#I was just thinking about how Jon sees the statement givers in his dreams

[cult-of-the-eye]

MAG 88 let's goooo

Martin and Basira!!!!!

Oh my god Martin hates her so much

(is it jealousy at them apparently dating lol? Or is it also her fuelling Jon's paranoia and suspecting him of murder? He's got a lot of reasons)

This is long so read more

WHERE'S DAISY???

ANGRY MARTIN SUPREMACY

He's so frustrated!!! It's a good question honestly why do people keep coming to him for answers? I guess it's the whole I'm trying to be underestimated here and it's not working

She's been missing since FEBRUARY????

Basiras worried about her...hmm...

Wait I forgot she wasn't a police officer anymore

I think she's actually rattled by her disappearance, that must've been the last straw for her I think

MARTIN'S RIGHT. HE WAS FRAMED. THE FEIGNED INCOMPETENCY THING IS SO RIGHT

Oh my god "I DONT ACTUALLY...I DONT ACTUALLY THINK HE..."

WHAT DOESNT HE THINK??? THAT HE LIKES WOMEN?? OR BASIRA????

Paranoia machine lol

Wait so basira did actually kinda like Jon??? That's so insane the only person who actually tolerated hanging out with him in season 2 was the person who suspected him of murdering gertrude

I guess they have the same sort of dry humour and like sensibleness but basira could keep him kinda grounded if they were friends for longer

"i don't think I ever heard him tell a joke" "maybe you weren't listening" LOL

That touched a fucking nerve

I think that's so interesting cause Martin must be fuming, cause he knows Jon the most, hes the only one who put in the work but for free, with no work put in, basira has managed to see a side of him that even he didn't manage to see but maybe she has a point, maybe he was so busy taking care of him that he forgot to actually listen to him

Either way it's frustrating and bittersweet

It's quite funny what he lets himself be frustrated about. His feelings about Jon can't be spoken out loud but he'll let himself shout about other stuff, he's built his whole persona over Not Getting Mad which means hes taken seriously when he chooses to let himself be mad

You know?

"operational discretion"?

Lol rude doesn't even begin to describe what daisy was like

God the digging this statement was like a fucking fever dream

I love these statements that are dream-like and like about the person being consumed by the entity they're just so surreal and I can always feel the love that comes with being consumed i want to eat it

OH SHIT what's under the institute??? The tunnels????

Fingernail marks???? Adds to the creep factor of Jon's office

I love the little bits about what happened to the statement giver after it's like ooh spooky box asphyxiation nudge nudge wink wink

THE CHANGE (autistic Martin headcanon)

Also I think it's so cool how the one thing people have said about Martin is that he's incompetent and doesn't like change

I wonder where the lack of liking change came from? Cause it seems mostly he doesn't like the fact that bad things are happening rather than just change, or was that a characterisation that happened before the series started? Hmm

Tim's shenanigans lol

Oh ok so Jon's talked to Melanie and she's helping him

A CALLIOPE ORGAN WENT MISSING FUCK FUCK SHIT SHIT

SHE'S NOT GONNA LET YOU KNOW MARTIN ABSHSJAKMAMAKS

#tma #the magnus archives #mag 88 #jonathan sims #martin k blackwood #tim stoker #melanie king #tma reaction #cult listens to tma

[teamfortresstwo]

Please. PLEASE. Share the promised Jonahkola thoughts.

+ The devious little freaks. For motivation

Okay so this is less talking about how Jonah and Nikola blend into eachother’s powers and more just Jonahkola propoganda because I’m doing this in the middle of class and a lot of it is just me throwing my Jonahkola thoughts at the wall but!! I hope you enjoy anyway-

•Nikola is one of the only early avatars to show any kind of respect towards Jon- “You’re pretty powerful yourself!” While most other avatars act hostile and belittling towards him. This also reflects Elias’s own feelings towards Jon, ultimately empowering him but also patronizing in a similar way to Nikola. (They actually act weirdly similar in a lot of regards to Jon, but that’s a different story)

•Both Elias and Nikola have this specific way of acting in which they are constantly unaffected up until the moment things get off track. Elias immediately jumping to murdering leitner instead of going for anything less drastic, Nikola dropping her happy facade when Tim is the one with the lighter.

•Literally the only relevant corpses in the unknowing are the ones Elias himself killed, coincidence? I think not.

•Elias doesn’t want Tim to go to the unknowing. Yes, this is perhaps because he’s worried about how it might stunt Jon’s progress, but as we see with leitner, if that was a concern then he’d probably just take up Tim’s offer of killing him. And, if it isn’t the concern, then what is??

•Well, I mean, Jon certainly wasn’t the one to kill Nikola. Just saying. I think elias wanted Nikola to live, but ultimately was unwilling to make any compromises about serving the eye (allowing the unknowing to happen so he could watch and not telling her that it wouldn’t work as that would interfere with his own ritual) (God I love when a TMA ship has tragedy caused by the fear powers, favorite kind of TMA yuri.)

•Both Nikola and Elias have strange connections to the web too?? The web has a lot of theatre implications, like in mag 172 “strung out”, plus Nikola’s whole thing as the angler fish which includes addiction in the form of cigars and strings. Elias meanwhile is a master manipulator (see: Jonathan Sims, Peter Lukas, Basira Hussain, and most of the other members of archival staff) and a lot of people speculate -from what I’ve seen - that if he wasn’t so absolutely of the eye, he might’ve been of the web instead.

•Okay I genuinely don’t recall, what was the point of distracting elias during the ritual?? Like, were they afraid he’d interfere? He’d have no reason to, right?? So like, IDK Tim walking in on her and Nikola going at it yuri style theory feeling less farfetched 😳😳

•Elias is sooooo theatric. Literally every part of him is a performance until you can no longer comprehend which parts are truly him and which parts are the mask he puts on, and I think that’s very stranger of him <33

•Okay I was looking at mag 44, “tight rope” and the statement givers name is Yuri let’s go ❗️❗️

•Okay but actually, Ivan-Yuri’s brother-has dreams of being put tied up in a rough sack despite having little to no memories of the whole ordeal. Y’know who else makes people live through awful things in their dreams? Thas right baby, the archivist ‼️‼️Which, Nikola takes the role of as Gertrude, connecting her to the most prominent figure of the eye and also in Elias’s life.

•The circus of the other also puts him (Ivan) in the role of tight rope walker-which btw I think elias totally would be but that’s a different thing- and it follows around the eye, Jon being put into the situations of every statement giver, endlessly becoming and cataloging the experiences of people who he is not. (Writing this, I’m realizing that the fact that for the duration of a statement Jon “becomes” the statement giver is a little stranger core.)

•Weird relations to humanity and personhood. Nikola can still die, but they cannot bleed. It’s interesting, I wouldn’t say bleeding is at all as necessary to a person’s idea of a human as dying-especially if that person is the mortality fearing jonah magnus-and yet he frames that in a way that would exclude Nikola from being a person, something she’d never want to be. I like to believe this is out of a fondness for her.

•I don’t think Elias ever speaks bad of Nikola? Which, he seems dismissive of Prentiss and basically pretends to not believe she exists, so there’s a reason not to speak bad of her. And he displays distaste for Michael and the spiral is pretty damn close to the stranger. But nope, no shade towards the clown lady…for some reason.

#jonahkola

[a-mag-a-day]

I love this episode and I love Oliver Banks but I find one thing very interesting, this is one of the few times we see someone picked seemingly at random by the fears. I mean, most of the time ESPECIALLY for avatars, the fear was always a part of them (Jane always heard the music, Melanie had always been angry, etc). But from what we know, Oliver just had a stressful job, had a mental breakdown, then randomly started dreaming about people's deaths. There isn't any obvious connection there.

Or in the case of the average statement giver they made some choice that led to their interaction. Not a choice they could've seen the outcome and there are varying degrees of active participation, but Graham took the table, Laura went cavediving, Helen opened the door, Chilcott literally agreed to an isolation study— I mean that's one of the main themes, the main points of tma is "we always have a choice, even if it doesn't feel like it" of "Jon didn't want any of this to happen but he unwittingly made it happen" of "I didn't know this would be the outcome but I have to deal with the consequence nonetheless."

I may have gotten a little off track.

My point is, picking Oliver seems so random so either we are missing something that he just didn't feel was important, or the End saw this guy having a Bad Time and went "Ah, yes. The perfect avatar."

And I think that is fascinating.

A good point. I always saw it as part of how the End is in its essence. It happens to everyone indiscriminately and therefore everyone will encounter it one way or another in the most passive way of just Living their lives. Which is why the one chosen by it will be by pure chance and will get it passively while not even doing or choosing anything.

Alternatively he was chosen because of the Web's machinations, his connection to the table through Graham and his proximity to the Magnus Institute.

Whichever one makes more sense 😅

#a mag a day #tma #the magnus archives #episode asks #mod ashes #tma spoilers #mag 11

[lycanlovingvampyre]

MAG 142 Relisten

Activity on my first listen: mowing the lawn.

Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait, what happened there in the opening title? The recording of "Episode 142" sounds sooo different than the rest of these. Seriously, check it out, compare it to others. Was something different in the recording set-up? Is it just that Jonny didn't fully slip into his episode-title-voice...? Hm...

MARTIN: "Okay, uh, well, uh, yeah, actually; I’m a – I’m a manager. Go on." Hell yeah, fake it till you make it! Martin's made it!

STATEMENT GIVER: "There’s, uh, there’s been… I’m being harassed." MARTIN: "O-kay, um. Just, uh, just let me grab a form. Uh… one second. ... Oh, okay, okay, um… What – Would you mind telling me what happened? Uh, what they did?" STATEMENT GIVER: "He." MARTIN: (sigh) "Did he – Did he look like he hadn’t slept in about a week?" STATEMENT GIVER: "Mhm. Yep, uh" MARTIN: (overlapping) "Right." All Martin needs to know is that it is about harassment and it’s a "he" and Martin already knows who's this about.

"About five years ago, we were doin’ some work under Kentish Town. It was pretty nasty. Do you know what a fatberg is? No – uh – it – Don’t worry; Don’t look it up – Seriously, don’t." *Looking up fatberg* (I google surgeries, injuries and diseases all the time, how bad can it be?) So yeah, it's not gross to look at. There are a lot of pictures with smiling workers in the sewers proudly presenting the biggest fatberg they've found like it a huge fish they just reeled in, it’s actually very cute!

I like how the statement giver is rambling and stuttering, pausing to think and choose the next words. Especially love the stopping and starting differently and stopping again etc. It feels very genuine like a traumatic event that someone recites and it's hard for them. (Also I love the accent^^)

"Look, life went back to normal, I – I was fine. Until – about two weeks ago." That makes this especially shitty... She could have moved on.

"He just… keeps staring at me, like- oh, properly staring, like it is super intense. And, and real… weird? Like he knows me, but I sure as hell do not know him." What did Jon say last episode, "But I know you"...

"He says he works here, at the – the Magnus Institution, and I say what even is that, and he says he wants my story." Why would Jon tell her, that he works here? Jon pulled a few impulsive stunts, but this? I think this was deliberate. He wanted to be stopped because he can't do it on his own. (Also we, the audience, needed an excuse to hear about this, but it works very well for the character!)

"His eyes, like – His eyes were li-like drinking in every fragment of my misery. I can’t – It – (pause) And then it was over. And he looked – He looked at me like he’d just eaten, like, a perfectly cooked steak. You know what he said, he said 'Thank you.'" Very good picture that she paints here.

"And he’s there the whole time, just… watching me. Watching me scream and thrash and – (inhales again) He’s all eyes. He’s all eyes." He’s not all ears, he’s all eyes! xD Also Daisy already said something similar in MAG 136 when they talked about why their shared dreams have stopped. She said "Not of you and your weird eyes."

Speaking of others talking about these dreams. I think this episode was also absolutely necessary for us as audience. We know Jon makes them dream of their encounter with the Fears over and over again and that he's there to watch it. But until this point we never really knew what this meant for the victims. Until this point we have never heard how much those people suffer.

"But I feel like I’m seeing him when I’m awake, as well?" And this is new. Probably gotta do with Jon getting stronger and stronger?

"Every time I do, every time I get that – panic just rising up my throat, I see him. He’s there. Not when I look properly. But just at the edge. The corner of my eye." Remember MAG 74? "Your vision goes strange when you don’t sleep for a long time. I think it’s something to do with changing pressure on your eyeballs. You start to detect faint movements on the edges, on the periphery." For us, in rl this is a normal side effect of sleep deprivation. But here in TMA it's of course more than that.

STATEMENT GIVER: "I, I – I can’t. This place – I – I can’t be here." First that encounter with the Buried. Then Jon Archivist-ing her. And now she's come to the temple of the Eye. She felt it. Like, what Sergeant Walter Heller felt in MAG 53 when he was with Gertrude in the Archives. This intense feeling of being watched.

There is something about this, that people don't think of when it comes to the consequences of giving Jon a statement. Or at least I haven't read it anywhere. Sleep deprivation kills you. Slowly, very slowly, but it does. And for someone who can't go to sleep without having these nightmares, this is probably inevitable. Either by insomnia caused by the fear of going to sleep, or by not getting a restful sleep.

Following up on the consequences of sleep deprivation, I've once read a fanfic about the second half of S4, where everything goes just a bit more wrong. It was very hard to read, but also very good. If anyone's interested, it's this one here, Sinking Feeling: /works/26181109

MARTIN: "I mean, it’s not him, is it. Not – not really." Aarg... do I count this for the not really-counter? The stuttering "not" makes it feel a bit differently... I'll go with it! Not really-counter of S4: 8!

MARTIN: "I – can’t believe he’d choose to do something like that. No, no, I – I can’t think like that, though, I, I can’t let myself, because if, if he’s already gone, then all of this is just –" He's doing it for Jon and him alone. It's always been like this and it will continue to be like this. Martin's vote in MAG 199 is because of that very same reason. He doesn't care about others, probably doesn't care about himself. All he cares about is Jon.

MARTIN: "Mind you, Peter’s not wrong. It really is easier than actually just trying to communicate with people." Yeah... communication is hard, I get it...

DAISY: "Do you mind?" MARTIN: "Can – Can I help you…?" I think Daisy didn't get the memo that Martin is a one-man-show now xD She walks in with such a casualness...

MARTIN: "No one really talks to me anymore." DAISY: "‘Cause they reckon you’re working for the bad guy?" MARTIN: "Pretty much. Don’t you?" DAISY: "Oh, I mean, you’re definitely working for something evil, but – so are we." MARTIN: (inhale) "Yeah. Seems there’s plenty to go around, these days. (pause) It doesn’t bother you?" DAISY: "Didn’t use to." MARTIN: "And now?" DAISY: "Bothers me less than trying to go alone. At least – now it’s on my terms, better than being blackmailed into it." Very interesting conversation about how to come to terms with "doing evil work" or at least being complicit. Motivation, excuses, coping and such.

MARTIN: "It’s alright. Wasn’t you. (he inhales) Not really." Not really-counter of S4: 9!

DAISY: "No, it was. I hate a lot of what I did back then; doesn’t mean I’m not responsible for it, doesn’t mean it wasn’t me." Again, the conversation fits the theme of the episode. Daisy didn't know what was going on with that statement-giver, so it's not the obvious "We're talking about it because we just heard that statement". Martin was just wondering if it's really Jon doing it. And he doesn't want to believe it's actually Jon's choice to hunt down live statements. And here comes Daisy and she tells him the exact opposite. It was her. It was him. There is a reason why people are drawn to certain Fears. They've always did things that fit the theme of that particular Fear. It just gives them power to pursue this even more and it becomes a spiral of getting more wanting more.

Martin is so standoffish this whole time. And he's probably getting more annoyed that Daisy doesn't get the hint.

MARTIN: "I just – For god’s sake, can he not stay safe for like, like ten minutes?" DAISY: "I don’t think that’s an option for him anymore." Oh yeah, that episode was in dire need of a joke. Sadly it's gallows humor...

