#Tim stoker you little shit

[foxdrawdoodles]

Yesterday I listened to s1, ep33 of The Magnus Archives and it’s the first time I hear Tim and I just have to say how dare he talk to the defiantly sleep deprived archivist like that. The little shit picking on the fact that he mixed up a couple of numbers, so what if he did sometimes that just happens

Please tell me that at some point I’ll start to like Tim because at the moment I would gladly slap him in the face if I had the chance

In other news please ignore the back of Tim’s head in this drawing I’m pretty sure this is the first time that I’ve actually ever drawn the back of someone’s head who has short hair. if anyone has any tips on how to draw the back of someone’s head I will gladly listen <3

[polysyndetonaddictsupportgroup]

like we all dunk on jon for being completely unqualified (fair and true) but so was everyone. fandom seemed to take tim at face value that sasha was qualified for the job and while she definitely had seniority on jon, the girl was also fucking stapling random sheets of paper together when a single google search will tell you to absolutely not do that. tim was an ex-corporate drone who was only there to revenge-kill a regency clown and martin just straight up lied about his qualifications because he didn’t have any. gertrude was the most qualified woman alive to commit acts of violence that violated the geneva convention but from an actual literal standpoint she was a terrible fucking archivist. at age 20 she received supernatural job security and a blank check for a budget funded by a man scared shitless of her and that defined her approach to employment for the rest of her life. her number one hobby was arson and her number two hobby was keeping secrets. not only did she never do any archiving I guarantee you she did not even know what an archivist was. queen of doing any fucking job but the one you hired her for. I’m in love with her.

the fact that the eye is shown to be actively opposed to the loss or destruction of knowledge is borderline hilarious to me considering the closest thing it has had to an actually qualified employee for the Special Room Where It Keeps Its Knowledge in at least the last century was that one guy who was too busy being a simp for a serial murderer and gouging out his own fucking eyes to have any long-term effect on the non-spooky parts of the position. the most shocking part of jon getting the job is not the blatant lack of qualifications but the fact that elias was able to choke out the offer over the eye beaming the same anxiety attack over document storage that it’s been having since the vietnam war directly into his little twink skull

[the-crooked-library]

HOLY SHIT I FINISHED IT (TMA fic series)

hey all, so I have just completed a four-part fic series for The Magnus Archives that I've been working on since 2021, and I can hardly believe it's done. The fics are all fully posted on AO3 as follows:

open doors - Sasha James/ Michael (Distortion); short and sweet, diverges during season 1, a little monster romance that started all of this 🌀

Eulogy - Jonathan Sims/Gerry Keay; cozy horror murder mystery that runs alongside a fell-in-love-with-a-ghost romance. Think NBC Hannibal for the vibes <3 🪦

candles in the rain - Martin Blackwood/Tim Stoker; the premise is that Tim comes back from the Unknowing as a Desolation avatar, and, well, it goes from there. Diverges sometime during season 2, when Martin takes him up on the "dance card." 🔥

Lighthouse - Elias Bouchard (Jonah Magnus)/Peter Lukas; evil old men in love, it's manipulative and sweet at the same time for that extra vulnerability :) 👁️

All fics are set within the same AU, but can be read as standalones.

Full series link: there's no kingdom to come by CrookedArchive

I hope you enjoy - and please scream at me in the comments if you do!

[cult-of-the-eye]

tma makeup headcanons:

Jonathan "serving cunt" Sims:

S1 Jon doesn't know what makeup is (he absolutely wore eyeliner every single day at uni but he's not letting everyone else know that)

He like spot conceals but that's about all he feels comfortable getting away with while maintaining his air of professionalism

He also despises the feeling of foundation on his face

S2 Jon is barefaced as the day he was born. My man's last priority is how he looks, he's too busy buying axes in central London and stalking his coworkers

S3 Jon has none of his makeup with him but he's got loads of spare time and Georgie has a whole drawer so he experiments a little bit, he goes for Kajal (black pencil eyeliner lining the inside of your eyes) instead of his previous winged eyeliner but he hesitates at the any colour because she managed to pull it off but he's never been one for drawing attention to himself like that but one day he goes for a burgundy or like dark purplish red colour and he's quite pleased with himself

I feel like Jon would go for a natural kind of look, with concealer and a skin tint at best, some dark brown eye shadow to deepen his hooded eyes and kajal

Martin Kslaying Blackwood:

Ugh I love this man so much

I'm literally such a fan of trans Martin it's pretty much canon to me so I'm headcanoning that he's very hesitant about makeup cause he was a late transitioner and had only just gotten used to passing recently so he doesn't want to do anything to risk that

But he's such a slut for a nice little blush or like a subtle lip tint

He goes for powder blushes cause liquid ones feel sticky on his face and also powder blushes just Look Nice

He also likes lip tints cause he's constantly rubbing off lip products, with the multiple mugs of tea a day and it's getting awkward handing Jon mugs of tea with faint lipstick stains on them

He keeps an emergency kit in his bag with like some eyeshadow if he needs to darken his facial hair and on a whim he puts a baby pink powder blush in there and a matching lip tint

So it's not like he decided to bring it to the safehouse, it was just sort of there

Jon finds it and he's like let's go, we're going down to the shops and buying some, we're gonna do some experimenting and Martin's like oh!!

When he was working for Peter Lukas, he was also barefaced, he didn't want to give him the satisfaction of thinking he put effort in

Timothy "Take notes" Stoker:

This man is such a fun makeup guy

He's a random dots around his eyes, shimmery colourful inner corner, new colour every day, just drawing shit around his eyes kinda man

He's a no foundation no concealer kinda guy as well I think

ugh just can you imagine??? They have a little tally of what colours/patterns Tim's using today and somehow he never managed to repeat a look - it might be a repeated colour but the pattern or the way it's used it's always different

And then one day he just stops. He still wears makeup but the colours are more muted and they make his eyes look bruised in a very decisive way

It's almost as if he's spent ages on a look and then tried to scrub it all away

Sashay Away James

She's such a glamorous girly I feel like she really enjoys the process of makeup more than actually changing the way she looks

I'd love her to be doing the whole shebang, spending hours picking the right primer and stuff like that

She goes for the yeah I'm wearing makeup and I'm slaying look

I feel like she's so good at a little nose highlight

Can you imagine every day Tim greeting Sasha every morning with like a love the highlight girl and it makes her happy every single time

Oh she's such a fake freckles girly absolutely

Hated false eyelashes cause they feel weird

Not Sasha believes makeup is pushing feminism backwards

[ao3feed-jonmartin]

A Case For H(ead) (a)R(chivist)

read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/51kgcap by briarfairchild Sasha is looking at her phone again. “Apparently you also called Elias an excrescence from the rhinoceros shit corner of hell,” she says. Jon flushes. “Yes, well,” he says defensively. “It’s his own fault. If he wasn’t such a bastard I wouldn’t have had to call him those things, would I?” * Elias, in a fit of pique at seeing Jon and Martin getting along so well when Peter’s just started divorce proceedings with him again, tries to fire Martin. Jon is not impressed. (reading the other fics in this series isn’t necessary, though of course very welcome!) Words: 6912, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English Series: Part 8 of Archivist Without a Crush Fandoms: The Magnus Archives (Podcast) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Categories: Gen, M/M Characters: Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Martin Blackwood, Sasha James, Tim Stoker (The Magnus Archives) Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist Additional Tags: The Magnus Archives Season 1, Fluff, Humor, Light Angst, Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist Has a Crush, Mutual Pining, Protective Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Angry Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Wet Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, seriously he's drenched to the skin for like two thirds of this, dripping little trails of water wherever he goes, Jon will end anyone who hurts Martin, Jon wearing Martin's jumpers read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/51kgcap

[gerrydelano]

Hi i would. Looove to hear about this fantasy au (bonus points for gerrys fucked up origins thanks for the food)

scrambles to sit up and falls out of my desk chair in the process. Bless You, Anon. Bless You. i will limit this to the first side quest because even that is long as fuck but it Is gerry centric which means it's food for Me.

okay So. the key tenets here are:

tim is the pov character

the stokers knew sasha and martin as kids until martin moved away with his dad after his mom's passing (wild!)

danny was taken by the fey at like 18. BAD.

after two years of training and study, tim and sasha are about to set off to find him or get revenge (it's a death wish) just as martin swaggers back into town a new man (he spent a decent chunk of his money on glamors that are tantamount to HRT while traveling back to their hometown after he super left his shitty dad's house) and he elects to come with them because It's A Death Wish and he doesn't want tim to get into trouble, and also he has like... nowhere to go anyway. might as well keep adventuring, but this time with friends.

they go to a coastal city to ask adelard dekker for some advice, and he sends his apprentice along with them. hi jon!

and then once they're on their adventure........ we meet a mysterious figure.

they do a lot of little bounty hunts and side quests for money and whatever obviously and so at one point they get enlisted to find some heirloom for some guy and right as they're about to get it, oops! insert Guy In A Featureless Silver Mask Riding On A Black Dire Wolf, Who Then Swoops In And Takes The Heirloom First.

