#jonah story

[branwinged]

the magnus archives is a romcom—no what the hell it's not. it is, however, a gothic horror romance between jon and elias. because you see, the thing about jonelias is that their canonical dynamic is built around an absurd number of gothic genre tropes. jon sims obviously fits the mold of the tortured gothic protagonist quite nicely who's facing both external (the other avatars targeting him) and internal horrors (his progress as the Archivist weighing on his conscience). but he's also trapped in the gothic manor which is the magnus institute. there are secrets (the place being a temple to the eye), locked doors, forbidden chambers, and bodies in the attic which serve as evidence of past misdeeds (the panopticon; gertrude and jonah's bodies in the tunnels), the institute/archives is ultimately destroyed by fire - purging the gothic manor i.e. the symbolic destruction of the previous order with fire is a common motif in the genre. and jon's work in the archives is haunted by the figurative ghost of gertrude who remains a curious mystery he must unravel and will serve as a constant reminder to jon of his own inadequacies (just like du maurier's rebecca fr)

elias is then —

1) his personal bluebeard figure who murdered his predecessor, a comparison which only gets stronger with the jonah magnus reveal since he's been cycling through archivists for two hundred years, all having met gruesome ends in service to him and jon being his final and most notable choice. are you seeing the maxim de winter rochester imagery. are you.

2) his gothic double. doubles as a literary trope are your hidden self made manifest, the horror lies in the double (elias) revealing the gothic protagonist's (jon) hidden, true self to them. elias as an avatar of the eye is entirely unrepentant for his nature, he revels in it. which is a mirror to jon's own self-flagellation because despite how much he feels torn about his own metaphorical vampirism, he likes it. he admits as much to gerry as early as s3 when asked about his feelings on his ability to compel truths. and why wouldn't he! after being kept in the dark so long, why wouldn't he like it? and jon and jonah had in common their natural curiosity even before they found the beholding. elias is a mirror and jon looks in it and sees someone who is him, but not quite. someone who is what jon would be if he could simply let go, but jon can't. like most gothic protagonists he will kill his double because it is a reminder of a self-truth he can never escape.

and watcher's call. like what even is that. what do you mean that's a thing. what. literally wuthering heights. "why did you heed the call?" // "because this is the place i know i should be" <- normal dialogue to write for two guys definitely not starring in a gothic romance.

^ same genre of images. so the spider, the mother of puppets, the web which is the symbolic representation of narrative thread in the magnus archives universe WEAVED them together? red string fated, that's what they are? so they're soulmates. that's what you're saying. they're literally soulmates. soulmates as existential horror? just enough of an illusion of narrative agency for jonah/elias to claim, "the Chosen One is simply that – someone I chose" but paradoxically joined by fate, which isn't a good thing! because no god-like powers of hope, or love, or indigestion, or whatever, only fear. because even though both help the other achieve narrative self-actualisation (elias making jon the archive and jon making elias the king of a ruined world), their union also irrevocably destroys their lives as they hurt each other in deeply personal ways which signify their greatest fears. elias manipulating jon, whose biggest fear is mr spider, i.e. loss of control and jon repaying by being the very thing that kills jonah, who has spent multiple lifetimes trying to escape the end. and that's romance <3

[pigswithwings]

this'll be the last oceanblr post. promise. is everyone here familiar with niche aquatic events btw

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🐋 simplecetacean Follow

haha might fuck around and let my body become an unidentifiable mass that washes up on several shores and won't decay and will be mysterious to scientists for years upon years

🐋 simplecetacean Follow

might fuck around and bite off a man's leg but leave the rest of him alive, kickstarting a violent and all-consuming battle between us

🐋 simplecetacean Follow

might fuck around and absolutely troll this guy named jonah

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🦑 strawberry-squidz Follow

Squids that destroy ships and squids that have never seen a ship shouldn't be fighting. They should be kissing. That's why this pride month,

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🌑 greatbitesharkof87-deactivated Follow

lol im floating by this sandbar and theres sooo many humans gathered near the shore. looked out of the water earlier and theres a big old whale body just sitting on the beach, hope nothing bad happens lmaooo

🎣 marlingardens-deactivated Follow

top ten posts that make you feel like it's the 1970s in Florence, Oregon

🐙 ask-an-argonaut Follow

HELLO???

