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mossfeathers · 1 year ago

Text

A Collection - A TMA + Secret Life AU Fic. 1.8k words. Scar as the statement-giver and Grian as the Archivist. [Additional notes, ao3 link, and other credits here]

[???]

Statement of…?

[?]

Goo- Oh, uh, my initials are G.T.W. but I go by Scar. Scar G.T.W.

[???]

Ok, Statement of Mr. Scar G.T.W. regarding the disappearance of his street for a few days. Statement taken direct from subject, third of November, twenty twenty-three. Audio recording by Grian H, the Archivist. Statement begins.

[SCAR]

Thank you! So, geez, I guess it started on what had been the thirty-eth? I collect figures, specifically old-timey houses. Not! Dollhouses, and I’m currently in the middle of organizing a wild west themed diarri-diarom-diamet- uh, display. In the middle, the giant centerpiece of it all, is a courthouse. Some antique dealer gave it to me pretty cheap, didn’t catch his name though. It was pretty shady, like some real back-of-a-dark-alleyway stuff. Came with a little folded up paper, too. I figured it was some sort of, I dunno, verification? Looking back on it, I should have known something was off. I was just so excited to get this new piece, y’know? It was gorgeous, these tiny rough stone pebbles that made pillars looking like something straight from Greece, some amayzin’ gemstones set in the front in these absolutely brilliant, wait, was that British sounding? I sound like you! [chuckle] But yeah, the crystals were green, yellow, and red. Something about the way that red one looked though, it felt off. It didn’t have anything to do with what happened to me, though. I don’t know why I brought that up. Huh. So there I was, sorting out my little itty bitty houses and stores around this big ol’ courthouse, my cat wandering around somewhere, and I remember the piece of paper! I thought I left it in a coat, obviously, but when I went to check for it, it was already in my pants pocket! So I thought, well that’s weird, but I figured I had worn the same pair of pants a few times over and just never took it out. So I unfold it, and turns out it’s a little pamphlet! About the size of my hand and all yellowed and worn and at least a century old with a big crease down the middle from being folded in half. I left it, alongside the courthouse, with your people up at the front, figured you might want to check it out or exercise it or something. Anyways, I looked at the front and tried to read the title. It was all faded, but I think it said “Care Manual for Unique Antiques”? There were more words below it, but I couldn’t read them. Inside the cover there was a stamp of a library, which struck me as odd. I got really panicked for a second, thinking I had accidentally stolen a library book. But I realized, hey, I bought it and I didn’t know of any libraries going by the name of Joe Hills anywhere around so I was probably off the hook, scott-free. So I start reading it. It wasn’t long, maybe 8 pages total? The font was weird, and the images were sort of wonky-looking, like the cups and spoons being shown couldn’t actually exist. I can’t describe it, but the whole thing felt so off. And there was nothing super weird about the text itself, just about the story behind them and the material sources and stuff like that, but once I reached the page that had my little courthouse on it, and started to read about the type of rock used, something in my room just changed. I can’t describe it, but a shiver went through my whole body and I suddenly felt a pit of some type of fear in my gut. I guess I should mention two very important things. One, I had figurines of people in that town. And two, I don’t live in the middle of nowhere. It’s gonna sound like it when I describe this to you, but I mean that I live at the end of a street. The houses are a bit far apart, and I didn’t know anyone around where I lived, and I felt like I was a million miles away from anybody else sometimes, but I mean this, there were houses there before.

So of course, I finish the page about the deep caves these little gemstones were mined from. Had a lot on how echo-ey and suffocating they are, and how isolated they were when the miners were down there, which felt like a really strange thing to put in a paper on a figurine but who was I to judge? So I turn back to the table, right, and the people were gone from the set! Instantly I think of Jellie- oh, Jellie’s my cat, by the way, and how she probably just stole them for a bit, so I shrug it off. They’re not the main focus of the thingy anyways! The courthouse is just sitting there, and I swear the green gem was glowing or something. But that’s impossible, and I probably was just so freaked out I made that up. And I get the sudden urge to get some fresh air. It just felt so suffocatingly empty out of nowhere so I went to the door as fast as I could. Biggest mistake of my life, I tell ya. I throw it open and there’s nothing. Absolutely nothing. Well, there was grass, maybe, and I thought I could see some trees, but it was just fog. And no houses. I had neighbors! I didn’t know any of their names, and I still don’t, but there were houses and people and lawns and a street and there just weren’t anymore. I never really was afraid of loneliness before, but I just liked the solitude. Not anymore. So of course I grab my phone from my other pocket, and it’s completely dead. It hadn’t been a few minutes ago. I figured the power had gone out, too, so I started to look around at the savannah in front of me. The grass was dead and pale and the few trees I could make out weren’t any I had seen in the neighborhood before. I felt like I was in the middle of the ocean. A desert. It was just so foggy, the mist ate up my feet and started to pick apart my porch, and I think I had a sudden realization that if I didn’t get back inside and lock the door right away, that house wasn’t going to exist for much longer either. So I slammed the door behind me. It was a long time before I moved from the corner of my room. It was so terrible, being alone for that long. You’d think I wouldn’t be all that bothered by it, but when there’s only the sounds of your own breathing and creaking of the floorboards under your weight, it gets to you, man. I was scared. At some point I realized I hadn’t seen Jellie in a while, but I think I was just so overwhelmed with the loneliness it just kinda melted away. I don’t know what stopped it, in the end. I couldn’t tell how much time had passed. The sun just started shining through my curtains and I cried. For a long time, actually. Don’t tell anyone, though.

I heard a familiar whreeep [Scar imitating a cat purr poorly] outside the door, and I nearly jabbed my cane through the drywall in shock. I assumed everyone was, y’know, dead? I mean, everything around you disappears for goodness knows how long, what else was I gonna think? So there Jellie was, and she looked fine! Not even upset that I had missed some meals. And that really struck me as odd because she is just the pickiest little cat. Oh, I want some food now and oh, I want outside time now and oh, I’m tired of being outside and oh why won’t anyone cuddle me and- ok I’m getting sidetracked here. So, she would usually be upset if I had missed a meal. But she wasn’t! Now I was wondering what the HECK happened to all the people who disappeared. And I realize I hadn’t even checked outside yet! So I get to the door and throw it open and there’s the neighborhood! The houses and cars are all there and I think there might’ve even been some people taking dogs for walks? Point is, everyone was back. I bet I looked absolutely insane, some random guy with eyebags and a cane staring at the street. I didn’t know what to do with myself, after that. I tried to burn the paper, obviously, but it didn’t light. I checked a calendar, too, and apparently 4 days had passed, because it was November second! Yesterday, actually. After I got myself all together and wasn’t shaking as much, I drove right on over here to give a statement! Just, I know someone who gave one and figured it fit right on in here! Apparently really helped to talk it out, too. I’m moving, by the way. Just started looking for a new house. I can’t stand to look at the walls of my room any longer. So, that’s my story! Pretty wild, huh? Do I just… stop talking?

[GRIAN]

Statement ends.

[click]

[GRIAN]

I had some assistants do a bit of research into this case, obviously. Scar left his address with us and all of the residential details seem to match up. He does live at the end of a road, Sandshore Lane, and listing websites show he has just put the house up for sale. No reason was posted as to why, and the price is shockingly low. This really surprises me, I know Scar from a few business deals years ago and he’s not one to miss out on money. I’m inclined to believe him just for that. He did drop off both of the items mentioned at the front desk, and I believe those are still firmly in artifact storage. Not particularly interested in giving that pamphlet a read, to be frank. Not in the mood to be isolated from all other life today. We tried to talk with a few of his neighbors, but nobody wanted to tell us where they were during their week. Rude. I might continue to pry just in case we see any similar incidents appearing later, but for now I think it’s best to leave this one. No reason to explore a follow-up, so that wraps this case up nice and neat. I’m concerned about the appearance of a library book and artifact link, I’ve not seen many of those before and it might be a good idea for me to rustle around in the Archives to see if there are any others that connect to this, especially relating to the same pamphlet. End recording.

[click]

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squarebracketsmileyface · 6 months ago

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I love TMA and I love the slenderverse, so I kinda mixed them together? We have a Habit in our system, and he has lots of eyes, So i thought, huh, what if i made this drawing of him into a TMA thing? Then I added myself how I look in IW and our boyfriend's sona as avatars too, because why not.

Anyway, Full WIP sketch with Habit included under the thingy because his eyes are so many and all grouped together so they could trigger trypophobia? They do for Vin, so

also the fear of eyes? What's that called? Scopophobia

yeah, anyway

Currently a very rough sketch, but I'm so proud of it and oh my god it's taken me HOURS. Literally 11 hours of actually working on the drawing lmao, it's so much

Habit is an avatar of the Hunt that got taken over by the Eye

Vin's sona is an avatar of the Stranger and the Lonely

Mine is an avatar of the Dark and maybe something else but idk (my initial idea for me was Dark and End, but im not really sure about that anymore? There's not much that's End-y about the design for me lol, I'll have to do some more thinking for that). Maybe the Vast, because space. I love space and the moon and space is dark so it goes well with the Dark. I'm just rambling now lmao)

#trypophobia #scopophobia #sys art #TMA and the slenderverse and our own internal lore crossover? God know what this is #Never mind. I'm god. Chaos is what it is lmao #I'm so unbelievably proud of it so far tho. even though its still a bit of a mess. I honestly want the drawing of Habit as a tattoo #but if i did that my boyfriend would never be able to look at me again because lots of little holes all clustered together & gross looking #I wonder if anyone's got a tattoo that makes part of their body look like jane prentis. just all rotten and hole-y. sorry. anyway #art wip #everymanhybrid #habit everymanhybrid #everymanhybrid fanart #oc art #sona art #the magnus archives #the magnus archive fanart #the eyepocalypse #slenderverse

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ollieofthebeholder · 2 months ago

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And If Thou Wilt, Forget: a TMA Fanfic

Read from the beginning on Tumblr || AO3 || My Website

Chapter 13: Come home across the desolate sea

[CLICK]

[SOUNDS OF A BUSTLING AIRPORT - CROWDS IN THE BACKGROUND, PERIODIC ANNOUNCEMENTS IN MULTIPLE LANGUAGES, OBNOXIOUS MUSIC PLAYING FAINTLY FROM SOMEWHERE]

GERRY

Finally. They’re almost done loading that group.

TIM

Nope, look, see those people charging over? Definitely Group B running late. We’ll have to wait for them.

GERRY

Just out of idle curiosity, purely rhetorical you understand, but is there any way we could maybe get on the plane faster next time?

TIM

We could always try breaking your leg.

[GERRY LAUGHS]

Or I guess I could book our next flight business class. It is work related. Might be able to get compensated for that. I’d love to see the look on Elias’s face when Gertrude sends him that bill.

GERRY

I don’t necessarily need to board first. You know, less time to sit around strapped into the Great Floating Temptation.

TIM

(Amused) You know the plane doesn’t take off just because we’ve got on it, right?

