#so i get to spread the word of TMA

[ascendingconures]

my Pre-distortion Michael Shelley model... i have put him in VR...

Hanging with my bestie homophobic vase

[boombox-fuckboy]

any podcast recommendations for guys Going Through It. im a sucker for whump and i’ve already listened to TMA and Malevolent sooo

Fiction Podcasts: Characters Going Through It / Experiencing the Horrors

Gore warning for most, here's 15 to get you started:

I am in Eskew: (Horror) David Ward is arguably the Guy Going Through It. Stories from a man living in something that very much wants to be a city, and a private investigator who was, in her words, "hired to kill a ghost". Calmly recounted stories set to Eskew's own gentle, persistent rain. The audio quality's a bit naff but the writing is spectacular. If you like the writing, also check out The Silt Verses, which is a brilliant show by the same creators.

VAST Horizon: (Sci-Fi, Horror, Thriller/Suspense Elements) And Dr. Nolira Ek is arguably the Gal Going Through it. An agronomist wakes from cryo to discover the ship she's on is dead in the water, far from their destination, and seemingly empty, barring the ship's malfunctioning AI, and an unclear reading on the monitors. I think you'll like this one. Great sound design, amazing acting, neat worldbuilding, and plenty of awful situations.

Dining in the Void: (Horror, Sci-Fi) So, the initial pacing on this one is a little weird, but stick with it. A collection of notable people are invited to a dinner aboard a space station, and find not only are they trapped there, but they're on a timer until total station destruction: unless they can figure out who's responsible. And there's someone else aboard to run a few games, just to make things more interesting. The games are frequently torturous. If that wasn't clear.

The White Vault: (Horror) By the same creators as VAST Horizon, this one follows a group sent to a remote arctic research base to diagnose and repair a problem. Trapped inside by persistant snow and wind, they discover something very interesting below their feet. Really well made show. The going through it is more spread out but there's a lot of it happening.

Archive 81: (Horror, Weird Fiction, Mystery and Urban Fantasy Elements) A young archivist is commissioned to digitize a series of tapes containing strange housing records from the 1990s. He has an increasingly bad time. Each season is connected but a bit different, so if S1 (relatively short) doesn't catch your ear, hang in for S2. You've got isolation, degredation of relationships, dehumanisation, and a fair amount of gore. And body horror on a sympathetic character is so underdone.

The Harrowing of Minerva Damson: (Fantasy, Horror) In an alternate version of our own world with supernatural monsters and basic magic, an order of women knights dedicated to managing such problems has survived all the way to the world wars, and one of them is doing her best with what she's got in the middle of it all.

SAYER: (Horror, Sci-Fi) How would you like to be the guy going through it? A series of sophisticated AI guide you soothingly through an array of mundane and horrible tasks.

WOE.BEGONE: (Sci-Fi) I don't keep up with this one any more, but I think Mike Walters goes through enough to qualify it. Even if it's frequently his own fault. A guy gets immediately in over his head when he begins to play an augmented reality game of entirely different sort. Or, the time-travel murder game.

Janus Descending: (Sci-Fi, Horror, Tragedy) A xenobiologist and a xenoanthropologist visit a dead city on a distant world, and find something awful. You hear her logs first-to-last, and his last-to-first, which is interesting framing but also makes the whole thing more painful. The audio equivalent of having your heart pulled out and ditched at the nearest wall. Listen to the supercut.

The Blood Crow Stories: (Horror) A different story every season. S1 is aboard a doomed cruise ship set during WWII, S2 is a horror western, S3 is cyberpunk with demons, and S4 is golden age cinema with a ghostly influence.

Mabel: (Supernatural, Horror, Fantasy Elements) The caretaker of a dying woman attempts to contact her granddaughter, leaving a series of increasingly unhinged voicemails. Supernatural history transitioning to poetic fae lesbian body horror.

Jar of Rebuke: (Supernatural) An amnesiac researcher with difficulties staying dead investigates strange creatures, eats tasty food, and even makes a few friends while exploring the town they live in. A character who doesn't stay dead creates a lot of scenarios for dying in interesting ways

The Waystation: (Sci-Fi, Horror) A space station picks up an odd piece of space junk which begins to have a bizzare effect on some of the crew. The rest of it? Doesn't react so well to this spreading strangeness. Some great nailgun-related noises.

Station Blue: (Psychological Horror) A drifting man takes a job as a repair technician and maintenance guy for an antarctic research base, ahead of the staff's arrival. He recounts how he got there, as his time in the base and some bizzare details about it begin to get to him. People tend to either quite like this one or don't really get the point of it, but I found it a fascinating listen.

The Hotel: (Horror) Stories from a "Hotel" which kills people, and the strange entities that make it happen. It's better than I'm making it sound, well-made with creative deaths, great sound work, and a strange staff which suffer as much as the guests. Worth checking out.

[fiotrethewey]

TikTok have decided I’m Martin Blackwood (see video below) so I’ve told the Magnus Archives fans that if they help get Holmwood funded I’ll listen to the whole thing (I haven’t so far because I have a deep fear of bugs, but I’ll work my way around it.)

I also promise to do fanart, and @georgiacooked and I will do a couples cosplay as Martin and Jon 🤣

TMA fans: Spread the word? Kickstarter is here

[deathbyhertouch]

Kinktober Day 5: Freeuse

(i think if they were to make an adaptation of TMA, Yasmin Finney would be amazing as Sasha/Not Sasha)

Sasha James x afab!reader

warnings: smut (18+, mdni) , freeuse, oral (sasha receiving), public sex, voyeurism, caught in the act, fingering

word count: 832

kinktober masterlist

It was another boring day down in the archives of the Magnus Institute. You were supposed to be helping Sasha and Tim organize some of the older files for Jon to analogue. It was hotter than fuck outside and Elias deemed it ‘not hot enough’ to turn on the air conditioning yet (it was the middle of July). You had all long since abandoned filing the statements, now moving on to fanning yourselves and talking to each other. 

“What’s your wildest fantasy, James?” Tim teased, loving to watch the smaller woman squirm.

“Hmm, probably…. doing it somewhere i’m not supposed to? I-i haven’t thought about it much, Stoker.” She squeaked out, her dark cheeks flushing a rosy pink. You smiled at the image, picturing yourself bending her over the desk you’re all currently melting on. Your little workplace infatuation with the shorter woman grew into a full-fledged crush on her. 

“Y/N? Earth to Y/N? We’ve lost her, Tim.” Her chipper voice pulled you out of the daydream that made you horrible wet. You blinked rapidly, a small smile on your lips.

“Sorry, what?” You asked, spurring the brunette to repeat herself.

“What’s your dirty fantasy?” Sasha asked, placing a hand on your knee, her big brown doe eyes making you weak in the knees. You gasped, the closeness of her face to yours, and her hand touching your sweaty skin. 

“I-I…uhhh….erm, bending a girl over the desk and fucking her while she works.” You rushed, the words spilling out of your mouth in a hushed tone. Sasha chuckled, her eyes twinkling as she shook her head at you.

“Sorry, didn’t catch that. That’s okay, we can change the subject if you’re uncomfortable.” She consoled you, rubbing her thumb across your knee. You were now a sopping puddle, ready to combust if she made any more contact with you.

“Tim, can you run out to that Thai place and get us some takeout? I’ll pay.” Sasha said, turning to the redheaded man, handing him a few bills. Tim nodded, standing up to stretch his legs. 

“Good idea, i’m fucking starving. Be back in 30.” He spoke over his shoulder, halfway to the door already. Sasha thanked him before turning back to you after the door shut behind him. 

“I lied, earlier. I found it really hot, i’ve been waiting so long to get you alone. Now that I’m 99% sure you are as into me as I am you.” She mused, her hand resuming its place on your leg, slowly inching upwards.

“You like me back? Fuck, Sash. C’mere.” You spat, grabbing her hips and pulling her onto your lap before crashing your lips to hers. She moaned into the kiss, before tugging her glasses off her face. You felt her tongue slide across your bottom lip, making you moan into her mouth. She giggled, grinding her hips down on your lap.

“I have an idea, you game?” She asked, breaking the kiss, much to your soft pout. You cocked an eyebrow at her, nodding anyway. She laughed, clamoring off your lap, grabbing your hand and pulling you towards the filing cabinet.

“Okay, I’m going to get back to working on these statements, and I want you to eat me out. I wanna see if you can make me finish before I finish these.” She proposed, making you smirk.

“You’re on, Sash. Now get started.” You grabbed her hips, turning her towards the cabinet. You made quick work of pulling down her pleated skirt and panties. 

