#he said the spiral then the corruption then the flesh then the eye AND THEN the vast

[fullsaw]

I feel like the tma fandom doesnt acknowledged that Mike Crew did a tour de france of the fears before landing on the vast

[squircatlies]

There is nothing to debate here, that's just the truth, plain and simple. Meat is meat.

He also helps Will with embracing being an avatar of the hunt and then they share a domain during the eyepocalypse.

Also: here's a post about similarities between hannibal and tma that I think you might like, op.

hot take: hannibal is an avatar of the flesh please debate

[blorbo-gerrymandering]

Round 2

Note 1: Have no idea what an entity is? Neither do I, I was just told to do this this. If you don't know them vote Reigen instead.

Note 2: I only had 11 spaces so I randomly selected a few of them to share spots.

Propaganda Under The Cut

Gerry Keay:

That one person who sent the ask in was absolutely right Gerry should be in the Gerrymandering competition. He’s also a goth icon with a very nice voice.

he tries so hard yet nothing goes right for him man… bro’s entire life is entangled in supernatural forces he can’t do shit about. his aesthetic is to die for. This is the Gerrymandering competition - what on earth is it for if not for a guy named Gerry? funnily enough, I went through entire seasons of the podcast thinking his (full) name was Jar-ed, not Ger-ald, because Jon Sims (both the character and the man playing the character who said the name) pronounces them very similarly. Fortunately for the sake of Gerry in the Gerrymandered blorbo competition, his name is actually Gerry.

gerrymandering + he makes me very emotional and i love him

Reigen Arataka:

its reigen. internet sex symbol

Look, this is a blorbo-in-law. I find people's reactions to him fascinating.

He's such a loser :)

[thejournaluser]

[tma season 5 spoilers] (long post ahead)

one thing i hate is that it took me a VERY long time to understand this:

The Web is OBJECTIVELY smarter than The Eye

The things is: The Web is to Understand. The Eye is to Know. The Web immediately Understands things without the need to know it, meanwhile the Eye prioritizes Knowing without the understanding. That's why the Eye just collects everyone's statements and stores them away.

Jon hated Annabelle because she innately understands things during the Eyepocalypse and acts accordingly. Meanwhile he can only see things but cannot understand what it is.

Remember what Jon said when Martin asked about the Web's plan?

The Mother of Puppets played the long game, slowly nudging the other fear entities into the 'right' direction and even tricked everyone into thinking that there is a plan B. There's none. It chose the people it wants to participate in the long game. And it chose well.

Anyway, since:

The Web - to understand; and The Eye - to know

what about the other entities? I've got a few easy ones actually.

The End - to wait. The Dark - to blind. The Lonely - to isolate. The Hunt - to chase. The Buried - to suffocate.

Okay, let's discuss the difficult ones.

We could say that the Corruption is to Change (from the quote, "To Love is To Change"), but the Flesh would also to change. But Corruption is also about diseases, then that would make:

The Corruption - to disease. The Flesh - to change.

When it comes to the Spiral and Stranger, confusion and pretend is one major factor to both of them. They can have one of each, right? Well, not exactly. The Spiral is all about pretending things that aren't real into reality, while the Stranger does the same but for identities and the familiar.

But wait here. What's Michael (Shelley) known as again? Distortion. And Nikola? The Ringmaster. Of what? The Other Circus. It's pretending to be a circus (and it's doing quite a good job).

The Spiral - to distort. The Stranger - to pretend.

There's no need to discuss this but I think the thought process would be great to talk about ngl. Desolation and Slaughter, same concept but different focus. Think of it like fire. When we focus on just fire, we think of what it could do, primarily pain. To hurt. But then we think of where we found it. Now we start to worry where it could be located. Our home? Our friend's house? Is that worry? More like, fear. We're scared of potentially losing something to things outside our control. Hence:

The Slaughter - to hurt. The Desolation - to lose.

The Vast is kinda weird and confusing for me. Of course, it's the fear of large objects, immense speeds, and falling. But you know what? What do we feel when we feel these things? Overwhelmed. It's lazy, I know, but it sorta makes sense. (someone give me an answer for this, i really can't understand the Vast.)

The Vast - to overwhelm.

[silly-tma-headcanons]

I have complicated opinions on the colors of Jon and Jonah's Extra Eyes(TM). I love having Jon's Eyes(TM) be green but since that color choice comes from the logo of the podcast, which is called The Magnus Archives, named after, y'know, Jonah Magnus and his Archives, part of me thinks that Jonah should be the one with green Eyes(TM). but I don't think both Jon and Jonah should have the same color extra Eyes(TM), and I really can't imagine Jon rocking anything other than green. I've read/seen fanworks where Jonah has red Eyes(TM) and while that makes for a good contrast I think "evil = red eyes" is a little overdone. Jonah's eyes are canonically gray so maybe he should have silver Eyes(TM)? that's kind of Athena-esque and pretty fitting, and if it's a black pupil on silver iris on black sclera that's a good contrast.

I dunno, Tl;DR get creative with the colors y'all are so talented and keep up the good work

I love the idea of jon having red eyes. i personally dont see the beholding as red or green but i do imagine jon having red eyes and jonah having either silver or green eyes. i love the reversal of the usual "green eyes = good character" and "red eyes = evil character" !!!!! i think jon having red eyes is completely against his will and he hates it, but jonah's eyes are an aesthetic choice. he swaps between green and silver and it's always depending on what goes better with his outfit of the day.

also you said get creative with colours and i have very strong opinions about asigning colours for the entities so here we go. i also think that these sort of ideas

beholding -> magenta. jonah hates it and gertrude decided on it because he hates it

buried -> brown. i think its one of the only ones i agree with most of the fandom on. karolina is a dark academia girly so its a good shade <3

corruption -> that visceral dark colour between yellow and green. cant describe it any better than that. john amherst likes it bc hes freaky like that, jordan cant stand it

dark -> black :3 callum always says it's neon highlighter coloured, but he is ignored

desolation -> pastel pink, as decided by a young agnes montague

end -> navy blue. originally, oliver liked a dark purple, but georgie has since decided he was wrong

extinction -> green

flesh -> yellow. jared fucking hates it and he has no clue why it's caught on

hunt -> purple!!! like a lavender, pastel purple. i think the decision was a group effort between daisy, melanie and tim

lonely -> grey. peter lukas is the most uncreative fucker and jonah thinks hes basic as shit

slaughter -> purple. melanie says so.

spiral -> orange !!! a mix between yellow and magenta, both chosen by michael and helen :)

stranger -> gold. nikola says red, but danny liked gold and that's how tim chooses to remember him sometimes

vast -> opal!!! like white with loads of reflective rainbow colours mixed in :3!!!!! simon thinks its cool as shit and, reluctantly, mike agrees

web -> green!!! i know we love green beholding here, but the webs on the podcast logo is green!!!!! the webs are green!!!!!!!! rip annabelle cane you wldve HATED purple web!!!!!!!!!!!!

