#erin gallagher-nelson

[themagnustournament]

Round One Part Eight - 68

I do think about The End of the Tunnel a lot, I must admit. Shadows that kill you in the dark is pretty fucked up.

MAG 129 - Submerged | Spotify - Acast - YT | Wiki | Transcript

Statement of Kulbir Shakya, regarding a flood that occurred around his flat in Hackney.

MAG 063 - The End of the Tunnel | Spotify - Acast - YT | Wiki | Transcript

Statement of Erin Gallagher-Nelson, regarding an urban exploration trip beneath St Paul’s Church West Hackney.

[artfulacrostic]

erin gallagher-nelson, forcefully ignoring the impossible shadows showing up in all of her lit-up pictures of a creepy tunnel:

The Dark: That Is The Point 🤗

[0bticeo]

j. sims, e. bouchard | knowledge is a double-edged sword

part two of four. (part one.) (part 3.) (part four.)

summary:

a low hum. there’s something sharp in elias' smile. his gaze feels like it’s cutting you open. you hold your ground, unblinking, watching him and his annoyingly handsome face. 

“you’re wearing a mask, dear.”

“aren’t we all?”

wc. 3k

tw. reader's creeping paranoia, shockinlgy nothing smutty happens in this chapter, manipulation, graphic description of eyes, mild ptsd, nightmares, elias bouchard being a creep.

working in the archives has always been… a little off, for a lack of a better word. you are supposed to research and archive statements regarding “supernatural happenings” in a world where said supernatural has been swiped under the carpet, dismissed with a haughty scoff. still, it pays well. which is why you find yourself clocking in day after day. 

your colleagues… you don’t know what to make of them. not really. sasha’s been… off. you think there’s a void in the shape of her roaming about the place. she’s calm and focused. formal. has trouble logging in her computer - that’s… not right.

martin seems to be taking it well enough for someone who’s spent the past two months sleeping in the archives and then getting attacked by worms. sounds silly. definitely wasn’t. you think there’s much, much more to him than meets the eye and and accept the cups of coffee he hands you with a warm smile. you mean them. you like martin. his poetry a bit less. 

tim… is silent. he’s lost his smile. you haven’t fallen victim to one of his pranks in ages and fear you won’t ever have to worry about a sketchy statement being one of his little jokes. you feel anger bubbling inside of him at the mere mention of having to work in the archives. yet…

yet he’s helping you. 

the library is a quiet affair, the muted sort of silence that hangs like a comforting blanket over your shoulders. dust flutters away in the air, drawn by your steps. tim’s sigh cuts through the silence like a knife.

“why are we doing this again?”

you tuck back a book in its shelf. thankfully, not a leitner. still, nothing to do with architecture.

“because it is our job, tim.”

he scoffs.

“yeah, right. i wasn’t aware it involved risking my life.”

“look, you’re not forced to help me. if it makes you feel better to slack off, then i’m not stopping you.”

he laughs, mocking, almost cruel. the pressure at the back of your neck is near unbearable. you want to scream. you want to tear something apart.

“look at you! acting like everything’s normal! three months ago, you were bleeding out on my lap! how can you-”

“it’s either i focus on something else or i go mad.” you snap a book shut with a sharp intake of air. “you won’t like me mad, tim. now shut up and help me find robert smirke’s books, will you? i’m pretty sure they were there, but-”

his hand clasps around your wrist. 

“hold on. why are you looking for smirke’s books?”

“follow up on a statement involving urbex in the former church of saint james in west hackney. built by, you guessed it, robert smirke himself.”

you watch a flash of… something in his eyes. it looks like guilt in mourning, and you’re itching to pry, pry him open and unearth whatever secrets he keeps buried under a thick layer of good humour turned bitter. 

“it should be around here.”

you end up with three heavy volumes in hand, none of which feel like they’ll help with erin gallagher-nelson’s statement. then, something catches your attention. a small leather volume, tucked away behind the books you’re currently holding. tim’s already on his way out, much to your chagrin. you don’t feel too guilty when you reach for the small little book and tuck away those he’s helped you find, neatly ordered in their rightful place.

the little book in your hand is… not a leitner, which is a relief as you are not wearing gloves. no, it’s bound leather, with no title in sight. you open it, carefully, cradling it against your breast like something fragile, and cast your gaze upon its first page. the juts out in ink far too dark for its age.

the fears that bind us.

turn another page and see the summary. fourteen entries, neatly labelled. the Web. the Dark. the Spiral. the Buried. you pause.

the pinprick pain at your neck sharpens. you’re Watched. there’s nobody but you in the library, but there’s something, watching, always watching, and you can make eyes in the corners of the shelves and they’re peering down at you and they Know you’re starting to suspect something’s terribly wrong with this place and-

thud.

the book falls from your trembling hands. dust rises up, clings to the hem of your trousers. you stare at the dull, unassuming little leather cover and feel its magnetic pull. you Know there’s more to it than it lets on. you pick it up.

(somewhere, the chittering mass of the many-legged mother of puppets spins a chain of events into motion, weaving a pretty plan.)

*

these days, stepping in the institute feels like being strapped down to a vivisection table and having your brain prodded at. it’s oppressive. you become aware of just how many eyes there are in the institute. coworkers from other departments glancing disinterestedly at you. strange motives in the nooks and crannies of the wooden doors and shelves and corridors and floors, eyes half-lidded. pictures and their faded edges, you, tim, martin, jon and sasha (?) huddling close, smiling. portraits - jonah magnus, high and mighty, immortalised in his seat of power. you think his painted lips are curled up a little more than they normally are. you’ve seen that floating smile before.

you take to having your lunch outside of the institute. you find you can breathe easier through the sharp cold of london’s winter air. needle-sharp, it pierces your lungs, scrapes your throat with every mouthful of curry you swallow. you don’t mind. you have jon to huddle close to, no matter how much he rolls his eyes and tells you to take a warmer coat with you. still, he wraps his arm around you and intertwine his fingers with yours.

tim and martin make no comment - you do feel the weight of their gaze on your shoulders as you make your way back to your desk ten minutes sharp after jon comes back to his office. doesn’t matter. by now, you’re used to being watched.

you’re growing tired of it.

going home is no relief - that damned gaze is there, too. you clench your teeth and turn all the mirrors around and tuck away what little pictures you have. your breathing stutters in your throat. there’s a cork board on your wall, now, and you think of the one that lies in jon’s office, red strings stretching and stretching and it still doesn’t make sense. not yet. 

gertrude’s dead - somebody’s murdered her, three bullets, bang, the body falls, bang, bang just to make sure the old bat is dead, a waste of an Archivist. 

jon wants to know who. he tells you, fingers threading through his hair, tape recorder still running, that it could be anyone at that’s been working at the institute since five years. you’ve been hired two years ago, so you’re good, but tim? martin? sasha? elias?

(you’ve pressed your lips to jon’s and sworn to help him, forehead pressed against him in the sweetest oath.)

there are scraps of hastily jotted down notes, pictures faded at the edges. recurring people from statements - gerry keay, michael shelley, simon fairchild, prentiss, salesa. hilltop road. recurring themes, artefacts you took pain to research, asking sasha for help - she did work in artefact storage before, right?