GERRY

Yeah, I know, it’s just…

(Surprised) You know, I never thought about that before. Mum didn’t fly much, we mostly took trains—cheaper and she could get off somewhere that struck her fancy if she wanted to—and Gertrude was always a lot more, uh, in a hurry than you are, so we were almost always running onto a plane that was about to close its doors and take off. I guess I just got so used to being the last one on the plane that I keep expecting it to take off right away.

Or at least not having to wait around in airport lounges for hours on end.

TIM

It’s been like thirty minutes.

GERRY

You okay?

TIM

Bit tight. I think I need to start cutting salt out of my diet.

GERRY

You know, if things swell when you go up in planes, maybe you should take that off for the flight.

TIM

I’m kind of afraid I’ll lose it. It’s fine, I’ll—

OVERHEAD TANNOY

Timothy Stoker, please report to the nearest white courtesy phone. Timothy Stoker, white courtesy phone.

GERRY

Huh?

TIM

…Weird.

Okay, be right back.

GERRY

Tim—

TIM

Don’t worry. There’s one right over there by the restrooms. I can see the gate, and I can hear the announcements, so if they do the final boarding call, I’ll drop it and run.

[HE STANDS UP, LEANS OVER, AND KISSES GERRY ON THE CHEEK]

Be nice to the flight attendants. Back in a flash.

[FOOTSTEPS ACROSS THE CARPET, THEN ACROSS TILE]

OVERHEAD TANNOY

Timothy Stoker, please report to the nearest white courtesy phone. Timothy Stoker, white courtesy phone.

TIM

Yeah, yeah, I’ve got it. (mutters) Should pick up the red one just to be contrary.

[PHONE LIFTS FROM RECEIVER]

Hello, Tim Stoker speaking.

GERTRUDE (ON PHONE)

Tim. When does your plane leave?

TIM

(Surprised) Gertrude?

[THE RADIO SQUEALS SLIGHTLY FROM ACROSS THE AISLE]

GATE ATTENDANT (OVER RADIO)

Now boarding Group D for flight 9543.

TIM

Uh—in like five minutes or so. We’re boarding now. Why, do you need us to stay?

GERTRUDE (ON PHONE)

No. I need you back in London.

TIM

(Instantly serious) Hold on. He’s getting on now, but if I hurry—

GERTRUDE (ON PHONE)

No need for quite that level of haste. Not yet, anyway. Get to—where are you heading?

TIM

Çukurova. Turkey. There’s a—never mind.

GERTRUDE (ON PHONE)

Can you get back to London from there?

TIM

I think so. The direct route is only seasonal service, but if nothing else we ought to be able to get a connection out of Istanbul. Or we can not pick up our connection.

GERTRUDE (ON PHONE)

There’s a very steep fee for that. Just turn around in Çukurova and come back.

Make sure you ask for the fastest route, not necessarily the first plane out.

TIM

…

(Quietly) It’s happening, then? The Unknowing?

GERTRUDE (ON PHONE)

Not yet. It’s the Extinguished Sun.

TIM

The Dark? Where?

GERTRUDE (ON PHONE)

Here. In a sense.

I’ll explain everything when you arrive. Once you get back to London—

(Suddenly tense) Wait a moment.

GATE ATTENDANT (OVER RADIO)

This is the last call for Flight 9543 to Istanbul. Last call for boarding.

TIM

Shit—Gertrude, I’ve got to go. I’ll text you from Istanbul.

GERTRUDE (ON PHONE)

Wait—

TIM

Gotta go!

[PHONE DROPS CARELESSLY INTO THE CRADLE AND DOESN’T QUITE HANG UP]

[FOOTSTEPS HURRYING ACROSS THE AISLE]

GERTRUDE (ON PHONE)

(Faintly) Tim? Tim! They’re calling for a heavy fog in—Tim!

[CLICK]

—

[CLICK]

[FOOTSTEPS ECHOING THROUGH A TUNNEL]

JURGEN LEITNER

You’re certain this will work?

GERTRUDE

Yes, Jurgen, I’m certain.

JURGEN LEITNER

I just don’t understand why you’re so insistent on it being tomorrow. Why not right now?

GERTRUDE

In the first place, because…Elias will be paying attention tonight. I can keep him out of my head for the most part, but I can’t guard the whole Archives, and there’s too much of a chance of being observed. Tomorrow he’ll be distracted.

[A LONG PAUSE, PUNCTUATED ONLY BY THE ECHOING FOOTSTEPS]

JURGEN LEITNER

And in the second place?

GERTRUDE

Hmm?

JURGEN LEITNER

You said that “in the first place”, Elias would be distracted. That implies you had a second reason.

GERTRUDE

I do.

[ANOTHER LONG PAUSE]

JURGEN LEITNER

…I…assume you were going to let me know what that reason is?

GERTRUDE

You assume incorrectly.

JURGEN LEITNER

Gertrude.

GERTRUDE

(Obviously mimicking his tone of voice) Jurgen.

JURGEN LEITNER

…Very well, then. Keep your secrets. You always do.

I’m sure there’s a perfectly good reason you can’t enact…whatever it is you’re planning to do beyond simply not wanting the head of the Magnus Institute to know what you’re up to. And it’s none of my business, I’m sure.

GERTRUDE

Thank you for being so reasonable and understanding.

[JURGEN LEITNER SIGHS IMPATIENTLY]

[FOOTSTEPS GRADUALLY SLOW, THEN STOP]

JURGEN LEITNER

Well. (Sighs again) I suppose we part ways here, then. Until tomorrow.

[FOOTSTEPS BEGIN TO WALK AWAY IN OPPOSITE DIRECTIONS. ONE SET SLOWS TO A HALT]

GERTRUDE

You didn’t ask about the third reason.

[SOUNDS OF FEET SCREECHING TO A STOP]

JURGEN LEITNER

What?

GERTRUDE

I gave you my first reason. You asked if I had a second reason, and I said yes, but that it was none of your concern.

You never asked if there were more than two reasons.

JURGEN LEITNER

I had assumed that—

Ah.

GERTRUDE

You ought to know better by now.

JURGEN LEITNER

Yes. I suppose I ought to.

(Sighs a third time) Fine. What other reasons do you have for waiting?

GERTRUDE

The People’s Church of the Divine Host.

JURGEN LEITNER

Reyner’s cult? What about it?

GERTRUDE

Jurgen.

JURGEN LEITNER

(Attempting to match her tone) Gertrude.

…Wait. The Extinguished Sun? They’re—that’s tomorrow?

GERTRUDE

Yes.

It appears they plan for tomorrow’s sundown to be the final one.

JURGEN LEITNER

My God.

So why wait until then to destroy the Institute? However you plan to do that.

GERTRUDE

I told you, I will give you the details—

JURGEN LEITNER

—when they become relevant, yes. I know how you operate by now, Gertrude.

GERTRUDE

(Under her breath) Do you really?

JURGEN LEITNER

That does not answer my question. Why not take care of…this, and then worry about the Dark and its ritual tomorrow?

GERTRUDE

You mean, why is the fact that the ritual is yet to come one of my reasons for delaying?

JURGEN LEITNER

…I suppose that’s a more exact way of putting it.

After all, you did say Elias would be distracted…ah.

GERTRUDE

Precisely.

He’s interested in my methods of stopping the rituals. I suspect he has a good reason for that.

JURGEN LEITNER

Because if he becomes interested in a Beholding ritual, he wants to know how you might stop it so he can work around that.

GERTRUDE

…

Broadly, yes.

I intend to use that. Lay my groundwork, incite the Institute’s destruction, while he’s distracted. Hopefully he’ll go out with it.

JURGEN LEITNER

Will you have time to disrupt the Extinguished Sun afterwards?

GERTRUDE

I should have more than enough time to do what needs to be done.

[SEVERAL LONG BEATS OF SILENCE]

JURGEN LEITNER

…After all this time, I don’t know why I still expect more.

GERTRUDE

(Dryly) A mystery that may never be solved.

[CLICK]

—

[CLICK]

[RUMBLE OF AN AIRPLANE’S ENGINE, MURMUR OF VOICES, RATTLE OF A CART WITH SQUEAKY WHEEL]

FLIGHT ATTENDANT

What are you drinking, sir?

GERRY

Just water for me, thanks.

TIM

I’ll take a ginger ale, please.

[RATTLE OF ICE IN A CUP, POP AND FIZZ OF A SODA CAN OPENING, GURGLE OF LIQUID GOING INTO THE CUP]

FLIGHT ATTENDANT

Here you are, gentlemen. Enjoy.

TIM/GERRY

Thank you.

[SEVERAL LONG MOMENTS OF SILENCE, PUNCTUATED ONLY BY SIPPING]

GERRY

Stomach bothering you?

TIM

Nervous. The ginger’s helping the anxiety.

GERRY

(Dryly) First time?

TIM

No, I’ve been nervous before.

[GERRY GROANS]

GERRY

Walked right into that one, didn’t I?

TIM

I thought that was a deliberate setup.

GERRY

I’m not that clever.

Seriously. What’s bothering you?

TIM

Apart from the obvious?

GERRY

You mean the fact that we’re in a pressurized tube thirty-seven thousand miles above the planet’s surface held aloft by magic, fortune, and prayer that runs a distinct risk of drawing the attention of something that wants to keep us here forever?

TIM

I rather suspect you’re not fond of flying, Gerry.

GERRY

(Fervently) I can think of at least three dozen ways I’d rather die.

TIM

It’s not that dangerous. Comparatively.

No, actually, I’m just…worrying about whether we’re going to get back on time.

GERRY

If all goes well.

TIM

Yeah, that’s what I’m worrying about.

[SHORT PAUSE]

GERRY

You reckon we should have tried to find a flight out of Istanbul the first time we were there? Just dealt with the cancellation fees or whatever?

TIM

I mean, hell, we had a long enough layover. If there’d been a faster option, I’d have taken it in a heartbeat. There just…wasn’t one.

GERRY

Know that for a fact, do you?

TIM

Yeah, I looked the flights up.

[GERRY HUMS SKEPTICALLY]

Besides, when Gertrude called the airport in Prague, she specifically told me not to do that. She said it wasn’t that urgent.

I’m just not sure I believe her, that’s all.

GERRY

What did she say when you texted her about our flight back?

TIM

She didn’t answer. I know she saw it, but…

I suppose she’s busy. I mean, she’s probably getting all her ducks in a row, so to speak. But the fact that she ordered us home…

GERRY

…means she needs the backup.

TIM

…

You know? I don’t think that’s it.

I think she just wants to know where we are.

GERRY

What do you mean?

TIM

I mean that if she really needed us to help stop this thing, she’d have told us where to meet her specifically. As it is, I think she just wants us back in London so that she knows if this goes wrong, we aren’t caught out somewhere and unable to get back.

GERRY

Assuming there’s a “back” to get back to.

TIM

They’re remaking the world, not destroying it.

There would still be an England in a changed world. Still be a London. It would just be…plunged into eternal darkness, I guess? I dunno what a world that’s fitted for the Forever Blind would look like. But it’s got to exist.

GERRY

Sure of that, are you?

TIM

They exist on fear, right? What good is a world with nothing to feel fear in it?