[theinfiknight]

What if the characters of Discworld were Avatars of the 15 fears from the Magnus Archives?

Now, just a disclaimer, this is just my personal opinion of which character would best fit the bill. Regardless if you agree or disagree, feel absolutely free to do so either way. Also, obvious spoilers for the books excepting Shepherd's Crown and Raising Steam.

The Web:

This one is obvious and can be no one other than Lord Vetinari himself. An absolute master of subtle manipulation and long term planning, Vetinari is the perfect Avatar of the Web. He creates a reputation of pervasive fear and makes people believe that he could do away with them at a whim, despite him never once killing a single person who wasn't an irredeemable criminal of some sort, and even then usually giving them chances to redeem themselves first. This being the case, I'd say Lady Margolotta is also an Avatar, and the one who exposed Havelock to the Web in the first place.

The Hunt:

The most stereotypical aspect of the Hunt is manifested most by Wolfgang von Uberwald, the textbook Hunter who chases and kills for the thrill of it. Both Sam Vimes and Angua hear the call of the Blood, but both refuse to heed it, and so aren't Avatars. I'd argue that there's another Avatar of the Hunt fulfilling the other role, created by the Hunt to be the perpetually hunted, the never caught but ever pursued white stag/ golden doe, the one, though not only, Rincewind.

The Eye:

One Avatar is Jeannie and every Kelda before and after her. The Kelda sees everything and knows what has happened and what will. The alternate answer is Blind Io, given his literal eyeballs that float around and also that he's cognizant of everything that goes on in the Disc, and that everyone knows he's watching.

The Spiral:

The Elf Queen. The undisputed master of illusion and deception, creating false worlds that operate on her rules, trapping people in unreal dreams they cannot escape, making them see and believe what she wants them to see and believe. Bel Shamharoth is also a possible answer given how he distorts the senses and feeds on those he traps.

The Buried:

Albrecht Albrechtsson. Knockermen are undoubtedly Avatars of the Buried, with the complex stew of fear and reverence they feel for the underground, and Albrecht is the lowest among them. Agi Hammerthief is probably the only fully realised Avatar of the Buried, who dwells beneath the Disc where no one will ever reach him.

The Flesh:

The Igors and Nutt. The Igors for obvious reasons, their affinity for tinkering with bodies, and their indisputable understanding of the fact that meat is meat, and as such can be used for a lot more than its original intention. Nutt because he is a creation of said tinkering, flesh made warped, with a living engine of meat inside him.

The End:

Mort and Bill Door, and possibly every zombie. This really needs no explanation. Mort stepping into his Master's role is the textbook descent of a human into Avatarhood, developing strange powers and slowly becoming Other. I'm not counting Death because he is the personification of the thing and isn't human enough to qualify as an Avatar, and I'm not counting Susan because she never carried out the Duty.

The Slaughter:

Carcer, the Gonne, and Cohen the Barbarian. Carcer killed for the fun of it with no care for reasoning, consequence or morality. He WAS a one man slaughter by himself. Cohen's existence was also very similar to Carcer's, albeit he killed far more people and lived by a Code that ensured that though he mass murdered on the regular, he always did it with the same honesty as a man hunting for his next meal. As such perhaps Cohen was more an impersonal personification of the Slaughter like the Piper rather than an Avatar of it. The Gonne was more an a artifact that channeled the Slaughter into whoever held it, be it D'Eath, Cruces or even Vimes.

The Corruption:

Vorbis and the Cunning Man. Vorbis absolutely embodies the toxicity and insidious creeping infestation of the Corruption. He pollutes organisations and people, changing them and turning them into versions of himself, utilising extremely unhealthy relationship dynamics in order to do so, creating an atmosphere ripe with fear, desperation and despair. The Cunning Man is similar except his method of corruption is more direct than Vorbis's ie literally taking over the body of his victim while subtly influencing the minds of those around him when he's less corporeal. His presence is filth of the mind and stench of the soul, and incites disgust and fear among those aware of his true nature.

The Stranger:

I had some trouble with this but finally decided on Susan and Lu Tze. Although one would intuitively put Susan under The End, in practice the characteristics she actually exhibits line up more with the Stranger. She walks unseen among others, unknown in the places she passes through, never usually staying very long in one place unless that happens to be her dwelling at that time. Her presence unsettles people. She doesn't fit in among others and has always been set apart. She's too undead to be truly alive and too alive to be truly undead. The only people who really know her are Death and Time. To everyone else, she's a stranger they see sometimes.

And Lu Tze, of course, is just the Sweeper. No one knows the first thing about him apart from the fact that he happens to be there. He's a part of the background of whenever he is. If anyone ever truly Looked at him, and actually noticed what they saw, that he's in fact a stranger in their midst, the first words out of their mouths would be "I do not know you"

The Desolation:

Stratford, Spider the Rat King, and Ipslore the Red. Stratford was a motherfucker who would bleed every last drop before abandoning the corpse he created. This was a bastard who, wishing to cause Vimes as much pain as he could, chose to target his son rather than seek him out directly. A man after the Desolation's own heart. Spider was out for everything the humans had. It wanted their utter ruin and destruction and was well on its way to achieving it. And Ipslore attempted to destroy the whole world with his resentment, using and abusing his own son as his instrument to do so, and would have succeeded too, if it weren't for some idiot with a half brick in a sock.

The Extinction:

The Things from the Dungeon Dimensions. The Extinction is the end of the rule of Man and their replacement with the horrifying Other. And there's nothing that fits that description better than the Things from the Dungeon Dimensions, constantly seeking to bring about exactly what the Fear is.

The Lonely:

This was difficult to decide as well, but I believe the First Tooth Fairy might qualify. Living literally locked up in a bubble separate from the rest of reality, it lives apart from everyone and everything else, keeping alone for all eternity. Additionally, I believe that every living witch(with the exception of Nanny Ogg) carries a piece of the Lonely inside them. Its influence never goes away, and those who succumb to it are the ones who become cacklers.

The Vast:

Tiffany Aching and, funnily enough, a Simon once again. Tiffany's primary source of power is that she is, at her core, something far bigger than herself. She may be just Tiffany but she is also Land under Wave, the power and will of millions of years of life before her. At her most powerful she is aware of EVERYTHING, from the bones of the flint beneath the chalk to time itself to the stars being born in the distant sky. She is small but she is also Vast. And Simon sees the whole universe and truly understands what he's looking at. He sees and understands more than he can express and his knowledge of the Vast almost approaches comprehension.

