revivalproject | Make your Statement, face your fear.

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Make your Statement, face your fear.

WHO: Jonathan Sims & YOU
WHERE: Jon's Calibration Room
WHAT: Explore the Archivist's mind
WHEN: During the Calibration Event [ June 3rd - July 10th ]
WARNINGS: EYES - Body horror, possible mentions of unsettling events including kidnapping, death and dreadful monsters

The Archivist's office is a mess. Most offices are. Especially offices located in basements. Offices that belong to equally chaotic archives. And the archives of the Magnus Institute are incredibly chaotic. Gertrude Robinson has seen to that. And yet the mess in this office isn't hers. It's the mess of the current Archivist, right now seated behind his cluttered desk, appearing even smaller than he actually is, the small lamp on the table serving as the only actual source of light in this room. In front of the Archivist sits a small pile of statement files on a dining plate, but his attention isn't on the files, it's on his visitor.

There are more of these files spread all over the room. Cardboard boxes full of them stacked high and pushed into whatever free corner has once existed in it. Further boxes are stacked less high or are plain lying around, some closed, some opened, some rummaged through. Other, smaller boxes that aren't filled with files join the previous ones. There are also a few metal shelves covering part of the walls. And file cabinets. There are more files in these as well as more boxes and books. Most of them scientific in nature, some deal with the arcane, myths and legends. Various types of tape recorders and boxes of tapes are also widely strewn about as well as loose pages of paper, the occasional tea mug and cobwebs. For some reason or another there are at least a dozen fire extinguishers to be spotted throughout the room, and it likely isn't due to the clearly used ashtray or the golden lighter with a cobweb design engraved onto it on the desk near the Archivist's dust-covered laptop, untouched cup of tea and the sole human rib. Aside from more stray sheets of paper and some writing equipment, a single book also resides on the desk, its title introducing it as A Guest for Mr. Spider.

Though there is more to be found in the various shelves as well. A knife as well as a cleaver, an unsuspecting whistle that seems to be surrounded by an odd fog and will vanish should one try to reach for it. Underneath one of the shelves, there even is a plain cardboard box filled with C-4 plastic explosives. Further up, a roughly football-sized dark sun dares the visitor to look at it to plunge them into utter and complete darkness. The frisbee some may recognize as a certain someone's shield seems a little out of place as it lays unassuming on one of the higher shelves, covering an odd little action figure from view.

But maybe one feels more compelled to look out of the window, suspiciously present in this basement office. Outside lies the vastness of space, set to incite the feeling of falling right into it unless one pulls away from the sight in time. Or the human-sized mannequin standing motionless in one of the corners, wearing an ancient gorilla skin along with its top hat and a wide, leery, painted-on grin. It has no eyes. The pulsing, black and red veins creeping along the walls of the office and present themselves in varying sizes and thicknesses may also draw the visitor's attention. Or the seemingly harmless and somewhat misplaced looking yellow door draws them in, just there on the wall behind that coffin lying on the floor as if it belongs there. Thick chains are wrapped around it with a padlock holding them close, key stuck inside and inviting the visitor to unlock it. Just ignore the large letters carved into its wood imploring you to 'DO NOT OPEN' the casket. It'll be fine.

Yet... How tempting all of these things may be, the visitor may be unable to entirely ignore the MASSIVE EYE taking up the entire ceiling of the room, glowing an eerie green and watching their every move. Or any of the other eyes scattered around the room. The walls, the cabinets, the shelves, the side of the Archivist's desk, the corners, the floor, the Archivist's forehead. All shapes and sizes and colors and all of them watching the visitor unblinking, unjudging. Just following their every move around the room - Just as the Archivist himself does.

Maybe you want to look around, and maybe you just want to take a seat in that single empty chair before the Archivist's desk. There is just enough room between it and the casket to not feel too cramped in. As for the trap door next to the Archivist's desk... Now that one won't open just yet.

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The change from dreaming to awake comes too suddenly. Too abruptly. One moment he is holding on to Tony and the next his eyes fly open with a strangled gasp and all he knows is that his heart is racing and his head feels as if it is dead set on imploding on the spot. But Jon is awake. He is awake and in his room and he makes the only sound decision that very moment: To stay the hell in bed.

Maybe find his painkillers later, but- Later.

Later.

