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aita-blorbos · 2 months

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(Spoilers for Magnus Archives)

AITA for burning my childhood house down

Hello, Jon.

Apologies for the deception, but I wanted to make sure you started reading, so I thought it best not to announce myself.

I’m assuming you’re alone; you always did prefer to read your statements in private. (slightly strained) I wouldn’t try too hard to stop reading; there’s every likelihood you’ll just hurt yourself. So just listen.

Now, shall we turn the page and try again?

WIBTA for starting the apocalypse

I hope you’ll forgive me the self-indulgence, but I have worked so very hard for this moment, a culmination of two centuries of work. It’s rare that you get the chance to monologue through another, and you can’t tell me you’re not curious.

Why does a man seek to destroy the world?

It’s a simple enough answer: for immortality and power. Uninspired, perhaps, but – my god. The discovery, not simply of the dark and horrible reality of the world in which you live, but that you would quite willingly doom that world and confine the billions in it to an eternity of terror and suffering, all to ensure your own happiness, to place yourself beyond pain and death and fear.

It is an awful thing to know about yourself, but the freedom, Jon, the freedom of it all. I have dedicated my life to handing the world to these Dread Powers all for my own gain, and I feel… nothing but satisfaction in that choice.

I am to be a king of a ruined world, and I shall never die.

I believe there are far more people in this world that would take that bargain than you would ever guess. And I have beaten all of them.

Of course, this desire did not manifest overnight. When RS (87, M) first gathered our little band – L, S, and the rest – to discuss and hypothesize on the nature of the things he had learned from R, I felt what I believe we all felt: curiosity, and fear.

But as he compiled his taxonomy and codified his theories on the grand rituals, I began to develop a very specific concern. RS was so obsessed with his ideas on balance, even as our fellows began to experiment and fall to the service of our patrons.

I began to worry that if one of them successfully attempted their ritual, then I would be as much a victim as any, trapped in the nightmare landscape of a twisted world.

At first, I attempted prevention, but the cause seemed hopeless. The only way to ensure I did not suffer the tribulations of what I believed to be an inevitable transformation was to bring it about myself. So what began as an experiment soon became a race.

Beyond that, I was getting older, and mortality began to weigh more heavily on my mind. How much in this world is done because we fear death, the last and greatest terror?

I convinced RS to work on Millbank, leading him to design it as a temple to all the Fears in equilibrium, such that my own modifications to the design of the Panopticon went… unremarked.

It. Took. Years. for the dread of the prisoners to fully suffuse the place, and I was an old man before I made my first attempt at the Watcher’s Crown, sat in the center of that colossal eye, the great ring of cells encircling me like a coronet.

It was… flawed, of course, as all RS’s rituals were, and none of the inmates survived as the power I attempted to harness shook the building almost to pieces, and the murky swamp upon which the prison was built consumed it.

But it left me a gift: For sat in that watchtower, I could see everything I turned my mind to.

It was a dizzying power, and one I discovered I maintained even as I found vessels to extend my life. Of course, I had to make sure the location was kept under my control while I worked on revising my plans, and so I moved the organization I had founded to assist in my research down to London, and the Institute as you know it was born.

I’ll not bore you with details of my bodies and failures through those intervening years. Suffice to say I kept busy, both planning my own next attempt, and doing my best to stymie those others who tried versions of their own.

Surely my interpretation of the Watcher’s Crown had been incomplete; there had been some element of the ritual I had overlooked.

It was not until I met G (70, F) that things began to really come into focus.

You see, the role of Archivist has been part of the Beholding for as far back as my research can go. This isn’t uncommon for the Powers; most of the beliefs around them are guesswork and fallible human interpretation, but there are certain throughlines and consistencies that can be spotted, regardless of the trappings.

But G was unlike any other Archivist. She simply did not care about compiling experiences or collecting the fears of others. She was driven to stop those who served the Powers.

More than once I thought she must secretly be of the Hunt – but there was never that sick joy in her, that thrill of predator and prey. She had simply decided that this was her position in life, and went about it with a practicality that even I found disconcerting at times.

I once asked her what drove her, what had started her down that path. She told me the Desolation had killed her cat.

I don’t know if she was joking, and, to be honest, I could never bring myself to look into her mind and find out for sure.

In any case, G’s ruthless efficiency in derailing and collapsing rituals threw into stark relief a question that had been bothering me for almost a hundred and fifty years: In the whole span of humanity, why had nobody ever succeeded?