What.

they hate this guy. they can't stand this guy. they wanna beat this guy up for doing that. he was so scary though so what do you even do. they ask around town and find out he's The Black Rider™ and he has a habit of doing this shit and they should stay out of his way.

they find melanie in a tavern and jon recognizes her from their childhoods because surprise! THEY grew up together. and she's been Away for a while after she ran away with josephine, her first love, who ended up dying about a year later. she's been too ashamed to return home alone. she is begrudging about reconnecting with jon, but she does end up hugging him and crying about this. i love them. bad weather friends.

she joins their party in time to run into the Black Rider again, who once more is trying to get something before they get it.

this time they get some awkward banter out of him though so they figure there is some kind of person under there.

and the Third time they encounter him, tim tries to cut to the chase and offer an olive branch of friendship, only for the black rider to attack them with his big scary halberd and it's like DUDE! WHAT THE FUCK!!!!

the fight is pretty intense but they do outnumber him, so tim gets him on the ground with his sword under his chin and he can feel the dog breathing down his neck but she isn't biting - because the black rider has held up a hand to stop her.

tense! and kinda sexy.

they agree to lower the weapon/call off the dog on the count of three from sasha, but tim hesitates longer than the black rider does. intriguing.

he leaves and they realize he still took the bounty they were after. G-d DAMMIT!!!!

then a few weeks later they meet some guy named gerry in a dungeon and he helps them fight off some zombies or whatever and they vibe for a few days, he seems nice if not a little weird, and they get along well. he dips after a bit and it's just a standard interaction pretty much. neither here nor there.

then they're fighting a cockatrice at some point and the Black Rider comes in to help them! odd, but accepted.

oops! his mask gets knocked off.

martin, being the nice guy he is, goes to return it to him and sees his face - gasp! it's gerry! who EVER could have guessed!

after they defeat the cockatrice they really have to have a whole ass conversation about this because Seriously Dude What The Fuck.

he ends up talking to them a little bit but not much, he's cagey and now seems kind of... nervous? what gives, right.

after a bit though they offer to let him come with them because tim is like "oh my g-d. you're LONELY 😆"

and he'd be right.

but there's a lot more to it than that.

eventually he caves and tells them, "we're being watched." by who? his patron, he says, after taking his time deciding on the wording.

he's never told anyone this before. he didn't even know she couldn't Hear him too, only just found that out.

then after a little while he fucks off for a bit without an explanation, and they're like. wtf.

when he comes back to find them, he explains that he nearly stabbed tim in his sleep one day because he's not only being spied upon, but his body is able to be controlled by his patron.

they are understandably upset about this and have to put in some protective measures to prevent that from happening again. he's no longer allowed on night watch.

but he's clearly distraught with guilt and like... they can SEE the humanity in him, they can SEE that he hates this and he needs help.

martin is a Redemption paladin by now and he wants to help him really badly.

tim needs... some time.

jon suggests they put a blindfold on him now and then to help him feel more at ease talking about things without fear of being spied on and it helps sometimes.

they travel for like 9 months before gerry trusts tim enough to show him what's really going on, while they're bathing in a lake after a battle that left them covered in blood.

he moves his hair aside to show tim a sigil branded on his back.

mary did that to him when he was 12.

so, basically, this guy hasn't had a shred of bodily autonomy or privacy in half his life. it's disgusting honestly like literally if you think for two seconds about the logistics of this it just gets more and more upsetting. bad!!!!

so they've already wanted to break his curse but it's just. tim can't stand this knowledge. he still doesn't know it's his mother yet, though. that stays on lock.

the group goes on to meet with mikaele salesa for some help, and gerry refuses to go anywhere near him. fucks off again with no explanation.

but they take the opportunity to ask salesa if he knows anything about the black rider etc and he says BOY DO I KNOW HIM. HE'S WHY I HAVE SO MUCH PROTECTION AROUND MY HOUSE LOL.

gerry has stolen so much from him and killed some of his guys and it's like YIKES. but salesa Also knows about mary.

she's been collecting super powerful artifacts for ages now trying to give herself more power so she can become a lich. uh oh!

and tim, who has made a Paladin Oath with Death by now, is now assigned by HIS patron to go and kill her before her transformation takes place, because she would be defying the natural order.

so, they go find her scary tower and are intent on fighting her, only to find - gerry?

and boy does he look rough. he looks Bad right now he hasn't been having a good time while he's been gone.

mary is in the middle of her ritual and she halves her focus in order to control gerry into fighting for her and eventually the fight is looking bad enough that she switches tactics.

she has him point the knife at his own throat.

because she did spy a little bit of the tiny intimate moments between gerry and tim, try as gerry might have to keep his eyes averted or up at the sky or just anywhere But tim, and she knows the group has come to care about him. so, clearly this is a better threat.

sasha calls her bluff BIGTIME and says hell no are you gonna kill him, you put too much work into him, he's your only heir, you need him, you'd never go that far, blablabla.

and that much is actually true. but it looks pretty close when she actually has him break skin a little bit.

tim is very upset at sasha for potentially making it worse lol But

it does work

they manage to kill her and free gerry and it's a very complicated moment because like... dude that's his mom. she's all he's ever known, save the wolf she "got" for him when he was a kid that is now his closest companion, and the dryad who guards the forest outside (hi tazia!)

so it takes gerry and tim a while to like. recover from that. but they do.

meanwhile, before they leave mary's tower, they totally pilfer her magical objects and jon finds a peculiar glass orb... that looks like it's got spider webbing inside it.

and that's all i'll say for now! obviously this is the Side Quest i am most invested in, but the plot of this filled 15 pages of a timeline and it goes on until gerrytim die in their 70s lmao so like. Big Big AU. it takes like 5 years after this all happens to find danny and That is a huge mess, too. boy howdy!!!!

now i realize i can't surprise anyone with this plot if i did write it but like. chances of that are slim. this is still so niche. jdhdjdhfk. gtcu brand classes, not canon based at all.

[thermodynamic-comedian]

hello hello, this is your excuse to ramble about your blorbos! give me your top 10 favourite tma characters 👀

YESS THANK YOUU :3

10. melanie king. she's insane as a character i looove characters defined by their hatred and anger, but even more by what's left of them when that's taken away....wow. huge stuff.

9. hmmm annabel cane. she's so cool,,, her canonical vintage style,,, i think about it a lot,,,,

8. tim stoker. his arc was so interesting tbh, how he stayed the same but changed so much.

7. adelard dekker, god why does nobody talk about adelard dekker. i wish we knew more about him. i wish we knew everything there was to know about him

6. daisy tonner, i looove dog-coded characters, i love the hunt in all of its hypocritical projection glory.

5. jonah magnus. so many thoughts. so so many thoughts. corporate-shaped false prophet angelthing. i wanna torture him and examine his reactions

4. mike crew, my favourite she/they tranfem, the only tma character i have ever related to. sigh. rip queen you would've loved the eyepocalypse

3. helen distortion, literally my babygirl, horrible little meow meow, also helanie should be so much more popular than it is

2. gertrude robinson, holy fucking shit gertrude robinson. perhaps the character ever written. the way that she was. the things that she did. just. oh my god.

1. simon fairchild. just. the most fun i've ever had listening to this podcast. i got genuinely sad when it was implied he died, and that's saying something, because i almost never get sad about tma deaths.

[skylarsolstice]

Here's a preview of my next TMA fanfic: A New Approach. Let me know what you think!

Martin knew he must be sweating through his sweater right now. He was more than a little nervous for his first day in the archives. After working in the library so long it felt weird to have a desk to himself. Honestly he was just worried someone would figure out that he lied on his CV now that would end badly. Surely archive work couldn’t be that different from the work he had been doing in the library though right? He should be fine no one would figure it out…hopefully.

Having been so lost in thought Martin barely noticed it when the dog slipped past him as he opened the door to the stairwell. “Shit!” He hissed through his teeth as he ran down the stairs with his box of things balanced precariously in his arms.

After nearly tripping on several stairs he slid to a stop in the assistant's bullpen breathing heavily and searching desperately for any sign of the dog. He couldn’t see anything, but he could hear someone shuffling around in the office down the hall. Maybe they had seen the dog. Martin placed his box on the nearest desk and headed for the office. The door was open so he knocked awkwardly on the door frame to get the person shuffling behind the desk to look up.

A man with long cropped brown hair and olive skin popped his head up from behind the desk. He was very handsome, but not really Martin’s type especially seeing as he was way out of his league.

“Sorry you haven’t seen a dog have you?” Martin asked as politely as possible when faced with a very attractive man.

“A dog?” The man asked, looking a bit excited.

Martin rubbed the back of his neck. “Uh yeah a spaniel I think?”

“Why is there a dog in the archives though?” The man who’s name was still a mystery asked, sounding genuinely puzzled as he got to his feet.

“Oh, um,” Martin stuttered, his face going red with embarrassment. “I kind of accidentally let it in. Sorry.”

The man just laughed. “What a great start to my first day as Head Archivist!”

“Oh, oh, you’re Timothy Stoker,” he said, feeling a sinking in his stomach. “I’m so sorry sir I really didn’t mean to let it in!”

“Don’t worry about it seriously, I'm sure we’ll find the little guy soon,” he said, waving off Martin’s concern. “And please call me Tim. Now let's see if we can find that dog.”

Tim led him back down the hall to the assistant’s bullpen. “Where did you last see him?” He asked Martin as he surveyed the room.

“Um, I lost track of him in the stairwell,” Martin said, looking around desperately for the little creature.

“Hey Tim, guess what we found!” Came loud feminine voice from down the hall.

Soon a woman came into view. She had dark skin and dark coily hair done in a fro hawk. She was quite tall and had to be at least 6’ and she was holding a spaniel in her arms. The dog looked very pleased with himself. A man followed behind her as she entered the bullpen. He was a very slight man and he had warm brown skin. His hair fell just below his shoulders and was streaked with grey.