You spread her cheeks, before licking a stripe from her clit to her entrance. She moaned, before catching herself and focusing again at the files. You moaned at her taste, slipping your tongue into her entrance. She gasped as you began to fuck her with the muscle. You brought your thumb up to her swollen nub, slowly circling it as your mouth began to build up a fast rhythm. 

Her arousal was leaking out of her pussy, coating your chin as you inhaled her essence. She tasted so sweet and musky, you could die here and be totally fine with it. Her hips were bucking against you, signaling that she was growing close to her orgasm.

You sped up the circles on her clit, pressing your face deeper into her warm, wet cunt. You lapped at her folds, suckling them gently as you smacked her on the ass. She whimpered, the blood rushing to where your hand left it’s mark. You chuckled into her, smacking her again. You spit on her pussy, watching goosebumps creep across her skin.

“Oh fuck, Y/N. I’m so fucking close.” Sasha whined, feeling her reach her breaking point. You slipped two fingers into her pussy, and pulled her clit into your mouth. She cried out, her climax crashing over her in waves. 

“Good girl, Sash. So fucking hot.” You cooed, helping her pull her skirt and panties back on. 

“Well, well, well… what have we here?”

Love, A

[inklingofadream]

Ink's 2024 Fic

We all survived another year, and with another year comes a new wrap-up to become my pinned post! Exact word count is tricky this year because of how AO3 counts published works you just go back and edit, but to the best of my reckoning in 2024 I wrote 96,424 words.That's an 86.417% decrease from last year, shocker.

2024 has been turbulent. We went from "I can't believe Mom has to have a root canal 5 days after major surgery" to "I'm so glad the root canal happened exactly when it did" in a matter of weeks. That was in March. The ENTIRE year has been like that. All this to say, if at any point in 2024 I didn't respond to you, stopped responding, or completely forgot something else important, it was probably because something was on fire. Nothing personal, just chaos.

That's also why I don't have a whole lot of commentary about a lot of what I wrote, compared to past years. This year, it was all TMA, and spread across 9 distinct works.

I'm listing my longest ongoings last to give the shorter ones the space to breathe. Completion status, word count, and any standout relationships are listed, but check the tags and warnings on AO3 for full details. The rest of the descriptions here are a mix of summary, excerpts, and liner notes.

from spite- 600, complete, Martin/Elias; I read The Bloody Chamber as my yearly court-mandated pre-Dracula season vampire book, and "The Erl-King" grabbed hold of my brain and said it was Martin's turn to be romantically menaced by Elias. It hasn't entirely let go, to be honest, and very well may inspire future melancholy iterations on the same ship in the future.

Martin is a sheet of ice, and Jonah's hand at his waist, his chin on his shoulder, twin flames that threaten to melt him. Jonah smiles by Martin's ear as though he heard the thought; it isn't difficult for him to circumvent the silent treatment, if it pleases him. "Look."

from what has been broken- 14k, WIP, Jon&Gerry; Last year I wrote a fic about Trevor and Julia just Keeping a very much alive Gerry and then kidnapping Jon from the Circus. This continuation is... mostly hurt at the moment, admittedly. The comfort is coming, I promise!

The Vampire Saga Route 1- 80k, 8 works, Jon/Martin, Georgie/Melanie; The most recent fic in Route 1 is actually a Christmas special Sutton wrote. Christmas special aside, this is the version where the vampire!Martin dilemma was solved with the power of friendship and everything is great forever. No misunderstandings and no ominous dangling plot threads, promise. 🥰🤞

The Vampire Saga Route 2- 43k, 8 works, Jon/Martin, Tim&Danny, Jon/Elias; Sasha tried very hard to resolve this version with the power of friendship 😔

The Archivist and the Adventurer- 45k, 10 works, Jon/Martin; My fae au got an eensy update this year! More importantly, the update introduced Gerry! If you're new, this au is technically complete- right now I'm adding oneshot chapters that take place in the main plot's happily ever after. With Gerry! More Gerry in 2025, hopefully! I want this thing out of my drafts!

Little Archive- 93k, WIP, Jon&Gerry, Jon&Beholding; Egregiously neglected this year, tbh. I swear, in 2025 I'm getting the next Plot Development out into the world. You guys will like this one, promise. For real promise, it's delightful.

Beneath the Stains of Time- 128k, WIP, Jon&Daisy; I really wanted to finish this one this year, but alas. In recompense, the entire outline as it currently sits on my whiteboard:

47J 48S-a 49Ml-b 50J-e 51T- h 52E- g 53D Never

sitting pretty on the throne, nothing more i want (except to be alone)- 225k, WIP, Jon/Beholding, Jon/Jonah, Jon/freedom; Also nearing the end! I didn't actually think I was going to get it done this year after about March, so I'm less bugged I didn't.

The First Annual Archive Team Group Getaway To Put Jon In His Place- 76k, WIP, Jon/Tim/Martin/Sasha, Georgie/Melanie; This au gets bigger every time I turn my back. It will be getting no additional installments until I finish the main fic. So now I just have to. Finish it.

[sunfloo-wers]

Hello!

info under the cut (didn't want to clog the top of the blog with intro):

Was sunfloo-wers, then a-sunlighthouse-lamp, and am now back to sunfloo-wers cause I missed it :>

This is an updated version that was made post 2024 Halloween so if I looks different that’s why.

I'm Lamp (feel free to call me any type of nickname based on that, Sunfloo-wers, or anything else if you want though :D)

My pronouns are it/he/she/they, anything really goes, but the best way to do it toss 'em all around with no warning towards health and safety violations

I am here to spread positivity and joy, this is not a place for bigotry and I will not stand for it.

Sorting tags that I try to use:

#lamp can draw - drawing tag for larger works

#lamp can do the doodles - doodles or sketch tag

#lamp attempts to art - basically me just screaming about drawing or writing. Basically a talking tag, but specifically for wips

#lamp can talk - talking tag, for both social and alone talking

#lamp can write - any small writing things (not all exactly fics, some are just me messing around with words) (tag made because of olive oil)

#lamp can answer - anything from the inbox is tagged with this

#save for drawing later - stuff I’m going to or want to draw later

Art Requests: Yes! For the foreseeable future, and because this blog is rather small, I will be always taking art requests. I love doing prompts and talking with people, and this is just another version of that. There’s no specific timeline for when you can expect them to be completed though. I am a busy person but know I will get them and I will do them eventually.

Ask Box: Similarly to art requests, the ask box is always open! Feel free to yap at me or do anything else in there, I love hearing people talk so it’s a win-win!

Interests (in no particular order, I generally flit around these like a moth but right now I am firmly in loz and it’s alternatives): Legend of Zelda(all the games), Linked Universe, Mina's Linkverse, Linked Maze, pretty much any Links-Meet-AU, Hermitcraft, Life/Traffic Series, The Owl House, Steven Universe, Art History, Medieval Architecture, Sewing/Embroidery/Fabric and Thread Arts, Reading/writing, drawing/painting, and more I'm probably forgetting :D

I am also constantly loosing my mind over tma/tmagp, every waking moment (also mechs)

I think that's all, have a good day! :D

[the-sun-falls-like-a-guillotine]

admittedly, I just love feedism content in general, but the reason I love it so much in TMA fanworks is because The Magnus Archives is about hunger.

it's about thirst — bloodthirst (MAG112, MAG176), thirst for knowledge (MAG92, The Eye) — and hunger — hunger for power (Jonah Magnus), statement withdrawal (MAG148), feed your patron or it will feed on you (MAG89, MAG184). Any food and drink mentioned are often corrupted, whether literally, by memories, or by paranoia, like the human teeth apple from the anatomy students in MAG34, or the oolong tea offered by Also Martin in MAG186, or when Martin offers Jon a sandwich and Jon is so suspicious that he actually comes to the canteen to make sure it isn't tampered with (MAG53).

one of the only actual physical descriptors we get of Jon is scrawny (MAG185), so there's something very satisfying to me about relationship weight; about him recovering from years of deprivation and neglect; about a squidgy little belly in the palm of Martin's hand when he spoons in behind him. the thought of Jon and Martin safe and happy and healthy and together delights me, be it curled up on the sofa with tea and a bun, or making soup, or going out for ice cream.

I love the idea of Jon's much-improved appetite still not quite stretching to finishing his plate and he always insists that Martin finishes it without so much as one guilt-tinged word because he looks so ridiculously gorgeous when he's full, one big broad hand resting contentedly on the crest of his belly; or that scene I still have to work in somewhere where Martin catches Jon engrossed in their own reflection, studying the little roll of chub that now swells out over the waistband of their boxers, and Martin begins to panic because when he does that, his mind is loud and swarming with the voices of his mother, of other kids in the school playground, of the shitty men he settled for because he just wanted to be touched: oh, don't wear that top, Patricia, it makes you look fat; my mum has big tummy like you but there's a baby in hers; sorry, I don't think I can go through with this. I don't like girls and your hips are just... too wide. but Jon just turns to him and smiles with sparkling eyes and says I look... loved.