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🌿 misc-manatee-mutters Follow

pacific ocean superiority this & indian ocean superiority that. when will you guys focus on the real problem, the blood ocean

267 notes 🔁❤

🔍ms-magnap1nna Follow

Made a new friend today. Everyone better cheer and clap or I'm dragging you into the hadal zone

🐌 justasnailfish Follow

:}

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🌙 fishoftheabyss Follow

What do Epipelagic Zoners even do? Like it sounds ridiculous up there. Ooh, there's rain! Wow, a coral reef! I might even hop out of the waves a couple of times for funsies! Tf do you even have over Abyssopelagic Zoners. Go to shell

🌱 kelps-forests43 Follow

cranky because you've never seen the sun huh

[utilitycaster]

I put this in the tags of a post but I think one aspect of cultural Christianity that is the hardest to shake is that people raised Christian (and particularly Protestant), especially people who have since left, will interpret depictions of religion that are actually drawing on practices/imagery common across multiple world religions as specifically a reference to Christianity.

[rugwurm]

i cant believe they put ishmael in the bible

[idcallmyselfhuman]

This quest was short and sweet; I enjoyed it. I was kind of afraid they were going to pull another fetch quest that jebaits you into an assassination attempt, so this was really nice.

With all the survivors' talk of how Pilgrims 'are', as well as Aiden's general attitude towards the shitheads he encounters, you can sometimes forget that first and foremost, you are playing a brother.

My favorite quests are the ones where Aiden just shows how playful he can be, contrasting his own memories of himself as a child, ever the worrywart while his sister wanted to play with him. You start to wonder how much his memories of Mia affected his personality, since that was all he could hold on to in her absence.

[trans-jon-rights]

Recently, I was thinking about a very particular flavour of Monster Jon fics.

The ones in which Jon's appearance switches over the course of the story, ending up without an ounce of humanity remaining into his features, while Elias himself stays perfectly human.

Because in those stories, what is interesting is how Jon will always be the one blamed for being monstrous. It's his fault, he was the one who went down that path.

But just like Viktor Frankenstein and his monster, is it truly his fault ? Jon is like the seven corpses of those men. He didn't choose to be made into the Archivist by Elias, yet he ended up being a part of his creation. The Archivist didn't choose to be made either, but Elias gave it life through years of work.

Funny how, even in canon, Jon is always the first to be blamed, even before Elias himself.

Take, for example, the dialogue between Tim and Martin in MAG 58.

Over the course of this entire interaction, Tim blames Jon for his paranoia, and Martin tries to defend him. Yet, Elias, the authority figure, is mentioned one time, then completely bypassed to put the blame on Jon.

In this situation, Jon is stalking his coworkers. Elias should do something, right ? Jon is clearly under a lot of pressure and mental distress. He can't realistically be expected to take the whole situation for himself because he isn't in a mental space where he can. Elias should be the one blamed for not doing something about it (for example, forcing Jon to take time off until he gets better, suggesting therapy, or sanctioning him for his behaviour towards his coworkers), but he isn't. Tim talked to Elias, but it "doesn't seem to be doing good". Martin suggested therapy to Jon, but "he keeps saying no". Again, Elias should be blamed for these issues, but Jon is instead.

And in the stories where Jon became monstrous in appearance as well, Jon is blamed for becoming what he did, even though it's not his fault.

Jon may be the one who looks like a monster, but he is only the victim of Elias' own monstrosity.

[somuchbetterthanthat]

Don't ask me what this is, I needed Jon and Elias at the end of the world

Here and there Jon’s eyes twitched as if he wished they would close; a faint, last echo of blasphemy that Jonah soothed easily with a gentle stroke of his hair. Neither of them talked much anymore — to each other, at least. There was plenty to say and to record, endless horrors to witness and exchange from one mouth to another, but that hardly left time for basic conversation.

Not that they needed it. They were beyond such simplistic notions. They were Gods.

Or, well. Jon was. Jonah was quite content to be the shepherd that had guided him there. After all, who was more powerful? The man who held the whole world in his pupil, or his creator? The monstrous divinity, or the king who’d trapped it in the gaze of his beloved and kept it well-fed and well-loved at his feet?

