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tma-reader-inserts · 6 months

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Jonathan Sims x Spiral Avatar! Reader

Knowing Jonathan Sims was… an experience. When you first met him, you were just giving a statement.

You knew he didn’t believe you at all. To be fair, you were blazingly high when the experience happened, and high when you gave your statement.

While smoking with some of your friends, you stumbled upon an old book your father, who you hated, had collected before he died. You hated that book, you hated the ominous air it gave off, how your father obsessed over it, how he mumbled passages from the book, sketch fractals on every surface in the house, and hit you with the leather cover whenever you invited his rage. You tried burying it, but somehow it always came back to your coffee table. You never even bothered to read the words on the almost transparent-it-was-so-thin pages. You hated that stupid book as much as you hated your shitty father.

So you found the stupid book, and told your friends that you couldn’t even get rid of it it; and as one of them flip through the pages, they mention how similar they were to rolling papers.

… and well, didn’t that give you a novel idea.

Page after page, after your friends left, you slowly tore and filled and rolled the thin sheets of the book, lighting up until you couldn’t even lift your head. For months, you slowly decreased the thickness of the book until only half the pages and the leather cover with that stupid stamp of “Leitner” was left.

Well and all; but each time you lit up, you saw things. Normally, when you were high, you were just relaxed, slow moving and thinking and caring; a giggling, hungry mess that rolled around on the floor and dozed in and out of consciousness. But whenever you smoke with the pages from the book, thing were different.

Shadows from the corner of your eye moved and pulsed, you heard low whispers from every direction of the room. The worst of it was all the doors you saw. So many doors that didn’t belong in your house. The curiosity to open them, to trapeze through those rooms and halls, was staggering. You were always of such low motivation, to feel the so much desire to do something (beside getting high and sleeping) was unusual. However, you were too stoned to move, so you never actually entered a door. Even when a tall thin woman in a wacky business suit threw the door opened and tried to coax you in; even when a creature resembling a man with endlessly curling blonde hair sits with you and speaks nonsense at you as you tried to comprehend your surroundings.

Whenever you did come down, things wouldn’t just return to normal; there was always a stray door that would taunt you; the sound of the man laughing ringing in your ears.

When you gave your statement, you couldn’t really give a damn about the circumstances. You were seeing weird shit, and the Magnus Institute was for telling people about weird shit that was seen. Did you care that you were going insane? Not a bit. You father went crazy when he got that book, god knows what got into your mother to copulate with the man, and you reckon that your entire lineage was severely fucked in the head. You self medicated to cope, what choice had you? Seek professional help? Open yourself up bloody and raw to a stranger who was paid to give you fake platitudes and a low grad prescription for mania? Absolutely not. And frankly you were more taken to the effects of marijuana rather than alcohol or any other kind of drug.

So yes, you were high when you went to the Institute to give your statement. And Mr. Sims was less than impressed by your antics. In fact he more or less chewed you out entirely in the privacy of the archive room. It amused you greatly; as he yelled at you about ‘decorum’ and ‘self-pride’, you could only muse about how badly you wanted to see this man specifically as high as a kite and zoned out, drooling on your couch as you combed your fingers through his pretty, curly brown hair. You smirked at the mental image, which only seemed to enraged him further.

After you left the place, however, things had gotten… much worse.

As soon as you got home, you got blitzed off your ass. Despite whenever you used the paper from the book things got super weird, that didn’t exactly stop you from continuing from doing it. Sure, you saw unexplainable things, but you weren’t one to waste paper.

You supposed the reason why you liked being high was the surrender. The passing of responsibility of your thoughts and actions unto something else. To completely give yourself up for a few hours and not be for that time; to be consumed by the buzz of nothingness and allow yourself the high of not thinking straight. There’s a sort of control in losing control to something else.

Maybe that’s why you changed.

It was subtle at first. You noticed your highs lasted much longer than they normally did; soon you weren’t even consuming any of your stash, you were just perpetually buzzed. Then you noticed you could control how high you were exactly, after one instance where you were annoyed with being numb everywhere; suddenly you were almost entirely sober. Still a little high though.

Your biggest discovery was that you could intoxicate others. While you were at a club, you kissed another party-goer in the alley by the club, and you watched in fascination as his pupils dilated immediately and he fell to the ground, silently screaming and clawing at his face. Between his terror you could understand him saying something about feeling bugs in his skin. The knowledge that you caused this sunk into your hazy brain with a rush of excitement and pride. You did this. You reduced some boring, straight laced business man on holiday into a pathetic writhing mess, so high out of his mind that he was truly panicking, probably for the first time in his life; he was truly afraid.

And the fun of doing that, scaring people, far outweighed the joy of being high.

Being high was still super fun, though.

By the time you polished off smoking the pages of the book, you were certain you weren’t totally human anymore. Maybe human adjacent. You were at some point, for certain, but now you were something else. Similar but distinctly different from before.

You took great joy in terrorizing others. You tried being careful at first; most people just assumed they were drugged, or whatever substance they took was laced. Then you got reckless, you supposed. One of your victims, a college boy who was a friend of a friend, who was lured back to your car to scare him through a drug haze, went to the Magnus Institute.

Apparently, even though the idiot young man was already high when you met him, he remembered your face quite clearly, and was insistent that his encounter with you was ‘supernatural’ purely because there was no physical way he could have gotten that out of touch with his senses.

Now, you have minor control over what your victims hallucinate. Usually, whatever was in the recesses of their mind was enough to scare them, but the stubborn ones required some… direction. With that college boy, you managed to convince him he ate rotten meat from an alley way, that there were maggots and bugs and all sorts of diseases crawling around in his guts, in his skin, when in reality you never even left your car until he became so terrified he was rendered unconscious.

You thought your original visit to the Institute was written off; you were certain there was no way Jonathan Sims bothered to remember your face, let alone your name. But there you were, once again in the same recording room as last time, after one of Sims’s meekish assistants contacted you for a “follow up”.

