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A little piece I wrote, this one may become a start of a little series

It's dark and quiet. In front of me is a cathedral so tall it drowns in the night sky. I know its walls are red, although there's no reason for me to be so sure of it, as the only light on the scene is an unnatural glow of the moon. Below me, the ground is paved with uneven stone and wet from rain. The air is damp and fresh, but there's no wind.

I have no memory of how I got here, but I'm where I'm supposed to be. The cathedral wants me to open the wooden doors and step inside, and I obey without question. Inside, daylight shines through the stained glass, biblical characters follow my every move with their empty eyes. In front of me and behind me are thousands of golden pipes — a massive organ, little angel figures staring at me from its impressive height. I sit in the front row. The music starts without any warning. Tears stream down my face the second I hear the low, slow hum of the instrument.

I know the song, although I've never heard it. It makes me remember the night of our wedding, the moment on the balcony when I, cigarette in hand, looked at the city below. The air was stiff and heavy, it smelled of ozon. It was a calm and quiet night. Above and below me, other smokers stood in some kind of silent solidarity. I waited for joy to overwhelm me, for everything to finally click and make perfect sense, but it never came. Instead, that night I accepted the truth I've been denying for years: marriage could not make me feel whole, it just made me a liar. There was no running from it, the craving in my heart would never be satisfied with a person. I was to live as I am, incomplete and grieving the life I never had, until death takes my pain away. 

The organ doesn't stop to let me reminisce. My tears don't concern it as another song starts playing. It's the song my heart sang the moment I chose to become a lawyer. Then, I thought, I would be able to afford to keep music as a hobby in my life. And I was. There was a piano in our house, but I hardly had the energy to play. It didn't feel right to disturb it for ten minutes of mediocre performance. 

It shifts into the song I dreamed of playing on the big stage in front of my family, the song I imagined every time I thought of a life that was stolen from me. The cherub figures start moving, playing their fake instruments, mocking my useless attempts at creating music with their little pantomime. At first they can only robotically repeat the same three poses, but slowly their movements become smoother and more complicated. It terrifies me to think of what they are, but I can't look away, even for a second. Whatever happens, I'm determined to stay until the concert ends. There's no bigger insult to a musician than walking out during a performance.

The angel that previously sat, unmoving, above the pipes, slowly turns its head to look at me. Its beautiful golden hair shines in the sunlight as it jumps down. The building shakes from impact, but there's no damage to the floor. 

The angel gets closer, its glossy nose almost touching mine. Its eyes look just like hers. They were so big, so dark, so beautiful. They looked at me with love and adoration, and I looked back with empty smiles. The angel puts its hand on my shoulder, and I gasp when it touches my neck, hard and cold. Her hands were so pale you could see veins through the thin skin. She played piano, too, which was why I chose her. When she played for me in the quiet of our apartment, I loved her back. There was nothing more intimate between us than those hours of playing to each other without saying a word, the silent understanding hanging between us that nothing could ever compare to what we have with our instrument. I was jealous of her, of course. The thought of her caressing the keys when I wasn't around made blood boil in my veins. I couldn't fully accept that she had the same relationship with music as I had, couldn't bear to believe that her passion ran as deep as mine. And her love for me was proof that her heart wasn't fully in it. It filled me with a sense of pride, to be the thing that ruined her perfect harmony with our passion.

