#my whole room is actually tma coded | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

owls-and-bees · 8 months

Text

My first TMA fic :D

Title: the inherent romanticism of sour candy

Words: 2,007

Set in season 1 but there are small references to later seasons (no major spoilers)

Jon walks in on Martin having a panic attack and deals with it very well and is not at all awkward about the whole thing because he’s sooo good at feelings

_____________________________________

Jon stared at the screen in front of him, scanning over the many, many, words in the excruciatingly long email Elias had sent him.

Something about a noise complaint from the non archive employees, or maybe a noise complaint about the non archive employees?

Truthfully, he didn’t process a single word of it.

His leg tapped rapidly against the concrete floor, in unison with his hand, clicking the pen that had run out of ink when he was still in college. He kept it around regardless, mostly to click mindlessly, and he had long since tuned out the sound it made.

To put it simply, Jon was far in over his head.

“Take the promotion” He’d thought

“It’ll be fun!” He’d thought

He thought wrong.

It was bad enough that Jane Prentiss decided to make her dramatic reappearance, but of course it had to be in the form of an attack on one of his employees.

Because obviously a new job he was entirely unprepared for wasn’t enough stress! Why not throw a whole pile of worms on top?

Jon had begun to think that this was all just some horribly elaborate hazing ritual for the new archivist. Did Gertrude have to deal with worms too?!

Of course not, Jon had only seen the woman a few times but he was rather sure a gust of wind would be enough to knock her down. She was short and frail, (not that Jon was any different)

and as Tim described her “more cardigan than woman”

Sure, she was stubborn. But there was nothing that could convince Jon that the nutty old bat had ever actually dealt with an entity firsthand!

It had all just become a bit much, and Jon found it harder and harder to focus.

With Martin living in the archives, Jane lurking around somewhere (and sending the occasional ominous text message from martins phone), parasitic worms infesting the building, and of course to top it all off, Jon had to keep his assistants’ living situation hidden from Elias! Who would almost certainly disapprove of the whole affair. Even Jon wasn’t sure it was the best idea, given it probably broke several institute codes.

Jon leaned back in his chair, finally straightening his god awful posture. He pinched the bridge of his nose and let out a sound that was somewhere between an exasperated sigh and a pained groan.

He turned his attention back to his computer, closing the half-read email.

‘It can wait until tomorrow’ he reasoned. ‘Not like I can focus on it in this state.’

He tried to ignore the weight that seemed to pull his eyes shut, and the almost silent clock on the wall that reminded him of how unreasonably late he had stayed.

That had always been a flaw of Jon’s, there would always be one or two more things left to finish before he went home, and those one or two things split into five or six. And the next thing he knew he was waking up at his desk in the middle of the night, with the imprint of a pen on the side of his face as evidence of his terrible self preservation skills.

He stood from his chair, decidedly ignoring the loud cracks that came of every joint in his body.

‘I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to check on Martin before I leave. Make sure he hasn’t burnt down my archive yet.’

He rolled his eyes at the thought of Martin scrambling to put out a fire, forgetting, in the panic, about the loads of Co2 extinguishers kept in the archive.

Not that it would be completely unreasonable, even Jon found himself forgetting that fire extinguishers can be used for more than killing worms. But he couldn’t help the slight chuckle that left him at the thought of Martin throwing his tea at a fire before thinking to use an extinguisher.

Jon placed a hand on the door to the archive room, but froze when he heard a noise from inside.

A gasp?

Oh god…

Jon’s amusement at the idea of a fire quickly turned to genuine dread. He pushed open the door, already prepared to reprimand Martin for having a flame in his archives. But was met with an… unexpected sight.

Martin was sat in the furthest corner from the door, his knees pulled to his chest and his arms wrapped around them. His face, previously buried in his knees, was now staring up at Jon in a mix of panic and embarrassment. His eyes were red and cheeks tear-stained.

He didn’t say a word, his breathing still ragged and uncontrolled. But that look on his face was enough for Jon to understand the situation, staring up at him like he’d seen a ghost.

Any words that came to mind were lost just as quickly.

“Oh-” Jon froze, staring at his assistant for what felt like far too long. Before slowly, uncomfortably, and without breaking eye contact, backed out of the room. “I um…I’m sorry.” He spoke, his usual bluntness prevalent even now, as he slowly closed the door in front of him.

Jon leaned his head against the now closed door, cringing at his own discomfort.

Martin just stared at the door, unsure what to do after… that.

It wasn’t like panic attacks were completely new to him, but until now he’d managed to keep them outside of work. Away from Jon, who already disliked him at the best of times.

God… of course it had to be Jon who walked in! At least if it had been Tim or Sasha he could have been saved the pure humiliation!

It wasn’t like Martin ever had a chance in hell with Jon anyways, but he would have at least liked to keep a shred of his dignity!

What would Jon think of him after this? Did he consider panic attacks a fireable offense? Of course not! Jon isn’t completely emotionless… right?

Martin found himself spiraling once again. Now due to the thought of what he would say next time he saw Jon, rather than his experience with Jane prentiss.

He bit down on his lower lip, one of the more painful anxious habits he’d picked up in his youth. Images flashed through his mind of any and every potential scenario that could arise when he saw Jon again.

But before he could properly freak out, the door to the archive creaked open again, and Jon stood in the doorway.

This time, however, he walked in. all the way over to Martin in fact, and sat down beside him.

“Jon, I- I um”

“It’s fine.” He cut Martin off “you don’t have to explain yourself, I understand.”

“Alright.”

Martins reply was soft, it made him feel even more pathetic than he already did.

“Here.” Jon placed two items between them.

One was a cup of tea, the other was a bag of… sour candy?

“Oh, uh thank… you?” Martin was a bit confused, but appreciated Jon’s strange attempt at comfort regardless.

Jon let out a sigh, he kept his eyes trained on the floor, trying to save Martin the embarrassment. Or maybe just to save himself the discomfort…

“sour candy helps with panic attacks. I read this article the other day. it’s quite interesting actually, I’ll send it to you. Sour candy shocks the senses and knocks you out of the fight, flight, or freeze state. Interestingly, mint has a similar effect. I would recommend reading up on it if you have the chance. It would probably be good to keep mints or gum on hand, just in case.”

Jon stopped speaking, realizing now that he was infodumping on his coworker In the middle of a breakdown.

“I uh, I thought they might help.”

Jon finally looked back to martin, who stared at him like a deer in headlights.

It took a moment for martin to process that Jon had finished speaking, but when he did he gave the man a small smile.

“Thank you, Jon. Really, I appreciate this.”

Martin's breathing had returned to normal now, and Jon’s presence had already served to ground him, but he took a candy anyways.

Then, a sip of the tea. The warmth seeped through the cup into his hands, further solidifying the feeling that he was safe here… with Jon.

He smiled fondly at the mug in his hands, he knew Jon probably just grabbed the closest to the front of the cabinet, but the thought of him picking out martin's favorite mug intentionally warmed him more than the drink.

Martin didn’t often go for floral teas, but this was from Jon, so for all he cared it could be oolong and he’d still treasure every sip.

“Lavender?” He mused

“Yes. Lavender helps to regulate the nervous system.”

Martin gave a soft chuckle at Jon’s usual bluntness “no, I know that. I just didn’t realize we had any.”

“Ah, we don’t. I keep some in my office.”

Martin gave a small hum in response, only now considering it a bit odd Jon had sour candy and lavender tea in his office. Or that he just had this knowledge of panic attacks on hand.

“Jon… do you-” he cut himself off, trying to find a way to phrase his question that wouldn’t be overly intrusive.

Jon was still his boss.

Though he had probably broken the boarders of boss/employee decorum when he started living in the workplace.

“Hm?”

“Have you… been having panic attacks?” Martin asked, his tone laced with concern.

Jon sighed softly, something that almost seemed like a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

“Do you never worry about yourself?”

Martin started to speak, but realized he had no defense against the accusation.

“Alright yes, point taken.”

He should probably drop it, but Martin didn’t like the idea of Jon suffering alone.

“Still though, have you?”

Jon let out a soft nose exhale, the closest thing to a laugh martin had ever heard from Jon. “Yes, from time to time. but that’s nothing you need to worry yourself over.”