(her smile was sharp when she nodded. too sharp. she laughed as she led you to the basement floor, something like a deadly private joke. you didn’t ask for her help again.)

you take a step back and stare at the board. the strings make no sense, red over red over red, and you have an eye staring back at you, unblinking, thread burned in your retina. 

smirke’s book lies open on your couch. your cat wisely stays away from it. you’ve named him socrates for a reason. you wish you could be blessed with the sage’s foresight.

fears bind you. there’s a classification, Entities that sometimes bleed in the corners of this world, out-of-sight-but-there. you’ll only notice when they strike. when they show themselves, when you realise there’s something terribly wrong with the stranger’s edges peering out of an alleyway, anglerfish luring its prey. poor smoker’s fate. 

a classification. fourteen primal fears straight out of the lovecraftian mythos. the stranger. the Spiral - think of michael, smile curling endlessly in all his sharp edges, laugh like an alarm bell ringing long after he’s gone. the Corruption - jane prentiss and her loving smile and worms burrowing in her flesh and in yours. 

the Eye.

you take in a sharp intake of air and read. 

IT KNOWS YOU.

*

you cannot move. you’re crushed by the sheer magnitude of the structure spreading around you in concentric circles of power. panopticon. he who stands in the centre watches and knows all. is there anyone at all in its centre?

you. you’re kneeling, skin bare and bruised and scraped, the stone harsh and unforgiving, scraping the tender skin of your knee. humidity seeps in through the open pores of your skin. 

you can’t see. it’s too dark, the penumbra stretching and stretching for miles, near corporeal with how thick it is. you think it might be reaching out for your eyes with too long fingers, chipped claws sinking below your eyelid to rip them off. 

you startle.

eyes.

so many eyes, staring at you from the darkness encasing you, with no eyelids so they do not blink. there’s the dreadful suspicion that their optic nerves join, mingle into something you do not want to see. ocular globes, little gelatinous spheres surrounding you, Watching you, Knowing you. you, on your bloody knees, heart stammering under your ribcage like a chased rabbit, your bare flesh cold, cold, cold. 

it’s cutting you open, scalpel gazes making careful, careful incisions in the marrow of your psyche. they’re carving open your head, your skull a neat, organic little box housing the grey matter of your brain. cerebrospinal fluid drips down your cheeks.

you shudder. you can feel them, Watching, Knowing, the mere thought of it a burning streak in your consciousness, they’re picking you apart, they Know what you’ve done, how you break-

you only start screaming when you look up and See.

you startle awake with a shuddering gasp, trembling so badly you can’t even make out the familiarity of your bedroom. breathe in. the darkness isn’t cloying, the street lights worming their way beneath your shutters. breathe out. you can hear the cars running, the nocturnal hustle and bustle of london’s night life. the chatter, the laughter. 

you let out a trembling sigh and run your hand over your face. you find it damp with sweat and tears. a beat of silence. you rest your forehead on your palms, hands gliding down until the heel of your palm is over your socket and you push there until you feel the bone, the gelatinous fragility of your eye. it is not the first time you have these dreams. you wish you could sleep.

you trace the edges of your temples, those you know were left gaping, those you know had been wrenched open- closed. no scar. only those on your thighs, on your forearms, on your hands from these wretched worms.

you close your fingers, nails digging in your bandaged palm and feel a pinprick of pain. the other side of the bed is cold and empty. you glance at the analog clock on your bedside table. the time blares, angry red flashing 5:32 in your retina. three hours left before going to work. 

you get up from the bed and set about changing your sweat-soaked sheets. you’re not going to fall back asleep. might as well get ready for work. you do, body set in autopilot. breakfast. shower. lather hydrating cream over the expanse of you. disinfect the many, many patches of scarred tissues left by the flesh-hive. get dressed - black tailored pants, cream crispy ironed shirt. a spritz of perfume. white flats. a quick glance in the mirror - there you are, the epitome of professional perfection, little miss trust-me-i-have-everything-under-control. 

you don’t.

you’re tired. so, so very tired. exhaustion settles like a heavy weight in your bone marrow, anchors you down until your whole world is clouded. foggy. you don’t remember the last time you’ve pushed the door to the archives without a thin veil clouding your eyes. 

you think of the Narrator, unnamed, bone-deep tired, staring emptily in the camera in a film you can’t say the name of. first rule: you do not talk about it. second rule: you do not, talk about it. everything’s a copy of a copy of a copy.

as it goes, you push the door to the archives, step inside the quiet room, shrug off your coat at your designated desk, and go about making yourself some coffee. nobody’s there to plot your bloody murder as you blankly explain that, to you, tea is nothing but bland leaf juice. not that tim or martin would bother these days.

it’s quiet. nobody’s here to see you climb the stairs to the break room on the second floor. the one used by the human resources department. lucky bastards. bastards, period. refusing to hand over the necessary funds to buy another coffee machine for the archives after the first one broke during prentiss’ infestation. and they say their mission is to foster a safe work environment. such a shame your morning murderous urges are only quelled by your second cup of the day.

you grab a mug and press the button. whirring rises in the dry silence of the room. slowly, slowly, the mug is filled up. you inhale and feel your shoulders relax by half a fraction. the heavenly scent of grounded coffee beans percolating feels the room and you find yourself smiling. it doesn’t ease the fogginess clouding your mind. it will do.

large window panes offer a wide overview of the streets below, the early morning fog clinging to humid asphalt, the rare cars passing by. you let out a slow exhale, your breath clouding the window.

your mug is ready.

“is that one for me?”

you startle.

elias bouchard stands behind you, hands clasped behind his back, picture perfect manager in a crisp suit - too stiff, too out of place in his employee’s break room. he’s wearing a phthalo green suit, the one that brings out the green-grey of his eyes. your favourite. and he’s waiting for your answer, you realise after an embarrassingly long amount of time.

there are two mugs in front of you. you blink.

“oh. oh, yes.”

you hand him the first mug and reach for your own. he thanks you with a floating smile and takes a sip. a low hum. 

“so you do have taste.”

you blink.

he’s reclining on a table, watching you. you and your impeccably ironed shirt, cradling your mug like one would something precious. you and the bags under your eyes, so dark they might be embedded in the preciously thin skin below your eyelids.

you snort. 

“just because i have a massive sweet tooth doesn’t mean i’d put sugar in coffee. i’m french, not a complete barbarian.”

you earn a quiet chuckle. something like satisfaction purrs inside of you - you made him laugh, the sound low and rich and deep.

“one might argue that you are, in the literal sense of the term, a barbarian.”

“one might argue that the etymological definition of a barbarian doesn’t apply to me, as i speak your language.”

you watch him, from over the steaming rim of your mug. something like… elation flashes in his eyes. the thrill of debate, maybe.

“do you, now?”

you tilt your head to the side, eyes narrowing by a fraction as you assess him. the perfect curl of his lips in that damning razor sharp half-smile. the relaxed slope of his shoulders. the soft stillness of his long, gloved fingers on the table. the glint in his green-grey eyes, daring you to take the bait.

you do, crossing your legs at the ankles, leaning back against the window.

“at first glance, yes.” you point an accusatory finger towards him. “but you, monsieur bouchard, don’t like sticking to first glances and faux-semblants, you’re sharper than that.”

a low hum. there’s something sharp in his smile. his gaze feels like it’s cutting you open. you hold your ground, unblinking, watching him and his annoyingly handsome face. 

“you’re wearing a mask, dear.”

“aren’t we all?”

he shakes his head.

“it’s convenient, isn’t it? not to have to bear the weight of your mother tongue.”

your shoulders tense. there’s that pinprick pressure at the back of your neck, standing poised and sharp against your vertebrae. he’s watching you, needle-gaze pinning you like a butterfly to a wall. 

“it’s a pain. english and french bleed into one another too much and it messes up my syntax.”