Jon’s chant against his thigh was melodic, decadent and terrifying; Jonah was not getting tired of it — he knew he would never get tired ever again, for all of eternity. Let everyone else outside weep with fear. Jonah and Jon’s tears were made of ecstasy.

Soon it would be his turn again to carry the voice of the Watcher. Just for a little while — a gift, for offering Jon and the rest of the world to it. A small respite for his archivist, as well; a quiet lull to think, to itch ever closer to Jonah, grasping at him with the hunger of a starving man, cursing him and begging him all at once. Wishing for death. Wishing for more. Remembering that outside, somewhere, there was still a pocket of darkness that escaped their Eyes and not knowing anymore whether this was a threat or merely hope.

Under his fingers Jon shuddered, speaking faster. Jonah licked his lips, curled his hand around the smooth leather of Jon’s collar, and pulled it with no real strength. This, too, had become unnecessary. The smallest gesture built a whole picture that both of them knew and understood in a single heartbeat.

Jon raised his head to meet his gaze; immediately Jonah felt breathless, falling into the beautiful endless dark of Jon’s pupils. He acted fast, bending over his seat to swallow the words right out of Jon’s lips, and they both gasped as more knowledge poured in their heads. Oh, Jonah thought, how hungry he still was, and how powerful they both were, like this, right now, in this perfect equilibrium. Jon whimpered, rising from the ground to get closer. Jonah helped him up, well practised now in manhandling him until Jon was sitting on his lap, his two burning palms pressing over Jonah’s cheeks.

The heavy chains locked over their wrists were long enough for Jonah to wrap his arms around Jon’s waist, nails grazing over the length of his naked back. Jon rocked against him — out of instinct, with no real desire for completion as the God he’d become craved that sort of pleasure even less than his old human self had, and Jonah kept still, too busy devouring all he could from the never ending feast that lived unto Jon’s tongue.

The pain of being granted a small part of the divine was worth it, of course. Eventually Jonah let his head fall back, his throat taken over, his eyes filled to the brim with the beautiful nightmare that their world had been twisted into, and it was only distantly he heard Jon take a sharp breath, forehead falling into the crook of his neck. 

“Jonah,” he whispered hoarsely against his skin. “Jonah, they are coming again.”

Let them come, Jonah thought.

“They think — fire. Fire. They made sure we couldn’t run.”

“Would you run?” Jonah’s mouth asked. “Would you preserve this, what we have become, if you could?”

“I— Yes,” Jon breathed. It sounded wretched and guilty and absolutely certain, the horrid truth ripped from him like everything else. “Yes.”

Let them come, Jonah repeated. If we burn, they will burn with us. And if we don’t — all the more to gorge ourselves with, my love.

[gaiahypothesims]

398

Evelyn- <stiffly> You're late, I thought you'd be here earlier its six. The nanny has been here since four. Hi sweetheart! Did you have a nice time with Daddy?

Jonah- Yeah sorry, we were having a good time. Weren't we baby? I didn't think you would be home so early. I thought you and Ashley were going out?

Evelyn- No, well we did. He's leaving, he's packing right now.

Jonah- Oh. Where's he off to?

Evelyn- Does it matter to you? I thought you said you wanted him gone.

Jonah- Well yeah, I mean.. I want him to have less time alone to indoctrinate our daughter.

Evelyn- He has stuff to do. It doesn't matter. He's going to do whatever it is that he does when he's not here.

Jonah- Is everything okay?

Evelyn- Everything is fine. This has nothing to do with Verity, I don't know why you're asking.

[dandylion240]

Wrapping a towel around his waist Jonah picked up his phone. It was almost one in the morning and he hated the thought of waking Cecil but a promise is a promise. “Sorry it’s so late,” he murmured as soon as he heard Cecil say hello.

“I’m a dragon,” Cecil reminded him, “I don’t require a lot of sleep.”

Jonah stifled a yawn “unlike me. I might be getting too old for all these late nights.” He’d just turned thirty-five and he was feeling all of them tonight. 

“You should rest,” Cecil encouraged him.

