “Researching any consistencies in near-death experiences stories, whether they’re legitimate, and what they mean if they are. But-” Parker shook his head and turned his attention back to Jon. “That’s not why I’m interrupting.” He took his phone out of pocket idly as he spoke. “I’m afraid I’ve come to settle a dispute among the 11 a.m. section.”

Oh no.

The Ceaseless Watcher whispered to him, unbidden, the dispute in question. Jon generally knew how to suppress the powers, and they were weaker than they had been, once upon a time, but when he’s caught off guard with the desire to know, to Know, it could still overtake him.

“This you?” A blurry screenshot of a Youtube video is shoved under his nose, a part of a text chain titled Sim’s Spoopy Spirits, captioned by many text bubbles expressing disbelief and objections and a variety of emojis. Jon took the phone and examined it, the truth already sure in his chest. Yes, that was him, dressed in his Jonny d’Ville costume, eyeliner streaked and eyes closed, mid-ballad. God, he wished he could be rid of those Youtube videos.

Jon’s gaping silence must have been enough of an answer for Parker because he whooped a little too loudly for the restaurant they were in and pumped his fist to his chest before typing very quickly on his phone. “I knew it! Take that Sabina,” he was mumbling to himself, lost in his texts for a moment.

Martin took the opportunity to clear his throat. “Sorry, uh, no one’s asked so I will. How did you know to look for him-us-here?” Jon frowned, He hadn’t thought about that.

“Oh, a couple of my mates work here and mentioned seeing Dr. Sims and his husband here a lot on Wednesdays and I dunno about you so much, but Dr. Sims is pretty habitual. Figured it was as good a guess as any. Some things can’t wait til Monday.”

“..an email. Parker. You could’ve sent me an email.” Fingers ran over scarred face, as if he could wipe the irritation (and Martin’s poorly-hidden laugh) from existence.

“But then I couldn’t do this.” His phone was back up again, level with his own face and he twisted so both his own and Jon’s faces were in the shot. “I’m here at 7:02 pm on Wednesday the 26, here to make a very important announcement,” Parker spoke to the camera with confidence. “Dr. Sims just confirmed to me that he is the one, the only, Jonny d’Ville.” Parker held the camera to Jon’s voice. “Anything to say to your adoring fans?”

Jon sighed and tugged on an errant curl. “Don’t forget, reading due Monday.” He wasn’t genuinely upset with Parker, just filled with fond embarrassment.

Parker sent the video off and clapped the back of Jon’s chair. “Well, Dr. D’Ville, its been a pleasure. Everyone’s really excited to get a confirmation on your status of coolest teacher. Any plans for the evening?”

Jon sighed through his lower lip, stray curls framing his scalp flying upward in the sudden burst of wind. “Watching a documentary and trying to forget—wait. What?”

“Oh yeah no, everyone thinks it’s badass. You’ve got a super nice voice and the stories you told were really interesting, if a little buckwild.”

Jon felt his cheeks flush and Martin grinned slyly at him from across the table. “Y-Yes. I guess we were rather good.”

Parker gave his farewells and Jon’s shoulders sagged (he had immediately righted his posture on seeing Parker, his grandmother’s voice in his ear reminding him of his manners), turning his full attention back to his husband. Martin had maintained that grin and was eyeing him intensely, like he expected Jon to say something.

“What, Martin?”

“God, you’re such a dork.” The words were soft, expression fond, and Jon could feel the radiation of unadulterated love Martin gave off in his smile, the one only ever used for Jon. “You really love your students, don’t you? You know how much they love you, right?”

Jon grumbled, but he couldn’t quite sweep the smile off his face either as their waiter made his way over with their check.

“No comment. But we are switching to Tuesday date nights.”

#tma #tma fanfic #the magnus archives #prompts #date night #jmart #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #fanfic to a tea

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ollieofthebeholder · 3 years

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leaves too high to touch (roots too strong to fall): a TMA fanfic

Read from the beginning on Tumblr || Also on AO3

Chapter 47: Jon Prime

Jon awoke abruptly from a sound sleep and sat up before he thought about it. Martin mumbled something and shifted against him, but didn’t otherwise stir. Jon bent over to kiss his temple in wordless apology, then carefully extricated himself from his fiancé’s arms, picked up the torch, and moved silently over to the door. Something had roused him, he didn’t know what, but he’d be damned if he let it get to Martin. Clicking the torch off so as not to alert whoever or whatever might be out there, he put a hand on the knob, counted silently to three, and yanked the door open.