The Dark:

The one, though once again not only, Samuel Vimes. There couldn't be any other answer here. The dark walks with him. He was born in it, moulded by it... By the time he saw the light it was nothing more than BLINDING. But yeah, he is most at peace in the true dark in the pissing rain on the cobbles, even before he was literally possessed by the living darkness itself. The dark aids him and talks to him. The dwarfs and the goblins may live in the dark, but Sam Vimes looked into the Abyss, and he wasn't the one who blinked.

[connorsnothereeither]

Forgive me if this has been asked already but based on what you can say without spoilers what would all of your characters be as TMA avatars?

MMMM you’ve said the secret words that unlocked a room in my mind palace I have so many thoughts- I might have talked about it here and there but I don’t think it’s been asked before necessarily! I’m gonna go overboard with this because in my brain characters have distinctly different fears that they would be avatars of, touched by, or victims of✨

Ulysses would be a Flesh avatar. Butchering and reshaping of flesh is something he openly embraces. But I think he’s definitely touched by the Corruption and the Web, in that order. In terms of being the victim of a fear, I was going to say the Lonely, but I don’t think it’s the fear of being alone that scares him, but the fear that he is the last Telchin, which probably pushes him into the Extinction’s domain.

Virgil is an avatar of the Eye. Right now, at least. I think he’s in the interesting spot of being both avatar of and victim of the Eye, both observing and fearing being observed. I think they’re probably touched by the Vast, and I think there is an argument to be made that they are a victim of the Spiral or the Hunt.

Leopold is an avatar of the Lonely, I think, for sure. I don’t really have strong explanations for him. He is an avatar of the Lonely, is touched by the Buried, and is absolutely a victim of the Slaughter.

Dan Thorns is a Desolation avatar. Beyond that I think Dan is interesting. In the Interlude Episode Q&A I said that he was an avatar of Desolation, and I stand by that 100%. But I change my other statements about him being touched by the Stranger, I don’t agree with that. Dan is an avatar of the Desolation, touched by the Lonely, and a victim of the Web, without doubt.

[witchinatree]

bit of a long post so sorry in advance

i saw someone say something like over a year ago (very vague my bad) about the priest in episodes 19 and 20 of the magnus archives and basically talking about how he was annabelle's experiment for the whole marked-by-every-fear-bring-them-forth thing and i think we're seeing that again with the woman in today's episode

the priest was evidently marked by

The Web: Hilltop road 😔

The Desolation: Hilltop road and the burning thing

The Spiral: he didn't know his own mind and was eating people about it

The Flesh: he ate people

The Stranger: Breekon & Hope and the creepy church members

The Eye: freaky eye window and how the other priest "knew his sins"

and probably some other connections that i can't remember rn but the point is this HOUSE connected him to each of these fears and ultimately led to him going insane, which makes me believe it was annabelle testing to see if it could work on an archivist/The Archivist

now today's woman didn't do anything illegal i don't think? but she did mention a lot of things related to this HOUSE that tied her to the fears

bear in mind the fears do seem to present themselves closer and more connected in tmagp, likely due to the ritual binding them again (even though they are all the same and whatever jonah was talking about)

so she mentioned

The Lonely: she said the word lonely a LOT and also talked about clouds (martin moment)

The Corruption: the rot of the house itself and the flowers dying and whatnot

The Web: spiders again :(

The Spiral: impossible corridors (I KNOW HIM!!!!)

The Stranger: an unknown figure in an alleyway.. like mag1...

The Flesh: a bit of a stretch maybe but like her falling and tearing her flesh on nails and stuff?

The End: i mean she was dead when she was talking so..

again i definitely could've missed some but there was a LOT going on, point is this heavily reminded me of father burroughs

also it was read by augustus!! he is rare for a reason (i do not know this reason) i assume it has something to do with ties to the events of tma or jonah magnus

basically, if annabelle cane is still around i think she's preparing something, with augustus reading a statement so similar to edwin burroughs' AND a direct reference to the first statement in the magnus archives there is just so much taking place. i am afraid.

i am assuming annabelle has a plan for this alternate universe, she wouldn't have told martin and therefore jon how to do it if she didn't. whatever she's up to, i believe it's related to today's episode and is not going to be good for our beloved nightshift employees

[thekillingmoonmoon]

body electric

masterlist

Pairing: Kishibe x Fem!Reader Warnings: NSFW, oral (F. receiving), virginity kink, fingering, corruption kink, daddy kink, spitting, Kishibe is nasty and trying hard to hide it Synopsis: It's time, and Kishibe has something special planned for you Length: 3,5 k

I'm on fire I sing that body electric

My clothes still smell like you And all the photographs say you're still young I pretend I'm not hurt And go about the world like I'm havin' fun

We get crazy every Friday night Drop it like it's hot in the pale moonlight

Masterlist

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

“There’s a gift for you on the bed, wear it when I get home,” was all he said, passing you by in the corridor as if discussing the weather whilst you filled your glass with water. Swathes of white, white lace, barely there scraps of material held together by delicate threads. You stared down at the box. Panties, bra, garter belt and stockings, and a champagne silk robe to wear over the whole piece. You gulped and decided a shower was a good idea.

You stood in your towel, freshly clean, staring down at angel dusted lingerie set. You decided to go for it, slipping on the tights and watching as your thighs were swallowed in the white nylon, the tops peeking out in curves of plump flesh. The set fit you, with a few minor adjustments, and you wondered when Kishibe had found the time to get your measurements. Knowing him, it was the first time he saw you naked, bare and trembling beneath him as he worked you over with his tongue. You shivered, wondering if this was all for a particular reason, for the particular inexperience you had, for a special occasion. You rubbed your thighs together gently, feeling heat build up in your lower tummy. Not now. You slipped the silk robe on, watching the champagne shimmer in the light. You went to the kitchen and opened a bottle of wine to let it breathe before starting dinner.

Tonight was Friday, and that usually meant your extra creamy pasta and a couple of glasses of red wine, perhaps some trivial movie that you’d mute halfway, too busy talking about everything to notice the plot. But tonight was different, and you shivered in anticipation. “I’m home,” came the grunt, and you peered around the corner to where Kishibe had come through the door. You approached as he hung his hat on the hook, nervous as his eyes widened and then darkened at the sight of you. “Welcome ho-“ was all you could say before he kissed you, scooping you almost off your feet as wrapped his arms around your waist. One hand came down to squeeze your ass, cupping your cheek through the silk and pushing his tongue into your mouth. You sighed, balancing tight on your tippy toes, holding onto the lapels of his jacket. “Wel-welcome home,” you finally breathe out and Kishibe lets out a dark chuckle. “’ Welcome home’ indeed,” he smiled wickedly, the corner of his severed smile still turning down, giving him a crooked grin. He kissed you on the cheek and pulled his jacket off to hang it next to his hat, you turned and trailed off to the kitchen, missing the way his eyes followed your body, how the silk clung to your curves, how soft and clean your skin looked underneath.