“Do I sound that bad?” Jonah asked, chuckling a little. 

[nothing-behindher-eyes]

happy father's day to mike and jonah for being the fathers to my children

[catschimericalcreations]

I think I finally found a name for my Magnus Archives / Fallout inspired Anglerfish plush

I've just been calling him Anglerfish, but after listening to episode 27 of the Magnus Protocol, I'm very pleased to re-introduce:

Clarence!

Thank you Jimmy Magma, this is possibly the only time in two centuries and two different dimensions that you've actually been helpful

[towritecomicsonherarms]

Spider-Man: Life Story Annual #1

[skogsdotter-draws]

Ok but, regarding TMAGP 27, I can't stop thinking about Jonah writing, after sending Archibald to a certain death, "It is done, and I am surprised to find how little remorse I feel." It reminds me of his statement in MAG 160:

"The discovery, not simply of the dark and horrible reality of the world in which you live, but that you would quite willingly doom that world and confine the billions in it to an eternity of terror and suffering, all to ensure your own happiness, to place yourself beyond pain and death and fear. (...) It is an awful thing to know about yourself."

I will never get tired of little details about his life being revealed (regardless of the timeline/dimension) because the parallel between his discovery of the supernatural world and the discovery of his own true self and the things he's capable of is so interesting and compelling to me.

Along with the knowledge of the horrors that exist in his world comes the horror of the realization that he might be capable of anything to stop feeling scared and vulnerable, to put himself over everybody else if necessary. Every time curiosity leads him into a new experiment, a new sacrifice in the name of knowledge, he lets go a little bit of himself and his morality. And then, as it happened with Archibald, and as it happened with Barnabas in another world, he feels surprised of how easy it was. Of how he doesn't feel regret or grief, how at most he finds himself thinking that it was all a pity. So it becomes even easier each time, he finds freedom in it, as he also mentions in MAG 160— and one sacrifice after another, it all becomes incredibly simple. There is no fear of losing himself, only the fear of death and pain remains, and only after that process of two hundreds years can one condemn the world for his own sake.

The progressive descent into evil of Jonah Magnus, slowly exposed through statements and letters, will never stop being one of the more interesting parts of this podcast imo.

[magnus-rar]

sometimes, I feel weird about taking Jonathan Fanshawe, one of the few men who managed to escape Jonah, and making up his story in such a way that it turns out that he didn't actually manage to do that. and then I realize how hot and cool it would be if Jonathan only thought that severing ties with Jonah would be enough to save him. if Jonathan's hope that he could resist the natural disaster that Jonah is was just his naivety. if Jonah was more like a plague than a person to everyone around him – if you linger around him, you are as good as dead; there is no way to stop the progression of that illness once it touched you. no way to get out of the downward spiral of otherworldly horrors and madness if you were careless enough to let that charming handsome man lead you to the first steps of it. how fitting would it be if everything dear to Jonah rotted under his touch, first against his will, then for his entertainment. and I calm down ❤️

[owlbee-writing]

TheArchivist: my three archival assistants,

And yes, they smoke weed

Michael distortion: do they smoke weed?

TheArchivist: yes, actually.

Jane prentiss: You mean they aren’t just smoking cigarettes? But weed cigarettes?

TheArchivist: it’s called a bunt… not a weed cigarette… and yes, it’s a weed bunt. They all smoke weed bunts before we read statements. (They are my archival assistants.)

Helen distortion: they don’t look like they smoke weed

TheArchivist: Fuck You.

Fuck You.

Fuck You.

Fuck You.

Fuck You.

Fuck You.

Fuck You.

Fuck You.

Fuck You.

Fuck You.

Fuck You.

Fuck You.

I’m so angry you are so lucky my three weed smorking archival assistants are researching statements to calm me down I’m so mad.

Melanie: Your “weed smoking archival assistant” has a Hello Kitty tattoo on his belly. The one in the middle.