I'm also working on a polychives au where the worm bites across his back and shoulders restrict Tim's movement so working out isn't really an option anymore, and one by one all his coping mechanisms fall through leaving only food. the weight begins to pile on, stretch marks spreading like lightning across his belly, his chest, his hips, and for a time he feels so horribly conflicted about it because it feels good, but it doesn't feel like himself in any way that he's used to. then Sasha tells him in no uncertain terms how much she likes it, and once a miscommunication is sorted with Martin, and Jon begrudgingly agrees to try the four of them being together, he starts to love his swelling belly, his puffy little tits, every bit as much as they do.

I love love LOVE picturing Tim with this big lovedrunk smile, absolutely boneless in a cuddle puddle as he jokes that he should get a ouija board planchette tattooed around his belly button because of how often they each have a hand on his pudgy belly, like they all do now.

just... the softest of soft recovery and comfort against the cruelty of the original work.

[rebellum]

I don't want to trigger* myself. It feels bad.

But also I know i deserve to feel bad bc i AM bad

Can someone dead be bad? (Not suicidal, but i feel like I'm dead. )

*not really triggered bc too strong of a word. But you know when you sob or scream-cry from remembering and ruminating about something bad that happened to you? That thing. So I guess just "getting upset" and im.needlessly pathologizing it for attention. Bc im bad. Does admitting im bad make me less bad? Or not as bad as I c9uld be? Feels more like then2nd. Not less badness,but an absence of more badness. I almost want to play up my craziness..how.much of it is real?

Felt.. hard to describe. Criss cross hatching in black and.white. almost described it as being just beyond the veil. Another reality close by. But I think describing it in such a way makes me.seem more crazy than I am. I only have a big of an excuse for acting this way. I want to confess, even though I'm aware that technically I've done nothing wrong and hurt no one, even though I feel yucky, foucault's confession as... it was not state apparatus. Need for confession and absolution that spread throughout society yet never giving full relief. Desperate need for confession he talks about - now adapted for the digital age though social media. Am I good enough yet? Here's a list of my triggers. Here's a list of my marginalisations. If I'm open enough then I can't be bad. If I tell others they're bad then I'm being good. What's your caard? Oh, you dont have one? You must be hiding something. Submit to the purity panopticon of social media. Why are you hiding behind the screen [not YOU-you reader, but rather the imaginary-you and the speaker is speaking to]. ? If you have nothing to hide then you shouldn't be hiding. Are you afab or amab. Are you tma or tme. What are your genitals. What are your triggers. What's your name. What's your face. In 2015 you said 'i like undertale but it's a bit overrated' but the star of undertale is a child and I heard from another tumblr that apparently on 4chan MAPs use 'overrated' to refer to children inappropriately, so you must be an evil abuser and a pedophile. Ew, you have kinks? They better not be the ones that are basically pedophilia (which are all of them). Confess them. Let us see them and judge them. Let us weigh your heart against the feather of Watching. [Watching isnt the right word, but tumblr mobile is tricky enough that i don't want to risk closing out. Like um.. when you look at something by taking it apart. Looking at it HARD. In a creepy or bad way.] And if it is found wanting then I will make a callout post about you. Are you pro-ship or an anti? An anti-anti? No me saying you deserve to die for the fiction you read is NOT the same as my religious aunt telling me ill go to hell for reading a gay romance novel. Why? Because that's wholesome romance and you're just a degenerate freak. Submit to the panopticon.

Submit to the panopticon.

Submit to the panopticon.

[irrealisms]

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Let's spread the self-love 💞

tagged by: @erstwhilesparrow

the autopsy garland -- dsmp hunger games au about rpf fandom and the horrors of celebrity. parts of it have aged poorly--it's about, in part, both the fandom and hatedom surrounding cc!dream and the dream smp as a whole, and also unrelatedly it's about sexual abuse, and, uh, it was published before the dream situation let alone any of the ones that came after it, i have no clue what it'd look like if i wrote it now but certainly it would look wildly different--but i'm still so fucking proud of it. the epistolary sections. the bits of canon dialogue. threading the line between "this guy did awful awful things" and "holy shit, the stuff happening to him is not okay to do to anyone"

between the moth and the moon -- lifesteal, a gentle moment between vitalasy & zam. i wrote this one bc i needed zam to tell vitalasy i mourned you. it's a missing scene and it's one i needed and it's gentle and soft and bittersweet and i go reread it whenever i'm sad about them (this is often)

i don't have the heart to match -- mdzs, my Trans Woman Jiang Cheng Manifesto. there is something so special in my heart for yunmeng shuangjie and jc's issues about wei wuxian and Duty and jealousy and. and. man

Your Body Is Not A Word -- tma fic about s4 jonathan sims exchanging sex for statements. it's about sexual trauma and it's about starving and it's about being both victim and monster and it's about not really being able to believe in the dialectic there and it's about making choices that hurt yourself because you don't having any good options left and not-doing-anything hurts too.

whatever a moon has always meant -- indis/míriel silmarillion fic which is nominally about LaCE and in practice about Catholic sexual ethics & the Catholic outlook more broadly. it's also about grief and doubt and a lot of other things but it's very very Catholic and struggling with that Catholicism. it gets kind of ... pretentious? overwrought in a very teenage fashion? at times, but the core of it is very important to me. considered doing one of my númenor or maedhros fics here instead, there's some good stuff there as well, but. idk. this one's got a soft spot in my heart and it's less Relentlessly Fucking Depressing lol

tagging: @consumptive-sphinx , @blocksgame , @honeyblockm , @peninkwrites , @crimeboys

[world-of-horrors-au]

Horrors au X TMA - Mere Misunderstandings

'Somewhere else' turns out to be a lot different than Martin could've hoped. Awakening in a strange forest, with Jon nowhere to be found, it's not long to discover he's not as alone as he first thought. Then his kindness gets the better of him. But maybe that's not so bad. Maybe this is a good thing.

Is this the beginning of a happy ending, or the start of a whole new nightmare?

AU shared between me and @whatadandydemise

She breathed, and again, was grateful for it.

Overhead the bleak gray of the sky stretched thin between the dark tree branches, a suggestion of rain, not a promise. Couldn’t take anything at its word in this life. Even the environment could, and would, betray the unwary. Knowing that, and all other evils in their fallen world, Briar smiled at being alive.

As the youngest, the weakest, of the group, none of the guys wanted her to leave their little sanctuary alone. She did it anyway. She’d been pretty damn good at surviving, when she was human - she could handle checking traps, or gathering wild fruit, on her own. And this close to their headquarters, there was only one person that might show up uninvited.

Briar left her bat by the bed and took the old plastic basket instead.

Today, she thought, looking up at the sky, would be a boring day to die.

Good thing she wasn’t going to.

-

Martin gripped the woman’s arm tight and did not look back. The trees muffled their footsteps as they ran, and if they were followed he couldn’t hear it over the crunch of leaves and branches, the pounding of his own, bloody bleeding heart.

“What’s going on?” The woman cried out, but didn’t try to stop. “Where are we going?”

This poor woman. She didn’t understand what he did. What he’d saved her from.

He’d woken up under the trees, the knife still clutched within his fingers, sticky and red with Jon’s blood. Jon wasn’t there with him. Jon should have been with him, in this… what was this place? Was it a Fear Domain, like he’d first thought? But this woman shouldn’t be here. She wasn’t an Avatar. It hadn’t taken him long to realize that.

“Jon?” He called out again. “Jon!”

“Hello?”

That wasn’t Jon.

The woman stepped out from between the trees. Shorter than Jon, somehow, with black hair like Jon’s from before this nightmare started. The resemblance ended there. Her skin was too pale, and her eyes were unguarded. In fact, as she looked between his face, and the knife in his hand, she actually relaxed, and a smile spread over her freckled cheeks.

“That’s a nice knife,” she said.

Martin blinked and looked at the item in question.

“... Thank you?”

She took a step closer.

“I’m Briar,” she said.

“I…” He looked around, hoping Jon would step out into view, or call his name, but the trees around them were still so quiet. “I’m Martin.”

Her smile grew wider. His stomach sunk. No, no, no, he was not sticking around. This woman was not an Avatar, she must have been marked by - by something. Some awful fate waited for her, and he was not going to stick around and find out what it was, and he was not going to get involved.