Upon seeing the dog Tim immediately burst into a fit of coos and giggles as he rushed over to scratch the dog’s ears. The woman just smiled as she too scratched the little animal’s head. The smaller man behind her just looked disgruntled.

“Why is there a dog in the archives?” The long haired man asked dryly.

Tim looked over at him with a big grin. “What not a fan of dogs Jon?”

“I prefer cats if I’m being honest,” the other man -Jon- replied with a derisive look at the dog.

“Why does it not surprise me that you are a cat person,” the woman chuckled as she handed the dog off to Tim.

Jon gawked in what could be mock offence, but could also be real offence. “I resent that comment!” He turned to look at Tim. “Did you let the dog in? If so you have to pay for the shelf he managed to topple.”

Tim just rolled his eyes. “Martin here accidentally let him in, but honestly I think we’ll blame the shelf falling on account of it being ancient. We’ll just fill out a replacement form,” he said looking at the collar around the dog's neck. “Let’s call your owner huh… Brutor.” Tim read the name from the collar around the dog's neck.

Jon turned a glare on Martin before swiftly striding over to what Martin assumed was his desk. Not the best first impression he could have made.

“I’m Sasha by the way, Martin was it?” The woman introduced herself. “And the wet blanket is Jon.”

“Nice to meet you all,” Martin told her with a wide smile.

The rest of the day dragged on rather uneventfully once the dog was returned to his owner. He still felt like an idiot for having let the animal inside in the first place and he could tell he made a horrible impression on Jon. Tim and Sasha seemed to just think it was a funny moment to look back on later, but he could feel Jon’s irritation from the desk across from his. Even worse Martin kept finding himself looking back up at Jon and admiring the way his hair fell in his face so elegantly. First day on the job and his new office crush already thinks he’s an idiot.

They didn’t have a lot of direction from Tim honestly. It didn’t really seem like he knew what he was doing, but it was only the first day so Martin didn’t want to judge too harshly. He kept coming out of his office to ask Sasha questions and she seemed to be purposely unhelpful. Martin could have sworn she was playing computer games for most of the day.

Once the end of the day came around and everyone got ready to leave Jon made no move to do so. Tim came out and upon seeing Jon still sitting at his desk typing away furiously he went over to the smaller man and began pulling his chair away from the desk.

“Come on Jon, time to go,” Tim said with a large smile as Jon leaned forward more and more to keep typing.

“But I’m not done!” Jon protested as Tim pulled him all the way away from the desk.

Tim shook his head, continuing to push Jon’s chair toward the stairs. “None of this overworking shit like you pulled in research. I’m the boss now and I say we all go home on time.”

Jon crossed his arms and made a face like a toddler might when told they can’t have chocolate for dinner. “This is bullshit.”

“This is a healthy work-life balance my friend,” Tim said light heartedly. “We’re going out for drinks and you're coming. You too Marto!” He called back over his shoulder.

“Oh okay!” Martin said, excited that he was being included. The people in the library never invited him out. “Sounds fun!”

“Yes it does!” Sasha said with enthusiasm. “Never a dull moment when Jon gets drunk!”

“Shut up,” Jon muttered as he followed Tim and Sasha out the door with Martin in tow.

The four headed for the nearest Karaoke bar and Sasha took the lead directing the group to a quiet booth in the back. It was a nice little corner tucked away so as to allow them some privacy from prying eyes.

“Thanks Sasha,” Jon said quietly as he slipped into the booth across from Tim and Sasha. That meant Martin was going to sit next to Jon. Oh boy.

“No problem Jon, I know you aren’t a big fan of crowds,” she replied with a bright smile. “Drinks anyone?”

“I’ll have a beer,” Tim said with a smile. “What about you Martin want anything?”

Martin wasn’t sure what to get as he didn’t drink often. “Oh um a vodka soda I guess?”

Sasha nodded. “Jon, do you want anything?”

“I’ll have whatever you get,” he replied with a ghost of a smile. Jon had a very cute lopsided smile Martin observed.

It was long before they all found themselves 3 or so drinks deep. Tim, Sasha, and Martin were relatively coherent, but Jon was… well he was piss drunk. It seemed that he had decided if he couldn’t work he would drink until he could no longer think straight. He had already consumed 3 beers and 3 shots of straight vodka.

“I’m going to hit the loo,” Sasha announced as she got up and headed for the restroom.

“I’ll get us another round,” Tim said, sliding out of the booth after her. Then looking over at Jon he said with a grin, “Maybe water instead.”

Then Martin found himself left alone with a very drunk Jon beside him. He let his eyes wander as he waited for Sasha and Tim to get back. Suddenly he heard mumbling from beside him. Was Jon saying something?

It was hard to tell, but it would be rude not to reply if he was saying something. “What was that Jon?” Martin asked the person slumped over on the table with his head in his arms.

Jon lifted his head and looked at him. “Sorry I was rude earlier,” he said quietly. “I’ve been in a right awful mood today. The dog thing isn’t nearly as big a deal as I made it seem.”

“Oh,” Martin said, surprised by the apology. “It’s fine, it was kind of a stupid thing to do… Seems like something only I could achieve,” he said with a self deprecating laugh.

“No it could have happened to anyone,” Jon slurred. “I just um…” a pause. “I saw a bunch of spiders earlier in the stacks and it just kind of set me off kilter for the rest of the day. I-I really don’t like spiders.”

Martin was surprised by that confession. “Oh that’s understandable. A lot of people are scared of spiders. I personally find them cute.” Jon gave him a dubious look at that. Martin swallowed trying to gather some courage. “You know they are all fuzzy and they’re little faces are cute like yours.”

Jon gave him an eye roll at that, but it had no real heat behind it. “I am not cute,” he declared with a drunken slur.

“Now that’s not true,” Sasha said as she slid back into the booth, a teasing note in her voice.

Jon just rolled his eyes and dropped his head back onto the table. At that moment Tim slid back in with waters in hand. “Here Jon drink, then we should get you home.”

Jon took the water begrudgingly and drank quickly then with surprisingly little resistance allowed himself to be led out of the pub and to the tube before dropping him off at his flat. Hopefully he didn’t have too much of a headache in the morning.

[late-to-the-magnus-archives]

Corrupted, chapter 25: FLESH. A Malevolent x TMA crossover

To quote Jonny Sims, there's a lot going on here.

Tim's got enough on his plate, but his story is clearing bisecting a lot of others. What does this Michael want? What is Dahl's problem? Are those trees going to move?

At least they're finally in reach of a body for Hastur, and Tim did promise. Fulfilling that can't be a bad move. Can it?

Corrupted, chapter 25: FLESH. A Malevolent x TMA crossover staring Tim Stoker and the King in Yellow.

AO3

---------------

Jon is… not the most physically fit of individuals. It is possible he’s never rowed in his life. Tim has decided not to comment on all the puffing and moaning, as that would be cruel on top of everything else that’s happened today. It’s just another thing to go on the list.

For Tim, it’s been list time since they saw the island. They’re helpful, lists; keep things in order, on track, and prioritized, which otherwise would be lost or befuddled in the midst of mayhem and madness.

Item the first: this had not gone according to anyone’s plan, at least ostensibly. Jon was, they said, supposed to be sacrificed, and Tim sent along, passage paid. Oops.

Item the second: they had absolutely no idea where they were, but it was far too cold to be the North Sea—cold enough that this island with weird palm trees (also not right for the North Sea) made no sense.

Item the third: who had knocked on Tim’s door? If that someone hadn’t knocked, it all would have gone down as planned, and he wouldn’t have known anything happened. Oh; but then there would not have been a several week journey north, not at all, because Tim would have realized Jon was gone, lost his shit, and burned the ship with such heat that the bodies would be unsuitable for fish food.

Instead, someone had knocked, setting off the series of events that ensured Tim and Jon went together. Together, to… wherever this was.

At last, they pull the little life raft onto the shore, far enough up the icy, black-stone beach that they cross over to soft, silver sand. The air changes from frigid to funky at once, humid and hot, as if they literally took a single step into another world. Tim sits down at once, giving into exhaustion with a will. “I don’t think I’ve ever been this sore.”

Jon stares past him into the thick, strange jungle. “Me, neither,” he says, but it sounds perfunctory, like maybe he isn’t aware of the blisters on his hands right now, or the slight tremor in his entire scrawny form.

Tim eyes him. “Hey. Maybe sit down before you fall down, yeah? Not that I’m not convinced of your Herculean powers, but we’ve got nowhere to be, and whatever this is, I think we should be at our best.”

Jon’s face is a journey. “I know you’re right,” he says. “But I’m so desperate to know what in blazes this is and how it got here.”

“It’s not going anywhere.” Tim pats the sand next to him. “Don’t make me wield the oar at you in some ill-planned attempt to make you rest.”

Jon scoffs at him, but sits. It takes him a moment to do so without simply falling over.

“Now, aren’t you glad you didn’t go traipsing into the wild unknown?” says Tim.

“I suppose,” Jon drawls, and rests his forehead on his knees.

This… this doesn’t feel as it should, says Hastur.

“No, really?” says Tim. “Which part tipped you off? The ice floes or the abrupt transformation to Bali?”

“It’s not Bali,” Jon mutters pedantically into his knees. “Those are walking palms. Socratea exorrhiza. Endemic to South America, known for the urban legend that they ‘walk’ via those roots in search of sunlight, up to three centimeters a day. Complete bunkum, of course.”