DAISY: "Not like there’s normal trauma, you know? But it’s pretty common. The most important thing becomes control, engaging on your own terms. Even when it’s stupid or dangerous. Anything to not feel helpless." MARTIN: "Oh, god." DAISY: "And of course, for Jon, there’s survivor’s guilt in there, too. He thinks he’s not human. Makes him very… self-destructive." Thanks Daisy, that's exactly was Martin needed to hear right now xD I wonder if this contributed to shape Martin in a way to say "no" to Jon in MAG 154. Martin didn't really believe Peter, we know that. It's probably one of Martin's daydreams that Jon comes to him and asks him to elope. But after the coffin and now this Martin probably thinks it's just one of Jon's self-destructive rash ideas especially because of the involved eye-gouging... Also yes! Trauma causes you to not feel safe anymore and therefore control becomes such an important part of your survival.

DAISY: "When Basira and I were partners, I’d see this happen sometimes. She can read a situation like no one I know, always seems to know the right move, but for all her research, she never wants to put a plan together. I think she just hates all the… unknowns, the… variables. (sigh) Contingencies. If she spots an advantage, she’ll grab it, and trust herself to figure out the details as she goes." This can go the other way as well though, so the opposite of what Daisy describes Basira to be. It can also result in overthinking and hyper-vigilance, so especially putting a plan together, thinking of all the variables and then plan those through... But I guess that's a bit boring in a story, if the characters just wait and wait, where’s the action in that?

@a-mag-a-day

#a-mag-a-day #mag 142 #tma #tma spoilers

[thehellishtrinity]

I NEED TO KNOW EVERYTHING ABOUT THE TMA AU PLS AND THANK YOU

I got super into TMA just this year and this is a wild worlds collide moment

I’M SO GLAD YOU ASKED ANON! I got into TMA earlier this year too and was obsessed with it for a solid chunk of time. It’s so good FRFR

TMA AU lore under the cut!!!

Basically!! This is an AU where it’s like TMA right, The Magnus Institue is a thing that still exists with Jon and everything, but there is a rival institution called the Rex Institute in like. Wales. I think. I think it was in Wales but I also can’t quite remember.

This institute is run by a different set of people and Remy is the head archivist there! Unlike good ole Jon, Remy does not deny the existence of the supernatural and he knows all there is to know about the Entities. It’s just, well, you know. He’s Remy. He tends to think the people who come in to give statements are just wusses that make things seem way worse than they were and exaggerate the story. Basically he treats all statements and statement givers with the attitude of “🙄 it couldn’t have been that bad, jesus.”

The rest of the trinity are different people who’ve been touched by different Entities! They’ve all come in to give a statement to Remy before.

Maximus is Stranger aligned but not by his own volition. When he was in college he met a man named Vincent and they really hit it off! One night, after things got ✨romantic✨ and all, Vincent asks Max if he wanted to be with him and of course Max said yes! But the next day when he woke up, Vincent was gone. And soon Max discovered, well, Vincent is just always with him now ☺️

How Maximus and Vincent work is basically! If no one is looking directly at Max, he becomes Vincent. And Vincent likes to cause problems! He likes to knock things over, break things, and most of all kill people :). If you turn your back to him for too long he can and will kill you! If you turn your back to Max and stealthy watch his reflection then you’ll get to see Vincent move about. If you’re unlucky, Vincent will notice and greet you :).

When Vincent is out and about, Max’s entire existence is just paused. He doesn’t really experience what Vincent does because Vincent is a separate entity that does his own thing. When someone looks at Max and Max becomes himself again, it’s like no time passed at all for him he doesn’t even know that anything happened between the two glances. He can remember what Vincent did only as hazy dreams— nothing as concrete as an actual memory. Max only started to figure out something was wrong because he would literally be doing something and then all of the sudden he’d be surrounded by blood and dead bodies. Max is also chronically sleep derived because he only exists when people look at him and yknow, people aren’t really looking at him while he’s home alone so he never gets substantial sleep.

Other interesting people include: The Hierophant! She is called The Sheep here and she is an avatar of the Dark. She’s not quite human anymore… looks like a weird sheep human hybrid and all. She traps people in dreams and forces them through different death loops until they actually die!

Script and Page don’t quite have defined role yet but Script is aligned with the Spiral and Page is aligned with the Lonely!

#anon #ask #tma au

[i-will-change-this-someday]

MAG 10, Vampire Killer

Trevor was 13 when his father died, in 1956; the statement was given in 2010, so he was 67, making him roughly 77 when he died.

“While I have witnessed them avoid direct sunlight if possible, and wear generally more covering clothes when moving around during the daytime, they seem to have no significant problem doing so.” Is there a reason for them to avoid sunlight? I really don’t think vampires are Dark.

“I just lay there watching as its stomach began to distend and swell, the now bulbous belly straining against the black dress it wore.” I’ve seen it theorized that vampires are Web, and this does remind me of the descriptions of Mr. Spider.

“I certainly don’t believe in wild tales of vampirism, but I can’t help but notice that the statement above appears to be a photocopy of a photocopy, and can’t find these supposed vampire teeth anywhere in the Archives or the Secure Containment Room.” Where are the teeth?

To be honest, I’m not really sure what entity the vampires are, like I said they’re theorized to be Web, but I see an argument for Flesh or Slaughter. Trevor is a Hunter.

MAG 11, Dreamer

“It was there, sleeping on my friend Anahita’s sofa, in the depths of my misery, that I first started to have the dreams.” I wonder why The End picked him, most statements have some explanation why they encountered an entity, but Oliver was just trying to sleep.

Another John this episode, John Uzel.

“It was your face and the expression upon it was far more fearful than any I had seen in eight years of wandering this twilight city.” We literally hear Gertrude die, and I don’t think she was that scared. Also, poor Oliver, dude hasn’t slept well in eight years.

“I had Tim look into it, as I don’t entirely trust the others not to have written it as a practical joke and slipped it into the archives.” Sometimes, I think about this too much.

The dreams are End.

MAG 12, First Aid

“I followed him asked what he was he was doing. I got no answer, but he seemed to know the code to the door immediately and strode right in, scanning the shelves for something.” I wonder how aligned Gerry was with The Eye, not enough to save him, but enough to Know some things, it seems.

“I just stood there and watched as he took out the scalpel, muttered some words I couldn’t make out, and plunged the blade into the centre of the chanting man’s throat.” Does he actually have to say something to be able to kill him? Or is he just being dramatic?

“Admittedly, if Martin speaks Polish in the same way he “speaks Latin,” then he might be talking nonsense again, but I’ve looked it up and it appears to check out.” Does Martin actually speak Polish? Also, I wonder if Jon knows Latin, he seems like the sort that would.

The unnamed man is Desolation, Diego Molina, I think; Gerry's Eye.

MAG 13, Alone

The first live statement giver, and, right off the bat, she insults the institute.

Jon was originally going to leave her to make her statement, I wonder if he chose to stick around for the later ones, or they all asked him to stay. Maybe Elias made him stay with the statement givers.

I'm guessing Evan never actually died, just "starved" himself until he went into a coma; Naomi's loneliness at his funeral gave him enough to call out to her, but he probably had to stay away from her, and go back to feeding The Lonely.

Girl, you probably should go to a qualified care professional, you lost the love of you life, all your friends, and then got hit by a car, and you decide to vent to research institute.

Obviously Lonely

#the magnus archives #tma #MAG 10 #MAG 11 #MAG12 #MAG 13 #tma relisten #My Post

[celsidebottom]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: The Magnus Archives (Podcast) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims Characters: Martin Blackwood, Jonathan Sims Additional Tags: Spoilers for 161!, Nightmares, The Extinction, The Lonely

Summary: When Martin dreams of the Extinction and Lonely, Jon sees his nightmares so vividly, and wants nothing more than to stop Martin from suffering any longer.

“Jon, come to bed.”

“I’m not tired.  Not like that.”

Martin stood in the doorway to the bedroom, leaning against the frame as he watched Jon fumble with one of the many tape recorders that followed him around.

“I know, but… you could still use some rest, even if you don’t sleep.”

“I don’t think it works like that anymore.”

Jon was still running his fingers over the buttons when a gently lobbed pillow thudded into his side.  He dropped the recorder and looked up at Martin, aghast.

“Jon, come on, please..."

Martin had a pouty look on his face with sincere worry shimmering in his eyes, and Jon sighed, the faint upturn of a smile at the edge of his lips.

“Yeah, alright.  Fair enough.”

After changing into his pajamas, Jon crawled into bed beside Martin and draped an arm over his waist.  

“Good night,” Martin yawned.  “Thank you.”

“Of course.  Get some sleep.”

Martin gave Jon a quick kiss on the forehead before rolling in the other direction, adjusting his pillows, and starting to let sleep claim him.   Jon moved a little bit closer and rested his head into Martin’s back while his breath slowed.

It wasn’t that Jon didn’t need rest.  It wasn’t that he didn’t want to cuddle up beside Martin and hold him tight.  It was that he saw Martin’s dreams, if they could even be called that.

In the world he’d created, there were only nightmares.

La porte est la porte est la porte est la porte est la porte est la…

Martin’s subconscious raced through doors, some half-destroyed and others pristine, interspersed with dark, dilapidated streets.  And in those streets were corpses, mangled and decayed, mutated beyond recognition, embedded into the pavement, entombed in the walls.  Their hands almost reached out at Martin, begging him to save them, but there was no hope for them now.  Martin ran through one last, broken door, and there was only light.

Blinking, Martin, and by extension, Jon, stepped into a hot summer day, the heat casting up wavering lines around them.   Mechanical numbers buzzed in his ear and repeated themselves over and over and over and over.

 Three.  Zero.  Five.  Eight.  Three.  Nine.  Two.  Eight.  Four.  Six.

In the distance, Martin saw a house atop a small hill.  But the smoke that rose from it was not that of a chimney or a contained brushfire.  It is something else entirely, something unimaginable.

 Four.  Seven.  Four.  Nine.

Jon didn’t need to hear the whole sequence of numbers to know what the meaning was:

The World is Always Ending.

Martin’s subconscious faded away in the beeping of each number, their message both a revelation and a perpetually known truth at the same time.  When he looked again, he stood inside a hut that creaked and groaned like shifting metal, mixed with the sound of a distant scream that was ignored as something innocuous.  As Martin stepped toward the twisting statues made from refuse and forsaken objects, the block of concrete at his feet transformed and hissed.

With a shock, Jon pulled himself from the vision.  It was so easy to fall into Martin’s dreams, to see that fear right there inside him, but how much was he going to let Martin bear?  He could feel Martin’s pulse pounding beneath his embrace and the way his breath caught in his throat as the newly manifested snake lashed out at him and the statues turned toward him, liquid concrete pouring from what should have been their eyes and mouths.

Consciously, Jon tried to look away.  It took all his strength to do so, to reach out and shake Martin, to try and wake him from his nightmares.

“Martin, Martin, wake up, please.  Wake up.”

It was no use.  And he knew that when he tried.  It wasn’t the first time Jon had attempted to wake Martin when the fear of his nightmares caused his body to convulse in the night.  Or whatever passed as night anymore.

But Jon could never wake him.  Instead, all he could do was hold Martin a little tighter.

Instantly, Jon was thrust back into Martin’s dreams and the faint hum of carnival music sent a shiver up both their spines.  The people at the game stalls were gaunt and thin, prying apart bones before descending on their injured companion before the life even left his limbs.  And then, when their appetites were only just whetted, they turned toward Martin.

Just as the crowd descended, the scene shifted and changed.  The gentle sound of waves crashing on a shore came first, followed by an image of a beach, but all the colors were desaturated and empty.

It wasn’t the first time Martin dreamt of the Lonely; he’d had visions of it even before the world ended.

Same as before, Martin’s body shuddered under Jon’s embrace and faint, mumbled words escaped his lips in the waking world.

“No… I can’t go back.  I won’t.  Don’t… don’t make me.  Please…”

A quiet sob broke from Jon as he heard Martin beg.  The weakness in his voice, the frailty…

“Wake up, Martin, please.  You’re not there.  It’s not real,” Jon pleaded even though he knew it wouldn’t help.

He’d seen enough terror replayed in his mind, he knew that such platitudes, even if spoken during the consciousness of day, did little to help allay the fear.  Every statement he’d ever read used to show itself in his dreams, but now they didn’t need to – there was enough fear in the air to sate his monstrous appetite at all hours.

It made sense that Martin would dream of the Extinction.  Especially when the world around them was so warped from the way it had been just a few days ago.

And even Jon used to dream of the Lonely, before he no longer needed to sleep.  Visions of fog, the din of static, the sight of Martin turning away from him and disappearing into the void…

Feeling Martin beside him was the only thing that got him through such nightmares.  So, as Jon was unable to wake him, he held onto Martin even tighter, hoping that his presence would be some small comfort when Martin awoke.

They didn’t have to eat anymore, he didn’t have to sleep, why did they still have to dream?  Why did Martin still have to suffer?  He’d been through so much, and yet he was still hurt again and again…

The tears blurred Jon’s vision and he became acutely aware of how closely he held Martin, how his heart raced and his limbs twitched as he tried to find some escape from the Lonely in his mind.  Jon pressed his forehead against Martin’s back and let himself cry, because there was nothing more that he could do, except watch and wait.

“Jon?  Jon, are you okay?”

Martin extracted himself from Jon’s grip and rolled over to face him.  His eyes were alert even though he’d just awoken from a terrible, terrible dream, and he pulled Jon into a firm embrace, before letting go only slightly, his leg gently draped over Jon’s as he brushed away his tears.

“What happened?”

“I’m sorry, Martin, I’m so, so sorry.  You’ve been through so much and I can’t help, I can’t make it better.  I did all this; it’s all my fault, I’m sorry…”

“Jon, please…”  Martin cradled Jon’s head with one hand while the other gently rubbed his shoulder.  A soothing motion, even if it did little to take away the pain.  “I’m guessing you, uh, saw my dreams again?  Bad stuff, huh?”

“You really don’t remember them?”

Martin shook his head.

“You’re lucky.  The other fear I see from everything happening now, the thing that scares me most about it is that it doesn’t scare me.  But with you… I don’t want you to suffer anymore.”

“Hey, it’s okay,” Martin insisted softly as Jon let out another heavy sob, even as a tear fell from his own eye.  “The dreams might be bad, but at least I get to wake up and see you here.  For a few moments, then, everything is okay – except when you’re crying, of course, but you know.”

Jon choked out a chuckle and couldn’t help but smile.

“When I wake up and see you, or just feel you beside me, there’s a second where none of the pain matters and I can forget that the world is in such a messed-up state.  I just… I wish that you could find a reprieve like that.  Even for the smallest moment.”

“It doesn’t all go away,” Jon muttered.  “It doesn’t ever stop entirely.  But… it gets quieter when I hold you.”

Martin pulled Jon in tight and wrapped his arms around him, and Jon pressed himself into Martin’s chest.

In a soft whisper, Martin urged, “Then don’t ever let go.”

#the magnus archives #tma #tma spoilers #tma 161 #jonmartin #tma5 #martin blackwood #jonathan sims #I was just thinking about how Jon sees the statement givers in his dreams #and Martin was in many ways an archivist for the extinction #so what if he sees those statements when he dreams in this new world? #my fic #tma fic

[ajkal2]

the essay: childhood trauma, responsibility, and tma. part 1: jon

in a tma fic i published like six months ago, i left an authors note that promised an essay on jon and tim’s trauma to anyone who asked. several people asked, and so here i am!

the fic is called a deeply annoying child. it’s about being a kid and seeing something horrible, and it’s about jon and tim’s rocky relationship. 

this post isn’t actually about the fic. it’s a breakdown of jon’s mental state through s1-3. im going to make another post about tim, and then a final one linking it all back to the fic. i’ll chuck links to those on here when they’re posted!

but first, let’s talk about my boy, JON ‘JARCHIVIST’ SIMS.  