“I need to go,” he said, “I need to find someone.”

The Lonely wrapped around him and he left, and he did not look back. Even when he returned to reality, he did not. He would not become involved with some stranger when he needed to figure out what happened and find-

She - Briar - cried out in fear. Martin turned on his heels and ran back towards her, cursing himself with every step.

He’d been right. She’d been marked by the Stranger. Martin found her locked in the arms of a stuffed nightmare, a masculine creature with a painted porcelain mask and cloth hands that gripped her tight. He could have just left then. Maybe he should have just… left her there, to be dragged off to the monster’s master.

Instead, he held on to her and ran for both their lives.

… He should have stabbed the thing instead of slamming his head into it. He could still taste the cotton in his mouth where he’d bitten it. What was he thinking?

(He didn’t want to die before he found Jon.)

(He didn’t want to die.)

His lungs gave out before the rest of him. Martin dragged in a desperate breath and released Briar, leaning against a tree for support. Briar didn’t move, her panting softer and controlled.

“Are you alright?” She hurried for her basket, still grasped in her sweat-slicked hands. “Here, I have water-”

Martin laughed. The sound rushed out of him between his gasping breaths, his closed eyes watering.

“Am I… Am I-- He wheezed, he held his chest. “You don’t know.” His shoulders shook, the smile stretched without humor over his face. “You really don’t know.”

“Know?” Briar echoed. Martin straightened, pushed away from the tree and stared at her with his wet eyes. He must look so unnatural, so inhuman, and yet, she looked at him without fear. She still didn’t know she should be afraid.

“You…” Martin struggled to breathe, to speak. “You don’t know what that thing was. You don’t know what it was going to do to you! But I… I do. And I won’t let that happen to you. I won’t let it!”

Briar stared at him, and he must sound completely mad, he knew he must sound mad. Martin dragged in another breath.

“I’m so sorry,” he said. “It’s just - I thought I would be dead right now. I’m still trying to understand - I mean, I don’t understand what’s going on but I will. And I promise, I’ll explain everything. Maybe not now, but when we’re safe -”

From the corner of his eye, movement. Martin jolted towards it. The doll-like creature threw itself forward, the porcelain face unmoving as it lunged.

The blade in its hand glinted in the dim sunlight.

He couldn’t do anything, it moved too fast. But Briar, behind him, would be safe.

Briar, behind him.

Briar, moving away from him.

Briar, in front of him.

The long black hair, like Jon’s black hair, in front of him. Like Jon in front of him, like he’d done so many times-

Metal met flesh, sliding into meat and scraping against bone.

Briar did not scream but the wet sound that choked from her mouth locked Martin in place.

The doll creature released the blade.

She still breathed. She reached for the handle of the weapon, feeling up from where the cold metal buried into her shoulder.

“Briar!” Martin shouted.

“Briar.”

The hair on the back of Martin’s neck stood up. The doll-creature spoke.

“Briar,” it repeated, a man’s voice. Not the echo of another person’s voice, not a shallow replica of a beloved friend or family member - a living voice, full of living horror.

Her breath, so wet, as she gripped the handle of the blade.

“I think,” she said, “There’s been a misunderstanding.”

“Don’t,” the doll-creature said.

Briar twisted in her spot, facing a tree. Martin understood a moment too late.

“Wait!”

She ripped the blade from her flesh. Blood splattered the dark bark. The young woman stumbled, the handle dropping from her wet fingers into the grass.

The doll-creature caught her before she could fall. Martin stood, hand over his mouth, and couldn’t tear his gaze away. The doll-creature held her so gentle, so tender, the clothed fingers brushing through her hair. It’s eyes looked towards him. Now that the being was closer, Martin could see, it actually did have eyes, still so human, still so alive-

“You’re not one of those creatures!” Martin blurted. “You’re still alive!”

Both turned towards him. Briar’s face, twisted with pain, still managed to smile at him. The doll… the man, actually, held her closer to his body.

“Figured it was something like that,” Briar said, her voice weak. “It’s alright. Masky’s fine. He’s not gonna hurt anyone.”

“He tried to stab me!” Martin said. “He did stab you!”

“I’ve been through worse,” Briar said.

“You attacked me first,” the man said, voice somewhat muffled by the mask.

“I did,” Martin said. “But I thought…”

“It’s fine,” the man grumbled. “Proxies don’t have a great reputation. Guess I should just be glad you didn’t use your knife on me.”

Knife. Martin looked at his own. Looked at the blade on the grass.

“Your shoulder!” He cried, looking at Briar. “We have to stop the bleeding!”

Briar recoiled from the man’s arms.

“Oh shit!” She said. “I got my blood all over you again!”

Masky laughed, his shoulders shaking, eyes closed with amusement.

Martin gaped. She was going to bleed out, why was he laughing? He looked at Briar, still holding her shoulder like she’d bruised it. She looked back. Shifting her fingers, she smiled as she revealed the wound.

The bleeding already stopped.

“I'm not that young a Horror,” she said with a grin. “My healing isn't as fast as my mates’ but it's still pretty good, I'd say.”

Martin stared at the wound. So she was an Avatar? Of what? Did they call themselves Horrors here? She didn't look or act like any he'd ever met before. She just looked like… a sweet, completely normal woman.

None of this added up. He'd gotten too used to how things worked in London.

This wasn't London. This was… someplace else. And if Jon had been taken here too, then… had they somehow been given a second chance?

Briar limped towards a tree, and Martin followed a few steps behind. So did the masked man. It would be hard to ignore the glance the man (Masky? What kind of a name was that?) shot him.

His legs were grateful to sit down beside Briar. Martin leaned against the tree and sighed.

“Sorry about all that,” he said.

“You're fine,” Masky said, sitting down on Briar’s other side with a grunt. “I shouldn't have lost my temper. But when I saw you grab Briar like that…”

Briar patted Masky on the leg. The man's gloved hand found hers and intertwined their fingers together.

Oh, Martin thought. They were… oh. Now he really felt bad.

“Don't feel bad,” Martin said. “I would've been just as upset if I saw someone grabbing my Jon, even though I know he can take care of himself.”

The dark eyes behind the mask looked over Briar's head.

“Jon?”

“Is that who you were looking for?” Briar said.

“Yes,” Martin said. “My boyfriend. Jonathan Sims, the Archivist.”

He said the words and held his breath.

Briar frowned. “I don't think I've heard of anyone named that before…”

Masky shook his head.

“But I bet the others know about him,” Briar said, perking up again. “And if they don't, that's okay too. We've been looking for other Horrors for months now - you're the first new Horror I've seen since I became one myself. We can help you find him!”

Martin paused.

“You… you would help me?”

“Yeah!” She said.

“But - but you just met me,” Martin said. “You don't know what I've done or-”

“It's okay,” Briar said. Her eyes shone with a warmth Martin wasn't used to. “We Horrors have to stick together. My mates won’t care about what you did or didn't do. We'll find your Jon.”

Masky shifted, wrapping an arm around Briar. He sighed as she looked at him.

“I'll… see what I can do about the other proxies,” he grumbled. “I can't promise anything, but if they've heard about your mate, I'll let you know.”

“I…”

This was what they’d wanted, wasn't it? Unconditional support. People who understood. People who got it. They wanted a world without the Fears, without the threat of the end of the world but…

Was this some kind of heaven? They certainly didn't deserve a reward after all they'd done. But looking at these two, these strangers, offering their help.

It's too good to be true, Martin thought.

But what if it is? Martin thought.

I'll do whatever it takes to find Jon, he thought.

“Thank you,” he said.

Briar closed her eyes and rested her head on Masky’s shoulder. Her body heaved with a heavy exhale. Masky sighed as well.

“You're lucky,” he said in a quiet voice.

“What for?” Martin said.

“That it was Briar who found you first.” The eyes behind the mask moved to look at him. “The rest of her pack might not have been as kind as she is.”

Martin swallowed, a chill running through his body.

“Wh-what do you mean?”

“I mean you're about to meet some very, very dangerous people,” Masky said. “And because of her, they aren't going to hurt you.”

She'd fallen asleep. Somehow though, she still smiled. Briar shifted against her partner. A rumble came from within her body.

The eyes behind the mask narrowed. Martin couldn't tear his eyes away from Briar, listening to the noise she made.

Purring.

… Avatars didn't purr.

“They won't be able to tell you're not one of them,” Masky said. “But I can. And they'll kill you if they find out.”

Martin didn't say a word.

Masky looked away.

“I wouldn't worry, though.” Masky said. “You're not going to last long as a human.”

His fingers ran through Briar’s hair.

“Everyone is a monster here. You're just gonna need a little more time to prove it.”

