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#tma fanfic
world-fire-entity · 3 days
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I think I just experienced some form of culture shock
I found a tma fanfiction that used “John” for Jonathon Sims instead of “Jon” and I’m having a mental breakdown
Istg, “John” is this.
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AND THEN I HAD TO IMAGINE ELIAS AS THIS
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ITS A JONELIAS FIC TOO. IM READING JOHN SMITH X COLONIZER FANFICTION
IM CRYING 😭😭😭😭
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cult-of-the-eye · 2 days
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inspired by @archivus' statements, i decided to give it a try myself
tw for depersonalisation, body image issues, body horror, slight gore
Out of Body Experience
Statement of Rebekah Fitch, regarding something that wasn’t her body. Original statement given 5th March 2018. Recording by [REDACTED], Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute, Manchester. Committed to tape 26th March 2024. 
Statement begins. 
I never thought I would end up like this. I just-
I guess I should start from the start. 
Throughout my life, I’ve had a complicated relationship with my body. Not to get too, um, personal or anything, but let’s just say it's tough being the child of an immigrant mother, especially, well, my mother. She would make comments about my body, small ones, I’ll admit, but ones that certainly built up to…recent events. On top of all that, I spent a lot of my teen years dissociating. Tricking my brain into believing that I wasn’t real. That nothing was. It’s a bit difficult to solidify an image of your body when half of you is ashamed of it and the other half doesn’t even consider your ownership of one. Ownership. I guess that’s sort of where it all began. 
It was sometime in January when it all started to go wrong. I don’t exactly have a habit of staring at myself in the mirror, in fact, the only mirror I own in my cramped little flat is the bathroom one. It’s somehow always stained, a fact which I hesitate to admit helped me live with my…issues. The point is, the majority of the time, I didn’t know how I looked.
And then one day, I watched myself wake up. 
I remember exactly how it felt. You know how people sometimes slice oranges in half and then take the peel, dig their fingers into the sides and push, letting each segment split from the other, hungrily leaning up towards you? That’s how I felt. Inverted. Wrong. I saw myself in a way that I had never, ever seen before. Each and every part of me that bulged where it shouldn’t have, thinned and yellowed at the edges like a fruit in its off-season. Whatever was happening to my eyes didn’t hurt, exactly, but I could feel every single part of my body as if it had suddenly awoken from a deep unconsciousness. It disgusted me. The life of it all. I panicked, of course, I thought I was having a really, really bad dream and that all I needed to do was wake up. But, no matter how many times I attempted to shield myself from the view, no matter how many times I willed every single synapse in my brain to connect and let my goddamn eyes close, nothing happened. 
That nothing was the most excruciating nothing that I had ever experienced in my life. I was forced open, boneless and writhing. The me on the bed that I was watching slept soundly. 
I don’t remember when I snapped out of it. I don’t remember how long it had been. I sat up, drenched in sweat, determined to be rid of the one mirror I had left. Putting it in the bin didn’t feel as triumphant as I believed it would. I guess part of me knew that this was no one-off. 
Ok, I know what you’re thinking. It could just be a hallucination. I could be traumatised or mentally ill or on drugs. Well, I’m actually all of those things, which means that I have the unique ability to prove you wrong. I know what a hallucination feels like, I know what drug side effects feel like, and I know what my episodes feel like. And this? This was entirely separate. I don’t have to tell you that it happened again. I don’t have to tell you that I went from GP to GP, therapist to therapist to find out what was happening to me. But I will end this with proof. 
Statement Ends. 
Post-statement records include a medical report of one Rebekah Fitch. It outlines a series of scars of unidentified means on the underside of her eyelids, spelling out the phrase “I know that I exist.” Any attempts to follow up have led to dead ends. However, I’m afraid that I may be able to guess how this one ends.
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lonelyslutavatar · 1 month
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a scene in my head partially inspired by this fic
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oxthemoron · 2 months
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Hii so since u guys liked this post so much I did a lil experiment... (tw!! suicide, knives, sh, dissasociation)
...and as I watched him bring the knife to his throat... wait, no, that's not right. I watched him bring the knife to the thing that had his throat and his face and all the rest of him except that hand, I knew there was not enough of him left to sa- Jon? Jon! Is that you?- I knew there was not enough left of him to- Jon? Where are we?- Not enough left of him- What's happened to us, Jon? I can't- I can't see you. - not enough left of him to save. But there was enough left of him for me to love.
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jonahfagnus · 4 months
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Every few centuries or so, each Dread Power selects a Messiah. Not at the same time - they’re often staggered over decades, and a Messiah will frustratingly frequently die of mundane causes long before anyone notices them. Worse yet, Messiahs can go their entire life unnoticed, odd enough to off-put their peers but not enough for their kin to take notice.