Perhaps there were a long line of G throughout history, but I found that hard to credit. Could it be, then, that there was something in the very concept of the rituals that meant they couldn’t succeed?

She was clearly having similar thoughts in that last year, all of which culminated with the People’s Church.

When I saw that she was making no preparations whatsoever to stop it, I realized she was putting into practice a theory, and one she couldn’t afford to be wrong. She was going to wait, and see if the unopposed ritual succeeded, or if it collapsed under its own strain as mine had all those years ago.

Knowing G, I’m sure she had a backup plan if she had miscalculated – but she had not. The ritual failed. And all at once, I realized what had to be done.

You see, the thing about the Fears is that they can never be truly separated from each other. When does the fear of sudden violence transition into the fear of hunted prey? When does the mask of the Stranger become the deception of the Spiral?

Even those that seem to exist in direct opposition rely on each other for their definition as much as up relies on down.

To try and create a world with only the Buried makes as much sense as trying to conceive a world with only down.

Every ritual tied itself so closely to a single power as to render itself impossible. They could bring their patron close, but never sever it from the others, and eventually it would be violently pulled back into the place next to reality where they dwell.

The solution, then, is simple: A new ritual must be devised which will bring through all the Powers at once. All fourteen, as I had hoped I could complete it before any new powers such as Extinction were able to fully emerge. All under the Eye’s auspices, of course. We mustn’t forget our roots.

And there was only one being that could possibly serve as a lynchpin for this new ritual: The Archivist. A position that had so recently become vacant, thanks to G’s ill-timed retirement plans.

Because the thing about the Archivist is that – well, it’s a bit of a misnomer.

It might, perhaps, be better named: The Archive.

Because you do not administer and preserve the records of fear, Jon. You are a record of fear, both in mind as you walk the shuddering record of each statement, and in body as the Powers each leave their mark upon you.

You are a living chronicle of terror.

Perhaps, then, if I could find an Archivist and have each Power mark them, have them confront each one and each in turn instill in them a powerful and acute fear for their life, they could be turned into a conduit for the coming of this – nightmare kingdom.

Do you see where I’m going, Jon?

It does tickle me, that in this world of would-be occult dynasties and ageless monsters, the Chosen One is simply that – someone I chose. It’s not in your blood, or your soul, or your destiny. It’s just in your own, rotten luck.

I’ll admit, my options were somewhat limited, but My God, when you came to me already marked by the Web, I knew it had to be you. I even held out some small hope you had been sent by the Spider as some sort of implicit blessing on the whole project, and, do you know what, I think it was.

Of course, I had to bide my time, get a measure of you before I began to push, learn how you worked – So I decided I would wait until something came for you, and see how you reacted. Attacks upon the Archives were not uncommon during G’s tenure, and, while she was always prepared, I made sure you would not be.

I reasoned if you couldn’t survive a single encounter, you were unlikely to make it through all fourteen. So, when JP attacked, I watched eagerly, one hand on the gas release from the start.

You acquitted yourself well enough, so I decided to see how far you would get, though I waited until the worms were in you before I pulled the lever. I needed to make sure you felt that fear all the way to your bones.

The discovery that one of the Stranger’s minions had infiltrated the Institute in the aftermath was certainly a pleasant bonus. Even if that sliver of paranoia, that vague wrongness you couldn’t quite place wouldn’t count as a mark, it was only a matter of time before it confronted you in a far more direct and affecting matter.

Admittedly, given the advent of the Unknowing, I needn’t have bothered. But what’s the old saying about hindsight?

More important to me was Sasha’s encounter with the Distortion. If it had taken an interest, then I very much wanted it to cross your path.

So I found one of its current victims and convinced her to make a statement.

Poor H (~20, F). I actually had to put her in a taxi myself, she was getting so lost in those narrow London side streets.

It worked, though.

Between the stabbing and at least two desperate flights into its doors – you’re marked very deeply by the Spiral.

JL (~70, M) was a surprise, of course, and I was forced to improvise. I had no idea how much G would have told him, and he could very easily have derailed everything if you learned too much too fast.

I justified it to myself saying I was going to have to send you out into the world anyway, if you were to encounter more of the Powers, but I can’t honestly pretend it wasn’t a… rather rash move.

Still. I’d requested Detective T (~25, F) be assigned to the case when they found G’s body in the hope that having a Hunter in the mix would eventually lead to a confrontation, and setting you up as a killer certainly hastened that.