“How was work?” you asked, getting back to your cooking, watching as he loosened his tie and dropped his briefcase at the door to his office. He disappeared into your now-shared bedroom and you peeked at him down the passageway. You watched as he shucked off his shirt, his undershirt riding up revealing planes of muscle and sinew, still strong for their age. You caught a glimpse of the ink that swirled up the base of his back, a stark surprise that had caught your eye the first night you had shared a bed with him, noticing the dark spirals and lines of intricate linework that slithered beneath his sleeves and the hem of his shirt. You had only caught glimpses of the tattoo work, watching as it bled through the white of his undershirt, as the stray patterns scattered down past his short sleeves. You wondered what was inked across his back, and if you would ever be able to see it. “Ugh,” was the only response you got, and the only response you needed. The last thing on Kishibe’s Friday schedule was a meeting with Makima to go over the week’s work. You knew how grumpy these meetings made him, how tired and worn they made him feel. So you scooped him an extra helping and poured a heavier glass of wine than your own and made your way over to the table. “Dinner’s ready,” you sat next to him as he settled himself at the head of the table, now clad in a pair of sweatpants and a grey shirt. He rubbed your cheek before he picked up his fork, giving you an uncharacteristic smile before digging in.

“It’s delicious, as always,” he rumbled, and you smiled, “thank you, sweetheart.” “My pleasure,” you sipped at your wine, watching him over the rim of your glass. You watched how he filled out his shirt, how his broad shoulders pulled the fabric tight. You watched his hands, one arm heavy with the thick watch he wore, his knuckles aged and covered in small scars. “If you look any longer, I’ll have to charge,” he snarked, and you flushed, feeling the heat rush to your cheeks. “I’m just admiring you,” you retorted and Kishibe looked at you, shaking his head. “What you see in this old man astounds me,” he muttered, more to himself than you. You placed your hand over his as he reached for the wine. “I see plenty,” You said firmly, and Kishibe’s mouth twitched upward. “Flattery will get you nowhere, princess,” he took a mouthful of wine. “And who said I was an idle flatterer?” you tilted your head, and Kishibe scoffed. “There’s no winning with you, is there?” you shrugged, “Only when I’m wrong,” you snarked, “which is rare.” “I’ll remember that,” Kishibe chuckled as he resumed eating. You fell into an easy silence, occasionally commenting on the wine or the food, content just to sit with each other, happy in your silent company. You cleared up the table quickly, humming to yourself as Kishibe poured himself a whisky and watched you. You did not notice his gaze get darker, his eyes greedily following your every step, watching the way the robe rode up on your thighs, revealing where your skin was squeezed tight by the stockings. Eventually, you were done, and you walked towards where Kishibe sat on the couch, outstretched with drink in hand. "Take the robe off and get on the bed, I’ll be with you soon.” You nodded and did as you were told, shivering out of the silk robe and kneeling on the bed, facing the bedroom door. You gulped down your nerves, feeling them tingle beneath your skin. You had been seated a few minutes before he entered the room, dimming the light, but still letting the light shine on all your soft curves, fuzzy and golden in the low shadows. He came and sat on the bed where you kneeled and leaned close to you.

“You like your gift?” he asked, still not touching you, despite the way you leaned into his body, brushing your breasts against his arm. “Yes, Daddy,” You answered, pressing a chaste kiss to his cheek, “thank you,” he hummed and looked at you, the dark eyes growing deeper as he looked you over. You wanted to hide, to hold something between you and his ever-piercing gaze, but you knew that he would punish you if you did, deny you the warm touch of his hand, the rough scratch of his stubble against your skin. “Undress me,” was all he said, and you flushed in response. You looked down at your trembling hands, at the way they itched towards the edge of his shirt. You gulped and slid your hand along his stomach, rucking up his shirt until he lifted his hands up to assist you. “You can touch, pretty thing,” he encouraged, and your hands fluttered down his chest, tracing the sparse hair that bloomed at the centre of his chest, following it to where it led to the waistband of his sweats, dark and flecked with silver grey. You peeked at his back, admiring how his ink spilt from his pectorals to his back, swirling out into the detailed traditional artwork of a dragon and a samurai, their dark eyes peering at you from his back. “You like it?” Kishibe asked, watching as you shuffled behind him, tracing the linework. You nodded and hummed, kissing his shoulder. “It’s beautiful,” you skimmed your hands over his skin, “when did you get it?” “Many, many years ago, sweetheart,” he chuckled, “don’t make me think of how old I am when you’re in front of me,” he grabbed your chin and kissed you, biting your lower lip and grinning at the yelp you gave him. You crawled off the bed and between his knees, slithering his pants off and feeling up his thick thighs to where he bulged in his boxers. You palmed him through the material, mouth slightly open as you felt the heat radiate in your hands. You slipped your fingers into his waistband and he helped you pull down his boxers, watching with wide eyes as his cock slapped against his lower stomach. It hung between his legs, heavy with its own weight, thick and pulsing as you closed your palm over it. You spit into your hand, just as he’d taught you, and gave him a few experimental pumps.

“Good girl,” he grunted, the planes of his stomach flexing along the lines of his muscles, his head tilting back. “Come here,” he crooked his finger and you curled up onto the bed beside him, tucking your legs below your body and kneeling for him. He took your chin in his hand, tilting your lips towards his, you closed your eyes, “Do you want this?” he asked, and your eyes fluttered open. You nodded, “Yes, Kishibe,” you answered truthfully, “I want you,” you gripped his bulge, “Want to feel you,” you added, watching as the haze of night veiled Kishibe’s already darkened eyes. He kissed you, chastely, sweetly, tasting the wine on your lips and the sigh you let out at his touch. He rubbed his knuckles across your cheek, steadily cupping your jaw and deepening the kiss as he leaned over your body. He slipped his tongue past your teeth slowly, savouring the taste of you as you shivered and trembled around him. He ran his knuckles over your body, starting with your neck, and then trickling down your shoulder and to your chest. He cupped your breast through your bra, pinching the nipple and generating gentle friction through the fabric. He pushed you down onto the mattress and crawled between your legs, throwing your thighs over his spread legs and rubbing the skin above your stockings. He pinched the plush flesh and slowly felt up your body, dropping down to leave a smattering of kisses along your collarbones. “Pretty girl,” he commented, gripping your hips and biting one of your breasts, leaving a fresh dark mark over where the lace cut into your skin. You whimpered, still so unused to the feel of his rough skin on yours, of his hot hands pressing and pushing you into a pliant mess for him. He felt your breasts in their cups, kneading the flesh, teasing your nipples through the lace. Eventually, he reached behind and unclasped the garment, tossing it before you had the chance to protest, “I’ll just buy you more, doll,” he soothed, “Don’t worry,” he attached his mouth to your soft flesh, sucking and kissing until a whole new blossom of marks rose from beneath your skin. He groped your hips, tugging off your panties and getting to where they interfered with your garters. Rip! Kishibe tore the lace with his bare hands, causing the fabric to burn then release against your sensitive skin. He rubbed the groove of your thighs. “Daddy, those were pretty,” you complained, and he pinched the inside of your thighs “But you’re even prettier without them, don’t you think?” he rumbled, settling himself down between your legs. He gave you his fingers, which you eagerly sucked into your mouth. “Atta girl,” he cooed, before trailing the wet tips down your tummy. He pushed a single digit past your folds, holding you down as your hips squirmed away.