“Fine, please take care of yourself though?”

“Only if you can promise the same.”

Jon smiled, it was small, but still there. And more importantly, it actually seemed genuine. And it was one of the most beautiful things Martin had ever seen. He could have sworn his heart skipped a beat, or five.

It wasn’t like the man never smiled, but more often than not it was the forced kind that never reached his eyes, the smile he used for group pictures and conversations with Elias.

But this? This smile was one of fondness, it seemed. But who knows, maybe Martin was just reading too far into things again, he did have that habit when it came to Jon.

He stared at the other man, ever-present infatuation knocking at his heart as he tried his best to memorize the sight, quickly as he could. assuming, rightfully, that Jon wouldn’t let a soft moment last long, because of course he couldn’t.

Jon placed a hand in front of his face and cleared his throat.

“It’s late, I should probably go home. Are you… going to be alright?”

Martin smiled at Jon, his eyes filled with pure adoration. “Of course, I’ll be fine. Get home safe, Jon.”

“Will do. I’ll see you tomorrow Martin.”

Jon stood from his place next to Martin, heading to the door.

“See you tomorrow.”

“Oh- Um… I’ll send you the article, i-it really is interesting, I promise.”

“Looking forward to it. Goodnight, Jon.”

“Goodnight, Martin.”

Martin had heard his name from the other man countless times, but he had never heard it spoken so softly. Like the words might break if said with any more force.

The sound of it was divine, ringing through martins mind like a melody.

The door clicked shut, and Martin raised the mug once more to his face, and hoped for the life of him that Jon hadn’t noticed the pink hue that dusted his cheeks.

#I’m so normal about tma #should I write more jmart fics??#they’re my sillies #the inharent romanticism of sour candy #jmart fic #jmart #jmartin #tma jmart #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #I’m still new to posting fanfics on tumblr fjjdjdj #owlbee #owlbee writing

29 notes · View notes

msfcatlover · 3 years

Text

Me: *rereads my old Portal fics*

Me: “Y’know, some of these are still pretty good! Maybe I should replay the games, and give writing these another shot...”

My brain, always ready with AUs and my latest hyperfixation: TMA crossover with Jon as Caroline, but he doesn’t lose himself in the upload process.

Me: “I... I don’t know if that would work...”

My brain, refusing to be derailed: His robot name could be “Self-aware Intelligent Machine Simulation.” SIMS for short.

Me: “That’s not a great robot name.”

My brain: No worse than “Genetic Lifeform and Disk Operating System.”

Me: “.......Fair.”

My brain: Testing is like statements; he doesn’t want to like it, but it’s addictive and eventually he kinda needs it to stay sane. He regularly gets in trouble for trying to make the tests less dangerous for the test subjects, because like... draining the acid out of the acid pit ruins the integrity or something.

My brain: It actually makes no difference, but obviously Jonah is Cave in this crossover. He’s researching immortality, and this is just one of the ways he keeps Jon under control.

Me: “Elias was his first attempt?”

My brain: Yeah, but it was just a brain transplant. Now he’s worried about the integrity of his brain itself, I mean, physically it’s getting pretty old. And it’s not like aging is fun anyway.

Me: “So, I assume Martin’s Chell then.”

My brain: Obviously.

Me: “Obviously. Where does everyone else fit?”

My brain: Daisy and Basira are trying to get the whole company shut down for horrible human rights violations, but are struggling to find evidence. They go undercover as test subjects, only to realize they’re in too deep and have to fight for survival.

My brain: Melanie’s a reporter, supposedly doing a profile on Jonah, but secretly investigating all the disappearances that keep happening amongst the staff. Georgie brought her in on the case when Jon stopped answering all calls.

Me: “Tim and Sasha?”

My brain: Scientists, were on the same team as Jon. Might get kicked down to test subjects for asking too many questions about his “transfer to the AI department.”

Me: “Wait. All of this is pre-fall-of-Aperture. Doesn’t that take a lot of the punch out of making Jon our GLaDOS equivalent?”

My brain: ..............................

My brain: Mid-fall-of-Aperture. Terribly understaffed, running out of money, the “AI department” is literally just Jon on the paperwork, Jonah’s desperately pushing the testing/experiments to figure out the limits of brain-uploading before he loses access to the equipment.

Me: “I don’t think that scans.”

My brain: Sure it does! What’s the testing in the games even for anyways? It’s all cognitive, the portal gun itself only gets used in a handful of different ways.

My brain: Now the testing is specifically there to stress Jon out and test the stability of his personality matrix; no point in uploading yourself if the first major issue you run into corrupts your code or causes a major error. It puts Jon through the wringer, even zapping him with viruses and stuff, to ensure the process works, because Jonah doesn’t have the time or supplies for more than one test subject.

Me: “......huh.”

My brain, getting more excited: Merge the Eye-pocalypse and Prentiss attacks! Some sort of biological agent gets loose in the facility, and Jon hacks the security system to try and stop it. Any hermetically sealed area of the facility gets locked down, and he gasses the rest of the facility to keep the contaminants from spreading.

My brain: But they’re underground and the ventilation system isn’t the best maintained, so he can’t risk letting anyone out for fear they’ll get poisoned too. Just has to wait for the gas to rise up out of the facility on its own.

Me: “OH! So from the perspective of everyone in the testing tracks, this AI has just gone completely rogue and taken over the facility, killing a whole bunch of people and trapping them inside!”

Me: “I bet Jonah’s office is basically a fortress, and he still has security access to cameras and intercom, so he just eggs them on. Because this is an insurance nightmare, he wants to upload himself ASAP, so Jonah tells them there’s a manual override procedure for SIMS, but he can’t do it alone. They need to get through the testing, reach the central control chamber, and help him deactivate SIMS before they’ll be able to leave the facility. But actually, he’s planning to delete Jon entirely and replace him in the mainframe!”

My brain: Like the bastard he is.

Me: “So now, everyone’s in this weird limbo of trying to figure out what to do and who to trust. I mean, obviously in the AI apocalypse you want to trust your fellow humans, and SIMS did just gas the whole facility and trapped them in the testing tracks, but on the other hand ‘Elias’ is a shady bastard and SIMS isn’t always that bad?”

Me: “Like, sure, it can be pushy about testing and you can’t expect a robot to be good at emotions, but sometimes it’ll do something like ask for a verbal check-in because they’ve been down there a while and that can be psychologically hard on most humans? Someone complains about food, and SIMS sounds almost genuine when apologizing for not having anything else that can be safely transported to the testing tracks at this time. Once, Martin found a corner away from the cameras to take a nap in, and he’d swear SIMS was actually panicking over not being able to find Martin when he woke up.”

My brain: Tim and Sasha make snide, tired jokes about Jon giving the damn thing all his social awkwardness, as well as his name and voice (for some god-awful, unknowable reason.) They don’t want to let SIMS endear itself to them, knowing it probably killed Jon.

Me: “No, no, knowing that it killed Jon. They absolutely ask at some point if Jon’s okay and are told that amongst the however-many living staff members that are left, Jonathan Sims is not amongst them. What else are they to assume, other than that Jon’s been gassed by his own creation?”

My brain: Oooh...

Me: “Martin’s the only one who actually feels endeared to SIMS by the time they meet up, partially because he’s the only one who was trapped alone. Tim and Sasha were together, and already have reason to hold a grudge. Daisy, Basira, and Melanie met up early and spend a lot of free time fantasizing about smashing the damn computer when they find it.”

Me: “Martin was alone and he hates it, so he tries talking to SIMS, and is a little surprised when SIMS talks back. They’re not always pleasant conversations, SIMS can be curt and doesn’t have much personal info to share (being a computer and all,) but Martin does start to get a grasp on the situation as it must have at least appeared to SIMS when he pulled the lockdown-tigger. And for a supposedly evil computer, SIMS can be surprisingly helpful and seems almost as upset by the situation as the humans are.”

My brain: And there was that odd moment after Martin convinced SIMS to stop calling him “Mr. Blackwood,” and SIMS seemed almost flustered before very softly responding, “...Martin, then.”

Me: “Awww... please tell me Jon’s not actually dead, I need them to take him with them at the end...”