“you’re deflecting.”

“wasn’t your question rhetorical?”

silence. it feels like a loss. one beat, two beat, unsteady, hammering wildly like your heart, beneath layers of flesh and fabric, all perfectly controlled thank you very much.

he’s before you before you know it, close, close enough for you to smell his cologne - something sharp and cold with a faint hint of ink. you raise your eyes and meet his gaze. you think there’s a faint glow to it, irises flashing green for the briefest moments. 

“you’re hard to pin down, my dear.”

you can feel the heat of him, creeping closer and closer as he leans down ever so slightly, one gloved finger curling under your chin, tilting your head up, up, up until the angle makes you wince.

“coming from you, i’ll take that as a compliment.”

a low hum. the building pressure at your nape has you clenching your teeth. then, finally, he lets go, apparently satisfied with whatever it is he’s found in you.

“thank you for the coffee. it has been most… insightful.”

with that, he leaves, and you stand alone in the break room, coffee mug now cold. even without the unbearable weight of his gaze on you, you feel watched. the only thing remaining in the room with you is the portrait of jonah magnus, peering down at you with storm-grey eyes. somehow, it feels familiar.

you want to scream. you gulp down your coffee and leave an empty mug behind.

[radoesart]

The End of the Tunnel.

Statement of Erin Gallagher-Nelson, regarding an urban exploration trip beneath St Paul’s Church West Hackney.

[dear-indies]

hello!! could i please get help with finding a fc that has seer vibes? someone that can pull off an off-putting, but benevolent and curious vibe? the muse is meant to be between 22-25, but i’ll absolutely accept older fcs who can pass for those ages! tysm!

Asia Kate Dillon (1984) Ashkenazi Jewish / Unspecified - is non-binary (they/them) - has spoken up for Palestine!

Emma D’Arcy (1992) - is non-binary (they/them) - has spoken up for Palestine!

Freddy Carter (1992) - has spoken up for Palestine!

Anna Leong Brophy (1993) Irish, Chinese, Kadazan.

India Eisley (1993) English, Argentinian [Spanish, possibly other], Scottish, German.

Yves Mathieu East (1994) Afro Asian - is queer - has spoken up for Palestine!

Hanjin Ni (1994) Chinese.

Adeline Rudolph (1994) Korean / White - vibes in Resident Evil.

Jazzelle Zanaughtti (1995) African-American - has spoken up for Palestine!

Josha Stradowski (1995)

Alejandro Speitzer (1995) Mexican.

Juliette Motamed (1995) Iranian - has spoken up for Palestine!

Sasha Calle (1995) Colombian.

Joy Sunday (1996) Nigieran - in Wednesday.

Rhea Ripley (1996)

Tati Gabrielle (1996) African-American 1/4 Korean - in Sabrina and Uncharted.

Lauren Jauregui (1996) Cuban [Spanish, possibly other], likely some Basque - is bisexual - has spoken up for Palestine!

Aria Shahghasemi (1996) Iranian.

Jake Kiszka (1996)

INIKO (1996) Afro-Jamaican - genderless (they/them) - has spoken up for Palestine!

Nat Ćmiel / Yeule (1997) Chinese-Singaporean - non-binary (she/they).

Kaiit (1997) Papuan / Gunditjmara, Torres Strait Islander - is non-binary (she/he/they) - has spoken up for Palestine!

Blu del Barrio (1997) Argentinian - is non-binary (they/them) - has spoken up for Palestine!

Mollie Gallagher (1997)

Sierra McCormick (1997)

Nijirō Murakami (1997) Japanese - in Alice in Borderland.

Kassius Nelson (1997) Black British - in Dead Boy Detectives.

Ariela Barer (1998) Mexican, Ashkenazi Jewish - uses she/they - did make a post saying that she's non-binary but deleted so if anybody knows more information please let me know - has spoken up for Palestine!

Erin Kellyman (1998) Afro Jamaican / White - is a lesbian.

Benedetta Porcaroli (1998) - has spoken up for Palestine!

Ethel Cain (1998) - is a bisexual and autistic trans woman - has spoken up for Palestine!

Emma Laird (1998)

Simone Baldasseroni (1998)

Ally Ioannides (1998)

Brianne Tju (1998) Chinese / Indonesian.

Nell Tiger Free (1999)

Charlie Plummer (1999)

Jayden Revri (1999) Indian, Black, White - in Dead Boy Detectives.

Kenna Sharp (1999) - is queer - has spoken up for Palestine!

Lizeth Selene (1999) Mexican [Black and Unspecified Indigenous] - is genderfluid and uses she/they.

Odessa A'zion (2000) Ashkenazi Jewish and other European - has spoken up for Palestine!

Thomasin McKenzie (2000)

Azul Guaita (2001) Mexican.

Rhea Norwood (2001) - has type 1 diabetes - has spoken up for Palestine!

Freya Allan (2001) - has spoken up for Palestine!

Rachel Zegler (2001) Colombian / White - has spoken up for Palestine!

D’Pharaoh Woon-A-Tai (2001) Ojibwe, Cree, Chinese Guyanese, Afro Guyanese, White.

Ooo this ask was difficult but I think these can all pull off a character with that vibe!

[slightlyloomingone]

At first, Jon thought he could just… scare Erin and her brother-in-law away from the entrance into St. James’ Church underneath St. Paul’s. He was rather scary, after all. He found his way inside the church shortly before midnight (he was getting better at this breaking and entering thing), and waited for them near the spot where he thought he could sense the Dark, assuming that would be the entrance they would take. He hadn’t counted on Erin Gallagher-Nelson’s response to his voice saying “you should leave this place” being to brain him with her torch. “Erin, what the fuck! Did you just kill a guy?” (S5 Jon goes back in time to pre-canon 2014 and tries to help a statement giver... it doesn't go like he expected).

I posted this here back in 2020 with a vague idea of turning it into a series, but it never happened, so impulsively decided to clean it up and post it on AO3 as a non-canon compliant one shot. Hope someone enjoys it!

[goalhofer]

