#I am putting off doing a design for Elias so so much I do not want to do it

[once-ina-blue-moon]

142 episodes in & I finally have designs for these guys

#blue does art #the magnus archives #tma #tma fanart #jonathan sims #jon sims #martin blackwood #maube I will do basira & daisy & Melanie. & maybe tim & sasha #but they’re dead so lower priority #I am putting off doing a design for Elias so so much I do not want to do it

[f0xgl0v3]

How does one Elias Bouchard hold his Pipe/The overall murder scene

Tw this like entire post is about the proper way to hold a pipe if you wanna effectively hit someone with it several times repeatedly :3 also spoilers for MAG 80

Guys I am simply a writer and this is just for writing and thought experiment purposes, none of this shall or should be applied to real life and it’s just for the haha extended sounds of brutal pipe murder-

What has come to my life-? I’m talking about Elias Bouchard and how he holds the Pipe to murder people- I, there will be actual Percy Jackson stuff soon. Maybe talking about Camp Jupiter and armor and gear and stuff or something however,

Everyone draws Elias with really weird hand positions on the pipe-? That’s a weird thing to say and the art is fantastic but if your beating someone with a Pipe then there seems to be a way I always thought in my head-

Let’s, for the sake that I’m halfway through season 4 consider the only Pipe murder I am currently aware of would be Jurgen Leitner’s, we can work with this. Elias is standing over him at the other side of a desk while Jurgen is seated I believe-? There are a couple ways we can go about this,

1) Elias hits him while they both are in the neutral position at the desk

2) Elias walks over to Jurgen’s side during the conversation and hits him then

3) Jurgen stands up from his chair and then Elias hits him.

I have had to listen to the sound clip so many times for this- I- okay. So, the beginning of the murder still is Jurgen talking, I think audibly a bit worried. I’d like to make the assumption that while Elias is like “bird stuff always a risk about death” that is when the pipe is revealed, Jurgen is taking the moment to try and reason with him and I think 2 and 3 are the most viable due to the sound they use. In 1’s scenario Elias wouldn’t get enough strength in that first swing (due to the desk being in the way, and Elias most likely having to lean over the desk to try and get a strong strike.

Then, the sound- I believe Elias initially hits Jurgen from the side of the head, think like the same ‘row’ that your temples are on, that vague side of the head. Jurgen is heard with a grunt by the first hit; we don’t hear him fall or anything (which makes me suspect it could be a situation of Elias walking over to the other side of the table) and it doesn’t really sound like Elias moves where he hits very much- continuing to strike that original spot; otherwise we’d likely hear the crunch of bone. Am I making the assumption that the sound design would include the crunch and that I would know what hitting a skull with a metal pipe is, oh yeah totally.

Now, that settles how I think this entire thing played out, Elias revealing the pipe as he walks over to the side, Jurgen looks up in old sad man still seated and is trying to reason with Elias, maybe he even attempts to get up and that is when Elias strikes in the right side of his head (just what makes sense to me, it could be the left either it wouldn’t matter much) and repeatedly hits there 11 times (yes I counted the strikes we hear, no I don’t have anything better to do with my time because I’m putting off writing a script) before like dipping or whatever.

Now, the pipe posture if you will. I see so many drawings of Elias’s hands like this,

Raised, and for all intents and purposes from an art sense it’s rad. It’s a dynamic pose and stuff, and of course this is not a critique on artists (who are way better than me) and how they want to draw this fictional man hold his pipe. However this is my brainrot talking on the ‘hey I think this is how he’d get the most effective swing’ because I’ve listened to two seasons back to back and I no longer have a brain.

But; Elias Bouchard wants the most bang for his buck so to speak. I think holding the Pipe like the tried and true baseball bat would provide this. Elias holding it like in my very bad diagram is good if he’d want to poke or stab someone with the pipe, but it’s really effective if you can get that swing in. So yeah, baseball style; hands together near the end of the pipe and over a shoulder or even over his head if you want to be silly with his posing.

Uh, haha okay. I’m sorry but the rot is all consuming and I’ve been thinking about him a lot, also like Peter Lukas and a bunch of the other sillies but this kinda- forced itself out while I was looking at art of the scene. I, uh, :3 that’s all. I like thinking about the mapping and layout and planning of scenes like these and how the visuals might’ve looked if there were visuals. I promise I probably won’t make any more posts like this for a solid while (however, talking about Bryce Lawerence and my thing in SoN are-imagining that he was the one to kill Gwen… maybe.)

#hehe :3 #idk how to tag this #the magnus archives #tmagp spoilers #tma podcast #tmagp theory #this is really stupid #ridiculous even #I’m sorry if you just want to see the funny pjo stuff I post- #elias bouchard #love that sick little rat man #sorry #okay bye

[nohr-and-thirst]

infodump more about welt suffering and welt in general. please?

I've played quite a bit of HI3 and have been playing HSR, which made me finally interested in welt. the gravitas of his eng VA's voice his chef's kiss - I think he's one of the few characters who doesn't sound like "I'm reading this from a paper in a studio" in english - and I dig his design and powers. but what side material do I actually read to get welt lore? there's so much manga and I've only seen screenshots

ASK ABOUT WELT AND YOU SHALL RECEIVE!

Quick side topic about his English VA. I love how it fits Welt so well, in my opinion. I play Impact 3rd with CN dub, but for Star Rail he doesn’t have the same CN voice actor so it threw me off at first, but I gotten use to it after I tried to stop associating with another Impact 3rd VA.

I am putting this here already, this is gonna be very short explanation. Is this post short? No absolutely not, but I’m trying to cut details to try and make it short as I can and have it make sense.

Let us start off with some basic information about Welt Yang and now he inherited the name plus the Herrscher of Reason core.

Before there was Welt Yang, there was Welt Joyce, the first Herrscher of Reason. Sadly Impact 3rd does not explore much of Joyce, and most of the information on him, Otto, Anti-Entropy, and even about Tesla and Einstein is all a Visual Novel that never got a true English translation. However, it did get fan translations and oh goodness it’s a lot there. We will speak only of the information we got about Welt Yang from this Visual Novel.

Around the time this VN takes place Welt Yang is 8 years old since it’s 1955. He is the kiddo in the middle, and man oh man he went through a lot!!!

Welt’s dad, Elias Nokianvirtanen, really did care for Welt. He would often travel with his dad who was working for Schicksal.

There is important information to note, and if I don’t explain it I feel like so much will be lost and the reason all of this is important. There are two major groups at the time (1955). Schicksal and Anti-Entropy (AE). At first AE was just the Northern American branch, and there was a lot of tension between the two. After a bit of… fighting, they did manage to make Anti-Entropy.

The reason they were with the AE, was because Elias was forced to sabotage AE because Otto was threatening Welt’s life.

Than there is Welt Joyce. Welt Joyce is one of my personal favorite underrated characters, and the way Joyce really wanted to protect humanity tells you everything.

Now what does these gentlemen have in common-? Their deaths are connected to Otto. Otto killed Elias due to the reason he was there slipped, and Joyce risked his life to protect New York from being nuked by Otto.

At this time as Welt was trying to help Joyce, Joyce asked him what he thought of the name Welt. Welt mentions he likes it, and Joyce not only passed on the name Welt, but also the Herrchser core.

If you are curious, and wish to read the VN here is the link! https://zklm.github.io/honkai-vn-antientropy/ as a reminder, this is a fan translation, since we never got an official English translation!

Now, here is where we get to the fun bits. Fun fact: in the manga Second Eruption, Otto was legit like flabbergasted. Cause you know, THE FACT HE KILLED IS SUPPOSEDLY ALIVE. Only than to see it wasn’t Welt Joyce, but someone else and this manga just really shows you how strong Welt can be.

Now in Second Eruption, their goal at the start was just “hey we need to find this new herrchser.” So guess what? They gotta work together a bit. There was a small comment that I feel gets over looked and that is, Otto never really taught Siegfried or Theresa how to use their divine keys, and Welt made a small jab at this. I don’t hear people really mention this, and I don’t know why it is such a small fact I love to bring up.

There is a really important fight scene that happens among these pages/chapters between Welt and Sirin. Here we get to see more of what Welt can do as the HOR, which is once he learns the structure of a human creation, he can make a cope with honkai energy. Now I don’t wanna go to much detail into this fight cause how I’m typing won’t do it justice, but we get a tiny new conflict pop up! What is this conflict? A clown, more specifically, Otto. That’s Otto Apocalypse himself.

When I saw Otto has basically made it his personal goal to take down Welt, it being Joyce or Yang, to take down AE, and just do his plans, I mean it. This man goes so far, and I can do a whole essay about Otto, because he is an extremely well written antagonist. However, that will be for later in case anyone wants that just tell me. But Otto could have done more to Welt here, however Siegfried was there! Since Siegfried is key to Otto’s plan he just leaves and they both luckily make it back to safety with VERY bad injuries.

I do not want to go into all the details in the manga, as this manga is my favorite and everyday I hope that HoYoverse will animate it, so https://manga.honkaiimpact3.com/book/1005 here is the link! PLEASE IF YOU CAN READ IT! It’s 65 chapters long, it’s amazing, well written and oh my goodness I could do a whole video essay on it.

Now I am gonna throw some fun facts because this post is getting long and I’ll share some links too!

So here is a great video from HoYoverse about Joyce, Welt Yang, and Bronya and the legacy of the Herrchser of Reason! https://youtu.be/eSOYUfnUGZk

Now here I’m gonna send two playlist of A Post Honkai Odyssey. Why? Because Welt is in it, and also one of my all time favorite character is in it too, Void Archives. (This is me hinting that I wanna info dump about him too.)

Here is a playlist of gameplay of APHO on YT: https://youtube.com/playlist?list=PLt0MO_4lG2SEyuMmOywSW02-soMN0PA45

Here is a playlist for APHO 2: https://youtube.com/playlist?list=PLIL1w10vWxxolgZxP1Q7KlTPyq2B8JCt3

Also APHO has a certain scene that could be similar to some Star Rail players 👀

Here some random fun facts about Welt Yang that I recall on top of my head cause he gives the brain serotonin!

Welt Yang for the first bit having the core couldn’t sleep tho to the fact that the core houses over 300k people, and he never really complained of any struggles it gave to him, but we learn during the HoD arc when he speaks with Bronya he is concerned about her and ask her all the things she is experiencing.

It’s mention in Second Eruption that Welt would try and ask Einstein to play the piano, also he mentions around that same chapter I believe that if he didn’t inherit the HoR core he thinks/wonders if he would have become a teacher or linguistic like his father.

Facts relating to Arahato is that one his company had a whole copyright issue with Otto’s game company, the Arahato is heavily based of Joyce, and the line “Witness the stars shatter before you!” Comes from Joyce, but Herrchser of Truth Bronya (HI3RD) and Welt (HSR) say this line! Also around the Thus Spoke Apocalypse arc, it is mentioned by Einstein that one morning Welt made breakfast for the crew but it wasn’t much since he made it but implies he knows how to cook!

This is more from Star Rail, but is Serval is in your express she actual mentions Welt cause he asked some questions, but here is the tumblr link for that!

I don’t want to make a too long post that no one possible reads, BUT PLEASE ASK ME ANYTHING! IT CAN BE SILLY OR SERIOUS ABOUT WELT OR ANY OF THE HONKAI IMPACT 3RD GROUP OR STAR RAIL GROUP AS WELL!!! I read the manga’s and I have read the VN and I have spent hours rereading and replaying and explaining to people that ask and I love to do so QVQ

#Welt Yang #Welt Joyce #otto apocalypse #honkai impact #honkai impact 3rd #hi3rd #hi3 #a post honkai odyssey #APHO #honkai star rail #hsr #I’m tagging as such since I do mention a bit of Star rail but mAN I COULD RAMBLE #adorable anon #Nohr rambles #long post

[raspberry--fool]

There are lot here, so just pick whichever ones you want to do.

I O P S V (cyrus / aurelius / andrea)

AD AE AN AR

BB BD BE BF

oh that is a lot! jokes on you, i’m doing all of them :3

I. Are there any stories you have been brainstorming but haven’t written yet? so, so many. i have two prequels to sic semper tyrannis up my sleeve, a pirate story set after the death of their beloved captain in which they wrestle with their grief and their conflicting feelings about him, a couple of stories set in the world 9 year old me created as a coping mechanism and a retelling of herodotus’s story of mycerinus (look it up if you don’t know it – it’s an incredible tale!)

O. Which writer(s) influenced your style? Alternately: which writer’s career do you wish you had/hope to achieve? i want so badly to write like maggie stiefvater……also, i want my worldbuilding to be as good as ursula le guin’s in her earthsea series (my childhood)

P. What draws you to a story idea? (Example: themes, a fun character, Aesthetic, etc.) god…..i have no idea. story ideas sort of just appear in my brain and shout at me until i’ve written them down. sometimes they’ve come from songs, sometimes from images, a few times even from dreams! what draws me to them, i guess, is probably the characters and how they feel and view the world and whether that’s compelling enough?

S. Are you a pantser, planner, or plantser? (How much planning do you put into your stories?) i love the idea of pantsing but ultimately i can’t write without a scene-by-scene plan so i am very much a planner.