And at this point, they’ve probably adapted so that they’re more satiated by human fear than animal. At least most of them have. I don’t know how much these things actually feel, or think or whatever, and I know damn well most of them aren’t big on foresight, but I can’t imagine they would create a world designed to let them starve.

GERRY

(Quietly) I just wish I knew more about what this ritual looks like, that’s all.

TIM

I’m hoping she’ll tell us when we get there. I—

[FAINT GRINDING NOISE]

GERRY

What was that?

TIM

It’s okay, Ger. If it were a problem, the captain would—

[CRACKLE OF THE OVERHEAD RADIO]

Ah.

CAPTAIN (ON RADIO)

Ladies and gentlemen, we are experiencing slight difficulties with our starboard engine.

GERRY

(High-pitched) What?!

TIM

Shh.

CAPTAIN (ON RADIO)

We will be making an emergency landing in Frankfurt. To that end, I am turning on the seatbelt sign.

[PLEASANT, LOW-TONED DING]

[SOUNDS OF SEVERAL SEATBELTS CLICKING INTO PLACE]

Please remain calm and remain seated, with your trays in an upright and closed position, and we will be at Frankfort Airport shortly.

[CLACK OF RADIO SHUTTING OFF]

[GERRY BEGINS BREATHING RAPIDLY]

TIM

Gerry. Gerry, shh, it’s okay, it’s going to be okay.

Here, have some ginger ale.

GERRY

I fucking hate flying, Tim.

TIM

(Gently and calmly) I know. I know.

It’s okay. We’ll take the train home from Frankfurt.

GERRY

(Acidly) You’re not worried about it being too late?

TIM

I’ll call when we land and find out.

At this point, Gerry, I think that’s out of our hands.

[CLICK]

—

[CLICK]

[SOUNDS OF A BUSTLING TRAIN STATION—CROWDS MURMURING, WHISTLES BLOWING, WHEELS SCREECHING]

[FOOTSTEPS ON TILE]

GERRY

Hey. Sorry about that, the line for the restroom was insane. We must not be the only people with the same idea.

TIM

(A little distractedly) With the weather, it’s probably faster for a lot of people than flying.

GERRY

Yeah, maybe. Think we’ll be able to get on the next train?

TIM

Change of plans. I finally heard back from Gertrude.

GERRY

False alarm? She doesn’t need us after all?

TIM

I don’t think that’s it. She’s just changing where she wants us to meet her.

GERRY

Let me guess. Istanbul? If she want us to backtrack, I’m going to kill her.

TIM

No, the Faroe Islands.

GERRY

What? Why?

TIM

Apparently, it’s as far north as we can get without flying.

Or, you know, at all. There’s no passenger service to Svalbard.

GERRY

Do I want to know why she wants us to go that far north? In March?

TIM

Probably because it’s one of the only places the total solar eclipse will be visible.

GERRY

…Fuck. How did I miss there was going to be an eclipse?

TIM

I mean, we’ve been kind of busy.

GERRY

You think that’s…

TIM

A key part of their ritual? Almost certainly. What better time to bring on a world of eternal darkness than when things are literally as dark as they can get?

GERRY

And yet we still don’t know what this is going to look like?

TIM

Or not look like, as the case may be. Forever Blind, remember?

GERRY

Yeah, yeah, real funny.

[TIM CHUCKLES]

Did she say anything helpful, or just to go to the Faroe Islands?

TIM

(Reading aloud from his phone) “Head to the Faroe Islands. Get as far north as you can. Wait there for the eclipse. Watch and observe. I will be working in London. If I don’t meet you there, or otherwise contact you, once the eclipse ends, come back to the Institute.”

That’s all we’ve got.

GERRY

So when’s the eclipse?

TIM

Friday, which means we’ve got time. Lucky thing. We won’t get to Hirtshals until tomorrow morning, and from there it’s a thirty-seven hour ferry ride to the Faroe Islands, and probably another hour to Viðareiði.

GERRY

To where?

TIM

It’s the northernmost settlement in the Faroe Islands.

GERRY

Seriously, how do you know that?

TIM

I used to collect factoids about all kinds of extreme locations in Europe. Northernmost, southernmost, hottest, coldest, highest, lowest, you name it. I was going to visit them all someday.

GERRY

Well, we can scratch this one off your list, I guess. Did you already get our tickets?

TIM

No, my German is rubbish. I was waiting for you.

GERRY

Hmm. Glad to know there are limits to your vast knowledge.

[TIM LAUGHS]

Come on, then. Let’s go save the world.

[CLICK]

—

[CLICK]

[LONG, SLOW DRAGGING SOUND, LIKE SOMETHING INCREDIBLY HEAVY IS BEING PULLED ACROSS A STONE FLOOR]

[SOFT GRUNTING NOISE]

ELIAS

(Muttering) Perhaps I ought to have used a wheeled office chair for this. Or one of the library carts.

Although I suppose the steps would have been even more difficult.

[DEEP BREATH]

[LOOOOOOOOOOONG DRAG]

ELIAS

(Strained) You’re heavier than you look.

I think I understand the term dead weight now.

[SMALL GRUNT]

[CHAIR SCRAPES SLIGHTLY ACROSS A STONE FLOOR]

[HUFF OF RELIEF]

[SEVERAL MOMENTS OF SILENCE]

ELIAS

I’m sure you’re wondering why I bothered.

(Considers) Well, I’m not sure you’re aware of much, but…I rather hope you are.

At any rate. It certainly would have been easier to leave you where you were. Slumped across your desk, your heart’s blood seeping into the wood and the statements beneath…surrounded by petrol and a lighter. One could make a compelling argument that you surprised an intruder, who shot you, then ran in fear before starting the fire they so clearly intended to set.

But I’m afraid you don’t get easy answers like that.

No. I am going to leave you here, along with all of your tapes. I am going to clean up any traces of a trail I may have left. I am going to clean the petrol from the floor—oh, you’re surprised by that, aren’t you? Surprised I’m willing to do that much work? Well, I admit it’s not my preference, but I can hardly ask the cleaning staff to do it without revealing why it needs to be done. At any rate, I will clean up the mess.

I think I’ll leave the bloodstain on your desk, though. After all, we will need to have some sort of explanation for why I am forced to hire a new Archivist.

Oh, but why bother, I seem to hear you ask? Why go to all this trouble to conceal your death, if I am only going to replace you?

Well. It’s quite simple, Gertrude. And perhaps you know the answer already, but then again, you do sometimes miss the obvious. So, since there’s nothing you can do about it, I’m going to tell you.

I’m doing this for Tim.

[LOW, CRUEL, ECHOING LAUGHTER, GRADUALLY GROWING LOUDER AND LOUDER UNTIL IT FINALLY REACHES A FEVER PITCH]

[CLICK]

#ollie writes fanfic #tma fanfic #the magnus archives #and if thou wilt forget #tim stoker #gerard keay #gertrude robinson #jurgen leitner #elias bouchard #flying #anxiety #paranoia #mechanical issues with airplane #implied/referenced murder #the formatting is better on ao3 or my website #happy halloween y'all

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a-mag-a-day · 2 years ago

Note

uhm ahem *tap tap* i read a geography book that had percy fawcett in it

also

DAISY (Curt laugh) Arresting them. I hated the handcuffs. Th-the click. It meant the chase was done; the hunt was over. Satisfying, on a good day, sure, but… “moreish”. I never really wanted it to be over.

Sorry but I can't hear that line without hearing "I hated the cufflinks." Damn you tma bloopers

also:

ARCHIVIST You’re starting to sound like Gertrude. BASIRA Good. Far as I can see, Gertrude Robinson was the most effective person in this place.

(MAG 133)

ARCHIVIST Yes, Basira, he is. And I am sorry about that. But we needed it. Anyway you’re the one who wants to be like Gertrude. You think she’d give a damn about a few bad dreams? BASIRA No. ARCHIVIST No. She got the job done, and didn’t care about the cost. BASIRA But I thought you did

(MAG 141)

yea not hypocritical at all

BASIRA Have you? ARCHIVIST Yes, I have. Like you’re the only one responsible for everyone, the weight of all their lives on your shoulders? It leads to bad decisions. BASIRA Yeah, well, when I get myself kidnapped three times in a row, maybe I’ll look to you for advice.

(MAG 133)

BASIRA How many times have you been kidnapped at this point? ARCHIVIST That depends if you— …Huh. BASIRA Say it. ARCHIVIST Depends if you count Daisy.

(MAG 179)

killing & maiming stop talking about the godforsaken kidnappings :(

ARCHIVIST Fine. I don’t care if you trust me, but I think I’ve proven at the very least that I’m useful. So, use me. Because if you go it alone, you are going to die. Even Gertrude worked with people. We make bad decisions when we don't communicate.

*sprays jon with some water* bad jon, no basing your self worth off how useful you can be to others

uh yea. haven't really got enough thoughts to do a full ramble, and like, haven't really got the time either so enjoy The Thoughts.

It's good that he's at least standing up to basira somewhat and reflecting her behavior back to her

#a mag a day #tma #the magnus archives #episode asks #mod ashes #tma spoilers #mag 133 #landscaping-your-mind

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late-to-the-magnus-archives · 1 year ago

Text

Corrupted, chapter ten: A Sopping Wet Cat - a Malevolent x TMA crossover

Between elderly Lara Croft and the deeply-adoptable Jonathan Sims, Tim's feeling less alone.

Now if only Bouchard and Hastur weren't playing footsie while Tim tries to find his own footing…

Chapter ten of Corrupted, a Malevolent x TMA crossover.

AO3

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

It’s after five p.m., but Tim is sure Bouchard will let them in. He doesn’t even bother calling this time before taking the bus. If Hastur is right, and Bouchard can see just about everything, he’ll know they’re coming.

Tim’s not sure how he feels about omniscience actually being real and belonging to just… some guy.

The gods in this world might be dead, but they exist, and that throws his entire philosophy of life into question. Even worse, they were eaten by something worse—which begs the question of what the fuck a god actually is.

“Is that guy a god?” he murmurs into his earpods.

Who?

“Bouchard.”

No.

“Right. How are we defining gods?”

How do you define a cat?

Tim purses his lips. “Guess you know a cat when you see one, huh?”

Indeed.

“So it’s not just a power thing, apparently, given that this guy isn’t one. Did that mean there were gods without power, too?”

Yes, actually. Hastur sounds warm again. You can be so very smart, Tim.

“Flattery will get you everywhere, blah blah blah,” Tim mumbles.

Hastur laughs softly.

Tim falls silent. He has a lot to process.

At least it’s easier to reach the Magnus Institute now that he can see. The area is truly lovely; old buildings, probably all National Trust, absolutely clean sidewalks (he can’t imagine the army of people paid to preserve that), and discreet little signs that don’t stick out in any way because reputation matters more here than advertising.

“Oh it's expensive,” Tim sings to and I'm so happy. “So damned expensive! Couldn’t afford a cup of tea! Bet the coffee tastes like pee!”

Hastur laughs. What on earth are you doing?

“Being delightful so the poor police don’t come out and nab me.”

Unlikely to work as a deterrent.