“Shush, princess, I’ve got you,” he reassured, “I’ve gotta make sure you’re ready for my cock.” You looked down at his length and nodded, wondering how he would manage. His mouth descended upon your clit, startling you as he pushed a second finger into your tight cunt. You keened, bowing your back and nudging your cunt deeper into his face, feeling him hum and buzz at your eagerness. You whined at the stretch, at the way his fingers scissored in and out of your wet cunt. His tongue was relentless, sucking and tasting you until the stretch inside you had dulled to a soft whimper. With each pump, he sucked your clit, tightening the coil inside your core and pressing your walls to take his heavy cock. You were soaking, pearlescent strands of slick stringing from Kishibe’s mouth to your cunt, his chin and jaw glistening wet as his fingers made a loud squelching sound that had you throwing your hand over your eyes. You had tried to bite your fist, bite back the moans and cries that strung from your mouth in cut diamonds but a firm slap to your inner thigh and a growl from Kishibe freed the sounds from your open mouth.

His third finger felt impossible, pushing in with the already slick digits, all the way to the last knuckle. “Ah – ah,” you whimpered, salt-lined crystals forming at the corners of your eyes, and spilling in sparkling strands that trickled down your cheeks. “You’re doing so well,” Kishibe flexed his fingers, soothing your sharp cry with a heady suck to your clit and his other hand rubbing slow soft circles into your hip. His tongue traced his name over your cunt, his fingers pressing that spot that had you clenching around his digits with silken strength. He began working you hard, stretching you out and spitting on your clit, sucking and slurping your slick until he nearly drowned out the sound of your cunt taking his fingers. Above all, you keened, fighting to keep your body still, willing your soft cunt to relax around Kishibe’s fingers. Your core had begun to tighten, and your body began to grow static as tension built in your lower stomach. Kishibe’s tongue quickened, and his fingertips lingered longer against your pressure point. You spiralled, stars forming behind your eyes and static electricity filling your veins. “Cum for me, doll,” Kishibe commanded, and the warmth in your stomach burst into the falling of sparkling rain. You came hard around his fingers, clutching and clenching at his soaked fingers as you shivered and shook beneath him. Kishibe pumped his fingers slowly, softly withdrawing from your aching cunt and sucking your slick from his fingers. He lapped at your cunt, covering his face even more in the sweet stickiness of your lust. He leaned above you and captured your lips in an open-mouthed kiss, pushing the plush taste of you onto your tongue.

“Good girl,” he rasped, pushing you back onto the mattress and looking down, “my angel,” he cooed, lifting your legs and pushing your knees to your chest, exposing your cunt to his gaze. “Want you, Daddy,” you hummed breathlessly, growing hot under the darkness of his gaze. “Of course, sweetheart,” he chuckled, “You’re gonna get me.” He leaned over you and rummaged in the nightstand next to the bed. He first grabbed a pillow and tucked it below your hips. Then he pulled out a bottle and popped the lid, squirting cool liquid onto his calloused hands and rubbing the lubricant along his length. “Relax, princess,” he soothed, “it might hurt a bit, but I’ll go in slow, okay?” he guided his cockhead along your folds, watching as your breathing stuttered and started. “You ready?” he asked, and you nodded, finding your voice, “Yes, Kishibe,” you closed your eyes and felt him push at your entrance. The stretch was greater than his three fingers, tight and trembling as he pressed his cockhead against your muscles. Your body resisted until his cockhead breached you. You gasped, knees coming up to your chest, chest heaving. “Hush, doll,” Kishibe rubbed reassuring circles around your clit until your legs shuddered open again, the stretch slowly becoming a burning pleasure within your walls. “Move please, Daddy,” you asked, reaching beneath you and clutching the sheets. Kishibe rocked back slightly and then forward again, sinking deeper into your cunt until he was halfway. He paused and gritted his teeth, a slow spill of curses falling from his mouth to yours.

“So fuckin�� tight!” he cussed, fighting the push of his hips deeper into your plush cunt. Slowly, surely, he sank up to the hilt, crowding over you as you shook beneath him. He seated himself fully in your cunt, stretching you tight around his cock. He paused, waiting as you fluttered around his throbbing length, the tears streaming in sparkling shimmers down your cheeks. He pushed your thighs up and back, flush to your chest, somehow sinking deeper until you could feel him deep in your stomach. “Daddy,” was all you could whimper, overwhelmed and overstimulated, your core already tight and trembling as you waited for him. Kishibe rubbed slow circles into your skin, stroking the soft skin where it squeezed into the stockings, his one thumb coming down to circle your clit into relaxation. Your whole body burned, heaving and panting as you willed yourself to relax around him. He cooed praises to you, slowly rolling his hips back an inch before sinking back into the soft silk of your cunt. You keened, half aching, half burning with pleasure. You let him set the pace, a glacial rocking of his hips to yours, his length spearing you open, his thumb still rolling circles around your clit. “You feel so good for me,” Kishibe groaned, dropping his head to the crook of your neck, baring his teeth to your satin skin. You whimpered, your hips rolling slightly to meet his, feeling each languid push of his cock deep into your cunt. You still burned, but the fire in your belly warmed you now, licking deliciously at your tight core. You shuddered, and slung your arms under Kishibe’s shoulders, clawing at his back. “You can move faster, please,” you begged, and Kishibe complied, knocking the air from your lungs with a short sharp thrust of his cock. He set a quick pace, bouncing your tits against his chest as he pumped into you, his chest meeting yours as his hair fell in front of his eyes. He nipped you on the neck, leaving his love and lust scattered on your skin like stars. With each thrust, you grew closer, the knot in your core winding tight until you could burst. Every inch of your body trembled, the slick smack of skin on skin filling the room. Your whimpers of his name soared over your heads, your hands scrambling for grip along the planes of muscles on his back, your head thrown back as he rocked into you. Kishibe could feel your climax ripple closer, and he shifted his weight. He sat back onto his haunches, tugging your trembling thighs over his thick muscles and fucking up into your warm wet cunt, his cockhead hitting the point that sent static down your spine. With one hand hiking your hip up over his, the other ran messy circles around your clit, spiralling your further and further into infinity, stars forming behind your eyes.