V. Original fiction: Do you have a face claim for (character)? most of them i make on picrew…. that’s cyrelius at the top and, from left to right, elias digby, adrien bennet, nora atkins and andrew spencer from merlin motors:

AD. If (story) were adapted in another medium (comic, tv show, etc) what would it be? i have this incredible movie adaptation of honourable dishonour that lives in my head bcs i just know it would be visually so stunning……and i have all these ideas for how you could use the medium to your advantage, especially because in the book sunlight is a motif that runs throughout and it would be so cool

AE. What is one word or phrase you catch yourself using weirdly often? ohhhh so many how do i pick. probably ‘laughed disbelievingly’ or ‘wrinkled her nose.’ not sure but i do know this happens a lot

AN. If you could collaborate on a story with any author, living or dead, who would it be? JANE AUSTEN sorry but she’s actually my best friend

AR. You are a famous author (you are to me!) and someone comes to your house to interview you and take pictures of where the writing magic happens. What is your ideal writing space and how does the interviewer describe the meeting to their audience? (IE: what kind of vibe do you hope to give off as an author?)

BB. How do you come up with titles? Do you dread this or love it? they appear to me in a vision only when i am at my absolute wit’s end glowing and haloed and tell me ‘be not afraid. i am the perfect title for your wip and i have been staring in your face for like a month and you haven’t even noticed’

BD. What do you like most about your writing? my prose, specifically descriptions. give me any setting and tell me to write 2k words on how beautiful/ugly/eerie/scary/empty/lively etc it is and i am in my comfort zone forever <3

BE. Original fiction: (story) is getting published and you get full creative control for the cover. Describe what you envision. oooo ok so. first of all they wouldn’t be photos they’d be quite simple art designs. i think sic semper tyrannis would have a raised fist in the middle, and then around that fist the silhouette of a bear’s paw or a bear’s head. cyrelius i imagine maybe an image of the rooftop since that’s an important motif OR of like a crown. or actually maybe a hand coming up from the bottom left holding a wine glass and a hand coming from the top right and stirring the wine with the finger…..or something to do with hektor since he’s essentially the keystone of it all?

BF. What is one question you have always wished someone would ask about your story/writing/character? Answer that. “talk to me about the motifs in cyrelius?” omg wowww what a great question pippa. ok this is gonna get a bit long sorry

honour: so. all the politicians in the royal court have the title of ‘honourable minister’ and addressed as your honour, which is in direct contrast to their obvious corruption, greed and self-interest. at one point the group have a debate with an elderly noble relating to the definition of honour – he believes its defined by heritage, wealth, land, prestige, having important family, titles. cyrelius go on a business trip in which they end up having to solve a mini-mystery and resolve a dispute, and at the end they praise a poor farmer for his honour. when they are condemned and brought to the king at the end he says that they have betrayed ‘both their personal honour and the honour of their nation.’ the rooftop: so aurelius loves sitting on the rooftop of cyrus’s cabinet building and later cyrus ends up joining him there. it’s where they have their first kiss, where they stay up late to talk and where they go to escape from the monotony of paperwork. it’s also where they hide their diaries and letters when they learn that they’re going to die. it’s significance is that it’s actually one of the highest points in the city, and therefore they can see what most politicians are blind to: the slums. this is significant bcs it represents how they see and care about the injustice that most of the royal court either ignore or actively exploit. and those are just the main ones…….

#anyways tysm for the asks! #i had fun answering them #cyrelius #honour #sst #writing #my ocs

[skyesilva24]

SKETCHES N DOODS (OCs)

made some concept designs of some of my OCs, though, Libby's is more or less final. The others are subject to change... (:3」∠) (some facts/info about them under the cut if you're curious)

Libitina "Libby" - she's a Dark Fae, more specifically of raven descent - her VA would be Takahashi Rie - she would have a British accent/she would be British - she has a bubbly personality, yet gives off an unpredictable air - she stands at 158cm (5'2"); she appears to be in her early 20's Quote: "Would you like to be friends?"

Dr. Sullivan - human?? 👁️👁️ - his VA would be Naoya Uchida (Madara Uchiha) - he's a renowned doctor/surgeon at his workplace (tba) - if I had to give him a nationality, he would be German - he stands at 190cm (6'3"); he appears to be in his mid-40's Quote: "Worry not, dear. You can trust my expertise. After all, I've studied in the field for quite some time~."

Moriarty - his VA would be Yuichi Nakamura - has a knack for business, being in charge of matters such as performing deals and contracts - due to his charismatic nature, he's also in-charge of public relations - he gets bored easily, so he ends up in some form of mischief with Enyo, dragging along Nox much to the latter's chagrin - he stands at 172cm (5'8"); he's in his mid-20's Quote: "Sighs... How dull. Hey, Nox~! Let's get outta here! I know a fine restaurant nearby! Enyo's also tagging along!"

Nox (Fenrir Form) - in his Fenrir form, his VA would be Ryota Takeuchi (Elias Ainsworth from Ancient Magus Bride) - in this state, he stands at 208cm (6'10") - a master at forging weapons, he's often found in the forgery, crafting weapons he could use or wants the others to use - for personal reasons, he'd rather be in his Fenrir form than his human form - as stated by Moriarty himself, Nox's human form is "quite the catch" that the former was willing to date the latter Quote: "You... wish to see... my 'human form'? ...... I'd rather not, thank you."

Moros - he is a skilled strategist - his VA would be Nojima Kenji - he speaks only when it's necessary; when he does, however, he can be quite blunt... and confusing at times - he, and by extension Anpu, would be Dutch - he and Anpu are inseparable - he stands at 165cm (5'5") Quote: "Once the enemy is put under enough turmoil, cracks in their defenses are bound to appear -- a moment of weakness, hahah."

Anpu - they only respond to Moros's orders/requests - they are very protective of him - if you managed to gain Anpu's respect, they will respond to your requests (to an extent) - their VA would be Mayumi Asano (Haku from Naruto) - they are proficient in the polearm, having two bo staffs strapped onto their back - they stand at 175cm (5'9") Quote: "Young master Moros is why I exist. And, I... I am his weapon."

Ombra - she is a skilled huntress and marksman - her main weapon of use is a hunting rifle that she keeps hidden under her cloak - her VA would be Chika Anzai (Sakura Nanamine from TBHK) - she is always seen with a stoic expression - no one can really get close to her, intimidated by her aura - she stands at 152cm (5'0") Quote: "I never miss my target."

Phyn - a rabbit beastman - one of the few people who can easily approach Ombra - he is always found sleeping on a fluffy cloud; at all costs, DO NOT WAKE HIM UP - despite constantly sleeping, he is skilled at Reconnaissance - no one knows how, but he manages to get from point A to point B in a matter of seconds - his VA would be Kenichi Suzumura (Utakata from Naruto: Shippuden) - he stands at 171cm (5'7") Quote: "You pulled an all-nighter again, didn't you? Ahh..... Here. I made some space for you on my cloud."

Dr. Nightingale - she's always found in the library with her nose in a book - her VA would be Atsuko Tanaka (Konan from Naruto Shippuden) - she has a tendency to associate/name others based on various flora -- e.i. she often calls Libby "Kiku" meaning Chrysanthemum in Japanese - she is usually seen wearing a plague doctor mask - she usually speaks in a calm manner, but when riled up, she slips into a Scottish accent - she stands at 180cm (5'10") Quote: "Daffodil, dear, can you-- For crying out loud, MAGNUS!!!"

Enyo - she is "the life of the party", Moriarty as her partner-in-crime - she loves the thrill of battle, brandishing her katanas and sporting a wide toothy grin - she has a fierce temper, often ending up in fights (with Nox) - her VA would be Ami Koshimizu - she stands at 175cm (5'9"), but in her heels, she's 182cm (6'0") Quote: "Morti and me are goin' for drinks. Wanna join in~?"

Aeron - honestly, they're an enigma to everyone (even me :")) - Skye) - scarily quiet when approaching others, Moriarty and Enyo being their main victims -- they don't do it on purpose, I swear ;=; - they maneuver/navigate by using cloth wrappings as their "extra limbs" -- kinda like Doc Ock from Spider-man (つ´∀｀)つ - their VA would be Maaya Sakamoto (Ciel Phantomhive) - they stand at 167cm (5'6") Quote: "...If you need help in dealing with noisy pests... inform me. I'll take care of them."

This was fun to do (´∀｀）I want to create more fun content with my OCs ahfkdlahjakg

#skyesilva24art #my ocs #ocs #oc art #oc artwork #original character #original characters #oc dump #oc lore dump #doodles #sketches #digital art

[wellmaybetheresworms]

Antagonists

Alright. I know what you’re probably not thinking because it’s somewhat specific. Who’s this worms person, and why are they about to talk about antagonists for a bit? You don’t get an answer. By the way, I’m not an expert. I have no idea what I’m talking about. I’m just an idiot ranting on Tumblr.

I, the aforementioned worms person, love antagonists. Well, most of them. Elias Bouchard can go die. But generally, I really like antagonists. They just have vibes. Good vibes. (Not as in morally correct, most of them aren’t, but you probably get what I mean.) The things a properly good antagonist can add to a story… I don’t know how I was planning on finishing that. But they add lots. Having a good antagonist is just as important as having a good protagonist, regardless of how much thought is put into their character. Take Ursula. She doesn’t have a complex backstory with deep, traumatic reasons for her actions, but damn. She just has some vibes. She properly causes problems, and it takes actual effort to stop her. I haven’t seen The Little Mermaid in years, but I know without a doubt that if I rewatched it now, she would be my favorite. (Unrelated: my phone thinks I’m British. It keeps trying to make my American spelling of words into British words. No. I don’t want another U. It’s fine as it is.)

Anyways, Ursula has a good design too. While protagonists in hero-villain stories can get a bit repetitive after a while regarding their costumes and designs (nothing wrong with that, it’s just true), antagonists tend to have something that just makes them pop, and really reflects their character. And there LOTS of variety among antagonists of all kinds of stories! There’s the incredibly traumatised, completely redeemable ones, and then they’re the entirely unhinged ones. Some of them have actual backstories with motivations that they think are worth their actions, and some are just random doing it because an antagonist was needed. There’s so much variety!

Brief paragraph or two on the distinction between a villain and antagonist. (Please refer again to where I said that I am not an expert in this stuff, and this should not be cited for some important paper or something.) Generally, villains tend to be characters, typically antagonists, though not always, who are morally lacking, or causing huge amounts of damage to something. A lot of the time, I see “villain” being used as a derogatory that labels an antagonist as bad, and removes the need for the people absorbing the media to look further into their character. They can just go “oh this person is bad, good to know I’m done now”. Villain can also be used instead of antagonist in instances where it doesn’t quite fit, but only because of the definition associated with the word. For example in Inferno Squad (Star Wars book), the protagonist is a member of the Empire, and so doesn’t have the most righteous of moral codes. Because she’s in the Empire, the antagonists of the book are rebels, so the term “villain” doesn’t really apply as much, since Just As A Rule Of Star Wars, the rebellion and republic and such just have better morals.

Antagonist refers to a force opposing the protagonist. It doesn’t mean evil, although my options on good and evil are perhaps a rant for another time, it means that the protagonist needs something to go against. It doesn’t mean a sentient being, or even a living thing at all. It can be mental health, societal norms, or a spoon that feels bad in the protagonist’s mouth. It can even be a stressful due date. This has gotten incredibly off track. If you’re still here, deal with it. An antagonist doesn’t have to have questionable morals, or even morals at all.

Now, when referring to sentient antagonists, I would be fine using villain. Key term, would be. Although it is slightly faster to say, people generally have it associated with evil characters, and I don’t like that. I don’t want people to think that I’m calling characters with complicated reasons for their actions evil just because of a dictated set of “correct” morals chosen by society, and shaped through the millennia of human existence, so carefully cultivated and yet so loosely followed. (To be clear, I’m saying facts. But facts don't really mean anything without opinions in place to give people something to do with them. I still think that some things shouldn’t happen, and I think some things are more complicated than moral or not).

Anyways, I love antagonists. They have such a unique view on the worlds around them, and since their story is usually told from the perspective of someone who isn’t meant to really like/understand them, they tend to come off as a little, well. Off. They don’t fit into the way that world is meant to be, because they’re there to cause problems for the protagonist.

But also they can just be incredibly badass and cool without trying, or just have inexplicable vibes(not those Vibes) and I am platonically gay for most of them with some exceptions, regardless of their gender or my current gender. At the end of the day, I am completely unable to describe how I feel about antagonists without dissolving into incomprehensible nonsense or off topic paragraphs. Hello, and welcome to absolute nonsense. I’m Woims, for no particular reason, and you’re watching Disney channel.

(But also screw you Disney why would you get rid of the Owl House)

Finally, some antagonists I don’t like:

Elias Bouchard (the Magnus Archives)

Victor Frankenstein (Frankenstein or the Modern Prometheus) (Yes, I know he’s technically the protagonist. No, I don’t care. I despise him with all of my being. If literally anyone asks I will post my spite essay here)

Morrowseer (Wings of Fire)

Those aren’t all of them, just the ones I got off the top of my head.