(fair warning- this isn’t a fully backed up meta post, it’s my interpretation of canon. any thoughts/queries/additions welcome! my askbox is always open <3) 

part o: a note on guilt

hey, you know what’s fucked up? an eight-year-old kid with survivors guilt. 

as a child, jon watched someone he knew die, due to circumstances that, while they were not his fault, were set in motion by his actions. children (and often teens!) think in black-and-white. complex logic often just doesn’t occur to them.  jon, at 8, looks at what happened, and says that’s my fault. i did that. jon didn’t like his bully, and wanted him to go away, and then he did. that instinctive reaction is something i think he never grows out of. when you already hate yourself, it’s easy to pile more fuel onto that flame.  he doesn’t think about risk, not to him, because he deserves whatever happens. he let someone die. he doesn’t ever forgive himself for that.

part i: belief (precanon+s1)

now, i have a headcanon about why jon doesn’t believe statement givers, and imma lay it all out for you right here. 

when jon was 8, and freshly traumatised, i think he tried to tell someone what happened. beneath all the layers, jon is compassionate, and tries to help people. now, picture this. a kid, one with a history of troubled behaviour and an atypical home life, goes up to someone (a police officer, his carer, a teacher) and tells them a giant spider ate someone. what’s that person, someone who is a rational adult, someone who doesn’t believe in silly things, going to say back? are they going to believe that kid? 

no. no way. they’re going to tell that kid that they’re making up stories, that they had a nightmare, that they should stop making jokes about someone who actually disappeared, jon, you need to be more sensitive about these things. 

now, that kind of dissonance- ‘this did happen, it was real’ and ‘everyone i talk to is telling me it’s not real’- is hard on adults. to a kid? devastating. 

jon, because he’s jon, would have been desperately searching for a way to explain this, and i think the thing he grabs on to is evidence. if he had some evidence of what happened, if he could prove what happened, people would believe him.*

but he doesn’t have evidence. and he resents that, and he resents that so much that by the time he’s an adult he’s settled into a mindset towards the supernatural somewhat akin to ‘i didn’t get believed, but you think you should be believed? what’s so good about you? you think you’re better than me?** fuck you! i don’t believe you!’   this is also a way of keeping himself safe. if the monsters aren’t real, they can’t hurt him.

and then, through s1, that mindset is chipped at. the statement givers start being real people, who come into jon’s office and cry when he dismisses them, and that clearly makes him uncomfortable. martin gives his statement, and martin has evidence. jon knows martin, and knows that he’s a good person, so martin having evidence isn’t likely to be an attack at jon. 

jane prentiss attacks the institute, and then suddenly jon’s shield of denial and anger is ripped away, because the monsters are real, and they can hurt him. 

*would they? i don’t know. people can be very attached to believing that the world is good, and kids are misguided, and there are a hundred thousand ways to explain away a piece of evidence, as jon comes to know well. 

** this ties into jon’s self hatred, as people saying they are better than him kicks him right in the Issues. 

part ii: paranoia (s2)

after prentiss attacks, jon is left floundering. his old I Do Not See It mindset has been smashed to pieces, and underneath all the trauma he’s been brutally suppressing is bubbling up. jon has no real experience in judging threats, because for the last 20 years he’s been burying his head in the sand and yelling he can’t see any threats. so he overcompensates, and assumes everything is a threat. his experience re:not being believed tells him that everyone around him is stupid and wrong and the only person he can rely on is himself.  

so he investigates. he’s convinced that his life is in imminent danger, that everyone around him is plotting to kill him. he doesn’t hold back, because you don’t hold back in a life-or-death scenario.  he knows something is wrong. something is very wrong. he’s sure it’s a threat to him, a threat to his life. but he can’t put a finger on what it is.

this is when his friendship with tim breaks down. i’ll talk about tim in a minute. 

jon spirals, and obsesses, and wrings answers out of the ether until it all falls together. he understands what is wrong, that it’s sasha that wants him dead. or, well, not sasha. he’s been winding up tighter and tighter all series, and he lets loose by striking out, acting for once instead of reacting. it is remarkably easy to buy an axe in central london, after all.

and then, well, that doesn’t go well. 

 part iii: desperation (s3)

after what jon did backfired so badly, he goes to georgie, because he has no other option. and he thinks, what went wrong? and the answer he comes up with is i didn’t know enough.* that’s why it all went wrong, because he didn’t know what he was dealing with. and so the solution is to find out more.

he’s starting to realise that he’s changing.** he wants to find out more about that as well, to control it. 

so he goes and finds out more. or, tries to. he doesn’t have many leads.*** jon is not good at judging threat, and doesn’t know the danger he is putting himself in. he’s stubborn, and locked onto getting more knowledge like a dog and a bone.****

and then he does get more knowledge, but it’s the knowledge that the world is ending, and he’s the only one who can fix it.***** he can’t process his trauma. he doesn’t have time. the world is ending. 

in late s3, jon is desperate. he’s overworking himself. he feels alone: daisy’s at his throat, elias is dangling information over his head, tim... 

we’ll talk about tim later. 

basira doesn’t trust him, georgie isn’t happy with him, melanie’s never liked him. he gets kidnapped for a month, and no one notices. the only person jon has firmly in his corner is martin.****** and he doesn’t have time to talk to martin, because he’s getting kidnapped, and jetting across the world chasing shadows, and desperately, desperately trying not to fuck everything up again. 

and he doesn’t! they build a plan. it’s dangerous, sure, but jon doesn’t even know what that means anymore. his whole life is dangerous. jon going into the unknowing is cautiously, waveringly hopeful. maybe this time it won’t go wrong. this time they know what to do, they know what they’re dealing with. 

and, the tragedy is, it doesn’t go wrong. they save the world. they send elias to prison. it all goes to plan. and tim is dead, and daisy is buried, and jon is lost in dreams. 

*👁️ **👁️ ***👁️ ****👁️  ***** he’s not the only one, of course, there are a whole team of people working on stopping the Unknowing, but jon is the Archivist. he’s the heir to gertrude’s legacy. 

****** this is where they fall in love, after all. which is a good thing, of course, but it adds an extra weight to every interaction they have, guessing and double-guessing how the other feels, until jon actually can’t talk to martin, not how he wants to, because he’s not sure if they’re there yet. (martin is there. jon doesn’t have time to be.) 

see yall next time 

i would like to cover s4 and s5, but this post is 1.5k already, and i’ve covered up to when the fic takes place! next time i will be ranting incoherently about timothy stoker, punctuated by bursts on uncontrollable sobbing. when that’s up, i’ll chuck a link here, and on the author notes of the fic i’m doing this for. see you then!

#tma #tma meta #jonathan sims #jon sims meta #character analysis #a deeply annoying child #the essay tag #god this is a mess but w/e posting it anyway

[eldritchqueerture]

One For The Memory

Chapter 7: Turning Page

Chapter Summary: Elias listens to a tape and has a chat with Jon about his refusal to take live statements. Jon’s dreams become more violent as his regrets come back to haunt him. He realizes Martin didn't come through to this world with him, and he remembers the price he’d have to pay to free his assistants from under the Eye’s influence.

CW: Jonah Magnus, smoking, self-deprecation, fainting, suicidal ideation, suicidal thoughts, gaslighting, manipulation, mentions of suicide, emotional abuse, gore, graphic violence, injuries, blood, knives, guilt-tripping, spiders, body horror, panic attacks, mentions of and allusions to eye trauma

Author's Notes: Let the Jon Angst begin 💀 This one is on the heavier side, so please mind the content warnings and stay safe. I also decided to change this work's rating to M because of graphic descriptions of violence.

Work Summary: Jon awakens with a tidal wave of memories that don’t make any sense. In an attempt to go on with his life, he searches for the cause of the turmoil in his mind. He knows, though, that something inside him is waking up.

Likes are greatly appreciated, but please consider reblogging so other people may see it! Thank you 💜

Jonah Magnus pinches the bridge of his nose when the tape player clicks off, and the air of the office is once again filled with silence. He turns the words he’s just heard in his mind this way and that, scarcely letting himself believe his ears. He carefully picks up the device and rewinds the tape, just a little bit.

“…And as the last word teared itself from your trembling, bleeding lips, your eyes flashed with green light, blinding the whole world and extinguishing the sun. The sky ripped itself into a thousand little pieces and from every crack emerged a glowing Eye, ready to take in everything about Its new world. And as the new world created itself from the light, you collapsed on the floor, your eyes bleeding and burned, yet still seeing. Seeing It All.”

Jonah pauses the recording, savouring the tremble in the Archivist’s voice. These are the words of a man who has seen what Jonah longed for almost his entire life; a living and breathing proof that his plan could succeed. Did succeed.

A thrill of excitement travels down his spine and his lips split in an unwitting smile. There are still many unknown variables to this equation, primarily how exactly Jon was able to travel through time, since that’s what Jonah assumes happened, but all of those just pose an additional challenge. Whatever travel Jon has been through, it clearly left him in a severe state of disarray, enough not to be able to organize any sort of plans quickly. Which, of course, gave Jonah plenty of time to investigate, and observe, and make preparations of his own.

Jon’s refusal to take live statements had been a worry at first. How was he supposed to become the Archivist, if he didn’t feed the power in turn? Jonah started considering alternatives; if Jon now knew too much to take those first steps towards Becoming, maybe he should think about a replacement, before it is too late. Sasha would of course be his second choice; she obviously lacked the mark of the Web but her ties to the Beholding were the strongest out of all of the assistants, and Jonah knew her to be impulsive. He had offhandedly instructed her to steer the statement givers away from Jon if the situation looked too similar to that of Ms. Herne, and instead take the statement herself. It wouldn’t be as strong without the position of Head Archivist and Jonah was sort of bending his own rules for this, but the situation clearly called for it. Fortunately, time showed he needn’t have worried. Even without live statements, Jon had started exhibiting signs of being in the Beholding’s favour, with an astonishing speed at that. Supernatural, someone might even say.

Jonah Magnus focused on studying the event the night before the Archivist’s first day in his office. Watched it from different angles; the tear in the fabric of the universe, spreading its strands across the cosmos. Throughout the following months he’d observed the unrest among the followers of the Fears. They all felt it to one degree or another, and most of them were devoid of the tools that allowed them to look at the bigger picture. Jonah watched Nikola Orsinov gather her allies and plans for the Unknowing, convinced that the power she felt was a sign that her ritual was destined to succeed. He watched Oliver Banks, haunted by the dreams of an unknown, dark-skinned man poring over files in the office previously belonging to Gertrude Robinson, whom he got to know so well before her death. The veins took Oliver again down the Institute’s staircase, right to the same desk, where he watched a bloody stain bloom over the man’s heart, stark crimson against the white of his shirt. Jonah watched Annabelle Cane scuttling around the old Hill Top Road, where the tear seemed the most pronounced, with a glint of elation on her face, then again with the expression of utmost despair.

All in all, Jonah Magnus wasn’t getting many answers, but it bothered him only to a manageable degree. It was never just about the answers anyway, was it?

He rewinds the tape again.

“…at the sky – it is dark, deeper than dark, something that would be ready to swallow the Earth in its entirety if only given a chance; but it doesn’t. Instead, it watches. The sky watches with thousands upon thousands of eyes following every little movement and thought. And you know that the Eyes are fond of you. You’ve done them a big service. “You deserve a reward,” the eyes say.”

The tower of his Panopticon was never meant to be a beacon of understanding. It was built in the name of observing the experience, of being here and now, and drinking every little detail, every little thought. A state of utter bliss at admiring the work of fear around him that Jon has helped him achieve once. It is no doubt frightening to him, if the contents of the tape and his poorly concealed anger are anything to go by, but it is a sacrifice Jonah is willing to make. Not for a lack of compassion, mind you; if he knew of a way to achieve his goals without causing Jon this much suffering, no doubt he would take it. The voice speaking on the tape belongs to a deeply troubled man, but Jonah finds that sometimes the most troubling stories make for the most powerful ones.

The next breakthrough came just a few days ago, when that twisted thing calling itself Michael had interfered. Jonah observed developments keenly and could barely contain his satisfaction at Jon’s ability to extract answers. Truly a remarkable Becoming, if it really was one. That’s when he began considering that perhaps, the thing that travelled back in time was not entirely Jon anymore. Perhaps he need not Become, but simply Awaken. From that it’s a short work to conclude that—

Elias blinks out of his reverie at the cold breeze on his exposed forearms. He stifles a sigh of annoyance at the familiarity of it and watches the mist gather in the corner of his office, before it fully forms the bulk of a sea captain with his cap slightly askew.

“You know, for one of the Lonely, you surely pay me a lot of visits as of late, Peter,” he says nonchalantly. “One might think you’ve grown tired of your Patron.”

“With your little eye stumbling to my domain so often, my attention is here far more than I would like,” Peter grumbles, but there is a glint in his eye Elias knows very well. “Which lets me see some pretty interesting things regarding your current pet. One might think your Patron has grown tired of you.”

Elias chuckles.

“I wouldn’t keep my hopes up, if I were you. The Archivist is catching up, yes, but the Beholding doesn’t play favourites. Everyone is equal under the gaze of the Watcher.”

“I’d rather associate that phrase with the End, don’t you think?” Peter smirks. “And I wouldn’t be so sure about favourites. I haven’t heard of any other servants of the Eye making a name for themselves in a good while. And here you are, not only successfully evading Terminus, but also with the Watcher’s Crown well within your grasp.”

“You sound rather infatuated, Peter.” Elias snickers. “Have you come to grovel at last?”

“But now, it seems the apprentice has surpassed the master,” Peter continues, unfazed. “What other explanation could there be for this sudden growth in power? Evidently, the Watcher has found its new Pupil.” He raises his eyebrows at Elias, who scoffs.

“Such a short-sighted view. I wouldn’t expect anything else from you, though. All that fog must be so hard to parse through, after all.”

“I see all that I need to be content.” Peter flinches, which brings a smirk onto Elias’ mouth.

“Only because my previous Archivist foiled your masterfullycrafted plans of…” He elongates the vowel as if in thought, feigning a struggle to remember. “Right. An apartment complex.”

“It had potential!” Peter shakes his head. “Besides, I’m not convinced you have a right to claim Gertrude as yours. If I recall correctly, she was minutes from burning down your Archives when you killed her.”

“History is written by the victors.” Elias shrugs. “And only one of us is alive to tell it.”

“And you suppose you’ll always be the last one standing?”

“Let a man dream.” Elias leans back in his chair and tilts his head at Peter. “Is there a point to your visit, or did you simply grow lonely out at the sea?”

“You have an infuriating way of prolonging the displeasure of talking to you.” Peter rolls his eyes. “I’d much rather grow old and lonely with the sea as my only companion.”

“Yet you keep coming back.” Elias waves his hand in amusement. “Don’t let me keep you.”

“Your little eye disturbs the mists.” Peter’s gaze grows serious. “Uninvited.”

“I thought you were meddling in my affairs to be a nuisance.” Elias raises his eyebrows. “He can’t be doing that on his own.”

“Well, it isn’t me either.” Peter crosses his arms on his chest. “Have you let an unknown player infiltrate your precious Archives?”

“I assure you, Martin isn’t a player,” Elias scoffs. “He has no pre-existing connections to any of the Fears, and that includes the Lonely.”

“He certainly has one now.” Peter shrugs. “I’d appreciate it if you got him under control. If he wishes to associate with my Patron then he may well go for it, but not in my domain.”

Elias joins his hands on the desk with a glint in his eye.

“Isn’t that interesting? No connections to the Powers when I transferred him and now an unexplained ability to access a part of it… Did you perhaps invite him without noticing?”

“Of course not—”

“Or,” –Elias leans forward. “Is the Lonely playing favourites as well?”

Peter narrows his eyes at him.

“Just what exactly are you implying?”

“Your Patron could have given him access.”

“It doesn’t do that,” Peter scoffs.

“Neither does Beholding grant the powers of the Archivist to just anyone, and yet.”