The first thing he registered was the beam of light playing on the wall opposite. The second thing was the person holding it. “Melanie?”

Melanie swung around and accidentally—or at least Jon presumed it was an accident—shone the torch directly in Jon’s eyes. He yelped and tried to protect his eyes. “Oh, God, sorry, sorry!”

“Jon?” Martin’s voice from behind him was worried, even through the fuzzy half-awake

“It’s all right, Martin. It’s Melanie.” Jon barely managed to keep from saying it’s only Melanie, which would have been a sure way to infuriate her. “It’s safe. Go back to sleep.”

“I didn’t mean to wake you up,” Melanie said. She actually sounded like she meant it. “I didn’t—know you were still out. It’s almost lunchtime.”

Jon stepped out of the little room and closed the door behind him, hoping Martin would be able to get back to sleep. They’d had a rough night, for reasons he really ought to tell Martin but hadn’t admitted yet, and he needed his rest. “We’re living underground, Melanie. And most of what we do aboveground we have to after hours, to keep hidden. We keep a bit of odd hours. It’s fine. Is something wrong?”

“No, not really. If I’d known you were still asleep, I’d probably have tried to wait.” Melanie waved what was in her off hand at him, and Jon’s eyes locked onto it. A statement, and from the sharp hunger that lanced through him, a real one. “It’s just—they’re all trying to restrict themselves to one statement a week, you know? Martin told me he and Tim talked to Jon last night, and he’s getting too dependent on the statements. Like, he went too long without one and got really sick.”

Jon sighed heavily. “I was afraid of that. I really thought they were monitoring things better…and I’m sure it wasn’t this bad this quickly for me.”

“Yeah, well, apparently Snoop God doesn’t think patience is a virtue. Anyway, he’s all right now, but nobody else wants to get that bad, so they’re trying to…”

“Restrict their caloric intake?”

“Basically, yeah.” Melanie smirked at him, but the smile faded almost instantly. “Sasha took a statement live last week before she went home for the week. Tim took one on Thursday. Martin took Georgie’s last week and recorded another real one yesterday. Then we found this one today.” She hesitated. “I was going to read it, but everyone’s…pretty unanimous that I shouldn’t.”

“They’re right. As soon as you start reading them aloud—I mean, just reading them to yourself, just working on them, is going to be bad enough, but reading them aloud will just tie you more and more to the Eye.” Jon cocked his head at Melanie. “So what are you doing down here? Trying to sneak past and read it with no one knowing?”

“No,” Melanie said indignantly. “I was bringing it to you. I mean, if Jon gets sick going too long without reading one, you must need them, too. And if we leave it lying around loose up there, someone who shouldn’t is going to not be able to resist temptation. So, two birds, one stone, all that. I just figured it would help.”

“Oh,” Jon said, a bit surprised. “Thank you. I—I have been a bit…I do need one. Thank you.”

“Do you need a recorder or anything?” Melanie asked, handing over the statement. “Or do you just…speak into the void?”

Jon couldn’t help but laugh. “Sometimes, yes, I do. I’ll be fine. If whatever is behind the recorders feels it’s important, one will…appear. Otherwise I’ll consume the statement and hand it back, and from what I understand, the next person to actually try and make a recording of it will be able to record it without issue.”

Melanie eyeballed him. “How many times has it happened that you got one and the recorder didn’t appear?”

“Hasn’t yet,” Jon admitted. “Thank you, Melanie.”

“Sure. See you next time you pop out. Tell your Martin I’m sorry I woke him.” Melanie gave him a sardonic salute and made her way back to the steps.

Jon watched her go, then turned to go back into the room he and Martin had claimed as their own and hesitated. Martin had always hated listening to him do the statements, and Jon frankly had always hated doing them in front of other people. Now that he knew that the presence of another person—especially someone Eye-aligned—meant the energy was shared out, it explained a lot more. Normally he waited until after hours, went up into the Archives, and did whatever statements they left for him in the Archivist’s office, but something under his skin itched and he didn’t want to wait.