The angel takes my hand, its movement stiff and shaky. It leads me somewhere, but never breaks our eye contact even for a moment. When my hand slips from its, I find myself in front of the organ console and the angel is back in its original position, frozen like it never left. There's nobody there. I knew it already. This is my place, the organ begging me to join it and become a part of its complicated mechanism, to become its brain and beating heart. And I obey. I've always been better with piano, but practice makes perfect, and I have all the time in the world.

just_phlox on ao3

#phlox writing #amateur writer #creative writing #writing #mystical horror #original story #original horror #small story #writers on tumblr #writers on ao3

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I have a personal theory that if there's even the same system of fears, the OIAR would be serving the web, not the eye

Just something that feels right considering how totally uninterested in the statements everyone but Sam (and partially Gwen, although her motivation doesn't look like curiosity to me at this point) is and how the organization is taking real active action

Idk. I'm not sure if the fears are gonna have the same pallette even, or if they'll merge into new shapes

But there's a feeling of being dragged into a conspiracy rather then passively observing until you get caught peeping

#the magnus protocol spoilers #the magnus protocol #tmagp spoilers #tmagp #tmagp podcast

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the distortion

version with glasses

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Compilation of the first part of TMA episode Posters.

What is your fave episode out of this lot?

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Jon Martin hugs WOOOO

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I am convinced that people will hate me if I post anything but a part of my writing project so here it is

These are two parts from my future hualian fic from the first chapter. It has spooky elements, beware.

Six years ago Xie Lian swore to never step foot in this cursed building, and yet here he was. The place hasn't changed a bit since he left. Pale blue walls, white tile floors and heavy doors made out of metal were more familiar to him than his own house. He used to come here at six in the morning and leave at the dead of night, reporting every flickering light on his way to the exit. Flickering lights were a bad sign in a place like this. Everything was a bad sign in a place like this.

The corridors were always coated in eerie silence. No natural light could get inside, so it was impossible to know what time of day it was. There used to be a clock on the wall, but it didn't last. It wasn't a good idea to have fragile objects out in the open, especially near Xie Lian. The doors weren't labeled, but there were small differences between them. Some had dents, some were scratched, some melted in places. Since Xie Lian left, the door to his office got changed, and now it looked almost too good compared to the other ones.

He hesitated in front of the door. Then sighed and pressed his id card to the scanner. It opened without a sound.

[...]

Xie Lian flipped through the files while they were talking, only taking note of the name given to the entity. He didn't like reading what other people saw before going into an encounter. Sometimes researchers overlooked important evidence because they focused only on details that were mentioned in the reports they read. From his experience, everyone would meet an entity differently, and you should first see what's your relationship with it before judging the danger levels. So, he immediately planned an expedition to the place of the latest reported blood rain.

Spending the night on a train wasn't anything new for him. No matter how long they've studied the entities’ ability to bend space and time they never came even close to replicating them, so trains it was. Some especially risky ones, like Shen Yuan's big brother, would attract the entity's attention for this, but then no one could guarantee that you'll ever arrive anywhere.

It was pitch black outside. Sometimes you could see pale lights through the dirty glass and every time it made Xie Lian's heart jump in his chest. Sometimes it looked just like…

Xie Lian was seventeen when an entity known as The Stalker found him. He was always considered a promising student, teachers painted for him a career in physics or chemistry, a bright future in academia. Instead, he first got into a university building as a lab mouse. All because something put its eye on him.

It was easy to ignore at first. A flash of light here and there. A sound from a room where no one was supposed to be. A laugh somewhere in the dark. Catching movement with the corner of your eye only to see that it's just an illusion. Trivial things, and stress only made them happen more. And then he started waking up in the dead of night, convinced that something was watching him. Something was breathing lightly in the corner. Something moved. It was a silly thing to be afraid of for a nearly eighteen year old, of course, so he didn't bring it up. Even when that fear manifested in the form of sleep paralysis, a pale white mask looking at him from the ceiling in the dark and silent room, its texture a mix of human skin and silicon, its eyes bottomless pits of ink, it was just because of stress. Exams were approaching, after all.

First time he went to the doctor was after the demon appeared in his kitchen. It was hard to call what he saw a human face, but it was clearly imitating one. It was glowing, only two empty eye sockets and a smiling mouth remaining. Xie Lian froze in place, not daring to look away. The creature slowly melted, dissolving in the darkness. But it didn't disappear. Xie Lian knew it was there, always watching, always following, just not visible now.