Elias stands up to walk towards a window overlooking the street in front of the Institute. The sky is lightly overcast, and the city is rather quiet at this hour.

“Don’t you understand, Peter?” He speaks. “Things have changed. Jonathan Sims has shifted the stakes, for better or worse, and I intend to see where this leads before I interfere.”

“Obviously,” Peter mutters. “How on Earth did you manage to get me involved in it, though?”

Elias turns to him with a grin.

“Don’t pretend you did not get yourselfinvolved. We both know the misanthropy is for show most of the time.”

“Not now, though.” Peter looks away in annoyance that Elias recognizes as played up.

“It shall be over soon. The circumstances may well be aligning in our favour.”

“I highly doubt that.” Peter shakes his head with exasperation, before dissipating into white mist and then, entirely disappearing.

Jonah Magnus smiles to himself. He is a careful man, placing his bets thoughtfully and with the utmost precision, which usually grants him the upper hand. He cannot afford to be in the wrong, and something tells him this time would be no different.

—

Jon is on his smoke break when she arrives at the Institute. He’s not expecting it, not so soon, but he does have to admit that days have an awful habit of bleeding through his fingers lately. The spring sun is high in the sky, and the temperature has been steadily rising to a comfortable degree. He stands outside in pleasant shade when he hears the back door to the Institute open.

“Hey, Jon.” Sasha gives him a tense smile, and he lowers his cigarette.

“Hey.” The way she searches his face and her slightly too tight grip on the door handle register on Jon’s mind, twisting his guts with worry. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing! Nothing’s, uh… Wrong, per se, it’s just.” She takes a breath. “There’s a statement giver. In the Archives.”

Jon tenses up.

“Elias said that it’s Institute’s policy or whatever, that only you can take live statements, but I could…?” She bites her lip.

“No,” Jon answers too loud, making Sasha wince slightly. He exhales and stubs out his cigarette with a shaking hand.

“I, uh…” He swallows. “I’ll handle this.”

“Jon.” Sasha puts her hand on his shoulder, and he only flinches a little. She withdraws, but her gaze stays sharp on him. “If there’s going to be a repeat of the Herne incident, I’d like a heads-up.”

“There’s…” Jon grimaces. “There might be. Or—Or it could be worse, I-I honestly, uh… Don’t really know how the Eye will take it.”

“Shouldn’t you take her statement then?” Sasha frowns. “Don’t they… feed you, or something?”

“I’m not—” Jon huffs. “I’m not going to condemn Melanie to nightmares for the rest of her life just because I might need a pick me up.”

“So, instead you’re going to let an eldritch entity hurt you?” Sasha blinks. “Also, I never said her name.”

“I know her,” Jon says quietly with a sigh. “After giving a statement here she started looking into it on her own using our library, and eventually she ended up signing a contract with Elias. I’m going to make sure none of that happens. She doesn’t deserve this.”

Sasha makes a few weak protests, but Jon walks down the corridor with a grim determination. The ache in his stomach grows and the closer to the Archives he gets, the more his mind narrows on the idea of a statement. He doesn’t remember about what Melanie’s first statement was, and his mind burns with the need to Know.

As soon as he sees her sitting next to Sasha’s desk he stops, hands curling into fists, nails digging into flesh. He needs to stay focused. He steels himself with a deep breath and clears his throat.

“Ms. King?” He asks, schooling his voice into that clipped tone he tended to use when his public image still mattered to him. Melanie looks at him warily, although he does not miss the latent fear in her eyes. His stomach tightens painfully.

“That’s me.” She stands up, adjusting the bag on her shoulder.

“After you.” He opens the door to his office and lets Melanie through.

“Maybe I should be there in case… You know,” Sasha suggests quietly, and Jon shakes his head too violently.

“No. Stay here. Don’t call anyone.” Jon takes a shaky breath. “Hopefully, she’ll be out of the door before anything… drastic happens.”

He closes the door before Sasha can form any further comments, and promptly makes his way to the other side of the desk.

“So, you’re Melanie King.” Jon sits down and avoids looking her in the eye. He looks down at the form Sasha had given him instead, staring at the date. Halfway through April already?

“Yes…?” She sounds unsure. Jon fidgets with a pen to hide the tremble of his hands.

“From the… podcast. I presume.”

“A show, thank you very much.” He hears her cross her arms over her chest.

“I wouldn’t really know, pretending to see ghosts in old churchyards doesn’t really interest me.” Jon’s gaze stops on the tips of her hair dyed blue; in the corner of his eye he can see her offended expression.

“Excuse me?”

“We have been subjected to jokes from the members of your community before. I’m not very keen on having my time wasted on your made up ghosts.”

“But the clearly fake bullshit about vampires and mummies is all fine and good?” She scoffs. “We may play it up for the camera a little bit, but we use actual scientific instruments and research genuine, documented cases instead of taking the word of every traumatised, drugged up idiot off the street! Honestly, who cares about evidence, about the investigation, when you can just give a statement to the Magnus Institute!”

“Why don’t you go and tell your story to your colleagues then? Do us both a favour.” Jon raises his eyebrows and Melanie deflates.

“I, uh…” She looks away. Jon drops his pen, forming a tightly clenched fist at the ache in his stomach, and swiftly hides it. “They wouldn’t believe me.”

Jon clears his throat, blinking at the form in front of him.

“And what makes you think I will believe you?” His voice comes out strained.

“Isn’t that literally your job?”

“It is not.” A slight shiver passes through him.

“But you do have to take my statement, right? I need to tell someone what happened.”

“I…” Jon closes his eyes around the stifled groan. “I don’t…”

“Are you okay?” Worry joins the judgmental tone of Melanie’s voice.

“Fuck.” Jon hides his face in his hands, fingers reaching up and pulling at his hair. His glasses slip from behind his ears and clatter on the desk. Blood rushes in his ears, his vision swims, and there could as well be a black hole in the pit of his stomach. “Get out of the Magnus Institute.”

“Uh… What…?”

It’s a light at the end of an endless black tunnel, a door outside in a twisting maze, a pond at the centre of an infinite desert, and he’s dying from thirst. The one thing he needs is there for the taking in front of him, how can he refuse, how can he resist?

“Run, Melanie. Get out of the Magnus Institute,” he breathes out heavily. “And do not ever come back.” He inhales sharply. “This place is—” He doubles over the desk in pain.

Melanie staggers back, reaching for the door and opening it to find Sasha already looking at her with a sort of dreadful anticipation. As soon as she sees the fear on Melanie’s face she jumps up and grabs Melanie’s hand to pull her outside the office. Tim, armed with a first aid kit, exchanges tense looks with Sasha and disappears behind the door.

“I apologise, Ms. King, Jon is… He’s been through a lot lately and he’s not exactly himself,” Sasha says giving Melanie a bit of space to gather herself.

“I, uh…” Melanie exhales, no doubt trying to calm herself. “Is this some kind of a joke?”

Sasha frowns.

“I’m not sure what you mean.”

“He told me…” Melanie trails off, visibly suppressing a shiver. “A-Actually, I think I should just go.

“Are you sure?” Sasha presses her lips together, her expression inscrutable. “I probably could—”

“No, no, I… I think it would be best if I just… Just, don’t contact me. I wasn’t here. I’m gonna go.”

With that, Melanie turns around and flees the Archives.

“Uh, Sash…?” Tim’s muffled voice sounds from the office. “A little help?”

There’s a thud, and as Sasha storms into the office, she sees Jon on the floor, his eyes glowing faintly as he mutters something incomprehensible. Tim hovers over him with a look of fear, unsure what to do.

Jon wakes up with his head elevated and someone’s hand in his hair. He blinks his eyes open with a groan at the soreness of his throat.

“Jon? Are you… here? Is it you?”

Tim. His concerned face clears in Jon’s vision, lines of tension creasing his forehead.

“Yeah, y-yeah, it’s me.” He whispers. “Who else would it be?”

“Oh, thank fuck.” Tim exhales with relief and helps Jon sit up. “That muttering was beginning to get really creepy, no offense.”

“What… What are you talking about?” Jon looks around the empty office. “Where’s Melanie?”

“You have successfully scared her out of the Institute, if that’s what you were going for.” Tim answers with a tinge of sarcasm Jon can’t really quite place. “You passed out and your eyes went all… green. And you were muttering something about old hospitals, and shadows, and… and skin.”

His voice quivers at the last word, and Jon looks up at him.

“Christ,” Jon sighs.

“You can’t do this every time someone comes in here with a real statement, Jon,” Tim says seriously. “You’re going to hurt yourself.”

“That’s unavoidable,” says Jon, quietly. “I can at least make sure no one else gets hurt with me.”

“Jon.” Tim grips his shoulders tightly. “I’m not going to watch you let this thing hurt you over and over again and do nothing!”

The door to the office opens and Sasha walks in with an inscrutable expression on her face.

“So,” she starts conversationally. “You’re back, I see.”

“I’m sorry, Sasha—”

“How are you feeling?” She interrupts him and kneels beside him on the floor. Jon sighs.

“Had better days. But I’ll manage.”

“I talked to Rosie,” Sasha starts tensely. “Elias wants to talk to you in his office.”

Jon huffs out a laugh.

“Right.”

“So much for the pretence, huh?” Tim grimaces.

“It’s fine,” Jon says, unconvinced. “That’s fine.”

“Regardless, this cannot continue.” Sasha crosses her arms on her chest. “This is the last time I let you do this.”

“I’m your boss,” Jon chuckles weakly, but it dies under Sasha’s glare.

“A couple of bad dreams isn’t worth this, Jon.”

“You don’t understand—”

“You’re going to seriously hurt yourself if you keep this up.”

Jon meets Sasha’s gaze and curses in his head.

“I can survive on written statements. I have before,” he says hoarsely. “I’m going to get the meeting with Elias over with. Where’s… Where’s Martin?”

“Still in the library,” says Tim.

“Don’t… Don’t tell him about this. Please.”

Tim and Sasha exchange looks.

“Fine.”

Tim helps him get up, and Jon momentarily winces at the pang in his stomach.

“Oh, and, uh…” Jon looks up at them both, trying to conceal the pain in his eyes. “About Martin. He’s… If it really is the Lonely reaching for him, then he needs friends more than ever. P-Promise me you’ll, uh… You’ll be there for him?”

Tim frowns.

“We can all be there for him together, Jon. Right?”

“W-Well, yes, technically, but I’ve been, uh, thinking, and… And if the fog is really there because of me then—then my presence might be making it all worse. And—And if the obvious trigger is gone then perhaps he’ll be able to completely overcome the Lonely.”

Tim observes him with a scrutinizing gaze.

“I don’t think that makes complete sense—”

“Please. I—I need him to be okay. If he has a chance—If you all have a chance at a normal life without all of this then, then I have to ensure you get it.”

“But we haven’t actually established that we do, have we?” Sasha remarks sceptically. Jon wets his lips.

“I… I might be onto something. I’ll, uh… I’ll let you know when I have something more concrete.”

“Look, we’re Team Archives.” Tim tries for a smile, gently nudging his shoulder. “We’ll take care of each other. You too, yeah?”

Jon nods, swallowing through the tightness in his throat. “Yeah.”

Jon climbs the stairs already exhausted, wondering how much Rosie knows about what’s really going on in the Institute. She gave him a strange look when he was passing her desk, and he isn’t sure what it was supposed to mean.

A deep breath in front of the door to Elias’ office isn’t nearly enough to prepare him for the conversation, but it is all he’s going to get, so without further delays, Jon knocks and enters when he hears Elias’ voice.

“Sit down,” Elias says immediately after he closes the door. Jon obeys reluctantly; though he doesn’t favour standing, weak as he is, the couch in front of Elias’ desk has the worst texture he’s ever touched in his life. He wonders briefly if it’s deliberate.

Elias regards him with an air of a disappointed teacher. There is no anger to his gaze, no aggression or cruelty, just… Concern.

“I think it is time for us to talk openly,” he says.

“Melanie didn’t want to give the statement. That’s all there is to it.” The attempt at a lie is laughable even to Jon as soon as he hears his strained voice, and the words tumble out of his mouth too fast. Elias sighs and joins his hands in front of him.

“I would appreciate it if you didn’t make this harder than necessary.” He meets Jon’s gaze. “I’m going to put it bluntly, Jon. Are you suicidal?”

Jon opens his mouth, but no words come out.

“We both know you need the statements to survive. We both know you’ve been getting weaker. At one point old statements aren’t going to be enough, and you know this. Especially since your powers are coming on so fast, you need the sustenance. So, are you trying to kill yourself? Because there are easier ways to do so.”

Jon blinks and swallows.

“No.” His voice is hoarse and his throat tight. The rawness of Elias’ words feels like a punch to the gut.

“Then what are you trying to do? I don’t understand the resistance.”

“You wouldn’t, would you?” Jon laughs quietly. “You’ve never cared about your humanity.”

Elias chuckles.

“Ah. Humanity. Such an elusive concept.” He tuts. “Do you really think it’s worth dying for?”

What does humanity even mean? What does actually separate him from the monster in his dreams? From the monster he’s afraid he will become?

He thinks of Martin. He remembers holding his hand while they walked together through a desolate wasteland, different facets of the same, broken world. You are my reason. His reason. His anchor.

What is he without it?

“It isn’t what you thought it would be, is it?” Elias asks quietly as Jon blinks away tears. “Going back.”

Jon takes a shaky breath.

“I didn’t…” He trails off. How much does Elias actually know? How much can he say? “It doesn’t matter.” He clears his throat.

“So, what is your plan, Jon?” Elias tilts his head. “Do you even have one? Or are you planning to teeter on the edge of being human until you starve yourself to death?”

“It’s not what’s happening.”

But isn’t it? How long can he wait for a miracle that will solve his problems, for an answer that will make everything better, bring Martin back, and save this world from the apocalypse? He’s barely just remembered enough to make sense of what’s happening to him, and yet it feels like he’s been wasting all this time chasing shadows.

“I’m not your enemy, Jon,” Elias speaks up. “It really doesn’t have to be this hard. We don’t have to be on opposite sides.”

“You ended the world.” Jon huffs out and closes his eyes, his head hanging low. He’s so tired, so drained. He can tell Elias is trying to manipulate him but he’s almost too tired to care.

“And yet it continued.”

Jon can tell Elias is looking down at him. Is it pity? Contempt?

“Yeah,” he scoffs. “It started torturing everyone.”

“Do you really care?” Elias leans back in his chair and crosses his legs. “What is ‘everyone’ really, if not just a measure you can’t really wrap your head around?”

“I do care.” Jon meets his eyes. “I felt everyone’s suffering. Both all at once and individually. I’ve seen it all.”

“And did you not enjoy it at all?”

Jon looks away.

“Seeing it all, drinking in every little detail… Was the new world not everything you’ve ever needed?”

Jon refuses to answer. He’s thought about it before, and he knows that Elias is right. He did enjoy—The part of him made of eyes, the part that feeds on the statements and pushes him towards knowledge enjoyed it. It drank all the terror in, and he remembers how Martin told him it must be horrible to witness it all in his mind. He knows it wasn’t.

“That’s what I thought,” Elias answers himself gently. “You think that you should care. You tell yourself it’s bad that people suffer because you think that’s ‘the right thing to do’ but you don’t really care about that, Jon. You need to face the fact that this is who you are; it’s not in your nature to live in denial.”

Jon shakes his head; his heart is drumming in his chest, and he feels tingling in his palms.

“If I’m dead, your ritual won’t succeed. Regardless of whether I care or not, I’m not going to let you bring them all here.”

“Right.” Elias nods. “And what stops me preparing Sasha to take over your role?”

“I know how to kill you.”

Elias raises his eyebrows.

“Perhaps you do.” He chuckles. “Really fascinating. Are you aware you’re going to hurt the entire Institute with that? There’s no telling what will happen to them.”

“I know what happens when you succeed,” Jon growls. “Anything is better than that.”