He told himself he was just being courteous, that he was just letting Martin get his rest by going to another room to read this one out. He knew himself well enough, though, to know he was lying.

He slipped further down the tunnels, looking for another of the rooms his counterpart had marked as being an actual room. There were plenty, but he ignored most of them. The one he eventually chose was outwardly no different from any of the others, but it was closer to one of the other exits from the tunnels.

That, Jon had no idea why it was so important.

He slipped into the room, settled down on the floor, and set the torch next to him. With practice, he’d learned to balance it so that it formed a sort of lantern effect; it wasn’t optimal, but it was enough to let him read if he needed to. In its light, he set the folder down and began to open it.

The whirring caught his attention, and Jon looked around. A tape recorder sat just outside the circle of torchlight. Sighing, he grabbed it, checked that it was recording and not playing, and brought it to the familiar position.

“Statement of Anya Villette,” he began, “regarding a cleaning job on Hill Top Road.”

Jon had said once that, as a child, he had hated to read anything he felt he had read before. The first time the team had given him a statement to record—or more accurately to re-record—he had worried that he would feel similarly about the statements, that they wouldn’t satisfy him because he knew them already. He’d quickly learned that he needn’t have worried; while he remembered them, they were relatively new to the Eye, and he usually didn’t realize he remembered them until he was done recording. This time was no different. The name ticked at his mind when he first read it, but once he uttered those words—statement begins—he was lost to the real world. All that existed was him, the statement, and the Eye peering over his shoulder and drinking the fear through him like the lid of a toddler’s spillproof cup. The only difference was that, maybe because he was in the tunnels and the Eye had to strain, he was aware of something else paying attention to him. Likely whatever was behind the recorders.

“Statement ends,” he said finally, lowering the last page to his lap. For a moment, he stared blankly ahead of him at the wall opposite, the statement settling into the nooks and crannies of his mind.

Hill Top Road. He remembered this statement now, of course he did. Martin had been the one to find it for him prior to the Unknowing. He still remembered the apologetic look on his face as he told him I couldn’t find anything new on circuses, but I know the Hill Top Road stuff interests you too and I thought, well, it might be something. Jon had wanted to hug him for that something awful, but he’d restricted himself to a warm smile and a thank you, Martin that had made Martin’s ears go pink.

“Supplemental,” he said at last. “I…I still have no idea what to make of this one, to be honest. I know that if we do additional research, we will come up with nothing, even more than usual. Anya Villette does not exist. The cleaning agency she purports to work for does exist, but does not employ her and has not been contracted to clean the house at Hill Top Road. That house is certainly not student housing; it’s been abandoned for God knows how long. And”—he sighed heavily—“if I go there, I will only find a tape playing a statement recorded long ago and a new one on official Institute forms.”

Or would he?

Jon froze and turned the question over in his mind. He’d never been clear how the Web even knew he was going to go to Hill Top Road when he went. The sly wording of her statement indicated that it had likely been written while he was on his way there, so it wasn’t as though it had been sitting around for years waiting for him, and the point the tape had been at likely meant she’d set her trap just prior to their entrance. He had no idea how the Web had monitored him, if the Web had monitored him, but if it had been, it was probably monitoring Past Jon now. It likely didn’t know about him. Whatever was at Hill Top Road, whatever Annabelle Cane had warned him away from in his own time, she might not know to warn him now.

“Regardless,” he said slowly, “for the good of…everyone I care about, I think it is important that I do go to Hill Top Road. The sooner, the better.” He swallowed. “End recording.”

He turned off the tape recorder and got to his feet, recorder in one hand and statement in the other. The correct thing to do would be to take this back to his and Martin’s room, curl up with Martin for a bit longer, and then put the statement and tape on the Archivist’s desk. And God, he wanted to. If he was really going to Hill Top Road, going alone would probably be the stupidest thing he could do.

At the same time…

He’d felt very strongly at the time that he recorded this statement the first time that he ought to stay away from the house at Hill Top Road. He felt that way now. The only other time he’d felt this strongly that he needed to stay away from something, that there was something the Eye didn’t want him to know, it had been when he’d first listened to the tape of Gertrude Robinson’s talk with Eric Delano.