2024 olympians representing non-birth nation by country part 4

Guinea: Safiatou Acquaviva, athletics (France); Aliou Baldé, soccer (Senegal); Marie Branser, judo (Germany); Rayane Doucouré, soccer (France); Mariana Esteves, judo (Portugal); Haladj Keita, soccer (France); Soumaïla Sylla, Soccer (France) & Abdoulaye Touré, soccer (France) Guyana: Aliyah Abrams, athletics (U.S.A.) & Chelsea Edghill, table tennis (U.S.A.) Haiti: Lynnzee Brown, gymnastics (U.S.A.); Emelia Chatfield, athletics (U.S.A.); Mayah Chouloute, swimming (U.S.A.); Alexandre Grand'Pierre, swimming (U.S.A.) & Philippe Metallus, judo (Canada) Honduras: Julimar Ávila, swimming (U.S.A.) & Melique García, athletics (U.S.A.) Hong Kong: Ian Ho, swimming (U.S.A.) & Chengzhu Zhu, table tennis (China) Hungary: Pylyp Akilov, boxing (Ukraine); Anna Albek, handball (Serbia); Zoran Ilić, handball (Serbia); Tóth Krisztián, judo (Germany); Geraldine Mahieu, water polo (France); Bányai Márk, water polo (Romania); Gulyás Michelle, pentathlon (U.K.); Ismail Musukaev, wrestling (Russia); Rebecca Parkes, water polo (New Zealand); Pedro Rodríguez, handball (Spain); Nataša Rybanská, water polo (Slovakia); Omar Salim, taekwondo (U.S.A.); Szabó Szebasztián, swimming (Germany); Nadine Szöllősi-Schatzl, handball (Germany) & Márton Viviana, taekwondo (Spain) India: Tanisha Crasto, badminton (U.A.E.) Indonesia: Waida Rio, surfing (Japan) Iraq: Hussein Ali, soccer (Sweden); Josef Al-Imam, soccer (Sweden); Kumel Al-Rekabe, soccer (Switzerland) & Youssef Amyn, soccer (Germany) Ireland: Victoria Catterson, swimming (U.K.); Madison Corcoran, canoeing (U.S.A.); Michaela Corcoran, canoeing (U.S.A.); Ross Corrigan, rowing (U.K.); Daniel Coyle, equestrian (U.K.); Erin Creighton, cycling (U.K.); Tim Cross, field hockey (Australia); Grace Davison, swimming (U.K.); Philip Doyle, rowing (U.K.); Jeremy Duncan, field hockey (Australia); Thomas Fannon, swimming (U.K.); Eric Favors, athletics (U.S.A.); Conor Ferguson, swimming (U.K.); Jude Gallagher, boxing (U.K.); Ben Healy, cycling (U.K.); Danielle Hill, swimming (U.K.); Liam Jegou, canoeing (France); Stephanie Kallan, golf (U.K.); Erin King, rugby (Australia); Natalie Long, rowing (South Africa); Abigail Lyle, equestrian (U.K.); Rhys McClenaghan, gymnastics (U.K.); Max McCusker, swimming (U.K.); Ciara McGing, diving (U.K.); Rory McIlroy, golf (U.K.); John McKee, field hockey (U.K.); Peter McKibbin, field hockey (U.K.); Harry McNulty, rugby (Bahrain); Bryan Mollen, rugby (Kenya); Ryan Mullen, cycling (U.K.); Chay Mullins, rugby (U.K.); Kelly Murphy, cycling (U.K.); Sean Murray, field hockey (U.S.A.); Matthew Nelson, field hockey (U.K.); Nguyen Nhat, badminton (Vietnam); Kate O'Connor, athletics (U.K.); Ashleigh Orchard; rugby (U.K.); Nick Page, field hockey (U.K.); Jake Passmore, diving (U.K.); Michael Robson, field hockey (U.K.); Shane Ryan, swimming (U.S.A.); Alice Sharpe, cycling (Germany); Nathan Timoney, rowing (U.K.); Aidan Walsh, boxing (U.K.); Michaela Walsh, boxing (U.K.) & Daniel Wiffen, swimming (U.K.) Israel: Girmaw Amare, athletics (Ethiopia); Ethane Azoulay, soccer (France); Daniel Bluman, equestrian (Colombia); Ashlee Bond, equestrian (U.S.A.); Lonah Chemtai-Salpeter, athletics (Kenya); Artem Dolgopyat, gymnastics (Ukraine); Daria Golovaty, swimming (Ukraine); Robin Muhr, equestrian (Monaco); Andrea Murez, swimming (U.S.A.); Peter Paltchik, judo (Uraine); Lihie Raz, gymnastics (U.S.A.); Sergey Richter, shooting (Ukraine); Isabella Russekoff, equestrian (U.S.A.); Ayla Spitz, swimming (U.S.A.); Maru Terefi, athletics (Ethiopia); Mikhail Yakovlev, cycling (Russia) & Misha Zilberman, badminton (Russia)

[corens-relisten]

MAG 63 The End of the Tunnel

Statement of Erin Gallagher-Nelson, regarding an urban exploration trip beneath St Paul’s Church West Hackney. Statement given 26th march, 2014

well, until he got eaten by the darkness. LMAO I LOVE HOW NONCHALANT HE IS ABT IT

so he just breaks in (cool) but not without making fun of how little valuables they have

the shadow there OMG love it and the paranoia, the arguing, the ignoring it and denying it haha

the statement giver just continues describing how cool the place it, how the composition was great like nice but not the time dear TT

pff not him seeing the shadows, more and nore, 2 or 3 sometimes, and just was like. this is fine (:

AAAAA THE THIRD SET OF BREATHING !!!

It was far more dreadful than the others because of how familiar it was – though I had never heard it in such a manner before. It was Luke’s voice, and it was screaming in agony.

AAAAA ×2

and the camera flash oh my !! love this statement its so AAAAAAAA

ofc it was build by fucking robert smirke

jon sounds so done with this. like. so over it he just cannot and tbh? go off. "and now a violent, murderous dark." lmao TT

supplemental:

TT just trying to break into Gertrudes computer

HIII MELANIE (: HELLOO HI (:

aww theyre friends (: "i noticed that you werent updating anymore" awwee

hihi theyre nice (:

spoilers

i am going fucking INSANE AAAAAAA melanie noticing that sasha isnt right ;-; that theres a "new" girl ;-;

anyway this is the dark TT

spoilers done

and have a nice day!

[fantasticallygaysstuff]

The loves of my life 😍

[themagnustournament]

Redemption Round 3 - Match 30

These two episodes are almost consecutive in the alphabetical order watch order (The Eye Opens falls between them)! The End of the Tunnel stuck through with 133 votes, and The Eyewitnesses comes with 167 votes from RR2!

MAG 063 - The End of the Tunnel | Spotify - Acast - YT | Wiki | Transcript

Statement of Erin Gallagher-Nelson, regarding an urban exploration trip beneath St Paul’s Church West Hackney.

MAG 082 - The Eyewitnesses | Spotify - Acast - YT | Wiki | Transcript

Statement of Alice "Daisy" Tonner, regarding the crimes and death of Calvin Benchley. Statement never given.

[tma-latino]

MAG063 – Caso 0143103 – “El final del túnel”

Testimonio de Erin Gallagher-Nelson, sobre un viaje de exploración urbana debajo de la Iglesia de San Pablo en West Hackney.

[Disclaimer/ Aviso]

[MAG062] | x | [MAG064]

[awellboiledicicle]

TMA Statements In Chronological Order

But, not by when the events happened, by the order when the Statements were entered to the Institute. Because that wasn’t on the wiki timeline. 

Below the cut because i’m not a monster. 

Format is:

