it seems most likely that jon would have recorded over the tape in trailer 3 but I'm obsessed with the idea of the assistants listening to the tape later and hearing the spooky voice
the assistants: uhhh jon? the archives are haunted
jon: Oh, what nonsense befalls me now? *listens* This is clearly just audio distortion.
the assistants: ???
the tape, very loudly and clearly: vigilo audio opperior VIGILO AUDIO OPPERIOR
jon: Some dust must have gotten on the tape. We'll have to be more careful about how we store them.
Cut to a few hours later, Jon is alone in his office, middle of the night, listening to that tape on loop, scowling deeper than the Forever Deep Below Creation
Hi! Would y'all mind sharing what company produced the music boxes? I absolutely adore mine and am wondering what it would take to produce a batch for a different fandom. Thanks!
We ordered them from Alibaba, and Mod Ly did all the design work.
Some general ones: Sasha James is aromantic. She’s the oldest of the Archives crew, maybe around 32-33? She’s almost six feet tall. She enjoys a good cardigan, but always wear super-fashionable clothes underneath it. People view her as the most put-together of the bunch and she enjoys that, even if it’s not true.
Some oddly specific ones: She does not have any pets but wouldn’t mind getting a cat. She and Jon became research buddies by bonding over their mutual hatred of most of the other researchers. She is not a good cook. She enjoys starting fights in the comments section of any website. Sometimes she’ll leave sarcastic comments on Tim’s instagram photos with a burner account. She read all of Martin’s poetry when he lived in the Archives. He does not know this. She can hold her liquor. She’s written several fake statements with all of the tropes Jon hates just to rile him up. She will eat the food you left in the fridge and blame it on someone else. She has a wicked sense of humor. And even though she can be a menace, she cares about her coworkers a lot <3
Jon’s hand is hovering over the tape recorder sitting on his desk, trying to decide whether or not to bring it with him to Great Yarmouth, when there’s a soft knock on the doorframe to his office.
It’s really not Martin’s fault that Jon startles so badly at the noise. He’s just… he’s been on edge lately. They all have, he supposes. The tension in the air has been palpable, growing stronger every day as the Unknowing grew nearer, and it’s reached a fever pitch by this point. His nerves feel stretched paper-thin, and he feels terrible at the way his flinch draws a guilty expression to Martin’s face.
“Sorry,” Martin says, his hand hovering in the air for a moment before dropping to his side. “I just, er. I saw the light on and I wanted to…”
The sentence hangs in the air, like Martin isn’t quite sure how he wants to finish it. After a moment, Martin clears his throat and says, “Got everything you need? I know it’s not exactly a vacation, but you are staying overnight, so, er, maybe toothpaste? And- and it can get cold by the coast, so maybe a jacket—though it is summer, so you might not need one. Maybe we should check the weather forecast—”
“Martin,” Jon says, softly but firmly.
Martin’s mouth snaps shut, and one of his hands comes up to grip his upper arm in a protective gesture. “Sorry. Just- just nervous, I guess.”
“Yes,” Jon says, suddenly very, very tired. “Me… me too.”
They stand there in silence for a moment, Jon’s fingers still lingering on the tape recorder and Martin still shrinking into himself slightly. It’s been a while since he’s done that around Jon, and the thought makes something twist in Jon’s stomach.
Maybe that’s why Jon pulls his hand away from the tape recorder, hugs his arms tightly to his chest, and says quietly, “I’m scared, Martin.”
The vulnerability itches underneath his skin, but Jon doesn’t shy away from it, even as Martin’s eyes widen slightly in surprise. He continues, “I- I don’t know what’s going to happen. Elias played us that tape, and we have a- a plan, but there’s just so much that’s out of our control, and the chances that things are going to go wrong are… quite high. So much has happened, I- I haven’t had time to process so much of it, and I—”
Jon breaks off with a small noise that sounds suspiciously like the beginning of a sob. “I don’t think we’re all coming back from this,” he says, so quietly he’s not sure Martin hears it. “I’m… I’m not sure that I’ll come back from this.”
“Jon,” Martin says, his voice breaking around the word. “Please… please don’t say that.”
Jon hugs himself tighter and looks down at the ground. “I’m sorry,” he says.