#antagonists #ranting #read this if you want #I was drawing something and having a good time and then I just spontaneously stopped and wrote this all in one sitting #i am perfectly normal

[santigarcia]

Dessert is on the Counter

an abel morales x f!reader fic~

word count: 2k

rating: m for smut

summary: you’re a college student and you go home with your friend Elias Morales for Thanksgiving, and you meet his recently divorced older brother Abel....

a/n: this idea was given to me by the lovely @sergeantkane. she was kind enough to let me write this AND make a moodboard for it! this is my first time writing abel so i hope yall like it!

Holidays are never what you expect them to be. This is by far your most eventful thanksgiving to date.

You agree to be a fake girlfriend to your friend Elias. Your good friends, and honestly it would be a fun weekend away. You know his brother has a nice house, and you’d rather stay in New York than go back home. Too many flights to plan.

The house is nicer than you expect when you pull into the driveway. The housekeeper answers the door and she’s a pleasant woman. You can’t seem to find your “boyfriend,” but you do see three young girls run by, playing with their dog. They greet you happily and so does the dog. You set your bag down to bend down to pet the animal when you hear a male voice.

“Did you find the house ok?”

You look up to see the most handsome man you’ve ever seen. He’s dressed sharp in a suit, a tan coat draped over his arm. His cologne smells expensive, and his hair is perfect.

“Oh, yes! You have a lovely home. You and your wife must have put a lot into it!”

“Oh, it’s just me.”

“I’m so sorry- “

“Don’t be,” he holds up his hand to ease your worries.

“Don’t be,” Morales repeats. “She’s a bitch. Abel here wised up and left.” He says hopping up on the kitchen counter. Abel only chuckles, but the look in his eyes tells you that Elias speaks the truth.

“How long are you with us…?” Abel pauses realizing he doesn’t know your name.

“Oh shit,” Elias laughs and hops off the counter. He says your name and then introduces you to Abel. He takes your hand in a strong but gentle handshake, and you flush when his fingers stroke your palm as he slides his hand away.

“And I’ll be here just for the weekend!”

Abel nods and returns your smile, “make yourself at home. We’re so glad you’ll be joining us.” He nods and puts his coat on walking towards the front door.

“He’s always working,” Elias says. “Especially after the divorce, threw himself into his work. Come on, let me take you on a tour.”

You walk through the halls and peek in rooms – noticing the life lived here. It’s full of memory, but it’s almost too quiet. Empty. It’s too clean and you can feel the hurt this family has endured.

“She left him and the girls without a word one morning. The papers were on the kitchen counter.”

All night those words run through your head. You lie on the floor, a makeshift pallet in Elias’s bedroom – staring up at the ceiling. How does someone just leave their whole family behind?

You keep thinking about it as you sit across from Abel at the thanksgiving meal. His daughters and a few other children you assume are cousins sit at the designated kid’s table. The adults table is full of the Morales family, they are cheerful and warm. What about this family made his wife want to leave? They’ve been nothing but welcoming to you.

“What are you studying in school?” Abel asks you as he holds out a plate of homemade bread to you. You take a slice, it’s warm. Just like everything else in this house. Your fingers brush his and you hate how it makes you flush. So much so you almost forget the question.

“I’m an anthropology major.”

“Oh?” Abel raises a brow. His interest is piqued. “What made you chose that?”

“People fascinate me and learning about other cultures in the process has opened up my world view. I think it’s important.”

He nods in agreement as he takes a sip of wine.

“Knowing people is a key part in my business. Works better that way.”

“Abel,” groans Elias, “you’re so boring!” He laughs. A couple family members chuckle but mean no harm. You hold Abel’s eyes, and something sparks behind them. Suddenly you get the feeling he’d like to eat you alive. And watching his jaw move while he eats his meal doesn’t help the desire growing between your legs.

As their guest, a couple of the women take your plate and bring you a slice of pie. Abel smiles fondly at you as you enjoy the first bite. Elias has left to go watch the game on TV, but you didn’t notice.

“You’re not really dating him, are you?” Abel chuckles.

“How did you guess?”

“He’s in there, watching the game.” Abel nods his head in the direction of the living room. You can hear voices cheering and a clamor of excitement. “When he could be here with you. And hey, maybe you don’t have to be around each other all the time. But he didn’t even ask if you wanted to join.”

You can’t look at him, he’s too handsome. So, you look past him into the kitchen where more family members wash dishes and start cleaning things up. Someone laughs loudly and Abel turns to see with a smile. It’s so comfortable.

“I bet you’re wondering now why I’m here then.”

“Yes, I am,” he nods with a polite smile and folds his hands together, his dessert finished.

“I wanted to get away. Spend time somewhere else. And Elias is a good friend. I have an anthro project due at the end of the semester, and I wanted to see how different families are at over the holidays.” You pause, “but nothing looks all that different from Thanksgiving at my home.”

Abel asks you more questions and you end up talking for some time. You don’t even notice the relatives leaving. The only thing that stirs you from the conversation is your want for leftovers now that you’re hungry again.

“Thank you for the lovely conversation Mr. Morales,” you smile when you stand finally.

“Abel, please. And it’s been a pleasure. I’m glad you’re here.” He nods.

That night it’s even worse. Laying on the floor, staring at the ceiling thinking about him. You couldn’t sleep if you tried, this floor isn’t comfortable now. You shouldn’t be thinking about Abel, but you can’t help but think about him in his room, alone. His touch was so warm, you can’t imagine what his touch would be like sexually.

Why did his wife leave him? It bothers you.

Elias is snoring, and you can’t sleep – so you get up to go downstairs for a drink. You quietly tiptoe down the hall. You see the girls’ bedrooms, each of their doors has a pink sign with their name on it. A stair creaks when you step on it and you freeze, it’s as if your thoughts of Abel will expose you.

You carry on down the stairs and into the kitchen. There are only a few small lamps on to illuminate the space. But the fridge light pours onto the floor when you open the freezer for some ice in your glass.

“Can’t sleep?”

Abel.

Shit.

You gasp and spin around to see him in comfortable pajama pants and a plain white t-shirt. He looks so handsome in the soft light.

“Sorry,” he laughs. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

“It’s alright! I hope this is ok…”

“Oh, of course” he points to the sink and you fill your glass. You feel your face warm, knowing he’s watching you. Seeing him while you’re in your pajamas wasn’t what you had in mind.

“And no, I can’t sleep.”

“Something on your mind?” he asks casually, reaching in the cabinet for a mug.

Does he know? No. He can’t know. Can he?

You realize you haven’t answered and instead you’re just standing frozen overfilling you glass of ice water.

“The floor isn’t comfortable,” you say instead, which is also the truth.

“The floor?” he pauses, setting the mug down. “Why are you on the floor?”

“Well, we aren’t- “

“No, I know you’re not dating, but why did he give you the floor? I outta kick his ass for treating a guest that way. Especially one so pretty,” he smiles, there’s a glint in his eye of flirtation- harmless, but you want more of it.

“You know, Abel, it’s not my place to say this but I think your wife made a mistake.”

He takes a step closer to you and you feel your heart pounding in your throat.

“Things happen the way they are supposed to,” he says, taking a step closer. You take a drink from your water, but he pulls the glass from your lips.

“I shouldn’t-“ you whisper.

“Why not?” Abel sets your glass down. There’s a chill on his fingertips when he touches your cheek. “I’ve seen the look in your eyes all day. If you don’t want this, then please say so. But if you do, then please- kiss me.”

Throwing all caution to the wind, you wrap your arms around him and kiss him deeply. He grunts into your mouth and helps you hop up on the counter. Your legs wrap around him tightly, pulling him towards you. His mouth hasn’t left yours and the moans leaving your mouth already are full of need.

“Please,” you whine and buck your hips against him. His hands slide into your waistband and he’s quick to find your clit. The gasp you let out is obscene, and he claps his hand over your mouth. He gives you a little grin of satisfaction and he rubs your clit perfectly.

No one you’ve been with have touched you like this. You’re a 23-year-old college student, all your past relationships have been too inexperienced for good pleasure. This is a man who knows how to touch a woman.

He keeps up his pace and he doesn’t stop until your panties are soaking wet.

“Do you want to keep going?” he asks, looking in your eyes. You know he’ll stop if you ask. But you’d rather die than him stop right now.

You shake your head yes, and he moves his hand. He pulls down his pajama pants enough to pull himself free. He’s already hard and ready for you. You moan again and he raises an eyebrow at you.

“You gonna be a good girl for me?” he’s testing the waters and you’re ready to drown. You nod quickly as he slips off your pants and pushes your panties aside. He then lines himself up with you. He thumbs your clit with one hand as he guides himself in with the other. You stifle a moan, and he can’t help but chuckle quietly at your attempts to be quiet.

He thrusts into you, hard. You see stars and clench around him. Everything about him is too much, but just in the right way. His voice is smooth, his skin is warm. His hair is perfect and you’re messing it up with your fingers while he pounds into you on the kitchen counter next to the leftover desserts from today.

His thumb stays there on you while he thrusts, his other hand gripping the counter for support. When you near your end, his big hand finds the small of your back and pulls you as close to him as possible.

He makes sure you come again before he does. His moans are soft, his eyes asking you permission. You nibble on his ear and whine a yes when he spills himself into your heat.

“You wanna come sleep in my bed?” he whispers into your neck as he places a kiss there.

You nod and he pulls out, helping you slide off the counter.

He takes you again in the bedroom. Twice. He strips you naked and enjoys the touch of your skin. He worships you in his big bed. Once it crosses your mind he slept with his wife in this big bed. But you soon forget when he’s balls deep and making you come a fourth time that night.

You don’t want to explain this one to Elias tomorrow, but it’s better than sleeping on the floor.

xx

@punkpascal, @writefightandflightclub, @velvetmel0n, @huliabitch, @himbodjarin, @pascalz, @bisexual-space-slut, @shadow-assassin-blix​

#abel morales #abel morales x reader #a most violent year #oscar isaac #my writing #this has been in my drafts for EVER

[firesign23]

I wish you would write a fic where... Scene from a Persuasion AU where they meet - or maybe just their eyes meet - after years apart. (Just in case you were thinking about a Persuasion AU. ;)

I'm always thinking about a Persuasion AU, tbh. This is a snippet from one that is NOT the one I've been plotting for two years.

Brienne steps from the tram, adjusting her cloche and tugging at her fur-collared wrap coat; the latter is hardly of the latest fashion, but it is warm and well made and far more suitable for the infamous Highgarden Hotel than her worn plaid mackinaw. She looks up to the sprawling building that takes up half the city block, the ornately carved white marble and stone facade of an institution of King’s Landing, then nods to the doorman at the door and heads inside.

The lobby is opulent in the way that Brienne knows is meant to be off-putting for those not accustomed to wealth, but she is a Tarth of Tarth no matter her current circumstances; she straightens her back--she can either be tall and slump or taller and unassailable, and the years have taught her the latter is much more pleasant--and glances around the milling guests. Olenna Tyrell is at the far end of the room, near the double doors that lead to the ballroom, greeting every guest by name; a small group of Dornishmen--and women--stand near the rose bushes, heads together as they speak; Renly Baratheon is alone, and Brienne almost waves to say hello, but before she can Loras Tyrell joins him and it is far easier not to intervene there. She doesn’t know most of the rest--it’s been five years since she’d last attended an Aviation Society event, longer since….

“Brienne!” calls a voice, and Brienne turns to see Catelyn Stark barrelling down on her. “You made it, I’m so pleased.”

Catelyn takes Brienne’s hands in hers and kisses her cheek, smiling.

“I did,” Brienne says. “Has Maege arrived yet?”

“She’s not coming,” Catelyn says, wrinkling her nose. “And before you ask, Lyanna crossed paths with Elia Martell and they’ve disappeared, and the rest of the team had their own reasons not to attend. I’m afraid it is only you and me today.”

The truth is that none of them must be here, they know enough and registration will be open for weeks, but Brienne feels a pang of disappointment regardless. She would never have flown again if it had not been for them, and the memories of why she stopped are oddly close though she could not be further from the air.

“I am glad you are here,” she manages to say; it feels uneasy in her mouth, but Catelyn only smiles once more.

“Come, we can leave your coat with the coat check and then head into the ballroom. I’ve heard that Mr Lannister is presenting before Olenna makes her announcement.”

Brienne freezes, stomach roiling. “Mr Lannister?”

Not Jaime, not Jaime, she’d told herself that he would not be here, news of his lost hand had reached her even on Tarth, years ago now, the Westerlands flying ace shot down over enemy territory. He could not be here.

“Yes,” Catelyn is saying. “Mr Tyrion Lannister has made some developments on his engine design.”

Oh, yes, the brother. Brienne had never met the man, but Jaime had spoken of his intelligence fondly. No doubt it would be a fascinating talk. She follows Catelyn, unable to resist tugging at her pale blue tea dress when she removes her coat and hands it over; she knows that the style does quite a bit to disguise her flaws, but it still sits uncomfortably on her. Catelyn lays her hand on Brienne’s arm, and tilts her head towards the ballroom with an understanding glance.

They are almost to the ballroom when Olenna spies them.

“Catelyn! Brienne!” she exclaims, pinning them both into place with her sharp warmth. Brienne turns reluctantly, and Olenna comes forward, regal as ever. “I am so pleased you made it. I know you have not raced since your father took ill--my condolences on your loss--but it will be so much more interesting with someone of your calibre involved. Come, I have someone to introduce you to.”