My brain: Suspended animation. The brain is still a vital part of the machine, but it never ages or degrades thanks to whatever combo of chemicals and cryosleep Jonah used to preserve him. Part of Jonah’s “manual override” involves adding a high-powered hard drive or four to replace the need for an organic brain, making full digitization possible.

Me: “But where’s he stored? He can’t just be strung up in the middle of the machine, that’d be unsustainable and Jonah would never let anyone within a hundred yards of it lest they realize the truth! A cryotank in a fake computer bank? A stasis tube hidden amongst the wiring, which they could discover while clambering about installing the hard drives?”

My brain: A cold room disguised as a locked closet or something, with the upload chair still inside of it? Only Jonah has the passcode, technically, and he was planning to go in while everyone else had their own tasks to do, just shove Jon’s body out and plug himself in, leaving Jon to finally die on the floor just a short distance from his friends while Jonah replaced him in the machine, removed the safeties, and escaped into the internet?

Me: “Oh, and Jon gave them a universal override or something to get them out of a dangerous situation towards the end! It actually leaves half the group feeling pretty low, having the thing they’re trying to destroy just hand them the key to its destruction out of pure, innocent trust.”

Me: “Then while Jonah’s distracted giving out instructions, Martin (useless with computers,) wanders over and opens the door, letting out a gust of cold air with a hiss. Martin coughs on the escaping gasses, and Jonah rushes to say that the cold room is very delicate, and ought not to be tampered with by people who don’t know what they’re doing—“

My brain: —but Martin blinks back the stinging, shock-induced tears, eyes adjusting to the dark of the closet and gasps.

Me: “And Martin’s only ever seen Jon in passing, really, they never properly worked together. But he was a little sweet on him even back then, and he’s heard the stories from Tim and Sasha, and he’s spent the last several weeks getting to know SIMS...”

My brain: ...He quickly calls Tim and Sasha over to confirm, just in case he’s got it wrong somehow. They’re just as shocked that Jon’s in there, with all his notes tucked away behind him revealing what really happened. Jonah tries to talk his way out of it, but is quickly arrested by Basira and Daisy.

Me: “Sasha finishes the notes first and makes her way back out. She’s shaking, overwhelmed with rage and grief and horror, and punches ‘Elias’ so hard he falls to the floor.”

My brain: Jonah starts to say something about assault, but Melanie congratulates Sasha for stopping him and Basira, completely deadpan, adds, “We all saw him make a break for it.”

Me: “Jonah shuts the fuck up.”

My brain: Part of SIMS’ programming was not being allowed to answer to “Jon” anymore. He never outright denies being Jon, just corrects people that he is the Self-aware Intelligent Machine Simulation. Tim finishes the notes, makes it to the cold room door, looks into the nearest camera and shakily asks, “Jon?”

Me: “For the first time, there’s a solid three beat pause before the intercom answers, softly and less robotically than before, ‘...Yes, Tim?’”

My brain: Tim starts crying.

Me: “Of course he does! He’s been grieving Jon for weeks at this point, trying not to let it show just how sad and angry he was that it all ended like this, and now it turns out that not only is Jon alive, he never actually left them at all! All those months thinking Jon ghosted them, left them behind in R&D for greener pastures, and Jon was all-but-dead in a cold room the whole time, and none of them ever knew! The relief, the joy, the guilt, the lingering bitter grief and rage, it’s overwhelming. Who wouldn’t cry?”

My brain: It takes them a few days to figure out the download procedure to return Jon to his body, especially since Jonah can’t be trusted on this front. Tim and Sasha are the techies, and they recruit Melanie and Basira for extra hands. (Martin’s still terrible with machines, and Daisy needs to watch Jonah to make sure he doesn’t escape.)

My brain: Martin, feeling useless, stays by Jon’s side in the cold room.

Me: “When Jon wakes up, Martin’s the first thing he sees.”

My brain: Martin sees him moving, meets his eyes, and gasps, “Jon?” Jon nods and tries to say something, but his throat is dry and his voice won’t work. Martin scrambles to get him a glass of water and steadies Jon’s hands as he drinks it. When he lowers the glass, Martin cautiously asks if Jon’s feeling better.

Me: “Jon just smiles and answers, ‘You said my name.’”

My brain: Martin’s confused. “What else would I call you?”

Me: “Jon shakes his head. ‘I just... don’t think I’ve heard you say it before. Certainly not to me. It’s... nice.’”

My brain: Martin laughs helplessly and says it again. “Jon.” Jon’s smile brightens, and Martin can’t help stepping closer, repeating Jon’s name again. Jon laughs along.

Me: “It’s on instinct that Martin takes the empty glass and sets it to the side, leans over the chair, touches Jon’s shoulder, cups his cheek. He hesitates when they’re nose to nose, breathing the same air, shockingly warm even when Jon’s skin is still cold to the touch. He meets Jon’s eyes and swallows. ‘Is this okay?’”

My brain: Close enough to feel the small, inaudible gasp before Jon whispers, “Please.”

Me: “They only get one short kiss in before the door opens and Tim makes a scandalized noise before loudly declaring this unfair and blatant favoritism. Martin all but jumps away, but Jon just rolls his eyes and thanks Tim for saving him. As the others pile in —Sasha claiming she did all the work, Basira needing to know if Jon’s up for making an official statement, Melanie both needing to pass on a message from Georgie and wanting an exclusive interview for her expose— Martin can already feel himself fading into the background, even as he and Tim help Jon to his feet.”

My brain: At least until Jon lingers, fingers lightly resting against Martin’s arm, and looks up at him with hope in his eyes. “Later?”

Me: “Martin’s not entirely sure what Jon’s asking (Jon isn’t really either,) but he agrees anyway. He doesn’t even hesitate.”

My brain:

Me:

My brain:

Me:

My brain:

Me: “.....WELL FUCK.”

My brain, smug despite it being 4:30am: Told you it was a good idea.

Me: “I hate you so much.”

#tma #the magnus archives #tma fanfic #portal #jonathan sims #jarchavist #jon sims #tma jon #tma fic #portal fic #portal fanfic #my life #mine #my writing #tma: all about jon #tma: martin #tma s1 crew #tma expanded social circle #tma: the asshole in charge

27 notes · View notes

equalseleventhirds · 3 years

Note

Hey. Re: the Jon having agency argument, I think I might be the person who kickstarted that one, and I want to say my argument was nothing like that other anon framed it. I never brought up him being neurodivergent coded, or disabled, or anything of the sort, because my argument wasn't about whether he was more marginalised than the rest of the cast - it was about whether it makes sense to frame his decisions as the primary driving force of the narrative. And my point about the ending wasn't that he was talked over, it was that what happened still aligned with what everyone else chose, not what he did, so it still doesn't make sense to frame his actions as a driving force of narrative rather than a failed struggle against the conclusion.

there are absolutely moments throughout the series when jon has his agency taken from him, by the narrative at large, the fears, and other people in positions of power (cough cough elias). that isn't negated by the fact that he's not written as a poc, and in fact given that s5 could be read as an exploration and criticism of white privilege, there's room for a reading wrt 'white people who believe the universe itself is giving them control are wrong and no not even you, white person, will be safe', which imo is one of the stronger messages a white person can give to other white ppl, and which some of jonny's writing does touch on

wrt the finale in particular, i think you and the other anon may be having two different conversations? bcos like, listen, i definitely did see some ppl saying that in 199 it was unfair to jon that he was outvoted (altho i did not see anything in the context of his identity, which was absolutely buck wild to me when the other anon brought that up) and that the martin, georgie, melanie, and basira, jon's allies, people who had less power than him and with whom he voluntarily discussed & debated the plan, were somehow stripping him of his agency by not agreeing with him. i avoided most of that, but i do vaguely recall someone actually doing an analysis of 199 and finding that jon spoke more than any other character and thus had his fair say, altho i would not be able to find the post bcos i did avoid... all of that. so if it is about other characters talking over him/taking his agency in the finale, i think that is kinda... not a thing, even putting aside questions of race and other identity stuff.