And if the Eye didn’t want him to know something, it was probably something that would be to its detriment. Which could only help their plan to stop Jonah Magnus and his damned…ritual.

He stared down at the objects in his hands, then set them neatly on the floor next to the door, picked up the torch, and headed for the exit from the tunnels.

Fortunately, there was no one about to see him emerge from the service entrance in the South Kensington station. Nor did anyone look twice at him as he paid his fare and got on the train. It was almost a two-hour journey from there to the house at Hill Top Road—two hours to worry about what he would find, two hours to fret about doing this alone, two hours to reproach himself for not waking Martin to tell him where he was going. Two hours to decide to turn back.

He didn’t.

Two hours later, he stood in front of the house at Hill Top Road and stared up at it. It was exactly as he remembered it: brand new, relatively modest, well-appointed, and totally abandoned. Nobody had lived in this house for years. Nobody would live in this house, ever, if Jon had to make a guess. It wasn’t even owned by anyone.

Breaking into it was a lot easier than it had been the first time. In the first place, he knew the house now, knew its weak points and easy access spots. In the second place, he was alone rather than being burdened with an angry ex-cop who thought every problem could be solved with a combination of obstinate logic and a certain amount of pressure, an even angrier ex-Internet celebrity who thought that both he and the entire idea of trying to hunt down Annabelle Cane was stupid, and a Hunter who knew that every step she took into the building, no matter how good her intentions, made it that much harder for her to stop listening to the blood. (He also didn’t have to contend with the other three all assuming he was too staid and weedy to know how to gain access to someplace he wasn’t wanted, like he’d never done a spot of breaking and entering in his life. Georgie had once accused him of being a cat with opposable thumbs and social anxiety.) In a way, he wished he had Daisy with him—she’d been something of a comfort at the time, which was a bit of a surprise—but at the same time, he had to acknowledge that the Daisy he missed was the one he’d rescued from the Buried, not the one who’d threatened his and Martin’s life seven months ago.

Jesus, had it only been seven months?

Shaking his head, Jon slid the bobby pin he’d found on the Tube out of his pocket, picked the lock on the back door in a matter of seconds (not his best time, but he was out of practice), and slipped inside. He took another deep breath, then coughed as that drew dust and…other things he’d prefer not to think about into his lungs. Once he had himself under control, he turned and swept the beam of his torchlight around the place.

The interior, like the exterior, was exactly like he remembered it. Cobwebs covered virtually every surface, far more than should have built up even in nine years of disuse, clinging to curtain rods and disused furniture and empty cabinets. Jon swallowed against the sudden rise of nausea at the reminder of the Web’s presence. He tried to remind himself of what Martin had told him once, when they’d first been at the safe house and he’d seen the cobwebs in the corner and almost gone feral—that cobwebs were old and abandoned webs full of dust, that the presence of them meant that the spiders themselves were long gone.

Somehow, though, he didn’t think they were. Not completely.

Careful not to breathe too deeply, Jon moved cautiously into the house. Obviously it wasn’t the same house Agnes Montague had grown up in, but he had a fairly good idea of the place from the statements. Anya Villette had described a cupboard under the stairs that led to an unmarked basement. Daisy had claimed not to have noticed one, but…

Something creaked overhead. Jon froze, hand on a door that seemed likely to lead downward. The house was empty, he was sure of that, there shouldn’t be—

The creak came again, like someone was moving around. There was definitely someone upstairs. Jon’s curiosity overcame his caution, what little of it he had left. It wasn’t compulsion from the Eye. The Eye very much wanted him to leave. Any desire to see what was upstairs was one hundred percent Jon, and it was that that drove him to investigate. It was nice to want to know something without needing to Know it. Gripping the torch like a weapon, he started up the stairs.

It was a spiral staircase, something he hadn’t noticed the first time he was there. Something ticked at the back of his brain, something about a parlor up a spiral stair, but he couldn’t quite remember. As he hit the top step, though, the knowledge slammed into his brain.

“Will you walk into my parlour?” said the Spider to the Fly, “’Tis the prettiest little parlour that ever you did spy; The way into my parlour is up a winding stair, And I have many curious things to shew when you are there.”