This was my first time writing Martin, I apparently did well enough according to my friends. I hope you enjoyed this! Please reblog or share if you did! Or just leave a reply, that's excellent too. I'd love some honest feedback!

[velvetvexations]

Hey velvet, glad to see you’re back. I’m sorry you got powerjacketed by your own sisters and allies— you’re an easy target for exclusionists and crypto-radfems/transradfems because of your discourse alignments. I may not agree with all of your positions, and at times do believe you could be more receptive to other transfems’ points, but you dont deserve to be harassed out of your own safe space.

Please don’t feel the need to put yourself out there for your transmasc siblings. You got off pretty consequence-free this time, but i imagine much more severe hearsay could easily spread about you if you dont prioritize your safety more. being a transfem with an opinion on this site is hard and i wish you the best ❤️

If it helps any, I literally had tears in my eyes recently because I had a really nice conversation with a self-identified TMA for the first time. I'd talked before about how it would be easy for good and rational people to adopt a system that disadvantaged them but it would be more inherently selfish to do so when it advantaged you, but in retrospect maybe that WAS wrong of me to say. Maybe I WAS being a bit transmisogynyistic, because I was still wrapped up in frustration with other transfems at least partly as a group, even if I tried insisting I didn't think it was most of them.

But I was working with the data I had at the time, which is that I was able to come to borderline wholesome agree-to-disagree conclusions with TMEs while TMAs seemed to exclusively be hateful no matter how hard I tried to approach as a civilized being (and have continued to do so, despite declaring I'd give it up awhile ago), or if I did start out confrontational was specifically because they had takes completely unrelated to gender that smashed my berserk button, at which point that eclipsed anything else.

But then I talked to a TMA who made a post I thought was unfair, and they were like "yeah sorry I was just venting if I was talking about this in a way that was actually trying to spread awareness I'd have worded it better because I agree with you that it's a situation where the problem is people trying too hard to be respectful and the best way of actually dealing with that if one was to attempt it isn't getting angry with them".

And like! That very brief interaction wasn't even about TMA/TME, but they just had it listed as an identifier, and that made me completely reconsider the way I'd been viewing transfems, even if only a portion of transfems involved in an extremely specific discourse. Because I'd seen such a range of self-identified TMEs, from asshole pickmes to people who were just genuinely trying to be good allies, but here at last was a TMA I just disagreed with over TMA/TME language.

So I literally cried over that.

I mean, I didn't investigate her blog. Maybe if I looked into it I would indeed find that she believed in really awful things, TMA/TME-related or otherwise, but the actual content of that interaction was emphasizing that kindness is important when one is feeling that "TMEs" are making well-intentioned missteps so it still gave me a measure of faith.

The other thing is that something I had been worried about was my deep lore that made me a bit obsessively paranoid about dragging back up, but I talked about that a little while ago (cw for CSA) and since then I've felt safer about Velvet Nation being understanding and caring since I've already brought up the context of everything that happened.

And, also, as much as I do love people and try to live the Superman quote in my pinned post to the very best of my ability, I also have a bottomless need for attention, so.

[envihellbender]

A TMA statement about a DBD killer of your choice

Fandom: The Magnus Archives / Dead by Daylight

Content: bullying, violence, haunting

[CLICK]

ARCHIVIST

Statement of Himura Kita regarding Rin Yamaoka, a classmate of hers at Takamatsu University, Kagawa, Japan. Original statement given 18th of September 2018. Audio recording by Jonathan Sims. Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute, London.

Statement begins.

ARCHIVIST (STATEMENT)

I want to begin by saying I’m not a bad person, and I wasn’t a bad child. Or Adolescent. I got good grades, I played the violin, I never broke curfew, and I spent my weekends helping take care of my grandmother and younger siblings. I did all my chores. You can ask anyone I grew up with and no one would have a bad word to say about me. Even when I went to university, I stayed at home, I worked in the family store when I didn’t have classes. I am telling you all this so you know that this wasn’t like me, maybe something inside of me was corrupted by Rin Yamaoka. That makes sense, right? And it wasn’t just me. My friends were the same. Zakai Kikyo and Shoda Sayuri. To everyone else they were the sweetest, but when Rin Yamaoka appeared- well, maybe I’m trying to justify my actions. Plenty of people have said that since.

Zakai and Shoda I knew from childhood, we’d been together since kindergarten and university was a difficult transition. We’d been in the same group for so long that when it was the three of us with people from all over Kagawa prefecture we felt lost. We sort of knew Rin Yamaoka’s family, everyone knew of the estate and how it only housed Rin and her father now. The story about her ancestors were creepy and so was she, she was so quiet, her hair was always scraggly and covering her face. She was like Ju-On. So we called her that. That’s how it started. We’d just say it amongst ourselves and… And we’d laugh. Maybe we were too obvious with it but- look, neither me or Shoda wanted it to go as far as it did. It was all Zakai’s fault. That’s why she was the one- I guess I shouldn’t get back to the story. Well, we called her Ju-On behind her back, and I guess it spread across the class and soon all the girls were doing it. Ju- I mean Rin- always sat by herself in the cafeteria, in classes, and it was weird because her family were supposed to be rich but she ate a lunch from home every day and her clothes were old. Like they were patched up by hand.

So we- look, maybe it got worse. We called her Ju-On to her face and she’d look up, meaning we’d laugh at her more. She’d silently cry to herself which made me so angry. She was pathetic. There was something inside her that spoke to something primal inside me. It made me feel like a lion chasing a gazelle with a broken leg. And. And Zakai was the worst. She… She started it, okay? Maybe the name calling got worse. We called her Ju-On, freak, asked her where she got her clothes from, and we- no one else spoke to her. None of the other girls would dare but that’s not our fault. I mean sure, maybe we’d make fun of anyone who did but… It’s not like Ju- Rin. God. Rin. She didn’t try with everyone else. And. Like I said, there was something inside her, like she seemed nice but there was a darkness protecting her. I mean, you’ve heard about her ancestors, right? The Oni Samurai. There had to be something dark inside her. So we teased her, and- and then we mocked her. Like when she came in in a new dress, she had such a smile on her face but it was white cotton. Why would she wear a white cotton dress? I mean, she just looked more like Ju-On. That day… That was when I first saw it. Look, everyone said I was crazy but I know what I saw.

I’d been- I was actually being nice. Sort of. It was- I’d come in early, there was some issue with the trains so I got an early one to make sure I wouldn’t be late. It was just me and Rin in the classroom. I noticed she’d dropped one of her books in the hallway, it was a white notebook with flowers on, with her name written nearly on the inside cover. So I walked up to her to give it to her, and when I tried to smile, I don’t know maybe I felt guilty and wanted to be nice, but I called out to her to give her notebook and she just looked up instantly. I swear, her eyes were… Black. No whites or dark brown irises, just pure black eyes. And there… there was another face behind her face. A scowling red face. And I- I let out a scream. I let out a scream, I threw the notebook at her. The metal scratched her face, and I turned and felt mortified. She was crying quietly all day, and … I told Shoda and Zakai, at first they were laughing about how I’d tricked Rin. But I didn’t. I panicked. And they just thought I’d been seeing things or maybe Rin played a prank on me. Either way, after that I got… Meaner. Every time I looked at Rin I swear there was a fog settling in around us but no one else saw it. Maybe it was childish, we were in university after all. But we got worse. We started throwing things at her in the hallway, shouting insults her way. I wanted the face to come out again, to show my friends I wasn’t kidding or seeing things. But it didn’t happen. At least. Not for a while. It did eventually but… I don’t know.

The day it all went wrong, Zakai had sat next to her in a lecture. We told her not to do it. She was pretending to be friendly, making faces at us whenever Rin turned around. Zakai pretended like Rin had no idea but she did, her face was a frown and she stared at Zakai the entire time. She didn’t turn around at all although Zakai insisted that she did. Anyway, eventually she took Rin’s water bottle and emptied it out on top of her, shouting “oh look it’s Ju-On!” She was expecting everyone to laugh, no one did. We all stared at them both silently, and that’s when Rin… So it wasn’t Rin. I don’t think. Maybe it was. There was fog all over the classroom, and a red oni face on her face and she was angry. Her eyes were black. And she dove on Zakai. She slammed her head repeatedly against the floor, and punched her and just kept going and going until Zakai stopped moving. We all were even more silent, and that’s was when the professor came in, before she could say a word Rin scrambled to her feet, horrified and packed her things. She ran out, and even when the Professor shouted after her she didn’t stop. There was talk of therapy and expulsion but… Well. No one saw Rin again.