It might not have been the second Jon woke up, but shortly, a sliver of light from the too white hall of the tunnels poured across the room as the door cracked open and flickered as Tony carefully slipped inside and closed the door very gently behind him like he was trying not to wake Jon, or alert anyone else stuck in this place with them to the movement. He wasn't often even out of his room, and had to work through that, on top of the bitter hangover feeling burning at the back of his throat and behind his eyes, and the anxiety of anyone spotting him making this journey, the anxiety of Jon not even wanting him around because he hurt Jon somehow, if that meant anything, maybe it didn't, maybe none of that actually happened at all and that whole thing was somehow just Tony's own nightmare.

He had a lot to work through.

Tony still ended up padding carefully across Jon's room, tugging gently at the edge of the blanket in a silent question to give Jon the opportunity to throw something at him before he got too close, before burrowing under it straight across the centre of the bed. His hand found Jon first, working through sheets and clothes to smooth up his side, reassuring skin to skin, to tug him closer for Tony to put his ear to Jon's chest and fit himself alongside him before releasing a slow breath in the warm cavern of the blankets.

Jon opens a single eye the moment the door opens and follows the man's path through the room and towards him. He has no intention to throw anything at him. Or stop him. Or throw him back out. He's glad Tony has come and despite the lingering headache offers a smile.

"You remembered." A simple observation. And the other thing Jon is glad about aside from having Tony with him now. Though the latter wouldn't be possible without the first. And while this means Tony will remember all these terrible things, it also means that Jon won't need to hide any of it from him.

He lets out a soft sigh of relief and lets his hand find Tony's head to tangle his fingers in the man's dark hair, muttering, "...I'm glad it worked."

"Of course," Tony whispered across Jon's chest with a smile, "Didn't I say I would?" He wasn't about to start being wrong now just because he didn't understand the dream magic. While he didn't really want to unstick himself yet, his fingers on Jon's side were already wandering restlessly and 'it worked' wasn't entirely clear enough for him, so Tony conceded to lifting his head and propping his chin in his hand by pulling himself further over, snaking a leg around Jon's and leaning his weight on him. "You didn't go back," he could conclude with reasonable confidence, voice still a cautious murmur. "Means you know you've got a door now, can hop out whenever you want to," he suggested, less confident. "There and, you know, maybe the nightmares." They hadn't really talked about those. More immediately, Tony took a sharp breath to try to focus both of them, patting his hand down Jon's side like he was calculating again to ask, "Feeling better?," watching Jon's face as closely as he could in the dark for any hint that Tony had brought the pain back.

Welcoming the closeness and the comfort that comes with the warmth and the physical contact, Jon lets out a soft hum before answering "Headache." Then he shrugs. "It'll pass. Glad it's... Not worse." At least the headache makes sense. These dream can be a lot.

Tony's observation and guesswork earns Jon's attention despite the headache, however and he opens both eyes to look at him. A potential exit for his nightmares... "C-Christ... Tony. I- I haven't thought of that yet!" He hasn't been doing a lot of thinking so far, so that's hardly a surprise. But maybe there is something he can work with.

That wasn't supposed to get Jon all worked up and Tony had to stifle a snort at himself for ever expecting Jon not to get worked up, hand flying up from his side to hover over his mouth, not quite touching, for Tony to insist in a pointed whisper, "Ssh, ssh, geez, didn't mean to get you so excited." It couldn't have been good for the headache, or the dozen people who could have been just outside the door by now. "Let me do the thinking," he continued. "Because I already thought, we could do an experiment. If you have the powers of the Eye, and those people that you said don't appear in their own dreams anymore, that's deliberate, you know, you must be able to do that, too. If you give me a nightmare, we can work on it, run some tests."

Jon can merely blink at the hovering hand for a moment, then his eyes flick over to Tony and he listens to the man's odd proposal. Which isn't something Jon feels too sure about.

"Oh, I... I'm quite certain that those who don't appear any longer have come under the protection of the Eye. Safe for Jude Perry. Sh-She removed herself. Somehow." He answers, keeping his voice down as requested. Not that Jon is too worried about anyone suddenly barging into his room about hearing a couple of voices, but... Well. His response is followed by a slight frown, though. "You... You should know that these nightmares... They aren't just... Given. They are... They happen as a result. All these people. They gave their statements directly to me." And he's not so sure he really wants Tony to have nightmares about him.