“Alright then. If you’re sure.” Amusement plays in Elias’ eyes and a spark of frustration makes Jon’s hands shake. “My offer of working together is still on the table, though. If you ever change your mind.”

Jon stands up and leaves without another word.

—

The knife, once again, finds home in his flesh, cutting deep into his shoulder, and bringing with it fresh and hot agony. Jon opens his eyes with considerable effort, eyelids stuck together by the quickly drying blood that must cover him head to toe by now. The stab wounds and lacerations on his body bloom with crimson as he lies on the ground, exhausted; blood draining from him yet never running out. His breath comes in ragged, punctured lungs filling his airway with blood, yet still letting oxygen through. Whatever holds him in its grasp won’t let him lose consciousness. Not yet.

The face of his assaulter changes yet again. As his vision stabilizes, he’s met with Tim’s hard stare. Jon can see the ashes of hatred that once used to burn in his eyes, now a cold pile ready to be scattered by the first wind.

“You look like shit.”

Tim towers over him, standing with a knife gripped in his fist so tight, it makes his knuckles go pale. Jon inhales to answer and chokes on his own blood. He can feel his heart valiantly beat to keep him alive, and he can’t decide whether to feel grateful or resentful towards it.

Tim kneels beside him. Jon regains the shaky balance of breathing through his pierced lungs and splutters.

“What a fucking shame. You were my friend once, you know that?”

Jon whines weakly. He’d really think the pain would lessen after all this, that his mind would find a way to numb the agony, but no such luck was granted to him. This is a banquet and he’s tasting every flavour of suffering, making sure to really savour each one, truly get to know them. He feels the Archivist’s gaze on him from afar, or so he thinks, though that thought only makes him want to laugh.

“I wanted to hurt you,” says Tim and a spark of that anger, smouldering somewhere underneath the ashes comes to life for a second. “I wanted to make you suffer so that I would forget what I felt, and the only thing that mattered would be your pain and the fact that I was causing it.”

He lets out a mirthless laugh; the anger sputters out and dies.

“But then I saw you here. Like this.” Tim shakes his head. “It’s not how I imagined it. I don’t feel angry, I just… You’re just too pathetic.”

The cold steel of the knife’s blade touches Jon’s throat. Tim rearranges it so the tip is placed right below Jon’s voice box. Jon swallows unwittingly, feeling the pressure of the sharp point on his skin. He curses his own heart, ushering himself over to the side of resentment. It would do better to give up on him and save everyone the trouble.

“I’m going to end it now. I don’t forgive you.” Tim’s eyes glisten with unshed tears as he grips the handle tighter. “So don’t you dareforgive me.”

His world does not end when the knife pierces through his larynx. The pain disappears as he feels his flesh knit itself back together, and he is once again breathing freely. He takes a moment to enjoy the relief of clear lungs, his body shaking with the adrenaline.

Then, he opens his eyes. He finds himself in the darkness of night, laying down in what feels like a rectangular wooden box. His eyes don’t need long at all to adjust to the darkness, and, with a start, he realizes he lies in a fresh grave. He attempts to rise, but something pulls him down, pinning him to the cold wooden floor. His breath picks up the pace as he struggles against the force; then he stops. There’s a sound of steps on the ground, dirt crunching under someone’s boots, and soon, he sees an outline against the grey darkness of the sky.

He knows it’s her as soon as he sees her, despite the fact that her face is nothing but a blur of skin tones, weaving through each other like paint being mixed. Her body is fluid, changing shape and size in waves, and he cannot recall how it is supposed to look. Her voice doesn’t have a sound to it that he can pinpoint in his mind, yet the words are clear, accusatory, and full of regret.

“You never dream about me,” Sasha says.

“What?” His voice is hoarse and quiet, trembling under the guilt and shame that build up on instinct.

“Not like you dream about the others. Their faces haunt you as you sleep, the past coming back to remind you how it used to be. Do you even remember me, Jon?”

Jon lets out a gasp, wracking his memory in search of the smallest details about his friend that he could recall. Was her hair black? Brown? Maybe it had a ginger tint to it, or—or maybe she had it dyed?

“Did you ever even care about me? Maybe that’s why you can’t remember.” She presses her non-existent lips together. “Do you even remember my name?”

“Sasha,” Jon begs. “Please, I can’t—”

“Do you have any idea how much it hurt? To be devoured by that thing, for it to wear my identity like a new fucking suit? And no one noticed. I watched it parade as me, so obviously false, so clearly, appallingly not me, and you didn’t even notice.”

“I… I tried—”

“Yeah, you did try,” she laughs cruelly. “You set it free. After it ate me under your very nose, you rewarded it by breaking its prison. How could you be so stupid? It was so obvious the table was binding it, a blind man could see it.”

Jon shuts his eyes with pain, the sheer weight of the guilt itself pinning him to the floor of the coffin.

“I can’t take it back.” He whispers, voice weak. “I’m sorry. What do you want me to do?”

When he opens his eyes, he finds himself in a dark room. There’s dust in the air and old cobwebs on the wooden ceiling. Jon sits up with considerable effort and notices kitchen cabinets, a table, and a big, bare tree outside the window, that casts ominous shadows in the faint moonlight. Everything is visibly old and covered in a sizeable layer of dust, and Jon can’t shake the feeling he’s seen it before.

“It’s you.”

He freezes when a voice sounds behind him, striking a familiar cord in his memory – something buried deep in his mind. He turns around and flinches back violently, crawling away until he stumbles into the old cabinets. In front of him sits a boy of about nineteen in an old, tattered sport uniform. There are eight glistening black eyes on his pale face, and additional spindly appendages sprout from his body here and there. He crawls closer a step or two, and Jon crams himself back into the wooden panels of the cabinets.

“I remember you,” the boy says. Jon swallows in terror as the voice finally connects with the barely recognisable face, yet the name eludes him. “What? Little Einstein can’t even remember his friend’s name? Such a shame.”

He crawls up closer, painfully taking his time, and Jon pushes himself back into a corner with a whimper.

“Get back!” He breathes out, unable to find his voice. The boy laughs.

“Or what? You’ll feed me to a giant spider from a book? Oh, wait,” –he crawls up until he’s just five feet away and reaches with two of his black, hairy legs to lean on the wall over Jon’s head. “You already did that.”

“I—I didn’t mean to, I swear, I didn’t know what I was doing—” Jon stammers out but stops with a cry when the boy leans over him with fangs emerging from the corners of his mouth.

“I was just a boy,” he hisses. “And you’re what? A chosen one?” He scoffs. “It should have been you. It should have taken you, and we would all have been better for it.”

Jon presses his eyelids shut, squeezing out tears of terror. His body trembling violently, he anticipates the stinging pain of venomous teeth, but it doesn’t come. He breathes shakily, not daring to open his eyes even a crack. Is the spider torturing him? Trying to make him believe the danger has passed, to relax just a little, so it can strike and rouse the fear all anew?

“It’s over now.”

He flinches at the voice in his head, the coating of static almost pleasant. He can’t open his eyes, though, can’t trust the words. His body is frozen in dread and has lost all connection to the signals of his brain.

“Jon. You can open your eyes. You’re safe now.”

All he can do is shake uncontrollably and breathe. His throat is closed up and he doesn’t think he will ever be able to move or speak. All that matters is that he’s alive right now and the slightest alteration of his position could change that.

“Very well. Take your time.”

The tiniest whimper escapes Jon’s throat with an exhale. Could it be that he’s safe? That the spider’s really gone?

“I suppose I shall watch over you, until you come to.”

Jon can finally feel the tensed up muscles in his entire body. He starts to loosen them, bit by bit, first his forearms, then shoulders. The room around is quiet, save for the distant sound of wind outside. He moves his fingers and curls his hands into fists, only to rapidly unfurl them to relieve some tension. His left hand gives him a familiar ache.

After some time, when he brings back life to most of his body, he dares to open his eyes. The Archivist sits on the floor, some distance from him, and the dusty floor is covered in heaps of magnetic tape.

“What is this?” Jon mouths the words, his voice not yet fully responsive. He clears his throat, but the Archivist understands him.

“You could call it my prison if you wished to, although this place binds far more than just me. It is an end as well as it is a beginning.”

Jon looks out the window at the bare tree, swaying in the wind, the looming shadows swaying with it; long branches reaching across the floor akin to the legs of a spider.

“Hill Top Road,” he whispers.

“We were bound to end up here sooner or later.”

“What are we doing here?” Jon asks, his vocal cords finally starting to work.

“Dreaming, in your case. Waiting, in mine.”

“Waiting for what?”

“Fate, I suppose. I’ve done what I could, and I don’t think…” The Archivist trails off, and its human eyes blink. “The matter is in our hands in the waking world. There’s nothing more I can do for you.”

“I still don’t know how I got here.” Jon hugs himself, bringing his knees up to his chest. “There’s still so much I don’t remember…”

“As long as we are separated, some things will remain forgotten. There are parts of the Becoming a mortal mind cannot comprehend.”

“I don’t think I can do this.” Jon shakes his head, feeling tears gather in his eyes. “It’s just… I can’t. I can’t.”

The Archivist observes him for a moment, the eyes unmoving but for the two natural ones that take in his face, bit by bit.

“The fear seems all encompassing, vast, unending; but it is an illusion. It will fade with time. You may be plagued by the images of the past and the crushing guilt for all your remaining time, but the fear will lessen. It would become mundane if it did not.”

Jon snorts through the tears.

“I’m not sure whether this is supposed to be comforting or not.”

“Do you find comfort in it?”

Jon sighs and rubs at his eyes. “Sort of?”

“Then let it be meant as comforting. Whatever it may be, it is still the truth.”

Jon nods and stares at the tape on the floor, glistening in the faint light from the window. They sit in silence for a moment, his breathing finally stabilizing, and the Archivist as motionless as ever.

“Something went wrong, didn’t it?” Jon says quietly, unsure whether he’s addressing the Archivist or just thinking out loud. “Whatever we did to stop the apocalypse at the end… I think I’ve made a big mistake. Whatever it was, it’s… It’s resulted in this.” He waves his hand half-heartedly. “It must be my fault. This—This guilt couldn’t have come from nowhere.”

“Do you want to know what you’ve done?” The Archivist asks. “The knowledge may be tempting, but it holds many dangers. They say sometimes it is better not to know.”

“Yes. I do want… I need to know.” Jon bites his lip. “Not right now. But I do.”

The Archivist nods almost solemnly, although Jon can’t tell from where he’s got that impression.

“Appropriate, I suppose.”

—

He can barely feel his body. His clothes are soaked through, and his skin frigid and numbed by the delicate mist that coats the landscape whichever way he looks. It’s dark, yet somehow the grey wisps are visible, hanging low and swaying softly on a non-existent wind.

When he begged for relief from whatever nightmare has held him in its grasp until now, it was not exactly this that he had had in mind. Jon lifts himself up from the ground with a groan of effort and a tremble in his arms. It is cold.

Hugging himself tight, he looks around again, searching for anything that might offer him shelter. He has found himself on a shore that looks suspiciously like a secluded part of the beach at the edge of Bournemouth, where he used to sneak off as a kid. It was never a hot spot among tourists, the access to it overgrown and less than comfortable, but the locals were known to be around sometimes. Now, the place is desolate; not a living thing in sight. On an evening like this Jon would expect the cicadas and nightly insects to be well into their regular repertoire of songs, yet the only sound breaking the deadly silence is the gentle sound of waves on the shore.

A full body shiver runs through him, and Jon tightens the hold over his arms. The mist feels oppressive in the air, as if waiting for something. It’s too quiet. After the adrenaline heavy rush of the nightmares, the stillness plants an agitating unease high in his stomach. The trees behind him are but a looming mass of shadows, waiting for him to seek refuge among them, only to devour him before he knows it. Jon thinks he sees eyes glistening amidst the darkness, watching him intently, but the next second they’re gone. He grits his teeth and turns towards the shore.

“Am I dead?” He asks in a whisper so quiet he can barely hear it himself. He cannot feel his heartbeat anymore, and his body is just weight that he needs to carry around. The mist touches his cheek softly, and he briefly wonders how it is possible that he can feel it at all.

“Does it matter if you are?” A sound answers him. It’s not a voice and it doesn’t speak in words, yet the meaning makes itself crystal clear in Jon’s mind.

“No… I suppose it does not.” Jon takes a couple steps on the hard sand. The sea is still a couple yards away from him, yet the beach is hard packed and wet, as if the water of the flow reached here as well. He glances back and sees his footprints fade away on the ever so slightly shifting sand. “This is what you do, isn’t it? Feeding on what’s left of broken souls; like a vulture disguised as shelter.”

Jon sees a set of footprints some distance from him, near the edge of the water. If he squints and focuses on the spot, he can make out a denser patch of fog, but it disperses soon after, the sand as smooth as it was before.

“There is nothing here to feed on you but yourself. No one is speaking but yourself.”

Jon takes another heavy step towards the water.

“Right.” He sighs. “It’s just me now.”

“Maybe always?”

“No, not always.” Pain tightens his chest, and he grimaces, looking out onto the horizon. “There was a time…”

“What was it like?”

Jon looks down and presses his eyes shut, willing the tears away.

“It was… He…” His lips split in a pained smile. “It was like coming home. Like finding a place to really belong. Safe.”

The mist touches his closed eyelids, and Jon shudders.

“It sounds nice.”

Jon chuckles bitterly and kneels on the coarse sand. He reaches one hand to touch the grains that give way under his fingers.

“Where is he now?”

Jon shuts his eyes in pain. His eyes prickle, as if the tears want to gather in his eyes and flow freely, yet something doesn’t let them.

“I killed him,” he mouths the words, not brave enough, not strong enough to say them out loud. “I don’t know how, but I know he’s… And I…” He takes a shaky breath. “It’s my fault. Whatever I did to get here, to get another chance…” He shakes his head. “I think that’s what killed him. Stupid, idiot, selfish—”

“It’s okay,” the mist caresses the outside of his palm, and he feels the gentle waves wash over his knees.

“And now…” Jon continues. “Now it’s after him again, except this time he didn’t… He had a chance to escape. He had a chance for a normal life, it wasn’t… I brought this on him. And I don’t know how to fix it.”

He slumps his shoulders, feeling the cold water take away the grains of sand from under his palm.

“You don’t have to fix anything.” He opens his eyes and sees the mists slowly gather around him, like fluff from a cloud making a bed for him to rest on. “Least of all here and now.”

“This is a trap,” Jon says half-heartedly, knowing he doesn’t really care. He’s so tired.

“Then you’ve set it up yourself. There’s nobody else here.”

Jon closes his eyes and loses himself in the soft sound of waves that caress his numb body. Maybe it’s what he needs; what he deserves. To fade away. To finally rest. To die. To let go.

“Jon. Jonathan.”

He flinches, feeling a presence beside him. The sound of the waves still fills his ears, and the scenery hasn’t changed, but now the Archivist sits to his left, its open eyes on the lower parts of its form unflinching at the contact with the water.

“You’re here,” Jon says, his voice weak and broken with unuse.

“Someone had to wake you.”

“Isn’t this still a dream?”

It doesn’t have any facial features to emote, but Jon can’t shake the feeling it glares at him.

“So, you’re giving up?” It asks, and Jon looks down at the sand.

“I… I don’t know. I shouldn’t. Not yet. Elias…”

“Needs to die. Yes.”

“Do I know how to kill him?” Jon frowns at the calm sea. “Do I actually know anything?”

“All that has to be done is finding his body in the Panopticon.”

“What about the Institute? About Tim, and Sasha, and—and Martin?”

The Archivist closes its human eyes.

“There is a way to get them out. Before you kill Magnus.”

Jon blinks and straightens his back, looking at the Archivist. “What do you mean?”

“If you manage to sever your own link to the Eye, they will be free as well. No more ties to the Institute, or the Beholding.”

“But that would mean my death,” Jon remarks, but the Archivist shakes its head, its two eyes still closed.