Then it was just a matter of feeding you statements to lead you to a few Avatars I thought were likely to harm you – but probably would stop short of actually killing you.

J (27, F) served her purpose exactly as I had hoped, as did our dearly departed Mr. C, marking you for the Desolation and the Vast.

Honestly, I had – nothing to do with M (23, F) and her Slaughter adventure, but when I saw the situation, I made sure to trap her here, so when her rage bubbled over you would be right there, a ready target.

I didn’t foresee the mark coming from surgery gone wrong, but it was a very pleasant surprise.

The Unknowing was a distraction, but not an unwelcome one. For this to work, you needed more than just the marks; you needed power. And that was something the Unknowing served to test, though it posed no actual danger in the grand scheme of things.

And it did serve another purpose, of course. It inadvertently pushed you to confront death, a mark I had been very worried about trying to orchestrate. If I tried too early, you’d just die. Too late, and you might be powerful enough to see the attempt coming, and maybe even understand why.

As it was, it was just right, and once again, you came through with flying colors.

By this point, your abilities were coming along in leaps and bounds, and I was concerned that meeting face-to-face might end up with you – (sigh) – Knowing something you shouldn’t.

I had initially planned to go into hiding, but when your colleagues surprised me with the police, well. It was simple enough to cut a deal.

All that remained, then, were the Dark, the Flesh, the Buried, and the Lonely.

I was a little put out when that idiot JH (???, M) misinterpreted my letters and attacked the Institute too soon, before you were even out of the hospital, but then – Ho, you should have see my face when you voluntarily went to him.

I couldn’t see what happened in there, of course, but given how you came out, I’m very sure it counts as a mark.

I suspected the coffin might turn up again, and once it did, it was simply a matter of getting any, uh… restraining factors you might have had flying off on a wild goose chase, and waiting.

Honestly, Detective T has been proving invaluable through this process. I’d been racking my brains for months about what I could use to lure you in.

And, of course, I knew the Dark Sun was just sitting there waiting. So when it came time, I just whipped up another apocalypse and sent you on your merry way.

Then all that remained was the Lonely.

Poor P (~50, M). He really should have left well enough alone. Or just done what I’d asked in the first place.

Ah well. He knew what I was attempting, and was very unwilling to cooperate until I made him a little wager about M (same age as you, Jon, M).

Of course, he had no way of knowing that, in addition to setting you up for the final mark, he was giving you all the tools you needed to escape from it.

How is M, by the way? He looks well. You will keep an eye on him when all this is over, won’t you? He’s earned that.

And there, I think, we are brought just about up to date. I have enjoyed our little trip down memory lane, but past here lies only impatience.

You are prepared. You are ready. You are marked. The power of the Ceaseless Watcher flows through you, and the time of our victory is here.

Don’t worry, Jon. You’ll get used to it here, in the world that we have made.

Now. Repeat after me.

You who watch and know and understand none. You who listen and hear and will not comprehend. You who wait and wait and drink in all that is not yours by right.

Come to us in your wholeness.

Come to us in your perfection.

Bring all that is fear and all that is terror and all that is the awful dread that crawls and chokes and blinds and falls and twists and leaves and hides and weaves and burns and hunts and rips and bleeds and dies!

Come to us.

I – OPEN – THE DOOR!

#aita #am i the asshole #unreality

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spiral-man · 6 months

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Hey dudes,

Just wanted to wish everyone a happy-

Hello Jon,

Apologies for the deception, but I wanted to make sure you started reading, so I thought it best not to announce myself.

Now, shall we turn the page and try again?

Statement of Jonah Magnus regarding Jonathan Sims, The Archivist.

Statement begins.

Why does a man seek to destroy the world?

It is an awful thing to know about yourself, but the freedom, John, the freedom of it all. I have dedicated my life to handing the world to these Dread Powers all for my own gain, and I feel… nothing but satisfaction in that choice.

I am to be a king of a ruined world, and I shall never die.

I believe there are far more people in this world that would take that bargain than you would ever guess. And I have beaten all of them.

Of course, this desire did not manifest overnight. When Smirke first gathered our little band – Lukas, Scott, and the rest – to discuss and hypothesize on the nature of the things he had learned from Rayner, I felt what I believe we all felt: curiosity, and fear.

But as he compiled his taxonomy and codified his theories on the grand rituals, I began to develop a very specific concern. Smirke was so obsessed with his ideas on balance, even as our fellows began to experiment and fall to the service of our patrons.