You should’ve known it was a trap to confront you. But in your defense, you didn’t think the archivist was smart or ballsy enough to pull a stunt like that. Yet, here you were, once again being glared down at, with a written statement from the boy you’re tormented in front of you.

“Well?” Jon asks, one bushy eye brow raised in annoyance.

“Well indeed.” You reply, scanning the page once more. “Sounds like this lad had a hell of a trip, some people can’t handle their substances.”

This only seemed to anger the man. “The person he describes sounds an awful lot like you. Even some of your mannerisms and ticks were mentioned. Are you denying this is you?”

You laugh. You couldn’t help the sound from breaking through your teeth.

“It is you, isn’t it.” He accuses.

“Who it is, and who it isn’t, aren’t the problem Sims…” you drawl, throughly amused. “The real problem is you’re believing the accounts of some pot head. What happened to the ineffable skeptic I met months ago?”

He flinches, and you note the movement with great interest. “… I should have believed you about the doors.” He mumbles. “When you came in, I shouldn’t have written you off so quickly, least of all belittle you like that.”

It was your turn to quirk your eyebrow. “I’m getting the feeling you met Micheal, then?”

With shame, he looks away, and you sigh.

“Tell you what…” you say slowly, tongue heavy from the feeling of intoxication. “… I’ll give you another statement, but just for us. Just for you.”

Intrigue paints his features.

“No one else, not even your assistants, not your boss, gets to hear about this. Just you, only for you.”

Now he looks at you in scrutiny. “What do you get out of the exchange?”

A wild smile pulls across your face. “I wanna get you blitzed out.”

“Good lord.” He groans.

“Come on!” You laugh. “I’ll take you to my place-“

“No.”

“We do a little hash-“

“Absolutely not.”

“And I’ll give you an explanation to the weird shit I can do!” You exclaim. “I’ll give you full details, I’m not dodgey about questions like Micheal is, I can give it to you straight!”

“You are aware that the consumption, distribution, and possession marijuana is illegal in the United Kingdom?” He hissed, scandalized.

“Duh; that’s what makes doing it even more fun.” You explain, amused. “You asked what I wanted out of my statement, I told you.”

He huffs. “How is me getting high going to benefit you?”

You never found a point in being dishonest to pretty men. “I think you’d look cute dazed out of you mind.”

“Wha-what?”

You shrug. “You’re pretty, and I think you’d be prettier high, and I wanna see it.”

Jon flushed, tan skin becoming tinged with red. His upper teeth dug into his bottom lip, and his eyes darted away from you so quickly you almost heard them snap. “That is- you can’t just say-“

“You found a way to contact me before; use that method to contact me again when ever you decide on what you want to do.” Standing from your chair, you see the archivist take a small step towards you, almost as if to stop you but he thought the better of it.

You open the door, and before you ascend the steps, you look at the pretty book worm one last time.

“And for the record, whatever that little shit smoke up with was stolen from me. He deserved it. I probably scared him straight anyway, you should be thanking me.”

“That doesn’t make what you did right.” Jon snipes back.

You shrug, unconcerned. “I don’t care about what is right or not, Sims.” You level him with a blank look, allowing a haze to permeate through your conscious. “I hardly care about anything at all.”

And with that, you left.

—

It took a grand total of two weeks before Jon Sims contacted you directly. You were pleased as peach to answer your phone, hoping it was the pretty and emotionally surly archivist.

He had agreed to meet you under your circumstances, and you could help the giggle that leaked into the receiver when he spoke. He talked like an old man, it entertained you ceaselessly. You wondered if he even would be able to keep his bookish facade while high. You hoped not; to see Jonathan Sims at a loss for words would be delightful.

Later that evening, upon your doorstep, in a comfortable brown and grey cardigan, was Jonathan Sims. He seemed nervous, tightly gripping his tape recorder and note book as he stepped into your home.

Honestly your house was a wreck. It’s been in your family for generations, and no one in your bloodline has ever really cared about cleaning up after themselves, yourself included. Did it look like a trap house? Probably; but you could get to the kitchen, your couch, and your bed; so unless something was in your path it was ignored. Jon eyes the trash in the corners of your home, but said nothing unkind.

Sitting him on the couch, you leave only to return less than a minute later, holding a small pastry.

“Is that… a marijuana brownie?” He asks, eyes the confection with anxiousness.

You laugh boisterously, shocking him. “It’s called a pot brownie and you damn well know it, Sims.” Sitting next to him, you unwrap the napkin. “Ten milligrams would be too much for your first time, and five I don’t think would really do anything but take your edge off, so I split the difference to seven. It’s what I started out on and it’ll do just fine.”

He stared down at the piece of brownie with dread, and as he tried to reach for it you pulled it away.

“Hey now.” You warn, frowning, “Do you actually want to do this?”

He scowls. “I’m here aren’t I? Besides, what choice have I?”

It was your turn to scowl now. “If you really don’t want to do this I’ll find another way to make us even. It’s no fun being high against your will.”

He eyes you with an annoyed expression. “Isn’t that what you do to people?”

“Yeah, ‘cus they’re assholes who don’t deserve a nice experience. I’m trying to give you a nice experience.”

“So you target people you deem unworthy to torment?” In the silence of the room, you hear the ever so faint sound of something turning. Has he been recording you this entire time?

You roll your eyes. “I’ll spill my guts soon, Jon, don’t jump the gun. Do you actually want to get high or not.”

He seems to battle with himself for a long moment before nodding. “… I really wanted to try it in college… but I didn’t have any… connections…”

You breathe a laugh. “You didn’t have enough good friends who knew where to get a stash, huh?”

He mumbles something like a, “shut up.”

“Aw, baby-“ you croon, a hand reaching up to pet at his hair. “It sucks to be left out, huh? Never lived up to the traditional college experience? Don’t worry, honey, I’ll fix that right up; you’re in good hands.”

Finally you bring the brownie piece back into reach. “Don’t eat more than this for now; anymore and you’ll be fucked rightly.” You warn.

Nodding, Jon gently takes the piece from your outstretched hand. Grimacing one last time, he places the entire bite size piece into his mouth, and slowly chews.

