officially moved!

He makes a pained face when Jon moves to touch it, ready to pull him away from doing — God knows what. Digging his fingers in through the bandages?! No, Jon was good at getting himself hurt, but he wasn’t stupid. Martin watches all the same, pity, worry, and stress line his features.

And then Jon apologizes, for leaving him of all things, and Martin’s hit with a lightness in his chest and butterflies in his stomach that he knows too well by this point. He wants to kiss him.

“Oh, um,” There’s a laugh, light and enamoured (when wasn’t he?) as he pulls a hand away to nudge up his glasses. “No. I mean - yes. I’m - I’m alright, Jon. Hopping between here and home and - and the Institute has been keeping me busy? I’ve… Actually been keeping myself rather occupied with piecing things together myself.”

Martin opens his mouth to continue. It’s nice to have Jon respond to him, but now that it was time to let it all out, he was struggling with the words. It was embarrassing what he’d done, and all of this felt too much like being in trouble. Or being in a confessional, if only he was on the other side of the curtain that surrounded Jons bed.

“It’s not all bad. I don’t know if it was the same for you, b-but after I-“ He glances to the door, just in case, “After I stabbed you, I think I brought us here? We walked. For a while. I almost didn’t think we were going to emerge anywhere and that I’d ACCIDENTALLY doomed us all somehow but… But we made it a-and it’s a good thing far as I can tell. Sort of uncanny, in a lot of ways. Like how the key to my flat didn’t fit. Funny the things we make it to a literal different reality with, haha.” A pause. “Am - Am I making sense?”

“The Institute.” Jon’s brows furrow. Right, of course. A different reality but of course the prestigious institute still existed in this one. And if the ache in his head didn’t grow the second he tried to ‘look’ at anything else that may be the same, he would. Maybe he just didn’t expect another reality to mirror their own. Well, they way it was before. Two weeks Martin has been navigating this new world by himself.

His eye is fixed on Martin, though he’s lowered himself back against the pillow. His fingers intertwine in the hand they still hold. There’s a soft smile at Martin’s worry, his hushed tone. It must have been so scary, not knowing if he was coming out the other side. Obviously Jon’s glad they did. 

He’s quiet, his thumb tracing gentle and rhythmic circles as Jon pieces things together, and notes the dryness of the others skin. He should have brought cream. Wasn’t like he couldn’t have slathered it on him while he was out cold. Something else to bring up to speed, but for now Jon is scrambling to be caught up when he’s been kicked back to the starting line, so Martin sits back down, the chair scraping and pulling himself in closer towards the bed.

He can’t actually deny him an explanation.

“Kind of a loaded question, Jon. You’d really rather talk about it here? Instead of, y’know, a couch? Somewhere comfortable? Someone might come in, or -” A leg starts to bounce from his spot in the hospital provided fold out chair. He was going to have to just spit it out. Jon deserved it, even if he would rather take it somewhere a bit more private. So after a soft exhale, he caves. “Yeah. No, yeah, ‘course you would. Um. So, it’s nearly been two weeks, but aside from taking a really good nap, you’ve been… healing fine? There was actually one point near the beginning where we thought you were going to get up and - well - I don’t know if you remember that at all but the doctors were doing all their poking and prodding because I’m pretty sure something nasty was happening? In your - um. Your eye.”

That was as good a place to start as any. He laughs this time, though it’s void of humour. “Which, you know how you are with your healing. It’s complicated enough as it is. I think they thought it was an infection? Maybe it was, but part of me doubts that it was anything they’d be able to recognize so they - they put you under and hooked you up to a TON of pain killers. Still treated it like one, I think. Probably for the best.”

Jon’s hand goes to his bandaged eye now. A slow, tentative touch of the the gauze where he would have been able to feel the shape of an eye underneath. Now, the slight touch finds a dip where there once wasn’t one, and just a slight discomfort from the pressure despite the pain killers. He’s not so sure all the pain is physical, though. It’s a dull ache from a severed connection. Not from his brain but from his patron. 

He sighs, hand dropping back to his side. Jon is looking up at the ceiling now. 

“Two weeks..”

Relief. He didn’t abandon Martin for months on end. He didn’t lose too much time. But it’s... only two weeks since.. saving the world? And dooming another?

☄️ Finn’s eyes briefly trail over to whatever it is that Jon’s scribbling down - more out of curiosity than anything. Perhaps he’s wondering why it’s necessary when the entire conversation is already being recorded.