Well, if that didn’t sound like some Fear-god shit, Tim’s head is an apple. He peers over his shoulder, adrenaline souring his mouth. They didn’t appear to be walking yet. “Three centimeters a day, you say?’

“They don’t,” says Jon. “It’s been heartily disproven, just shared by opportunistic tour guides and idiots online for clout.”

Tim swears he can feel those roots reaching for him already, digging into his back. “I don’t suppose you know where we are? Is this South America?”

“No,” Jon groans. "The sand is wrong."

No, says Hastur. And I should… Tim! We’re not alone!

Tim springs to his feet.

Down the shore, on the edge of the tree line, the shape of a man lying flat on the sand is easy to miss. He’s not moving; the weird dappling shadows from these trees hides him (and surely the palm trees in question aren't usually shaped like that, roots curving, branches asymmetrical, fronds somehow sharp, like a giant preying mantis).

“Shit!” Tim says, and scrambles up.

Be careful!

“What?” says Jon, finally looking away from the trees. “Where are you going? Hey!” he rolls over, staggers raggedly to his feet, and follows and by the time he gets there, the secret is already revealed.

Tim stares at the man at his feet. “It’s that guy. The one who came to get us at my uncle’s.”

Jon stares, too. “Tadeas Dahl?”

Tim toes him.

Dahl lies still, breathing, eyes closed. He’s bruised; it doesn’t look like he made contact with fists, exactly, but something with pointy corners and splinters.

Jon kneels and checks for a pulse at his throat.

“Well?” says Tim.

“I have no idea what I’m doing,” Jon says, blushing darker and pulling his hand away.

Check him for weapons.

“Right,” says Tim, who hates that this is a good suggestion, but knows he must. “Learning new skills every day,” he says, rummaging awkwardly through this man’s salt-soaked clothes. “Never thought I’d add looting the unconscious to my resume.”

One never knows when such things might come in handy, after all, says Hastur in a shaky tone.

“Sure, but maybe tone down the sexiness while I'm riffling a body, yeah?” Tim teases in return, just as shaky.

Jon missed all such hints. “Why is he here?”

“Not a clue. Maybe if he wakes, he can tell us.”

Jon looks into the woods. He swallows. “I need to see what’s in there.”

Tim is beginning to understand the need to do things—to respond to hunger so natural that one cannot distinguish it from one’s own. He knows he wanted to burn Lukas' ship. The Desolation made it worse, but the anger is all his. It is a sobering thought. “Can you hold off?”

Jon shivers. “For now.”

“Let’s… maybe not break anything, but grab some fallen leaves and shit and start a fire, yeah?”

“Yeah,” says Jon hesitantly. “If we can gather enough to burn.”

Tim does not say and assuming the trees don’t decide to come after us because that’s just asking for trouble. "Hang out here. I'll bring something back."

I’ll keep an eye on the trees. Don’t worry.

“You can only see what I can see, mate,” says Tim.

I meant setting up perimeter spells.

Tim blinks. “We can do that?”

We can. And happily, the worst case is you overpower them, and we are alerted to every bug and shadow.

“Not great for sleeping, if we’re going to do that, but I see your point,” says Tim. “We'll set them up when I get back. All right. Jon, stay with the guy, okay?”

“Okay.” Jon is all eyes, and looks like he feels very small.

Tim puts his hand on Jon’s shoulder. “You’ll be all right. If he stirs, shout. We’re just going there. Not far. All right?”

Jon gulps. “All right.”

“Girding loins, etcetera, etcetera,” says Tim, and nervously approaches the tree line.

#

One would think palm trees grew closer to the ocean than this. He’s seen pictures, though not like these; these ones begin in a sharp row as if they’d been planted. (Or, his brain supplies, as if they’re soldiers mustered and waiting for orders.) “I’m not doing so well at the not-freaking-myself-out portion of our operation,” Tim murmurs.

Tim… even if those things turn out to be literal monsters that can tromp after us, you have so much power that you could blow the whole lot to smithereens. I am not concerned for our safety in that sense.

“Can’t tell if that’s reassuring or not, if I’m honest,” says Tim, inching closer. So far, none of the palms have moved. None he sees, anyway. Gods, they’re freaky things, main trunks bent over like old men, numerous roots or branches or something digging into the ground at angles like too many legs. “Whoever designed these things needs their head checked,” he says.

Or their hearts. Fear is never rational.

“I wouldn’t say never,” says Tim, crouching so as to put as little of himself as possible under the auspice of those weird shadows. “It’s often very rational.”

Hmph.

“Eloquent.”

I have better things I want to do with my tongue.

Tim pauses. That’s distraction-flirting, or he’s a Yorkshire pudding. “I’m scared, too. It’s okay to be scared.”

Hastur sputters denial like an overfilled kettle.

“Hey. I mean it. I hardly mind the flirting—it’s my native tongue, after all—but I learned a while ago it doesn’t really substitute for communication, do you feel me?”

Hmph.

Tim laughs this time. “Good job on the using-your-words portion of the convo.”

I don’t need to be psychoanalyzed. It would hardly do you any good, anyway. I’m alien to you, inhuman. A being beyond psychological—

Tim puts the tip of Hastur’s index finger into his mouth and sucks.

Hastur inhales and goes silent.

“Sure. Totally different,” says Tim. “I just tasted salt water and whatever this undergrowth is to prove you're not, because I’m quite sure I know what you’re thinking right now, so I think I win.”

For fuck’s… you… that was so filthy!

“It was fine, Hastur,” says Tim. “I mean, it’s not like we have fresh water here, anyway. You’re going to have to get used to it.”

Hastur stills. You’re right. We will need to conjure it.

“That’s a thing I need to be careful with, yeah? Last thing I need to do is wash us off the spooky island and back into the frozen sea.”

Maybe. It’s certainly something to keep in mind as a last resort.

“Don’t think you made me forget what we were just talking about, by the way,” says Tim. “We—”

“Hello!” says a bright male voice, positively chirping.

Tim spins.

Utterly incongruous, a man stands there in the shade of the jungle. His hair is long, curly, and frames a smile that somehow leaves Tim in doubt as to just how many teeth there are. The guy is at least six and a half feet tall, wearing sneakers, jeans, and a button-down shirt designed in vertical, yellowish patterns that should be symmetrical but just… aren’t… quite.

Tim stares. “Uh. Hello?”

“Care for some flowers?” says the weirdo, and holds up a small bouquet of lilies. “Picked them up to play with someone else, but then I didn’t really know what to do with them anymore.”

Tim. Hastur’s tone is even, careful, measured. That is not a human being.

Blondie laughs, throwing his head back (and the number of teeth has definitely changed). The sound is terrible. It bounces around Tim’s skull, making him wince, feeling like the morning after a bender and struggling to get out of bed. “You! Calling out one such as me! Hilarious!”

Tim doesn’t want to take a step back. He wants to stay brave in the face of this, courageous and sure, but being near this thing is… dizzying. After a moment, he realizes one of the reasons why: the sunlight patterns and shadows this thing casts do not at all match his surroundings.

Tim steps back. “So. You’re the, uh. Game glitch avatar, is it?”

The thing laughs again. His eyes—which were blue, maybe, maybe—have become spirals, swirling like some attempt at cartoon hypnosis, but all it gives Tim is nausea.

He steps back again. “Right. Um. Nice to meet you. Keep your flowers. I, uh. Can’t really eat them, which is about the only interest I’d currently have, so.”

“Here, we’d been concerned as to your arrival,” says the guy, unmoving (except he’s closer than he was, isn’t he? Or maybe Tim is misremembering), and grins again. There’s something green stuck in his teeth this time. “An avatar of the Desolation, here? In our place of ritual? Oh, no no, that isn’t allowed. You know we don’t poach, people or places or ponies all. But then we realized you were the one we waited for.”

He’s closer. He’s definitely closer.

Weirdly enough, that isn’t what upsets Tim in the moment. “I’m not a bloody avatar.”

The being tilts his head; his hair moves wrong as it slides across his shoulders, dangling not quite straight down to his left. “No?”

“No.” Tim swallows, clenching his fists and wondering if magic would work on this thing.

“Twisting of truth is my bread and butter,” says the being, who is suddenly so close that if Tim leaned forward just as little, he could bite the guy’s nose.

(Was he always that close? Tim can’t remember. It suddenly seems like his thoughts are being overwritten, left double-exposed and uncertain.)

Okay, this is enough weirdness for today. “I,” Tim says, “am going back to the beach where my pet nerd and our uncouth prisoner await. You, I suggest, stay here in your… ritual forest. Whatever that’s about. We want nothing to do with it, all right? This was an accident. The boat. We aren’t here on purpose, if you pick up what I’m laying down. Yeah?”

“Oh, it’s far too late for that,” says the being. "Besides: you were expected."

Well, shit, thinks Tim, because that means dealing with a spiral-haired weirdo is next on his list. “Oh,” he says. “Ah,” he adds. “Well, let me, uh. Go. Get that fire started, so we can be warm, you know, human bodies and all, and then we can have a real heart to heart, you know, get it all out on the table?”

Another head-tilt in the other direction (or… maybe the same direction). “An official request?”

Tim has no idea what that means. “Sure?”

And another smile, brilliant, this time with teeth that seem to be studded with diamonds. “Knock yourself out.”

Tim backs away.

The guy doesn’t move.

Tim turns around.