“It tastes strange.” He complains.

“There’s weed in it, precious.”

“Not that; you didn’t sift the flour when you made these, did you?”

You throw your head back laughing. Oh this was going to be delightful.

—

Forty minutes in and Jon’s head was in your lap as he stared blankly up at the ceiling. Humming, you combed your fingers through what you could of his hair.

“You doing alright, pretty boy?”

A sound comes from his throat, and you know it was a half hearted attempt to respond.

The best course of action, you decided, was to remain as sober as you possibly could be, to be there for Jon during this new experience. After about twenty minutes, his speech began to slow, and by the thirty minute mark, he asked to lie down.

One of his hands held yours, leaving his other hand limply on his stomach.

“You’re doing such a good job, Jon.” You whisper. “You’re doing so well.”

He whimpers, turning his face into your stomach as his skin once again alights with a blush. Removing your hand from his mane, you rub your thumb against the small circular scars along his cheek bone.

“I can’t feel my face.” He complains, high and breathy.

You hum again. “You never are able to feel your face, you’re just actually feeling it for the first time right now, you’re hyper aware of it.”

He groans again, longer, annoyed. “Shh, I don’t want to think.”

“All right, sweet heart,” you say sweetly, “It’s normal to feel things like that. You’re doing just fine.”

“… I can feel all my skin at once, then. And my head feels like a pillow.”

Biting back a laugh, you resume stroking his hair.

“Can you feel through hair? I can feel my hair.”

“Boy, just wait until you start watching trippy movies like this. ‘The Cell’ is gonna be great.”

He groans again. “I don’t want to watch anything, I can barely keep my eyes open.”

“Close them, then, sweetheart.” You coax. “No shame in it, do what feels nice right now.”

At your encouragement, he curls into almost entirely. He moans again, nestling his face into your stomach. You try not to laugh at the sensation of his vibrations tickling your skin through your clothes. “Please keep talking…” he mumbles, “Your voice is nice…”

This time, you did chuckle. Normally, you were amused by everything, but this especially entertained you. “I think your voice is nicer, I could listen to it for hours.”

Jon’s head swivels so he could peer up at you. “Please, no one wants to hear me prattle on about my statements or, or my theories on them.”

Working on a particularly difficult knot in his hair, you hum. “I know I would, who knows, those statements seem to be pretty interesting, a bunch of cool stories to listen to.”

“Right, the trauma of others are interesting.” Sarcasm drips from his lips.

“Well, everyone loves a good scary story.”

Jon sighs and returns to nestling your stomach. You ponder his earlier request and speak. “Your recorder going, yeah?”

The man’s hand slides away from his face and fumbles around beside you until his hands grip the device and presses a button, the sound of faint whirling enters the air.

You introduce yourself to the device, stating your name and occupation, and just began talking. You spoke of your father and his beatings, about the terrible book, when your drug habit started and progressed into what you are now. How you feel powerful picking out certain people to torment, finally taking back the dominance your father stole from you. You muse about Micheal and Helen, and about the doors, the connection between you and the disconnection from reality. You end your statement with a shrug, saying something along the lines about how your humanity is a choice you constantly make, but if you wanted you could abandon it easily.

When you finish and look down, you see Jon is asleep. He is warm and heavy in your lap, he is snorting softly, and he look truly and deeply at peace.

Reaching your hand into the tangle of Jon’s fingers, you turn off the recording device. As you stare at the man, you feel a dopey smile stretch across your features. Maybe, for right now, you’ll be on better behaviour. If for nothing more than to keep Jon near you.

#the magnus archives #tma #jonathan sims #x reader #jon sims

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leothil · 4 months

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AO3 wrapped

"Hold on," you might be saying, "isn't that supposed to be between your browser history and you?" Maybe so! But unfortunately for everyone, I keep a fic reading log, and that means I've got ✨statistics✨! So without further ado:

Number of fics read in 2023: 748

Total words read: 10 032 841

Amount of unique authors: 169

Rereads vs new reads: 120 rereads, which makes the year total 16% rereads and 84% new reads!

I don't know what happened in the beginning of the year, but clearly I was reading A Lot of fic right then! And everybody give it up for the Explicit rating barely edging (heh) out a win over the Teen rating!

Top five tags 2023:

getting together (224 occurrences or 29.95% of the fics)

smut (216 occurrences, 28.88%)

fluff (181 occurrences, 24.20%)

established relationship (119 occurrences, 15.91%)

AU (113 occurrences, 15.11%)

Top five most read authors 2023 (rereads included):

@letmetellyouaboutmyfeels (64 fics - the "Fractals" chapters have been counted as separate entries)

@bropunzeling (32 fics)

@try-set-me-on-fire (31 fics - most of the "All my life" chapters have been counted as separate entries)

withoutthetiger aka @rewritetheending (29 fics)

@glorious-spoon (24 fics)

Top five most read fandoms 2023:

9-1-1

Hockey rpf

Summer Sons

Rebel Kings MC

A four-way tie between Captain America, Stranger Things, Dungeons & Dragons: Honor Among Thieves, and Red, White, and Royal Blue

Big, big thanks to all the writers I've had the absolute joy and honour of reading this year! You have brought me countless hours of joy (and pain) this year, and my life wouldn't be the same without the work you do!

#2023 wrapped #ao3 wrapped #i'm making it a thing (for me)#just frida thoughts #adventures in excel land

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wouldtheybecomeafearavatar · 2 months

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What are Avatars and Entities Anyway?

Since there's been some questioning from the non-TMA side of fandoms, here are the basic definitions of Avatars, Fear Entities, and each specific one.

There are 15 Fear Entities in The Magnus Archive (Podcast). They are supernatural beings that feed on fear of specific kind. The division is a little arbitrary and there are overlaps between them, but this is the system used in the universe, so we are going with it!

Each has Avatars, manifestations and artefacts that cause that fear in living beings (yes, not only humans, if very heavily humans). Artefacts are just that, objects that cause creepy and supernatural things to happen. Manifestations are living counterparts to artefacts that were never anything but. We are not concerned with them.