To find the Messiah of one’s god is a grand achievement. Finding Agnes Montague had brought the Lightless Flame great power; new strength, new devotees, new rituals. It had been so much that Gertrude had felt the need to temper Agnes with her own soul. The Desolation won’t get over that for a very long while.
Jonah has spent his entire life seeking the Eye’s Messiah. It has to be soon - it’s been two centuries, and he’s certain that there was no Messiah when he was alive. The timeframe is perfect, and yet he cannot find anyone. He checks for incidents related to the Eye, keeps note of artefacts trading hands, but nothing. Whether his god’s Messiah simply died as a child, or was swallowed by another power, the search is endless, and yields no results.
This is why it’s so surprising when Jonathan Sims walks into his office for an interview, and makes eye contact with him - ordinarily this would make people uncomfortable, but Jonathan is mostly content in the Eye’s stronghold. Jonah knows, immediately, that this is the one. This is who he has been searching for his whole life.
Jonathan’s Gaze is rather weak, and wielded bluntly. He wouldn’t be able to force any measure of knowledge out of Jonah right now, but it’s surprising he has any Gaze at all. Just more proof that he was made for their god. 
Jonathan has found that people become uncomfortable when he makes eye contact with them, and that discomfort can be used to get things he wants; he’s used it to convince teachers to give him better grades or an extension on his work, to convince his peers to leave him be, to convince well-meaning adults to turn a blind eye to his breaking and entering, his trespassing, all the little crimes to satisfy his endless curiosity. There’s no need to intimidate now, of course. The moment he decided to come in for the interview his fate was sealed. He is meant to be here, and always has been.
Jonah reaches a hand over the table and does not break eye contact.
“Elias Bouchard,” he says, voice confident and smooth. On the inside, he’s a bundle of nerves. If he isn’t careful, he could drive Jonathan away from the Eye, perhaps forever. Such a failure would not be forgiven.
“Jon Sims,” Jon returns, seeming equally calm. Jonah’s still debating whether or not to look inside his head. It would be exceedingly useful, but if Jon notices it could be disastrous. He has no idea how Jon would react. The Lonely almost drove away their most recent Messiah by trying to bring him in too quickly, and Jonah cannot afford the same to happen with Jon. There is the chance Jon would notice, and realise that Jonah is like him, and decide to stay. Too risky, perhaps.
Jonah doesn’t pay much attention as they go through the typical rigamarole. None of these questions are necessary. Instead, he does his own research on Jon, the sort that doesn’t require reading his mind.
He Knows that all of Jon’s peers had warned him away from the Institute when he had brought it up, and that Jon had lied to his flatmate about the interview. He has no other job prospects lined up, and still can’t justify the decision to himself. It simply feels right. He Knows that, despite his machinations, Jon’s grades are less than perfect. Like much else in his life, Jon is worried about it, partially because he is innately anxious and partially because he’s worried that he won’t get the job.
He Knows that Jon (much like Jonah in his youth) prefers to find what isn’t already known. He finds education too boring, too easy - he can find what his teachers have told him in textbooks, or online courses; quite often he finds he already knows it, although he can't say from where. What he wants is the sort of knowledge that is coveted, hidden, and he has a particular taste for any knowledge of the supernatural. 
He Knows that Jon has uncanny senses - having been able to detect teachers long before their footsteps began echoing down the halls - and some of his peers used him as a watchman when getting high or drunk, or breaking into offices to find answer sheets. He Knows that Jon enjoyed being the watchman, for reasons he can’t quite place.
Their god's influence has already spread deep into Jon, into the furthest reaches of his soul. Jon has the ability to compel (although this, like his Sight, is weak and wielded bluntly - Jonah will have to teach him better), and he craves knowledge like he craves blood in his veins. His memory is uncanny, his eyes uncannier. He couldn’t be a better Archivist.
“When can you start?”
Jon blinks, in surprise.
“Oh- er, well, I- ah, next Monday, I suppose?”
“Fantastic,” Jonah says, giving him a grin. They shake hands again, and then Jon is leaving. Jonah Watches him, all the way home, to where he tells his flatmate that he got the job, where he begins to make preparations to move out. Jon casts glances over his shoulder when he thinks nobody can see him, although he can’t tell from where he’s being watched. Yet, despite the anxiety (and excitement) it causes, he makes no move to hide himself. 
He’s going to be perfect. Jonah will ensure it.