You came with a cry of his name and a clenching of your cunt, curling your body inwards as you squeezed your eyes shut. Kishibe grunted as you came, still running soothing circles around your clit as he slowed his pace. He thrust up into you once, twice and then you were empty, his hot white cum spurting onto your soft stomach in thick jets. He groaned, jerking his cock until the last of his seed spilt from his length. He leaned over you, brushing your hair from your face and rubbing his knuckles across your cheeks. “You okay, sweetheart?” he asked, stiff gruff and raspy, his own chest heaving. You nodded weakly, feeling the muscles in your legs tense up and release in a series of pins and needles, leaving you legless. “I need words, princess,” Kishibe pinched your cheek. You tried to smile at him, exhaustion already pulling hard at the edges of your eyes. “I’m alright, Daddy,” you whispered, “Thank you.” He pressed a chaste kiss to your lips before scooping his arms underneath your legs. “Good girl,” He scooped you up and to his chest. “Let’s go get you cleaned up before you fall asleep covered in my cum,” he chuckled. You nodded and sleepily slung your arms around his shoulder, nuzzling your face deep into his neck as he took care of you.

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[hareofhrair]

An incomplete list of Magnus Archives fic I want to write but probably never will

Romance between a Desolation avatar oc who keeps burning her life to the ground and restarting and a Stranger avatar oc who’s features and mannerisms are constantly subtly changing so they look and act like a completely different person every few days. Desolation starts a new relationship in every city and then watches it go up in flames before she leaves, but she starts to notice weird similarities between her various ill fated paramours and realizes she’s actually just been dating and breaking up with the same person over and over.

Horror short about a Hunt avatar whose thing is being the Perfect Prey, like the Hunt’s version of the anglerfish. Predatory people zero in on her and are compelled to pursue her until they eventually find themselves literally hunting her down with violent intentions, thrilled and horrified by what they’re doing but unable to stop, until she suddenly turns the tables on them and they realize they were the ones being hunted the whole time.

Some kind of “everyone’s avatars” au which starts out as a heartwarming found family thing where they all become monsters together but redeem each other- John’s the Eye of course, Martin’s Lonely, Tim becomes Desolation after he blows up the Unknowing, they kill the Not-Sasha and it regurgitates Real Sasha who has been transformed into a Stranger by the process, Melanie’s Slaughter, Basira’s the Hunt, Daisy become Buried post coffin (it’s complicated), they keep and somehow “fix” Ghost Gerry who becomes an avatar of the End, they recruit Michael/Helen from the Spiral, Annabel Web starts hanging around and they can’t make her leave so she’s eventually just made part of the family through attrition, they recruit Manuela of the Dark because she’s got nothing left after the ritual failed, and Michael Crewe of the Vast just because I like him and I said so, Adelard Decker comes back Corrupted because I’m a heartless bastard, and when the Flesh attacks the institute Melanie cuts off a chunk of Jared which falls behind a filing cabinet and emerges a few weeks later as a semi sentient blob they name Meatball and dress in little outfits. Oh and everyone thinks Georgie is just the token normie but surprise turns out losing her fear was just the beginning of her evolving beyond humanity and whoops now she’s Extinction. With their powers combined Jonah Magnus gets kicked to the curb well before he can pull any shenanigans and yay the world is saved snd we’re basically superheroes now! Except then it turns out their love for each other has actually doomed the world by perfectly balancing the fears in each other, essentially becoming the archive John was meant to be times, uh, 14. Apocalypse time! Yaaay!

Pwp fic about ace voyeur John watching Martin fuck someone else. Tim maybe? That’d be funny.

[afuturewithoutus]

something i've been thinking about, essentially non-stop, every time i think of tma is how mag5: thrown away is, to me, an almost perfect representation of & unintentional foreshadowing for the eyepocalypse. i know, i know, jonny's said himself that it was during when he was still playing around with themes for the entities, and it was initially meant to be... i think the flesh? but hear me out on this.

the eye rules the eyepocalypse, and all other fears are therefore feeding it while also feeding themselves; the eye's servants are also the catalyst for the eyepocalypse. with this (albeit common) knowledge laid out, let me explain what i mean by the claim i made:

the episode follows a bunch of garbage truck drivers, and their visits to 93 lancaster road where they find... incredibly odd garbage. it also features several themes of several entities.

the large collections of specific types of waste could be categorized with the extinction, and it being, in general, garbage could tie into the corruption (since... filth).

the bag of doll's heads easily fits under the stranger.

the bag of singed strips of the our father (also called the lord's prayer) can be a hint to the desolation, this isn't even just due to the papers being singed, to me it also feels as if the prayer's “potential” is being destroyed as it now cannot be finished, if this makes sense; the dark, mostly in relation to the people's church of the divine host and the religious themes the cult brought into the dark; and of course the flesh which has some of the strongest religious themes, particularly in relation to christianity (albeit this most often being when cannibalism is at play).

the bag of teeth may also tie in with the flesh, it manifesting in bones and all; the stranger, think “bone apple teeth” (mag34: anatomy class); the corruption, unsanitary/filth, decay (if any of the teeth are decaying/decayed, that is); the end, also manifests in bones; and potentially the extinction due to human remains, which i know the extinction is specifically “destruction of human skin/tissue,” i do think over 1000 teeth could end up falling under it.

and then there's the eye; alan parfitt became so intensely focused on 93 lancaster road, to the point where it started to be a detriment to his health and relationships. the intense desire and morbid curiousity to learn who is leaving these bags at 93 lancaster road, and potentially why they're doing it, not only lead them to keep checking what's in these bags but it also ultimately lead to his death.

and, of course, alan's heart, plated in metal, ties back to the flesh. one could also argue that keiran woodward (the statement giver) sending alan's heart to a medical incinerator could be another small manifestation of the extinction (and this time it's actually destruction of human tissue).

i think i previously said (to friends, not really here) that i've seen a connection to every entity in this episode though i'm not sure whether i was hyperbolizing or if i simply don't remember the potential ties to the hunt, slaughter, spiral, lonely, vast, buried, and web.

i guess what i'm saying, and what my thoughts are, is that mag5: thrown away is a mixed bag (badum-tssss) of entities and the eye, mostly through alan parfitt though also keiran and the others, is kind of like a catalyst to the spiral into their constantly checking what's in those bags, showing manifestions of all the entities, feeding them with their fears. it just a very unintentional amalgamation of entity manifestions that blend in a very eyepocalypse-y way? or, at least, i like interpreting it that way.