Avatars are people who used to be human, but through choice of circumstance came to represent, serve, and/or cause specific type of fear. The choice needs to be there, but not necessarily be informed or enthusiastic.

Each of the Fears has obvious interpretations associated with them, but often cover metaphorical fears too. And, some fears can be a part of multiple. (eg. the fear of insignificance can be an element of The Vast, or the Lonely)

The Buried. The fear of small, enclosed spaces, of suffocation, and being trapped. Often associated with drowning, being buried alive, being overwhelmed.

The Corruption. The fear of corruption, disease, and disgust. Often associated with insects, decay, illness, and unhealthy love.

The Dark. The fear of being unable to see, of unseen, of the dark itself. Often associated with literal dark spaces, blindness, hiding monsters, and unknown.

The Desolation. The fear of pain and loss, destruction, and senseless devastation. Often associated with fire, war*, and destroyed potential.

The End. The fear of death - most straightforward of them all. Often associated with remains and undead creatures.

The Extinction. The fear of a large scale catastrophe, death, replacement. Often associated with alarmist rhetoric and of destruction of humankind by our own hands. But, it does not has to be a complete destruction of an entire species. (eg. A disappearing culture can fall under extinction too. Or an apocalyptic, but not barren future.)

The Eye. A fear of being watched, known, and exposed. Often associated with curiosity, stalking, and surveillance.

The Flesh. The fear of being seen as meat, of realisation that you are meat, of your flesh being wrong. Often associated with animals, with the meat-packing industry, and with body dysmorphia and dysphoria.

The Hunt. The fear of being chased and hunted. Often associated with instincts, animals, and monsters.

The Lonely. The fear of isolation, abandonment, and disconnection. Often associated with fog, empty spaces, (faceless) crowds*, and suburbs.

The Slaughter. The fear of senseless violence and pain; unlike the Desolation is concerned directly with the living, not objects or possibility. Often associated with murder, and war*.

The Spiral. The fear of one's own mind, of madness, and of deception. Often associated with fractals, illusions, and neurodiversity of all kinds.

The Stranger. The fear of unfamiliar and uncanny. Often associated with uncanny valley (dolls, mannequins, taxidermy), circuses and performances, and faceless crowds*.

The Vast. The fear of space and insignificance. Often associated with heights, large open spaces (ocean, sky, space), and losing oneself*.

The Web. The fear of being manipulated, controlled, and trapped*, of having no free will. Often associated with spiders and puppets*.

*might be a part of multiple Fears depending on circumstances

#tma #the magnus archives #archivist activity

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pinkwright · 1 year

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in pieces | shuri udaku.

◘ rapper/producer!shuri udaku x fem!singer/director!reader

ƸӜƷ

trope – strangers 2 enemies 2 friends 2 lovers

inspo — in pieces by chlöe.

series warnings — mean!shuri, cold!reader, reader is rlly soft in love, her ex is all she's ever known so pls be gentle w her, toxic relationships, crybaby!reader, insults, gaslighting, yall the exes face claim is brent faiyaz LMFAO (i dont keep up w men so he was the first name to pop up), touchy!shuri, reader folds so bad so easily lol, cheating, reader is petty, relapses in judgement, reader is fucking talented, smitten shuri, vv soft but only later lol, reader can get bitchy, shuri rlly gets under her skin, bitter n spiteful reader, reader's manager is so tired of them, reader has her public persona nailed down, ppl rarely ever see the real her, t'challa is alive but their parents aren't, kissing, crying, dirty talk, strap slinger!shuri, fingering, thigh riding, smau elements, studio sessions, cunnilingus, taunting, edging, slut-shaming, possessive!shuri, sub!reader, dom!shuri, the media loves to dawg on reader for nothing, cursing, humiliation kink, bratty!reader, needy!reader, desperation, sexual identity crisis, patient!shuri, shuri likes to push ppl away, mentions of marriage/engagements, alcohol, anxiety, panic attacks, manipulation, clubbing, might have an open ending idk, there's probs more but oh well.

a/n — i have so many ideas dropping consecutively my bad yall LMFAO anyway this is my first series, n um im nervous badd but we move, i rlly like this idea and the skeleton of it so hopefully it comes off the way i would like it to so my perfectionist spirit can smile LMFAO (i find myself so funny sorry), anyway here’s the masterlist before i ramble more <3

dedications — @zayswriting – i’ve always avoided writing series (hence how i came up w sets LOL) but zay’s my inspo for series like that’s her shit so while the notion is still kinda daunting, she makes me feel like i can try to tackle it at least. @mbakuetshurisprincess constantly revising ur masterlist bc ur pen is just brilliant, u were also a huge inspo in getting me to write a series n u influence my version of shuri a lot. then a few people i admire that keep me posting n make me wanna improve; @saintwrld @vixentheplanet @verachii @naomis-daydream @marsolgy @inmyheadimobsessed <3

oke, that's the end of the sappiness.

⟢˚ @letitias-fav @barkbarkbo @shurismainbxtch @rxcently @shuriszn @lppriceisright @golooktheotherway @motheroffae @vampzxi @mysticalmarss @abenomeiiii @6-noir @izrinmabel1 @vexoshuri @ilovelulu @sookiesookie @ziayamikaelson @sapphicvqmpires @locoforshuri @ventingfanfics @melanated-queens @cuddl3s4shur1

ஜ.

no matter how many times i break, i put myself back together every damn time. oh, mm, can i be honest with you?

y/n l/n, a hyper-pop sensation that is at an all-time high in her career; her two-time grammy winning album, above her oscar-nominated directing debut cemented her as a force to be reckoned with, both in the music and film industry. and soon, in a swoon-worthy show of romance, she's flaunting an envy-worthy diamond ring graciously accompanied by a viral proposal from high school sweetheart and renowned artist, christopher brent wood.

engaged and flourishing, her world is almost too perfect to be true, tainted by the pink shades of blinding love that soon violently shatter at the hands of the only love she's ever known, the fractals painfully littering her being; heavy fragments that she can't seem to even begin piecing together.

in a battle of identity, self-expression, independence, and rebirth; the international superstar finds herself in a back-and-forth battle with herself and the people around her, finding that the dark pit she falls into, may not solely be the demise of her fairytale, but also the fall of the y/n l/n that the public came to know over the years; the catalyst to the redemption arc in finding who she really is, the girl she buried years ago.