The guy is right in front of him.

Tim yips a yip he wishes he had not yipped, and is fairly sure a few dignity-points have been tragically lost.

“One thing,” says the being. “To be here in company of Eye and Lonely is… curious? Unplanned for, at the least.”

“That’s me,” Tim blurts. “Curious!”

“No, I think that’s him,” says the guy, pointing back at Jon, which is when Tim realizes his hands are… long.

Really long.

Those fingers are like horrible spider-nightmares, unevenly jointed, graceful and alien and pointed like knives.

Tim makes one low sound in his throat.

“How very curious, indeed!” says the guy, and laughs.

That laugh. Tim winces, reaches up to press both sides of his head as if his brain were trying to escape—and in one momentary, teary blink, the guy vanishes.

“Oh, what the fuck,” Tim moans.

That… that was…

“A hell of a guy at parties, no doubt,” Tim mutters, and staggers back toward Jon, stumbles, and stops. “The… the grade of the beach is… different? Than it was?”

No, says Hastur quietly, almost gently, which is just a little bit terrifying. This is how it was.

“Ah. Ah-ah. Ha ha! My memory of it’s fucked then,” Tim says so cheerily he feels like he could take off into the clouds like an out-of-control helicopter.

Oh, Tim… it’s all right. I’ve got you. Your equilibrium is slightly off, but you’ll be fine. Take it slowly.

“Thanks, I guess,” Tim mutters, and trips his way back toward Jon.

#

Tadeas Dahl has woken up, sat up, and looks like absolute hell.

The bruises and marks on his exposed skin are rough and scraped, confirming Tim’s thought that he may have had an “accident” on some crates. Dahl’s gaze immediately locked onto him.

They’d made a little fire pit.

Tim remembers he was supposed to bring branches or something. “Oops,” he says, and flops beside them.

“Where’s the tinder?” says Jon.

“In the app store,” says Tim, and proceeds to laugh like a loon.

“Wh… what?” says Jon, staring.

“It is the result of his encounter,” Dahl ground out like the seaworthiest seaman who ever sailed the seas. “Give him time. He will recover.” His focus stayed on the fire pit, however, which he considered grimly. Moving stiffly, he shrugs out of his heavy peacoat, tears off one arm, and dropped it in the center. “That’ll light,” he says like grinding rocks.

“Um,” Jon says. “Maybe, but it won’t stay lit.”

“He can keep it lit.” Dahl does not move. Does not look up.

Jon looks at Tim, anyway.

This is news to Tim. “I can?”

“Yes. You need nothing to burn in order to blaze.” Dahl says this staring at where the fire ought to be, seated cross-legged, his face craggy and dirty and grim.

“Huh,” says Tim.

“No,” says Jon, drawing the word out.

Tim is not going to try—he knows better—but Jon is too much fun to tease, and he holds his hand over the spot in question. “So… you’re saying that with a little bit of willpower…”

“Tim, no,” Jon says in the exact tone one might use to chide a cat.

Don’t laugh, don’t laugh, don’t laugh, Tim thinks, and flexes his fingers. “Just a little bit of will…”

“Tim!” Jon says, all stern, and Tim loses it.

“Sorry, sorry!” he says, laughing. “Sorry! I won’t do it, don’t worry. Got no desire to burn us to death on an impossible island in the middle of the ocean, yeah?”

“That’s too bad,” says the weird curly-haired new guy from the woods. (Who had been there? Or just sat down? Or was already there when Tim arrived? Or—)

Jon yips like a trod-upon goose and scrambles backwards, kicking sand, so Tim takes that as a no.

The guy smiles at all of them, appearing perfectly human if weirdly tall, and then winks at Dahl. “Parties are fun!”

Dahl doesn’t answer.

“Are we having a party?” says Tim, leaning away, telling himself not to run because that brings the predators out of the shadows.

And the guy looks right at him, only… not at him, not at all, but the one who hides inside. “That depends on our guest of honor, doesn’t it?”

“Wh… wha… what is… wha…” Jon pants, staring at the guy like he’s never seen a person before.

Who, almost predictably, turns his head around fully like some wig-wearing owl to grin at Jon.

Jon makes a sound. It is not a good sound. It is the sound, perhaps, a bird might make when beginning to drown.

Tim redirects. “Mind explaining that, friend?”

The head swivels back around. “Oh… I’m not your friend. That would require personhood, which I distinctly lack. If you want to call me anything, you may use Michael.”

“May use? Not your name, then? We going with pseudonyms?”

“It is a real name,” says Michael whoever.

“Spiral,” Dahl grinds out, as if the act of speaking is costing him in blood. “Stop fucking talking to it.”

Michael laughs and waggles too-long hands in Dahl’s direction.

“It’s his island,” Jon says, barely audible.

Tim swallows. “What?”

Jon shakes like a wet puppy. “His. It’s all his. Twisted like… like he is. It’s his.”

Michael curls forward, propping his chin on his abruptly normal hands. “His. Ownership is such a silly concept; it requires a degree of identity I can’t ever retain. Let’s call it an interesting location.”

“Should, uh, we go?” says Tim. “Are you telling us to go?”

“You behave as though we didn’t have an appointment already arranged. Are you confused?” Michael’s eyes have gone twisted again, swirling like endless sinkholes. “That would be lovely.”

You, says Hastur suddenly. You have the god-flesh?

“Do I?” says Michael.

“Wait. This is Sannikov Land? Near the Arctic fucking circle?” says Tim.

“It was. Perhaps it is again?” says Michael.

“So I didn’t fucking conjure it by hoping for warmth! Ha!” Tim says, and laughs with relief, running his hand through his hair.

Dahl looks at him. Peers.

“What an interesting thought,” says Michael. “Does what you wish for usually appear? That strikes me as terribly helpful, or possibly terribly inconvenient, depending on whose side of things receives.”

Distortion, Hastur abruptly snarls. I need that flesh.

“Easy, there,” Tim murmurs, because this situation is pretty fucked up.

Where is it? Where?

Michael laughs. Just laughs, and the experience is like being knocked on the head with a hammer. Tim gasps and covers his ears. Jon keels over, eyes rolling back.

Dahl stares at Michael hard, very hard, so very hard, and yet the act of his focus seems to be dimming things, as if he’s summoned a fog from the impossibly cold sea.

Before Tim has a chance to so much as shout, he’s alone.

#

He leaps to his feet. He can see no one; no silhouettes, no shadows. “Jon!” he shouts. His voice goes nowhere, as if swallowed. “Hastur?”

I’m here. Hastur sounds breathless. I’m here. Fuck. It tried to take me.

“To… to what? What tried to what?” says Tim, taking a step back into nothing, away from nothing. He can see nothing, not even his feet, not even his hands if he holds his arms out. “Shit,” he mutters.

It’s all right. I know what happened, and I think… I think we are going to be given a dreadful rescue.

“What?” says Tim. “Jon! Jon!”

Wherever he is, Tim, he can’t hear you. Can’t you feel where we are?

Oh. Oh, Tim can feel it. Distant. Separated. Abandoned. Forever wandering, never seeing a beloved face, never even having a real conversation. Never connecting.

Yes. He knows where they are. “The Lonely is a fucking place.” And he trips over something behind him and goes down hard.

Tim!

“What in hell… oh, gods.” It’s a tombstone. Weather has eased its markings, or maybe they were never there, and it’s only age-pitted evidence that an unknown body lies there.

Abandoned even in death. It is the loneliest fucking thing Tim has ever seen. He’s frozen.

Tim. You’re all right. I’m with you.

He’s not alone. “It tried to take you?”

It did. It couldn’t. Hastur sounds confused over that, torn, as if he’s not sure if it’s good or bad. I don’t know why not. Even if you’d had Jon in your arms, you would have lost him.

Tim can’t stop staring at the anonymous stone. “It’s your spell, and you don’t know how it works?”

Not here. We are not in a place, Tim. We are inside a being, feeding off our fear and agony. I don’t care to give it too long to figure out if it can pry us loose.

“Rescue, you said? And what the fuck was Dahl doing?”

I believe he panicked.

And then from directly behind them comes Michael’s voice: “He did! Ah, well. Not everyone can be… level-headed.” And that laugh bounces out, sharp angles in soft mist, a knife through angel food cake, and Tim spins toward it with his hands in fists as though to knock it out of the air and discovers, instead of Michael, a yellow door.

It’s just sitting there, solid as you please, its frame and knob both black.

Our rescue, says Hastur.

“What,” Tim states, and walks around it. Of course, there’s nothing on the other side.

Dahl summoned his god, but we are in a place of non-existence. The Spiral—with whom our illustrious boss Bouchard has made whatever deal—intends to follow through.

“Or betray us in a spectacular manner,” says Tim.

Maybe. It’s better than this. We need to get out of this.

Tim shivers. “What happens if it pries you free?”

I… don’t know.

“Do you die?”

I don’t know, Tim.

What an absolutely insane day. “You know, six hours ago, we were on a boat and being betrayed by the last guy Bouchard did a deal with.”

To be fair, it’s Jon he betrayed, not us.

But something still nags at Tim. Some instinct, though he isn’t sure what it’s leading him toward. “I don’t think it’s that cut and dried.”

Oh?

He can’t place it. He doesn’t know enough. “I don’t think he assumed it would go according to plan, that’s all.”

All right. I’m not sure what that has to do with this.