Her father, Yamaoka-san, was found dead in the Yamaoka estate. Rin disappeared. And now… Well, the estate it’s… It’s surrounded by fog. Thick fog. Even in the middle of the day it looks like night. And there’s… The face I saw. It’s everywhere. There’s shrines to it. Everyone says it’s just her ancestor but- but there’s something going on. And- and since then- I’ve not slept in- I don’t know. I collapse sometimes, but I had to drop out of university, I’ve not seen my friends in- well, Zakai was hospitalised and… I never went to see her. I think she’s going to physiotherapy. But I see her. Every night. Not her. Well, kind of her but- Rin isn’t Rin. Her skins mottled and a light blue, and she has another face. Her face is twisted and screaming with another demonic face- but it’s not the one I saw. And- I see her every time I go to sleep. And every time I wake up I’m surrounded by fog. I- I was hoping you could do something. I suppose I feel better now I’ve opened up. I just- I want to have a lie down.

ARCHIVIST

Statement ends. Well, it doesn’t surprise me any more that I’ve been able to flawlessly read something that was written in Kanji despite never having learned a word of it… But it is rather disconcerting all the same. This is yet another statement about the mysterious fog and the disappearances that come alongside it. They’ve been coming en masse ever since my statement from Miss Haddie Kaur. That… can’t be a coincidence. The statement itself is surprisingly easy to back up in some parts, Martin is particularly fascinated by Japan and took the lead on the research part. Apparently, the Yamaoka family are quite legendary, going back generations to the time of the Samurai. Rin Yamaoka’s father however seemed to have lost the fortune, and left the two of them in poverty. Maybe sources say Rin was always covered in bruises and wasn’t allowed out by herself unless it was to school, and the attack of Rin on her classmate is also well documented. Local legend says the estate is ‘haunted’, but that’s just superstition. It has to be connected to this Entity, although I’m still not entirely sure what it is. Maybe it’s the End? The Hunt? The Lonely? I need to look for more of these statements.

Recording ends.

[CLICK]

[incandescent-creativity]

Week or two after finishing TMA and I have questions that will never be answered but nonetheless I will write them down.

This got very long but if you’ve listened to the podcast all the way through I think you’ll get it so

Mostly I’m thinking about like? How much do people remember? How much was the world twisted in tangible ways that stayed behind after the fears got vacuumed away?

One can imagine the worm-people stuck in the ground were finally able to crawl back up, and the suburbanites were finally able to exit the endless cul-de-sac, but? What about the people stuck in the wellness center? The prison? The kids trapped running in the dark? Hellen’s halls? The places that twisted physics in a way that they couldn’t remain as new landmarks on earth.

Could they? Has the environment changed so drastically that the human garden is still there? The perpetually burning houses no longer burning, but charcoal walls still there? Does London feature a new tower?

How does that change how people move through the world? Did they tear them down? Avoid them? Where do people go after if they’re real places now? Can you reclaim something like that? Would you want to? Would you have another choice?

What happened to the people in the cult that Georgie and Melanie started? What happened to that guy Jon saved from the ants, who became an avatar unwillingly?

For that matter, what happened to all the people who had given statements about things they’d seen before (the ones that didn’t die after giving it)? Did they figure out how their experiences fit into the wider scheme of things, or did such things pale in comparison to such a bad time in the apocalypse that they don’t even register anymore? If the former, did that make it easier to cope, or harder? Is this something they’d tell other survivors about, or not? It would probably depend on the individual, but still. What a choice to have to make.

An tiny bit about all this can be inferred by Melanie’s line at the end of MAG 200:

about “Oh you remember what happened when people found Simon Fairchild” (they like? Tore him apart ig?). She characterizes him as a “some powerless left-behind avatar.”

The confirmation that people did lose any inhuman abilities when the fears left is nice, but that makes logical sense. Suck the fears thru a portal, their connection to this dimension is severed, no more powers.

I get stuck on… People know who the avatars were. They know who was torturing them, which means they must remember what happened to them.

Do people know why? Do they know how? I mean nobody really knows how, but. How much do they understand what an avatar was? They had to have understood it at least a little bit, since they wreaked vengeance upon Fairchild. They had to have a reason for targeting him specifically.

How did the word spread? Not just practically (did they have phone lines post-fears?), but on a global perception level? Who told the public, our main cast? Was there any resistance to the idea, any fight about it, or was it just like “that was so undeniably fucked up that that’s the only explanation that makes sense.”

What did the scientific community think of this new model for the world? How did the study of physics and history change after this? How did philosophy and religion change? How does one person, let alone an entire society, recover from something like this? How do governments even proceed after this? Did they need to enact programs to help tear down the hellscapes left behind?

This interaction:

Implies that there is at least some mundane supplies left, such as from the marketplace hellscape that they used during scavenging runs. Or that people have been able to go back to work and start producing things like batteries and tinned tuna again.

(Speaking of tuna: what happened to the animals when the fears entered the world? We know their fear fueled at least some of the entities, and if I remember correctly the Admiral was acting as an avatar too. How did this work in the ocean. Did the tuna fish get tortured? Were people trapped in perpetual drowning hellscapes?)

(Double side note: grasping at straws but I love the casual inclusion of nightlights and using that word specifically. Not flashlights/torches, not lamps, but nightlights. The things kids use to fight their fears. Potentially, something everybody in the entire world uses now, and everybody understands why)

How does anybody have an interpersonal relationship anymore, when you have found out, without question, both your worst fears and how you act when confronted with them?

The entire show is predicated on “What happens after the world is ended? How do the characters move through this post-apocalypse world?” but good god I can’t stop thinking about the post- post-apocalypse.

[mamahersh]

For whumptober, do y'all think I should post some snippets from a really niche TMA AU I made awhile back? I can't post more than like one or two things, they'll be pretty short, and won't make sense without like an explanation post, and depending what I post might be really graphic gore.

To give a better idea, the AU is that after TMA episode 200, Jon and Martin manage to survive the Panopticon and stay in universe when everything gets remade back to normal. The twist comes in that remember how some of the bigger avatars of the apocalypse got hunted down by angry mobs (Simon mentioned explicitly)? Well, we also know from the tunnel cult that people didn't recognize Jon just from his looks, nor from his name; meaning the Eye didn't like, cosmically project who it's Special Little Boy was during the apocalypse. But we do know that avatars knew who he was, and that anyone who actually could see him walking the apocalypse could vaguely tell he might be able to help, a la Jordan. So, AU officially kicks off with Jon and Martin minding their own business trying to survive in the wreckage of the world post apocalypse and Jon being blinded after the Fears leave (spooky eye man loses sight instead of life), but Jordan Ant-Man is really pissed off that the guy who turned him into a monster during the apocalypse is getting off scott free, and so spreads word around that he knows who kicked off the apocalypse. Of course, many of the other avatars who don't want to die just yet corroborate this to try and get the heat off them, and it works. Cue bad times for Jon, and by virtue of standing up for him, Martin. Basically, my incredibly niche idea is that a show trial happens, and Martin tries his best to prove that Jon was basically innocent of ending the world and in fact had a hand in trying to save it. The end result is the judge (who I'm letting do whatever they want) sentences Jon to 3 years in prison. But, because people are still recovering and need an outlet for their rage, Jon will also be doing "community service" during that time. So long as the people who visit Jon's prison cell say ahead of time what they plan to do, and as long as they dont try to do damage to him that will significantly impact his quality of life outside of prison, its fair game. (Basically, nothing sexual, no taking limbs, nothing that would kill him before a medical professional can see to him).

However not everything in the AU is doom.and gloom! Tim and Sasha are alive in this one! (Tim's a former Desolation avatar who decided to just say "fuck the Institute" after he rose from ashes, and Sasha was just kinda spit out into a Domain after Jon obliterated the not-them during the apocalypse.) I have really sappy Jon&Tim moments already written. They finally have a chance to heal your honors.

Anyways lemme know if that sounds interesting and if I have the time I'll def post something or two for whumptober based on this AU.

[hauntedliz]

Get To Know Me Tag!

I was tagged by @toads-treasures whom I love and adore. Thank you I enjoy talking about myself.

I'll tag @laneofpennies @kingofthebottleshooters and @ghostfilesbirch if y'all would like to. No preasure of course! Also if anyone else sees this and would like to do the tag please consider this me tagging you. I will claim you, promise!

Last Song: Strange by Galaxie 500. I am here to spread the good word about Lisa Frankenstein and the incredible Lisa Frankenstein soundtrack (this song is not on it, but it is in the movie, so I made my own playlist). Anyway listen to the Lisa Frankenstein soundtrack.