Olenna gestures, and Brienne has only a breath to recognise the broad shoulders and golden hair, the familiar posture, before the man turns. He is as shocked as she, at least for a moment, though he hides it far quicker than she suspects he does.

“Miss Tarth.”

It is the first time she has heard his voice since…. It has not changed. With one hand--the one he must have lost--in his pocket, he appears not to have changed at all. Except for his gaze, that is; there is nothing but polite disinterest as he flicks his eyes over her once. She tilts her chin up; she made her choice, as best she could, and she cannot regret it. Not here. Regret is best left in the dark of night, when she cannot sleep, all the untrodden paths of her life behind her and only a dense forest ahead. Not that he seems to notice, because before she can return his greeting he has turned to Catelyn.

“And Lady Catelyn, you look as radiant as ever,” he says, reaching out to press a kiss to Catelyn’s hand, eyes twinkling in sardonic amusement as he bows; Brienne’s stomach swoops at the memory of being on the receiving end of such attentions, the unbearable warmth of his wry charm filling her, but she has no right to ever see it again.

“You know them, Jaime?” Olenna asks.

His brow furrows slightly. “Pardon?”

“I do not recall mentioning Brienne’s surname.”

Jaime straightens, letting go of Catelyn’s hand reluctantly. “Ah, yes, I do,” he says. “Miss Tarth and I knew each other briefly, many moons ago. So long ago I would hardly have recognised her, if not for her height. And Catelyn’s late husband was a dear friend of Robert’s, as you well know. Naturally our paths crossed with some frequency.”

“Naturally,” Olenna says, with a sharpness that Brienne does not miss. “Well, ladies, it is lovely to see you both. Jaime and I must speak with our other guests, please make yourself comfortable, we will begin shortly.”

And with no other exchange--no cutting comment, no hint of warmth--he offers his arm to Olenna and is gone, and Brienne releases the chiffon skirt she had gripped, breathes deeply. She had not expected to see him, that is true. But she had, and she had survived. It is over, as much the past as their brief time together, and she will not have to bear it again.

#ask meme #my fanfic #all the fics i'll never write

[schrijverr]

Solidarity

This is about enby he/they Jon, who wants to wear a skirt to work, because they’re comfy. He confides in Tim, who agrees to help them. He does so by dyeing his hair purple.

It is completely based on the art of @fox-guardian, their Tim and all other TMA designs live in my mind rent free, so go check them out! The designs I used will also be linked in text for a better mental image

On AO3.

Ships: none

Warnings: none really, but tell me if I missed something or if you want me to tag anything!