[420technoblazeit]

ok listen. which tma entity does sammy fit best

the flesh (demon blood courses through your veins. you are tainted and blemished, a cruel experiment that should not have been allowed to live. your body is nothing but a tool for those who haunt you. and you will never be truly clean. you feel it in your very bones)

the eye (dad watches you like a hawk. he thinks there's something sinister in you, something corrupted. you're afraid that he's right. so you run away and bury yourself in your studies and even there you are watched. by the demons who pretend to be your friends, by the angels who wait for you to snap. in your memories there are yellow eyes glinting in the dark)

the spiral (lucifer sits in your chair and tells you nothing's real. the hardwood floor of bobby's house is part of your imagination, dean was never this patient with you, this can't be him. the devil laughs and says one day you'll really snap and realize you never made it out of the cage. you're still burning in hell after all this time. part of you believes him)

the desolation (the very ground around you is scorched and laid barren. your mother burns and so does your girlfriend and everyone else you hold dear. sacrificed for something they could never hope to understand. you love anyway, knowing one day they will die at your feet. in your dreams you stand over them and wish you could share their fate)

the web (you have many titles. the vessel of lucifer. boyking of hell. abomination. the antichrist. all said with the confidence of someone who knows who you'll become and expects nothing else. your true name means god has heard. it seems more like a curse than a blessing these days. even your mother's fate was assured by the angels. have any of your choices truly been yours? all roads lead here)

the extinction (the end will come by your hand. so say the prophecies and beings holy and damned alike. you fight against it with everything you have but there is still demon blood on your lips and a hunger that will not abide. you tell yourself you still have control, that you are taking charge of your destiny. but at the end of all things you welcome lucifer with open arms and it feels right)

[alexanderflowerbird]

little chunk of New Faith I wrote last night; I'm gearing up for my writing group for Not Nanowrimo cuz I'm gonna write this fucking book finally. TW: death, gore, suicide, demon possession stuff

The Dowager home has become a beacon, a hive of activity with all of Mercutio and Vincente’s neighbors turned into mindless worker bees that are swarming in the yard and on the doorstep. Vincente’s stopped the car down the street to watch but even at this distance Mercutio can feel that whatever is wearing Vanessa’s skin is amplifying, expanding outward with a base pulse of pure fucking evil that drums to the anxious beat of his heart. He’s not ready to die. He hasn’t even said out loud how much he loves Vincente, hasn’t tried to kiss him to be dramatically pushed away in rejection, hasn’t fallen in love with someone second best. There’s tons of drugs he hasn’t tried, he’s never been to a theme park, he’s always wanted to visit the city where his parents are from in India, and so much more– there’s so much to live for that he’s fighting the urge to tumble out of the car and run like he’s on fire because they are going to die. The thing in that house is not Vanessa, and if they go in now, God knows what will happen, if He’s even paying attention or gives a shit. What if they’re already eating her, like that girl in Alaska? What if they’re eating her husband, or each other? Cannibalism seems to be part of the sick, corrupt transformation of this new and horrific form of possession, so the people that are steadily wandering down the street towards the Dowager’s, the people in the yard, the people inside– it’s likely that by the end of the night they’ll be dead, chunks torn out of them, blood in their teeth and on their hands and Vanessa will be a pile of parts.

He can’t stop thinking about it– it’s easier to avoid the spiral of detail when it’s some stranger up north, or a town that he never would have known existed if it wasn’t in the newspaper. With Vanessa, who Vincente loves like she is his sister, his own flesh and blood, Mercutio’s imagination is run rampant. Will they break her bones and suck the marrow out? Will they tear at her intestines like taffy? Will they pop her eyes between their canines and suck down the fluid inside? Will they know, somewhere deep down, that they’re eating someone they used to do bake sales with, that smiled and waved when they walked down the street? Or are all the people caught in this trance just… gone? Ms.Dorothy made it difficult to understand. She was gone, maybe, but there, in some ways. Identity adopted, stolen and transformed and made ugly and foreign. But there… he’d felt her, and it, together like a russian doll, one folded into the other, kept inside the other, wearing the same face. He looks over to Vincente, because he isn’t entirely sure why Vincente has stopped. It could be that he’s wanting to observe at a distance, to try and glean some understanding even if Mercutio has already told him none of this makes sense in the ways they know demons. It’s possible he’s preparing himself, Mercutio wouldn’t be surprised at all if he lowered his head and began some long, excruciating prayer calling on all the saints and disciples and Jesus and anyone else important to aid in this insane act of religious martyrdom. Mercutio for his part is praying to all of those useless, ancient figures that Vincente is hesitating because he’s also realized there are things to live for, and going through with this is as good as putting a gun to his head and pulling the trigger, but with a huge helping of irreversible emotional trauma right before hand. A bitter, overwhelming taste of how fucked they are in the form of Vanessa with her stomach cut wide open and her husband made into a thanksgiving turkey followed by a bullet to the dome chaser. Mercutio knows better though. Even as he is half heartedly praying for Vincente to find some shred of self preservation he knows it’s useless. It’s not even because he doesn’t believe so deeply in the ethereal presence of saints or gods, it’s because he knows Vincente better than he knows anyone, and this man will not turn back, now that they’re so close, now that they’re right here and he only needs to park and take those last, fatal steps towards the Dowager household to seal the deal. Whatever he decides to do after that will be grandstanding, a fruitless show of love and devotion that will only end in tragedy.

Mercutio hates this, hates that it will end like this, but he’s here and he won’t let Vincente die all by himself. They’ve been together too long. Best to go out together, with all the potential ahead of them wasted and good intentions to report to whatever waits on the other side. Hell, probably, after all, the road to that particular place is paved with good intentions.

[shizucheese]

Hello everyone! Welcome to this week's edition of "Shizu's Red String Board Madness Corner," where I once again embrace the Eye in all it's glory! As always, if you want to see my descent into madness in full all in one place, you can find the weekly reblogged post here. All Hail the All Seeing, All Knowing!

Today is 2/12/2024. Episode 5 came out 4 days ago, I just didn't have time to listen until today.

“Talkers”

Norris (Voice: Martin?/ Alex)

Episode 1: “Reanimation (Partial) -/- Regret [Email]”. The Stranger? The End? The Dark? The Lonely? The Flesh? Arthur (Nolan?).

Episode 3: "Infection (full body" -/- Arboreal [Journal entry]". The Spiral? (Paranoia? Auditory, visual and olfactory hallucinations) The Lonely? The Corruption. The Flesh? (Callbacks to the Flesh Garden from S5)

Common Themes: Hearing the voice of a dead/ missing loved one?

Chester (Voice: John?/ Jonny)

Episode 1: “Transformation (eyes) -/- Tresspass [chat log]”. Magnus Institute, The Eye. (Involves a forum; the Web?).

Episode 5: "Disappearance (undetermined) -/- Invitation [Internet blog]". The Eye (Movies. Movie name: "Voyeur" "Must be seen to be believed"...). The Web? (Another website?). (Very reminiscent of Mag 110: Creature Feature.) The "poor old guy" at the theater is totally an Eye avatar, right? Kinda gives me "Simon Fairchild when he was first introduced" vibes.