“Won’t surprise me if there’s a few more layers of dastardly scheming going on here, is all I’m saying,” Tim says, reaching for the black doorknob. “So if we end up tied to some train tracks or something, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Hastur’s tone goes amused and warm. Given your power and lack of control, Tim, I’d say it would be far more beneficial to warn the train.

Tim scoffs. “Butter me up, why don’t you,” he says, and turns the handle.

Inside is an impossible hall. It’s got ugly yellow carpet with a black runner on top, weirdly smeary patterned wallpaper, and what might be gas lamps. Tim peers through the door. The hall goes left and right, utterly identical. There are no other doors.

“To hell with this day,” Tim mutters, and steps through.

It feels better than the Lonely, but also… bad? It doesn’t seem to be quite level, and Tim finds himself leaning. “Hello?”

Nothing.

He sighs. “Don’t suppose there are any straightforward monsters serving Fear gods?”

Yes. The Desolation tends to choose such followers.

“Oh.” Tim decides cursing a blue streak won’t help this situation. He goes left.

The hall stretches forever; somehow, the lights never seem to touch more than a few meters ahead, and perspective makes it feel like they’re walking into a darkened pinhole.

They’re not, though. Apparently, they’re not going anywhere. Tim keeps walking. “Hey.”

Yes?

“You got, uh. A little pushy about the god-flesh thing.”

Hastur growls. (Tim will never get used to that. It’s just not a sound people do, and he kind of digs it. A lot.) It is mine, by right, and they’re keeping it from me.

“Spiral,” says Tim. “I’m going to guess, all right? That Michael managed to make me doubt my own senses. It’s some sort of… madness fear?”

You were closer with your description. It is the fear of being unable to trust yourself. Your thoughts, opinions, what you perceive; whether, for example, you are eating food, or the flesh of your beloved pet. Truly terrible.

“Sounds like a fear of dementia,” Tim says, frowning.

Is it not a thing to fear?

“Well, it… to fear, yeah, but catastrophizing it might not be the—”

The floor drops away.

There was no warning. He was walking on strange, crunchy carpet, too stiff to be old, too worn to be new, and hating the way it sank under his shoes, when between one step at the next, it was gone.

Tim gasps as he falls, seeing nothing.

Shit!

And Tim does his best to will a landing that doesn’t hurt.

He… might have overdone it.

He hits bottom, and bounces off it like something out of a cartoon. Out of control, he ricochets off what might be a shelf judging by the sound of breaking glass, then wildly rolls (still bouncing) through what he thinks is a table and into a wall.

He’s completely unharmed, but oh hell, did he wreck the room. He blinks, adjusting to the darkness. It’s a room filled with…. things?

Wax figures, but not good ones; weird ones, leering at nothing. Strange books, piled and moldy, pages strewn around. More than one gleaming knife, reflecting light that isn’t there. A creepy pocket watch, dripping blood with every tick and dangling from a chandelier that has eyeballs instead of candles. What looks like a suit made of a person—if a person could simultaneously be a snake, like this being leaped straight out of 1950s sci-fi. A mirror that doesn’t quite follow Tim’s movements, reflection a split-second behind, angles a hair’s breadth off.

He stands. “The hell is this? The junk-shop of the gods?”

Michael’s laugh hurts down here as much as it does up above. “Do you want what you came for, Son of Anger, Child of Wrath?”

“I’m the child of Rob and Samantha Stoker, thank you very much,” Tim says more firmly than he feels, but he is overridden.

YES. And that, Hastur bellowed.

Michael appears (or maybe was already there, and Tim can’t remember). He doesn’t look human now; he’s all drawn out, attenuated, just close enough to expected proportions to make a viewer doubt the limb they just looked at, and his smile hovers in front of his face, detached. “Then payment will come first.” He raises one hand, and between his two-long fingers is some sort of paper.

Tim stares. “A contract?”

Michael laughs (and Tim winces). “No, no, no! This is the payment. Burn it. Burn it all. Burn it so completely it is never seen again, it is forgotten, it is removed from history like sinew torn from flesh, like memory unrecorded, like family secrets and truths learned while drunk. Burn it until it is gone.”

Tim shivers. Shudders. Swallows around his suddenly dry tongue. He wants to burn it so badly. “This, uh. This is what Elias promised you, eh?”

“Elias.” Michael’s smile is real this time, and Tim isn’t sure how he knows that, but it is a terrible thing. “Yes. Elias promised. And then you will have your prize.”

“What we came for,” says Tim. “Exactly what we think it is, not some trick.”

“‘We?’” says Michael. “Certainly.”

Hastur, Tim thinks. Please tell me you’re not pulling some scheme here.

No. We are one in this.

They’d better be. “What is it I’ll be burning?” says Tim.

“A record,” says Michael, still holding it out.

Tim takes it. It’s a birth certificate for someone named Gerard LaVey Keay, born 1981. “Okay,” he says. “And who’s this unlucky fellow?”

“Oh,” said Michael. “What is a ‘who,’ anyway?”

“Riiiiight,” says Tim. “What’s it going to do to him? In plain English, if you can?”

“Well, he’s already dead,” says Michael, and laughs like broken glass.

Tim grunts. “The fuck are we burning it for, then?”

And the smile melts. The Michael melts. The human guise vanishes, disappears completely, leaving a creature of long, staticy shadow and knife-sharp limbs. “Freedom,” whispers whatever Michael truly is.

Tim. I need this.

“Some rando could be harmed in the making of this one, Hastur.”

I. Need. This. And you promised you would help me. That eagerness is there again, that almost violent push he’d shown on the beach.

Tim stares at the birth certificate. “Already dead.”

“Oh, yes,” says unsmiling Michael, at whom Tim cannot look for more than a moment.

“Not free, though. Trapped?”

“In a book. Undignified and painful,” says Michael.

Oh. Oh, shit.

Tim. Please.

How incredibly poetic. Tim sighs. “Guess the old conscience can take one more for the team." And he wills the certificate to burn.

Just this. But so thoroughly that no copies of it remain, so thoroughly that its existence melts from the minds of those who have seen it, so thoroughly that he feels a dozen little spark-points lighting and extinguishing themselves even in computer systems throughout the U.K.

And he wills it not to spread with all his might, though too much of him wants it to consume.

Not today, Satan, he thinks at himself, at the Desolation, at the anger that simmers in him like a tar-trap in his soul. Not today.

The paper in his hand is ash. There aren’t even fragments for some aspiring forensics examiner to examine under a microscope. He rubs his hand on his trousers.

“Yesssss,” hisses Michael, and disappears, staticy limbs briefly crackling, and Tim’s hair goes on end as he is zapped.

“Ow!”

Oh, Tim… breathes Hastur.

In Michael’s place is a weird glass tube, standing on its end. It’s long, just wide enough that Tim might struggle to hold it with both hands, sealed at either end with a black metal cap, and containing a surging, steaming, bubbling mass of almost-liquid flesh.

“Oh, gross!” Tim says.

Oh, Tim, Hastur breathes again. It’s beautiful.

A weird creak startles them. Tim eyes the walls. “They’re… closer than they were.”

Shit. Pick it up. We need to get out of here.

Tim does, needing two hands after all, and it is cold, and the whole thing jerks in his grip as if trying to get loose, and—“Uh. How?” No door. No stairs. No exits. Even the hole in the ceiling is gone.

Another creak. The walls are definitely closer, shelves trembling, items rocking back and forth.

Tim!

Tim spins. He could portal, But could he portal to Jon?  What if he ends up in the ocean again? Or the desert? Or on the moon?

Another creak. More items rocking together, their quiet, fading sounds a warning.

And the glass tube he’s holding is not behaving well. Whatever is in there surges, bubbling, growing very cold. Tim hisses an inhale, putting it quickly down.

No!

“I can’t hold the damn thing!”

Another creak. Tim looks up. He saw nothing move, but suddenly, there is almost no room left. The table is nearly on top of him. The shelves are so close he could reach them all by stretching out his arms. Above, a single merry-go-round music box overbalances and falls, smashing to the floor in pieces.

Open the glass!

Portal. He has to portal. He can’t leave Jon up there alone and has to get it right. “Just a second!"

Just break the damn thing!

Fuck it, what do they have to lose? Tim kicks it over.

It shatters. Gluey flesh slides out, organ-like, as if it’s all made of half-melted kidneys.

Portal to the beach, he thinks, nauseated, trying to imagine a neat and well-behaved space right next to their little fire-pit, not sucking in air or swallowing ocean or doing anything insane like dumping this entire room on Jon’s head. Portal to the beach, he thinks, gathering his will, trying to make it small, trying to make it controlled, trying to ensure this doesn’t go as horribly wrong as it might—

The flesh climbs up his leg.

Tim shouts, leaping backwards, doing a one-footed dance and kicking as hard as he can, but it does not leave. Ice-cold, gripping, it slides up his thigh so fast he can’t even swear before its cold, cold self steals his breath away.

In a blink, it’s slid under his clothes and all the way up and covered his face.

Hastur!

Don’t breath! Hold on! Hold on!

Another creak, which Tim can’t now see, and he’s shoved roughly forward by the spine-bruising shelves, and pressed painfully into the thigh-high table, and he’s trapped, and is about to portal fucking anywhere, except would that bring this cold shit with him, and is that safe, would it stay behind, is it like The Blob, would it eat anyone he introduced it to, is about to damn the world by escaping—

There is a snap in his head. A ripping feeling behind his eye. A terrible, nose-bleeding, sharp-fuck pain somewhere in his brain and down his spinal.