I began to worry that if one of them successfully attempted their ritual, then I would be as much a victim as any, trapped in the nightmare landscape of a twisted world.

Beyond that, I was getting older, and mortality began to weigh more heavily on my mind. How much in this world is done because we fear death, the last and greatest terror?

I convinced Smirke to work on Millbank, leading him to design it as a temple to all the Fears in equilibrium, such that my own modifications to the design of the Panopticon went… unremarked.

It. Took. Years, for the dread of the prisoners to fully suffuse the place, and I was an old man before I made my first attempt at the Watcher’s Crown, sat in the center of that colossal eye, the great ring of cells encircling me like a coronet.

It was… flawed, of course, as all Smirke’s rituals were, and none of the inmates survived as the power I attempted to harness shook the building almost to pieces, and the murky swamp upon which the prison was built consumed it.

But it left me a gift: For sat in that watchtower, I could see everything I turned my mind to.

Surely my interpretation of the Watcher’s Crown had been incomplete; there had been some element of the ritual I had overlooked.

It was not until I met Gertrude Robinson that things began to really come into focus.

But Gertrude was unlike any other Archivist. She simply did not care about compiling experiences or collecting the fears of others. She was driven to stop those who served the Powers.

I once asked her what drove her, what had started her down that path. She told me the Desolation had killed her cat.

I don’t know if she was joking, and, to be honest, I could never bring myself to look into her mind and find out for sure.

In any case, Gertrude’s ruthless efficiency in derailing and collapsing rituals threw into stark relief a question that had been bothering me for almost a hundred and fifty years: In the whole span of humanity, why had nobody ever succeeded?

Perhaps there were a long line of Gertrude Robinsons throughout history, but I found that hard to credit. Could it be, then, that there was something in the very concept of the rituals that meant they couldn’t succeed?

She was clearly having similar thoughts in that last year, all of which culminated with the People’s Church.

Knowing Gertrude, I’m sure she had a backup plan if she had miscalculated – but she had not. The ritual failed. And all at once, I realized what had to be done.

Even those that seem to exist in direct opposition rely on each other for their definition as much as up relies on down.

To try and create a world with only the Buried makes as much sense as trying to conceive a world with only down.

And there was only one being that could possibly serve as a lynchpin for this new ritual: The Archivist. A position that had so recently become vacant, thanks to Gertrude’s ill-timed retirement plans.

Because the thing about the Archivist is that – well, it’s a bit of a misnomer.-

It might, perhaps, be better named: The Archive.

Because you do not administer and preserve the records of fear, John. You are a record of fear, both in mind as you walk the shuddering record of each statement, and in body as the Powers each leave their mark upon you.

You are a living chronicle of terror.

Do you see where I’m going, John?

Of course, I had to bide my time, get a measure of you before I began to push, learn how you worked – So I decided I would wait until something came for you, and see how you reacted. Attacks upon the Archives were not uncommon during Gertrude’s tenure, and, while she was always prepared, I made sure you would not be.

I reasoned if you couldn’t survive a single encounter, you were unlikely to make it through all fourteen. So, when Jane Prentiss attacked, I watched eagerly, one hand on the gas release from the start.

Admittedly, given the advent of the Unknowing, I needn’t have bothered. But what’s the old saying about hindsight?

More important to me was Sasha’s encounter with the Distortion. If it had taken an interest, then I very much wanted it to cross your path.

So I found one of its current victims and convinced her to make a statement.

Poor Helen. I actually had to put her in a taxi myself, she was getting so lost in those narrow London side streets.

It worked, though.

Between the stabbing and at least two desperate flights into its doors – you’re marked very deeply by the Spiral.

Jurgen Leitner was a surprise, of course, and I was forced to improvise. I had no idea how much Gertrude would have told him, and he could very easily have derailed everything if you learned too much too fast.

I… justified it to myself saying I was going to have to send you out into the world anyway, if you were to encounter more of the Powers, but I can’t honestly pretend it wasn’t a… rather rash move.

Still. I’d requested Detective Tonner be assigned to the case when they found Gertrude’s body in the hope that having a Hunter in the mix would eventually lead to a confrontation, and setting you up as a killer certainly hastened that.

Then it was just a matter of feeding you statements to lead you to a few Avatars I thought were likely to harm you – but probably would stop short of actually killing you.

Jude served her purpose exactly as I had hoped, as did our dearly departed Mr. Crew, marking you for the Desolation and the Vast.

Honestly, I had – nothing to do with Melanie and her Slaughter adventure, but when I saw the situation, I made sure to trap her here, so when her rage bubbled over you would be right there, a ready target.