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ego-sum-ex-altiora · 4 months
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The fact that the entirety of tma translated into french is only the second longest tma fic on ao3 is absolutely terrifying. The longest fic is 805,450 words. This shit is longer than War and Peace (587,287 words). Longer than the entire LOTR series + The Hobbit (576,459 words). MORE THAN THE BLOODY BIBLE (1611 King James Bible, 788,280 words).
Me and my 6000 word fic will just. move on from that
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lailas-in-space · 3 months
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someone please write a tma time travel fic scene in which Jon receives a message that starts with "Hello Jon," causing him to have 27 simultaneous panic attacks before realizing it's a normal text from Tim
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murderandcoffee · 5 months
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turns out that writing fake magnus archives statements is REALLY fun
anyway if anyone is interested in a flesh statement about a guy and his fashion designer wife, I'll probably be posting it either here or on ao3 within the next couple days
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the-magpie-archives · 2 years
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Don't imagine Martin visiting Jon in hospital and gently brushing Jon's hair whilst he talks about work, and what's going on in his personal life. Don't imagine Martin replacing wilted flowers, hanging fairy lights, and setting down two cups of tea (one of which he knows will remain untouched).
Don't think about Martin befriending all the nurses at the hospital and telling them all about Jon and what he's like when he's up and about. Don't imagine him doing an impression of Jon's idea of a hilarious joke (the joke never made anyone laugh, but the impression did).
Don't imagine Martin politely and subtly making sure Jon's being well looked after, and getting the best course of treatment. Don't think about the tenderness that comes from unconditional care and love with no expectations.
But most importantly, don't think about Jon's hair growing tangled, the nurses seeing less and less of Martin. Don't imagine how dull the hospital room became without Martin's thoughtful input. Don't think about the old cup of tea still sitting on the bedside table (it's behind a 'get well soon' card, only Martin would've noticed it).
It was Martin who succumbed to the lonely, but in a way it managed to take Jon too.
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daylight-boyy · 2 months
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This? Remember this?
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So
Hah
Critter'd him >:)
It's stupid. Please read it.
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chicken-magnet · 2 months
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I'm really looking forward to future "tmagp gang meets pre-horrors or during-horrors tma characters after learning about the post-horrors stuff" fanfics
I want to see them interact with each other
I want the protocol characters' expectations be meeting horrible people and then see how human the archive characters really were
I want to read about what the protocol characters were thinking about their own situation and maybe see them realize some parallels between the two stories, take some mental notes for future reference
I want them to see the others' mistakes and gain hope about their own problems
I want them to try to do "better" than the archives crew, to be better
And I want them to fail
I want them to realize the inevitability of their situation
I want them to fall into hopelessness
I want to see the moment they break
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suchafuckingweirdo · 7 months
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i gotta admit alex j. newall was right when he decided not to include kissing noises in the magnus archives. it does sound weird. (i’m listening to the penumbra podcast right now and juno steel is a whore) the tma fandom already sexualizes jon groaning in pain, imagine how feral things would get if martin and jon made out on tape..
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adamofingolstadt · 27 days
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TMA Coffee Shop AU
"God you'll never believe this." Tim leaned into the kitchen. "Actually, you will."
"What?"  Martin asked, loading the dishwasher.
"That weird guy is back again." Tim said. "The one you fancy."
Martin, flustered, denied everything.
"Tim, you are such an HR nightmare." Their manager told him.
"Come on Sasha, you think that guy's weird too: He comes in every Saturday with a book, sits at that back table near the stock cupboards and reads for three hours!" 
She smiled a little. "Actually, I just served him. Guess what he got?"
"Black coffee and a scone with no cream." The three parroted in unison.
"That's weird!" Tim pointed out. "It's like he wants the most joyless thing on the menu! Then he sits away from all the windows and people-- it's like he wants to be miserable."
She shook her head, amused. "Tim, go man the counter, I think I just heard someone enter."
EDIT: I made a fic
The Archival Department is a Powder Keg - Chapter 10 - Creecher - The Magnus Archives (Podcast) [Archive of Our Own]
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lonelyslutavatar · 9 months
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the kids are scheming
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chrisis-averted · 5 months
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A little fanmade trailer for my TMA fic Rewind. Reset. Rewrite. with art by @fdevitart
No this won't go on youtube, it's a small thing I made for mostly myself, but I hope you enjoy it. Do you recognise all locations?
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Now that I'm caught up with both tma and tmagp, it's time to lose myself in the sea of fanfic. As there are over 26k fics on ao3 for magnus archives, there is no feasible way for me to go through every single one of them to see which ones I'd want to read. Because of that, I'm holding out a giant basket (this post) and asking y'all to drop your faves into it. Bonus points if it's a time travel rewrite fic, something from the scotland safehouse, or cool AUs.
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