Episode // Entity // Statement Giver// Statement Given // Event Date

   • #140 The Movment of The Heavens // The Dark // John Flamsteed // 1715    • #116 The Show Must Go On // The Stranger // Abraham Janssen // 2 November 1787    • #23 Schwarzwald // The Eye // Albrecht von Closen // 31st March 1816 // Winter 1815    • #127 Remains to be Seen // The Eye // Jonathan Franshawe // 21 November 1831 // April – November 1831    • #152 A Gravediggers Envy // The Buried // Hezekiah Wakely // 1837 - 1839    • #50 Foundations // The Buried // Sampson Kempthorn // 12th June 1841 // 1836    • #58 Trail Rations // The Flesh // Mrs. Carlisle // 10th November 1845 // October – November 1845    • #105 Total War // The Slaughter, The Eye // Charles Fleming // 1862    • #98 Lights Out // The Dark // Algernon Moss // 14 May 1864    • #138 The Architecture Of Fear // The Eye // Robert Smirke // 13 February 1867    • #7 The Piper // The Slaughter // Clarence Berry // 6th November 1922 // 1917-18    • #133 Dead Horse // The Hunt // Percy Fawcett // 27 June 1930    • #99 Dust to Dust // The Buried // Robert E Geiger // 20 February 1952 // April 1935    • #137 Nemesis // The Slaughter // Wallis Turner // 3 July 1955 // Winter 1942    • #29 Cheating Death // The End // Nathaniel Thorp // 4th June 1972 // 17th June 1775    • #60 Observer Effect // The Eye // Rosa Meyer // 12 July 1972 // April – July 1972    • #95 Absent Without Leave // The Slaughter // Luca Moretti // 2 November 1977    • #44 Tightrope // The Stranger // Yuri Utkin // 2nd March 1979 // November 1952    • #85 Upon the Stair // The Spiral // Unknown // 1980 – 1990    • #86 Tucked In // The Dark // Benjamin Hatendi // 2nd March 1983    • #84 Possessive // The Corruption // Adrian Weiss // 1 December 1990    • #125 Civilian Casualties // The Slaughter // Terrance Simpson // 19 July 1993    • #77 The Kind Mother // The Stranger // Lucy Cooper // 15 September 1994 //August 1994    • #93 Contaminant // The Corruption // Lester Chang // 5 March 1995    • #96 Return To Sender // The Stranger // Alfred Breekon // 15 May 1996    • #53 Crusader // The Eye // Walter Heller // 5th September 1997 // November 1941    • #2 Do Not Open // The Buried, The Stranger // Joshua Gillespie // 22nd November 1998 // 1996 -1998 (?)    • #46 Literary Heights // The Spiral, The Vast // Herbert Knox // 21st December 1998 // September 1997    • #17 Boneturners Tale // The Flesh // Sebastian Adekoya // 10th June 1999 // 1996    • #66 Held in Customs // The Buried // Vincent Yang // 22 February 2000 // January 19 2000    • #78 Distant Cousin // The Stranger, The Web // Lawrence Moore // 12 June 2001    • #21 Freefall // The Vast // Moira Kelly // 20th October 2002 // 3rd-5th or 7th June 2001    • #35 Old Passages // All // Harold Silvana // 4th June 2002 // June 2002    • #9 A Father’s Love // The Dark, The Hunt // Julia Montauk // 3rd December 2002 // 1990-95    • #155 Cost of Living // The End // Tova McHugh // 3 December 2002    • #68 Tale of a Field Hospital // The Corruption // Joesph Russo // 3rd June 2003 // 1st June 2003    • #27 A Sturdy Lock // The Spiral // Paul Mckenzie // 24th August 2003 // July 2003    • #146 Threshold // The Spiral // Marcus Mackenzie // 1 September 2003    • #88 Dig // The Buried // Enrique MacMillian // 4 November 2003    • #70 Book of the Dead // The End // Masato Murray // 9th December 2003    • #52 Exceptional Risk // The Dark // Phillip Brown // 9th April 2004 // 1st November 2002    • #24 Strange Music // The Stranger // Leanne Denikin // 17th Jan 2005 // August 2004    • #59 Recluse // The Web, The Desolation // Ronald Sinclair // 29th November 2005 // Early to Mid 1960’s    • #134 Time of Revelation // The Extinction // Adelard Dekker // 22 January 2006 // 2005, 1867    • #75 A Long Way Down // The Vast // Stephen Walker // 7 November 2006 // Early October 2006    • #139 Chosen // The Desolation // Eugene Vanderstock // 30 November 2006    • #115 Taking Stock // The Flesh // Michaele Salesa // 4 January 2007 // Autumn of 1999    • #8 Burnt Out // The Web, The Desolation, The Spiral // Ivo Lensik // 13th March 2007 // November 2006    • #67 Burning Desire // The Desolation // Jack Barnabas // 18 March 2007 // October – November 2006    • #3 Across the Street // The Stranger, The Web // Amy Patel // 1st July 2007 // 7th April 2006    • #51 High Pressure // The Vast, The Buried // Antonia Hayley // 7th January 2008 // August 2006    • #106 A Matter of Perspective // The Vast, The Eye // Jan Kilbride // 10 February 2008    • #49 The Butchers Window // The Flesh // Gregory Pryor // 11th March 2008 // June 2007    • #62 First Edition // The End, The Eye // Mary Keay // 3rd July 2008 // 1955    • #154 Bloody Mary // The Eye // Eric Delano // 21 July 2008    • #130 Meat // The Flesh // Lucia Wright // 19 December 2008    • #18 The Man Upstairs // The Flesh // Christof Rudenko // 12th December 2008 // 22nd October 2007    • #156 Reflection // The Extinction // Adelard Dekker // 4 January 2009    • #5 Thrown Away // The Flesh etc. // Kieran Woodward // 23rd February 2009 // 8th August 2008    • #97 We All Ignore The Pit // The Buried // Jackson Ellis // 3 March 2009    • #57 Personal Space // The Lonely, The Vast, The Dark // Carter Chilcott // 4 April 2009 // September 2007    • #145 Infectious Doubts // The Desolation // Arthur Nolan // 2 February 2009    • #114 Cracked Foundation // The Web Shtranger or Extinction // Anya Villette // 22 April 2009 // 23 April 2009 or 9 April 2009    • #37 Burnt Offering // The Desolation // Jason North // 6th August 2009 // August 2009    • #108 Monologue // The Lonely, The Stranger // Adonis Biros // 20 August 2009 // August 2009    • #144 Decrypted // The Extinction // Gary Boylan // 3 October 2009 // August 2009    • #126 Sculptor’s Tool // The Spiral // Deborah Madaki // 11 October 2009 // Spring 2004    • #72 Takeaway // The Flesh // Craig Goodall // 20 October 2009 // 27 September 2009    • #107 Third Degree // The Desolation // 1 February 2010 // January 2010    • #48 Lost in the Crowd // The Lonely // Andrea Nunis // 25th March 2010 // September 2009    • #10 Vampire Killer & #56 Children of the Night // The Hunt, the Web // Trevor Herburt // 10th July 2010 // 1959 (first event), Winter 2009    • #69 Thought For the Day // The Web // Darren Harlow // 18th November 2010    • #31 First Hunt // The Hunt // Lawerence Mortimer // 9th December 2010 // 30th November - 1st December 2010    • #33 Boatswain’s Call // The Lonely // Carlita Sloane // 2nd January 2011 // Late November 2010    • #45 Blood Bag // The Corruption // Thomas Neil // 9th February 2011 // Spring 2010    • #148 Extended Surveillance // The Eye // Sunil Maraj // 3 April 2011    • #14 Piece Meal // The Flesh // Lee Rentoul // 29th May 2011 // Early 2011    • #19 Confession & #20 Desecrated Host // The Spiral, The Web, The Desolation (Hilltop Road) & The Spiral, The Flesh // Edwin Burroughs // 30th May 2011 // November 2006    • #112 Thrill of the Chase // The Hunt // Lisa Carmel // 13 November 2011    • #113 Breathing Room // The End // Adelard Dekker // 2012    • #12 Page Turner // The Desolation, The Eye // Lesere Saraki // 11th February 2012 // 23rd December 2011    • #153 Love Bombing // The Corruption, The Flesh // Barbara Mullen-Jones // 2 March 2012    • #110 Creature Feature // The Web // Alexia Crawley // 14 March 2012    • #1 Anglerfish // Stranger //Nathan Watts // 22nd April 2012 // March 2010    • #38 Lost and Found // The Spiral // Andre