I didn’t foresee the mark coming from surgery gone wrong, but it was a very pleasant surprise.

As it was, it was just right, and once again, you came through with flying colors.

By this point, your abilities were coming along in leaps and bounds, and I was concerned that meeting face-to-face might end up with you – (sigh) – Knowing something you shouldn’t.

I had initially planned to go into hiding, but when your colleagues surprised me with the police, well. It was simple enough to cut a deal.

All that remained, then, were the Dark, the Flesh, the Buried, and the Lonely.

I was a little put out when that idiot Jared Hopworth misinterpreted my letters and attacked the Institute too soon, before you were even out of the hospital, but then – Ho, you should have see my face when you voluntarily went to him.

I couldn’t see what happened in there, of course, but given how you came out, I’m very sure it counts as a mark.

I suspected the coffin might turn up again, and once it did, it was simply a matter of getting any, uh… restraining factors you might have had flying off on a wild goose chase, and waiting.

Honestly, Detective Tonner has been proving invaluable through this process. I’d been racking my brains for months about what I could use to lure you in.

And, of course, I knew the Dark Sun was just sitting there waiting. So when it came time, I just whipped up another apocalypse and sent you on your merry way.

Then all that remained was the Lonely.

Poor Peter. He really should have left well enough alone. (cruel laugh) Or just done what I’d asked in the first place.

Ah well. He knew what I was attempting, and was very unwilling to cooperate until I made him a little wager about Martin.

Of course, he had no way of knowing that, in addition to setting you up for the final mark, he was giving you all the tools you needed to escape from it.

How is Martin, by the way? He looks well. You will keep an eye on him when all this is over, won’t you? He’s earned that.

And there, I think, we are brought just about up to date. I have enjoyed our little trip down memory lane, but past here lies only impatience.

You are prepared. You are ready. You are marked. The power of the Ceaseless Watcher flows through you, and the time of our victory is here.

Don’t worry, John. You’ll get used to it here, in the world that we have made.

Now. (cruel, cruel laugh) Repeat after me.

You who watch and know and understand none. You who listen and hear and will not comprehend. You who wait and wait and drink in all that is not yours by right.

Come to us in your wholeness.

Come to us in your perfection.

Come to us.

I – OPEN – THE DOOR!

#the magnus archives #jonathan sims #jonah magnus #elias bouchard #tma #martin blackwood #jonmartin #mag 160 #the watcher #the watchers crown #the eye #the eye opens

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luneariann · 11 months

Text

Bsd headcanons!

- Kouyou, 27 yr as of current canon

- Kouyou started dressing in traditional clothing in an effort to seem older/inspire more respect when she first became an executive, and it stuck. now instructs all the people under her wing to do the same

- Actually a huge fan of romance novels, Chuuya started reading them cuz of her

- Tea snob

- WILL judge you to your face in the most convoluted language, you will only realize you were insulted in like three business days

- She has freckles but she covers them up w makeup, Yosano loves them

- Yosano, 27 yr old

- When she was first adopted by Fukuzawa she tried doing things she thought kids her age did in an effort to feel more "normal" it didn't rly work

- Has won scariest ADA member four years in a row, shes both very proud of that title and very protective of it, actively does scarier shit once the elections come back around each year

- Wine snob!

- Veryyy blunt, she got it from Ranpo (Fukuzawa would call him a bad influence except he theyre both saying what hes thinking so)

- Dazai, 26

- Has tried to be a plant dad to win a bet w Ranpo, failed miserably, none of his plants are alive but theyre all lovingly named anyway, he talks to their decomposing corpses sometimes

- The worst fashion sense known to man, he KNOWS how to dress he just makes the active choice to dress like a bowling alley carpet when given the chance

- When Atsushi made him a friendship bracelet and he had to be excused to go to the bathroom and compose himself

- Hes Yokohamas local cryptid

- Chuuya, 26

- Loves romance novels, its his greatest secret

- Dazai gave him a bunch of plants as a surprise gift during his brief plant dad phase, he frantically learned everything he could abt them so he could take care of them properly

- He cuts his own hair, yes it is uneven on purpose, he thinks he looks cool (he does, but only because hes Chuuya so he can pull off literally anything) (yes i am biased why do you ask)

- Fantastic cook

- Piercings <333 he would get a tattoo but he doesnt rly do well with needles (cough trauma cough)

- Atsushi, 18

- Had a "sleepover" with Kyouka when he realized neither of them had ever had one, it was great they did eachothers nails and watched romcoms together, Kyouka decided she didnt really like them but Atsushi did so they watched them anyways

- Made everyone friendship bracelets one time on said "sleepover"!