now, if it is about the narrative and whether or not jon's wishes and decisions controlled the narrative/were a driving force, that is a whole different kettle of meta! how much agency do characters have in narrative, when a writer is controlling them? how much agency do any of our characters in tma have, when the fears and the web in particular were controlling their fates?

realistically, i don't think any character at any point really had their desires as a driving force of the narrative, at least not as like... conscious control/creating the ending they desired? one of the BIG themes of tma in generals is that while we can make the best decision with the information we have, our intentions and wishes for the outcome of our decisions has absolutely no bearing on the actual outcome. in this way, every decision anyone makes is a 'driving force' in that it does in fact push the narrative towards one conclusion or another; but it is not a 'driving force' in that it pushes the narrative towards the conclusion they wanted.

everything jon and the other characters do is a struggle against the narrative, not against an inevitable end that will come for them no matter what, but against an end they cannot foresee and thus cannot reliably influence. jon's choice in mag 200 is a 'driving force' in that it drives the others to speed up their timeline, it drives martin to come find him, it eventually leads to jon getting stabbed and both of them dying in the panopticon. this wouldn't have happened without his choices! but what the others chose in mag 199 was also a driving force, that made jon feel like he could not change their minds and like they did not understand the true horror of what they were unleashing, and so he chose to go up to the panopticon alone.

neither of them really got what they wanted (bcos the others! didn't really want a world where jon and martin died/disappeared!) because neither of them really had full control over the results. but they did, in spite of not having control, influence those results.

...........and that got weirdly philosophical and really does have v little to do with race in tma, but i think i can be forgiven for going on a very long tangent abt narrative and choices and what precisely a 'driving force' is when we talk abt a story, bcos! narrative theory is very much an interest of mine!!

#long post #fandom wank #i guess???#hello anon u have activated my trap card: i write essays abt narrative theory & literary criticism at the DROP of a HAT #my special interests revolve around media but in like. not particularly normal fandom ways.#............also fandom tends to misuse literary terms so uh

6 notes · View notes

ollieofthebeholder · 3 years

Text

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

[1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] Also on AO3

Chapter 9: Jon

“Sit down, boss,” Tim says insistently.

“Jon, please,” Martin—the real Martin—says, his voice soft. “We’ll explain, just...sit down. Please.”

Jon doesn’t want to sit down. He wants to stay standing, to put himself between this—this thing wearing his assistant’s face, his skin—and the three people he’s already nearly lost tonight. But he responds to the please and sits, slowly, never taking his eyes off the creature claiming to be Martin Blackwood from the future.

It’s a good likeness, he has to admit. The...creature or whatever it is looks almost identical to his—the real Martin, down to the odd twist in one set of cables on his sweater (not that Jon’s spent a lot of time staring at Martin or his sweater, of course, only that it’s not quite even and the oddity catches his attention) and that one errant curl that never seems to do what he wants it to. But this creature is also...muted is the best way Jon can think of to describe it. As if someone has turned down the saturation on a picture, or coated the whole thing in a grey wash.

“How long were you waiting for us?” Tim asks the other Martin. It seems safer to think of him that way.

“Not long,” Other-Martin answers. “Maybe a minute.”

“Really? It took you that long to get here? Must’ve been a hell of a complicated route.”

Other-Martin gives a soft snort of laughter without a lot of humor in it. “Time in those corridors doesn’t follow the same rules. As far as I could tell, I was only in there five, ten minutes, tops.”

“Tim, you invited this here?” Jon exclaims.

Tim shrugs. “It seemed safer than leaving him in the tunnels under the Institute. You know, what with the worms and the police and everything. Hard enough to explain to us what’s going on, but someone who doesn’t deal with this every day?”

Other-Martin tilts his head slightly, but his gaze is directed at Jon. It makes him feel uneasy, for reasons he can’t quite explain. He tries to bring his chin up defiantly, but he’s aware of the fact that he’s terrified and wonders if this creature can smell fear. “And you expect us to just...believe you. That you’re—that you’re Martin come back from the future. There is no scientific explanation for time travel—”

“There probably is, actually, but that’s got nothing to do with how I came back,” Other-Martin interrupts. “And no. I don’t expect you to just...believe me. Not like that. I mean, especially not right now. I know you well enough to know you’re pushing the skeptic thing as hard as you are because you know it’s real and you’re afraid. You can feel something watching you when you’re recording the statements, the real ones, the ones that you have to do on the tape, yeah? That’s what you told me. So you believe in the supernatural and the paranormal and all that, but that doesn’t mean you want to. And it sure doesn’t mean you’re going to believe I am who I say I am without some kind of proof.”

For just a moment, Jon is speechless. He’s never told anyone about that persistent feeling, or his belief that the “difficult” statements are actually true encounters. He certainly wouldn’t have told Martin, although if he’s being honest, Martin is probably the only one he would have trusted with that knowledge. To hear it pour out of someone else’s mouth is startling, to say the least. It’s not really proof, of course, but it’s certainly enough to crack the shell of skepticism Jon hides behind.

“Wait,” Sasha interrupts. “You’re saying those statements...the ones that won’t go on the laptop...they’re real? Like, they actually happened?”

“They did, yeah. I know they’re hard to verify, but, well, that’s the thing about the paranormal. Ghosts don’t leave a lot of physical evidence. And...well, people see what they want to see, and they rationalize out a lot of things they don’t.” Other-Martin sighs. “It used to drive Basira nuts.”

“Basira?” Tim asks.

“Ah—you haven’t met her yet, I don’t think. Unless you...no, she was one of the officers on the scene when all this happened in my timeline, but honestly, I had a hard time concentrating on who I talked to that night and who I talked to later. I was too busy worrying about—” Other-Martin snaps off the sentence. “She’s a cop. One of the officers assigned to the investigation at the Institute. In our timeline, she...eventually got hired to work in the Archives. It’s—”

“A long story?” Martin says, sounding tired.

Other-Martin holds up his hands. “I know, I know. I promise, we’ll explain everything as soon as—”

“We?” Jon and Sasha say in unison.

“I didn’t come back alone. Well, I mean—we came back separately, but I’m not the only one who came back. We were warned we’d probably end up in different places, though.”

Tim lifts an eyebrow and grins. “Ooh, did you arrange a rendezvous at a secret meeting point? Send one another coded messages?”

“Tim,” Sasha hisses, elbowing him.

Other-Martin smiles, a little wistfully. “I wouldn’t say that, but...the plan we worked out before we came back involved us being at the Archives, so we were going to meet there. I have no doubt they’re on their way there.”

“And when they get there?” Martin asks quietly. “When they show up and see...everything that’s happening? What then? Did you have a—a backup plan?”

“Not really. But my guess? They’ll come looking for me. Or at least for you all.”

Jon tenses. “Looking for us? Why?”

“We were always planning to bring you all into it, after we...took care of Jane Prentiss. This wasn’t...exactly how we planned to do that, it got a bit out of hand, but I had to improvise, and I didn’t do it well.” Other-Martin gives another soft huff of not-all-that-amused laughter. “I’m quite literally lost without them. But I don’t doubt for a minute that if they can’t find me, they’ll come to you all.”

Jon is torn. On the one hand, he wants to shout at this creature, demand to know what its game actually is, chase it from the building, and keep it from coming anywhere near his assistants ever again. On the other hand...the more he talks, the easier it is to believe what he’s saying. Also, this isn’t Jon’s house and it’s not exactly his place to deny access to it.

“How did you get in here, anyway?” Jon decides a change of subject might clear his mind.

“Michael,” Other-Martin answers.

“That thing that attacked Sasha?” Jon exclaims. “You’re friends with it?”

“Oh, God, no,” Other-Martin says with another laugh that has no humor in it. “Michael hates anything to do with the Archives. Not necessarily without reason. I just managed to talk him into a temporary truce. Mostly I told him I knew what would happen to him and if he didn’t want to be utterly destroyed, he’d best help me out. I think that’s the only favor I’m actually going to get out of him, though.”

Sasha rubs her temples with her fingers. “Wait, wait. If he hates us so much, why would he tell me how to save everyone?”

Other-Martin hesitates. Beside Jon, Martin sighs deeply. “Is this another ‘telling you might be dangerous until someone who can protect you shows up’ thing?” In response to the startled look Jon shoots his way, Martin gestures at his doppelganger. “That’s what he keeps saying when I push too hard.”