"No, I know--" Tony started, he was picking up the processes, he had it worked out, except he hadn't accounted for the self-removal data point and cut himself off with his fingers caged over his mouth, drumming thoughtfully. As long as Jon was behaving and keeping quiet, Tony tucked the other hand out of the way, arm bent over Jon's chest to tuck his fidgeting digits between them like that could have any effect at stopping them. "I got that, too-- I give me a nightmare, okay, whatever. We get you in my head. Everyone in those nightmares seemed pretty aware of what was going on, you were fully in control, you just need...a lab," he tried again, and while Tony had been trying not to give much thought to the nightmare-acquiring process, it was a busywork step of an experiment that he wasn't looking forward to getting over with, it could potentially provide them with its own opportunities, now that he said it out loud. Muttering around his fingers pressed against his lips then, more to himself than to Jon, he continued, "We craft it, make sure there are plenty of opportunities, cover the variables..."

"A lab..." Jon echoes, but concern also edges onto his face and he reaches up a hand to place it against Tony's face, lightly running his fingers through the man's hair.

"You aren't planning to make something up, are you?" Jon asks softly, then allows himself to close his eyes for a moment with an exhale, "That's not going to work, you know? The experience... The memory... The Fear. It must be real." He pauses for a moment. "You remember those boxes of files... Most of those, they are fake. Made up by people with a too wild imagination or those that simply want to mess with the Magnus Institute or those that stumbled in drunk or under the influence of other substances. We... We read and research dozens of these every week only to file them away as insubstantial. And I take several false live statements each month as well. Or- Used to. Most of them were empty. To result in a nightmare... I'm afraid... It must be real."

The touch was enough to draw Tony out of talking to himself, catching Jon around the wrist to keep it steady as Tony leaned his cheek into his hand, but frowned as Jon tried to rationalize him through details that Tony was thinking well beyond again. Tony only tried briefly this time, "No--", then gave his own sigh to let it go, because the real obstacle was that this wasn't going to work at all until they got out of this place and away from the strange dream manipulation that was already happening. There were plenty of horrors in Tony's life, they could pick one, it didn't matter, but not until they had a proper controlled environment and Jon didn't have a headache that was making him hard to talk to. Tony dropped his hand from his chin to run his fingers down Jon's neck in the dark and find his collar, working his thumb along the muscle there to try to ease some of the tension that was making him difficult. "It's fine, I don't need your help to dream about you," he dismissed for now with an exhale that could pass for a laugh.

Jon wants to argue that response, he really does. But the. Tony’s hand moves and drags Jon’s attention to where Tony’s fingers travel over his skin as all arguing turns into a long, defeated exhale at the press of a single finger. This man sure knows to do crimes with those fingers. Not only on tense muscles...

For a moment Jon permits himself to close his own eyes, his fingers maintaining their idle play with Tony’s hair.

He wants to say something. Maybe get the conversation back on track or maybe just something. But Tony beats him to words and the result is a sputtering noise from the Archivist - Who at least is glad for the lack of light, considering his current position makes it difficult to hide his burning face in something.

“T-Tony!” Well, Jon at least tries to hit a sharp tone. And y er he misses spectacularly. “I..... That- That’s not-“ He cuts himself off and tries again. “Just- I doubt that’s the sort of dreams we are looking for here...?” Or is he sounding too hopeful here?

Tony tried to shush him again, but his laugh at the sputtering made it stuttered and broken, making him drop his head against Jon's chest to muffle his own giggle and release his wrist to press a thumb to his lips this time, hand along his burning cheek. "Sorry," he mumbled when he could lift his chin back into his hand, "That one was gross, sorry, it just came out. I would say I'm unraveling a bit down here, but that's nothing, I'd probably say that if I was still properly practicing my social skills and jerking off regularly. How are you doing, crazy yet?"

Tony's reaction isn't one Jon expects, and yet is unexpectedly adorable for this man. His laughing and stuttering struggle topped by him admitting defeat and trying so hard to keep himself quiet - Jon really wouldn't have taken Tony for someone worried of being caught, regardless where or when. So after blinking his own surprise away and settling into a warm feeling of fondness, Jon wraps both his arms around Tony and just holds him close, brows raised at him through the darkness that doesn't quite hide his own wide smile.

"This is your lacking alone-time again, isn't it." Jon remarks, somehow managing to keep his voice even despite the obvious appreciation in it. Though he also does Tony the favor of keeping his voice down. "I- I think I'm doing fine, but... ah... Do I have to get my tie so you can use it as a gag?"