⊱ ───── .✶˖⋆࿐ ──── ⊰

➺ CHAPTERS LIST.

[ characters ]

prologue : someone’s calling (chlöe)

— after a lengthy hiatus of absolute silence, y/n drops an ominous track w an even more intriguing visualizer, unrecognizable from her usual sweet hyper pop princess look n sound, n the internet wilds; the rebrand peaking an important person's interest.

...coming soon

one : pray it away

— after facing public humiliation from a cheating scandal that had put y/n in the spotlight she comes back into the spotlight w a haunting single n performance that sparks large controversy along with its acclaim; she meets a certain face that she sasses off too in response to her attitude.

...coming soon

two : body do

— after announcing the drop of her debut album y/n is set on a artist rebrand n her manager knows just the person; so she meets world renowned director/producer shuri udaku who directs her visualiser n the bad blood cause tension to spill.

...coming soon

three : i don’t mind + worried

— y/n l/n new maneater cutthroat persona has the internet fawning over her so imagine their shock when she shows up to the grammys w the same man that was the driving factor to her vicious rebrand n shuri gets a glimpse into the real personality behind the scrutinised pop sensation.

...coming soon

four : for the night

— a glimpse into shuri’s true thoughts about the girl she swears she can’t stand.

...coming soon

five : make it look easy

— when y/n finally tackles the song she couldn't face, the internet starts to rethink their view on the girl they've scrutinised n criticised for the entirety of her career n shuri finds it harder to cut deeper into the broken-down girl.

...coming soon

six : looze u

— y/n can’t stop the flood of emotions that overtake her when she confronts the man who broke her heart, opening the floor for hurtful truths n violent words that leave her reeling in her memories.

...coming soon

seven : told ya + cheatback

— the officially single superstar thinks she deserves a night out seeing as her album debut draws nearer by the day, n the fun night out has surprising outcomes.

...coming soon

eight : heart on my sleeve

– when shuri spits her meanest words yet to the softening star, y/n finds herself pathetically adding a track to her album minutes before its release, much to her fans’ concern n the producer feels stuck in limbo.

...coming soon

epilogue : in pieces

— while the successful album drop feels like a weight lifted off of her chest especially w/ an upcoming oscar performance; she can’t help but find the weight replaced by a certain pretty-eyed producer.

...coming soon

⊱ ───── .✶˖⋆࿐ ──── ⊰

hold me when, hold me when i'm in pieces.

ஜ.

#pinkwrighting ⊹ ۪ ᖭི༏ᖫྀ.#◘ — pink series .ꔫ:*#shuri udaku #shuri x black!reader #letitia wright #black panther #black panther wakanda forever #shuri angst #shuri x reader #shuri x you #shuri smut #shuri fluff #shuri x y/n #shuri black panther #shuri #shuri x fem!reader #shuri imagine

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commander-winterberry · 1 year

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is Fractal Stranger a super op character, yes he is, but he is also very pathethic so that balances out

#Fractal Stranger #idc how lore breaking he is hes fun oc hes fun guy its my city now anet #my man will traverse the multiverses for a slushie #i will draw him more just aughhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

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pianokantzart · 9 months

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I think I’ve finally figured out what is happening in The Super Mario Brothers Super Show

Okay, so... Mario and Luigi’s reality– reality as we know it– is fairly cohesive, with a consistent timeline and a singular dimensional plane.

But when Mario and Luigi got transported to The Mushroom Kingdom (or wherever they were when they first rescued Princess Toadstool), they landed in a tiny piece of what I will refer to as a fractal reality: a world that is composed of hundreds of miniature worlds with their own histories, cultures, and timelines, all connected by warp pipes in a complicated kaleidoscope of splintered reality.

But all these worlds are still pieces of a whole, so there are common threads, such as the violent conqueror King Koopa, and the kindhearted ruler-turned-fugitive Princess Toadstool. It is possible for anyone to hop between these dimensions, but if they do they will merely live out an echo of their preexisting life with a new coat of paint within a mirror of their own selves, every memory intact.

Then Mario and Luigi show up: an unprecedented element from a completely alien world, who ended up there by some grand cosmic fluke, and– whether intentionally or by accident– they have a ripple effect that steadily reshapes every timeline. Mario and Luigi don’t simply help Princess Toadstool defeat King Koopa, because there is no singular King Koopa or Princess Toadstool, and yet at the same time there is. They are one and hundreds simultaneously, tied to a single tree of shared memory, personality, and fate– with that fate being steadily reconstructed by two lost strangers from a separate plane of existence, fixing the sick timeline like a foreign antibody.

That is why Team Mario can collect a hoard of gold in one episode, and then be flat broke two episodes later! It’s why King Koopa appears to have an endless supply of resources no matter how many times he’s been overthrown, and keeps showing up with new kingdoms and new aliases. It’s why Team Mario keeps finding what they’re looking for, just to turn out empty handed by the start of their next journey.

That is why Mario and Luigi keep a plumber's log. It is crucial for them to maintain a concept of a steady timeline in a world where histories and cultures are constantly in rotation, with allies, enemies, and memories being the sole constant.

#smbss #smbss blogging #that or it was the 80s and the writers were high and being payed 3 bucks an hour #also I might not have gotten enough sleep last night lmao

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ghoulvics · 7 months

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Fable Smp characters as Fears from TMA (the Magnus archives) and why we think so.