Agustus: (rare?)

Episode 4: “Collection (blood) -/- musical [letter]” The End. The Lonely? The Slaughter.

Letter writer thinks passing on his violin might allow a part of himself to live on in his nephew. Very Jonah Magnus of him.

Music teacher hears “faraway music”, then goes crazy and throws himself out of the carriage and dies. Reminiscent of Mag7 and the Piper? The merchant’s wares include dice (Mag 29?). Got the violin from him (took his blood?). Effect of the violin reminiscent to Grifter’s Bone (Mag 42).

(Oliver Bardwell lol very funny guys)

Non-Talkers (?)

Episode 2: "Transformation (full) -/- dysmorphic [video call]". The Spiral? The Flesh. The Stranger. Ink 5oul (avatar/ entity?)

Notes and Thoughts:

So, so far both of the Norris statements have involved someone missing a loved one and tentatively some Lonely themes. Both of the Chester statements have been very Eye themed, and both involved websites; possibly some Web action going on as well (if this is actually John, that'd make sense given his history with the Web...). Between that and the fact that while they always start off sounding more robotic, Alex is definitely slipping more into his "Martin" voice and Jonny into his "John" voice as they get further into a statement whenever they read one, I think we can officially safely say at this point that it's not just Alex and Jonny playing Norris and Chester just to fuck with us. That being said: is this actually John and Martin? A portion of them that got trapped while the rest of them is somewhere out there, incomplete? Or is Something Else using their voices?

Idk if I've ever shared this theory on Tumblr before but until I'm told otherwise, I'm going to remain convinced that the Mangus Institute in this world burned down because Martin's Suggestion was Fire.

Is it just me or, when Alice was trying to stop Sam from filling out the forms, was there some level of desperation to her voice? Is her constant dismissal of the paperwork Sam fills out really just because they have so much work to do? Or is there something else going on? What is she hiding?

[little-ladynightshade]

The Lords in Black X The Fears (TMA)

I've seen many attempts to cross these two, but never a complete list. I think this is because Smirke's 14 are inherent to us. We fear them because they are familiar. The Lords, however, are eldritch and unknowable. We fear them because they are alien to us. That said, imma give it a shot:

Collective: the Dark, the Extiction

Come on, they're literally the Lords in Black. They also have a marked penchant for causing apocalypses.

Pokotho: the Stranger, the Corruption, the Lonely

While the plastic sterility of the Stranger and the Corruption's rot may seem a strange combination, it makes sense when you look at TGWDLM. It's a hive mind that takes familiar people and makes them something else. As for the Lonely, Pokey is "the singular voice." He literally hates every voice except his own. Lonely behavior.

Bliklotep: the Eye (duh)

I think this is fairly self-explanatory.

T'noy Keraxis: the Spiral, the Desolation, possibly the Buried

Again, I think Tinky's Spiral vibes are fairly obvious. However, he seems to take special joy in destroying hope and possibility. He specifically chose Ted because he had a chance at happiness. Which entity loves destroying potential? If you said the Desolation, you win a prize. The Buried is more of a vibe I get from the whole entrapment part.

Nibblenephym: the Hunt, the Flesh

Very animalistic fears for something that takes the form of an animal, kind of. The Flesh seems obvious to me, what with the whole body-made-of-pigs thing, but the Hunt is more subtle. The Honey Queen is the one who wants to win the most, who will do anything to reach her goal. Honestly the Honey Queen pageant could just be a Hunt ritual, if it ever wanted one.

Wiggog Y'rath: the Slaughter, the Vast

"Wiggly wants his wrath." Considering what his influence did on Black Friday, I'd say the Slaughter is an apt description. I did consider putting the Vast for the collective, as they are all unknowable and beyond human scale, but Wiggly is really the first one to inflict that fear on the characters and the audience.

If one wanted to include Webby, hers is in her name.

[zestys-world]

I was going to make a case for a mdzs!tma au but then it came to me, tgcf!tma

Spoilers for both series under the cut. Major spoilers. Don't say I didn't warn you.

Xie Lian who is Jun Wu's version of Jonah Magnus's Jon. Someone puppeteered to be touched by ever major fear.

Xie Lian's The Buried? See Guoshi Fangxin being buried

Xie Lian's The Corruption? Human-Face disease

Xie Lian's The Dark? Not seeing the sun for a century would do it.

Xie Lian's The Desolation? When his temples and statues were destroyed, his legacy torn and burned.

Xie Lian's The End? He has truly been surrounded by so, so much death.

Xie Lian's The Eye? His very public fall from grace.

Xie Lian's The Flesh? Also Human Face disease! And all the other body horror he's seen in general.

Xie Lian's The Hunt? Bai Wuxiang chasing him down and swooping in when he's most vulnerable. Also just. His own monster of the week hunting.

Xie Lian's The Lonely? Remember when he said a malovent spirit tried to drive him mad and Xie Lian welcomed it because it was some company? Yeah.

Xie Lian's The Slaughter? "It hurts."

Xie Lian's The Spiral? The amount of times he has been made to doubt his own mind. (Re: When Xie Lian considered that Bai Wuxiang could be his own soul).

Xie Lian's The Stranger? Bai Wuxiang.

Xie Lian's The Vast? He's always made to feel insignificant.

Xie Lian's The Web? Once again, Bai fucking Wuxiang and Jun Wu.

Honorable mention to The Extinction being the human face disease (notably when XL was ready to unleash it)

I know that the fears back then were probably not as concrete as when tma is set but i just thought it was interesting! I could totally see a modern au of this too at the good old Magnus Institute. If Jonah Magnus takes over the body of a Chinese man is that him being lowkey racist?

Also when Jon went all paranoid in s2 and drove everyone away- XL after his first banishment. I can see it so clearly I swear.

Also, Hua Cheng was touched by the fears too;; right? Completely unintentionally. (Buried: Mount Tonglu, Corruption: Butterflies maybe? could also just he HFD again, Dark: He's probably spent years hidden in temples without a candle so he doesn't get caught, Desolation: 33 gods, End: He's died like;;; thrice? good enough, Eye: probably being bullied for his eye and wanting people to stop looking at him so he can disappear or how he could only watch as people drove a blade into xl's chest, Flesh: He tore his eye out and put in a sword for heaven's sake and just;;; ghost city vendors, Hunt: He's got that Prey turned Predator smugness, Lonely: Must I explain this., Slaughter: Tonglu probably but he's seen a lot more than that, Spiral: Def has been on the verge of going insane multiple times and doubting his memories, Stranger: ghosts shenanigans prolly, Vast: Falling at the parade, Web: he created his own trap for the 33 gods).

So this royally fucks up plans and boom love wins.