“Look, I know it’s frustrating, but it’s also serious. You might be okay tonight, but...I’m just reluctant to risk it until—”

A firm rapping sound interrupts him. Sasha glances at Tim. “Somebody’s knocking at your door.”

Martin hums something under his breath, which brings that sad, wistful smile to Other-Martin’s face for a second. Tim gets up. “I’ll be right back. Try not to kill Martin Prime while I’m gone.”

“Really, Tim? Star Trek reference?” Sasha snorts.

“How about you? You understood that,” Tim shoots back at her before disappearing down the hallway.

Jon wonders whether to demand an explanation or not when a yelp comes from the direction of the doorway. He’s on his feet before he can think about it, nerves thrumming with adrenaline, not sure if he wants to launch himself down the hall to drag Tim to safety or stay where he is to protect Martin and Sasha. Sasha and...their guest rise from their seats, too, all of them tense for a moment. There’s the sound of voices, too low to be distinguishable, and then, unmistakably, Tim’s laughter, and Jon relaxes a little bit. Not hurt, at least. Then Tim comes back into the room, bringing with him a person who takes the breath from Jon’s lungs.

It’s him.

Or at least, the tiny part of his brain that insists on remaining skeptical says, it’s someone who looks like him—albeit a bit less like him than the other Martin looks like his—their Martin. His hair is longer than Jon is wearing his right now—more like the length he wore it in uni, if he’s being honest—pulled back into a sort of half-ponytail and far more liberally streaked with grey. His face and hands are dotted with round scars, and Jon’s stomach lurches as he realizes they’re probably from the worms. There are probably more scars, but they’re impossible to see, as he’s draped in a dark green sweater several sizes too big for him. He looks weary, like he’s carrying far greater a burden than one would reasonably expect to fit in the pack on his back, but he’s also smiling a little. It’s Jon’s smile, that’s for sure, just...sadder, somehow.

He stops dead just inside the room. All the tension seems to drain from him. “Martin,” he gasps.

The other Martin’s face lights up. “Jon?”

Jon swears he doesn’t see his counterpart move. One moment he’s standing just inside the doorway and the next he’s in front of the sofa, and the two of them are embracing tightly. The other Jon’s bag slips to the floor with a soft thud, but neither of them seem to notice it.

“Oh, thank God,” Other-Jon chokes out. The words tumble out in a semipanicked, breathless rush. “I couldn’t find you, I tried to use the—to Know where you were, but it was—I c-couldn’t see you and I was worried, I tried to tell myself you would be fine, but I—I didn’t think about—I should have realized whatever hid you from the Eye would mean I wouldn’t be able to see you either, but I thought since it was you I’d—”

“Jon, it’s okay, it’s okay,” Other-Martin says, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Are you all right? You’re not hurt?” Other-Jon pulls back enough that he can look up into Other-Martin’s face, but doesn’t let go of him. If anything, his grip seems to tighten just a little.

“I’m fine,” Other-Martin assures him. “I’m okay. Are you all right?”

“I am now.” Other-Jon pulls him into another tight hug.

Jon feels a bit like he’s watching something he shouldn’t be privy to, but at the same time, he can’t look away. Partly because the reunion is so compelling, partly due to what feels like the same thing that grips him when he’s reading those statements, but mostly because he does not want to see the look on Tim’s face right now, thank you very much. And he’s not sure he can look at Martin without making a fool of himself.

Whatever else happens in the future, he finds himself thinking, at least he loosens up enough that he can express how he actually feels instead of trying to hide behind a professional facade. Because this is pretty much how he wanted to react when he saw Martin emerge from the quarantine tent—to wrap him up in a hug, to tell him how glad he was that he was safe, to reassure himself Martin was alive and whole. It’s why he was so quick to help him walk. He almost envies his future self this freedom, the ability to just wrap his arms around Martin and know he’s all right. Whatever else they’ve gone through—and from their appearances, they’ve been through a lot—at least he has this.

He realizes the direction his thoughts are trending and clenches his teeth, mentally grasping the last bit of skepticism in his mind with both hands. He still can’t be completely sure these two are really them from the future. Yes, they look a lot like him and Martin, sound like them, but...what was it his cousin used to say? Correlation does not imply causation. There could be a perfectly normal explanation for this—a non-supernatural one, one that doesn’t involve time travel or the end of the world or anything like that. He’s just got to figure out what that explanation is.

Tim, naturally, is the one to break the silence. “So!” he says, settling onto the sofa and stretching out his arms along the back. “Should we be expecting Tim Prime and Sasha Prime to come along any minute now?”

“No,” Other-Jon says quietly, drawing back from Other-Martin with visible reluctance. “No, it’s only us.”

He turns to look at Tim and Sasha, and Jon finds himself torn between the desire to shift and stand between them and the fear of leaving Martin exposed if he does so. He takes a small step forward and speaks up, drawing the attention back to himself. “How do we know you’re really from the future? What proof is there that you’re really who you say you are?”

“Well, we believe them,” Tim says. “Or at least we believe him.” He waves at Other-Martin.

“Not good enough, I’m afraid,” Other-Jon says before Jon can. There’s a faint hint of amusement in his tone. “You’re all rather too credulous. It’s easy to convince you. He’s far less ready to believe on flimsy evidence. Proof, that’s what’s needed.”

Tim tilts his head sideways, as if considering that. “He’s certainly got you pegged, Boss.”

Jon narrows his eyes. He rather suspects he’s being mocked, and he doesn’t like it in the slightest. “If that’s the best you can come up with—” he begins.

“A Guest for Mister Spider,” Other-Martin interrupts.

Jon’s entire body goes still with horror as the memories come rushing in, not that they’re ever far from his mind. He fights very hard to keep it from showing on his face, however, and says as evenly as he can, “I beg your pardon?”

“Your grandmother bought it in the bargain bin a charity shop when you were about eight.” Other-Martin’s eyes seem to stare right through Jon, as if they’re seeing him all those years ago, walking down the streets unknowingly with his nose buried in a book. “It was your first encounter with the supernatural. Your first encounter with the name Jurgen Leitner. It’s why you came to work at the Institute in the first place.”

The words are as gentle and as inexorable as falling snow, and just as chilling. Jon’s very soul seems to freeze. He stares at the other Martin without really seeing him, without really seeing anything except the darkness within that door, the boy whose name he can’t remember vanishing in its depths, the growing smears of red on black and white drawings...

“Jon? Jon, are you all right?” Martin sounds worried, but he also sounds very far away.

Other-Martin looks slightly embarrassed as he turns to look at Other-Jon. “Too far?”

“No—no, I-I think that was...just about right.” Other-Jon reaches out and presses two fingers to Jon’s shoulder, pushing him downward. “Sit down and breathe, Archivist.”

It’s the word Archivist that pushes through the fog in Jon’s brain, oddly enough. It at least serves to remind him that he’s not actually eight years old anymore. He draws in a deep, shuddering gasp of air and sits down rather heavily, jostling both Sasha and Tim.

Other-Martin and Other-Jon sit down as well. Jon notices, with the part of his brain not currently paging through the Owner’s Manual to the Human Body for the instructions on breathing, that Other-Jon rests his hand on top of Other-Martin’s. Other-Martin strokes Other-Jon’s thumb with his own in slow, careful strokes. It’s a gesture that speaks of intimacy and tenderness, and a jealousy curls in his stomach that he has no idea what to do with. Other-Jon’s free hand taps on his thigh as his eyes flutter closed, and for a moment, Jon assumes it’s an idle fidget until his brain latches onto the regularity of it and realizes what it is. He’s counting out the seconds to regulate his own breathing.

All the fight goes out of Jon in that instant. He knows when he’s beaten. This other who bears his face is him, not some stranger or monster or evil being. Which means the other must be Martin. They are from the future. They’re telling the truth.

He’s not going to admit that out loud, not just yet, but they slide from being Others to being Primes, as Tim called them, in his mind.

After a moment, Jon Prime squeezes Martin Prime’s fingers briefly, exhales, and opens his eyes. “I...I suppose you have more than a few questions.”