His Laoshi, Mei Niangqing, found him pretty quickly. He promised Xie Lian answers and a job in the Institute if only he let them study what made him «special». He agreed with no hesitation, hoping to get rid of the creature, who became progressively more violent with every passing day. None of them knew how much the situation was going to escalate.

Despite his anxiety, the calming rhythm of train wheels hitting the rails slowly lulled Xie Lian to sleep.

#mo xiang tong xiu #mxtx tgcf #xie lian #hua cheng #hualian #tgcf #heaven officials blessing #heavens official blessing #hualian fanfic

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haven’t posted any art in a bit sooo

FEAR WHEEL

(btw yes the dice is purposefully all snake eyes, just clarifying)

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When writing, did you ever suffer from a fear or underdelivering or misrepresenting a topic? If you did, how did you overcome it? I enjoy writing but rarely bring it to the public out of fear that I am either not doing good enough or badly portraying the themes or aspects of what I write.

Absolutely, and on the one hand it's a very healthy fear - it prompts you to do your research and be thoughtful in how you write. On the other hand you've just got to accept that occasionally it will happen. Inculturation is a hell of a thing, and leaves us all with a thousand kneejerk preconceptions and perceptions of the world, some benign and some downright awful. And sometimes they crop up no matter how thoughtful you try to be. And you gotta understand that when it happens and people call you on it, you just have to take your lumps and learn what you can from it.

It doesn't help, of course, that the words you write are only ever half of what your audience reads: five people reading the same book are reading five different books, each filtering the text through a lifetime of psychology and experience. And they will find themes and problems in there you never even considered, and they will also find resonances and beauty in your work that you could never have foreseen.

At the end of the day, writing stuff thats meaningful to you (hell, writing anything at all) is a messy, bruising business, and anybody who tells you there are simple solutions or clear rules to follow is either lying to you or to themselves.

But you can't let it paralyse you. Its like if you're playing football and you're worried about falling over. It's a reasonable fear and you should do your best to avoid it, but occasionally it's gonna happen, and unless you want to spend the whole game just standing still in a field, you've kinda just got to get on with it. Just try not to be one of those writers who's always taking dives and... screaming for the ref to get a free kick? Hm. That analogy may have gotten away from me. I don't actually know much about football.

Point is, I'm aware that this isn't the most reassuring writing advice I've ever given, but yeah, its a messy, scary business. Just do your best. Be thoughtful. Be kind. And always do your research.

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Listening to protocols I feel like that meme of a guy pointing every time they mention something I'm familiar with

I need to spend my first listen on monkey brain "THEY SAID THE THING!!!" and then go back to it when I calmed down

#the magnus pod #mag pod #the magnus protocol #the magnus archives #the magnus institute #tmagp vague

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If he is your man why is he in my email with cryptic messages about the magnus institute

#somebody come get your man he's being cryptic in my dms #the magnus pod #the magnus protocol #the magnus archives spoilers #the magnus protocol spoilers #samama khalid #mag pod #mag pod spoilers #tmagp spoilers #tmagp

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I like to imagine that Jon sees a slideshow of loading screen advice every time he closes his eyes for too long

#tma #the magnus archives #tma podcast #mag pod

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Imagine lqg finding out that sqq is actually shen yuan who is closer to lbh in age than to him and still had the AUDACITY to run around calling him "shidi" in thaat tone of his for YEARS

#shidi this shidi that shi deez nuts you little brat #mxtx svsss #svsss #svsss meme #mo xiang tong xiu #shen yuan #shen qingqiu #liu qingge #liushen

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hey i rly liked ur fengqing at hualian wedding scenario, is it ok if i expand upon it and write a fic for it? i'd give u credit for the idea ofc

Of course! Anyone can be inspired by anything I post!

I would greatly appreciate if you credited me and it would be nice if you sent me a link when it's done, if you want to. I'd like to see this idea come to life.

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雪

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when the they