- ALSO has an atrocious fashion sense, its Dazais influence <//3

- Kyouka has made it her personal mission to fix his haircut over time (he cuts his hair with kitchen scissors, she was horrified when she saw)

- Akutagawa, 19

- a full on trad goth, he goes simple for work tho

- Hes a gatekeeper, sorry yall </3

- Carries around an umbrella in the sunlight cuz he burns rly rly easily

- Gets cold REALLY easily too

- The most socially inept man you will ever meet, Gin had to cover for him A LOT when they were children

- When he first realized he felt something for Atsushi he not only did not realize that his heart speeding up around him was a crush thing, but thought it was excitement for a fight, so he just ended up challenging him to an absurd amount of fights, going as far as to go to the ADA to pick fights

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giggly-squiggily · 5 months

Text

A New Kind Of Mystery (Bungo Stray Dogs)

Whoops my hand slipped :D Heyo everyone! Today I bring you some Ranpoe cause I can :3 This is a gift for the amazing @intheticklecloset cause why the heck not? >:3 I hope you like it friend!

Cloud 9 (Taglist Peeps):

@myreygn @thatbigbisexual29 @dirtpie39 @duckymcdoorknob @cupcake-spice13 @t-wordiiish @rachi-roo @chibisstuff @imjusthere07, @sevenincubistolemyheart

Summary: Books are Poe's life, but so is Ranpo and all his antics. Stressed about both, he inadvertently finds a way to make both work.

“Eeheehehehhe, Ranpooooo!” Poe squeaked, nearly breaking his pen in half when fingers pinched his ribs. “Please, I’m wohoohorking!”

“You always say that!” Ranpo teased, snuggling closer to the shy author as he carried on kneading his sides, earning even more giggles and squeaks. “Play with meeeeee~”

“Ahehahahaha, R-Rahhahahanpo STAHP!” Poe twisted around, catching the detective’s hands with his. “I reahally need to gehet this done. I can’t play right now.”

“Okay.” Ranpo nodded, a touch of hurt coloring his smile as he got up to go. “Well…call me when you’ve got down time, okay?” He turned to leave, whistling as he walked to the door.

“R-Right.” Poe nodded, giving the other one last smile as the detective disappeared, shutting the door behind him. When he was out of earshot, the author let his shoulders droop, head hitting the desk with a low groan. Why did books have to take so long? Mysteries couldn’t write themselves, and he always wanted to give Ranpo his best self when presenting a new book. Breaks were rare, and even those mainly consisted of naps and remembering to eat; not much else.

Ranpo, bless his heart, was so patient with him, but Poe couldn’t shake the image of that sad expression. He needed to make it right! He started to get up-

The sound of a car pulling out stopped him in his place. Looking out the window, he watched Ranpo head back to the Agency.

Shit- missed his chance.

“Gggggggrr?” Karl hopped onto the desk, tilting his head curiously up at Poe. The author stroked his head, trying not to cry.

“Oh Karl…I’m the worst boyfriend ever!” He moaned pathetically, gathering the racoon up in his arms. “I can’t even make time for Ranpo! He just wants to play- and here I am working on books-”

Books. Wait a minute…

“Oh…OH!” The ideas were turning in his mind. Karl climbed up on Poe’s head as the author gathered his things- a notebook for outlining, his typewriter for the final product, and most importantly; a framed photo of him and Ranpo the other gifted him when they first started dating.