Currently Watching: I'm honestly not watching any shows right now. Hermitcraft Season 10, I guess. I am watching all Star Wars media in universe order. I finished Andor recently, so I'm going to start the new season of Bad Batch soon when I can emotionally deal with it.

Three ships: The ships that I am currently the most enamored with all include OCs. Astarion and Lapis, Astarion and Phoebe, Pippa and Rolan, Durgetash in general. I have a worm in my brain, you see. Other than BG3-related ships: Bellarke, Hellcheer, and Michael Shelley and Gerry Keay are three ships that have been very important to me most recently. I have a million Lisa and Creature edits on my fyp so them too. See Lisa Frankenstein.

Favorite Color: Light blue or pink. I do also like green.

Currently Consuming: I'm reading House of Leaves, so I am eating the pages of that book currently. I am listening to the current TAZ campaign and TMA Protocol but I am a little behind on the latter. toad might've spoiled a character appearance and now i am afraid to listen lest my heart burst from my chest

First Ship: I felt very passionately about Sonny and Chad from Sonny with a Chance, but I'm sure there was something before that. Maybe Simba and Nala from Lion King lol

Place of Birth: Hopital

Current Location: The Eastern Timezone.

Relationship Status: 520+ hours in Baldur's Gate 3

Last Movie: All of Us Strangers

Currently Working On: I am very busy thinking about working on things. I am thinking about finishing drawing my friend's Call of Cthulhu character. I am thinking about writing about my Baldur's Gate OCs. It is pretty time consuming business thinking about the Liz and Toad Fanfic Universe (LTFU).

[ollieofthebeholder]

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

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

Chapter 113: July 2003

It’s all too rare they have nights like this. Days, sure, they’ve had plenty of days where they can just be teenagers, but unless they’re off doing something for Gerry’s mum, they usually have to be home early—school in the morning, somewhere they need to be, you name it, Aunt Lily always has an excuse. But Gerry’s mother dragged them down to the South Downs hunting a Leitner that, it turns out, was already sold. Gerry’s mother was ready to blow a gasket until Martin put on the stammering, awkward act, threw in a couple words of Polish, and managed to charm the contact information for the man who purchased it out of the old bookseller. She’s so grateful, or acting so grateful anyway, that she gave them the night off…with the strict injunction that they’re to be to Dover by the first train out so they can head across to Calais, but still, a whole night of freedom. Gerry doesn’t think they’ve had that since the Poland trip.

And this is the perfect place for a night off, or near enough to it. The nearest village is small and doesn’t put out a lot of light, and despite this spot apparently being of interest to a certain variety of tourist, nobody hangs around the downs after dark. Gerry finds an open spot, checks to make sure there are no holes or anthills, and shakes out the old tartan picnic blanket he found in a shop earlier in the day.

“Here,” he says, kneeling down and smoothing out the wrinkles. “This is as good a spot as any.”

“Because you’re suddenly an expert on stargazing.” Nonetheless, Melanie flops down on the blanket and tucks her hands under her head.

Gerry looks up at Martin, just visible in the fading light of the day. “C’mon, Martin, take a load off, yeah? You’ve done a lot today. Let’s just relax for tonight.”

Martin smiles. The last rays of sunset catch his hair and make it sparkle like it’s been been spun out of rubies. “Okay, but if we get in trouble, it’s someone else’s turn to be responsible.”

They lie on their backs, heads close to one another, as darkness spreads towards the horizon and the stars begin to come out in a—for once—cloudless sky. A gentle breeze rustles the beech hanger just over the top of the hill and carries with it the faint scents of summer flowers. Martin folds his hands over his chest, and Gerry curls one arm behind his neck and lets the other rest comfortably in the center of the circle. The moon is nearly gone, and the sweep of the Milky Way gradually becomes visible overhead.

“It’s easy to see how religions get started on a night like this,” Melanie says, a bit dreamily. “That looks like a river you’d expect to see a god sailing on, doesn’t it?”

“Or a road one could walk on,” Gerry agrees. “What do you think, Martin? If you were making a religion, what would you say the Milky Way was?”

Martin hums. “I think…it’s a brush stroke. The first broad, sweeping mark on the canvas of creation. The painting has only just begun, and someday…someday the whole of the firmament will be a complete painting, and when we look at it, we will truly understand what it’s here for.”

“And then what?” Melanie asks, tipping her head back to stare upside-down at her brother.

“And then we find out of the Great Artist brings out a new canvas or wipes this one clean and starts over, I guess.”

“The Age of Turpentine,” Gerry quips.

“Fine, Mr. Rembrandt, how does your religion go?” Martin retorts. “The gods walk the Milk Road…”

“The Starlight Road. No, the Starway,” Gerry corrects himself. “The sun is…a balloon. Yeah, that’s it. Every morning the Lightkeeper selects a new balloon and lets it carry him across the sky while he sleeps, and then he wakes up when it deflates and sets him down. Then he walks the Starway back to the—the balloonery and selects a new one, ready for the next day.”

“Is the reason the nights are longer in winter because it’s cold and takes him longer to walk?” Martin asks.

Gerry sits up briefly, staring at the black line of the horizon. “That’s genius!”

Melanie snickers. “I think the river is…where life comes from. There are two boats that sail along it, the Fisher and the—the Logjammer. The Logjammer is the one responsible for breaking up the clouds and keeping the Heavenly River flowing clear, and when he takes a night off, that’s when it rains. The Fisher is the one who scoops babies out of the stars and takes them to the Night Market, where the storks pick them up and take them to their families.”

Gerry settles back onto the blanket and looks up at the stars again. “Do you think there’s anything out there? Really? Other than the Fears?”

“If there’s not…” Martin somehow shrugs without taking his shoulders off the blanket. “Seems like an awful waste of space.”

“Is the ocean a waste of space, then?”

“There’s life in the ocean,” Martin points out. “Just not human beings.”

“True,” Gerry allows. He sighs contentedly and stares up at the sky. “Hard to imagine people being afraid of something so beautiful, isn’t it?”

“‘I have loved the stars too truly to be fearful of the night.’” The surprise is that it’s not Martin that quotes the old poem, but Melanie. They all know it, of course, it’s one of the first ones Martin ever memorized way back when, but still, Melanie’s not usually the one to start quoting.

Still, Gerry has to agree. “If more people lived where they could see how crowded the sky was, I don’t think space would scare them as much.”

“Depends on why, I guess,” Martin says.

Gerry exchanges a frown with Melanie. “What do you mean?”

“I mean…” Martin waves a hand at the firmament. “What about space scares people? If it’s the big open space, then yeah, that’s the Vast, and maybe seeing it cluttered with stars will make them feel less afraid. But if it’s how dark it is…okay, yeah, the stars and a full moon would probably ward off the Dark too, but all it takes is a big enough cloud, and if you’re actually up there, the stars are so far apart you wouldn’t be able to see. And then there’s what you said, about wondering if there was anything out there…I could see the Lonely having a hand in it, if you’re afraid that there’s nothing else in the universe. Maybe the Stranger if what you’re afraid of is what is. And, you know, you can’t breathe in space, and the pressure is so high, there’s a good argument to be made that it’s the Buried.”

Gerry blinks. “I…I never thought of that.”

“Well, we keep saying, the damn things overlap.” Martin goes quiet for a moment. “Gerry?”

“Mm?”

“Do you really think there are only fourteen Fears?”

Gerry’s not sure how to answer that. Obviously there are more than fourteen things to be afraid of, but he’s always just sort of…gone with the idea that they all more or less slot into the fourteen major categories. Especially since Martin has only ever seen fourteen different colors on Leitners and those touched by the Fears. But it’s somehow never occurred to him before this very minute that the exact same thing might fit into multiple categories at the same time and also one at a time.

“I don’t know,” he says finally. “There’s probably a better way to categorize them than Smirke’s method, but…I’ve never thought about it before.”

“Maybe we can come up with something better,” Melanie suggests. “Like the Dewey Decimal system, or the way they categorize symphonies.”

“I think those might be too specific,” Martin says, a little uncertainly. “Or too restrictive. Or too similar to Smirke’s system, just…breaking it down further. We’d have to come up with something that…allows for overlap, I guess.”

“Hmm.” Gerry taps his thumb against the ground thoughtfully. “I mean. You’re already seeing the colors. Maybe that’s the key to it.”

“How do you mean?”

“Like…like there are all different shades, you know? And they sort of…bleed into each other. Like lilac is a shade of purple, but it’s kind of close to pink, too. And how teal has blue and green, but it’s different than blue-green. Maybe we should be thinking of them by color rather than…”

“I don’t think so,” Martin says. “Like I said, there are so many different things in space to fear, and they all filter into the Fourteen differently.”