“You could say that,” Tim agrees.

“So where do we start?” Sasha asks, the last word nearly being swallowed in a yawn.

Jon is burning with curiosity, but he also recognizes that Sasha is tired, and likely Tim as well. And Martin...Martin must be absolutely wiped out. His own energy, the adrenaline that’s been driving him since he saw the emergency lights at the Institute, is starting to flag. It’s late.

“As much as I’d like to know what the hell is going on here, I think most of it can wait until tomorrow, when we’re all fresh,” he says, putting as much authority into his words as he can. “I need to get your statements before you start forgetting the details.”

“I don’t know if that’s possible,” Sasha says, not quite under her breath.

Martin Prime snorts. “It’s not. Best to get your statements done now, though. Trust me.”

Tim raises an eyebrow. “I think Martin should go first.”

Jon turns to look fully at Martin. He’s visibly exhausted, but he nods, eyes fixed unwaveringly on Jon.

Jon exhales. “All right, then.”

#tma #the magnus archives #leaves too high to touch (roots too strong to fall)#jonmartin #IT'S THE REUNION SCENE BITCHES #ollie writes fanfic

13 notes · View notes

ieatmypizzawithaforkandknife · 3 years

Text

TMA: Episode 12, “First Aid”

Summary: Jonathan reads the statement of Lesere Saraki, regarding “a night shift at St. Thomas Hospital, London.”

And here we have the second appearance of Jared Key. As Jonathan said, there’s a lot to unpack in whatever the hell went down in that hospital that night, but I think it’s interesting that Jared comes into the hospital that night with second-degree burns covering almost his entire body, and only stayed for 4 days in the hospital. I have no real experience with severe burns like that, but google tells me that it takes 1-3 weeks for a second-degree burn to heal, and the sheer amount of his body that was burned makes me think that he should have been in the hospital for longer than just 4 days. And when Dominic Swain meets him in November of the next year (episode 4), Dominic doesn’t mention any kind of deformity or scarring, or the eye tattoos that Lesere mentions. Dominic describes him as having “the unshaven look of someone who hadn’t slept in a couple of days”, but it’s unclear if Dominic actually saw any of Jared’s skin besides his face. He was wearing a long, black leather coat (again), he could have been wearing gloves, and since his face was the only part of him that was unburned, it’s possible Dominic just couldn’t see any scars. But the paranoid part of me wonders if he had any scars at all, because that’s the kind of mysterious fuckery I’ve come to expect from this show.

Lesere notes how strange it is that their clothing appears untouched by whatever burned them. The fire department also reported several burn marks on the ground near where the two men were found unconscious. This is highly reminiscent of the - I have no better words for it, sorry - spontaneous human combustion we see in episode 8, when Ivo Lensik found a patch of smoldering wooden floor where Raymond Fielding had been standing moments earlier. (In that same episode, Ivo himself felt a “warmth that seemed to start in my bones and radiate out through me” that made him feel like he was “burning up”, which only stopped when Father Burroughs knocked on the door.) I would very much like to know who the second man they brought into the ER that night was, as well as the other people I’m presuming were the burn marks the FD found. I feel like that would shed some light on this whole thing.

I find it very interesting that Jared’s burns stop in a sharp line across his neck, “as though he’d been wearing a choker that the damage couldn’t get above”. There wasn’t anything on his neck when they brought him in, but he asks Lesere about a brass pendant he was wearing and seems...disquieted, or something, when she says the EMTs hadn’t brought it in. This is almost certainly one of the creepy cult pendants we saw in episode 9 (the serial killer episode). He also asks her about “a small book bound in red leather”, and of course any time I hear “book bound in leather” now I think of Leitner, though with no other clues it’s impossible to say anything definitively. Maybe Jared’s just a well-read Communist.

It is interesting that the pendant, as well as the eye tattoos all over Jared’s body, seem to have offered him some kind of protection from the fire. Whether that “protection” is deliberate, or whether the fire just wasn’t powerful enough to touch those eyes, is unclear at this point. The eyes are creepy as all hell, and my instinct is to say that creepy = evil, but I don’t know how strictly TMA is going to follow that convention. Did Jared get the tattoos and wear the pendant because he knew it protect him, or is he just some crazy cult member and the protection was just a nice perk?

Which brings me back to Jared himself. I can’t decide if he’s good or evil, and maybe I’m looking at it too much like a dichotomy, but that’s how I tend to see it. There are the “good guys” (the ones who are trying to fight for good, even when they make mistakes or do bad things), and the “bad guys” (who fight for evil/destruction/chaos/death/etc.). Jared burns the Leitner in episode 4, which...seems like a good thing? He seems to be doing it against his mother’s wishes, saying that she “doesn’t always know what’s best for our family.” Was he protecting them by destroying the Leitner? And in this episode, it seems like he prevents some kind of catastrophe (likely involving the loss of human life) by killing the man he was brought in with. And he stops Lesere from touching the other man when he was laying there chanting, implying that touching him would harm her somehow (possibly by burning her as well). And he seems to have knowledge beyond what he should - he knew the code to the supply cabinet without asking, and he saw something in the Leitner in episode 4 that Dominic certainly didn’t. I trust Jared Key about as far as I could throw him. But could he be, if not strictly “good”, at least...not-evil? I’m having a hard time pinning down his motivations so far.

And what about Lesere’s part in the whole thing? When she steps aside and allows Jared access to the other man in the hospital bed, he tells her, “Yes. For you, better beholding than the lightless flame.” “The lightless flame” is the last part of the mystery man’s chant that seems to generate heat to the point of boiling liquids, melting door handles, and burning bodies, but what exactly is this “beholding” and why does Jared single Lesere out in his statement? In fact, why does she witness and remember any of this, when all the people in the waiting room were so influenced by some external force that they left the area for 15 minutes during this incident’s climax, with no indication that any of them thought it was odd or noticed anything at all?

Other things that interest me but that I don’t have much to say about yet: The mystery man’s chanting included the name of a Sumerian demon that supposedly “was able to boil fish alive in their rivers”, as well as a Polish word meaning “to cauterize or brand”. This is the first instance (that I noticed) of Sumerian mythology or Polish (the language). All the creepy language stuff so far has been Latin and Sanskrit, so I honestly don’t know what to make of this. Also, I find it interesting that Dr. Katie Grice was the only person besides Jared Key and the narrator herself who was named in this episode, despite her having no obvious, notable involvement in the incident. Does this mean she’s going to show up in a future episode? I’ll certainly be keeping my “eye” out...

This post is part of a series where I write my thoughts about each episode and obsessively connect dots in an effort to figure out The Big Mysteries of the series. All posts in this series are tagged “is this liveblogging?” Comments and messages are welcome but I have only listened to season 1, so I ask that you not spoil me for anything beyond episode 40. In the words of Jonny Sims...thanks for listening!

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

5 notes · View notes

jungwookjins · 4 years

Text

but of course, you know that already

summary: "Oh! Such devotion. You really don’t deserve it. But of course—you know that already!" -Helen, MAG164 The Sick Village

(alternatively, Jon and Martin explore an abandoned lab, and Jon gets bullied in the process)

word count: ~3.6k

genre: angst, established relationship

a/n: MAG164 giving me enough inspiration to dip my toe into TMA fic waters? It’s apparently more likely than I thought. This was mostly spurred by my refusal to stop thinking about this post since last week. And many thanks to my lovely beta readers Lizzie (@babyyodablackwood) and Jessica!

read on ao3

Martin pulled his jacket tighter around him as he shivered; the wind seemed to grow sharper and colder the nearer to London, or what used to be London, they got. “What do you think that is?” he asked, indicating, with a tilt of his head, a sprawling complex of utilitarian buildings in the distance.

“The Bartlett Centre for Cognitive and Brain Sciences Research,” Jon answered without hesitation.

“Oh uh,” Martin faltered for a second, “Did you just know that or did you Know that?”

“Hm, Knew, I think; no reason for me to have known that otherwise.”

“Oh okay.” He paused, thought for a moment, “And how’re you feeling toda—oh well not ‘today,’ there is no ‘today,’ but you know what I mean.”