"Well, a guy's gotta try." And then Time spots a slight man in a sweater-vest juggling and losing his folders in a spray of knowledge all over the steps.

��Damn and blast!” the fellow announces like an eighty-year-old, and Tim knows who he is.

“Hey, Jon, right?” Tim says, jogging lightly toward him. “Let me help.”

“Oh! Mister Stoker.” Jon blinks at him. Then behind him. Then at him again, looking confused.

Tim turns and sees nothing. He shrugs and turns back, bending to gather papers. “Sorry I don’t know what order all this goes in.”

“Oh, it doesn’t matter,” says Jon in a deeply peevish way. “She’s not going to organize them anyway.”

“She?” says Tim.

“I have been reassigned to the archives,” says Jon with a little sniff, and pushes his glasses up his nose. “There, I have discovered that Ms. Robinson has no sense of order, nor a positive attitude toward anyone who wants to help.” He stops. His eyes widen. “I am so sorry. This isn’t any of your trouble. Please don’t say… er, anything. I’m very grateful for the opportunity.”

Just listening yesterday, Tim had thought Jon was a prick. Looking at him today, he’s certain Jon is actually a nerd—probably a bullied one—who’s wearing spiky intellectual armor to stay safe.

Tim knows the type. He’s adopted a few in the past. “Mum's the word, boss," he says, and hands over a sheaf of paper back.

Jon stuffs them into folders without any attempt at organizing. His face looks hot. “I’m sorry to have inconvenienced you, Mister Stoker.”

“Tim, please. I’m gonna be around for a bit, so no need to be so formal, yeah?”

Jon’s shoulders untense. “You are? That’s, ah, good to know? I’m sorry, but this is after business hours, and we’re closed.”

“Naw. Elias will let me in,” says Tim.

“Oh! He’s expecting you?” says Jon. “And I’m keeping you! Come along, now, let’s not waste any more time,” he says as if the delay were Tim’s idea, and scurries up the stairs.

What an annoying little man, says Hastur.

Nope. Dorky in the extreme, maybe; he definitely knows the type. Tim grins and follows.

Jon juggles folders and keys; ungraciously accepts a hand with the folders; drops his keys; and finally, face red, gets the door open. “I’m glad to hear we were able to help you. Nasty things, Leitners.”

“Leitners?”

“That bookplate. Jurgen Leitner owned evil books—and legitimately produced some of the few verifiable supernatural occurrences on record.” Jon gives him a challenging look.

Tim just wants to scoop him up and wrap him in a scarf and make him watch some sci-fi. “I believe you.”

The relief is visible. “You do?”

“Seen some things. Yes.”

“I’m really glad we can do something for you,” says Jon. “You know, it’s very strange. I’ve worked here for three years, and I've never once seen Elias get involved in any—”

“Mister Sims, what are you doing?”

And there she is—the little old lady who doesn't look like a bad-ass god-fighting machine, but definitely is. She's tiny; conservatively dressed. She’d be cute if she weren't so severe. Her reading glasses hang from a chain around her neck, and though she lacks any obvious weapons, she still has books in her jacket pockets.

Tim wonders which one's the flamethrower.

Tread carefully, Hastur says, unnecessarily. I don’t know what she remembers after Kayne’s intervention.

“Ms. Robinson,” Jon stammers. “He’s, ah. There’s been a, ah.”

"Hello," says Tim. "Your boss asked for me."

Her look flatly dismisses what he says like wiping away footprints in the sand. "Did he."

Jon looks confused. He's frozen, folders bulked under one arm, keys still in hand.

"He did!" says Tim brightly. "So why don't we all go and see what happens?"*

The old woman stares him down.

Gimlet eyes, Tim thinks, having encountered the phrase in publishing a few times, but never before now actually seeing them.

"Let's do that," she decides, and gestures toward the darkened Institute and Elias’ office. "In we all go now, chop chop," says elderly Lara Croft.

He's already inside. Bouchard. It's safe to enter.

Tim would give a lot of money to know how Hastur knew that, but he can't ask now. He smiles his absolute warmest at both of them and walks into what he desperately hopes is not his tomb.

Bouchard is waiting for them, standing in his office doorway. Tim feels weirdly justified. “Thank you, Gertrude,” says Bouchard. “Tim, if you please—right this…” He stops. Stares. “Interesting,” he murmurs.

“Are you sure you want to handle this?” says the murderous old bat.

“Yes, it’ll be fine. He’s not a danger,” says Bouchard.

He’s lying. You are.

Bouchard’s look. It’s hungry. What the hell.

“Jon,” says Bouchard, suddenly. “I will need to see you after this meeting. All right? Clear your schedule. It’s going to be a bit of a thing.”

Jon looks absolutely spooked. “Sure, of course, Elias. Right.”

Lara “Gertrude” Croft looks highly suspicious.

“Right,” says Jon, glancing back and forth. “Um.” He flees.

“That guy needs a movie night,” Tim says.

Gertrude stares at him.

“You know. With friends? A bit of beer, or something? Snacks? Everybody cozy in socks? Bras off?”

She stares harder.

“Right. Maybe you need one, too,” says Tim.

Bouchard clears his throat. “Shall we?”

“Sure.” Tim gives her his brightest smile.

She does not respond. Well, now she’s a challenge.

Bouchard’s look has not changed. Thoughtful. Penetrative. He gestures to the seat across from his desk and sits behind it, fingers steepled.

“You really make a guy sweat with a look like that,” says Tim.

“I’m glad to hear it,” says Bouchard. “And please—do call me Elias.”

Tim shifts. “We’re all on first-name basis here, I guess. Tim.”

Elias does a little gracious nod. “So you’ve had an adventure of some kind since I last saw you,” he says. “For one thing, your vision has swapped hands, if you'll pardon my mixing of metaphors."

“How did you—yeah. That happened. Also, that old bat out there tried to kill me for no damn reason?”

She was aggressive, says Hastur.

“I must apologize for her, not that I have any control over her, really,” he says. “The fact is that when it’s time to stop her, I’m going to have to kill her—but she makes a marvelous distraction in the meantime, doesn’t she?”

What an absolutely fucked up thing to say. “I’m not sure I can agree with that?” says Tim.

Yes… I see your point, says Hastur, because of course, it makes sense to him. And she has done so since before you claimed this body, am I right?

Elias’ smile grows teeth. “I see you don’t miss much.”

No.

“I am mindful of it,” says Elias.

I’d guess… in the neighborhood of two centuries?

“Very good! Yes. I’m surprised one such as yourself would be aware of such mortal lifetimes.”

Hastur responds like a cat petted along its spine, arching its arse in the air. I’ve had to pay attention to such things. Human bodies are… regrettably fragile.

What the actual hell?

Tim frowns, feeling the anger rising, trying to push it down. “Hey, old guys. I’m still here, you know,” he says.

“Yes, and that is a perfect segue,” says Elias, smooth as fucking butter. “I don’t know what happened yesterday. I know Gertrude came back with her memory altered; I know whatever you got involved with raised a sort of… fog through which I could not see.”

“So you were watching,” says Tim.

“I watch everything I can,” says Elias, as though this is perfectly normal. “That is how I serve my patron. But I could not see what happened.”

Tim doesn’t care to tell him. Elias just rubs him wrong.

Chaos. That’s what happened.

“Vague, but fair enough. I cannot even see the memories in your head, Tim, which tells me on one level how strong the forces we’re dealing with are—but there is one thing I do see. You have been marked.”

Tim feels… bad?

He hunches a little. It’s not a familiar feeling, this. He's not even sure "bad" is the right word. “Yeah. Apparently, I’m doomed to become a rage monster, la-di-da.”

“This does place me in an awkward position,” says Elias. “You have, in a manner of speaking, been claimed by a patron other than mine, and they tend to be… possessive.”

Yet you have not thrown us out, says Hastur warmly (because the manipulation seems to have worked), and Tim frowns just a pinch harder.

“Naturally. I’ve never seen anything like this—which means, I fear, that you are practically catnip for me.”

And the two old assholes laugh, and Tim has almost had enough.

(But should he have had enough?)

(Wouldn’t he be more patient with this nonsense, normally?)

“Right,” Tim says. “So. I’m going to assume you also saw what happened at the police station.”

“I did. Most unfortunate.”

"We had something of a plan about that."

“Yes, and I may be able to help you with it—if you’re willing to make a deal.”

Here we go again, Tim thinks. “If you’re already watching, what difference does it make?”

“All the difference. It changes your perception of events, and alters how you feel. It becomes a gift to my patron—given under duress, which is even better—and thus, empowers me.”

Tim stares. “At least you’re honest.”

Surprisingly honest, says Hastur darkly.

Elias shrugs. “The fact is that you're difficult to see into, which is... unusual for me. Surface thoughts are easy; but I don't even know your name.”

He didn’t mean Tim. “You don’t know?”

“I can’t see it. I can see his memory of himself, but not his name—it’s clouded, even in your mind.”

We really are catnip to this guy, Tim thinks. “You don’t have to tell him,” says Tim.

I know. I’m weighing whether his aid is worth whatever price he extracts.

“I assure you, whatever ‘price I extract’ is going to be observation-based. That is, after all, what I’m all about.”

And that was weird. Very weird. Because Tim thinks Elias just lied.

There’s no reason for it. He can’t see any difference in face or body language. But he’s sure Elias lied. He’s getting something out of this beyond observation. Anger bubbles, slowly simmering.

I’ve had… various names.

Elias is looking so damned intense. “I would love to know. It might even help me refine my current thought on how to give you some… support.”

“Don’t give away the farm,” says Tim.

I see no reason to hold this back, Hastur decides.

“If you’re sure.” Tim is not sure.

I have been called Hastur. The Unspeakable One. I have been called… the King in Yellow.

Elias’ eyes light up like he just won the lottery. “Phenomenal,” he whispers. “Lord of Carcosa. Regaled in a gown of yellow, twice as tall as any man! Majestic, he glides over the ground to take his throne in lost Carcosa, for he is the king that was and shall be!”

“Oh, boy,” Tim says.

Yes, Hastur says.

“Well… I am, I will not lie, deeply honored,” Elias lies, and does a proper bow as he says it so Hastur can tell by the sound that he lowered his head.

Tim wonders if this really is the better option than cultists.

The metaphorical lid is beginning to bounce on the pot of his anger, clanging, jarring out of place with rising rage—and Elias sees. Tim knows that he sees.

Elias is enjoying this.

Rein it in, Tim tells himself, because this isn’t like him, this isn’t usual, he’s a patient man, he’s dealt with shit like this from shitty managers all in the past, this isn’t new, this… he doesn’t have to… he…

“Your self-control is extraordinary,” says Elias, softly. “I’m very impressed, Tim. And I appreciate it. I don’t particularly want to be burned—so I thank you.”

At least that time, he wasn’t lying.

Tim.

“What?” Tim snaps between clenched teeth.

Please.

Well, fuck, what’s Tim supposed to do with that?

They’re both waiting to see what he does with that.

Come on, you, he thinks. Pull it together. He breathes slowly. Deeply. Shuddering.

“You are remarkable,” says Elias, and he sounds like he means it. “I wouldn’t have guessed—forgive me.”