“Don’t you worry, Ran. What you’re about to read is gonna be my greatest work.”

~~~

Greatest probably wasn’t the best choice of words, but it was certainly his fastest work.

Poe all but leaped for joy the morning he finished it- it was rough around the edges and didn’t have a title, but it was perfect! He could refine the work later- for now he needed to get this to Ranpo!

Taking the world's fastest shower, he texted his boyfriend an assortment of words that he hoped conveyed “Meet me at the park” before flying out the door, running as fast as he could, Karl hanging on to him by the back of his coat. The cold winter chill colored his cheeks, and his breath was frosty without his usual coat, but he couldn’t wait a second longer.

To his glee, Ranpo was where he wanted him, slurping on hot chocolate and kicking his feet against the bench. When their eyes met, he raised his cup in greeting.

“Poe-” A crash! A flop- Poe came tumbling before him in a heap of limbs and cloth, Karl leaping for safety at the last second. When the world stopped spinning, he found himself on his back, Ranpo’s wide eyes looking down at him.

“Poe! Are you okay?” Instead of answering, the author pulled out the book- holding it up to him.

“It’s done! Here.” He gasped out. “Please, take it.”

Ranpo blinked. Then his eyes narrowed, irritated. “I haven’t seen or heard from you for two straight weeks and this is the first thing you say to me?” Hurt swallowed his anger as Ranpo sat back, hiding in his hat. “And here I thought you were just excited to see me…”

Oh no- this is not how he wanted it to go! Poe sat up, scooting closer to his boyfriend. “I’m sorry, Ranpo- truly I am! I was just so determined to get this book done. It’s a gift for you.”

“A gift?” Ranpo looked at him, somewhat guarded. “Not just me reviewing it?”

“Well- I would like to hear your thoughts on it after you finish it, but yes. I made it especially tailored for you and you alone.” Poe nodded, shaky as he held out the present. “I understand if you don’t want it. Not after me ignoring you for so long-”

“I’ll read it.” Ranpo took the book, running his fingers along the spine. “But I have a condition.”

“Oh?”

“After I read this- I want you to take a proper break from your work.” Ranpo gave him a stubborn glare, cheeks puffed some. “You’re my boyfriend, and I have a two week vacation coming up. I want to spend it with you. If you promise me that, I’ll give you my full attention to this book.”

Poe was..hesitant. He’d only ever taken short half day breaks from writing; never a full vacation. What would happen if he did stop writing for two weeks? Looking at Ranpo, a worse thought occurred.

What would happen if he didn’t?

“Okay.” He nodded, prioritizing. “Two week vacation.”

Ranpo seemed pleased, lightening up some. “Okay. Whenever you’re ready.”

Poe nodded, taking the book. He flipped it open and began the tale.

~~~

When Ranpo came to, he was in the usual setup. A mansion- old and Victoria. A handful of staff- maids and butlers and gardener’s alike. There was a dead body in the room to his left- he needed to figure out what happened.

A classic mystery, if not a little simple. He already knew who did it. He was about to voice the culprit-

But stopped. That wasn’t the deal.

“Okay Poe- I’ll play by the rules.” He decided, even if he was kinda disappointed. The way Poe all but crashed into him to deliver this book- how he made it out to be something special- he figured it’d be a bit more complex than this. He went over to the room where the body laid, ready to get this over with. “What’s in here- ehehehehehe!”

The second he touched the doorknob, something ticklish shot up his arm, making him retract and giggle. The detective stared, looking between the doorknob and his hand. There was nothing there that could do it, but it felt as if someone brushed his palm with a feather duster. He knew this was the right door, and yet…

Like a drop of pigment into clear water, Ranpo’s disappointment faded into curious excitement. “Now what is this all about?” He grinned, slowly reaching to touch the knob again. The second he touched it, he was giggling once more, barely hanging on as he twisted the knob. “Cohoohhome on, I knohohoohow this is the rohoohohohohoom!”

Eventually, he got it open. Sure enough, a body was there- dressed in fancy attire and wearing a racoon mask. Ranpo huffed for air as he rubbed his palm, eyes landing on a note pinned to the body.

So you found my victim. Can you find me?

~The Tickler

Ranpo snorted at the name, flipping the paper over to find the same racoon mask imprinted on the back. A feather hung off one of the ears in the drawing. When Ranpo looked up, the same feather was snug behind the mask on the body.