Stroke? he thinks, and then he’s punched.

No, not punched. Something heavy slammed into his stomach, pushing out all his air, and it’s an arm, and the body holding him is large and male and just a little cold, startlingly cold, and he can suddenly breathe, gasping, but there is nothing to see, and they’re tumbling in darkness and whirling upside down and—

With a whoof, he lands flat on his back in the sand, close enough to Jon that Jon shouts, “Fuck!” as Dahl emits a single grunt of surprise.

And there is someone on top of Tim.

Someone he can see with both eyes. Someone who almost looks human, but not quite, not with that bone structure, that perfect night-dark skin, those irises like golden fucking polished rings. Someone grinning, long black hair falling down to frame both their faces.

Someone who is, without a doubt, the fucking hottest being Tim has ever seen in his life. Also, he is naked.

Tim can’t quite catch his breath. Half of that is falling through the void, and half of that is… “Hastur?” he says.

“Yes,” Hastur says, that tremendous voice outside his head, and Tim thinks dazedly that he had been right on his parents’ living room floor all those days ago: that voice feels hella nice vibrating through that chest.

“Uh,” says Jon. “Tim!”

The shock of cold, icy ocean makes Tim jump hard enough that he almost throws Hastur off (almost, but not quite, because that guy is solid). They both scramble to their feet.

Jon screams. Just screams, and points behind them, already up to his ankles in water.

So two things are happening here

So either the tide is really aggressive on Sannikov Land, or the island is fucking sinking. And also, the walking palms are living up to their name.

Absolutely silent and utterly alien, the trees are coming down, not like Ents, bent over and predatory, and Tim can’t help his own little scream as he sees them.

“The boat!” Jon cries.

Tim spins.

The boat is out to sea with Dahl in it, rowing away all by himself.

“Ha,” says Hastur. “I will—”

He never gets the chance.

The absolute outrage that grips Tim’s soul damn near does them all in. Light from him changes the shore, turns the gray sand gold, casts their forms in die-cut shadow. How fucking dare Dahl take the boat and leave them behind? They could portal out. They won’t now. That’s their damn boat. “You fucking thief!” Tim howls, and pulls.

Pulls what? He doesn’t know. But that boat suddenly comes reversing toward them, slamming backwards through the waves, and Dahl casts one wide-eyed startled look at them all before being knocked down into the boat as it rams into the shore stern-first.

“Get in!” Tim snarls.

Jon does at once, looking utterly spooked, like maybe he saw just however Tim did that pulling, judging by how pale he’s gone and the way he’s staring, and that fear feels good, and maybe it’s time to turn around and give those fucking trees a reason to walk themselves back to their spooky forest, and—

Hastur steps between them, filling Tim’s view, and places his hands (now horrifyingly cold, it seems) on Tim’s face. “You succeeded. We have to go. Let the anger fade.”

If he’d poured cold water down Tim’s shirt, it couldn’t have been more effective.

“Tim!” Jon’s calling. “Tim!”

Tim shakes himself. “What…”

Hastur takes his hand (not as cold now—cooler than his own, but not unpleasant) and drags him for the boat.

Tree-limbs, mantis-like, come down where they were, hard enough to leave divots in the sand.

“Oh my gods,” Tim says, finally seeing this clusterfuck for what it is.

Dahl is huddled in the bow, looking terrified.

“Come on!” Jon demands.

Hastur lifts Tim into the boat (holy fuck) and hops lightly after him.

Tim ignores the paddle. “Everybody hang on!” he says, and wills them to move.

The boat takes off as if rocket-powered, flying through the water at enough speed that it rises on either side of the bow like wings.

Hastur smiles. Raises his hand.

The ice floes ahead of them begin knocking aside before collision, wrenched as if by a giant hook to pull them off-stage. Tim has no idea why that was the image that came to mind, but it did, and he starts to laugh.

Behind them, a chorus of groaning wood rises to the sky like the trees are screaming, and they continue to wave, undulating on mantis-legs, until the island fully sinks beneath the waves and is gone.

-----------------

Notes:

So yeah, here's a walking palm.

Socratea exorrhiza, the walking tree in a jungle in Costa Rica. (GaiBru_Photo/Getty Images)

To quote some of the best characters in fiction: NOPE.

Also? Michael's shirt exists. This hideous thing discovered by TheGreatJellyfish on Reddit.

[hurtmionedanger]

Hey bestie don't be shy

top 5 favorite podcast characters and why

YOU EXPECT ME TO PICK???? PICK BETWEEN MY BELOVED GUYS???????

I am going to try to diversify beyond the magnus archives, mostly because dbd has had me in a death choke recently

With that being said, in no particular order

1. The Obituary writer from Death by Dying

Hes such an icon, normal guy and yet so so so very weird, his best friend is the angel of death, his other best friend is in his freezer and her still beating heart is on his desk, everyone thinks he’s going to kill someone one of these days based on looks alone, he has a questionable taste in fashion, hes bisexual, he has three man eating cats, he solves murders just like as a hobby, he is the most sopping wet pathetic wet cat of a man you could ever hope to meet, he is silly, what more could you possibly want from a man?

2. Jonathan Jarchivist, see prior post about this man he is so ridiculous, mf ACCIDENTALLY STARTED THE APOCALYPSE, He has been kidnapped more then princess peach, he is the eyes special little boy, hes ASEXUAL LIKE ME FRFR, he has a boyfriend who loves him very much, he likes good cows, hot singles in his area want to hunt him for sport, hes the saddest little meow meow there could possibly be.

3. Timothy stoker, managed to convey he was wearing a hawaiian shirt by voice alone, also THIS MAN IS THE ARCHIVES BRAINCELL, THE SLUTTY BISEXUAL IS THE BRAINCELL HERE WHAT DOES THAT SAY ABOUT THE ARCHIVES, BECAUSE SASHA VERY MUCH IS NOT THE BRAINCELL SHE FOLLOWED A DEFINITELY NOT HUMAN GUY TO A RANDOM GRAVEYARD WITH VERY LITTLE FOLLOW UP AS TO WHY SHE NEEDED TO GO, AND JON DOESNT HAVE IT FOR PREVIOUSLY STATED REASONS, AND MARTIN IS MARTIN, MEANING TIM IS THE ONLY BRAINCELL HERE. Also as my boyfriend can attest, i have a thing for angry men in hawaiian shirts, i think theyre hot

4. Not technically a Guy persay, but the beloved michael distortion for having a sick ass voice and an even sicker statement, shows up and just stabs the archivist just because he can, he is literally the embodiment of gaslighting gatekeeping and girlbossing and his design is very cool really regardless of how people draw him but ESPECIALLY WHEN THEY DRAW HIM WITH LIKE SUPER DISTORTED JOINTS AND MULTIPLE FACES AND SHIT LIKE MMMMMMMMM, he gets bonus points for having excellent hair and not being a who but a what

Number five hhhh how do i pick between all of my beloved podcast guys, leaving out martin because i already screamed about Why i love Martin Knife Blackwood Already

5. Georgie Barker I think has to go here, maybe alongside helen and Melanie, i love them all for very different reasons but they are just such girlbosses, georgie just doesn’t feel fear, had an existential crisis so hard her brain stopped processing it, she is the girl ever, also shes jons ex, automatically getting her more points, she had a skin clown break into her apartment and fuck with her lights and the only reason she was upset was because it meant she had to replace all her lightbulbs, Also georgie has a podcast where she talks about ghosts, which is really funny to me, and i would absolutely listen to her podcast

Honorable mentions:

Helen for season 5 shenanigans of showing up whenever JMart were fighting because she wanted the Tea

Gerry Keay for his defining trait mentioned by every single statement giver who saw him being “Really shittily dyed hair” like imagine that being your legacy

[icgaminglogs]

Nightwing's Log, Night 24

We know about three Man-Bats. Tim and the others are trying to trace the signal controlling them. If I can take care of the monsters that's one less thing for them to worry about; once the signal's gone we shouldn't have to worry quite so much. I hope, anyway.

One down. I'm a little annoyed this one chose WayneTech as its roost, but it won't be making any more trouble. Two to go.

Two down. These things like high places, clearly. Makes it a little easier to find them, at least. But high also means less interference for the control signal, so who knows if it's their preference or something built in by Talia?

And that's three. The hospital this time. But that should be all of the ones running loose right now, I hope. We've tracked their point of origin to the cemetery, as if I needed another nod to Bram Stoker. Though these things aren't as charming as Dracula was. Should I stop off somewhere and grab a stake and mallet, just in case

The Wayne family crypt? Really? You really can't just let him be, can you? There is nothing sacred to you, is there, Talia? I bet you think this is nicely symbolic, don't you, you absolute bitch. Leave the dead in peace!

Great. Another secret cave system. At least this one has a convenient trail of lanterns to follow. I guess the League hasn't mastered echolocation yet. Lucky me.

...Lanterns that double as booby traps. Really should have seen that coming.

A dino-....oh...oh no...why here...?

This is...something's off. Why did that cave lead here? It wasn't a part of the Batcave system, I'd have recognized it. I don't like this...

What was that?

Welp. Found the League. I don't like that they're here, mostly because I don't like what that implies, but so long as this means I'm on the right track I'll take it.

How far do these caves go? How did Bruce not know about them? Hell, maybe he didn't know how far they went; they weren't naturally connected to the Batcave, the League did that tunneling themselves. Where even am I at this point?