He is, says Hastur, as though he planned for any of this.

“I think I hate you both right now?” says Tim.

“Fair,” says Elias. “And I’m sorry that you’re in the position you’re in.”

Again—he’s telling the truth now.

Does Elias know Tim picked up when he was lying?

Tim thinks he does. Elias, Tim realizes, is a fucking dangerous piece of work.

You have an idea? says Hastur.

“I do. This is, of course, based on research and memories from those in my line going back some thousands of years. If I understand correctly, your current vulnerability is largely based on… well. Your host’s mortality.”

That isn’t… fully inaccurate.

“As opposed, let’s say, to possessing a body closer to what you had before?”

My original body? There are no bodies here closer to what I had before.

“What if one could be created? How would that affect your situation?”

Tim has no idea. “What, give him his own body? Go all deific Frankenstein?”

I need to… consider this. You say it as if there were a possibility of such a thing.

Elias’ eyes lid. It’s like he knows he’s hooked a fish, and can take his time reeling it in. “Well. You no doubt feel the stored power of this place. That is because we collect artefacts. This particular hobby is not unique to us. I may—theoretically—know of some deific flesh, carefully preserved in crystal. And I may—theoretically—know someone who could potentially use it to craft you a new body.”

“Why would you go to all that trouble?” says Tim.

“Because it will be an amazing thing to watch, and as things currently stand, you won’t live long enough to… ah. I apologize.”

“Scratch your itch?” says Tim, dry. “Get you the fuck off?”

“Something like that,” says Elias, who isn’t so easy to ruffle.

I need to think about this.

“Of course you do. Might I suggest you stay here until you do, though? No obligation, no payment—well, beyond watching you, which I will be doing anyway, no matter where you are.”

“You knew I already planned on that part,” says Tim.

Elias shrugs like a prince. “I choose to be gracious, nonetheless.”

Tim wants to hit him.

Keep it down, he tells himself. You’re not the rage. You not the… whatever the fuck wrath monster. You’re you.

“I offer protection,” says Elias. “We are not, of course, impervious to invasion, but we are far safer than a hotel, or an apartment, or, gods forbid, the street. Three agents I can see followed you here—two of the Corruption, who would devour you with mold, worms, maggots, disease; and one of the Desolation, who… well, to be frank, I don’t know what she’d do, given that you, Tim, are marked—but I assure you, she is not here on a mission of mercy.”

“What?”

“You were followed—and I am not talking about your policewoman.”

“Wait, we were?"

“You didn’t notice? Oh, dear,” says Elias.

Fuck.

Yeah, pretty much.

We shall stay, says Hastur as though the favor being given is them gracing this place with their presence.

Tim realizes with a shock that he isn’t sure his opinion is any good right now. He’s too angry. It’s not his rage. But it’s… spilling into everything. Tim has never felt unsure in his life. This is a horrible feeling. He wipes at his eyes, surprised to find them wet.

“Come.” Elias stands, not revealing whatever he thinks of this display, and heads for the door.

Are you all right?

Hastur seems to mean it. Can Tim trust that, either?

Yes. He knows he can. Whatever else is wrong with him, he knows he’s reading other people correctly, including Hastur. “Not really?”

I will do what I can for you once we are alone.

“More spells?" Tim scoffs.

Oh, the things I can teach you...

“Sure,” says Tim without conviction, and follows Elias Bouchard deeper into his spooky mid-london temple.

Elias hadn’t lied; it’s a neat little space down there, in the archives.

Well. It’s a mess. But the living quarters are definitely cute.

Gertrude Lara Croft Robinson is down there already, eyeing them, visibly daring commentary on the stacks of mismatched files, the open cardboard boxes balanced precariously against each other or on chairs, the truly heinous amount of cobwebs in every corner, between every shelf.

“Uh,” says Tim. “Nice haunted house you’re running here.”

“Mm,” says Elias.

Gertrude gives Tim a skewering look.

“No, really,” says Tim, stepping over six sagging boxes and around two piles of unsorted papers. “Get a fog machine down here and you’ll make bank.”

“Yes, well, Gertrude insists there is a reason for all of it,” says Elias as if his kingdom’s condition is of no concern.

Gertrude says nothing.

Tim suddenly wonders if she’s hiding weapons in the paperwork.

The little living area is, happily, free from nonsense. A very tiny kitchenette, a small cot sharing space with boxes and office supplies, and a bathroom with a cramped toilet and sink.

“There is a shower upstairs,” says Elias, “though it is in my office, and you will need to arrange time to use it.”

“Weird,” says Tim. “But okay.”

Elias shrugs. “It is a very old building. James Wright had it installed, so I am to understand, but what he was thinking, doing it there… well. I have no idea.”

A lie. Tim peers at him.

Elias smiles and it is a bright, sharp thing, like light glinting off a blade. “Oh, you are good at that, aren’t you?” he murmurs.

“What—was that a test?”

“It was. Over something I think you can agree, at least, is harmless.”

“Hard not to be insulted,” Tim says.

“Of course—but I had to be sure you knew on your own. I can clearly see Lord Hastur did not clue you in.”

“Lord Hastur?”

“I’ve never met a god before, and I’d prefer to be on his good side. Wouldn’t you?” says Elias.

Tim rolls his eyes so hard they hurt. “Subject fucking change. How can you help with that police officer?”

“Are you willing to do some footwork?”

Tim frowns. “Sure?”

“Good. Then I can send you to a few places which will, in time, lead her on a completely different trail.”

“So you already knew our plan.”

“Yes. I won’t send you alone, either. It’s hardly safe. Just give me some time to make a couple of arrangements.”

Truth. “Okay. I guess. Fuck, this is… Am I really kipping in a haunted basement to hide from maggot gods?”

“I fear before all of this over, you will experience far stranger things than this,” says Elias. “Now—do try to get comfortable. I will fetch you a key, as well as the code for the alarm.”

“Elias!” Gertrude protests.

“He is officially under our protection.” And there, right there, is the most real Elias has been this whole damn time, because that hardly sounded like the same man. The smarm is gone, replaced with a frankly terrifying hardness, the kind that makes Tim think he could shoot a guy in the face and walk away without a second thought.

But maybe it’s necessary to corral someone like Gertrude. She looks positively raucous for a moment, then glances at Tim.

Tim holds his hands up. “No quarrels with you. I’m just trying to stay alive.”

“I reserve the right to kill him if he tries a ritual inside the Institute—whether or not he knows what it does,” Gertrude snaps.

Well, she certainly remembers some of what happened.

“Fair,” says Elias.

“Sure?” says Tim.

Gertrude nods as if her head is an axe and marches away.

Elias sighs. “I really do apologize for her.”

Will she honor your command?

“For a while, anyway. Her focus is ‘protecting humanity,’ whatever that means, so as long as Tim provides no such active threat, he will fall off her radar.”

“She came after me yesterday," says Tim.

“She’d thought you were attempting a ritual to give one of the Fears more power,” says Elias.

“She didn’t even ask. She just… assumed.”

“In the name of saving the world, she sacrifices people,” Elias says coldly. “It makes one wonder what the value of life is to her.”

So that’s a whole host of unspoken stories. “Wow.”

“Indeed. I’ll send help down with a key and all shortly. Rest, Tim. As best we can, we’ll keep you safe.” Elias smiles (and, oddly enough, was telling the truth), and leaves.

Tim flops onto the cot.

It squeaks.

“That’ll make masturbating awkward,” he says without thinking.

Hastur laughs.

Tim did not expect to fall asleep.

It’s not like this is the best cot in the world. But there’s something weirdly peaceful about this place; the sounds of paper rustling outside the little room, presumably Gertrude moving piles from one spot to another (also presumably just keeping an eye on him). The sweet emptiness of being underground, with so much stone and paper and threadbare carpet, is its own wonderful white noise. Tim hasn’t been in a silent place in a long time, and finds it soothing. Even the simmering anger seems to be calming.

He yawns, stretches, is amused that the cot creaks again. “Mm,” he says. “Guess this is what monks see in it, or something.”

What—the silence and isolation? Perhaps; though they tend also to be… industrious orders, working far more hours than usual. The time allotted to rest in silence is slim.

“Fuck that, then. Guess I’m starting my own monastery—to laziness.” Tim stretches again. “Hey—why do you know about monks?”

I’ve spent more than one life in one such place.

Tim sputters. “Are you serious?”

Yes. There isn’t much in this world that I have not at least tried, Tim.

Tim sits up. “You really did monk things?”

I did.

“Like… prayed to gods you knew weren’t there, or whatever?”

A dark chuckle. Well, says Hastur. I will admit that I tended to leave such places altered, compared to when I went in.

“What did you do?”

Finely honed insanity, says Hastur, as though recounting a garden he’d grown.

Tim gapes at nothing. “Insanity? Hastur, why would you do that? What'd they do to you?"

Nothing. It was merely amusing at the time.

Maybe Tim is overtired. He should find this beyond horrifying, but instead, it’s just frustrating. “Look, do you even know it was wrong?”

Why would it be wrong? Hastur feels sincere. I am a god. I am no mortal. I am no human. I have graced this world with my presence out of necessity, but I have the right to do as I wish while I'm here.

“No, you don’t,” says Tim, baffled as to how he can possibly get his message across.

I disagree.

“Yeah, obviously, but that doesn’t make you right.”

No? And your twenty-nine years of life tell you this, do they?

Tim has an epiphany. “No, actually. That Kayne guy did.”

It feels like Hastur goes stiff as a board. What?

“If just being bigger than someone gives you the right to do what you want to them, then we’re actually morally wrong for running away from him.” Tim’s proud of that one.

Hastur has no mouth to sputter. He manages to do it, anyway. That is not the same!

“Sure it is. He can, so he should, right?”

I didn’t say should.

“No, but you said you have the right to do it. Well, does he?”

It’s not the same, Hastur insists.

It’s Tim’s turn to be smug, and he leans into it. "I didn't realize you were morally deficient. That's gonna make this rough, Hastur."

I am not deficient. I am morally superior.

"Right. Superior. In being deficient."

Tim...

Tim sighs. “What the hell am I gonna do with you?”

I think, Tim, rumbles Hastur in a low and terrible tone, the real question is what I am going to do with you.

Tim goes very still.

And there’s a knock at the storage closet door.

Tim has never been more grateful for an interruption in his life as he leaps off the cot to answer it. “Saved by the… hey, come in!”

It’s Jon.

Jon, who looks like a gray ghost, who holds out a key, a post-it note with a six-digit code, and a torn-out notebook page with addresses scribbled on it. He looks smaller than usual, as if whatever just happened to him has compressed him right down.

“Oh, thanks.” Tim takes them. “Hey—you okay?”

Jon stares at him. “Did you know there are things?” he says.

“So that’s a nope,” says Tim, who has decided to adopt Jon whether Jon knows it or not, and takes his arm to gently lead him in. “Sit down, already, before you pass out?”

“I am not going to pass out,” bristles Jon.

Tim sits him down, anyway, right on the cot.

It squeaks.

Tim checks a box labeled PAPER, finds it sturdy, and plops down onto it. “You okay?” he says again.