Ramao // 6th June 2012 // March 2012    • #36 Taken Ill // The Corruption // Nicole Baxter // 19th November 2012 // August – September 2011    • #136 The Puppeteer // The Web // Alison Killala // 1 December 2012 // 2012    • #124 Left Hanging // The Vast // Julian Jennings // 11 December 2012 // 2012    • #149 Concrete Jungle // The Extinction // Judith O’neill // 13 May 2013    • #54 Still Life // The Stranger // Alexander Scaplehorn // 23 June  2013    • #4 Page Turner // The Vast, The Spiral, The End // Dominic Swain // 28th June 2013 // 10th November 2012    • #90 Body Builder // The Flesh // Ross Davenport // 7 August 2013    • #157 Rotten Core // The Extinction, The Corruption // Adelard Dekker // 14 August 2013    • #30 Killing Floor // The Flesh // David Laylow // 1st September 2013 // 12th July 2013    • #129 Submerged // The Buried // Kulbir Shakya // 4 September 2013 // July or August 2013    • #83 Drawing a Blank // The Stranger // Chloe Ashburt // 19 October 2013 // September – October 2013    • #42 Grifter’s Bone // The Slaughter // Jennifer Ling // 3rd November 2013 // Autumn 2013    • #32 Hive // The Corruption // Jane Prentiss // 23rd February 2014 // Pre-2014    • #63 The End of the Tunnel // The Dark // Erin Gallagher-Nelson // 31st March 2014 // 26th March 2014    • #102 Nesting Instinct // The Corruption // Francois Deschamps // 4 June 2014    • #103 Cruelty Free // The Flesh // Dylan Anderson // 2 July 2014    • #135 Dark Matter // The Dark // Manuela Dominguez // 14 July 2014 // 2007    • #87 The Uncanny Valley // The Stranger, The Desolation // Sebastian Skinner // 10 October 2014 // September 2014    • #15 Lost Johns’ Cave // The Buried // Laura Popham // 9th November 2014 // 14-15th June 2014    • #150 Cul-de-sac // The Lonely // Herman Gorgoli // 9 November 2014    • #6 Squirm // The Corruption // Timothy Hodge // 9th December 2014 // 20th November 2014    • #122 Zombie // The Stranger // Lorell St. John // 1 February 2015    • #11 Dreamer // The End // Antonio Blake (Oliver Banks) // 14th March 2015 // 12th March 2015    • #16 Arachnophobia // The Web, The Corruption // Carlos Vittery // 9th April 2015 // Early 2015    • #25 Growing Dark // The Dark // Mark Bilham // 19th April 2015 // January – March 2015    • #64 Burial Rites // The End // Donna Gwynne // 20th May 2015 // 2012    • #74 Fatigue // The Spiral // Lydia Halligan // 8 June 2015    • #123 Web Development // The Web // Angie Santos // 1 August 2015 // January 2015    • #13 Alone // The Lonely // Naomi Herne // 13th January 2016 //30th & 31st March 2015    • #22 Colony // The Corruption // Martin Blackwood // 12th March 2016 // March 2016    • #26 A Distortion // The Spiral, The Corruption // Sasha James // 2nd April 2016 // 1st April 2016    • #28 Skintight // The Slaughter, The Stranger // Melanie King // 17th April 2016 // January 2015    • #34 Anatomy Class // The Stranger // Lionel Elliot // 12th July 2016 // January – March 2016    • #39 Infestation // ATTACK ON THE INSTITUTE // 29th July 2016    • #40 Human Remains // Post Attack Debrief// 29th July 2016    • #41 Too Deep // Buried and Dark suspected // 2nd September 2016 // mid-august – September 2016    • #43 Section 31 // The Desolation, The End // Basira Hussain //19th September 2016 // August 2011 and 18 July 2014    • #47 The New Door // The Spiral // Helen Richardson // 2nd October 2016    • #55 Pest Control // The Corruption, The Desolation // Jordan Kennedy // 3rd November 2016 // 2011 & 2014    • #61 Hard Shoulder // The Hunt, The Stranger, The Buried // Daisy Tonner // 1st December 2016 // 24th July 2002    • #65 Binary // The Spiral, Extinction // Tessa Winters // 7th January 2017    • #71 Underground // The Buried // Karolina Gorka // 25 January 2017 // 6 January 2017    • #73 Police Lights // The Dark // Basira Hussain // 11 February 2017 // 10 February 2017    • #76 The Smell of Blood // The Slaughter // Melanie King // 13 February 2017    • #79 Hide and Seek // The Stranger, The Spiral // 16 February 2017    • #80 The Librarian // All // Jurgen Leitner // 16 February 2017 // 1994    • #81 A Guest for Mister Spider // The Web // Jonathan Sims // 18 February 2017 / 1995    • #82 The Eyewitnesses // The Eye, the Slaughter // Daisy Tonner // 18 February 2017    • #89 Twice as Bright // The Desolation // Jude Perry // 24 April 2017    • #91 The Coming Storm // The Vast, The Spiral // Michael Crew // 28 April 2017    • #92 Nothing Beside Remains // The Eye, The Lonely // Elias Bouchard, Barnabas Bennett // ? [Possibly 28 April 2017]    • #94 Dead Woman Walking // The End // Georgie Barker // 29 April 2017    • #100 I Guess You Had To Be There // The Desolation, The Dark, The Spiral, The Web, The Lonely // Lynn Hammond, John Smith, Robin Lennox, Brian Finlinson // 2 May 2017 – 26 May 2017    • #101 Another Twist // The Spiral, The Stranger // Michael // May-June 2017 // October 2009 – 2011    • #104 Sneak Preview // The Stranger // Timothy Stoker // 14 June 2017 // August 2013    • #109 Nightfall // The Dark, The Hunt // Julia Montauk and Trevor Herbert // 29 June 2017 // July 2010    • #111 Family Business // Multiple, The End // Gerry Keay // 30 June 2017 // September 2008    • #117 Testament // The Eye // Jonathan Sims, Basira Hussain, Melanie King, Martin Blackwood, Timothy Stoker, Daisy Tonner // 2 – 4 August 2017    • #118 The Masquerade // The Stranger // The Unknowing Begins // 6 August 2017    • #119 Stranger and Stranger // The Stranger // The Unknowing Ends // 7 August 2017    • #120 Eye Contact // The Eye // Elias Bouchard // 9 August 2017    • #121 Far Away // The End, The Web // Oliver Banks // 15 February 2018    • #128 Heavy Goods // The Stranger // Breekon // 3 March 2018    • #131 Flesh // The Flesh // Jared Hopworth // 20 March 2018 // 2016 – January 2018    • #132 Entombed // The Buried // Jonathan Sims and Daisy Tonner // 24 March 2018    • #141 Doomed Voyage // The Vast, The Spiral // Floyd Matharu // 11 June 2018    • #142 Scrutiny // The Eye, The Buried // Jess Terrell // 12 June 2018    • #143 Heart of Darkness // The Dark // Manuela Dominguez // 16 June 2018    • #147 Weaver // The Web // Annabelle Cane // 20 July 2018    • #151 Big Picture // The Vast, The Lonely, The Extinction // Simon Fairchild, Martin Blackwood // 14 August 2018    • #158 Panopticon // The Eye, the Extinction, The Lonely // Martin Blackwood, Peter Lukas, Basira Hussain, Jonathan Sims, Daisy Tonner, Elias Bouchard, Gertrude Robinson // 25 September 2018    • #159 The Last // The Lonely // Peter Lukas // 25 September 2018    • #160 The Eye Opens // All // Jonah Magnus, Jonathan Sims // 18 October 2018    • Vigilo, Audio, Supervenio. The World Ends    • #161 Dwelling // No // Sasha James, Tim Stoker, Martin Blackwood, Elias Bouchard, Jonathan Sims, Jurgen Leitner // No Longer Applicable // Unknown    • #162 A Cozy Cabin // No // Gertrude Robinson, Gerry Keay, Sasha James, Timothy Stoker, Martin Blackwood, Jonathan Sims // No Longer Applicable // 2013 – 2015    • #163 In The Trenches // The Slaughter // Jonathan Sims // No Longer Applicable    • # 164 The Sick Village // The Corruption // Jonathan Sims // No Longer Applicable    • #165 Revolutions // The Stranger // Jonathan Sims // No Longer Applicable    • #166 The Worms // The Buried // Jonathan Sims // No Longer Applicable    • #167 Curiosity // The Eye, The Web, Others // Jonathan on Gertrude Robinson // No Longer Applicable    • #168 Roots // The End // Oliver Banks // No Longer Applicable