“The Spider and the Fly,” by Mary Howitt. First published in 1829. Meant to be a moral lesson about the dangers of flattery and falling for seductive words and a silver tongue. It had been the second poem Martin ever memorized, after his Year Two teacher reduced him to tears by lecturing him in front of the entire class for “showing off” by learning—

Jon quickly shut the mental door against the flood of knowledge. Martin and Past Martin might be different people now, but they’d had the same experiences—up to a point—and he owed them both the courtesy of staying out of their heads. He had enough knowledge to be getting on with. He was about to walk into the Web’s cunningly-laid trap.

For just a second, he hesitated. There was still time to turn back…but he’d come this far. He couldn’t very well take a four-hour journey, undoubtedly worry Martin, and then go back and say it was pointless. He might as well learn something.

There was a door opposite him, slightly ajar. He took a slow, steadying breath, resolutely shored up his mind to keep out the Beholder, and opened it.

It was a bedroom, simply furnished, as if for a little girl. There was a four-poster bed with carved columns, a low dresser, and a vanity and mirror, all painted white. The seat of the chair in front of the vanity, the comforter and bedskirt, and the ruffled canopy on the bed were all a delicate shade of pink, or had been before the dust settled on them. And sitting on the top of the bed, leaning back against the headboard and playing with something in her hands, was a woman Jon knew far better than he wanted to.

“Hello, Jon,” she said pleasantly. “Do you mind if I call you Jon?”

Jon exhaled heavily. “Annabelle Cane. Why am I surprised?”

Annabelle sat up, cross-legged on the bed, a sly smile on her lips. “You’re looking well. I’m so glad you came to visit.”

“Really,” Jon said flatly. He almost called her out for not having wanted to see him before, but he held his tongue. She couldn’t know he was from the future. He still wasn’t sure what the Web wanted, or what Annabelle herself had wanted, but he wouldn’t risk the world by tipping his hand.

“But of course! The Mother of Puppets has watched you very closely.” Annabelle tugged her hands apart, and Jon realized what it was—a length of some kind of string, looped around her fingers and forming a sort of open shape reminiscent of a teacup. It didn’t take much of a stretch of the imagination to guess it was made of spiderweb.

“So what does the Web want with me?” Jon crossed his arms over his chest, which would have been a lot more effective if he hadn’t almost clobbered himself in the jaw with the torch.

“Oh, I can’t tell you that.” Annabelle passed a few loops from finger to finger, pinched in a couple of places, twisted, and spread her hands again; now instead of a cup and saucer, it looked a bit like a witch’s broom. “That’s not why you’re here, anyway.”

Jon stubbornly remained in the doorway. As long as he didn’t cross the threshold, he’d be fine. Probably. Maybe. “And why am I here?”

Seemingly uninterested, Annabelle brought her hands back together and began shifting the loops again. “Have you ever played this game before?”

“What game? The Web’s game?”

“No, silly.” Annabelle held up her hands, revealing a latticework like a suspension bridge. “It’s called Cat’s Cradle. More often played with two, of course, but you can play by yourself if you want. Did you never play it?”

“No,” Jon said, and it was only partially a lie. He’d never known there was a name for it, or a formal method of playing, but he’d once done something similar with a bit of yarn he’d found in his desk. It had distracted him enough that he’d failed to pay proper attention in class, and his teacher had first yelled at him for not answering her question and then for playing with the string, scolding him that he would cut his fingers off if he wasn’t careful. He hadn’t exactly believed her, but he’d also never tried again.

“Shame. It’s a pleasant way to pass the time.” Annabelle began working the loops again. “Why are you here? Because you’re curious. Because you want—no, because you need to know.” She looked up at him. “Because you need my help.”

“Your help?” Jon said incredulously. “Your help with what?”

“Your plan. Gertrude had one, too, you know. So many people have plans. And those plans depend on so many things, so many little strands woven together. It’s almost like—” Annabelle spread her hands apart again, fingers splayed wide. In the center of the span was a perfect eight-pointed shape. “—a spider’s web.”

Jon stood his ground, with difficulty. “So you know what my plan is.”

Annabelle’s eyes glittered. “I know what your goal is. Not how you plan to do it. Not necessarily. The Web isn’t like the Eye. It doesn’t Know. It just sees…patterns.” Another twist of her hands, another slip of a loop, and suddenly she was seeming to transform her hand into a marionette, or else creating the framework of a hut. “And I see the pattern of a goal, and the threads that could lead to it. Do you think you have the power to succeed?”