“There are… there are fear gods.”

Poor guy. “Apparently so. Might help to talk it out, yeah? Why don’t you start at the beginning? Was it Elias?”

“Oh, gods, yes it was Elias.” Jon puts his face in his hands.

Hastur finds Jon’s distress funny. The chuckle is soft, dark, cruel; it makes Tim angry—and he’s pretty sure this anger is his, not some stupid Desolation’s. Still, he takes a moment to force it down. “Yeah. I did know, little buddy, but only for about… two days? Or so? I’m losing track.”

“Oh,” says Jon.

What the hell had Bouchard done up there? “I’m guessing your boss filled you in.”

Jon looks forlorn. “One of them’s got me already, apparently?”

Accidental priest. “He just went full info-dump, didn’t he?” says Tim, who feels utterly justified in disliking that guy. “I’m sorry. I’m still wrestling with it all myself.”

“He says one of them’s got you, too,” says Jon. “And I am… I’m to go with you as we leave today, and as we gather what is necessary to distract… police? From your trail? Then retreat back to the Institute as quickly as possible.”

TIm blinks slowly. “He’s sending you?”

Jon reddens. “Yes. He says I… he says. I…”

“Hey, it’s okay. Hey. You can tell me whatever. Just verbally process, I don’t care."

Tim, we don’t have time to play therapist.

Tim ignores him. “What happened, Jon?”

“I tried to quit to prove him wrong,” says Jon. “I couldn’t.”

“Okay,” says Tim. “That’s horrible.”

“I wouldn’t have believed him except he knew about Mister Spider,” says Jon.

“Okay,” says Tim. “Do I want to know what that is?”

Jon stares. “Can we go? I… I don’t think I can sit here and think too much about this right now.”

“Sure, all right. We can talk later,” says Tim. “But—no offense—why is he sending you?”

“Oh. Because I saw who was following you this morning.”

Tim blinks. “You did?”

“Three of them. Two looked quite ill, but one just looked… angry. They all made me nervous; I’d assumed you knew, but Elias said you didn’t.”

Remarkable, says Hastur. He truly is in tune with the Beholding.

“I didn’t see them,” says Tim. “I really need the extra set of eyes. I’m a bit of trouble, you know?”

“That’s what he said.” Jon stands (and the cot squeaks). “I’m really not in a place to wield rational arguments at the moment.”

“Right. Well, let’s go, then.” Tim guides him out the door. “What's at these addresses?”

“He didn’t say.” Jon is shaking. His slightly oversized sweater-vest nearly hides it, but he is, and it makes his voice tremble.

Pathetic, says Hastur.

“Do you hate kittens, too?” Tim murmured softly.

“What?” says Jon.

“Nothing.”

Gertrude is glaring at them. “I’m watching you.”

“What?” says Jon very weakly.

“There’s a queue for that,” Tim quips, and hurries Jon out.

“That was odd,” says Jon in a high, spooked voice.

“Yeah?”

“Could’ve sworn she had blood all over her for a moment.”

What? says Hastur. Tim. Tim, I’m going to need you to do a spell.

Tim ignore that. “Don’t suppose Elias told you why I’m in trouble.”

“No. He said that was your purview, should I earn your trust.”

Tim! We need to do a spell. I need to know what’s going on with this annoying little man.

“Earn my trust? Wow. He really is a dickhead, isn’t he?”

Jon sputters. “He’s… I don’t know! He’s just Elias! I’ve barely noticed him in the past three years. Once my interview was done, we’ve hardly interacted!”

Tim!

Hastur’s confidence in Tim’s spellcasting abilities might be high, but Tim does not have that confidence. At any rate, it’ll be difficult talking to Hastur unless Jon knows the score, so… Why not? “Right,” Tim says, trusting Jon at Elias. “So… the Powers Elias told you about? Something like that jumped out of the book I brought in. It’s in my head right now.”

Jon is taking this very seriously. “Really?”

“Really. Talks all the time. Real awkward.”

Tim, Hastur warns.

Tim deadpans it: “He wants me to cast some kind of spell to check you out.”

Tim!

“Check me out?” blurts Jon, stopping before the final stair. “For what? A new host?”

Hardly. That would not be worth my time, Hastur snaps.

“Naw,” Tim says. “He’s not a swinger. He just wants to see, is all.”

Jon’s eyes seem take up half his face. “What?” he says.

“You know, because he’s in me already?”

This has gone right over Jon’s head. He stares at Tim as though he’s speaking Sanskrit.

Like a sopping wet cat, Tim thinks with growing fondness. “Never mind. Let’s go check out these addresses, yeah?”

He’s an idiot, Hastur declares. Mentally deficient.

Is Hastur jealous? He feels jealous.

“Sure,” says Jon weakly.

“It’s gonna be okay,” says Tim, and pats him on the shoulder.

Hastur growls quietly.

New game, thinks Tim, because how could he not, and follows Jon into the lobby.

#tma #tma crossover #malevolent #malevolent crossover #tma fic #malevolent fic #tim stoker #hastur malevolent #kiy malevolent #elias bouchard #gertrude robinson #jonathan sims #corrupted fic

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chaoticpinetree · 2 years ago

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Okay so I listened for a whole bunch without writing posts about it but in my defence let's just say that it's been hectic, going back to both studying and working :C

So, let's make one thing clear: the bits with Sasha and Tim broke my heart. 'Nooo, you took it too far! I'm unforgettable!' OH YE MAYBE JUST RIP IT OUT OF MY CHEST HUH. ;-; But also oh god, Elias's whole behaviour on that tape. Did I already mention that Elias's motivation is evil in a very simple way? Oh yeah I did. Oh wait I'll add the read more because this will be a bunch.

So. So every single human being in the world is now tortured except for the ones who are doing the torturing and Jon because he's <checks notes> Ceaseless Watcher's Special Boy and Martin because Jon basically protects him. And maybe Basira who is chasing after Daisy apparently. Gosh it's like. Obviously it's fiction, obviously when you think about it, it's horrible. Throughout the whole four seasons I was really chill about the statements and well, objectively I still am because it's not that easy for me to find something in fiction 'scary' but it is a bit easier for me to find something 'disturbing' and a lot of these domains quickly become such if I think about it for a while.

Since this is honestly my first proper, deep experience with horror, I have to admit that it's a feeling I'm not very used to when consuming fiction but it's also a very interesting one.

Anyway, this aside... I mean this feeling will likely follow me for a while but you know, it's not all I think about this season. So this aside, a bunch of other stuff.

CEASELESS WATCHER, TURN YOUR GAZE UPON THIS WRETCHED THING. Oh that scene was so damn cool, love it, Jon can just smite people <3 The way Martin's reaction was an immediate whoa! omg we gotta do it again! Jared was so chill with being smote lmao

Helen is such a shipper of Jmart and she's so valid for it. My friend described season 5 as only fluff and comedy and I was like literally no way. And it is very much NOT oh god. I mean she has really strong powers of denial. I told her hey you... Know that TMA generally is more of a tragedy right... And she said that it really only hit her once she started reading fanfics heh. I mean she's valid for her denial powers, that's for sure, but STILL

AND ALSO OH GOD EPISODE 170. I got so emotional over this one. There was just something about the way Martin kept losing his train of thought and starting over again and again and he realised something was wrong a few times and called out to Jon but lost that thought too, it was. Damn. Damn.

By the way, I see the way Jon finds it all horrible and fascinating at the same time, the way he kind of... Does want to drink all that fear in. He told Martin 'you are my reason' regarding the quest, regarding walking through all of it but I think it also applies to not... Losing himself, so to speak.

And also oh damn the children. There is something... I mean it's like, it's like the danger almost doesn't exist. Are those monsters there or is it just their imagination that Callum nudges into even scarier directions? And the fact that they're basically cultivated by the fears until they grow up and their fears become something more interesting to the Eye. Damn.

Things also sound rather tense between Jon and Martin at times, but honestly I'm not surprised, considering... The whole situation. I'm just glad they can be there for each other even though the world sucks :C

#tma #tma reactions #the magnus archives #mag 161 #mag 162 #mag 163 #mag 164 #mag 165 #mag 166 #mag 167 #mag 168 #mag 169 #mag 170 #mag 171 #mag 172 #mag 173

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kalcifers-blog · 2 years ago

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MAG 114209: The IRIS of The Eye

A JSE Ego x TMA Crossover fanfic

Content Warning!! Discussions of violence, self inflicted injury and insinuation of suicidal behaviour. Nothing is in graphic detail, but please stay safe while reading!!

[Tape Recorder clicks]

The Archivist: (sighs) Alright, let's try this again shall we-

Chase Brody: oh for fu- is that really necessary? Why do you people all insist on recording people??

The Archivist: oh- sorry this is just- procedure. It's kind of my job to make sure statements are recorded properly- unless you don't- want- to make a statement?

Chase: (interrupted the last sentence) No- no. I'm sorry- I just- I need to do this I think. I'm not exactly sure what this place is but... I think- somethin' tells me that this is the place to get this out there somehow

The Archivist: I see.. well. Whenever you're ready, we can begin

Chase: (deep breath) okay. Yeah I'm ready.

The Archivist: Alright. Statement of Chase Brody regarding the entity referred to as ALTR 114209. Statement taken directly from sub- from Mr. Brody himself. Statement overseen and recorded by Jonathan Sims. The Archivist. Statement begins:

Chase: [statement]

I feel like I can't really talk about this without some context first? I grew up in Ireland- you- you probably already guessed that because of the accent- but yeah. I'm from Ireland. My life there was miserable. I grew up in a small town. One of those classic "everyone knows everyone" schticks. Mostly because my Ma insisted on going to the local church to do all her socialising- I went there too consistently 'til she passed. I was 15 at the time.

Before she did I was convinced I wanted her out of my life, we never got along- I'm not saying that I completely change my mind now it's just- when someone like that leaves your life forever you start thinking about "what could have been" far more often. When she did pass I knew I wanted out- I needed to get away so I saved up my scraps of money to go to college in Britain. Maybe I wanted to get away or run from my feelings- I just. The way everyone would look at me, knowing what I was going through, giving me these- disgusting looks of pity- I needed out. I needed a get away.

So I moved. My Father didn't care too much, the man was out half the time for work and when he wasn't his hand was glued to his ale. I told myself I wouldn't end up like that- miserable sack of shit but- (chuckles sadly) I- I guess things don't always go to plan, huh?

Anyway- My life did start turnin' around when I got to the UK. The college I went too was pretty mediocre but the people I met were some of the most incredible- the person who changed my life forever in ways I couldn't have ever imagined was Jack.

Jack was my first friend- after realising we where both Irish and kinda had a really uncanny similarity to us, everyone always joked that we had to be twins because of how similar we looked. Despite the fact I'm nearly four years older than him- anyway uh- he got me into gaming.

I'd played games before of course but, this was the first time I played proper video games, especially the horror games, my Ma tried convincin me anything to do with horror was born out of evil and well- actually playing them for the first time was really eye opening as to how stupid that idea was.