Jon didn't really give him an answer, but Tony would gladly take that reaction to mean he was doing well enough in this bunker to still smile despite waking up from what Tony had to assume was just the latest in a series of autopsistic nightmares. And joking about being gagged, that had to be a healthy sign, right? It did make Tony laugh, anyway, and as he wiggled out of Jon's hold just enough to finally slide up the bed to bring his head even with Jon's on the pillow, he whispered, "I thought the blindfolding was your thing, I was ready to work with that, you're giving me a lot here, boss. Do you want me to tie you down, too? Listen--" He was up on his elbow on the bed to look down at Jon, thumb tracing over his cheek and feeling every bit of deja vu from the first time he had kissed Jon, from the anxiety of being much too close to anyone who might come by nagging at the back of his neck to the very convenient excuse to shut him up, and could drop his voice lower as he leaned closer to say, "I think we can keep you busy some other ways, but I'll take it under advisement, maybe keep it handy, do you want me to...?" His hand skittered away across the pillow like he could possibly bring himself to peel away to find the tie for Jon, only to curl in the fabric as he bowed close enough to brush their lips together.

Jon doesn't stop Tony from relocating himself. In fact, he welcomes the little change and how it brings Tony closer in just the right way, not making it impossible for Jon to pull him into his arms again if he chooses to do so. For now, however, he settles with just one hand staying at Tony's side while the other lingers on his own stomach, where a pleasant heat simmers away. He can enjoy this while it lasts, can he?

He chuckles faintly at Tony's words. The small noise betrayed by the much wider smile on his face. "My thing, Tony, is that I can trust you with such matters." Jon mutters in response before lifting his own head enough to actually initiate the kiss Tony has been teasing him with. And this is all he feels the need to say on that particular topic.

As much as Tony purred his pleasure for the kiss, fingers finding their way back across the pillow and into Jon's hair to fit behind his neck and coax him up eagerly, it had only been about keeping Jon quiet and Tony hadn't agreed to submitting to any gags. "You'd have to now," he mumbled, then captured Jon's lips again and continued to punctuate each statement with another inquisitive kiss that he deepened with a sigh with every inch that Jon conceded, "Otherwise--I'd be telling everyone--About your little capgun performance--Humiliating." As though that had been the worst thing he found out about Jon, and hadn't been pretty clear, he thought, that there were parts of that performance that he could appreciate, and Tony had to ease back long enough to laugh only to get immediately impatient with himself and press the giggle into Jon's mouth. He only let up again when it had long since faded back into the satisfied sigh and he started to feel the ache in his neck from hungrily pressing forward, and still only moved to spread his kiss to Jon's cheek and mutter, "But we both know that trusting me is an atrocious idea."

To be fair, this method is just as effective to keep Jon silent. And if he were asked... Well. He wouldn't outright answer, but it's his preferred method to being gagged and/or tied up.

He gives a little hum in response to Tony's threat, his own voice slightly teasing with it's underlying lack of belief. "Right~ Because you didn't enjoy that- At all." Sorry, Tony. You have been rather obvious. Even to Jon. He brings the hand from Tony's side further up and around the man's back to lightly run his fingernails down Tony's spine, wordlessly appreciating its curve while returning the kisses given as best as he finds himself able to before Tony drifts away once more. Which isn't one of his worst habits.

That little comment gets Tony a little chuckle, before he responds, "Then what does it say about me that I consider you one of my better decisions..." The words trail off as Jon brings his other hand up to find Tony's neck and from there glide back into the man's hair. Jon's list of really bad decisions is already a long one. And despite everything, Tony hardly makes it into the top twenty. But that's fine. Jon doesn't need Tony to become a terrible decision.

Jon didn't say 'trusting you', but 'you'. It made Tony press his face into the pillow, nuzzling under the curve of Jon's jaw, already loathe to move as he pushed his shoulders back into the tickle of Jon's nails and without a dry judgement on Jon's character, only a shiver for the touch. Instead, he spread his hand over Jon's cheek again to blindly feel his way to press a hushing thumb to his lips again, and muttered, "You're not supposed to talk," as though that hadn't been the catalyst for the flutter of smiling affection that Tony pressed along Jon's neck and jaw. Reeve had pointed out Tony's issue with focus for him, and Jon was not helping; is he said anything else like that, Tony was going to forget he was supposed to be here to help. Licking his lips in an effort to stop them from wandering, and touching carefully along Jon's cheek to his temple then back along through his hair like he was reading braille, Tony asked, "Where's your headache?" Headaches were one of his extensively studied subjects, he could be put to use.