[red-archivist]

Statement of Erin Gallagher-Nelson, regarding an urban exploration trip beneath Saint Paul’s Church, West Hackney.

urban exploration is a funny way to pronounce b&e

[aflyingcontradiction]

The Magnus Archives Relisten: Episode 63 - The End of the Tunnel

We were underneath Saint Paul’s Church in West Hackney. Horrid, boxy building, really makes you wonder about God’s housing standards. I mean, I’m just saying, if it was my house, I’d be pretty pissed. - Statement of Erin Gallagher-Nelson

I think that about a lot of modern churches, actually. This probably marks me out as a horrible snob, but I really have a strong preference for churches to look like churches and not like warehouses. And oh my god, I actually just looked this up and yeah, the church in question is a brick box. It is ugly as sin.

I saw the conflict on his face: he wanted to get out of there, sure, but apparently not as much as he wanted to make rent. So: on we went, further into the tunnel.

TMA keeps throwing in these subtle hints, all "Have you considered a system in which people endanger themselves to make rent is a bit shit?" I mean, sure, in this case it's about a supernatural kind of danger, but...

And then I heard it: the third set of breathing. (...) And then another set of breaths joined it, deep and throaty. And a fifth – a sixth – then more. We were surrounded on all sides by the sound of breathing, getting louder, getting closer.

I'm just going to use this moment to point out something that others have also pointed out: This episode is about the Dark but a fear of the dark seems to largely be about what might be hiding in it (as seen above) - and that might be ... a bunch of things, really. The Hunt, the Slaughter, heck, the Lonely even when the fear is that there's NOTHING in the dark and you've been abandoned. I can see why TMA makes it its own thing (especially as "the categorisations are human-made and imperfect and the lines are a lot blurrier than you might think" is canon) but I can also see the point of view of people going "The Dark shouldn't be its own Entity."

Luke let out a small whimper, and all together, they stopped. In their place, there came a scraping sound, something metal, that sounded like being dragged across the bricks, far away behind us, but getting closer, and fast.

Okay, the breathing didn't do much for me but THIS is genuinely terrifying.

The rector was very understanding, though I wasn’t making much sense. (...) I didn’t get his name, and it was only after I’d reached the hospital, I realized he had taken my camera.

I have something of a hunch that this rector may have been People's Church of the Divine Host rather than Church of England, even though Jon later says he didn't find a connection.

We’ve had something of a spectrum from him and his ilk: cobwebs entombing, difficulty in navigation, and now a violent, murderous dark. - Jon

The Web, the Buried, the Spiral and the Dark but do we see other Entities "dwelling" in Smirke buildings (aside from the Eye, of course, with the panopticon)? I'll have to watch for this.

Melanie: The new girl let me in. Are you all right? (...) Jon: Sasha can show you out. Melanie: Sasha…? Jon: Yes. She should be around here somewhere.

Oh god, I was internally screaming "NOTICE ALREADY JON!" so hard on my first listen.

My impression of this episode

The scene in the basement was eerie, but it didn't really stick with me all that much (episodes about the Dark just mostly don't do it for me, I suppose). The supplemental, on the other hand - well, there's multiple interesting things here: It sets Melanie up as a recurring character, mentions Georgie again (hinting strongly at a relationship between Jon and her) AND, most importantly, there are some preeeeetty strong hints that Melanie can tell Sasha and Not-Sasha apart. I picked up on that pretty much immediately and went "Ooh, oh wait! Oh god, please, Jon, ask about the 'new girl'!" And then he doesn't. And I groaned.

[somecherpuser]

Gosh why dont you guys stop making so much lonely eyes content and HATING wlw, when you could ship Erin Gallagher-Nelson, from mag 63, with her unnamed wife instead. I mean its canon so

I just dont understand

[slightlyloomingone]

Local Cryptid Tries His Best

As previously mentioned, I read a ridiculous number of time travel TMA fics and wrote this as a result. Inspired by lots of things, but especially The Guy Next Door, by pigeonanarchy, which is an amazing fic if you like time travel, Archivist Sasha, Jon being a cryptid and trying his best, jonmartin and the original archives team. Yes, all at once, go read it. This one has s5 Jon going back to pre-canon 2014 and trying to help statement givers, especifically Erin from MAG 63, so spoilers for that, I guess? Also warning for Brazilian writing British people.

At first, Jon thought he could just… scare Erin and her brother-in-law away from the entrance into St. James’ Church underneath St. Paul’s. He was rather scary, after all. He found his way inside the church shortly before midnight (he was getting better at this breaking and entering thing), and waited for them near the spot where he thought he could sense the Dark, assuming that would be the entrance they would take.

When they arrived, Jon would just have to do the Archive thing and drive them away. Easy.

He hadn’t counted on Erin Gallagher-Nelson’s response to his voice saying “you should leave this place” being to brain him with her torch.

“Erin, what the fuck! Did you just kill a guy?” a male voice was almost screaming while Jon lied on the floor, groaning. Not his best moment.

“Well, he shouldn’t have crept up on me like that, if he didn’t want to get hit!” Mrs. Gallagher-Nelson almost screamed back, sounding… halfway between unrepentant and concerned, actually. “Hey? Hey, you alright?”

“Fine…” Jon slurred, pushing himself up and blinking. There were spots on his vision. Concussion? “Mrs. Gallagher-Nelson?” he asked, feeling someone’s hands help him sit up, but then let go again at Erin’s next words:

“I’m sorry? Do I know you?”

Jon chuckled weakly and pressed his palms to his eyes.

“No…” he answered. “But I know you, Erin…” he forced himself to look up at the short-haired woman now glaring at him. “You came here to take pictures, right?”

“Yes,” she bit back. “What about it? Do you work here? Did someone warn you about me?”

“No on both accounts,” Jon tried to stand up, but then sat back down when his vision started spinning. “But I know for a fact you’ll regret going down to St. James’ tonight, if you don’t turn back now.”

He tried to give his best Archive Look, but Erin and Luke, now standing beside her, didn’t look impressed.

“Is that supposed to be a threat?” Erin asked, sounding incredulous.

“Uh…”

“Because I don’t feel very threatened right now.”

“I mean…”

“No offense, pal, but you look like a strong wind could knock you down,” Luke added, and Jon glared a little at them both.

“This is not a joke,” he snapped. “If you go down there, I can assure you at least one of you won’t come back.”

“What? Are there murderous ghosts down there?” Erin mocked and Jon huffed at her.

“Not exactly ghosts, but definitely murderous,” he finally managed to stagger to his feet, feeling the Eye healing his concussion slowly. “Just go home, there are other places to take pictures of.”

They did not go home. Not even when Jon followed them down the entrance, almost slipping and falling from the ropes they had used in the process, which… didn’t seem to help when it came to convincing them to go home.