I know this all sounds like useless information but I promise it's important- what you need to know is that Jack was my best friend. He introduced me to things that would be some of my favourite things ever, he was there when I got with and broke up with my first boyfriend and through everything, all of those disgusting sides of how bad my mental health got, Jack was one of the only ones who stuck by my side. So when he asked me to be his editor when his YouTube career took off I didn't think twice about saying yes.

I don't think I need to tell you about the successful YouTuber Jacksepticeye- and how he's the largest ever YouTuber from Ireland- how he managed to accumulate millions of subscribers before his disappearance on Halloween of 2016.

Of course, now I know that video that was put up on his channel that wasn't uploaded by me or him and definitely wasn't edited by myself wasn't actually a fake.

No one knew what to make of "Say Goodbye" when it first released. For me I was confused- Jack obviously can edit videos on his own, in fact its pretty common for him to do so- but he always lets me know if he does. There's never been an occasion in which he didn't in the entire time I was working for him. So when that video dropped with no warning I immediately felt off about it.

I won't tell you what happened in that video. You don't need to hear the details of Jack seemingly hurting himself to the point that he was placed in a medically induced coma- I was watching the video itself when I got the call- his doctor- German if I had to guess from his accent, calling me to let me know and to ask me some questions, due to the nature of his injury.

I don't care who comes in to tell you. Jack did not try to kill himself. I refuse to believe he ever would. Jack like I mentioned, was more than my boss, he was my closest friend and we told each other everything. There was just. Nothing. Not a single thing to indicate in his life that he would ever want to hurt himself like that.

I ended up staying in contact with the German doctor, his name's Henrik Schneeplestien- really nice actually. And it was talking to him that I got an email from Jack's account. Not his business "Jacksepticeye" account- his personal one, the one I knew he used exclusively for things that where for his personal life.

When I got that email my blood froze over. It was a video. It was that video. But it was longer. There was more to it. Instead of Jack's body lying there- lifeless and bleeding out. It jerked. It jerked upwards- like his muscles and joints where all connected to strings and being hoisted up against his will, like a fucking puppet.

The thing wearing Jacks dying body laughed. It laughed tormenting us- Henrik started believeing me after watching it with me the first time.

I'll spare you the details of how my life derailed after that. The months of waiting for Jack to wake up. Of Henrik losing his mind trying to understand what's going on. The disappearance of both Jack's body and Henrik himself. Me finding the most beautiful woman on the planet and finally feeling like a person again with her. Only for her and our child to be ripped away from me by that fucking thing that insisted on destroying everything in my life that gave living meaning.

Every time something bad happened it was there, still wearing Jack's face. Puppeting him around with this wicked smirk it had some crude inside joke I wasn't apart of.

I lost everything. My friend was gone, my wife and child where dead, the only person who ever cared to hear me out was missing and to top it all off I had some demon wannabe kicking my skull into rock bottom. Just so I knew that my misery wasn't over.

I had enough. I drove myself to a forest, it was our favourite place to go to as a family in the short 3 years we got to be a family. I wasn't planning on leaving that day. I decided then and there that I wasn't having it anymore. I was done. That thing won. I gave in and I just wanted it to be over.

I still can't tell you what happened to me. But I was in the forest one second and the next I was on top of a parking garage miles away. Whatever happened to me, I knew it was the only weird thing that wasn't brought to me because of that fucking monster. I still don't know what- but I just. I just KNOW alright. I just. Know.

Anyway, not long after that I'm detained by IRIS. Your institute already have all the information you need on that fucking place. I was there for questioning about what happened to me that day. And my experiences with the thing thats been destroying my life. There wasn't anything more to say other than what I've already told you.

They where about to put me under "special containment" dragging me against my will further in the building. The whole building felt like it was screaming at me to leave- that something bad was going to happen- I wished I was wrong.

That thing came back. It was still wearing my friends face and it killed any and all workers that came close to it. All it said to me was "hello, Chase" before I blacked out. I don't remember how I somehow managed to wake up in London- or how this nagging voice in my brain told me to come here. I don't know what "ALTR 114209" is, why it decided I was going to be it's plaything or what it even is. I just....

I just need someone to know that this thing is out there and more people will die if IRIS continues the way it has done for years now.

[Statement Ends]

Chase: (deep sigh) Jesus- I- How'd you- how did you get me to do that-

The Archivist: trust me, that's a long story- I just. I'm sorry are you insinuating that IRIS is somehow- responsible? For the actions of this entity?

Chase: yeah I thought I made that pretty fucking obvious man. IRIS has done nothing but hide the truth from me, borderline torture me and do absolute jack shit when something bad happens to anyone- including their own workers mind you.

The Archivist: Okay well... Fair enough. But please be cautious, if IRIS is behind all of this. You don't want to talk about it here, not in a place like this

Chase: oh just because your boss is watching doesn't mean I have to worry about him snitching to the SCP ripoff

The Archivist: wait- what did you jus- how did you- do you. (Whispering) Do you know that Elias Bouchard is listening and can see everyone in the building- there's no way for you to of....

The Archivist: Oh..... I see.. Chase I- I think I know why you might be a target-

Chase: (quietly) wh.. what- what do you mean by that..?

The Archivist: let me get you a drink. This will take a long time to explain.

[Tape Recorder clicks off]

That's all!! Thank you SM if you read through this, I'm very new to writing fanfic so I hope that this is alright!! A lot of people really liked the idea of a crossover between JSE lore and TMA so of course I had to write up how I imagine Chase Brody's Statement.

Again thank you SM for all the support and I hope to get some more drawing/writing done soon!! <333

#jacksepticeye #jse egos #chase brody #jse #jse fanfiction #jse ego fanfic #the eye tma #the magnus archives #jonathan sims #fanfic #writing #crossover fic #honey quartz blog

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pleafyistired · 2 years ago

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(insanely long ramble about fluffer! :D)

UGGGHHH FLUFFER UGHHH. AUGGHH. i fukciefyguehfoe…… born from the human desire for attention and have time as its enemy….. they're not understandable THEYRE BASICALLY THE FEARS IN TMA SHAKES YOU SHAKE YOU SHA- UGGSDWHD theyre the case of the trope your mind makes it real…. if that desire for attention stop it will die…. But…. is it really… like Evil? Evil with a Capital E? I mean its just a manifestation of the desire for attention its not like… gonna eat you or anything… I mean…. the evolution shite?? like… whats the worst thing that can come from too much attention…? Entitlement? Main character Syndrome??? what do you mEAN THEY WILL ERASE THE THING THEY'RE TRYING TO IMPERSONATE WHY ARE THEY EVEN IMPERSONATING IN THE FIRST PLACE- oh. oh god.

When the human desire for attention appear, a… kind of… Game… also appear… To get the most attention possible. To be the one in that bright spotlight, eyes all on You. But some… can't. Or don't. Whatever it is, their personality to them is plain and they crave More Attention. They can't get enough of that feeling of everyone looking at them, talking about them. And so… they start to… impersonate. To try and gain as much Attention as possible with the least amount of effort. But it's not enough. Their desire for attention wasn't fulfilled. They want more, and they Can get more. From the Attention the person they're trying to impersonate.

And so here they are, lavishing in the Attention they have, drowning in the fact that everyone's constant waking thought is about them, about tHEM- Or so they thought. Humans get…. bored. After mingling with one thing, they would move on to the next. The attention they get dropped, and they fade into obscurity. And they can't Have that. They need that Attention so desperately again. And so the cycle of impersonating continue.

"Fluffer" is the manifestation of that. That twisted desire of attention morphing into impersonation. They said time is there enemy, but it is not. That is a misguided conclusion. Their Real enemy, is the human's nature to be curious. To always learn and Know new things. Knowledge about one thing can only be so much, and so the Attention shifted to something else. And that's the problem. (This also basically explain why they wont turn into immortals. Waste of energy and time really, as all immortals are destined to be forgotten and fade into obscurity. No matter what they try.)

so Yeah! uhhh sum things up fluffer is the manifestation of the twisted desire for attention turn to impersonating as a result uhhh theyre also dumb for not realizing that Time is not their enemy like CMON YOU HAVE ALL THAT TIME TO FIGURE THAT OUT.

…. I still have complicated feeling about fluffer. Their dick meat is still in my radiation fridge, should throw that out soon probably (I wont) (Maybe paying attention to one specific part of their body can cause fluffy own non existing dick to disappear but also it doesnt exist so paradox.) (or maybe it actually exist and me focusing on it just prove their powers. idk.)

You know, funnily enough I WAS gonna apologize for the thing that snatched my body's action aka harassing fluffy and fluffer and try to chop off dicks. But now I think about it… Weirdly enough my personal hell manifestation can be Correct sometimes huh! Or maybe its just because they also Tried to impersonate me for one Last torture but Eh. So…. Sorry fluffy you didnt deserved that… but fuck You fluffer <333 :)

Anyways I probably need some rest after. This.

Wait actually hold on before that, @flufferdancy816 good luck trying to erase fluffy lollololol 👍👍👍👍👍👍👍 tell me when your pokemon evolution thing is done so i can watch your funny pathetic clownery attempt of trying to replace them fail miserable and laugh at you :))) "You can not get rid of me-" i know i know. you only die when human die blah blah blah i get the jizz. but also hey! "gentle" reminder no one here is Human! My God! Why Are You trying to replace Fluffy of all people are you Dumb?? (ok what did i expect you literally think Time was your enemy) "I WILL NOT FAIL I AM FLUFFY I AM STUBBORN-" ok mr. dick-meat-taste-so-much-more-worse-than-when-i-have-to-eat-mold-and-diseases-for-5-weeks-including-my-own-vomit-to-not-die-from-starvation lets get you to bed. ^^

#rtumblr rp #c!pleafy #havent bully them for a while /hj #also i have thoughts about them but then think c!pleafy would think this and now its c!Pleafy work #(also bonus thing c!Pleafy also got that unquenchable thirst for knowledge so... theyre kinda enemies...-#-if you think about it.)#(c!pleafy is so.. god. 'i hate that guy' [give them what they want. attention.])

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mathildejr · 4 years ago

Photo

you guys loved the jon & cats doodles so much I couldn’t stop there here’s a coloured version

edit: someone said it looks painted and that’s because it is :D it’s watercolour, I’ll add pics of the process under, and on my ig i usually show the process

#:3 #no seriously seeing everyone's tags was the end of me i've been smiling at my phone so much #we're all yearning for cats cuddles and kisses huh #and for jonmartin in general #GIVE JON A CAT #cat 4 jon #sharing the love for this podcast gives me so much inspo to do more art #so yeah #i hid a bunch of gifts in the details of this illustration #it was fun #hope you like it #someone said in the tags 'how do you draw so many straight lines without going insane' and yeah #i hate doing background lmao but the archives are worth it #it's a good learning process #especially with how i'm so bad at perceiving depth and drawing spaces like that #and i'm working as a layout artist i don't know how i manage it #anyway #tma #the magnus archives #the magnus archive fanart #jonmartin #jmart #jonandcats #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #the admiral #jon and the admiral #or jon with any cat #the magnus institute #magpod

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sheepnasleep · 4 years ago

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life kinda sucks when ur the protag....