WARNING THIS WILL CONTAIN SPOILERS FROM TMA AND FSMP DONT READ IF YOU DONT WANNA HAVE SPOILERS, as well as some triggering topics refrences from TMA so be warned

Icarus/Sherbert Morningstar

- The spiral and or The Slaughter

HEAR ME OUT-

In the lore, when The Quixes things start, Icarus tries to learn more correct? And they started seeing the Rave room during dreams and resets and such, when it got more prominent in season two Icarus seemed focused on learning about it, but Quixis started causing more harm than good, not answering questions in the way Icarus had hoped for, it gets worse in season three when even more things start changing, such as things on Icarus’s physical body like the gloves, and possibly their eye (?). (Another warning for spoilers btw cause of recent lore) when Icarus’s wings turn into amethyst and gold and break off, as well as the blocks changing around them reminds us of the downwards mental spiral of looking far to into things to the point you can get confused and it effects your mental and physical state, when the large Fence and obsidian wall show up it reminds us of the yellow door, basically a metaphor possibly of how Icarus has dug to far deep and the door is now closed,they can’t go back to what it could have been if they didn’t dig into Quixis information. The spiral manifests as Illusions, Hallucinations, Patterns, Spirals and fractals. Which is like when Quixis changes the color pattern of Icarus’s house, their house, the area around it, the animals and so on so forth. That is our main reasoning but we will deep dive more into it.

Rae Morningstar

Rae is the Eye, a perfect example. But in skulk arc he could also be a form of Corruption and the Lonely. As we all know Rae is a very big book person, he craves about finding knowledge but not because of that : because of how he constantly thinks he needs to know more because he knows something is beyond him, no matter what it is, if it’s a person or a god or anything like that: and there are plenty of examples of that in the fable Smp series: now for corruption and lonely. The entire skull arc/Warden arc for him. Need I explain more? But he could be the buried as well

Axx

He’s the Hunt no questions asked, the way he cares about his friends and family to the point he’s constantly willing to fight for them? Him fr

Ocie

She’s the hunt, same reasons as Axx but also more about the chase part.

Wolf

He is the stranger, not knowing who he was before everything happened, barely anything of his past- ALL OF THAT? STRANGER CODED

Centross

The hunt, slaughter, vast, lonely- choose your pick hes so many-

Ven

He’s the Vast we don’t make the rules- look at him and tell us he isn’t- (Rae could be vast to we’re not sure but DEFINITELY Ven) but he could also be Eye coded as well.

Athena

The Desolation or possibly lonely? Not quite sure

Caspian

CANNOT CHOOSE FOR HIM-

We’ll go into more depth later cause brain juice is gone

#fable smp #fsmpblr #icarus morningstar #fablesmp #wolf nightingale #centross #rae morningstar #ghaae #caspian solcrest #Ocie #the magnus archives #tma au #tma

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city-of-babel · 2 months

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Doorways into Other-When, Else-Where

“Time and space are not just linear or fixed, but a rich tapestry of experiences, choices, and potentialities, where each moment holds infinite possibilities.

The mirror, often a symbol of truth and revelation, signifies the City’s ability to reflect not just our physical appearance but the deeper aspects of our psyche, our choices, and the consequences thereof.

Within the City—and indeed within each moment—there are doorways to other times and places, "lateral byways" that lead to different aspects of reality. The City itself is a sort of time machine, with corridors and passageways that can transport one to different dimensions of experience.

As you move through the City, you carry with you the knowledge that each moment is a crossroads, each place is a nexus of potential, and that within you lies the power to choose not just your path, but also the time and nature of your experiences. The City is your Memory Palace, your Labyrinth, and your Mirror, reflecting the infinite within the finite confines of its streets and stories.

In the City, time may behave as a fractal, where the patterns of history, personal journeys, and cosmic cycles echo and repeat themselves in varying contexts. Each alley, building, and inhabitant of the City reflect this fractal nature, embodying stories and events that resonate with past and future moments, creating a rich, interconnected tapestry.

The fractal structure of time in the City means that a single event can mirror the larger patterns of the universe. A conversation with a stranger might reflect the rise and fall of civilizations. The pattern of a falling leaf might echo the grander dance of celestial bodies. In this fractal time, the City becomes a place where every moment contains the whole, and the whole is found within every moment.”

From “The Book of Babel, Vol. 7118, Book VIII, Chapter Twelve”.

#city of babel #mirrors #doors

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miraculousmaker · 3 months

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SPOILERS FOR MAGNUS PROTOCOL 4

LIVE REACTION TO PROTOCOL 4

I have a feeling our boys were the ones rerouting the security report. Or maybe the web?

Alice sounds so scared for Sam… a bit out of character so far

Saying our little guys’ voices dont have named (.0_0.)

Interesting that this guy (the report giver) talks about keeping and getting rid of the violin with equal intensity. Like he gave equal amount of thought to either way.

Calliope vibes with this one.

Abandoning someone on the side of the road rings a bell.

“You have a look that speaks of hunger”… hmm.

SALESA? DEATH GAMES? This stranger gives me so many thoughts, man…

Fractals? Mirroring the table of the Not-Them, methinks. Bringing the report-giver closer, before biting out.

Fumbling in front of a group of people watching judging… bringing the report-giver to anger.

Horror and pain dancing along with passion and need and music.

I didn’t realize there was violin playing underneath until it stopped.

Gaining fame along with silent suffering. The folly of artistry.

Taking students in order to feed the instrument, and disguising it as philanthropy of teaching poor individuals music.

The most beautiful piece being played the one time he was nearly and had wrapped his hands. Because you can only really be truly an artist when you do it for yourself.

And the way that the violin just took the price from the audience, putting them into something akin to that one Hunt statement. Also Grifter’s Bone, with how they all tore at each other, maybe?

Alice imploring Sam to FOCUS ON YOUR WORK.

So our guys def showed Gwen that part at the end, right?

#tmagp #the magnus institute #the magnus protocol theories #the magnus protocol #the magnus protocol spoilers #tmagp spoilers

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radioactivepeasant · 6 months

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Halloween Fic: Prologue

(This angsty little bit actually happens month before the story itself, but it's very important worldbuilding for the story. When the whole thing is done, it'll be published on AO3 as a two-chapter whole)

"This one's temperature is too high."