It's a cheerful little chuckle Jon responds with that easily shifts into a content sigh that is more a reaction to the work of Tony's lips on his neck than his words. At least this sound doesn't categorize as spoken word. Not that Jon is very inclined to stop talking. Especially if words alone can lure reactions such as this one out of Tony.

He gives a little hum to the hand finding its way into his hair and adds a second, somewhat thoughtful one at Tony's question before answering in a soft voice, eyes half closed "Oh, I... I have been trying not to focus on it. Still feels as if someone gouged a hole into my forehead, but... It's gotten more bearable. Thanks." The company, the distraction, having something more pleasant to focus on...

That was not the answer Tony was hoping for, but it was at least an easy enough problem to solve, even if the source wasn't traditional. He pushed himself up on his elbows again, shimmying up further to plant one on the pillow where he could card his fingers through Jon's hair as he bent to kiss his forehead and offer, "Sorry," despite the thanks. That wasn't nearly enough to get him to stop feeling guilty for gouging out Jon's eye, that was far more evocative language. The other arm tucked under Jon's shoulder for Tony to run his touch along Jon's neck again, seeking his collar to find the tendon and the muscle running back up to his skull to pinch inquisitively, searching for the tension as he worked up and finding a rhythm with the massaging stroke of his thumb from Jon's brow out to his temple. "I would guess," Tony murmured, "not to reduce any blame here, I do know that sticking your finger in someone's eye is generally unhealthy and it is possible I could have not done that, but I would guess that this is not a new headache for you." He shifted his rhythm long enough to smooth his thumb pointedly through the furrow of frustration etched now into the skin between Jon's eyebrows.

"And I could have stopped you." Jon offers, blinking a single eye open at Tony, "But I didn't. I- Guess I wanted to know what happens as well?" Which is true enough. No one else has dared to try poking the huge eye above. Now Jon certainly isn't going to blame Tony for going through with something Jon has more or less encouraged him to in the first place. Even though he also won't deny that those hands feel nice on his neck and head as well.

He puts on a simple smile that borders on a grin, closing his opened eye again. "And I wonder what makes you think I may be familiar with such headaches." Can't be that he is literally mixing his own very personalized painkillers in the basement of the library. The comment is followed by a reassuring pat to Tony's back. "I'll be fine, I promise."

What a worthy venture that turned out to be. At least no one else seemed stubborn enough to try touching the giant eyeball yet, Jon might be in the clear now that he had his answer. Jon's smile was weird, as usual, inscrutable when it came to what actually pleased him, but Tony still found himself returning it despite Jon's closed eyes, and bowing again to press his lips to Jon's eyelids and cheeks as he finished working his way up Jon's neck to smooth the tension.

It's a bit of an odd, yet also quite endearing move and it does earn Tony a gentle little giggle from Jon, who then tugs lightly at one of Tony's sleeves. Just a wordless prompt to get settled and let Jon hold him and soak up his presence and warmth. Which should be an easy enough request to not require any words.

"Sorry," Tony mumbled again, for the pain and not being able to help more, and for lingering to leave another kiss on his face and his lips before acquiescing, and for being this clingy which he wasn't usually, honestly, but he really felt in his gut like he had just watched Jon die several times, somehow, and felt a panic in that dark that he hadn't yet felt in his own terrible dream room, let alone anyone else's, and without any of his usual outlets (Rhodey, almost exclusively Rhodey) on this planet, Jon was it. All of this, he tried to sum up in a heavy sigh against Jon's chest, as far as he got when he figured out Jon was trying to get him to stop doing whatever he was doing and could only bring himself to slide back down to where he had started with one arm curled around him to trace a thumb along the muscle under his arm.

"It's alright." Jon replies, his voice kept even and low. He presses a kiss to Tony's head and wraps his arms around him before settling his head back contently. "Let's just rest a little, Tony. No dreams, no nightmares... I'm happy to have you here just like this."

Jon maintains his voice easily, keeping it soothing against Tony's lingering tension and that still present anxiety Jon can't exactly ignore either. But he can try to help Tony's mind to calm down a little, and Jon will gladly do that.

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Make your Statement, face your fear.

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