TheArchivist: I printed out a photo of your avatar and taped it to my punching bag that I punch and I mutter your URL with every strong punch I punch you twerp…. Don’t ever Talk about Martin or the wicked Tat(tattoo) I drew on him ever again I Don’t wanna see you standing outside my home at 3 am holding your weird dripping brown bags ever again ok leave us alone this is the FINAL FUCKING WARNING

Basira: Well that escalated quickly……

TheArchivist: What, was that? Hmm? Come again. *martin grabs my shoulder* Come on Jon, they aren’t worth it, please. * I jerk my shoulder shaking his off* NO! NOOOOO!!! *starts to just pummel you with my big fucking fists. With each blow I let out a furious yell. The blows come quicker and harder and the yells get louder. I’m yelling so loud and now I’m crying. BREAKING POINT. The week was hard and I can’t take anymore. I’m opening sobbing at this point while you blood gurgle. All three of my archival assistants struggle to pull me off and they finally succeed and lead me away from the goo pile that is now your body*

Elias: haha oh my god

who even is this dude? someone needs some anger management classes.

love how he keeps reminding us that “I HAVE THREE ARCHIVAL ASSISTANTS”, “THEY ALL RESEARCH STATEMENTS”, and “THEY SMOKE WEED HURRP DURR”.

and let’s not forget the “Martin” and his “wicked tat”, or that he doesn’t “wanna see you standing outside [his] home at 3 am holding your weird dripping brown bags ever again”, and that this is “the FINAL FUCKING WARNING”.

“the goo pile that is now your body”

i’m dying over here, jesus

please, Jonathan, come challenge me to a bout of internet witticsisms; i promise, it’ll be fun.

TheArchivist: *shoots you dead* Heh, idiot…

*leaves with my three weed smorking archival assistants to go hold hands and research statements.*

Daisy: this dude playin omg

TheArchivist: Come again? *The institute falls silent. No one dares to make a sound, as you have just said a very poor choice of words at a very dangerous time. I remain slumped over the bar, not looking back to you. One hand limply holding an almost empty bottle, the other hand cradling my head. I repeat the question, this time louder.* Come again?! *You can hear me slur the words, the sentence sounds like a real struggle for me to get out. I’m clearly intoxicated. A bead of sweat rolls down your face as you realize you might have just fucked up in a very major way. Everyone else in the institute is pretending to not notice what is going on. The bartender idly washes a mug with a cloth. His eyes are closed and he’s muttering something to himself. A handful of people hurriedly leave. One person looks back at you, a look of sorrow on their face. They almost say something, but shake their head and cast their eyes down to the floor, and leave. But not you. You stand, petrified. A quick look at me reveals I’m still at the bar. You look to the exit, there’s still time. But there’s not, there’s not, there’s not. Your fate was sealed the moment you opened your mouth.* Mother fuck.. what did you say?! *I slowly rise from my stool and being to lumber over to you. I look a mess. My hair is unkempt, I haven’t shaved in what looks like months, there are dark heavy bags under my eyes, my shirt is stained and has holes in it, and I’m missing a shoe. But the main thing you notice is the gun tucked into my jeans, and my massive muscle arms that look like they were made for punching. You know that song about the boots that were made for walking? Yeah, it’s like that only instead of boots it’s my muscles and instead of walking it’s punching. As I drunkenly sway over to you, you think of your family… Will they mourn you, or will they try and forget this blotch of stupidity, that their child insulted the Archivist publicly, ever happened to their family? Your thoughts are cut short as I now stand face to face with you. I grab your face and pull you even closer.* Playin?! There was nothing playing… no playing you fuck. No playing… it was real.. the realest thing I’ve ever know.. felt… Love. I loved them… Martin…. Sash-sasha… Tim… I loved all three of em… but they…*My face is wet with tears and I’m blinking constantly in vain to hold them back.* They left me… left… *Almost instantly the sadness leaves my face and is replaced with pure anger.* Playin? Playin?! *My hand leaves your face and starts to head to what you think is the gun. You close your eyes and see Beholding looking at you, shrugging. ‘Pft, you brought this upon yourself dude.’ He says as he waves his hands at you dismissively. But instead of the gun, my hands grab yours. Your eyes jolt open and the anger is gone from my face. There is only sadness.* Left me… * I fall to the floor and sob.*

Wow, grow up. *You say before you leave the bar but are hit almost immediately from a car and are killed upon impact.*

[tall-mccartney]

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