...Looks like I found it. How long has this place been down here...?

Oh god. No. No no no no....no, please don't let me be right, please, I lost him once, I can't...

Fuck.

You would want me to stop you. I know you would. So I will.

Come on, come back to me, I know you're in there. Jason was. So are you. Come back to me, Bruce. I'm not gonna let her do this to you, not without a fight, come on!

Oh thank god.

No!

I'm not losing him again, I can't lose him again, we can't...! Bruce, stand down, I got this. You passed the job onto us, remember? Let us finish it. Let me finish it.

Kinda figured taking Kane out wouldn't end the Court. Didn't expect them down here, though. But they're outmatched; especially here next to a damn Lazarus Pit, Talia's got power they can't even imagine. At least I don't have to fight on two fronts, though.

Time to end this? Gladly.

Shit.

Wait.

Bruce, what are you doing...?

Oh god...

...it's over. I'm going home.

[m0ther-of-p3arl]

FINISHED SEASON 2 💪💪 WHAT THE HELL💪💪💪💪

Paranoid Jon is funny to me tbh. the supplementals are comedy gold sometimes...always shit like "Supplemental: I broke into Martin's house and found a strange rainbow flag .... I... investigated, Tim's house and he told me to get the fuck out... Both are EXTREMELY suspicious and are probably trying to kill me ....... oh and I found Sasha repeatedly stabbing a picture of me. at least i know i can trust her"

Jon got so paranoid he became less of a hater, so Tim had to pick up the slack ig because JESUS CHRIST he has no chill... Timothy Stoker Worlds #1 Jon Hater VS Martin K Blackwood Worlds #1 Jon Lover

as ALWAYS free my boy Martin ,,,, why is everyone so mean 2 him ,,, what did bro do. besides lie on his CV. only a little bit... just have a tea party w him man!!!!

The NotThem saying "It hurt Sasha." idc if its a classic horror movie mistake i'd scream shut up too.... fuckin ASSHOLE god i hope its gone forever and ever

Elias being an EVIL LITTLE RAT MAN. did not expect that ngl- i didnt think much abt Elias lmao. what the hell is he??? they kept saying some silly titles that i imagine are important for later but rn im just. "hey What The Fuck?"

Extended sounds of brutal pipe murder is possibly one of the funniest sentences ive ever seen though. im going to say that sooo much now. forever and ever. did NOT expect Jurgen Fucking Leitner to show up and did NOT expect Jurgen Fucking Leitner to be working with Gertrude and did NOT expect Jurgen Fucking Leitner to immediately get metal pipe'd to death. crazy shit

And I looked up the Jurgen Leitner rant as soon as I finished, like you recommended- and um. im GOING to memorize that one day mark my words. for now i'll be quoting paypal.com/IFuckingHateJurgenLeitner every chance i get

SORRY FOR RANTING IN YOUR INBOX AGAIN i just have Thoughts and too many of them .. .. this will very likely happen every season/major event im not gonna lie

AUGH I am so sorry its takEN ME SO LONG TO GET TO THIS ;; twas not my intention :///

i love love LOVE reading your thoughts augh!!!! extended sounds of brutal piper murder is a massive meme in the fandom along with jurgen leitner rant and.. dig..... you're learning the ways...

please continue to rant in my inbox its awesome

[kalcifers-blog]

Okay but in my little neurodivergent brain IRIS and The Magnus Institute are so similar to me that if you told me they're in the same universe I would straight up believe you.

The eye imagery? Check. Investigate with weird/paranormal shit? Check. Everyone constantly feels like they're being watched whenever they're in the buildings? Check. Home to some kind of Eldritch monstrosity (The Eye/ALTR 114209) Check.

Also the fact that they both bring in citizens for questioning/information about their encounters with the weird shit while also giving them no compensation when the shit is clearly just ruining their lives.

Current Chase Brody to me is giving off the same vibes as Season 3 Tim Stoker- someone who is so done with being dragged into this shit and wanting nothing to do with it, two of the closest people to him have died and he just wants to be done with everything who is also a raging bisexual with depression/anger issues

I could go into detail about what entities each of the egos would serve/what ones would kill them/use them for their fear. And I probably will

[transmasc-wizard]

i'll ask u about your blorbo connections if u ask me abt mine <33 (i was tagged by someone else </3) Very curious about crowley in particular

YAYAYAYAY also I just realized we were tagged by the same person whoops. anyway

this is going to be just like heavily implied traumadumping on main btw but I've been in various stages of a breakdown for over 6 hours so i deserve it actually :3

BLORBOS:

tim stoker: anger issues. has lost some shit in the past. dresses atrociously. uses humour to mask how genuinely dysregulated they are. cares so deeply for people it drives them up the wall. bisexual

nico di angelo: happy queer child thrown starkly awake by a traumatic truth at a young age and becomes closed off confused manipulated and angry for several years only to find good supportive people who help him back on track (but he is still ill) (and that will probably not go away). also I took his name

eleanor shellstrop: sooooo scared of being left behind. so so scared. also, not entirely sure how to be a good person, but she wants to. kind of naturally mean and prickly and insults people out of love but is working on being nicer. (also side note I'm SOOOOO chidi coded too)

carlos: I have autism I like science he probably has autism (to me he does) and likes science and also we are both very quick at adjusting to weird shit if we find it interesting

L: why he talk like that. why he sit like that

michael shelley: trusted the wrong people 👍 changed a lot 👍 became a little fucking UNHINGED ! afterward 👍

crowley: it's the "let's leave behind everything else. I don't give a shit about the world I only care about you. we are on our own side against everything. we're a team. i love you, i dont have to say it, you know. you dont have to say it, i know you do too. please please please let me protect you please don't let them hurt you like they hurt me. wait please don't leave me why are you leaving me why are you choosing them. we're a team. I love you. i say it. say it back. why aren't you saying it back. why do you only want me how i used to be. I've changed so much. it wasn't on purpose. please love me this way. i love you. please. woah silly fashion sense :3" for me <3 does that satiate ur curiosity

martin: there is this pit of loneliness deep in your chest and it has probably always been there but now it will not go away and it consumes you, it swallows you whole. you are surrounded by people and surrounded by love but that pit has teeth and it tears you to shreds and all anyone else can do is watch. and yet, the love helps. it helps enough to hold on. that pit is inside you but it is not you. it hurts so much. it hurts because you're still alive. also bullshits skills and no one notices + homosexual + glasses :]

jinx: abandonment issues, anger issues, social awkwardness, intense mood swings, needs to be good enough to keep, unnatural hair colours <3

[fox-guardian]

Would you like to tell us about headcanons, small details, whatever you want regarding the Stoker Brothers? Maybe something you haven't quite talked about yet? Or not in a while?

Can't remember if I've ever mentioned this on my blog but. First of all, trans Tim rights. Secondly, I headcanon that Tim knew he was trans at a pretty young age, and that his dearest baby brother Danny was the first person he came out to. Danny either had only just started school or wasn't in school yet, and was so excited to now have an older brother, and wanted to help teach him how to be a boy. But Danny, having had very little life experience and a very limited understanding of gender roles, just started making shit up. Like he showed Tim how to play cars and how the boy cars drove normally but the girl cars drove upside down. Tim understood that he was making shit up pretty fast and just went with it because why wouldn't you. (Also their parents were v supportive of Tim)

Another (unrelated) headcanon I have is that Danny was a big baby and a chubby kid, and that Tim was the lankier of the two growing up.

[ao3feed-jonmartin]

The threads are so loose now

read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/ISWemnq by WD_Gaster A radio host. An archivist. A private investigator from the 40s. A government worker. The end of the world. (its explicit because I don't know enough about ratings) (also, explanation for the title which may spoilery the fic so do watch out: basically, after the whole- uh- Watcher's Crown, and DURING the Watcher's Crown, the arcane strings are really, really, REALLY malleable. and so: guess who helps little old sims? sam! and, of course, arthur is scared of being alone- but not even the fears can rip john out of him so he gets immunity from the fears as he is not scared of what they have to offer. not with john with him. and this results in- you guessed it- everything being way different! oh, also, the OIAR is immune to the Watcher's Crown. don't ask why. or do, actually, because it's due to a funny arcane circle. yes, i'm merging it all together! wahahaha!) holy shit that is a lot of parenthesis Words: 1262, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English Fandoms: Spirit Box Radio (Podcast), Malevolent (Podcast), The Magnus Archives (Podcast), The Magnus Protocol (Podcast) Rating: Explicit Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Categories: F/F, F/M, M/M Characters: Sam Enfield, Samama "Sam" Khalid, Alice "Daisy" Tonner, Alice Dyer, Basira Hussain, Oliver Boleyn, Arthur Lester, John (Malevolent), Kitty Enfield, Anna Enfield, Indi (Spirit Box Radio), Ingra (Spirit Box Radio), Bliss (Spirit Box Radio), Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Martin Blackwood, Sasha James, Tim Stoker (The Magnus Archives), Melanie King, Georgie Barker, Arlo (Spirit Box Radio), Faroe Lester Relationships: Oliver Boleyn/Sam Enfield, Basira Hussain/Alice "Daisy" Tonner, Georgie Barker/Melanie King, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Sasha James/Tim Stoker, John/Arthur Lester, Anna Enfield/Arlo (Spirit Box Radio), Ingra/Bliss, Kitty Enfield/Indi Additional Tags: I made Sam Enfield into a god to be a massive fix-it, Fix-It read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/ISWemnq