“I don’t know,” Jon dragged a hand slowly down his face as he stopped walking.

“Do you want to take a break?” Martin asked, concern bleeding through his words.

“Do you? Are you tired?”

“No.”

“Then let’s keep going,” Jon started heading in the direction of the research buildings.

“Towards that?” Martin gestured at the complex. “What about the Panopticon?”

“We have to go there first, there’s something there, I can feel it.”

“Mmh, okay, if you say so.” He was skeptical but wasn’t about to argue the point given Jon’s semi-omniscience.

They trudged along in comfortable silence, falling in step save for when Martin nearly squashed a large spider in his path and jumped back to avoid doing so. The wind continued to grow, biting at their faces and stinging their eyes. Combined with the dull grey the sky had turned, the whole scene began to remind Martin just a little too much of the Lonely. Jon sensed him tensing next to him and grabbed Martin’s hand, lacing their fingers together and running his thumb over Martin’s. Martin relaxed a little and directed a soft smile in Jon’s direction, a silent thank you.

The complex in the distance grew larger and larger as they approached it, until they were right in front of it. The journey seemed far shorter than it should have been, and the fact of it evidently set Jon on edge. Martin felt his nails digging into the back of his hand, saw his eyes flitting about. The main building was rectangular, about twenty storeys tall, cast in a grey concrete weathered and darkened by age. It was flanked by several shorter, wider buildings that were connected in a circle with a courtyard in the center. The whole complex was in the Brutalist style Martin had always hated so much. Its jutting angles against the grey of the sky were just all a bit too on the nose for the apocalypse.

They walked toward the main building as Martin began to protest, “I don’t know Jon,” he said, slowing his step but not stopping, “Do we have to go in? We don’t even know this is the right way, couldn’t we just go around—” his words were cut short as they stepped over the threshold of the complex and every building outside of the complex itself seemed to suddenly disappear.

“It seems we have no choice,” Jon answered dryly, “And I still think there’s something here.”

Martin hummed in neither agreement nor disagreement but followed Jon into the building regardless. They were met with a lobby that looked most unwelcoming to visitors; no reception desk was to be found anywhere, and the only wayfinder available was a sign next to the lifts that had a list of names and a room number next to each, with no indication of what the rooms were or who the names belonged to. At the center of the room was a staircase going down, surrounded on three sides by a waist-high frosted glass wall. Neither the lifts nor the staircase looked to be favorable options, but Jon mused aloud that the basement could just be storage rooms, and he’d rather not waste his time with them if not necessary. So, he grasped Martin’s hand and pulled gently, indicating they should head for the lifts.

It dinged before Jon’s finger even touched the up button, let alone pushed it, and the sound echoed hollowly through the empty lobby.

“Well that’s not ominous at all,” Martin chuckled mirthlessly.

They stepped inside and Jon pressed the button for the second floor, this time the lift letting him do so without intervening. It creaked and groaned, evidence of age betraying its shiny metal facade. From what they could see as they stepped out, the second floor consisted of two long hallways branching off from the lifts. The one to the left was blocked off by a glass door, and a keypad by its handle blinked red. They moved cautiously down the hallway on the right, Martin reading each plaque by the doors lining the hallway’s left wall. Anne Carrion, Ph.D.; Cerise Moore, Ph.D.; Maxwell de Santos, Ph.D.; Kenneth MacLeod, M.S.; Evelyn Ortega, M.S.; Janani Singh, Radiation Safety Specialist.

“Molecular neuroscientists. Researchers, I believe.” Jon supplied helpfully, anticipating Martin’s question, “These are their offices.”

The doors to each office were locked, but a look through the small window in each door told them when they already knew: the floor, and likely the building as well, was completely and utterly deserted. Martin led the way back to the lifts and other hallway. He tried pushing (and then pulling) the glass door, but the red light on the keypad remained red, and the door remained locked. Jon made a move for the keypad as Martin stepped aside, and he punched in the numbers 2 8 7 3. The keypad glowed green, and Martin nearly fell through the door he was leaning on as it swung open. This hallway was wider, with doors flanking both sides and posters of academic journal articles pinned on the walls. Every door had a window through which they saw black-topped laboratory benches and sinks filled with glassware, as if there had been experiments actively in progress when all the researchers just disappeared from the labs. And every door was locked, this time with ID badge readers that Jon couldn’t exactly Know how to unlock. At the end of the hall was a pale yellow metal door that seemed to lead to a walk-in freezer, a dial by the door reading “-78ºC.”

“There’s nothing else on this floor, is there?” Martin started heading back, “Maybe we should try the other floors?”

“Right, yes I think so.”

There was no reason to not check the floors sequentially, so they found themselves on the third floor, nearly identical to the second. The only differences were the names on the office plaques—behavioral neuroscientists, Jon had said—the addition of small animal cages devoid of any animals in the laboratories, and instead of a walk-in freezer, the room at the end of a the hall was labeled “Imaging,” and under it, a warning sign, “32P, 35S, 22Na, 36Cl RADIOACTIVE ISOTOPES IN USE.”

They continued up the floors, all of them some variation of the first they’d seen, half offices, half laboratories. It wasn’t until the fifteenth floor they found something different. The lifts opened up to a large room with two circular tables in the center, each for about eight people. The back wall was lined with floor to ceiling windows that looked out of the grey suburbs of the greater London area. It looked just as empty as it did when all the buildings disappeared as they stepped over the threshold to the complex, but Jon Knew it wasn’t actually empty, something was just making it look as if it were. Trying to Know what caused the illusion did nothing but make his vision go blurry for a few seconds.

The left and right walls of the room each had a set of double doors. As Martin approached the one on the left, Jon could hear him mutter the name on the plaque, “The Hallett Dale Conference Room.” This was the first unlocked room they had happened upon.

The other room was “The Milner Conference Room.” Jon found this one unlocked as well and pulled the doors open to reveal a sparsely decorated room with a long rectangular table in the center of it, chairs on the long sides, each side seating twelve.

Finding nothing notable, he exited the room and focused his attention on the scene outside, or rather, lack thereof. The unnatural emptiness gnawed on the inside of his mind, as if there was something just beyond his vision there he couldn’t quite see, an itch he couldn’t quite scratch. Martin left the Hallett Dale room and found him at the back windows, thousand-yard stare fixed loosely on the empty landscape below them. His top teeth worried at his bottom lip, and when Martin placed a hand on his shoulder, he didn’t react.

“Alright?” Martin asked gently, hoping to pull him out from his rumination.

Jon reached back to cover Martin’s hand on his shoulder with his own and let out a long exhale, “Let’s go look at the other floors,” he replied, still half lost in thought.

At the sixteenth floor, they were met with the familiar sight of two hallways branching off to the left and right. The hall on the right yielded nothing surprising, just a row of offices, this time for a number of neuropharmacologists. The hall to the left was blocked off by a familiar glass door to which Jon entered the code as he had done for all thirteen other laboratory floors. The door swung in to reveal the wide hallway with labs on both sides. A walk-in freezer door was at the end, and Jon could have sworn it was just a slightly brighter yellow than all the others.

They went through the usual routine of peeking inside the labs through the windows, checking their doors and finding them locked, each taking a side of the hallway. Martin reached the end first, turning his attention to the freezer door, its dial reading “-42ºC.” He tried the handle, which unlatched, “Uhm, Jon?” he made a move to pull the door open, “I think this one’s unlocked, actually.”

Jon’s head snapped up from the poster he was reading a few doors down and registered, half a second too late, that it was very much not a good thing the door was unlocked. “Martin!” he warned, closing the meters between him and the yellow in a couple frantic leaps. But Martin had already stepped inside, leaving the door slightly ajar. By the time Jon reached it, the familiar form of Helen, swathed in floating fractals and dizzying colors, stepped out, solidly blocking his path.

“Uh uh uh,” she pressed a finger to his chest, “you may want to stop there, dear Archivist,” her voice dripped sickly sweet condescension. Something sharp, fractal or finger, grazed his side, dangerously close to a part of his unprotected liver, where a rib used to be. Not that being lightly stabbed by the Distortion would cause any lasting injury to him, but it made him feel uncomfortably vulnerable all the same. “You stepping inside may be an easy way to cause me some trouble, but poor Martin would also be trapped in those corridors should they collapse in on themselves! Unless you can Know that you could get him out unharmed? But I don’t think that’s the case, is it?”