“Like stars,” Melanie says.

“I—what?” Martin shoots her a puzzled glance.

Melanie waves at the sky herself. “Well, there are all sorts of constellations, right? And sometimes the bigger constellations have smaller ones inside them, or overlap with them, like how the Big Dipper is only part of Ursa Major and we talk about Orion’s Belt separate from Orion. But there are also stars that are special. Like Betelgeuse and Vega and the North Star and all. And they’re part of constellations, too, mostly. But the same star could be in multiple constellations.”

Martin seems to be mulling that over. “I like it,” he says eventually. “Makes more sense than the colors, anyway.”

“Hey,” Gerry says, but without a lot of heat.

“You know what I mean, Ger. You can’t mix but so many colors together or you get a kind of muddy greenish-brown mess. But Melanie’s right, as long as you’re drawing the lines yourself, the same star can be part of so many pictures.”

“Yeah, I know, just giving her a hard time,” Gerry says. “Anyway, what you said—what if that’s the key to it? Like—like maybe the Fourteen are colors, but it’s how they interact that make the actual Fears. It’s all in how you layer the pigment, and what kind of medium you’re using, you know?”

“Like letters,” Martin agrees. “Or sounds. The aah sound can mean so many different things depending on where it goes in a word, or what letters you combine with it, or how long you draw it out.”

“Or like…choreography,” Melanie says slowly. “I mean, there are only so many basic dance steps, but it’s how you combine them that makes the ballet. Or the waltz, or the samba, or…you get the idea.”

Gerry snorts. “Hell, why don’t we divide it up by taxonomy? Kingdom, phylum, class, order, family, genus, species, subspecies…”

“I think that runs back into the same problem as Smirke’s Fourteen.” Melanie sighs. “We’d still have to limit each thing to a single overall category.”

“Yeah, true.”

“Categorizing anything is hard,” Martin says, and there’s an almost bitter tone to it. “Like saying a tomato is a fruit—it is, but it’s also a vegetable, because ‘fruit’ means one thing in botany and another thing in cooking and ‘vegetable’ is a category that only exists in cooking—and people argue all the time about if potatoes count as vegetables. There are four voice types in choral singing but eight in operatic singing, and they’ve all got subcategories. Fish don’t exist in the scientific community because there’s no way to define ‘fish’ that doesn’t either include things we’ve already decided aren’t fish or exclude things we’ve already decided are fish, but everybody knows what ‘fish’ means, except that Eric at school told me that the Catholic church in the eighteenth century declared that beavers were fish for purposes of being allowed to eat them on Fridays during Lent.”

“So what you’re saying is we’d need a classification system that allowed for nuance,” Melanie says thoughtfully. “Like we were saying before. You give each fragment of something a value or a classification, and then mash them together to give a label to the thing.”

Gerry purses his lips briefly. “You’d need a computer program to keep track of something like that properly, I think.”

They fall silent again. The night gets darker and darker, even as the sky stays lit with stars—not enough to read or see by, but a good deal brighter and clearer than in London. Gerry thinks back to their earlier conversation about religion. With the sky looking like that, he has to admit, it’s hard to concentrate on fear. Easy to believe in things like hope and joy and goodness.

He almost thinks the other two have fallen asleep, and he’s starting to get a bit drowsy himself, when he hears Martin’s voice, so soft it’s almost below their hearing. “What if we’re going in the wrong direction?”

Gerry turns his head to look at Martin. Martin’s eyes are fixed on the sky. There’s something distant in them, though, almost like they’re looking at something beyond the stars…or maybe behind them. They reflect on the lenses of his glasses, and for just a moment, it almost seems like his freckles have turned to stardust. If Gerry didn’t know better, he’d think Martin was getting absorbed by the sky…by the Vast.

But that’s silly. The Vast hasn’t touched him, other than the occasional brush with a Leitner. Martin’s been Marked by the Eye, the Lonely, and the Spiral, but that’s it. He’d know if the Vast had touched him. Surely Martin would tell him.

Wouldn’t he?

He would, a voice whispers in the back of Gerry’s mind. It hasn’t touched him. You’re right. He’s safe from that one so far.

Gerry takes a small, quick breath and tries to refocus on the conversation. “What do you mean, Martin?”

Martin slowly turns his head so that he’s looking at Gerry and Melanie. There’s a faint worry in his eyes. “What if Smirke’s Fourteen are too complicated? I mean…he just liked balance. Everything had to have its opposite, kind of. What if there aren’t fourteen Fears? What if there are fewer?” He blinks a couple times. “What if they’re all just…Fear?”

It’s…an interesting theory, Gerry has to admit, but there’s an obvious flaw in it. “That color thing of yours, remember? You wouldn’t be able to see a difference between them if they were all one thing.”

“If you shine a torch through a prism, and it breaks into different colors, it’s all still light. You’re just seeing different wavelengths.”

“And there’s no way to put them back together,” Melanie says. She rolls over onto her stomach and props herself up on her elbows. “Once light’s gone through a prism, it’s separated into the different colors and that’s the end of it. You can’t mix it back to plain white light. So even if the Fears were all one thing at one point, they sure aren’t now. And there’s no way to mash them back together again.”

“I guess you’re right.” Martin rolls his head to look back up at the sky. “I don’t think we’ll ever be able to understand them. Smarter people than us have tried and failed.”

“Like the Archivist?” Melanie says, lying back down and turning over to look up as well. “Do you think she knows what they’re really about?”

“If she did, I don’t think she’d still be the Archivist,” Gerry says dryly.

Martin sighs. “I don’t think she has a choice. I-I mean, if you live long enough to get a title like the Archivist, you’re probably an Avatar. Like the Twisting Deceit. I don’t think she can get away from it now.”

“Do you think she wants to?” Melanie asks. “Or does she like being…like that?”

“Well, from all the stories we’ve heard, she certainly seems to like fucking with other Fears and blowing things up.” Gerry half sits up, almost convinced he can hear a low, keening, heartbroken moan, but when he listens again, the world is silent save the wind in the beeches. “But I guess…I dunno. I feel like if you’re aware enough to still feel things, even if you’re an Avatar, you aren’t going to enjoy being one. I bet if she had the opportunity to get rid of it, she would.”

“I know I would, if it were me,” Melanie says. “Not that I’m ever going to be that important or, or powerful, you know? But if I was, if I was trapped in something like that and I found out there was a way I could cut the Marks off me? I would.”

“Me, too,” Gerry says. “Nothing’s worth that.”

Martin, surprisingly, doesn’t say anything for a while. Finally, he says slowly, “I’d like to say I would, too, but…I don’t know.”

“You mean you wouldn’t walk away from all this if you could?” Gerry asks, his heart sinking a little. He’ll never abandon Martin and Melanie to this, but there’s a part of him that’s kind of hoped, someday anyway, they might all get out together.

“Oh, yeah, absolutely,” Martin says. “If there’s a way to turn our backs on it all and forget about it, I’ll do that in a heartbeat. I’ve kind of got an idea how to, actually. But…I mean, being able to See the Marks and stuff…I don’t know that I’d stop that, even if I could.”

“I guess it’s useful,” Melanie says, a little uncertainly.

“It’s not that. It’s just…it’s part of who I am, you know? It’s been a part of me since I was eight years old. Would I really still be me if I cut off something that was part of me for so long?”

“Yes, of course,” Melanie says stoutly. “You’ll always be you, no matter what. Even if you, if you scoop out your eyes with grapefruit spoons and set them on fire or something.”

Martin chokes on a laugh. “Grapefruit spoons?”

“They’re a real thing! They’re, they’ve got kind of jagged edges to grip really well, but they’re small and skinny, so they’d be perfect for something like that.” Melanie pauses. “Not that I’m saying you should gouge your eyes out or whatever, just—”

“Yeah, no, I get it, I get it. You’re saying my Marks aren’t what make me…me.”

“Exactly.”

Gerry wonders, for just a moment, what he would be like if he wasn’t touched by any of the Fourteen. Whether he would still be the same person or if he’d be something, someone wholly different. If Martin and Melanie would still love him if he was completely free of it all.

Of course they would, the voice in his head murmurs, sounding infinitely sad, but Gerry isn’t sure he believes it. Still, no good in speculating on it now.

Anyway, it’s immaterial. Like Melanie said, none of them are ever going to be important enough—to any of the Fears—to have to make a decision like that. And even if they do, something tells him it still won’t matter. There probably isn’t any way to actually get free of them.

Well. There is. But there is no way in hell Gerry would ever allow that to happen to his siblings. Or do it to them.

He loves them. He won’t lose them, or let them be taken from him. Not without a serious fight.