“Yes,” Jon replied immediately. “We do?”

“We?” Annabelle looked up at him with a smile.

Jon narrowed his eyes. “Not you.”

“Oh, no, of course not me. No, you’re talking about Martin, aren’t you?” Annabelle’s smile broadened. “Of course. You can’t hope to succeed without him.”

Jon froze. Fear lanced through him. She couldn’t know, she couldn’t possibly know…he’d been watching, he knew his counterpart and Martin’s weren’t together yet. Patterns or no patterns, she couldn’t know what he meant to him.

In a low, dangerous voice, he said, “Don’t you touch him. Don’t you dare touch him.”

“Perish the thought! I want you to succeed, Jon. I want to help you. I can help you.” Annabelle held out the string towards him. It just looked like a mess. “Take this.”

“So you can bind me in the Web? Not a chance.” Jon reached for the door handle. “I never should have come here.”

“It’s not a trap. Martin can’t give you help as it is.” Annabelle’s voice stopped Jon in his tracks. “Not if you can’t find him.”

Slowly, Jon drew himself up to his full height. “What. Do. You. Mean.”

Annabelle was still holding out the strings in his direction. “It’s not a threat, either. Patterns, Jon.” She drew her hands back, slipped one of the loops quickly off a finger, and stretched them wide, producing a tangled mess. “One slipped thread can throw them all off. And if it breaks…well.” Dropping all the loops from her fingers, she began quickly and deftly unpicking the knots, talking all the while. “You have a bond. It needs to be…stronger. Otherwise there’s a risk of neither of you surviving what you intend to do. It will protect you as well as him.”

Jon watched as she began looping the strings over her fingers again. “And if I refuse?”

“Then you refuse. You walk out of this house, we go our separate ways, and you hope your plan succeeds without that bond.” Annabelle shrugged. “It won’t hurt you. It won’t hurt Martin.”

“It hurt Gertrude.”

“Gertrude did it herself. And she also was bonding with the Desolation. How could that be anything but painful?” Annabelle pointed out. “But I know how to weave the threads. It’s a perfectly harmless bond. It will just give you both the strength and power you need to survive what’s coming.” She spread her hands again. Somehow, she managed to pinch and twist the strings just right so that there was a clear and obvious M in the middle of it. M for Martin. A few more flicks of the fingers, and then she was stretching her hands out to Jon again. “Do you trust me? Then take the strings.”

Jon hesitated. Did he trust Annabelle Cane? The simple answer was no; she was of the Web, the entity he’d feared the longest. He knew now that none of the entities had humanity’s best interests at heart, but some were worse than others. Was the Web better or worse than the Eye? Than the Hunt? Than the End? And for that matter…was this Annabelle acting on behalf of the Web, or acting on her own?

The other issue was this bond. Could Jon really make this decision for Martin, bind them together, without asking? Martin may have liked spiders once, but he trusted Annabelle Cane and the Web even less than Jon did. He genuinely worried about its manipulations, about the possibility of it controlling either of them. And Jon had no right to make decisions for him. They were a team, they had to decide together…

The problem was that, like attacking Jonah, this was a now or never situation. Jon had to make a decision, and he had to make it immediately. If he walked away, he would never get this offer again. He had to choose between accepting the bond and hoping Martin would forgive him for it, or rejecting it and hoping he survived for Martin to scold him. He had to decide whether he believed he was strong enough on his own to protect the ones he loved, or whether he would need Martin’s strength. He had to decide whether or not this would bind him to his Martin or to Past Martin, or if it would bind Past Jon and Past Martin together, or if he even believed Annabelle would actually do it.

But if it would protect the man he loved…

Jon came to a decision. He stepped all the way into the room, stretched his hands out, and let Annabelle transfer the strings onto his fingers.

“Good,” Annabelle said, sounding satisfied. “Quickly, there’s not much time.” Her hands were a blur as she moved loops and threads from finger to finger. The string bit into the scar on his hand, but Jon gritted his teeth and bore it up. Finally, she clapped her hands. “Now then…pull.”

Jon separated his hands to the furthest extent the string would let him, and the world seemed to explode in a swirl of static.

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