“Not necessarily. It’s not something I can Know but blinding yourself should be effective and might be something you can still survive.”

Jon exhales, staring off somewhere ahead. Pluck them out. End it now. You can stop it before it’s even started. Save them. Gouge them out and be done with it. They could be free from the Eye, truly go back to their normal lives. Be happy.

“Wait.” He blinks, drawing a breath. He turns to the Archivist. “Why are you telling me this? Wouldn’t that… Wouldn’t that kill you?”

The Archivist’s eyes bore into him with prickling intensity.

“I…” It’s voice falters in Jon’s head and for a moment, his mind is only filled with static. “I don’t know how much longer I can resist the pull. It’s been getting harder and harder, and I hoped that Martin… He was our anchor. And now, he’s gone.”

Jon frowns and swallows, thinking about his next words.

“But he’s not entirely gone, is he? And—And Tim and Sasha are alive, that’s got to count for something?”

The Archivist’s human eyes stare out into the sea.

“I suppose it’s all about being alone. None of them went through what we did. I can’t bear this guilt on my own. I can’t resist the pull of the Eye like this, and I’d rather die than let them see what will be left of us after that.”

Jon bites his lip. “You’ve never been this honest with me before.”

The Archivist chuckles bitterly.

“Last pieces of humanity, perhaps. There isn’t much time before I fully become the monster you see in me.”

“Used to,” says Jon before he can stop himself. The Archivist looks at him with wide eyes, and Jon clears his throat. “I, uh. I may have changed my mind. You’re… Well. There are worse things out there.”

The Archivist buries its black limb in the sand, and grains of sand land in an eye on its hand. It doesn’t close due to the lack of eyelids, but moisture gathers in it, expelling the sand with tears that sink into the ground. Jon unconsciously mimics the gesture with his hand.

“Thank you.”

—

Jon stares blankly at his sink in the pale yellow light of the lightbulb for what seems like years. He turns the needle in his shaky hands, familiarizing himself with the smooth texture. The metal absorbed the heat of his fingers a long time ago. Jon takes a shaky breath.

“If I don’t make it out of this,” he says shakily to the tape recorder whirring on the floor. “You need to kill Jonah Magnus yourselves. You’ll be free from the Eye either way, so it—it won’t affect you. The tunnels under the Institute are huge and can be manipulated with a Leitner book. I, hah. I think Leitner still has it down there.” Jon takes another shaky breath. “You need to find the Panopticon, and there, in the tower, is Magnus’ body. O-Original body. Killing it should do the trick. If—If you want to be thorough, killing Elias and burning his eyes won’t hurt. I suppose.”

Jon lets out a trembling chuckle.

“I’m… I’m sorry. For everything. This is… I need to do this. I should still be able to survive.” He swallows and looks down at the needle. “Right.”

He looks up at himself in the mirror. His eyes are still brown, with the smallest tinge of green in the retinas; exhausted but wide open in fear. He realizes he hasn’t had the need for glasses in a good while.

“Okay.” He takes a deep breath and brings the needle over his face with a trembling hand. “Okay. Okay.”

---

Author's Notes: I apologise.

Today's chapter title was brought to you by Turning Page by Sleeping At Last :)

#tma #the magnus archives #tma oftm #niki.writes #jonathan sims #jonmartin #tma fanfic

[yellowocaballero]

Jon & Sasha Arson fic

Little fragment of an idea that never went anywhere. No reason for it. Just thought it would be funny. I was right. Rest under the cut. 

Most people who were unlucky enough to meet Jonathan Sims assumed he had no friends.

This was true, up to a point two weeks after Jon became a researcher at the Magnus Institute: afterwards Jon had no friends, except for Sasha James.

Sasha James was attributable to arson.

Most people who were unlucky enough to meet Jonathan Sims assumed he had no friends. 

This was true, up to a point two weeks after Jon became a researcher at the Magnus Institute: afterwards Jon had no friends, except for Sasha James. 

*******

Sasha James was attributable to arson.

Arson was attributable to a bookshelf of Leitners, humming strange songs and spewing toxic energy into the air in rhythmic hissing motions. The Leitners were attributable to Artifact Storage, a testament to mankind’s hubris and a modern-day tower of Babel where a group of underpaid academics found themselves stress testing kevlar and fire suppression systems each day. Artifact Storage was attributable to the Magnus Institute, where Jon had managed to land a job after three months of desolate post-graduate unemployment. And the Magnus Institute was attributable to - well, probably Jonah Magnus, but Jon found that it was likely a bit of a reach to blame a long dead Regency gentleman for all of his problems. 

Jon needed this job. London was expensive and so were funerals, and he couldn’t keep living on life insurance forever. It was even a good job, with decent pay and the exact kind of limp, half-hearted academia that the private sector promised disillusioned English mastery holders. His coworkers were nice - well, Tim was nice, everybody else seemed to hate him for the same reason that everybody else hated him, likely intimidated by how smart he was - and the commute was short. He couldn’t afford to lose this job. Spiritually, metaphysically, and literally. 

Which was why he should stop staring at this piece of paper. The follow-up research to a statement given by some idiot unlucky enough to cross paths with what was certainly a Leitner. 

‘ORIGINATION OF PHENOMENA ISOLATED’, the page read out professionally, yet chipperly, like a young woman in a new office job. ‘ITEM QUARANTINED WITHIN ARTIFACT STORAGE (46B.1)’. 

Hm. 

Jon pushed down on the floor, rolling himself a meter to the left.

“Say, er, Mr. Stoker.”

Tim “I’m only four years older than you, please call me Tim” Stoker, who had been thumping away on his cheap plastic keyboard either writing up a report or messaging someone on one of those infernal casual sex websites, pulled down his headphones and blinked at Jon owlishly, before splitting his face into a grin. Jon could practically hear the David Attenborough-style narration within his mind: ‘After long weeks leaving out food for the wild Simothan, the feral yet gentle animal approaches the researcher of his own volition. A win for scientists everywhere.’

“Yes, Jon?” Tim asked, in an uncanny yet hopefully unintentional RP drawl. 

“What’s Artifact Storage?”

“God, I wish I was you,” Tim said feelingly. But he nodded sagely anyway, milking his ‘wise senpai’ thing for all it was worth. Jon could practically feel Tim calling himself a senpai. It was kind of embarrassing. “You know the shady room locked deep within the basement that exudes a terrible aura of malice and hatred towards you specifically?”

“The gender neutral bathroom?” Jon asked, confused. 

“No, the one that always smells somewhat of blood. You hear screams sometimes?”

“The Archives!”

“Yes, but no! It’s Artifact Storage. If the researchers dig up any creepy shit from a statement, or if a statement giver brings in something that melts the metal detector, then we dump it in Artifact Storage and let those miserable fucks take care of it.”

“Is it more of a containment facility, or would you say that they conduct experiments?”

But Tim just shrugged. “My source down there tells me that they do some experiments to justify their budget, but it’s mostly unscientific. Poke this and I’ll give you twenty quid, that kind of thing. They say that if you really want a sick day, all you have to do is touch a mysterious rock and whisper your mother’s name -”

“Fantastic, thank you for your help, must go back to filling now,” Jon said quickly, skittering back to his own desk. He tried to distract himself from the terrifying thought of the basement full of supernatural nuclear bombs underneath his feet by trying to remember his mother’s name, but he was stuck on if it was Marjorie or Margaret. Mary Anne?

Maybe Tim’s personal Meerkat Manor series of Jon’s life had paid off - Sims Shack? - more than Jon would like, because Tim squinted at Jon in an unsettlingly familiar way. As if he knew exactly what Jon was thinking about the literature of mass destruction, and he really wanted Jon to be thinking literally anything else. 

“I wouldn’t go down there if I were you, Jon,” Tim warned, sounding a little like a horror movie trailer. “Bushy tailed college grads who go down there don’t come out the same as they went in.”

“I’ll take that under advisement, Mr. Stoker.”

“For the love of christ call me Tim!”

It really was a pity - Jon had actually liked this job. 

*******

It was remarkably easy to commit arson in central London.

Jon had done it once or twice. Three times, actually, although when you think about it arson was a criminal charge and only truly existed so long as someone was charged with it, so technically you could say that Jon had done arson zero times. In his defense, you try making it through Oxford without doing anything embarrassing. 90% of your time was in class or schoolwork and 10% of it was being hazed. At least Jon hadn’t fucked any pigs. 

Jon hit up the usual stores, and stashed the usual implements in his rucksack. It was a careful week after his conversation with Tim, as he couldn’t afford for the older man to connect the dots. He made a show of going home at a timely five pm, startling everybody around him, and paced in a tight circle around his flat until he gave up and watched mindless telly until the clock struck midnight. 

He took a cab to the park a few blocks down from the Institute, and walked the rest of the way. It was a cool, dim night in London, and the foot-traffic had slowed down to a steady trickle of young people in tight clothing. Jon pulled down his baseball cap on his head, fished a key out from his pocket given to him by a helpful and friendly janitor, and took a back entrance into the Institute. 

Said helpful and friendly janitor, whose allegiance had been won because Jon was a “nice young lad” and “I always wanted to burn down the place myself, I’m happy to see the next generation give it a go” had helpfully told Jon that there were no security cameras inside the Institute. A grievous oversight, but good luck for Jon tonight. He took the stairs down to the basement, zipping his jacket up tight against the inescapable chill, and pushed his hat further down his head as he navigated his way towards Artifact Storage.

He unlocked the door with the janitor’s key, hands shaking, and slipped inside into the dusky and unlit room. 

It was pitch-black, and Jon quickly fished a torch out of his backpack. He flipped it on, letting it slowly scan the room. It was the lobby into Artifact Storage, familiar from his stake-out missions: you walked in, met the bored woman behind the desk, checked in or checked out what you wanted, and if you needed to go inside she would press the button that unlocked the heavy climate-controlled door and let you into the hallway inside. The only other door in the lobby was to the office of the Director of Artifact Storage, a terrifying short and squat woman with silver hair pulled into a bun. 

Jon leaned over the counter and jammed the button, holding his breath until he heard the door click open. He quickly twisted the handle, swung the heavy door out, and slipped inside, taking care to grab one of the chairs in the lobby and prop it open. Quick escapes were necessary. 

He was in. 

The torch lit up a map taped up to the wall, and Jon squinted at it. Section A, Section B, Section C...he remembered the classification from the document he read a week ago, and slowly walked down the hallway until he found the heavy climate controlled door marked ‘SECTION B’. He carefully wrenched it open, taking care to grab a rolling cart and using it to prop the door open, before stepping inside. He fished the canister of gasoline and the lighter out of his backpack, giving the gasoline a good shake. 

It was a library. Small, and instead of shelves there were long metal racks with filing boxes stretching long into the darkness, but Jon knew a library when he saw one. Each box had a clipboard attached to it, and most boxes had very large and terrifying stickers on them painted sickly yellow or dangerous red. 

The only thing in the library that wasn’t a filing rack was a battered and beat couch. And the only person in the room besides Jon was a woman, blinking up at Jon blearily from where she had been passed out on the couch. 

“Er,” Jon said. 

The woman sat up, squinting at Jon’s torchlight until he guiltily aimed it just to her left. She had a wild mane of curly brown hair, and was wearing a pencil skirt and ruffled burgundy blouse. A blazer was folded at one end of the couch, clearly being used as a pillow, and she looked strongly as if Jon had just woken her up from a very nice nap. 

“Whuh,” the sleepy woman said. 

“My mistake,” Jon said, “this isn’t the loo. Go back to bed, this is - er, a very bad dream, goodnight.”

“Whutuhiseet,” the woman slurred. 

“It’s - very late, go back to bed.”

“Alright,” the woman said, falling back on the couch. After a second, her snores echoed through the room again. 

Jon very slowly crept backwards. Actually, on second thought, his mission could wait for tomorrow. Bit of a cock block, this, but that was alright - 

“Hey! Who are you!”

Jon, hand on the handle of the door, squeaked and turned around. 

The woman was back up again, and this time she seemed actually awake. She was frowning mightily at Jon, and was already sliding off the couch in stocking feet to glare at him. Jon was aware that he did not look like an innocent person in these events. The gasoline did not help.

The woman’s eyes trailed to the gasoline, then widened. Jon ineffectually tried to hide it behind his back. 

“You’re trying to burn down Artifact Storage!” the woman accused, somewhat fairly.

“Not all of Artifact Storage,” Jon said guiltily, “just the Leitners.”

The woman stared at him further, as if she was a special guest on Tim’s Sims Shack nature documentary. 

“Why,” the woman said slowly, “would you want to do that?”

Despite himself, Jon found himself puffing up in indignation. “They’re evil, nasty little books that shouldn’t exist. Forget studying and - and containing them, we should be making sure no more of them ever disgrace the world again. We should be burning every one we see. They’re pure evil given literary form, they are a disgrace to books and libraries, and if I ever met Leitner myself I would beat him to death with a rusty pipe for subjecting me to his fucked up books.”

The woman stared at him. 

Finally, she said, “I’m Sasha James. Want some help?”

“I - er, wouldn’t that get you in trouble, Ms. James?” 

“I like this job but I hate Leitner and his fucked up books more,” Sasha said gravely. 

Jon, having found a kindred spirit, held out the lighter. 

Sasha James took it, a wide grin splitting her face. 

*********

Jon didn’t remember much else of that night. 

There was definitely arson involved - or, seeing as they hadn’t gotten caught, just some good old-fashioned fire starting. He had the sense that they had both been so giddy with adrenaline that they had immediately joined the raging uni students in the late night bars, toasting their success in toasting. There had probably been quite a bit of alcohol.

When he woke up the next morning, it was in his narrow and uncomfortable bed, face to face with an unfamiliar snoring woman. For a second, two, Jon was briefly convinced that he had done something so drastically out of character it meant that a fucked up book had body swapped him with Tim. Bodyswapping was more likely than him having casual sex. 

Then Jon remembered the arson, and he exhaled in relief as his life made sense again. 

“Ms. James,” Jon whispered, poking her in the arm. She snuffled and muttered something. Jon poked her harder. “Ms. James, we have work.”

Sasha turned around, turning her back to him and pulling up the blankets. “Go back to bed, Tim.”

Ti - oh god. Jon felt like he was in a CW drama. This was why he didn’t interact with people, far too much likelihood that he would accidentally end up interacting with somebody who had sex.

“Ms. James,” Jon hissed, extremely embarrassed, “you have to get up!”

“Mergh mergh fuck off,” Sasha James said. 

Jon, like a true gentleman and hero, got up and made them both strong tea. He squinted at Sasha, recalling everything he knew about her (slept a lot, liked arson, hated Jurgen Leitner) before digging out some instant coffee and making some of that too. Finally, after shoving a hot cup of sludgey black liquid at the woman, she grabbed the cup and chugged it until she was able to sit up and open her eyes. 

She blinked at Jon, who was already picking his hair in an attempt to get ready for work. He could clearly see the thoughts ‘you aren’t Tim’ run through her brain. Hah! He could be the narrator of the nature documentary for once!

“Uh,” Sasha James said, “I’m sorry, did we…?”

“Commit arson? Yes.” Jon paused a beat. “But as I don’t believe we were caught, call it an indoor campfire.”

Sasha James drank more of her coffee. Jon grabbed his clothing and disappeared into the loo to get changed. 

When he re-entered his bedroom, she snapped her fingers at him. “Right! We got pissed after! Good times, mate!”

“I have to assume,” Jon said politely. He was doing his very best to be very polite, because Jon knew he was rude and didn’t want his new coworkers to know that until his probation period was over. Maybe he should have waited until after his probation period for the arson? Would it look bad on his annual review? “Do you need to borrow some clothing? I think we’re about the same size.” Oh, no, was that rude to say to a woman?

Sasha James squinted at him. “It’s like you’re not hungover at all. How old are you?”

“Twenty five?” Be polite, Jon! “And you’re...thirty seven?”

“I’m thirty one, asshole!”