“If you fall and crack your head open, I refuse to be held responsible,” Erin warned while Luke placed the lightning rigs along the underground tunnel.

“Would that make you leave?” Jon asked, watching the walls a little nervously. No signs of shadows so far.

“Why would you ask…?” she sighed and shook her head, getting her equipment out. “Never mind, just stay away from the lights, we won’t take long here.”

“You really should leave, Erin,” Jon tried again. “This place isn’t safe.”

“Because of the murderous ghosts,” Erin mocked, preparing her camera as Luke finished setting up the lights.

“They aren’t ghosts.”

“Right, my bad,” she knelt down and adjusted the focus, camera pointed towards the tunnel. “Just stay put, we’ll finish this in a moment…”

This was not good. Jon watched the walls, remembering how the statement described the shadow of a person showing up in the pictures of the far wall. Were they already here? He tried to focus, to See, but the Dark was so antithetical to the Eye that it was hard to do so down here, if only he could find it…

“Luke!” Erin suddenly complained, and Jon realized she was looking at the pictures in the camera. “You’re standing in front of the lights!”

“No, I’m not!”

Jon saw her look back at her brother-in-law, look away from the far wall, and right there, standing in front of it, he saw it.

“Step back,” Jon said, and he was suddenly standing between Erin and the shadow on the wall. “Stay away from them.”

He could see the shadow better the longer he focused on it, and it looked like a person, but in a few moments it wouldn’t be.

“What are you doing?” Erin asked, sounding annoyed. “I said to stay away…”

“Hey, Erin…”

“I said to step back,” Jon blinked and there were two shadows, so he didn’t blink again. “I see you,” he warned.

The lights were flickering. Jon could feel the Dark creeping closer, trying to hide their creatures from his view, and it made him glare at it, furious that these things would try and challenge him.

“Hey, I don’t know what your deal is, but we have work to do here, just get out of the…”

The shadows were wavering. Turning less human-shaped. Turning into something monstrous. Jon glared and opened his eyes wider.

All of them.

“I See You,” he spoke in the static-filled voice of the Archive, and there were gasps of fear behind him, but the shadows were trembling, growling and snapping teeth towards him. “Leave them, or not even the Dark will protect you from me.”

They hissed and growled and the lights flickered and then. Went out.

The moment they did, Jon felt the sharp pain of something piercing his stomach. He cried out and then forced himself to bite down the sound. He wouldn’t give the Dark the satisfaction. There were frantic sounds of fear behind him and then a camera flash, bright and blinding, but still a source of light.

He glared at the shadows again, snarling and calling the Ceaseless Watcher's gaze upon them.

“I See You!" he said one last time, and it was finally enough.

The lights flickered back on with the shadows' retreat and Jon staggered in place with a gasp.

“Oh, my god, you’re bleeding!”

“What the fuck, what the fuck…!”

Jon covered the wound on his stomach with a hand and turned around, stumbling a little. He looked at Erin Gallagher-Nelson and Luke Nelson, feeling exhausted.

“We really should leave now,” he managed to tell them.

“Fuck!” Erin hurriedly put the camera back in her bag and Luke, for some reason, stepped forward and put Jon’s arm over his shoulders. What? “Come on, Luke, just bring him here, we can… we can use the ropes and… and...”

“What are you doing…?” Jon muttered as he was half-dragged, half-carried to the spot where the ropes still dangled from above.

“Just keep putting pressure on the wound or something,” Luke babbled at him as they walked, and Jon kept some eyes open to watch their back just in case, and he knew Luke could see them, he knew he was afraid, but he was still helping him. “Come on, come on, Erin, call an ambulance when you have signal!”

“Yeah, I know!”

“I can’t go to the hospital,” Jon mumbled. Wow, he felt light-headed. His hand was pressed on the wound and it felt sticky with blood. Gross.

“Well, I can’t have you bleed to death right in front of me, so shut up and deal with it!” Erin snapped, untangling the ropes and waving the two of them closer at the same time. “Bring him here, Luke, don’t you stop putting pressure on that, you creep!”

“I don’t understand what’s happening,” Jon muttered as they started tying him up with the rope, for some reason.

“Just keep pressing that, pal, you’re gonna be alright, yeah?”

“Help me out here, Luke!”

Jon may have passed out for a moment when they started using the ropes to pull him up from the tunnel. In his defense, being stabbed really hurt. He didn’t remember it hurting this much the last time it had happened. Or maybe it was that this wound in particular hurt a lot? Either way, he came back to his senses lying on the floor of St. Paul’s Church with Erin and Luke arguing as they knelt above him, and, oh, no, she was using her phone…

“Please, don’t call an ambulance,” Jon groaned, pushing himself up. The wound was healing, but… very slowly, he thought. Probably because he had used Beholding to deal with the shadows and didn't have enough in him to take care of it. He was still bleeding a lot, although Luke had apparently been putting pressure on it with a jacket.

“What are you doing?” Erin snapped at him, her voice shaking with something that could be anger or fear. Probably both. “Lie back down, do you want to bleed out?”

“Not particularly,” Jon muttered. “But I still can’t go to a hospital. So.”

“We won’t tell anyone about the… the eyes, if that’s the problem,” Luke whispered, his own eyes wide with terror. “You can hide them, can’t you? So just… just…”

Jon looked at him and he flinched. That made him sigh. He really was going to bleed out if he didn’t do anything. Actually. He tried to check on the wound, which made Erin snap at him again to stay put, and it was bleeding a lot, and fast.

“I don’t think I’ll last until the ambulance arrives,” Jon mused, still feeling a little dizzy.

“Well, you won’t if you don’t stop moving…!”

“I really didn’t want to do this, this time…” he mumbled, shoulders sagging. “But…” Jon raised his eyes to them, remorseful. “I’m really sorry, but, please, tell me what you saw in the tunnels.”

He heard the click of a recorder running someehere. Luke was the one who started talking, but Erin picked it up, and soon enough, Jon was lost in the familiar rhythm of a statement. Yes, he had heard this one before, but it was different enough now, and it was… it was still fresh. He breathed in when it was done and let out a quiet sigh that was undeniably satisfied. Then he looked at the two wide-eyed victims in front of him and whispered:

“Thank you,” he gently removed Luke’s hand from his stomach and then the jacket, checking the wound. It was halfway to healed now. “Yes, that’ll do.”

“What happened?” Erin asked quietly, still watching him. Jon sighed and pushed himself to his feet. “Wait, you were… you were just…”

“I’m really sorry,” Jon said again. “I wouldn’t have done this if I had any other choice,” he paused, trying to decide what was the appropriate response. “You should avoid tunnels for a while. Or caves, or… dark places, really. Stock up on torches, and batteries, and stay away from, well, from churches too, probably. Hm.”

“Will they come after us again?” Luke whispered and Jon winced.

“There’s a chance,” he admitted. “I never figured out how to counter it, but…” he frowned. “Actually, maybe you should just leave this church as soon as possible? I don’t think it’s safe here…”

“What?” Erin was starting to glare at him again.

“Well, they stole your camera last time…” Jon muttered and then took a step back at Erin’s look of indignation. “Just avoid churches in general, just in case? Don’t forget the torches… um…” he decided it was time to leave. “And… and I’m really sorry, again,” he said one last time, retreating a few more steps.

“Hey, wait a second…”

“Sorry! I’m really sorry, I have to go…”

He almost ran out of the church, ignoring the two of them calling out behind him.

That. That could have gone better.

Also, being stabbed really hurt.