“You’re going to come back,” Martin says, with such conviction that Jon can almost believe it himself. “You and Tim and Basira and- and Daisy, I guess—you’re all going to be okay. The plan is going to work, and- and you’ll all be okay.”
The last bit comes out choked and wet, like Martin’s barely holding back tears. And god, Jon wants to believe him. He wants to believe that everything will be okay, that they’ll set up the explosives and get out in time and detonate them at just the right moment and stop the world from ending. But he just… he just can’t.
“Martin,” Jon says, haltingly. “If- if I don’t make it back—”
“Jon,” Martin says, but Jon keeps going.
“If I don’t make it back, I need to tell you- well, I need to tell you so, so many things, really, but you need to know that I—”
“Jon.”
Jon draws in a shaky breath and looks up at Martin. Pain and sadness are etched into every line of Martin’s face, and beneath it lies a mute fear that Jon feels reflected within him. “You’re going to make it back,” Martin says firmly, leaving no room for discussion. “You’re going to make it back, and- and you can tell me then.”
Jon shakes his head and takes a step toward Martin, his arms unfolding from his chest and one hand reaching for Martin’s. “Please, just- just let me say this.”
Martin allows Jon to take his hand. It’s shaking ever so slightly, clammy with nerves. Jon squeezes it tightly, thinking about all the times Martin’s handed him tea or files or pastries and Jon’s been unable to look away from his hands. “I… I am not a brave man,” Jon says, studying Martin’s hand in his so he doesn’t have to look at Martin’s face, to see the incredible sadness in his eyes. “I’ve been scared for my life so many times over this past year, running from things that- that meant me harm. I’ve made… so many mistakes, with Tim and- and Sasha and… and you, and I- I don’t want to make another. Whether or not I make it back, I… I want to tell you this now.”
Martin’s quiet for a long moment. Then, tentatively, his hand squeezes Jon’s in return. “Okay,” he says softly.
Now that he’s been given the chance, Jon finds that he doesn’t know how to put it into words. How can he describe the way that Martin makes him feel like he’s safe? How can he describe the way that tea feels like home now, or the way that his office feels cold and empty without a mug perched on the edge of his desk, steam curling in the air? How can he describe the way that his mind, throughout every horror and kidnapping and lonely moment, finds comfort in the shape of Martin’s smile and the way Jon’s name sounds on his lips?
I love you feels too hollow. Not enough to capture the swirling mess of affection and longing and aching sadness clustered in Jon’s stomach. He says it anyway, finally looking up at Martin so he can capture every miniscule expression on Martin’s face and catalogue it for later. The way Martin’s lips part slightly in surprise. The way his eyes grow wide and his cheeks flush ever so slightly, his freckles stark against the light pink beneath them. The way the corners of his mouth twitch into a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes, a bittersweet thing that Jon feels echoed within him, because it’s a bit too late, isn’t it? Jon leaves in a few hours, and Martin’s staying behind, and this might be all they’ll get to have.
Still, Jon says it. And when he dares to rest his hand against Martin’s cheek, Martin leans into his touch with a small exhalation.
“Stay with me?” Jon says, a bit of raw desperation leaking into his voice. “Just- just for a bit longer. Please.”
Martin draws in a small, shaking breath that Jon can feel against the palm of his hand. “Yeah,” Martin says, barely more than a whisper. “Of course.”
And when Martin pulls Jon into his arms and whispers a quiet I love you too, Jon can pretend, at least for a moment, that it’ll all be okay.
Tim’s the charming nurse and Jon is the hapless member of a local crime syndicate who definitely Should Not be doing any field work but hey, Elias is a dick in every universe.
Cue Jon giving increasingly ridiculous stories for all of his many mishaps-
Jon: I ran into a door-
Tim: Jon, this is a stab wound.
Jon: -the door handle was a knife.
Either Tim helps Jon escape from his life of crime, or joins in. Somebody’s gotta make sure he doesn’t run into any more doors, right?
more seriously, my favorite ship after jonmartin tends to change depending on what i'm currently writing and what i'm currently reading, and it's really hard for me to say i prefer one jon ship over another. i like to ship jon with everyone, as god intended
yeah honestly my jon ships change like the tide! depending on what mood im in, who im talking to, a random passing thought... god DID intend for jonathan sims to be loved, and his will be done....via fanfic