#wowzers new art huh #tma #wtnv #tpp #w359 #the magnus archives #welcome to nightvale #the penumbra podcast #wolf 359 #jonathan sims #juno steel #cecil palmer #doug eiffel #podcasts #podcast crossover #if ur still reading the tags hi!!!#i actually kinda hate how this came out lmao #i rushed to finish it so i had smth to post so yeah #anyways schools sucks and sorry for low qual art

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inkedmyths · 3 years ago

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If u are still doing the art thing- jon and 42, please? Just cause I like a good hitchhikers guide reference haha

Hello Hello - Elton John

S1 Jon my beloved... also should I link the palettes I'm using? Idk

Send me a character and a number between 1-100 and I'll draw something based on my top Spotify songs!

#tma #the magnus archives #jonathan sims #palette art #art #my art #ink arts #loved adding some funky symbolism lines in the background hehe #my top songs continue to be a wild variety huh #anyways yeah i am still doing these i just needed a few days break <3

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ollieofthebeholder · 2 years ago

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to find promise of peace (and the solace of rest): a TMA fanfic

[1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] [9] [10] [11] [12] || Also on AO3

Chapter 13: July 2016

[CLICK]

[ECHOING FOOTSTEPS, ONE SET OF WHICH HAS A DECIDED LIMP ]

MARTIN

Feeling better, Tim?

TIM

Yeah, thanks. Head’s a bit clearer. Nasty headache, but, uh, I think that’ll pass. Jon, how’s the leg?

ARCHIVIST

[Strained] It’s fine.

[FOOTSTEPS STOP]

MARTIN

Jon. Do you trust me?

ARCHIVIST

Wh—

[Deep breath] Yes.

TIM

Whoa.

MARTIN

Here.

[FABRIC RUSTLES, SLIGHT GRUNTING NOISES]

MARTIN

There, I’ve got you. You don’t need to make that worse by walking on it.

ARCHIVIST

Thank you.

TIM

What happened, anyway? Fuck, you didn’t get bitten, did you?

ARCHIVIST

Only by one. And Martin got it out. I’m fine.

TIM

But what if you’re…you know. What if you missed one? Will you end up like…

ARCHIVIST

I don’t know, I—

MARTIN

We didn’t. There was just the one. I’ll look again later, but I promise, Jon, you’re not Corrupted.

[BRIEF SILENCE, SAVE THE FOOTSTEPS]

ARCHIVIST

That’s twice now.

MARTIN

Huh?

ARCHIVIST

You keep using that word. Corrupted. That’s what you said Jane Prentiss was doing to the documents, too. And now…

I-it, it means something, doesn’t it? Something important.

MARTIN

…

Yes.

Look, Jon, it’s not that I didn’t want to tell you before. I did. I was going to tell you about all this after she attacked me the first time. Actually, I’d told Neens to come tell you if she didn’t hear from me. I thought Prentiss sent her an all-clear, but turned out she never got my text in the first place, so—

TIM

Sorry, Neens?

MARTIN

Melanie. King. She’s my stepsister. How do you think I was able to get hold of Hannah?

TIM

Han—wait, the nurse from Ivy Meadows? What’s that got to do with…hang on, Melanie King is your sister?

MARTIN

Stepsister. Her mum died around the same time my dad left us, and—never mind. It’s not important. But yeah, that’s why she came to make a statement in the first place. She hadn’t heard from me in a while and just…wanted an excuse to get into the Archives to see me, but without letting people know we knew each other. Making a statement seemed as good a reason as any.

TIM

Why was that such a big deal? That people not know she knows you, I mean? If I were related to Melanie King, I’d be bragging about it to everyone that came through.

MARTIN

It’s kind of a safety thing. We’ve had issues in the past with…people…finding out we know each other and using that against us. Not letting some of the more dangerous people out there know you’ve got someone who can be used as leverage keeps them safe. I guess we’re just so used to protecting one another that it’s second nature at this point.

Especially after Gerry.

ARCHIVIST

I suppose I owe her an apology. It was true, wasn’t it? Her statement. I-it wouldn’t go on the laptop.

MARTIN

Yeah, a lot of…those things are weirdly resistant to a lot of technology. It’s probably why the video file was so…

ARCHIVIST

Corrupted? Distorted?

MARTIN

Messed up. That wasn’t…I don’t think it was either of those things.

TIM

And we’re back to “Corrupted means something important”. Distorted does too?

MARTIN

I…sort of? It’s not as big as the Corruption, but…

Okay, look. It’s a lot to explain and I’m…I dunno. Do you want to stop and have me tell you about it now?

TIM

In this mess?

ARCHIVIST

No, I—you can explain it when we get out of here. When we’re safe. Just answer me one question.

MARTIN

Sure.

ARCHIVIST

Why didn’t you tell me before?

You—you said you wanted to, that you’d told…Ms. King to tell me and she didn’t, but…you didn’t, either. Why not?

MARTIN

When I first got back? You believed me. About what had happened with Prentiss, I mean. And you were anxious enough, I didn’t…it didn’t seem like the time to lay out exactly what we’re involved in. I figured when things settled down a bit, I’d tell you.

ARCHIVIST

And yet, you didn’t.

MARTIN

…No.

ARCHIVIST

Why not?

MARTIN

Elias. He called me up to his office for a “chat” the day Melanie came to make her statement.

ARCHIVIST

I—I remember. You, uh, you didn’t talk to anyone for the rest of the afternoon.

What did he—wait, does he know all this?

MARTIN

[Bitterly] Of course he does. You can’t run a place like the Magnus Institute and not be aware of Them, or what’s actually going on with the Leitners, or any of that. He knows, all right. And he knew when he hired me that I knew. He sure as hell knew before he sent me down to the Archives.

But he didn’t want you to know. I don’t know what his game is, I don’t know why it’s so important to him that you stay ignorant, but it is. I’m pretty sure he went out of his way to make sure you wouldn’t trust me, o-or believe me if I said anything, which kept me from saying anything at first. And then I got trapped, and we started…getting along better, and I was finally at the point where I was going to tell you everything. And then he talked to me.

ARCHIVIST

What did he say?

MARTIN

…

[Softly] He threatened to kill you if I told you.

ARCHIVIST/TIM

What?!

MARTIN

You wanted to know why I had a second tape recorder? That’s why. I didn’t—it was just him and me in his office and I don’t have any proof, so I thought…i-if I keep one with me, if anything like this ever happens again, I can record it and I can…I don’t know. It made sense in my head.

TIM

But to kill…do you think he really would?

MARTIN

Without a moment’s hesitation. It wouldn’t be the first time, either.

TIM

Jesus fucking Christ.

ARCHIVIST

[Incredibly shaken] All right, let’s—let’s discuss this later. Above ground, maybe. Where there’s light. And when we’re not…when we’re away from the worms.

Is there someplace safe we can discuss this? Is here safe?

MARTIN

I think so. It’s more of a strain for me to See down here, and I am down here, so I think if Elias has a way of spying on us, it doesn’t work well down here.

TIM

It’s a strain for all of us to see down here. There aren’t any lights.

MARTIN

That’s…not exactly what I meant.

ARCHIVIST

We’ll add that to the list. I promised only one more question for now.

Let’s just get out of here.

TIM

Lead on, Macduff.

ARCHIVIST

It’s “Lay on, Macduff,” actually. And that doesn’t—

MARTIN/TIM

Shut up, Jon.

[CLICK]

———

[CLICK]

[FIRE ALARM BLARING IN THE BACKGROUND, SOUND OF WORMS SQUIRMING]

MYSTERIOUS FIGURE

Ugh—shit! Watch your step!

SASHA

I can see them, thank you.

MYSTERIOUS FIGURE

Great! Glad to hear it. Can you see where we’re supposed to go?

SASHA

It’s not like there’s a map. I don’t spend a lot of time in the maintenance areas of the Institute, but the boiler room should be—

MYSTERIOUS FIGURE

Who’s there?

SASHA

Elias!

ELIAS

Sasha. What are you still doing in here? You need to get out.

SASHA

The fire suppressant system—is it active? Did you find the switch?

ELIAS

There’s no point, I’m afraid.

SASHA

What? What do you mean?

ELIAS

[Almost pityingly] You can see how fast these worms are spreading. If they are truly as dangerous as Jon and Martin have believed them to be—and I regret to say I no longer have reason to doubt them—then they would not have come up here if there was any reason for them to still be in the basement.

MYSTERIOUS FIGURE

[Softly, somewhat panicked] No, no, no…

ELIAS

I’ve been trying to get to the boiler room since we were separated, but at this point, that is not the optimal course of action. We need professional help.

The fire brigade will have specialized equipment, and as soon as I get outside, I can call the ECDC as well, but for now, you need to complete the evacuation so they don’t need to worry about you when they get here. I cannot condone wasting lives trying to save the dead.

SASHA

What?! No! You don’t know they’re dead—

ELIAS

Sasha, if by some miracle they are still alive, how do you think they will react if they get rescued only to learn that you died in the attempt? Would you really be so cruel as to force them to live knowing you died painfully and unnecessarily—because of them?

SASHA

[Angrily] Don’t. Don’t you dare.

MYSTERIOUS FIGURE

Get out of the way, old man.

ELIAS

I’m sorry, who are you? This is a private—

[SOUND OF FIST STRIKING FLESH. ELIAS YELLS IN AGONY]

SASHA

Come on!

[RUNNING FOOTSTEPS, ECHOING SLIGHTLY]

SASHA

I can’t believe you just hit him.

MYSTERIOUS FIGURE

I can apologize later if your job is on the line.

SASHA

Are you kidding? I’ve wanted to do that for years. Never thought anyone would ever actually do it.

MYSTERIOUS FIGURE

Yeah, well, he was trying to stop us getting down here, and I don’t believe for a minute it was out of concern for your safety.

Boiler room, you said?

SASHA

Yes. Here it is.

[DOOR OPENS. PIPES HISS IN THE BACKGROUND. THE FIRE ALARM IS A LITTLE FAINTER HERE]

MYSTERIOUS FIGURE

Shit, that’s a lot.

SASHA

There! There’s the override panel. We just need to find the right one…

Of course they aren’t labeled. Of course not. That ought to be il—ouch!

MYSTERIOUS FIGURE

You okay?

SASHA

It bit me! Jesus, I didn’t think you could feel a spider bite…

MYSTERIOUS FIGURE

Where?

SASHA

Here.

MYSTERIOUS FIGURE

No, I mean, where’s the spider?

SASHA

Right there.

MYSTERIOUS FIGURE

Ah, there you are, you little bastard.

[CRUNCH OF FOOTSTEPS, RATTLE OF PIPE, GRUNT OF EFFORT]

[Low growl dripping with contempt] Mother, may I?

[THUNK OF A LEVER BEING THROWN]

[LOW HISSING NOISE]

[CLICK]

#ollie writes fanfic #to find promise of peace (and the solace of rest)#tma fanfic #martin blackwood #tim stoker #jonathan sims #sasha james #elias bouchard #canon-typical worms #death threats #violence #profanity #the formatting is better on ao3

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