A/N: this is my first time writing someone with multiple pronouns, if I can improve feel free to tell me, no obligations of course :D

~~~~~~~~

Jon was nervous, he was almost always nervous, but they had an impeccable mask. However, today he was even more nervous and it was showing through the cracks. They had finally put a non-binary flag sticker on his laptop.

They weren’t about to tell everyone at the office about it, the he/him pronouns for work suited them just fine for now and he didn’t want to go through the effort of explaining he/they pronouns to everyone, the flag was just for them.

Georgie had given him the sticker when they had come out to her. They lost contact soon after, but Jon had always appreciated the gesture. Until now he had been too afraid to stick it on something, because what if that object didn’t last and they wasted the sticker on that?

But now he had a brand new laptop and in a wave of courage they had put the sticker on it.

A decision he was now regretting, since they were walking into work and anyone could see it. Of course, the people who knew what the flag meant, would most likely be chill with it, but anyone would recognize it as a pride flag, even if they might not know which one.

He had tried to convince themself it didn’t matter, he was proud of who they were, had been for a long while.

But it was still scary.

They sighed and pushed open the door, quickly making his way to their desk where he tried to make the flag less noticeable by reorganizing their desk.

Luck was not on his side, however, because Tim made his way over to them. He greeted him and Tim smiled back: “Hi there, Jon. What are you reorganizing for? Trying to get that archivist job, ey?”

Jon couldn't help it, they froze. His hands stilled as they tried to come up with an excuse, but nothing came out. He just stared at Tim and waved their hands around helplessly. His actions made Tim frown and he asked: “Hey, is everything alright?”

“Yeah, yeah, everything's fine, Tim.” Jon answered, before, with a stroke of genius (not), they pushed a stack of paper in front of the flag.

The paper stack wasn’t near high enough to cover it and all it did was call attention to what Jon had been trying to hide. He cringed and looked at Tim to try and gauge his reaction to the sticker.

Tim glanced over and spotted the sticker, a look of understanding coming over his face. He could see the light fear in Jons eyes, so he went for a disarming smile as he said: “That’s cool. I, myself, am the B of the beautiful alphabet soup. Want me to change pronouns for you?”

Jon practically sagged with relief, their heart beginning to slow down again and he said: “No, I just use he/him in a professional setting, but, uhm, you know, thank you.”

“No problem.” Tim smiled, “Always good to know you’re not alone, right? Solidarity and all that.”

“Yeah.” Jon shyly returned the smile.

Later that day Tim ‘accidentally’ left his mug in front of the flag when he was talking to Jon and the next day a three striped flag could be found on Tims laptop. It wasn’t much, but it was support and that was comforting.

In the privacy of their own home Jon put on a skirt, he liked dressing like, what Georgie called, an elderly librarian, but it was comfortable and they wished he was comfortable enough to wear it to work.

They shook the thought off, no use in dwelling on the possibilities, after all, but it remained there in the back of his mind.

The next time they thought about it seriously, was when he actually got promoted. It came to them again when he realized that the Archives were mostly hidden away in the basement and didn’t get a lot of traffic. Wearing a skirt there was much less high risk, besides they would be working with Tim and Sasha, they both knew, and he had thought they’d seen a trans flag as the background for that annoying other guy, Martin, he thought his name was.

Still, they would have to walk through the building for a bit first, past the front desk in the main entrance hall and while Rosie was a sweet lady, she a nosy one too.

Jon shoved the thought away, but this time it fought harder when he tried to let go of it. They thought of it when his pants felt tight around their legs, when his tie wrapped around their throat and whenever Sasha walked past in a dress.

A few weeks into the organization of the Archives, Jon had made up his mind. They were gonna wear a skirt, but first he needed to be sure they would have at least one ally on his side.

They casually held back Tim at the end of the day. He looked surprised and asked: “Hey, what’s up boss?”

“Uhm, can I- can I ask you something?” Jon began.

He didn’t know if it was the body language or the hesitation that put Tim on high alert, but he straightened up a bit and answered: “Of course, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing is wrong, per say.” they said, “I just have this idea, but before I do it, I want to ensure that I have someone taller to hide behind in case it goes wrong.”

“That is not helping, Jon. Is it those statements? Sasha says they’re all weird, they’re not getting to you too, are they?” Tim replied.

“Oh no, not at all. You know I don’t belief that nonsense.” Jon quickly assured him, then he hunched a bit over and mumbled: “I was just just thinking of wearing a skirt to work, since they’re comfortable, but, you know?”

They looked up and hoped Tim would understand. He saw how Tims concerned expression morphed into understanding, then his eyes glittered, before he got excited. He grinned: “I got the perfect idea, I will 100% cover you, boss. Just wait and I’ll text you when you can do it, alright? I got a plan.”

“Wha-? What’s the plan? Tim? Tim!” Tim was already gone.

Jon spend the next few days nervously. They had asked Tim a few times, but he had been waved away with a ‘don’t worry’ or a ‘you’ll see.’

Then on Tuesday morning, they got a text from Tim, simply reading: It’s time, meet me near the gates at 8:45.

Not wanting to stand outside in the outfit on his own for a while, Jon made sure to be there precisely on time and not a second later.

He had chosen a comfort outfit, since they suspected he was going to need it today. It was a long dark grey skirt, which they had paired with green socks, dress shoes with a small heel, an old green cardigan and his Mechanisms shirt.

They hadn’t even stood there for five seconds when a familiar voice called out: “Here, Jon!”

Looking over he saw Tim, but now with lilac hair that matched a sweater and a dress shirt he wore as much as possible. Right now it was a sweater day, he grinned when he saw Jons shocked face and ran up to them.

“A distraction, at your service, boss.” Tim did a lazy salute, before he started to lead Jon inside.

Jon was speechless for a moment, then they said: “You didn’t have to do all that for me, isn’t that a dress code violation?”

“Old Elias won’t care, besides if they yell at me for it, it’s only less attention on you.” Tim waved his worries away, “And I did have to do it. To be honest, I’ve always wanted to dye my hair, but never found a reason to try a violate dress code, but this was just a perfect excuse.”

“Thank you, Tim, really. It means a lot.” Jon told him sincerely.

“No worries, solidarity, am I right.” Tim told them.

They walked in to the Institute together and the first thing Jon heard was Rosie calling out: “Tim, your hair! I love it, dear.”

Internally Jon smiled: Solidarity.

#RR writing #jonathan sims #jon sims #tim stoker #tim stoker and Jon Sims #Tma #the magnus archives #the magnus pod #the magnus archive season 1

[ness-plays-wizards]

Alfonse Route Chapter 4 (1-5)

Happy New Year y’all! I for one am very excited for another year of dunking on not real otome boys.

I’m personally starting the year off right by going off on Klaus Goldstein.

Last time on the Alfonse route: Liz and Alfonse do some work in the clinic, Liz drops an invitation, and Alfonse puts on his Serious Face for some angst and drama.

We open with the start of chapter 4, and Alfonse just CANNOT believe that Liz is going to the Goldstein party, I tell you. Liz explains that this is Klaus’s fake dating AU and expresses worry about navigating high society, while Alfonse thinks she can pull it off. He tels her she’s got something called the “Magic of Fortune,” which you can tell is important because it’s capitalized. But Liz doesn’t know what it is. For some reason.

Alfonse warns Liz not to get too involved with the Goldstein family which is hilarious because she’s friends with him, one of her deputy prefects is Elias, and Klaus apparently trusts her enough for his fake dating AU so it looks to me that that ship has already sailed. 

Luckily the “right” option is “I know” so at least we can pretend we’re competent.

Yeah I’d like to forget you said that too.

Liz proceeds to meet with Klaus.

You don’t make jokes so that’s bullshit.

I literally hate this man. 

So they go to a boutique to get Liz the obligatory makeover.

I hate this. I hate this scene. I hate this wording. Fuck this.

I. Am. Going. To. Vomit. Shut the fuck up Klaus.

So they go to the Goldstein house and oh are you shitting me why do they need to give Klaus a redesign. REALLY. You can design a whole new unnecessary outfit for Klaus but its too hard to give Liz even a regular sprite??? Fuck off.

I can’t take much more of this. And luckily, my story tickets have run out for today.

#wizardess heart #shall we date #solmare #alfonse route #anti klaus goldstein #liz heart #alfonse goldstein

[foiblepnoteworthy]

[ID 4 images. First is of Jon and his Nan holding hands and walking, then sitting together both looking away. Second is of Jon and Gertrude, backs to eath other bit watching each other from across the room. Third is of Jon and Gerry painting each others nails. Fourth is adult Jon in a large pink cardigan.

Extended ID under the cut. I recommend that you check it out even if you don’t want to read the full analysis and reasoning, as it points out the parts of the drawings that mean things, if that’s what you’re into yanno.]

I am once again talking about @polysyndetonaddictsupportgroup’s fic nature has taught her creatures to hate bc i am on a crusade to get everyone to read it (i do not know how i will accomplish this but i shall).

Anyway latest chapter had a few lines that made me feel things and a few lines that made me think things and then i started thinking about how i design Jon’s outfits for this au again and now i have to talk about it a bit under the cut.

Okay, so - first up i made a lil’ mistake with the first drawing - which was inspired by the line, ‘”They smell like home”’ in reference to Jon smoking cigarettes (from chapter 9). Naturally my first thought was his Nan, which is what inspired the above drawing, until I re-reread chapter 2 today and noticed the line ‘Nan hates smoking’, which rather suggests she wasn’t the person Jon was referencing. 

This is fascinating because, up until now, I had assumed that all of Jon’s wishes to ‘go home’ were wished to see his Nan. Clearly this isn’t the case when it comes to the cigarettes. However, later in the new chapter there came a reference to my canon-smoking dead gay goth son, Gerry. I have concluded that Jon has changed his definition of home to Gerry at some point. 

In a way I can’t quite articulate, I feel that there is a connection between Jon’s starving chain-smoking, his only connection between his home and his friend, and the line ‘”I’m more like me, like this”’ (in reference to his statement starvation). With the way smokers will often smoke to reduce their appetite, I think that smoking serves as a pseudo-anchor for him; that by attaching himself to Gerry as much as he can, he is trying to hold onto an identity he can barely recognise. 

The point of these drawings was to try to analyse Jon’s identity and self-expression. Naturally, how Jon presents himself is something I think about a lot in relation to this series because if i didn’t i would never get anything done. So far there haven’t been many canon descriptions of him, but the smaller details paint an interesting picture, and the missing gaps are just a playground for me I guess. 

Aside form references to how exhausted he looks in general, the first description of Jon, as i recall, came from Gertrude, describing Jon after what I believe was a few years under Elias’/Wright’s ‘care’. She mentioned his ‘short neat hair’ and his ‘clean white shirt’, (or something to that effect), which did not match the Jon I was more familiar with - with tiredness sagging his shoulders and the bags under his eyes; and feminine clothing and hair - but it did match Elias rather well. Elias would never have allowed Jon to look like anything other than his model son, a shrunken mirror image, so the long hair had to go. 

Gertrude, I don’t think, was ever unkind to Jon. He felt her eyes on him often, and their conversations were never more or less than cordial words between strangers, but they spent years in each others company, shackled to the same rooms and man and god. Her little kitten knick-knack still sits in pride of place on his/her/their desk, and Jon never could clear out the spare clothes that smelled of burning buildings and insulted the dress code. 

During the brief months or years he was allowed Gerry’s company, Jon would naturally have picked up on the other kid’s famous talent for self-expression. At this point he began to re-grow his hair out, tying it up in a bun in an imitation of his old style; of how his Nan wore it. Gerry wore skirts for their gender and Jon wore his for his Nan (putting a pin in the gender thing for a spare day that would never come). Gerry walked around in a cloud of rebellious smoke, sheltering Jon under their wing and smiles, and when they were gone Jon puffed out a cloud of lonely fog in an imitation of their company. 

Extended ID

[ID 4 images in a rough wavy chalky style. This style doesn’t lend itself well to close detail, so no faces are rendered. In all drawings Jon is depicted with brown skin and dark hair. 

First is of Jon and his Nan. There are two drawings in this image, first the two of them walking together, holding hands and looking away from each other. Jon is looking at his book, which has a red cover and cream pages, and Nan is smoking a cream cigarette with a glowing red end. 

Their outfits are matching: Jon’s trousers and Nan’s blouse are both a pale blue; and Jon’s top and Nan’s floor length skirt are red-pink. Nan’s colour palette is more washed out than Jon’s, but the resemblance is clear. They both have long hair up in buns and where their hand link they blend together seamlessly. 

The background for the first image is pale, but gets darker going down the image (think ‘colour of the sky’). In the second part of this drawing Jon and Nan both sit on the floor, back to back. Nan is curled up tight, her face buried in a book; her shoulders are tense, up to her ears. Jon sits turned away from the viewer, a lit cigarette in his hand, the slump of his shoulders and the limp hand signifying defeat. Once again their colours and hair match each other.

In both of these images the signature is in bright red, encouraging the viewer to look at the shared cigarette and book, the link and the downfall. 

The second image shows Jon and Gertrude. Gertrude has short grey hair in a perm, and wears a pale blouse and long purple skirt. She is surrounded by vague smoke. Jon wears pressed slacks and a neat buttoned-up shirt, and his hair is short and neatly combed. A spider hangs, unnoticed, from his elbow. They’re both turned away from each other, a statement in hand, each at a three-quarter angle. The light source is between them, meaning that the farthest side of each of their faces is in shadow. In that shadow shines a green eye, which watches the other. 

The third image shows Jon and Gerry together, sat on the floor next to some empty shelves. Gerry is dressed in almost all black, with a black trench coat and skirt and long black-brown hair. They also wear silver piercings, fishnets and a pink crop top. Their skin is pale. In one hand they hold a purple nail polish brush, and in the other they hold Jon’s hand. A lit cigarette hangs between their lips, smoke filling the upper quarter of the image. 

Jon sits against the wall. He wears a pinkish skirt an blue blouse, similar to his Nan’s clothes in the first images. The sides of his dark hair hangs to his chin, while the top is help up in a small bun, which is close to collapsing. The hand that Gerry isn’t holding is wrapped around his knees, which are pulled up to his chest. He leans forwards, intent on Gerry.

On the shelf next to them there are three bottles of nail polish. On the floor beside them are their shoes - Jon’s neat brown oxfords and Gerry’s chunky steel-toed platforms - and a red and cream packet of cigarettes. 

They are turned towards each other, something tender in the faceless looks they give each other, in the gentle hold Gerry has on Jon’s hand with it’s freshly painted purple nails. 

The fourth image shows Jon on his own. His hair is up in a bun, and he wears a long red skirt. He wears a long pink cardigan that used to belong to Gertrude, half off the shoulder as though it doesn’t matter .He has platform heels, purple painted nails, a metal band t-shirt and a cigarette in his mouth. 

#wow this rambled a lot huh #i should get a proper art tag huh #tma #fic rec #fanart #ill probably come back to clean up my rambles #probably #maybe #i didnt think i would get this done so quickly #ive been drawing for like 9 hrs today my hand is so sore

[asteristories]

Demo Link + About the potential ROs of ‘Nevermoore’ (With Art!)

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Game Demo | Forum 

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I decided to put all semi-relevant info + commissioned artwork in one post so it’s easy to find for any newcomers. I’ll be pining this too. (Though some info might change slightly over time bc I am guilty of being inconsistent with my characters whoops) 

For RO info, I had also included their music themes. It was based on an ask I gotten a long time ago, but instead on separating them from ‘character songs’ and ‘romance path ballads’, they’re just in general now (But you can still interpret them however you want) Also there’s now an extra song for each because I can’t help myself haha. (And one more thing...a lot of songs are english covers of anime music because I am a weeb. Just...putting it out there)