His pause was natural at first, but now it’s starting to feel forced, as though he’s purposely hesitating instead of just taking a break from the subject at hand. That’s when he feels like he has to continue, to say something else and break the silence, as though it’s absolutely necessary that he keep talking. It’s strange… and though there’s a small voice in the back of his mind that’s questioning why this is happening, he does indeed continue.

After a deep breath.

“Okay. It was just a normal weird dream at first, so whatever, right? The only problem is, the Cosmic Owl was there. Or, sort of? I was like, watching a video of him anyway. But whenever he shows up, that means the dream’s gonna come true. Or… part of it, at least. That’s what sucks, you never really know which part of it, or how, or how much is just freaky symbolism junk.”

“Anyway, like I said - nothing stuck out dream-wise besides that at first. But then things started going to butts. This snail showed up lookin’ all gross and possessed, and it started readin’ from the Enchiridion, which is this really special important book I had at the time, and all of a sudden I see things from the point of view of like, wahtever’s comin’ out of the book, and it’s attacking Billy and… yeah. I woke up screaming. And naturally, I had to go and see if Billy was okay. So that’s what did.”

“And he…”

Oh man. It was getting difficult to continue again. He glanced down, fidgeting with his hands a bit. 🌼

He’d hate to have to compel Finn too much. Jon’s worked to prevent himself from doing it on his coworkers, his friends. At least not intentionally if he can help it. And he really shouldn’t be doing it to this kid. He already has. And he will continue to do it. But he sees a slight strain in Finn’s face during that pause that makes him wonder, just briefly, if this had already been too much. This isn’t him at his full power, not fully pressuring him into speaking, but there’s still a bit of worry. He’d hate to hurt Finn.

A few more notes go down on the paper. Possible presence of The End’s power extending beyond it’s natural function? He can sense the Fears on Finn. Jon wouldn’t be even remotely interested in any of this if he didn’t think... he could watch.. document.. study.. The Powers are in his reality and he’s so damn curious how it is intereacting with Finn and the other denizens of it. 

Jon stops writing reminders for himself to look into later as Finn pauses again. He looks uncomfortable. It’s a shame that unlike Martin, Jon never did well with encouraging comfort or going at their own pace. Patience isn’t his thing. Instead, he lets that pause last a second more before clearing his throat. An annoyed expression is trying desperately to emerge but he won’t let it. It’s not the kid’s fault.

He’s laughing. Oh, Jon. It’s enough to ease Martin up just enough to reflect it with the ghost of a smile on his own. The nurse can wait a minute. Right? Laughter was medicine enough and besides, he’s earned a minute to catch up with Jon. There was that underlining worry that it would be another six months, or worse and he would never wake up - so the relief he felt, that washed over him with that gentle huff was more than welcome.

“Yeah. Yeah, we did.” His head tilts in reconsideration, and after a beat, “Sort of. I mean, we’re definitely here a-and it’s definitely… You know, it’s not there, if that’s what you mean. Looks like Annabelle knew her stuff after all.”

Annabelle. The mention of her name makes him cast a quick glance down to the bag on the floor by his feet, then back up to Jon. He can feel the repercussions of waking up as fast as he did slowly settling in; the stiffness in his neck, the weight under his eyes. Probably pales in comparison to what Jon was feeling, he thinks. Another flash of a smile, and this time it’s more at ease.

“It’s complicated. Well, maybe not but it feels complicated? Like, we’re here, but i-it’s not -” He makes a small indignant noise, frustrated with his own tact at his words. Weren’t you supposed to be a poet? “Things are similar. Very similar. Have you ever seen Spirited Away? It’s like, when she goes in the little spirit world or whatever and comes out, the tiny statue outside the park is all covered in moss and her flowers are wilted? Yeah. Like that. Except, it’s not time that’s all wrong, it’s space. It’s - it’s just the - the…”

Eloquent? No. But he’s spent plenty of time processing their situation and was a little short on conversational partners who he could talk about it with. “You know what? That’s hardly important right now, I mean look at you! It can wait until you’re OUT of a hospital bed. I-I should get you something to drink. I bet you’re parched as anything.” He half rises out of his seat, raising Jon’s hand to his mouth and giving his fingers a kiss, before he clamps his other hand on top of them with as much reassurance as he can muster.

"Sort of.." Jon repeats mostly to himself in a croak of a voice. His dependency on the eye has left everything a bit foggier without it. It leaves Jon to have to strain slightly to connect dots on his own. Embarrassing... Know-it-all Sims struggling to add two plus two. Here and not there. Is that any better? Well, for them, maybe.. But in the end.. did they do any good and save anyone?