Damas frowned down at the pallet beside the vast Precursor statue that loomed over the dais. The survivor he'd tracked the beacon to that morning in the desert lay there, unresponsive to the whispered chanting and cooling packs of the monks. He'd been shocked to discover that what he'd taken for a young soldier was barely more than a child under the sweat and grime embedded in his pores. By the size of the bones standing out just a little too visibly against the Unclaimed's skin, and the teeth they could count, Brother Rhys reckoned the boy could be no more than three and a half lustrums: seventeen at the oldest.

Seventeen was just barely old enough for the Trials, and that was just the high estimate of the stranger's age. That complicated the usual procedures of dealing with newcomers to Spargus. If he survived -- and at the moment it wasn't looking terribly likely -- and it turned out he was younger than seventeen, some kind of arrangement would have to be made for a child-Unclaimed.

"Do you not have cooling packs?" Damas asked, gesturing to the boy and the two animals that had been found with him.

"They are inadequate, my lord," Rhys answered. "Our supplies were greatly depleted after a failed expedition of several acolytes to the Great Volcano."

Was that all? The king of the Wastelanders turned away with a dismissive gesture.

"Then keep his body submerged until his core temperature stabilizes. I have questions for this one."

Silence followed the command. When Damas turned, the monks were watching him with conflicted expressions. He frowned and paced to the edge of the dais.

"Well?" he demanded.

Another monk, lower in rank than Brother Rhys, made a pacifying gesture and said apologetically, "We cannot, my lord. It is improper."

The king curled his lip at them. "Oh? Tell me, when did it become improper to render aid to a child?"

Rhys raised a hand, silently forbidding his companion from speaking further. He bowed his head.

"He is an Unclaimed, sire. Only those who brought the Unclaimed into your city may give them the rites of Water and First Breath, by law."

His meaning was clear: if Damas wanted to this one to live, he had to deal with it himself.

But there was a problem.

The monks would not treat submersion as an emergency medical treatment. They were rigid and uncompromising in the arena of new citizens. No matter what Damas said, if the Unclaimed was submerged, even to lower his temperature, they would record it as the rite of First Breath. But the rite of First Breath was reserved for those who had earned their first amulet in the Arena; those who understood the laws of Spargus and chose to stay, sponsored by their Finders, would use the ritual to move from Unclaimed to Foundling in the city census, gaining the same legal status as any child born within the walls.

This Unclaimed would die long before he had the chance to test his mettle in the ring if his temperature was not brought down, and soon. But without that amulet, if he were to step out of line later, he would not be the only one held accountable.

Damas took one last look at the limp form, and -- with a fairly imprecatory prayer under his breath to the Six Patrons of eco -- he made up his mind.

The king tossed aside his staff with an echoing clash of metal against stone. The monks twitched, and the guards at the lift jumped. Damas ignored them. He stormed down the steps of the dais and grabbed the skinny boy's arm. For a moment, he was thrown off by the texture of scars swirling across the skin like silvery fractals. More questions without answers. He shook away his curiosity and dragged the Unclaimed from the pallet and down to the edge of the pools. The orange creature raised its head and let out a choked cry -- it likely thought he was going to harm its human.

This wasn't going to help its opinion.

Damas stepped down into the water and hauled the Unclaimed bodily in after him. Frustration boiled under his skin, making his movements rough and brusque as he pushed the boy down under the surface and held him there.

The Six were mocking him.

You couldn't handle a toddler. Try again, maybe you can keep track of one big enough to protect himself? Try try again, Damas. Try and fail again.

The frustration bubbled up into his throat and tasted of bitterness.

He hadn’t asked for this.

He didn't want another child. He wanted his son. He wanted Mar.

But he knew in his heart that he was far too stubborn to let this one die.

One of the newer guards watched, and realized soon enough that the boy was awake, yet he did not struggle.

"This one is too weak, sire," he sneered, looking down with contempt, "Let the waters claim him."

And perhaps it would have been the merciful thing to do.

But Damas hated being told what to do.

And Damas had always been the kind of man who refused to admit defeat.

The boy's body would realize it needed air soon enough, surely. Any moment now.

Usually candidates are fully lucid during this rite for a reason....

Two seconds passed. Then five. Nine. At eleven seconds, the boy's eyelids twitched like he was going to open them. Good.

"Push," Damas whispered, stubbornly willing him to fight, "Push, whelp."

The Unclaimed's body tensed as if in response and one hand slowly, ever so slowly, rose to break the surface as if he'd just realized he was underwater. Suddenly, his eyes snapped open -- horribly, familiarly blue -- and his fingers snatched at whatever he could reach, clawing weakly at Damas’s arm.

It was enough.

Damas yanked him up out of the water by the collar of his mutilated tunic and the boy coughed out a mouthful of water. There would be no going back after this. The second they'd entered the water, the Unclaimed -- the Foundling's -- fate was bound irrevocably to Damas’s.

Grimly, and as quickly as was socially acceptable, Damas recited the words that would make the ritual binding -- and would add one more duty to his endless litany of tasks.

"Take your first breath, child of the wastes. By this birth and the hands that bore you, you belong to the people of Spargus."

"To the king of Spargus," the second monk softly corrected him, cutting off the rest of the words traditionally spoken as the young man sucked in a desperate gasp of air. "It is you who has chosen to forego the First Trial to give him his birth-by-water early. His fate is solely in your hands, my lord."

Damas snarled softly. "There was no need for it to be so," he reproached.

Emotionlessly, he hauled the Foundling from the pools and dropped him back onto the pallet.

"Heal him."

"Of course, my lord," the monk murmured. "As he is now part of your household, do you consent to the use of city eco to treat your Foundling?"

"Don't call him that." Damas turned away to retrieve his staff.

"It is what he is," Rhys observed placidly. "As you are his Finder-"

"I didn't ask to find the whelp," Damas hissed, "None of you were going to give him his rites!"

He marched past his throne, towards the exit of the chamber, stonefaced.

"Put him back in the water until one of you returns with the eco. Inform me if he recovers."