Also, the some of songs themselves could reveal a bit of the ROs backstory/motivations/etc, if you know where to look 👀.

Disclaimer: All art is done (commissioned) by the incredible @apexred​! Please check them out when you can! And even though the ROs have their ‘official art’, please don’t be discouraged if you had wanted to imagine them looking a little different when their descriptions eventually show up in the demo! These designs are more for myself than anything 😅 .

Under the cut-

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Micah/Miriam Sterling

They come from the back alleys of early 1900s New York with a soft-spoken and patient personality. Generally civil and polite to most people they meet, and tries to avoid conflict as much as possible. They also have a habit of being constantly alert of their surroundings, picking up sounds and sensations that would normally be missed by others. Nobody considers it unusual, however, because it becomes understandable once you meet them. If the pair of shades and solid wood walking cane doesn’t give it away, then their clouded blue eyes definitely will.

However, it’s best to remain wary of them. Because there is just something...off, in the way they carry themselves. Like a predator, waiting for the perfect opportunity to strike their prey.

Age: 26

Birthday: February 25, 1896 (Pisces) 

Height: 5′9″. Becomes 5′10″ in the heels.

Background: They actually don’t know the specific date they were born, but had went with February 25 because that was the day they were found left on the doorstep of a church orphanage. Because of this, they also don’t know where they are from. But they do know how to speak other languages like French, German, Italian, Russian, and many more.

Recorded Date of Disappearance: 1922

Songs: Unravel English Cover Acoustic, Last StarDust English Cover, Towards the Sun 

Related Art: 1,

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Elias/Eloise Lain Romero

They grew up in Cuba before moving to Canada to study journalism. They are often sarcastic and have a bit of a sharp tongue, directing it towards anyone that’s within their vicinity for longer than a minute. However, it’s known that they do genuinely care for the other residents, even though they’d probably rather die again than admit it out loud. Oddly enough, they can also come off as rather nosy, always asking others (including you) rather personal questions. They insist that it’s important, but don't specify what they need the information for.  

Also, they are always seen carrying a leather-bound notebook with them at all times. With everything they seem to know about the people and the town, who knows what's written in it...

Age: 21

Birthday: May 11, 1969 (Taurus)

Height: 5′7″

Background: Was born and lived in Cuba until they were about age 7. Knows how to speak Spanish.

Recorded Date of Disappearance: 1989

Songs: Hello World English Cover, Shikisai English Cover, Reason Living English Cover

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Pavel/Pris(Priscilla) Falken

The brightly coloured, mismatched clothes they wear match their upbeat, free-spirited personality. An aspiring cook, specifically a baker, who was looking to open their own cafe before they arrived to the town. But even so, they won’t let the curse stop them from doing what they love, despite the potential risks (In fact, they’ve lost count on how many times their oven blew up on them). They also love to chat with people, especially with the newcomers. Expect to see them show up at your doorstep with a fresh batch of freshly baked goods as a way to make you feel welcome.

Their family actually shares their love for cooking, having once owned a small, local restaurant. Once is the keyword here. And it’s their fault.

Age: 23 

Birthday: August 7, 1981 (Leo)

Height: 5′4″-5′5″

Background: Mixed Scandinavian ancestry and probably had distant viking blood. Knows mostly English, but may or may not know some curse words in Swedish and Norwegian. 

Recorded Date of Disappearance: 2004

Songs: Best Day of My Life, When Can I see You Again, Glad You Came

Related Art: 1,

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Simon/Sarai Zhang

They are a person of science, following the footsteps of their father. Can be mostly be found in the town library, preferring the company of books rather than people. Their stoicism and aloofness makes it hard to get a read on what they are really thinking, and their bluntness sometimes turns others away. But they are hardworking, and take their situation more seriously than others. Which is why they are the only one who is actively trying to find a way out of the town, as well as understand how it works. They’ve tried everything, and are still coming up with new ways and theories (and experiments, sometimes even on themselves) all the time. They are determined to escape.

They have to. For their father. 

Age: 25

Birthday: November 12, 1945

Height: Simon is 6′2″, while Sarai is 6′0″

Background: Has a Chinese father and an Israeli mother. So because of this they know how to speak Mandarin and little bit of Hebrew.

Recorded Date of Disappearance: 1970

Songs: C’mon, Tell Me Now English Cover, [To be added]

#astericae speaks #Nevermoore cog #ROs #Nevermoore Sterling #Nevermoore Romero #Nevermoore Falken #Nevermoore Zhang

[beholdme]

All the Many Shades of Gerry - Chapter 7

Chapters: 7/19

Fandom: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Gerard Keay/Jonathan “Jon” Sims | The Archivist, Martin Blackwood/Gerard Keay, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan “Jon” Sims | The Archivist, Gerard Keay/Jonathan “Jon” Sims | The Archivist

Characters: Martin Blackwood, Jonathan “Jon” Sims | The Archivist, Gerard Keay, Tim Stoker (The Magnus Archives), Sasha James, Gertrude Robinson, Elias Bouchard

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe, Library AU, Librarian Jon, Artist Gerry, Trans Male Character, Trans Martin Blackwood, Canon Asexual Character, Asexual Jonathan “Jon” Sims | The Archivist, Ace Subtype - Sex Positive, Polyamory, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Romantic Fluff, Falling In Love, Boys in Skirts, Kissing, Demisexual Gerard Keay, Minor Character Death, Past Character Death, Canon-Typical Child Neglect, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Flirting, Minor Jonathan “Jon” Sims | The Archivist/Tim Stoker, Adventures in Hair Dying, Happy Ending, Banter, Gerry has a lot of sass, Gerard Keay is Morticia Adams, Jon is a very grumpy Librarian, Martin adores them anyway.

Summary: In which Gerry is a kaleidoscope and Jon and Martin can’t help falling in love with him.

He happens to love them back.

Find it on Ao3

[1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6]

They are absolutely trashing Martin's bathroom, but he can't bring himself to mind. Not even if it costs him the security deposit on his ridiculous, tiny flat.

Gerry is sitting in the empty bathtub, stripped to his briefs, laughing so hard that tears roll down his checks, tracking black eyeliner with them, and Jon is sitting on the edge of the tub and trying to keep track of which pieces of hair have been dyed while Gerry refuses to keep his head still. Martin is sitting on the floor next to them and holding the bowls of varying shades of purple dye.

The dye itself is flying everywhere, between four hands attempting to apply it and Gerry's apparent inability to keep stationary and stop laughing for even one second.

"Gerry! Keep still," Jon yells in his best teacher voice. His imperious tone is demanding, but the grin on his face rather undercuts it.

"Can't," Gerry insists, pulling his head down (with dye covered hands) to press their lips together. The kiss is sweet, but Jon doesn't appreciate all the new places it covers him in hair dye.

"Gerry, it might all go more smoothly if you just let Jon and I do it for you." Martin advises him.

Gerry pouts, "Letting the men in my life just do things without my participation wouldn't be a very 'strong independent woman' move on my part."

"You're not a woman," Jon points out drolly, "Besides, what does that say about me, with the way you two are always arranging to pay for everything we do and everywhere we go?"

"It says you have two incredibly attractive men who like to do nice things for you." Martin tells him firmly, as he always does when the topic arises. They all hear Jon's eyes roll.

"Gerry," Martin starts in the voice he knows gets just the right response from him. "Stop being a brat and. Sit. Still."

Gerry sits still. Martin kisses him to inspire continued good behavior, and Gerry's teal eyes practically glow in a way that fills Martin with supreme satisfaction.

With their target stationary, Martin and Jon make quick work of Gerry's remaining hair.

He is ordered to stay put in the bathtub while it sits, and Martin starts cleaning up the bathroom. Jon heads into the shower to avoid being dyed in a plethora of bizarre places.

Martin goes to return the dye to Gerry's hair product box, and pauses with his hand in it.

Gerry, sensing Martin's distraction, jumps up to go over and stand behind him. Martin settles back into the warmth of his chest, and Gerry's arms snake around him.

"You would look very fetching in that colour," Gerry whispers enticingly in Martin's ear.

"You think?" Martin murmurs back, eyebrows rising in consideration.

"Yes," he replies, leaning forward to bite Martin's ear lightly. "Please."

"Whatever might you two be consorting about over there," Jon demands cheerily, emerging from the shower wrapped in his towel.

"Martin was just about to agree to become the next hair dying victim." Gerry informs him confidently, snaking an arm around Jon's shoulders and bringing him in close so he too can see the bottle sitting in Martin's hand.

"Oh." Jon says in a reverent sort of voice. "Yes, I think that's a very good idea indeed."

***

Martin sits still much better than Gerry did, and Gerry does his hair himself, Jon having already rid himself of persistent stains and wandered off to make something for lunch.

Gerry pushes Martin in front of a mirror (not Martin’s favourite pastime, but for Gerry, he suffers it) and they both look at him. Gerry grins. “It’ll look better in the end obviously, but what do you think, love?”

“I like it, actually.” Martin whispers, like a confession.

“Actually? I expect more self-confidence than that from my masterpieces, babe.” They laugh and sway together in front of the mirror.

“I love it, thank you.” Martin turns in Gerry’s arms and they kiss slowly and thoroughly.

Martin presses his hands along Gerry’s bare sides and up along his spine, where he knows a line of eyes is inked along each vertebrae.

Gerry keeps his hands on Martin’s chest, in an effort to keep their respective hair dye where it belongs, although his hands cling to Martin's shoulders and push and pull in response to their movements.

“Really you two? I leave you alone for 5 minutes and you’re both half naked and making out?” Jon interrupts them from the doorway, his words soft and appreciative.

“We could be even more naked, if you're interested in that?” Gerry offers, winking at him.

“Could we?” Martin asks, apparently just wondering out loud.

Gerry raises a suggestive eyebrow at him. “We definitely could be.” Gerry smirks, "You are familiar with how nudity works, yes?" He illustrates his point by pulling at the waistband of Martin's briefs and letting them snap back into his hip.

"Yes, I am familiar." Martin growls into his mouth, biting his lip for good measure. "Care to join, Jon?"

"Maybe when there's less hair dye on the table, so to speak. Ger, your timer went off, you'd better jump into the shower and wash off."

"Yes, sir." Gerry pecks Martin one last time, salutes Jon and strips off to hop into the shower.

Martin flushes at his casual nudity, and a heavy look passes between him and Jon.

Taken with Martin's pink laden head, Jon can't resist going over and pressing just one kiss to Martin's soft lips.

**

Later, when the bathroom is clean and everyone has washed, dry hair, they all pile around Martin's sitting room, a documentary playing softly in the background. Martin's new soft pink hair looks even better dry and Jon had whispered to Gerry conspiratorially that it reminded him of Martin's sweet early morning blush.

Martin is braiding Gerry's now wildly purple hair, and Gerry has convinced a reluctant Jon to let him paint his nails.

"We really shouldn't." Jon protests, even as Gerry paints on the base coat. His own nails are painted black, of course. His artist's eye appreciates Jon's neat, smooth nails, and he considers what kind of tiny designs he might be able to sneak onto them at some point.

"Why not? I used to paint your nails all the time when we were younger. That's where I got most of my early practice."

"I'm not a teenager anymore, Gerard. I have a professional job!" Jon complains, but Gerry knows these are only nerves, not lack of desire.

"Oooh, Gerard!" Martin coos, before tumbling into a laugh. "There's nothing in the dress code that says you can't have painted nails, Jon. And we all know you like having them done."

"That's meant for women, and you know it, Martin." Jon protests.

Gerry and Martin both stop their tasks abruptly to stare at him. "Jon, babe," Gerry can barely contain himself. "You are wearing a skirt. Martin has pink hair. I'm getting my absurdly long hair braided - into pigtails. I don't think any of us are exactly paragons of toxic masculine stereotypes."

"Besides," Martin adds, when he can speak calmly without tumbling into hysterical laughter, "there's no gender specific dress code at the library. All it says is 'If nails are painted, they must be neat and unchipped.'"

Jon looks askance at both of them, crossing his skirt clad legs primly.

"Come on," Gerry encourages gently, "It's just this one time. If you don't like it, we can take it off before you go to work on Monday morning. Or while you're at work on Monday. Or in an hour. Or anytime at all. It's just one small adventure."

"I know it's been a while, love." Martin pitches in, "But, don't worry, Gerry will be gentle."

Jon ends up with green nails, which he likes very much. Gerry is enamored with his braids, and begs Martin to teach him to do it himself. Martin is simply delighted to have a house full of laughter and colour for the first time in his life.

#the magnus archives #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #gerry keay #jongerrymartin #fic #also on ao3

[kenanda]

I'LL BE HERE

Words: 1,3k

Rating: PG-13

Ship: LonelyEyes

Tags: established relationship; dreams; death; kissing; drinking; mourning; bittersweet; M/M; evil old men in love

Disclaimer: These characters DO NOT belong to me, they are the property of Rusty Quill's The Magnus Archives.

WARNING: This work has content that may not be suitable for minors. If you are a minor, or in any way bothered by what's in the tags, READ WITH CAUTION OR NOT AT ALL!

This work is a fill for the prompt: 33 - kiss in a dream

Oh boy, this one was fun to write!! I hope I managed to do these two some justice :) As always, thank you for the neverending support and encouragement @nammikisulora and readers!! <3

I'LL BE HERE

-

He’s looking at his feet when it starts. Elias doesn’t know when or where the walk begins, but he knows where it will end; he’s been having the same dream for a while now, and it always takes him to this pathetic old pub that he and Peter like to visit from time to time.

It’s tucked in a dark corner of the city, never too many customers at a time, never too loud to warrant a private booth, but still urban enough that they make sure to come early in the evening.

The owner knows them. Well, knows Elias, at least. Peter likes to keep it to himself whenever he can, but their faces are familiar, and there is always a table reserved for them at 5PM Thursday, towards the back of the pub.

When Elias comes in, already pulling off his coat and scarf, there’s nobody there. The lights are dim, and there’s soft jazz playing in the background; but the owner is nowhere to be seen, the only memento of his presence being a tray with a bottle, and a pair of cups.

Elias takes the tray to the table where he knows he’ll find Peter, and places the item in front of his husband.

Peter smiles and stands to greet him, and Elias lingers on his touch. It feels like a lifetime since they had last hugged, but then again, Peter does spend an awful long time at sea.

“Fancy seeing you here at this hour,” Peter chimes.

Elias snorts and pours them a drink.

“I could say the same to you. Aren’t you supposed to be adrift somewhere?”

Peter smiles and takes a sip.

“Well, things didn’t go quite as well as expected in our last transaction, as you may remember. But then again, I figure you must have an awful lot on your hands right now.”

Elias’ grip on the cup tightens, and he washes the bitter taste on his tongue with whiskey.

“That I am.”

Silence. Peter watches him with amusement.

Elias taps the table, avoiding his gaze. Usually, it’s the other way around, but finally, he speaks, as if he hadn’t asked the following question a hundred times before.

“Are you mad?”

Peter bursts into laughter.

“Oh, yes. But not at you, and not for the reasons you might think. I just… Had plans that didn’t go the way I’d expected.” He shrugged. “Happens to the best of us. Though, I’m not sure you can relate, being all-seeing and all.”

Elias gesticulated vaguely. “That’s not how this works, but- Anyhow. I just needed to check.”

Peter nodded slowly. “That’s all?”

“Yeah. Pretty much.” Elias took another big sip of the drink. A big sip.

“See, I feel like that’s not all. Otherwise you wouldn’t keep coming here.”

Sometimes, Elias loved the fact that Peter had a seemingly built-in ability to see (or rather, to successfully guess) right through his bullshit. It helped wonders in third-party transactions. Other times, though, when Elias felt like he’d fall apart if someone looked at him — a feeling he hadn’t experienced in a long, long time — it unnerved him.

Right now, he wished Peter would stop trying to see through his act. Elias himself didn’t know what he wanted by coming here repeatedly, wherever here happened to be. Was it a real place that he was visiting in spirit? Was it a figment of his imagination, or the result of too many hours staring blankly out his window, nursing a bottle of red wine to his chest?