He catches the glance down but doesn't really make note of it. The ache in his head and his face gradually coming on more. Jon.... didn't really want to call in a nurse or anything yet though. Not without knowing more. Not without being sure they were actually safe here like this.

Complicated? Martin knows Jon isn't a stranger to complicated. Funny, being on the other end, though. Would be funny, at least.

"The... That's.. The cartoon?" Vague knowledge on it peeters in, enough for Jon to get what Martin meant by the reference. And then his partner is shifting and moving and NOT finishing his explanation. He's choosing caring for Jon before filling him in and while it IS the right choice, it's not what he WANTS. Jon swallows, his spit a bit thick and throat a tad dry, yes, but it really could wait. The hand in Martin's squeezes.

☄️ Finn brushes off the tiny smile as simply friendly in nature - him being happy to meet with and talk to him. But that feeling of Jon’s gaze boring into his very soul wouldn’t go away. It seemed to only be increasing in intensity as he sat there.

As soon as Billy’s name was announced, Finn couldn’t stop himself from letting out a small gasp. His expression quickly jumped from pure surprise, to a look of hesitant weariness. His expectations of bragging about fun adventures had suddenly turned to a darker part of his life - and while it had been long enough for it to not effect Finn as heavily as it used to, it was still something that brought a dull sort of pain and grief when brought up.

“How do you know about Billy?” 🌼

Did- oh. Jon, try not to be too much of a freak. You can look into people’s heads but you KNOW people don’t like it when you do. And you ESPECIALLY know people don’t like it when they know you know. His face falters slightly, realizing his own own slip up. Making things awkward, good job.

But that’s fine. The Archivist’s presence and all that. Even if Finn seems uneasy, he should be able to say his statement fairly calmly. Did he not realize Jon wanted to hear something dark? Something emotionally scarring? What else is the institute for?

“Hm? I’m almost certain you’ve mentioned something.” Bold faced lie. Terrible lie. Tim HAD said he’s a terrible liar the other day. “Here, I can start you off.” And Jon clears his throat.

☄️ Just some tiny online avatars for the websites they normally communicate on. Finn could feel this guy watching him like a hawk, as though attempting to read him like an open book. He knew Jon was a curious sort of guy, but he was much more intense in-person. He began to feel just a tad uncomfortable from this alone - sure Finn was wiling to share his experiences with others, but he was also one who valued his privacy when certain subjects came up.

“Yeah man, got tons of stories. Was there like, anything specific you were interested in? Ghosts? Demons? Aliens? Uuh… cursed dungeons?” 🌼

Okay. He’s not trying to smile, he’s not! It’s still very slight on Jon’s face but he’s holding most of it back. He presses down the record button with a soft click. And those hands move to clasp in front of him as he looks Finn up and down.

“Oh? I get to choose?” Jon’s mulling it over. He’s opening his eye, he’s looking into Finn. No, like he’s often explained, just because he can know doesn’t mean he can understand. He sees into Finn’s mind but, again, none of it means anything out of context. Jon’s just looking to find any piece of information that felt... appetizing. And there it is, amongst MANY very interesting things. Just a glimpse, and a name.

Jon was good at getting himself into these situations. Bedridden and brutalized, it wasn’t the first time Martin has spent countless hours by his unconscious side while nurses and doctors became more and more accustomed to his presence than his absence. But it wasn’t really Jon’s fault this time, was it?

No, he’d plunged the knife, even if it was a direct result of Jons decision. Which, in turn, was technically a result of his own decision. But pointing fingers didn’t change a thing, and it certainly didn’t change the fact Jon was now missing a whole EYE and hasn’t been awake for, oh, days. Hospitals weren’t entirely unfamiliar to him, though house visits and pharmacies were more the trend with him and his own, which lended well to falling asleep when there was such little stimulus in the room they were in.

Martin was hunched over, head in his arms as one of his hands made sure to keep contact, in case he moved, in case he – he needed something. Needed him. Not some nurse, not some doctor, but Martin as the first line of contact and communication. It was selfish, probably, but at least it wasn’t putting Jon out. 

As the others hand cards through his hair, it registers slowly. The warmth, the weight, the displacement of it. He might be able to doze off, but it was light, easily disturbed, and hounded with horrible, haunting memories and anxiety from the path they had just treaded. It’s enough to wake him, dawning on what the sensation was and then Martin was upright, awake, glasses askew and staring down at– 

“Jon! Jon - Jon you’re awake! I don’t think - oh thank goodness, I thought I’d - I’d – gone too deep or something! No, I mean - I- I should call a nurse.” Despite his words, Martin was taking the hand that fell from his hair into his own, gaze flitting between the others remaining eye and the bandages that covered the hole that remained where the other should be. He breathes in slow through his nose, then continues. “You’ve looked better. How… are you feeling?”