Jon searched for the knowledge for a second before realizing that it wasn’t and wouldn’t be coming to him. He sighed, “No, I suppose that isn’t the case.”

“Right then!” She continued with a cheeriness that was just so wrong, “That’s settled. It’s best you stay out here.”

He glanced past her shoulder into the corridor, seeing nothing comprehensible. The only things visible were patterns of colorful light dancing against inky black, as if he had closed his eyes and pressed his palms against them. Catching him looking, Helen smiled coldly and shut the door with her foot in one smooth motion. Jon strengthened the resolve in his voice, “What do you want?”

“Oh you already know! Thought I’d pop by for a chat, I just want us to be friends again of course!”

“You and I both know that’s not true,” Jon countered, punctuating the last word.

“Oh Jon, you and your silly little words you think still mean things! I think you of all people should know by now that fact and truth aren’t quite the same, hm? You may have all the facts of things, but how much of the truth do you really understand?”

“What are you going to do to Martin?” he demanded, voice low, solidly ignoring her question.

“Oh now aren’t you adorable, fussing over him like this. Don’t worry! Nothing will hurt him in there,” she laughed unnervingly, “Well, not physically! I just wanted some time for us to talk, hm what’s that word you use? Ah! Yes, avatar to avatar.”

“And will you let him go once I,” he spit the words out as if they were venom on his tongue, “talk to you?”

She considered it for a moment, dragging the decision out a tad longer than necessary just to watch Jon squirm, “Mmmh hmm, I suppose I will!”

The next moment passed in near silence, with only the hum of the not-freezer behind them.

“Well?” Jon asked, impatient.

“Well,” she began slyly, “How have you two crazy kids been finding the trip since I last saw you? You’ve crossed quite a few now, haven’t you? Less than half to go!”

“What is it to you?” He was decidedly against answering in any satisfactory way.

“Just checking up! I know you’re not exactly an expert on friends, what with all of yours becoming not so fond of you by some point or another, but even you must know this is what friends do?” Her eyes glittered with mad glee.

“I’m only still here so you’ll let Martin out. We,” he gestured pointedly in the space between them, “are never going to be friends. As if I could trust you after you sat idly by.”

“Oh pity! I do think we could be the best of friends if you’d stop being so stubborn! But that’s your problem, isn’t it Archivist? You never really let yourself trust anyone, do you? And eventually, everyone gets tired of it and leaves. Or, they die before they can get tired. Oh! Or, they get tired and die. My, my, my, it doesn’t seem easy for those who get close to the Archivist.” She continued with little sign of stopping any time soon, “You like to think you’ve made an active decision to trust people, but how much have you actually stuck to that? You’re always on the defensive, holding people at arm’s length because you’re scared they’ll leave you. Maybe you say it’s for their safety, but clearly, they still aren’t very safe! So, how much is so you don’t feel as hurt when they leave?”

“Is this what you came here to do? Lay out my interpersonal troubles?”

She continued, paying no mind, “And don’t even get me started on Martin. Now, he has loyalty to rival an entire army of knights. I don’t have to be all-knowing to know that boy won’t leave you. But how much of that loyalty is just out of a feeling of obligation to take care of people? Even if they hurt him? You know him, and if not, you at least Know him. He stayed by his mother all those years despite her causing him nothing but pain and trouble. And now,” she reveled in the determination dissolving behind Jon’s eyes, “Now he’s got you! Another person to devote himself to, regardless of if they deserve him or not!”

She was relentless, continuing as if she had an entire list and a time limit to mention everything, “Have you ever wondered how he really feels about this? Love of his life being the thing that started the apocalypse? That threw the world he loved into so much pain and misery and fear? Sure, he loves you, but is that the same as feeling safe with you? Even better, you’ve taken a statement from him before, haven’t you? Perhaps you’re the reason he can’t get a decent night’s sleep, what with you haunting his nightmares and all. He can barely get comfortable with you Knowing things, much less listen to you record a statement. Maybe, he’s even a bit repulsed, but he wouldn’t tell you that, would he? You can ask and ask, but you know as well as I do, he’s a damned good liar. And lie to spare your feelings? That’s the most Martin thing he could do!”

“I know what you’re doing,” he retorted through gritted teeth, “I know what you are. Es mentiras. I don’t have to believe a word you’re saying.”

“Then tell me, Archivist, have you ever really asked him about this? How he feels about it all? About you? Have you Compelled him for the truth of his thoughts?”

“No, but I can’t, it’d be wrong—”

She cut him off, “Can’t or won’t? You say you can’t because doing so would be wrong and you don’t want to violate his free will like that, but isn’t part of it not that but rather that you’re scared of his answer?” She barreled over him before he had a chance to answer, “And he’s not naive, but he sure does have a lot of hope! Hope that all this will be reversed, hope that things will be normal again, hope that you will be normal again. But we both know that’s not happening. He’s always going to be shackled to you and your spooky omniscience! Even if you do somehow turn the world back, you’re surely not coming out of this the same person he fell in love with. I mean,” she laughed a little, the sound carrying down the hallway and settling into Jon’s bones, “even if you did, you have to admit that you’ve never been good at keeping people around. Always just a little too cold, walls built a little too high, and not much to offer but a disparaging and abrasive personality, hm?

“And dear Archivist, after everything he’s been through and all that he’s poured into caring for other people, what with the constant self sacrifice, don’t you think he deserves someone to take care of him? Actually make him feel safe?”

“Yes.”

“And you think you can do that? Be what he needs? Be enough?”

“I-I—,” Jon faltered for a moment before sighing, “I don’t know.”

“Well then, you see what I mean! Now, this has been just a lovely chat, but you know how it is. Business is booming, so I’ve got to dash!”

Jon had too little time to process what was happening before the door opened and she stepped backwards into it, laughing while she did and giving Jon a little wave before it closed with a clear click. “Wait! But Martin!” He tried the door to find that it was securely locked.

Jon had always considered himself someone to maintain some level of decorum and dignity, even if his professionalism was usually just a shield for himself or a diversion so others wouldn’t focus on anything else, but if there was ever a time to pound his fists against a door and wail and beg and plead, this was it.

And he was about to when the door swung wildly open, nearly hitting him directly in the face, and out stumbled Martin, wild-eyed and disheveled. “Jon!” he cried, collapsing into Jon’s arms as he staggered slightly backwards from the shock of Martin’s weight on his shoulders, and they both sunk to the floor.

“Martin,” Jon breathed a sigh of relief, “Martin, you’re—you—what happened?”

“H-how long was I in there?”

“I don’t know, about twenty minutes?”

“Oh God, Jon, it felt like forever. I had no idea how long I was there, I think I lost track somewhere between it feeling like hours and feeling like days,” he began to ramble now, breaths getting shuddery and shallow, “And you weren’t there, a-and—” the tears flowed freely now, and he sunk further into Jon’s arms, face pressed against his chest, “And I thought I would never get out of there and you would never come back and I kept hearing a voice in the corridors saying that nothing would ever be the same again and I didn’t know what she meant—I mean I thought that sh-she had killed you or something and I was just so scared and I—”

“Shh, I’m here, I’m here now,” Jon soothed, running his fingers through Martin’s tangled curls, “I’m here now.” He pressed a kiss to the back of Martin’s hand, skin still wet and salty with tears. It killed him to see Martin like this, in pain, because of Jon. But as Martin’s sobs gradually died down and his clutch on the front of Jon’s shirt loosened, Jon knew that right then, in that moment, he needed Martin and Martin needed him. Still though, what about after all this, if there even was an after? Helen’s words ran through Jon’s head as they sat on the floor of the laboratory building and held on to each other for dear life. And you think you can do that? Be enough?

They decided to stay in the building to rest for a few hours, even if they didn’t physically need it. Jon couldn’t wake Martin from the nightmare he had.

#tma #the magnus archives #jonmartin #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #helen richardson #jonmartin fic #tma fic #my fic #mine #some nerves around this #but it was good to get words down regardless

21 notes · View notes