He couldn’t know, which was an odd feeling, because knowledge had always just been there, whether he had use for it or not. It was like a presence on his mind, the subtle awareness of all the things that surrounded him, of all the people that made up the mental map of his life. Some of them stood more clearly than others, tethering him to the now that he inhabited.

Others were long gone, but he still remembered, still felt them — like perfume lingering in the air after someone had just left.

And when they left, oh that was an interesting one. He could always tell. It was as if something had just escaped him, a fleeting shadow in the corner of his eye, a name on the tip of his tongue. He had the memory, but not the grasp. How does one describe absence, anyway? By remembering what once was and, perhaps, holding on to it.

“I’m not sure what you mean.” Elias did his best to sound put together, and centuries of practice came to his aid.

Peter sighed, as he often did when they came to this part of any discussion.

“Whatever you need to say-”

“There’s nothing to say. You’re not mad. Fine, great! That’s all I wanted to know.”

They finished their drinks in silence. When they got to the end of the bottle, it would be time to go. No matter what Elias did, he had no control over this part: try as he might, he always seemed to drink just the right amount to make time pass. And pass it did.

Peter checked the clock on the wall.

“Reckon you’d better hurry. Wouldn’t want you to be late to work. Or rather, to dominating the world,” Peter chuckled.

Elias got up and patted his trousers to get rid of peanut crumbs. Peter didn’t have to, but he stood up as well.

“See you to the door?”

They crossed the empty pub towards the exit. This place didn’t belong to Elias; it didn’t belong to the owner, either, not really — but Elias kept coming here and wondering what it meant. As soon as he stepped outside, he would wake up; the dream would be vivid for a few fleeting seconds, then start to slip away.

He’d still have the aftertaste of whiskey, though. And something else, bitter.

“Well,” he turned to Peter, back as straight as a rod. “Been nice seeing you again. I hope you’re doing well, wherever you are.”

Peter hummed. “So you don’t know where I am.”

Elias shrugged. “I’m afraid Terminus keeps its secrets close to its chest.” Which made him wonder anew about this place, about Peter. “Are you- are you really…”

“Dead? Oh, yes, definitely.”

There was no point asking. Even here, the memory of Peter was still just that, a memory.

“Just wanted to check,” Elias pushed past the knot in his throat.

“I know, love.”

Elias blinked, and sighed heavily. He would deal with this later, if ever. There was still a world outside those doors that was yet to suffer the magnitude of his design.

Elias pulled his coat and scarf back on.

“Well. So long.”

Peter tugged gently at his sleeve, but the touch stopped Elias dead in his tracks. Please, not this.

Peter stepped into his space and lifted his chin. There was only so much Elias could do to avoid looking him in the eyes, but once he did, there was no going back. After such a long time spent at sea, Peter carried some of it in his gaze. Whatever plea Elias might have uttered got lost in the waves. Instead, he sobbed into their kiss.

When they parted, Elias bit his lip and breathed hard, but Peter was making it very hard to hold it all inside — what with pulling him into a warm hug and gently rubbing his back; kissing his hair and rocking them together.

Elias only realised that he had been whispering “I’m sorry” over and over again into Peter’s chest when Peter said “I’m sorry, too.”

This time, Elias sought out his lips. He would have this at least. He would kiss this man of the sea that he happened to love, and he would taste the salt of it.

“I’ll come again tomorrow,” he promised. He always did.

“I know. I’ll be here.”

With that, Elias left.

#nanda's ramblings #my fic #lonelyeyes #lonelyeyes fic #lonelyeyes fanfiction #elias bouchard #jonah magnus #peter lukas #tma #tma fic

[archived-lara]

So you know how you have other things you’re supposed to be doing but your mind is just too stuck on the latest tma ep? Yeah, that. 

This was supposed to be a short but angsty lonely eyes fic. but it turned into “this is how I imagine Elias is doing lately” with some lonely eyes.

(1.8k words, spoilers up to 168)

There is a room, on top of the tower that all who looks upon it knows the name of, the Panopticon, the stronghold of the Eye. You can see it from anywhere. It’s only fair as it sees you and it knows you so deeply no matter what other kinds of horrors are surrounding you in this new world that those who has enough consciousness left to think calls hell, you can feel its gaze if only you can pay enough attention to it.  

There is a room on top of this tower. It is almost a glass orb, if you have enough breath left in you, you may laugh at the fact that it looks very much like an eyeball. An outside observer could never see through it but in this snow globe, right in the center there is a throne. A touch dramatic, yes. But so is the man sitting on it. The throne seems to spin at his will so whenever he wishes to direct his physical body to a direction, it will. He turns to the general direction of the places he watches. There is no need for it. As most of the time the man sees not through his own eyes, but all other eyes. Be it the ones up in the sky or the ones inside your own skull. But like it was stated above, this man loves the drama.

His name is Jonah Magnus. Or was. The names stop mattering to him the first time his eyes were in someone else's skull. He was Jonah, Richard, James and many more he doesn’t even bother to remember these days. People called him Elias Bouchard the last time it mattered so if you’re in search of a name for him, that will do.

He sits in his throne and watches the horrors of this new world he brought along in a childish glee. Finally. He did it. Took over 200 years but he finally succeeded. The world is his to watch and See, forever and ever. He is the king, he won. He paid some prices, yes. But what are they compared to an infinity of being the king?

He does need to adapt into the world too though. As he finds himself falling into old, unnecessary habits. For the first 2 weeks he found himself wondering down into a bedroom of all things, getting ready to go to bed after hours and hours of watching people suffer, only to realize he has no need for sleep anymore. His hand still unconsciously reaches for one of his pens to spin between his fingers as he watches, only to notice there is no desk there. He finds himself craving some wine in the evenings, despite the fact that there are no evenings and he doesn’t need anything to eat or drink. After some days of stopping doing something he doesn’t need to, he reasons with himself. He is the king, isn’t he? He might not need to do it but he can surely do these things out of pleasure. And week 1 of the new world, even though time means little to the world, ends with its new king dragging his desk up to the Panopticon. So what if he redid his last report with a glass of wine? He can do whatever he wants. The world is still suffering, he can take a break from watching it.

---

There are many domains of the fears in this world. And Elias can look at any of them whenever he wishes. Sometimes he checks his old acquaintances, Simon Fairchild seems to find a way to have fun even though his domain keeps changing. Sometimes it’s an ocean, sometimes an endless fall, even a roller-coaster or two in between. Jude Perry burns and destroys as she pleases, Helen has her fun. The Archive seems to be gone on a trip with his partner, maybe to look for their friends, Elias doesn’t care. He doesn’t like looking at them much and it is as much about the headache he gets as it is about the heaviness he feels on his chest, but Elias will ignore it. There is one place he refuses to look. And it is not because he can’t, he can! He just chooses not to. The Lonely has avatars too, and many domains over the face of the earth. There even is one quite close to the Panopticon. So close that he doesn’t need to summon any of the Eye’s powers to see it. He can just turn his head to the direction and look out of the never-ending glass of the globe that surrounds him. An area of seemingly infinite fog, somehow he never lets the throne turn that way.  

There is no avatar there, nor are there any people. Elias had planned to give it to someone. Close but with just enough distance that they could try to ignore each other if they wished. But he made his choice. Elias kept reminding himself that. He told him to leave, if only he had left in anger, run off to the Tundra as he always did. But Elias pushed too much, made him want to fight him more than ever. And the one time he actually tried to stand his ground... No. Elias made his choice, and Peter made his own. There is nothing to change it. The fog is empty. He is the king now. He doesn’t need to dwell on the past.

Elias gave up on counting any days. There was no sun to set or rise so what even would be a day. He sat and watched as Simon put some poor souls to a rocket, getting ready to switch his domain to a reflection of stars. Then suddenly his gaze seemed to pull him to a domain of the End.

Yet here he is, in his tower designed by a past lover, sipping his wine, twirling his pen, on his throne. Alone. He can feel he is feeding the Lonely, even if just a small bit. He can make it stop. But he doesn’t want to. Having the faint fog around him, the cold air. Over the years it has become too much of a familiarity, it is like how he wants his desk to be there. His heart breaks a little. If you’re wearing the crown, you need to pay the price.  

---

“Report to prevent future deaths.

This report is being sent to:

The Great Eye that watches all who linger in terror and gorges itself on the sufferings of those under its unrelenting, stuporous gaze.”

“Huh, a direct call to the Eye. A report. This sounds delightful.” Elias can always catch the next time Simon tries a new trick.

“I am Oliver Banks, sometimes known as Antonio Blake or Dr Thomas Pritchard. I serve The Coming End That Waits For All and will not be ignored.”

“My my, isn’t this daring? You certainly managed to catch my attention Mr. Banks, let's hear your report.” Paper work had always been a favorite of Elias’, it was a shame he didn’t get to do any new ones, so he was very excited for this.

“Time walks forward with her but she has not the strength to stop it.”

Something in this sentence bothers Elias. He can’t pinpoint it exactly but ignores it as he does not want to miss the rest of this report. It clicks as he lets the thought go. Time? What does that have to do with anything? But what comes next is too interesting to let him linger on it further.

“The souls trapped within this transformed world are the only ones who will ever be here, and the presence of the Termination of All requires that- ultimately, that is what will happen.”

No, Elias thinks. He feels sick for the first time since this all started.

“When this happens, the Great Powers themselves will also fade and die, withering away into nothingness and releasing this reality from their grip.”

Elias was furious. “No! This was supposed to be infinite! I won! Everything is as it should be! It can’t end.” He wanted to look away. But the spell of a statement made no exceptions.

“Even if such a fate could be avoided, as it comes closer and the other Entities grow in their awareness of their own end, the grotesque ripples of their own impossible panic shall glut and feed my master, gorging it to the point where- perhaps it will even surpass the Watcher in prominence.”

Elias threw the paperweight on his desk to the vague direction where the Archive spew out the horrible words of someone else. Had the glass that surrounds the room been normal, it would shatter into a thousand shards. The paperweight however was a gift he received around the time the Insititute opened so it had no trouble shattering. A piece with a single flower rolled over to his feet, but his eyes were elsewhere.

“All things end, and every step you take, whatever direction you may choose, only brings you closer to it.”

When the report ended Elias pulled his gaze far from it. He wanted to hit something. He yelled at his god instead. “It was supposed to be my infinite victory!” Bam, there goes the pencil case from Rayner. Followed closely by all the files Elias brought up to distract himself. “I played your games! I fed you, I made your ultimate goal into reality! I lost and sacrificed everything- everyone! Just for it to have an end? What kind of twisted joke is this?!” there were tears of anger falling from Elias’ face. “I let go of my identity, became someone else every few decades. Just so I could win! So the clock ticking wouldn’t mean anything anymore!”. The broken pieces of the drawers and their contents littered the floor. With little else to break, Elias seem to lose all his strength and let himself fall to the ground. His eyes fell to the papers. His old notes surrounding him.

Call Peter about the funding meeting. 

It has been a while... Maybe take the box from the safe before the meeting?

His yells turned into a whisper. “I let them all die. I let him die. And for what? How much time do I really have? Who do I have?”

The victory sure is Lonely isn’t it?

For a moment he felt the fog get thicker. He let it surround him. Elias turned to the area with the fog that wasn’t really under the Lonely’s power for the first time. If he listened hard enough, he imagined he could hear his laughter. He closed his eyes. And he pretended the impossible breeze smelled like the sea as it gently dried his tear streaked cheeks.

#the box is the box with their wedding rings (if that wasn't clear) #and the desk is from his office he dragged it up by himself #did i make his throne basically a spinny office chair? yes #lonely eyes #the magnus archives #tma spoilers #MAG 168 #even tho it's not exactly about the ep it is heavily based on its events so... #my post #this probably has so much grammer mistakes but i can't be bothered to check atm #if i didn't post this now i probably never would so... #fic

[ollieofthebeholder]

leaves too high to touch (roots too strong to fall): a TMA fanfic

[1] [2] [3] [4]  Also on AO3

Chapter 5: Tim

Tim wonders where the hell everybody is. Jon’s not in his office, which is…unusual, to say the least, since they usually have to pry him out of it with a crowbar at the end of the day, and lately he’s been acting like lunch breaks are something that happen to other people. On the other hand, he might be poking around the Archives looking for more out-of-place statements to sneer at. Martin isn’t at his desk, either, unless he is and Tim just can’t see him; sometimes he swears Martin’s part chameleon, like he doesn’t exactly go invisible but can just fade into the background and not be seen. At least Tim knows for a fact that Sasha is off getting lunch, because she actually told him where she was going.

“If this is a game of ‘Let’s Make Tim Think the Archives Are Cursed’, I think the Archives themselves won that game several weeks ago, so give it up, guys,” he says to the room at large. The room, thankfully, does not answer him.

Walking around aimlessly, looking for his colleagues, Tim appreciates for the first time why Martin is so jumpy lately. This is, not to put too fine a point on it, creepy. Wandering through rows upon rows of files containing the stories of scary encounters and eerie presentiments and the like, no sound but his own muffled footsteps, and he swears he can hear a faint susurration from the shelves, like they’re whispering to him. Or like something is…crawling on the papers, rustling them ever so lightly. Makes his skin crawl and his fingers itch for the comforting weight of a fire extinguisher.

And it’s the middle of the day! It’s barely lunchtime and the lights are up and the window slits near the ceiling that let in enough daylight to help visibility but not enough UV light to damage the paperwork (honestly, it’s a shockingly well-designed and well-thought out archive for how old it is) are at full glow. And it’s still creepy as hell. It has to be worse after dark, when there’s for sure nobody here. The fact that Martin hasn’t run screaming from the Institute or had a complete nervous breakdown honestly has Tim feeling a surge of newfound respect for him, and for his courage—or at least his sheer bloody-minded stubbornness. There’s a fine line between the two and Tim rather suspects Martin uses it as a skipping rope.

“Hello?” he calls out, and then instantly curses himself. For God’s sake, he’s read the statements! He’s seen plenty of horror films, too, and then there’s…well, his own experience, which he’d rather not think about, thank you very much. Anyway, he knows damn well that nothing good ever happens after the person wandering alone through the spooky whatever calls out “hello” into the empty nothingness. Ominous music tapers off, split second of utter silence, sudden surge of discordant musical sting, cut to black, and the next day someone stumbles on his desiccated corpse.

There’s a clatter from the next aisle and it almost has Tim running for the hills, but he pokes his head around the shelf and relaxes. “Oh, hey, Marto. Didn’t mean to scare you.”

“Tim! Christ, I—shit, sorry.” Martin is clutching a sheaf of papers in one hand and steadying the shelf with the other and looks flustered.

“You know, you’ve really got to stop apologizing when someone else spills soup on your lap.” Tim has no idea if Martin’s going to get that reference. He doesn’t seem like the type to be into American comedians, but you never know. “Was wondering where everyone was. I know Sasha’s at lunch, but I couldn’t find anyone else either.”

“Jon’s got a meeting with—Elias. Something about the budget, I think. I can hear him now. ‘I have acceded to your…concerns in regards to the fire suppression system, but really, Jon, it was quite expensive, so we’ll need to have a serious discussion regarding some of these other requests you’ve made.’” Martin’s impression of Elias’s voice is amazingly spot-on.