Between the monks, Jak lay on the pallet and stared at the ceiling with wide, glassy eyes.

If anyone had been paying attention, they would have seen his pupils dilate unnaturally wide.

#fic prompts #writing prompts #jak and daxter #jus sanguinis fic #dadmas #king damas #jak and daxter au #worldbuilding #i needed to post this one first so the vocab in Jus Sanguinis with foundlings and finders will make sense #but also this scene actually ends up being very important later #reluctant dad Damas #he warms up to Jak when Jak disregards age restrictions and enters the Arena anyway #the guard guy and some like-minded Wastelanders comment sometimes that Jak is too weak to be a Wastelander. that he's better off a servant #Damas and Jak bond out of spite for those people tbh #until the Arena Incident. Then things get a little tense. And then the main story happens.#halloween fic

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ananxiousgenz · 1 month

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TPP HADESTOWN AU PART 6

whaaaaat part 6??? we're shifting into nureyev mode guys

tagging the regular crew: @smidgen-of-hotboy @ceaseless-watchers-special-girl @urjover @one-joe-spoopy @waters-and-the-wilde (@demonic-panini you're getting tagged too bc i've seen your reblogs :D)

it was so cold. and he was so damn hungry.

food and firewood had been scarce in recent years because the weather had been so brutal, but even then peter nureyev was no stranger to cold and hunger.

he had spent most of his childhood hopping between towns, traveling whenever the winds changed, always hungry for more food and better work. it didn't do him much good. things were always just as bad at the next town as they were at the last.

that was, until he met juno steel.

juno was.... a lot of things. a singer. a sweetheart. stubborn. gentle. clever. funny, and often unintentionally so. they met and got married in a rush, which would make most people nervous, but peter didn't mind. rita had been right about him, that day they first met at the bar.

juno steel was pretty damn good at making people feel alive again.

for the first couple months, things were good. no, not just good. they were wonderful. even if he wasn't singing that song he was so hellbent on finishing, something about juno's presence was so soothing. it made peter feel like he could finally begin to take off the layers of exhaustion and stolen identities he'd worn like armor for the past decade or two. those days, he would fall asleep in juno's arms, and when he dreamed, he dreamed of spring rains and new leaves and a world that had finally been spun back into tune. he dreamed of a future for himself and juno, with a little house and a garden, and maybe one of those big dogs he'd always been so fond of. even if things still weren't right with the world, he was starting to have hope- no, faith- that they would be. that juno's song would work.

he was finally beginning to feel human again. love will do that to you, I suppose.

and then the weather took a turn for the worse.

juno began spending more time on the song and less time working, the money began to dry up, and the food and firewood went with it. peter started waking up late at night to an empty bed, and the distant notes of the song floating up through their window, open to the frigid night air. once, he even caught juno muttering about the gods and their song in his sleep, and he was beginning to get worried.

peter tried, more than once, to ask him about the song, ask about the money, ask how long it would be until things were okay again, but it was like juno couldn't hear him. all he could hear was fractals of the song and its siren promise of spring again. he asked rita once if this was normal, and she said it was, and buddy, the woman who owned the bar, said it was nothing to worry about, but that didn't set his mind at ease at all.

because it seemed like there was nothing else to be done, peter nureyev decided to take matters into his own hands.

he began searching around for easy sources of food and warmth, but with most vegetation dead from the constant cold and wind, there was little to be found. peter was no stranger to pickpocketing and theft if it was absolutely necessary, but that became a bit difficult when there was almost no one around to pickpocket. jobs in the area were scarce as well, and peter wasn't sure how much longer they could rely on buddy's gracious nature for a place to stay. simply put, they were running out of options and time.

and that was how he ended up here, trudging through the snow and biting wind with an empty belly and little more than a shitty coat to keep him warm. he wasn't sure how long he had been out walking, but he knew it had been hours. each step was starting to feel like a herculean effort, and he was pretty sure if he risked removing his hands from the pockets of his coat, they just might fall off his body.

he didn't know where to go next. but he was getting dizzy, and large splotches of the world were beginning to disappear as his vision faded in and out. he was just. so. hungry.

hidden in the snow, he tripped over a ledge and landed hard on his knees. the pain rattled his already cold-brittle bones and he hissed out a pained breath through his teeth.

when peter had struggled to his feet, he saw he had tripped over the platform edge of a train station. it was completely deserted. funny, he could still remember the days when a station like this would have been packed with people going on vacation or traveling to visit family, maybe even looking to start a better life.

now, everyone knew. it was the same everywhere you went. so there was no point in trying to leave to find better weather or work or food.

he looked up from readjusting his coat and scarf to see that the station wasn't completely deserted after all. a tall man in a long, brown jacket stood at the other end of the platform.

peter and the man regarded each other for a moment before the man crossed the platform with large, heavy strides.

"good evening, sir. would you like a job?"

peter took a step back. ".......what?"

"I repeat: good evening, sir. would you like a job?"

the man spoke like a robot, clear and even, but unsettlingly emotionless. something about him wasn't right.

but the promise of a job.... it meant food. warmth. another month in the apartment buddy rented out to peter and juno. more time for juno to finish his song. and that was all he needed right? just a little more time.

peter narrowed his eyes. "how do you know I need a job?"

"your coat is torn in multiple places and covered with dirt, your glasses are broken, and you look like you have not paid attention to your personal hygiene in some time. poverty is a difficult thing to cover up. we employ only the very poor and truly desperate."

nureyev bit the inside of his cheek to keep himself from snapping. "fair enough."

the man smiled a bit at that, and handed him a slip of paper. peter opened his mouth to ask, but the man cut him off.

"if you wish to accept our offer, meet me back on this train platform at 5 o'clock. that is your train ticket. do not lose it. good day, my associate."

with that, the man turned around and walked off the platform, and out into the snow.

#i'm stopping here bc i can't keep going #the next one......#the next one will hurt #that's gonna go through the song "gone #so good luck #love yall <3 #the penumbra podcast #tpp #tpp hadestown au

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