Martin stirs and seeing his face has Jon’s eye crinkle with joy. With fondness and love. His head shifts the side only slightly so he can smile at him. Fingers move to intertwine with the hand holding his.

“I’ve felt better.” There’s a huff of a laugh. Breathy and tired. There’s a dull ache in the side of his face and a headache brewing but not quite there yet. It’s probably what woke him. His thumb brushes over the back of Martin’s hand. He can see the concern in Martin’s mind, leaking out of the edges of a door now closed solidly. After so much omnipotence, the silence and trickles felt fine. He welcomed the mild headache.

He feels the knife.

It’s been a long time since Jon’s had a dreamless sleep. A long time since he wasn’t reliving statements, watching the victims cower under his gaze over and over and over. No... now there’s nothing. Peaceful, really. Just blank black and static. And silence. A comfortable silence.

No... not silent... there’s a noise.

A steady beeping... 

It takes a moment, but Jon slowly opens his eyes...eye... Just the one. Half lidded and exhausted. His messy mass of curly hair strewn over the pillow and half his face wrapped in bandages. It’s so bright there. It takes a minute to adjust to the light. They’d walked through a sunless wasteland for so long... Jon can breathe. He takes a waking breath, deep and steady. And registers a weight at his side.

Martin, leaning heavily on his hospital bed. A hand rested gently on Jon’s knee. Another breath and it’s a sigh of relief. He looks like he’s been sleeping here. He’s sleeping now. Jon brushes hair from his boyfriend’s forehead, cards his fingers through it. He lets it rest there. Let’s them rest there.

Jon looks up with a start. How did this kid get in here without him noticing? Not that... it's very hard to sneak up on him when he's elbow deep in... reading.

"Can I help you? You're not supposed to be down here." But a moment of looking at this grubby young man and a name popped up in his head. Oh! "Oh, Finn? Martin's friend?" That didn't answer the rest but it's enough of a start.

Jon nods.

Statement of Samantha Bridges, regarding a chain email she and her friend received. Original statement received August 5th, 2007. Audio recording by Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute, London.

Statement Begins.

You ache. Unbearably so. Intolerably. Fatigue settles in, pulling heavily at your eyes, at your bones.  And the pit in your stomach burns so hot that it's blistering.

Nothing feeds you anymore, nothing fills you. Stale, stale, stale,  stale. Nothing with flavor, nothing with meat, nothing with substance. 

 You grab another case from the stack you have so meticulously gathered.

It's fine. This works. 

 It curbs the ache. 

Name: Jonathan Sims

Age: 34

Occupation: Head Archivist at The Magnus Institute

Location: London, England

Entity: The Eye

Powers: Compulsion, Knowing, Understanding, Inhuman Healing, Inducing Nightmares, Knowledge Insertion

Hair Color: Black with various gray spots

Eye Color: Can switch between his natural dusty green to a blinding white.

Height: 5′7″

Do pardon the spoilers but there will be a bit both in this blog and in this about.

Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute, London.

Born in 1987 in Bournemouth, England and raised by his grandmother. He was smart and troublesome as a kid and bored easily but had an innate desire to attain new knowledge and read new books.

He experienced a paranormal event as a child that made him wary of both Leitner books and Spiders.

In 2011, Jon joined the research department of The Magnus Institute. Four years later in 2015, Jon was promoted to head archivist proceding Gertrude’s death.

In the years that passed as the head archivist, Jon slowly learned that he had been chosen by the entity The Eye to become a prominent avatar for it. He struggled to maintain his humanity when the drive for more knowledge was just so much stronger. Jon worked on honing his power, his ability to KNOW things, and grew to be almost omniscient.

After bringing on The Mass Ritual and traversing the apocalypse, he took his place as The Pupil of The Eye. To then have his eye removed by Martin and be transported to The Lonely and another reality altogether. The two took the place of themselves in this reality and are actively working to prevent any further rituals. 

Currently Jon is back to work in the Archives, consuming statements in a vigilante hunt to learn more about the entities to find a more surefire way to continually prevent any more rituals. And to prevent Elias from doing any more damage. The loss of his eye knocked him down a little. No longer omniscient and working to regain that level of power again in a hope he can use it for the greater good. Though, his time in the apocalypse caused him to lose a degree of his humanity.