Tim frowns a little, though, because it’s also amazingly biting and bitter. He mocks Elias all the time, usually making Sasha and Martin laugh when he does, and occasionally Sasha joins in, but he’s never heard Martin do anything but laugh or nervously try to stop them. He’s certainly never heard Martin speak about Elias, or anyone else for that matter, with that much anger—no, not anger. Hatred. Tim didn’t even realize Martin had that kind of hatred in him, let alone directed at Elias.

“How long have you worked here again?” he asks.

“F—eleven years, give or take. Why?”

Tim studies Martin. He looks…tired isn’t the word. He looks exhausted. He’s pale, although that  could be because he’s been basically underground for almost two months and it was winter before that. His glasses sort of hide them, but looking closer, Tim can see shadows under his eyes so deep they’re nearly bruises. The papers in his hand waver a little, and it’s not because of air currents in the Archives, it’s because Martin’s hands are shaking, ever so faintly. He looks like a precariously-built structure that’s just had the support props removed—standing on his own, for the moment, but with a sense that it won’t take long, or much effort, to send him crashing to the ground.

It’s that that makes Tim decide to change tack. He was about to ask why Martin doesn’t quit if he hates Elias that much, but in the state he’s in, Martin might just do that, and if he quits he can’t stay living there, and if he leaves he might get hurt. Besides, he knows why Martin—usually—puts up with so much crap, and not just from Elias.

Instead, he says, “Well, I guess that’s long enough to build up a good reserve of aggro against the Big Guy. Aren’t you worried he’ll overhear you, though? After all, ‘nothing escapes his notice.’” He does his own impression of Elias, and it’s about as spot-on as Martin’s, but even he can hear the difference in tone.

“I’m not worth his attention.” There’s still that spark of bitter anger in Martin’s voice, but also a note of resignation. “Besides, he’s busy with his meeting. He won’t be looking at anything down here.”

The first part of Martin’s reply has Tim wanting to storm up to the office and knock both his bosses’ heads together—nobody has the right to make Martin feel like that—but the second part gives him pause. Martin makes it sound like Elias is…spying on them. Tim knows there’s no CCTV equipment in the Archives, something about interference, but could Elias have the place bugged?

“You get that feeling, too, do you?” he asks quietly. “Like you’re being…watched?”

Martin laughs. There’s no humor in it. “Yeah, get used to that, it’s not ever going to go away.” Before Tim can say anything, he rubs a hand over his face. “Sorry. Sorry, I’m just…sorry.”

“You really don’t have anything to be sorry for.” Tim glances at the papers in Martin’s hand. “So what’s that, then?”

“Oh. Erm, Jon asked me to—to pull some statements that might be helpful, so I was looking through and seeing what we’ve got.” Martin holds up the paper to study it. “Thought this one might be useful.”

Partly because Martin is so visibly tired, and partly because Tim’s not actually capable of carrying out a conversation without being at least a little lighthearted, he smirks. “Wow, I knew you were good, but I didn’t realize you were so good you could read a statement upside down.”

He expects Martin to blush. Instead, his face goes almost bone-white and his eyes get as big as saucers. He says something in what Tim is pretty sure is Polish—something Eastern European, anyway, and he knows Martin speaks Polish—and is also pretty sure is profane, but then he recovers and looks up at Tim. “Well enough to pick out the salient points, anyway. Here—take a look. What do you think?”

He thrusts the papers at Tim, who decides—again—not to mention that Martin’s hands are shaking and takes them. His eyes fall on the name on the document, and his eyes widen.

“Okay, I take it back,” he says. “You said you saw salient points—did you see the name?”

“No, but—” Martin pauses. “Christ. It’s from her, isn’t it?”

Tim doesn’t need Martin to clarify who she is. “Yep. You should take this to Jon. Like, now. He’s definitely going to want to see this.”

Martin nods. “I’ll just—put it on his desk then. Unless you want to.”

“No, you go ahead. This is your find, you deserve the credit. I’m going to—” Tim waves vaguely over his shoulder. “It’s lunchtime. Want me to bring you back anything?”

“I’m good, but thanks, Tim.” Martin smiles. There’s something sad about it. “You’re a good friend.”

“Of course I am.” Tim grins to cover up his confusion. “Right, see you in an hour or so.”

“Right-o.” Martin hesitates for the barest of seconds, then starts off down the row of shelves. Tim hears a clang and a curse as he rounds the corner and suspects he’s run into something, or at least banged the fire extinguisher dangling from his hip like a gun in a cowboy movie into something.

Figuring Martin will be embarrassed and not want anyone fussing over him, Tim heads in the other direction, looking for Sasha. He lucks out; she’s just coming in the side entrance, stomping hard as she does so before shutting the door firmly. She looks over at Tim and grimaces. “Worms,” she says succinctly. “What’s up?”

Tim glances over his shoulder to make sure they’re alone, then quietly tells her, “I’m worried about Martin. Frankly, he looks like hell.”

Sasha frowns. “I mean, he is under a lot of stress these days.”

“I know, and I don’t think he’s sleeping.” Tim quickly recounts the encounter he’s just had with Martin, as well as what preceded it. “As bad as it is being alone down here in the daylight, it must be a thousand times worse after dark. No wonder he isn’t getting any rest.”

“So what are you suggesting?”

Tim grins recklessly. “How do you feel about a sleepover in the Archives?”

Unsurprisingly, it doesn’t take him long to get Sasha on board; it’s obvious she’s been worrying about Martin, too, and there’s strength in numbers. Tim spends most of the rest of the day pretending to be working while really he’s plotting out how to stick around for the night without letting Jon know. It’s not that he thinks Jon would mind…well, he does, actually. He can almost hear Jon’s voice in his head: This is a place of business, Tim, not a sleepaway camp. Also, Tim doesn’t want Jon to decide to stay as well; he relaxes—some—when they’re all together off-duty, on the whole one occasion they managed to do that, but if they’re still in the Archives he’s perfectly capable of trying to make them keep working, and Tim very much wants to distract Martin from all the things he’s stressing about tonight, work included.

Besides, he’s also trying to surprise Martin, despite that probably not being a great idea.

In the end, it turns out to be pretty easy. Jon doesn’t linger at the end of the day, so Tim and Sasha walk out with him, calling cheerful good-nights to Martin before trooping out the outer access door. Tim, the only one who drives to work regularly, offers Sasha a ride home; she pretends to grudgingly accept. He offers Jon one, too, but unsurprisingly (and thankfully, as Tim has conveniently omitted to mention that he didn’t actually drive in today), Jon declines, citing as his reason that he lives in the opposite direction as both of them. As they reach the edge of the grounds, Tim slips his hand in his pocket for his keys. Nothing.

“Oh, hell,” he says, trying very hard not to overdo it as he pats himself down. “Where the hell are my keys?”

“You had them in your hand when you got back from lunch,” Sasha volunteers. “Maybe you left them on your desk?”

“Or I dropped them. Hope I didn’t throw them out by mistake.” Tim turns back towards the Institute. “Front door’s still unlocked, I can just pop down and check for them…you want to wait out here, Sash?”

“Not likely.” Sasha falls into step with him. “Four eyes are better than two, and those steps are spooky after dark. I’ll come help.”

Tim glances over his shoulder briefly as they head up the steps. Jon is halfway down the block towards the Tube station. “I don’t think he heard a word of that, actually.”

“Better safe than sorry, right?” Sasha nudges him. “Come on, let’s see if we can slip past Rosie.”

Fortunately, there’s a big crowd heading outside about then, so they’re able to escape attention as they head back down the steps leading to the Archives. The first thing Tim does is head over to his desk and hold up the keys he deliberately left sitting there with an air of triumph. “Here they are!”

“Tim, you’re an idiot.” Sasha shakes her head in amusement.

“But a devious one.” Tim drops the keys into his jacket pocket before hanging it on the back of his chair. “Come on, let’s go find Martin and rustle up some dinner.”

Sasha hangs up her jacket, too, and the two of them head into the Archives. Tim at first is going for the little room where the cot is set up, where Martin’s been sleeping, but then he hears…voices? A voice, at least. It sounds like Martin, and it sounds like he’s having a conversation with someone, but…

“Martin?” he calls, not wanting to startle him again. “You talking to yourself over there?”

“Tim!” Martin’s voice is high and strained. “Y-you’re supposed to—yes! Yes, I am talking to myself, sorry about that.” He pops out from behind a shelf and forces a smile. “Sasha? What are you two doing here? Did you forget something?”

“Yes,” Sasha says. “We forgot that we get to go home safe every night while you’re stuck here in the middle of the spooky, whispering, singing Archives.”

“Singing?” Tim and Martin say in unison.

Sasha frowns at them both. “Yes. Neither of you has heard it? That faint singing, when there’s no other sound to be heard?”

Tim gives Martin a confused look. Martin looks both confused and worried. “No? No, I can’t say I’ve ever noticed it.”

There’s a clatter from somewhere else in the Archives, and Martin casts a nervous glance over his shoulder. Tim stiffens. “What was that?”

“Nothing. Nothing. It’s—it’s probably nothing.” Martin runs a hand through his hair, looking worried. “Anyway, you two should—go, maybe. It’s getting dark and all.”

“Nope, not tonight.” Tim slings an arm around Martin’s shoulders. “I’ve decided not to leave you alone anymore. Sasha’s staying tonight, too, it’s up to her if she stays after this, but from now on, I’m not leaving the Institute until you can, too.”

“Erm—thanks, Tim, but…” Martin wrings his hands. “I don’t mind staying alone tonight. There’s something I need to do and—it’s best I do it myself, so—maybe another night? Besides! Besides, you’re not even prepared for this and…”

“Martin,” Sasha says, looking annoyed, “what’s going on?”

Tim should probably be annoyed, too, but he’s just worried. He tries not to show it, though. Whatever it is Martin is planning to do, or whatever reason he thinks he needs to be alone, Martin is pretty damn stubborn and it’s going to take a gentle application of pressure rather than a show of force to get him to yield. Persuasion rather than intimidation.

“We’re friends, right?” he says, as gently as he can. “You can trust us.”

Martin’s shoulders slump. “I know. It’s just…you’re going to think I’m crazy.”

Tim spreads out his hands, palms up. “You were held hostage in your flat for two weeks by a thousand worms wrapped in a trench coat, which followed you home after you broke into a basement to investigate a man who was stalked and murdered by the ghost of a spider he killed twenty years ago. Sasha was attacked by a man with knives for hands and a smile that didn’t fit his face, and now she’s talking about the Archives singing. I haven’t even ever told you why I came to work at the Institute in the first place, but believe me, it makes the rest of that seem normal. Whatever you’re going to tell us, I promise you, crazy is the last thing I’ll think you are.” He jerks his thumb over his shoulder. “Besides, you’re wrong about us not planning anything for this. I bought us dinner when I was out on my lunch break, so let’s all head to the break room and eat, and you can tell us what’s going on.”

Sasha loops her arm through Martin’s on one side, and Tim takes the other, so he can’t escape them, and together they proceed to the break room. The halls are set to emergency lighting only, and the break room is completely dark, but when Tim fumbles for the switch, Martin extracts his arm and clicks on a torch.

“The lights are centrally controlled,” he explains. “There’s a master switch somewhere. I don’t know if Rosie or Elias turns it off when they leave, but one of them does, so it’s nothing but emergency lighting, and I’ve only seen that in the Archives.”

Tim wonders how he’s never known that, but then again, it’s not like he stays late all that often, maybe twice in the whole three years he’s been with the Institute. (God, has it really only been three years?) And it’s not like he’s ever gone around looking for light switches before. Never been a priority.

“Well, then,” he says, “I guess we’ll take our food back to the Archives. We can have a picnic on the floor or something and you can explain what the hell is going on there.”

Martin doesn’t say anything, just shines the light on the refrigerator. Tim retrieves the takeout containers he placed there with PROPERTY OF TIMOTHY STOKER, CONTAINS POISON, ELECTRIFIED, DO NOT TOUCH, THIS MEANS YOU, SCOTT scribbled across the tops and sides, then comes back to the door. “If this didn’t work, I’m going to figure out a way to actually electrify them next time,” he informs the others.

Sasha snorts. “You really think it’s Scott who keeps stealing your lunches?”

“It’s either him or the monster under the fridge.” Tim regrets saying it as soon as it’s out of his mouth, because there are times jokes like that don’t feel all that much like jokes.

When they get back to the Archives, Tim is about to suggest a comfortable corner to have their dinner in when there’s a loud banging noise that almost makes him drop the containers. Sasha about jumps out of her skin. “What was that?”

“Who’s there?” Tim yells, despite having already realized that not doing that is practically Horror Film 101.

The answer makes Tim’s blood run cold, for two reasons. One, it’s coming from Jon’s office, the door of which is now ajar…and two, it’s Martin’s voice. “Storage room! Now!”

“Come on, come on!” Martin—the real Martin—grabs Sasha’s wrist on one side and Tim’s arm on the other and practically drags them across the floor. Sasha screams, and Tim follows her gaze and can’t help a shout of fear as well. Pouring out of Jon’s office are hundreds—maybe thousands—of small white worms, wriggling wetly and coming straight at them.

Martin makes a noise that’s somewhere between a whimper and a defiant yell and hauls both of them over to a door off to one side. He lets go of Tim long enough to yank the door open, then shoves the other two in and slams it shut once they’re all inside, breathing heavily.

“What the hell is going on?” Tim demands, wavering somewhere between outrage and fear.

“The worms,” Martin gasps, which isn’t really an answer. “This room is sealed. I checked it myself when I moved in. Also climate-controlled. Sturdy door. Soundproof. These old documents are better protected than we ever were.”

He sounds like he’s repeating a lesson. Sasha shoots him a sharp look. “And that voice from Jon’s office? The one that told us to come in here?”

“The one that sounded like you?” Tim adds.

“It is me,” Martin says, his voice high and sharp. Clearly he’s at the end of his tether. “From the future. He came back to stop the world from ending and this is apparently part of the plan and I, I knew he was going to start it tonight, he told me after we thought all of you had left that he had something to do and I was supposed to help him with it, but I wasn’t counting on you two sticking around. I also didn’t expect him to start this fast, but—” He breaks off abruptly and leaps back from the door. “Christ!”

Sasha looks stunned by the barrage of information. Tim is, too, but he’s also worried about whatever Martin sees out there, so he thrusts the takeaway containers at her without conscious thought and peers out the window in the door. What he sees turns his stomach.

“O…kay.” He takes a deep breath. “That is…a lot of worms.”

“Any sign of Prentiss?” Martin asks anxiously.

“Not yet.” Tim realizes what he just said and turns to look at Martin. “You think she’ll show up?”

Martin makes an exasperated gesture. “No, Tim, I think worms are just randomly pouring into the Archives undirected. It’s just your basic insect infestation. Maybe somebody left food out!”

“Okay, okay, I get the picture.” Tim steps back. He really doesn’t want to see what’s out there.

Sasha hands him back the takeaway containers and steps up to peer out herself. “Martin…are you sure it’s really…you know, you from the future?”

“Positive. He knows things about me that I haven’t…really told many people? He told me to—” Martin takes a deep breath and looks away from Sasha. “To, erm, tell Jon that I lied on my CV, I don’t actually have a master’s degree in parapsychology, I just really needed the job. He said Jon wouldn’t be mad at me, and…well, he was right. He told me the worms were under the Institute, but they weren’t really after me, so I’d be safe.”

“This is safe?” Tim demands.

“Well, I think he sort of—broke into the walls? He’s going after them now. I’m—I was supposed to set a fire, not a big one, just small enough to set off the suppressant system so that whatever got in here would die.” Martin swallows hard.

“You’re not going out there alone,” Tim says firmly.

“You’re not going out there at all,” Sasha says. She backs away from the door and leans against the wall, rubbing her temples. “God! Tell me you can’t hear that now.”

“Hear what?” Tim asks.

Martin cocks his head. “I don’t hear anything. And we shouldn’t be able to hear anything. I told you, this room’s soundproof.”

“I can hear the singing. Like…” Sasha frowns and moves away from the wall. Her frown deepens and she moves back. “Wait…it’s louder over here. Like it’s coming from inside the wall…this wall.”

“Isn’t that an exterior wall?” Tim asks.

“Should be.” Sasha thumps on it, hard, and manages to put a fist-sized dent in the drywall.

After that…things happen rather quickly.

#tma #the magnus archives #leaves too high to touch (roots too strong to fall) #Tim Stoker is so much fun to write #I was so excited to post this chapter y'all #ollie writes fanfic