Oh no. Women hated it when you called them old. “You don’t look a day over twenty seven!” Jon cried, panicked. 

“Have you met a woman?”

“I had a grandmother?”

“I’m going back to bed,” Sasha James said. 

Unfortunately, Jon knew that it would be very suspicious if they both skipped, so he forced Sasha into one of his suits that...looked much nicer on her than him, but whatever, and hustled them both to work. Now that the adrenaline had worn away and the sense of purpose in his holy mission had burned up with the cleansing flames, Jon found himself biting his nails in agony in the Underground. 

They had to know. Someone must have caught them. Maybe there were secret CCTVs in the Institute. Maybe Sasha was going to rat him out - but she had helped, so wouldn’t she just be ratting out herself? Was she a double agent? Mr. Bouchard was never going to forgive him, no matter how nice he was and how much he seemed to like Jon to the point where he rather wished someone had given him the ‘Stranger Danger’ speech as a child so he would know what to do. Jon was going to go to jail, or worse - get fired. 

Sasha, cooly sipping her coffee and looking somewhat fly in sunglasses and his suit, did not seem disturbed by any of this. Jon’s rapidly spiralling panic attack must have been obvious, because she casually flicked a finger on his forehead. Jon yelped with pain. 

“Take it easy, mate. If they catch us, I’ll just say that the books made us do it.”

Jon scowled at her, rubbing his smarting forehead. “The books?”

“Sure.” She waved her fingers spookily as the Underground rattled forward into the heart of London. “Brainwashed us to do their evil bidding of -”

“Destroying them?”

“There’s a lot of arson Leitners,” Sasha James said sagely. “Trust me, this is just a normal day in Artifact Storage.” She clapped him reassuringly on the shoulder, and Jon fought a blush. “Don’t worry. We performed a public service, kiddo. St. Peter’s gonna give us a medal when we get to the pearly gates.”

“I’m an adult,” Jon said, scandalized. He had gray hair!

“Well, I guess, but I don’t know your name, so…”

 Jon squinted at her. She squinted at him back. 

“You’re thinking that if you don’t give me your name I can’t rat you out to the feds,” Sasha said flatly. 

Jon pursed his lips. 

Finally, he settled on, “You don’t rat me out to the feds and I won’t tell them that you’re in an illicit relationship with Mr. Stoker.”

“Mr. - how did - what!”

“It’s Jonathan Sims,” Jon said gruffly, crossing his arms. He was slightly hungover and his nerve were jittery and he had set fire to his workplace the previous night, but somehow Jon thought that his heart was jackrabbiting in his chest for a different reason. Somehow Jon felt as if his heart couldn’t stop thumping behind his sternum because Sasha James was staring at him, head cocked, as if he was a mystery she was interested in finding out. “That’s my name.”

Sasha James stared at him, as if surprised, before her face broke into a wide and happy smile. Jon hunched his shoulders up, embarrassed, faintly aware he was blushing. “It’s nice to meet you, Jonathan!” Then she grabbed him by the collar, shaking him slightly. “And there is nothing illicit about me and Tim, and there is nothing between me and Tim at all, we are just friends, so get that out of your little head -”

The train rattled on towards the Magnus Institute, and towards the slight smell of smoke in the air. 

*******

Sasha: are you coming 2 the pub w/us 2nite?

Sasha: come onnn you should comeee don’t feel awkwardddd 

Sasha: I know you hate a) group settings b) drunk people c) Tim in a group d) drunk Tim and e) Tim drunk in a group but that’s no reason not to come!

Sasha: Tim is physiologically incapable of not adopting men 3-5 years younger than him it’s in his blood you can’t escape his affection

Sasha: or at least I find it funny so I’m not letting you

Sasha: Jonnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn

Jon: Yes I’ll come, I need to talk to both of you.

Sasha: WAHOO

Sasha: wait

Sasha: really?

Sasha: did you commit ars*on again

Sasha: wait if you did don’t tell me the courts can request text transcripts

Jon: No, I just need your advice on an urgent matter.

Sasha: do you need to be drunk to do it

Jon: ...maybe.

Jon: ....Mr. Bouchard offered me the Head Archivist Job?

Jon: Which is stupid because I’ve worked here for barely four years and you’ve worked here for about ten years I think. And you’ve published five papers in parapsychological research. I know I helped you figure out that this place is a weird trauma mill but it was really mostly you. It’s completely ridiculous to promote me and I’m afraid it’s favoritism. For potentially heinous ends? This feels awful because it’s such an honor but I would never stop feeling stressed and guilty because I know so many more people (like you) are so much more qualified. Or qualified at all.

Sasha: holy shit

Sasha: ...do you remember the speech I gave you on stranger danger?

Jon: I’m afraid to mention this to Tim because he might beat up Mr. Bouchard for both my honor and yours.

Sasha: Jesus at this point I don’t even want a fucking job anymore. What bullshit. I’m never going to get promoted and I just need to accept that. This isn’t your fault, Jon, seriously, thank you for telling me. 

Sasha: we can talk about this at the pub

Sasha: in private. Off the radar. 

Jon: Looking forward to it :)

Jon: did I use the emoticon right?

Sasha: Yes, Jon, you did everything right. 

#tma #jonathan sims #the magnus archives #tma fanfic #the magnus archives fanfic #sasha james-centric #this is an implied fix-it everybody lives fic #crack #comedy #absolutely nothing sad? in a MEG FIC? #sasha james #tim stoker #jon is based off me at a new job anxiously calling everyone 'mr' #rest assured sasha is trans but it just never came up #my writing

[rosered2018]

TMA Fic Idea

On the subject of time travel fics (and I did start writing the one with OG Elias), I've been thinking about writing one with Jon where the Beholding comes back with him in the form of a big black cat.

Jon goes from the end of the world to the weekend before he takes Gertrude's place as Archivist, and he wakes up with the Beholding-kitty sitting on his chest and purring.

After a minor nervous breakdown, Jon makes a quick run to the store to pick up cat supplies, sends a quick picture of the Beholding - who he starts calling Ivy, after a friend of his from uni - to Georgie, and settles in for his first full day as a cat owner.

He also starts making plans for how he's going to deal with the archives this time around.

When Monday rolls around, Ivy insists on going in to the Institute with him. He agrees and takes her with him.

When the dog gets into the Archive, it doesn't get very far because Ivy has only been there for roughly an hour, but she has already claimed it as her territory. When Martin shows up, the dog has been cornered by Ivy in document storage, and she is hissing and spitting at it every time it even thinks of escaping. When she actually sees Martin, her eyes light up, her ears and tail perk up, and she's there purring all over the place and demanding that he pick her up.

This is the point where Martin meets Jon and is formally introduced to Ivy.

When Tim and Sasha show up, Ivy is wary and standoffish to Tim, and wary around Sasha, but eventually warms up to both of them. It gets to a point where it's not unusual for them to find Ivy sitting on someone's desk or perching on their shoulders while they work.

When someone comes in to give a statement, Ivy insists on not just being in the room but sitting in the statement-giver's lap while they talk to Jon.

Oddly enough, some of the statement-givers report dreaming about a big black cat with bottle green eyes sitting and watching them while they relive their experience.

When Elias hears about the cat in the archives, he naturally goes down to find out about it, only to be met with a pissed-off Void cat in hellcat mode (ears flat against the skull, back arched, fur fluffed out) and snarling at him.

Jon goes feral right alongside his cat, and all but bodily throws Elias out of the archive and locks the door behind him. Elias flees before Ivy can do any damage to his clothes or his person.

Meanwhile, the Archival assistants have noticed that Jon is so much kinder, to both them and to the people coming in to give statements. Tim and Sasha have told Martin about Jon being rude and generally anti-social and have no idea what happened to him over that weekend.

Things kind of go to hell after the worm attack, though. When Sasha makes a break for it to go get help, Ivy insists on going with her, and Jon lets slip that he's not going to let happen now what did before. When the Not!Them tries to attack Sasha, Ivy attacks it and the next they see her, she's washing the blood off her claws and Sasha stays who she is.

When Team Archive regroups, Jon ends up telling them the truth about himself and Ivy, who sits there looking very pleased with herself all through the ensuing discussion.

#the magnus archives #tma #tma au #jonathan sims #jon sims #tim stoker #sasha james #martin blackwood #elias bouchard #the beholding #the beholding is a cat #do not tell me otherwise

[antique-ro-man]

Tma + Recurring Themes

Note: This is absolutely not a comprehensive post, but simply my ramblings about what I’ve noticed as of mid-Season 4.

1. Free Will, Manipulation

This one is pretty obvious, given the prevalence of the Web, especially further into the series, along with Elias’ whole deal. Free will has never been a topic that I find particularly engaging, however TMA may be the exception, given how they use this in tandem with the running exploration of the animalization of humanity, ie instinct vs free will. This is why the Flesh and the Hunt’s existence is so crucial, they’re manifestations of humans-as-animals. I will return to free will, instinct, and manipulation later, because these are really pervasive.

2. Passivity, The Role of the Narrator

This one is one of my favorites. Though Jon’s “narrator” role becomes less central later in the series, it’s still the starting point of his character. The idea of having to bear witness to the events around you with little control except to preserve the story. To archive the events, if you will. This is very much represented in The Magnus Institute itself and how passively intellectual they are. There are so many statements where the statement giver is begging for help, but receives none. The dreams showcased in the Season Three finale really drive this point home, with Jon, literally comatose, forced to watch people suffer and die and beg for help on repeat without any way of stopping this. You may note that this inevitably can tie very nicely back into the question of free will. Furthermore, and I’ll get into this later, you can see how this passive role directly feeds into Jon’s character, as he becomes reckless and impulsive from the need to not be helpless and passive. I think this is basically said outright at some point in Season Four, but I don’t remember when or by who. This also drives home the idea of Jon as an audience surrogate, not in the traditional sense of him being bland or getting pushed around by the story, but because he is the audience. And we are the archivists. We’re the ones who hear every statement, watch everything go down, draw up our little red string boards to figure out what’s happening. But we don’t do anything to help those in the story itself, because we can’t.

3. Identity and Lose of Such

This is something we see a lot with the Entities. The idea that people are consumed by their God, leaving little of them behind. I think this is a pretty common theme in body horror, though I don’t know for sure. I think the Distortion has to be the best example of this, yes? Literally completely taking over the body and consciousness of a being to bring them into the folds of the Spiral - more or less what we see happening with the other characters touched by the Entities. The question then becomes - where does the person end and the Entity begin? Look at Melanie, her identity is so wrapped up in her anger that, when the Slaughter takes hold of her, it seems like a natural progression until it isn’t. So where does that leave Melanie? Even if you place all the blame onto the Slaughter, who are you left with? I think this works especially well given that they are characters, just a jumble of actions and traits given to them. TMA isn’t particularly meta in its horror, but a lot of what it does is directly related to the ideas of storytelling (see: There is someone controlling my actions, everything is pre-determined, and how the role of the story-teller is central to understanding the themes and characters). The Not-Them feeds into this theme as well.

4. Addiction

I’m not going to say much on this for personal reasons, but it pretty much just goes to confirm what I’ve been talking about so far. Where do you end and the addictions begin? Annabelle has a line about how addiction is directly related to the Web and loosing your control over yourself. This is at the root of Jon’s relationship to the statements, although in more of a literal sense as he kind of needs them to survive - which I assume is a literal representation of how addiction feels.

5. Mentorship

Time and time again we see this come up: Jon and Elias, Micheal Shelley and Gertrude Robinson, Martin and Peter Lucas. I think it’s also a way of showing characters grappling with lack on control on a story-level outside of the manifestations of the Web.

6. Capitalism

This is a bit more subtle because it’s more built into the story than an active theme. At the center of TMA is the magnus institute - it’s occupational horror (a lot of statements also follow people at their job having a bad time). We’re literally watching people stuck in a sole-sucking job that they can never leave because they’d die. That’s capitalism baby. This could also be related to the identity theme, as capitalism and individual identity have a very complex relationship, but that’s another rant.

7. Trauma and Trauma Responses

This is less story-scale and more about the characters, but damn! Pretty much every action these people take can be directly traced back to their trauma and that’s very smart writing. Another question of who are you without your experiences? I think this theme is most obvious in Season Two, where we are confronted with the direct trauma responses of Jon, Martin, and Tim. While in many stories you’d expect some form of trauma bonding to get an us-vs-the-world set up, instead we see infighting and them being driven away by their incompatible coping mechanisms. This is one of those sad things where you can see very easy solutions to these small-scale character conflicts, but can’t implement them (sounding familiar? It should, it’s the same thing that we talked about earlier. You are the passive listener now.) On Season Two, you can also see the Not-Them taking Sasha as a metaphor for the idea that someone can start acting like a new person after a traumatic event.

That’s all for now, stay tuned for more of Mal Sends His TMA Analysis Into The Ether

#tma #the magnus archives

[polysyndetonaddictsupportgroup]

if you have any behind-the-scenes takes about the nature has taught fic you wanted to talk abt I would be absolutely /thrilled/ to hear them!

Soooo many oh my gosh. 

1) In the first iteration of this story, Danny wasn’t nearly as involved as he is now. I sort of used Mike Crew as a convenient reckless boy baby jail for the first draft, because he wasn’t as developed a personality in my mind. Then, he appeared in a different story idea of mine, affectionately dubbed the Himbois AU, and I ended up developing him extensively there and transplanted a slightly different version of him into this story and his role expanded as a result. 

2) Probably the only reason why I kept developing Danny and decided to post this story at all is because I told my Himbois AU to my friend (the one I made mad with last chapter), and she loved it (and Danny in particular), and I kept telling other stories to her, and it made me happy that she liked it and I got to thinking about posting something. Usually I just develop them a lot in my head, write maybe a couple chapters, and then after that the Hyperfixation Bounces To A New Story. The first chapter for nhthcth has been sitting in my Google drive since pre-Covid. So like, she’s the real reason why this fic is out right now. 

3) She calls herself the absentee father of this fic, because she has no idea what’s happening and has no part in the actual writing of it (though she did help me make kid!jon more child-like, and she takes full credit for that), but sometimes she stands in the metaphorical doorway and says “are you winning son.”  If you leave a comment on a fic there is an extremely high chance I will immediately be texting her about it, we think y’all are hilarious and great and are utterly obsessed with everything y’all say

4) Jon’s personality in this is mostly me foraging around in canon looking for spare parts before I forcibly weld them to other bits of him from canon and drizzle in parts I think would result from the backstory I’ve built. Like, the skepticism from Season 1 had to go, this has been his entire life and there’s no benefit in denying it. And like, he’s been the person going to the Magnus Institute for help. He never forgot how afraid he was and how badly he just wanted a single person to help, and no one did.. He’s not going to approach Statement givers the way he did in Season 1. I also had to scrap Season 2, because It’s Not Paranoia If They’re Really Out To Get You And You’re Existentially Exhausted So Why Bother Being Paranoid About It. I ended up grabbing a lot of Season 4, late stage Am-I-A-Muppet-Or-Am-I-A-Man considerations and massive guilt complex, as well as his general Bitch Settings and his genuine desire to help people, to the point where he doesn’t consider his own safety or even like. Plan. At all.  

5) I have a lot of “versions” of Jon based on the fic I’m working on, and this Jon is by far my favorite. He has very consciously decided to make his mindset “God has decided to let me live another day and I’m about to make it everybody’s problem” and I think that’s great for him.

6) The Leitner (a Spiral one that I made up) that they used against Nan didn’t make her forget it, per se. The line about it all being a bad dream soon was very literal. You believe whatever lie someone told you about what happened, it twists into the truth, so you can’t quite explain why you have such terrible nightmares about it going differently. Nan knows Jon ran away, she talked to all those--police officers, were they? So she can’t quite explain why her dreams are filled with fog, and emptiness, and that horrible man leading her grandson away by the arm. It felt way too exposition-y and out of character to have Wright explain that to Jon, so that didn’t go in, but that’s what happened there. 

7) When Jon was Even Younger and Even More Bitter he used to fill out a damage to company property report every time he got hurt and Elias had to yell at him for three months to get him to stop

8) There wasn’t a good scene for this, but Jon dumped all of Mike’s moisturizer when no one was looking because he will singlehandedly stop Danny Stoker’s skin care regime even if Mike kills him over it  

9) There are fun fonts on my original google doc that only my friend gets to see because I can’t figure out how the coding in AO3 works.

Okay, this got long. I’ll stop here. Thank you for reading and for asking!!

#tma #nhthcth #fanfic

[a-mag-a-day]

MAG 71 - Back to apple cutting!

Before I start this episode I wanna say that I just came home from the barn and my horse looked dreadful… He was covered in a thick layer of dried mud, on some body parts it looked like plate armor… It was everywhere! Everywhere except his muzzle and the top part of his head. I spent an hour brushing off all the dirt and I am now thoroughly dusted and will enjoy this Buried episode the same way Karolina Górka herself was probably sitting in the Archive: full of dust… (and then I'm gonna take a shower…)

"King’s Cross Saint Pancras" - Saint PancrEas LMAO! How did this happen?? How did nobody notice? xD

"It was exactly one in the morning when I left, as that was when the pub closed on a Friday" / "I was somewhat reluctant to share my ride home with a carriage full of drunks, but that was always the danger of drinking on a Saturday" - Wait, so was it Friday or Saturday??? I mean, if it was after midnight it was technically Saturday, but it's still weird to suddenly switch, when previously she had also said Friday addressing the closing time at 1 am. Usually people always address it by the name of the day the night started. And the 6th January 2017 was actually a Friday.

"Looking down to the other end, I did see another figure, just one, but they were walking away and out into the rest of the station. It was hard to tell from a distance, but I believe he was holding a shovel of some sort." - Oh, is that the guy people talk about suspecting it to be Hezekiah Wakely? I never picked up on that. Another 200 years old dude still up and about…

I just touched my neck and I'm so dusty T_T

"I was faced, to my mind, with three choices. I could sit there and wait, at the mercy of whatever situation I had found myself in. I could head through the other carriages leading towards the rear of the train and hope I could get off there and walk back along the tunnel. Or I could do the same thing heading towards the front of the train, hoping that there was someone in the driver’s compartment that could explain what was going on." - I think I would have picked option one and just resigned myself to the grubby train XD Option two could be dangerous if the tunnel was too narrow to leave any space to get out of the way in case another train approached and option three would mean that I had to talk to people which I generally avoid.

"Being crushed to death would be horrible, yes, but I have never been afraid of dying, and it didn’t appear that there would be any point to further escape attempts. Better to accept my fate and hope it was all some awful dream." - This ties in very well to other statements where the statement-giver was directly targeted by a Dread Power and managed to survive - they want our fear. So… be not afraid! (HA!) This can be achieved with the help of anchors, as we have seen in MAG 13 or MAG 48. Or by gripping to hope as in MAG 66 (and luck, that Salesa and Lukas came to look for him. Otherwise I think that statement-giver wouldn't have had much time left). Karolina simply made the choice to not be afraid anymore. No more fear, no more food for the Entity and it loses its grip.

JON "Do you still take the Tube?" KAROLINA "Of course. I live in London." - Wow.

"I find it oddly comforting that who- or whatever is down there needs to eat, as it offers some reassurance that they are at least broadly human. But why? And for how long? And how are they getting their supplies?" - And how is Leitner taking a shower? Using the toilet? (Don't! say creepy book… even if it kinda would make sense…)

Speaking of a shower, time to get rid of the dirt!

At this point I'm getting more and more invested in your daily listening activities and how they connect to the episode

I wonder when the apple cutting will connect to our story as well xD

#a mag a day #tma #the magnus archives #episode asks #mod ashes #tma spoilers #mag 71 #lycanlovingvampyre

[lycanlovingvampyre]

MAG 121 Relisten

Activity on my first listen: baking something with apples

This is the last episode with my favorite ambiance track :´) We haven't heard it at all in S3. All in all, the ambiance music in S3 got a lot less melodic than the one in S1 and S2. Although, S2 already used the less melodic tracks as well.

Oh right, the Patreon thanks are starting now! I haven't given all of them a listen, I think I'll do it here. 

To add something about Jon's coma: I read in a post yesterday that someone wondered how they even found out Jon was still alive. I'm kind of guessing there is something like Section 31 in medical as well. People who are somewhat trained for "weird" cases, even though they don't understand them. To fix that plot hole I'd say Elias called in, telling them this particular person is still alive even though he's neither breathing nor has a heartbeat. And considering, that Jon is dreaming, I'd headcanon his closed eyes rapidly moving.

OLIVER: "Um. Hello, Jon. Do you… mind if I call you Jon? I, I mean, you don’t actually know me. It’s just, well. 'Archivist.' It’s so formal, isn’t it?" Reasons why I love Oliver Banks, exhibition #658 xD No seriously, I think Oliver Banks is one of the most interesting Avatars out there and I'd say he's my favorite of all those Avatars we only meet tangentially. Death is such a complicated subject in itself and Oliver makes it look so... neutral. I mean, the End in itself appears relatively inactive, not having a Ritual and all. Anyway, Oliver calls Jon by his (human) name, is even unsure if he's allowed to do that, since they don’t "actually" know each other. But he respects that this is, who Jon is. Who he wishes to remain, regardless of which choice he’ll make. Oliver thinks of this although he has kind of lost touch with his name(s), since he'll just take any identity which works best for him at the moment.

OLIVER: "And I do kind of know you…? Haven’t had much choice, really. Dreams are like that, you know." I really, really wonder what that means. Did he see Jon's life hanging by a thread. Did he see nothing at all because he’s in a place where the End can’t touch him? Or does he already see a root piercing his heart? Does Jon actually have any agency in this? (He has been denied to die once before, MAG 101...)

OLIVER: "No matter how lucid you think they are, there’s always that part that just drags you along." Meta-comment about said agency?

OLIVER: "That’s how it works, right? Give you a terror; give you a dream?" Oliver in his dreams being like "Alright, I'm done checking out how person A, B and C will die, time for my Point Nemo date with Jon..."

Hmm, is there a soft crackling sound in the background?

"So. My name is Oliver Banks. In my other statements, I used the name Antonio Blake" When I was first listening I still could recall the general premise of MAG 11 quite well, including the name of the statement giver. So I already had my suspicions after all this talk about dreams, especially when talking about Gertrude. And then he says this sentence! I love those "I knew it!" moments^^

"I knew exactly what I had to do. He didn’t look anything like me, not really" Not really! Iirc, this season will have tons of not reallys. So I'll start counting! S4 Not Really #1

"There were a couple of marine biologists on board, a meteorologist, an engineer, someone who called herself a “macro-ecologist” – though at times, she looked almost as out of her depth as I did." Fake it till you make it!

“This too shall pass.” If I had a nickel for every podcast with a troubled, with eye imagery associated Eldritch character named Jo(h)n who owns a mysterious lighter and had a life altering experience while in a coma I'd have 2 nickels. Which isn't a lot, but it's weird that it happened twice...

"The rest of the crew didn’t seem to notice, walking through the immense, grasping tendrils like they weren’t there at all" Wasn't there something about "TMA will not have tentacles!"? xD

"But I barely got the first word out before the falling satellite debris hit the ship at 200 miles an hour, killing us instantly." So, did Oliver just walk on the ocean floor back to London?

OLIVER: "Honestly, I’m still not exactly sure why I’m here. But you know better than anyone how the spiders can get into your head. Easier to just do what she asks." More of the Web shenanigans to make sure Jon stays on the right path...

OLIVER: "Oh, I, I’m a friend. Of Jon’s." GEORGIE: "Are you, now." OLIVER: "Uh, y-yes." I mean, Oliver seemed to be a kind of hesitant type there at the beginning of the episode. But this seems like he's a bit intimidated? Considering this is no-fear-because-touched-by-the-End Georgie, it would fit.

OLIVER: “…have I upset you, miss –” GEORGIE: “No, you just remind me of someone.” OLIVER: “Ahhh, I’m sorry! Were they –” GEORGIE: “Evil. Yes.” Hm, another throwback to MAG 101,“Is a thing evil when it simply obeys its own nature?” What makes someone evil? It sounds like Georgie is implying that she considers Oliver evil as well? But if we going by that definition, Jon would be evil as well.. I think Oliver and Jon are quite similar. Neither of them asked for this but here they are.

GEORGIE: [sigh] "Sorry about that, but you really don’t need friends like tha…" Arg, this makes me so angry again! This constant patronizing... Georgie knew this was an End avatar, I mean she said he reminded her of someone evil - the corpse who took her fear. What was she thinking Oliver was doing here? That he had come and finally claim Jon? And she shooed him away because she didn't want that? Because she's not too happy about him waking up either, so was that the reason she wanted Oliver nowhere near Jon? Status quo can’t remain forever. So what's it gonna be? A dead human friend? Or an alive something-else friend?

@a-mag-a-day

#a-mag-a-day #mag 121 #tma #tma spoilers

[pineapplesagainstpizza]

Magnus Pies: A TMA Pizza AU

-  All the entities and supernatural creatures still exist but it happens in a pizza place called the “Magnus Pies ®” established by Jonah Magnus.

- Jon is the new, under qualified manger. Very good a diffusing arguments and misinformation with customers. Practically a living coupon fraud detector. Once Martin overheard Jon use the phrase “please calm down” to a customer. Thinking that this would escalate the conversation, Martin braced himself from the kitchen. He was spooked quite a bit that the customer did calm down. He can’t tell if Jon is just that charming or if he can hypnotize people.

- Jon actually had some sliver of respect for Martin when they first met. Up until, he caught Martin whispering "Looking good little guys" to the pizzas baking in the oven. Jon has never looked at him the same since.

- Martin has mastered the customer service voice. In fact, it’s permanent. Every time he answers the phone, his voice automatically sweetens. Sasha and Tim have made fun of him for it. Working at Magnus Pies has broken him so much.

- Tim works the register. Flirts with customers so that they’ll come back. Can’t stand slow days. It’s actually Tim that makes the best pizza out of the crew.

- Ft. Sasha the pizza delivery girl. Eldritch horrors won’t stop her from delivering your pizza on time.

- Elias is the owner and hardly ever shows up.

- Instead of statement givers the customers will just overshare their supernatural encounters to the staff. Jon doesn’t think anything of people sharing their ghost stories to him. He writes it off as desperate customers craving any source of human interaction. Despite this, he remembers every tale a customer has told him.

- “Then after I kissed him, his body combusted into flames.”

“Sorry to hear that... That will be 17.89. ″

- There’s this one customer that orders questionable pizzas with special delivery instructions and has his pizza delivery scheduled every Wednesday at 5 pm. His requests went from a little strange to down right outlandish. One of his first orders, he instructed them to make a smiley face out of the pepperonis because he was “having a bad day.” One of his most recent orders was “a cheese-less pizza cheese pizza.” In the delivery instructions, he explains his doorbell is broken and suggests the delivery person to drop the pizza off in the middle of the yard and then “yell whatever feels right” to alert him of the pizza’s presence. Sasha often wonders if she has to cater to all his odd demands.

- The first time Sasha delivers to his house, the GPS malfunctioned? The customer’s house resides in a new residential area. So once she drove past the last known road, the GPS advised her to park her car and walk to her destination. She obviously ignored the computer automated voice and eventually found the house on her own. Since he always commands the delivery runner to drop the pizza outside his house, Sasha has never seen his face but the name he orders under is Micheal. (If that’s even his real name.)

- Is the pizza good? The reviews are mixed. Martin says “its fine”. Sasha thinks “it’s pretty good for the price.” Tim, on the other hand, is fully convinced that when Jonah Magnus created Magnus pizza, he had never eaten a pizza before in his life. He claims "the pizza is two hell circles away from mediocrity." If a person asked Elias, he would maintain that Magnus Pie pizza is of high quality, but the staff have never seen him eaten it before. As for Jon, he refuses to try it.

- The uniforms are pretty cute. A  transparent green tennis visor paired with a black collared shirt with logo on the right upper chest portion.

- This one time, someone spray painted a satanic circle in the parking lot and Elias botched and moaned about it for a week about how "it was driving customers away." He stops complaining about it after an angry goth boxed an old man on top of the circle one afternoon. Their fight drove in a crowd. Some people even bought a slice just to get a good view of the fight. Jon, of course, called the authorities but both parties fled before they arrived.

- Martin finds a homemade employee training tape from the 1980s hiding in the closet. It features an instructional video on how to make the pizzas but the employee or paid actress?? featured in the video disregards Magnus Pies’s official pizza guidelines™ and instead gives advice/ tips on how to cut corners (and arguably offers more valuable advice to employees). “Yeah I know the recipe calls for this much cheese but i always add to more handfuls. Most customers complain about how there isn’t nearly enough cheese -- how it’s practically tomato sauce with cheese sprinkles.” Whether it’s the dread in the lady’s eyes or the neglect of company policies, the tape is unfinished. The video cuts off after she places the pizza in the oven.

- Martin thinks the the training video is hilarious, so of course, he shares it with the rest of the staff. It’s Sasha that points out that one of the employees in the background looks like a younger version of Elias. A passionate debate breaks out on whether that person is actually Elias, but ends once Jon points out that Elias has complete heterochromia and the teenage boy in the video does not. 

- On a team building trip, Martin, Sasha, and Tim admit that they are glad Jon joined the team. Ever since he joined, the workplace has never been so lively. They all agree Jon’s presence attracts the unusual. Though he will never admit it, Jon found it touching.

- Some customers would describe the pizza joint as “eerily clean.” "The vibes are simply rancid” says one customer. Even with the speaker churning out today’s hottest pop hits (in a muffled tone), it is entirely too quiet. The atmosphere is dead,” says another. 

- “Little human activity and huge open spaces makes it somewhat spectral but the short wait times and fair food always brings me back. ⭐⭐⭐” - a google review from a town local

- One person gave them a bad review on Yelp. After they were done insulting the food, they moved on to assess the staff. “I’m usually not the type to complain/nit pick about employees but there was one that made me extremely uncomfortable. He wasn’t the warmest person, had an awfully posh accent, and sported dark circles under his eyes. When I spoke to him, his gaze was intense and unwavering. Throughout the entire conversation, he didn’t blink once. Even as a sat down, I could still feel his eyes lingering on me. I’m not an insecure person in the slightest but being watched like that, made me self conscious of my own breathing. I spun around once to see if he was staring at me, but to my surprise, he wasn’t. I may have never caught him staring at me, but I know he did. The sensation of being watched never ceased afterward. (half star emoji) ”

- Apparently, the joint has been open since the 1940s and despite the bad food and less than average traffic of customers, they’re still in business. There’s rumors that the Magnus Pie receives generous donations from Elias’s rich ex-lover that misses him dearly.

- Starring several disagreements/ arguments with customers. Just a bunch of misinformation that was spread by Elias to lure people into the building to feed the Eye.

- Sasha is late returning from a delivery one day, and after an hour they try to contact her. She’s unresponsive. Elias goes looking for her but comes back short. Later that night, they get a call from the hospital informing them that Sasha got into a car accident and fell unconscious upon impact. Sasha comes in for a shift a few weeks later, and nobody realizes she’s not Sasha. 

- The Magnus Pies’s odd reputation attracts the attention of popular YouTuber, Melanie King. She eventually becomes a regular in hopes of catching a supernatural event on camera for her channel. After experiencing a handful of odd encounters, she becomes engrossed by the place and starts working there in hopes of piecing together an explanation for the pizzeria’s paranormal activities. She later regrets this.

- has the potential to be a good tragicomedy

#and maybe perhaps all the characters are aged down just a little #can you tell i've got a thing for fast food AUs #this is obviously based off of some of my experiences #tma #the magnus archives #magnus pod #tma au #crack au?? but also not #but imagine the magnus archives as a slice of life horror comedy