“So this is what you meant when you said it was for me.” Ranpo smiled as he gathered the soft item, twirling it in his fingers. “Okay Poe- you want to play? Let’s play.”

~~~

Ranpo carried on the mystery, growing more giggly as he went. Every correct clue he found had that same ticklish touch, sometimes on his hands if it was an item he had to gather, other times along his sides when he walked through the correct door. By the time he got to the culprit’s location, he was a flustered mess of laughter, rubbing his sides to rid himself of the ghostly feeling. “Ohoohohokay, Mr. Tickler. I finally found you!” He pushed open the door-

And was ambushed by a racoon!

“Ah! Ahehahahhahahaha! Geahahahahahhahah!” He squealed, trying and failing to catch the fluffy creature as it dug into his sides, back to his face so it’s fluffy tail swished and flicked against his nose and neck. “Kahhahahaharl, wahahhahait! It’s yohohohohohohohou!”

“So you figured it out.” The racoon cooed, sounding just like Poe as it carried on tickling him, nuzzling so much the detective was in pieces beneath him, struggling to curl up. “Didn’t expect little ol me to be so devious, did you?”

“Yohohoohohohu gohohohooohoht mehehehehehe! I shohohoohhuld have knohohohohown you’d be so dehehehehehvious!” The detective reached into his pocket with some difficulty, clenching his fist around a very important item. “Buhuhuhut you faahhahaailed to remememeeber ohohohohohone dehehehehtail!”

“Oh? And what would that be?” The raccoon asked, fur standing up when Ranpo shot his fist out. “What-Ah!”

“Yoohohohu forgot I hahahve a wehahapon!” Ranpo sat up, the feather in hand wiggling against the racoon’s face and ears as it squeaked and thrashed in his arms. “Now Karl- or should I say Poe. You’re the culprit!”

The world around them changed. Ranpo soon found himself once again in the park, Poe’s ability ending and returning him to the real world. His body tingled with mirth, and the feather was no more. Before him, Poe was a mess of giggles on the floor, scrunched up and giggly. “Aheheahhaha…yohohou got mehehehe.”

“I sure did! Ehehehehe!” Ranpo raised his chin with pride, something soft replacing the feeling after. “You really did that for me.”

“Ohohof course I did. It’s the least I can do after ignoring you.” Poe sat up, hiding in his bangs as he pulled on his sleeves. “I prioritized my work over spending time with you, and I’m sorry for that. Going forward, I’m gonna work on finding a balance.”

Ranpo took it in, considering. Then he smiled, crawling over until he was side by side with his boyfriend, lying his head against his shoulder.

“I appreciate that. I don’t mind you writing; it’s your passion. Just…remember I’m still here, okay?” He felt Poe take his hand, squeezing it tightly.

“I will. I promise.”

“Good. Cause if you don’t…” Ranpo didn’t give any warning, shooting his hand out and squeezing his side. Poe yelped, falling backwards and taking the detective with him. “I’ll tickle you until you die!”

“Ah! Rahahhahanpo, the groohohohohund’s coohohohohld!”

“Is it now? I’ll just have to warm you up!”

“AH YOHOHOHOUR HANDS ARE COHOOHOHLD!”

“Hm…gotta warm those up too.” Ranpo giggled as he slid his hands up Poe’s shirt, delighted at how giggly he got. “Get ready, Poe. These upcoming two weeks are gonna be full of this stuff!”

“Ahehahhhahaha! Ihihihih’m alehhahhahahdy lohohoooohking fohohohhoward to ihihihihihit!” The words made Ranpo’s heart skip.

This was gonna be a good vacation.

Thanks for reading!

#BSD #edgar allen poe #ranpo edogawa #ranpoe #tickle #tickle fic #AHHHHH! :D #I had too much fun writing this one akljreajreakjrkaje #it's a bit experimental but what the heck #We love a risk here and there lols

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dabblingreturns · 2 years

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What a gift young Gideon nav must have been to Aiglamine. She spent her youth as a soldier dropping into battle like an avenging angel, and her middle age as a teacher in a cave teaching children to fight. She went from glory to a backwater school teacher

And her pupils are okay...some are probably good. One, the cav heir is remarkably bad but oh well thats his father's problem.

Then all her students die except the useless cav heir and a little redheaded baby.....years and years or care....or relationships....all gone and all you have is sad abused ortus and his poetry.

Then Aiglamine relize that the little hell raiser with the flaming head and messy paint has the balance of a much older child.

Aiglamine goes out to train and begin to notice a shadow. Not just following her path but also her movments. So Aiglamine start here or there to help the child. To correct her grip or fix stance....

As Gideon grows and Aiglamne grow old she relizes relize that she has a student with the potential to be a legend.

Aiglamine thought that she would be forgotten but she is going to be remembered for teaching a once in a millenia warrior....

And Gideon prickly and disrespectful and Aiglamine is not her mother.....Aiglamine can't care for her as both her teacher and her parrent....and Gideon could be the greatest.....so Aiglamine makes the choice to be a teacher....

And if she can just get her protégé safely and legally into the cohort then Gideon can shine brighter than Diminicus

But Aiglamine hadn't counted on Harrows control. That Harrow wouldn't let Gideon go.

So when the letter comes from the emperor, and harrow says that she must have Gideon as her cav Aiglamine does everything she can to make sure her legacy, her protégé, her one last triumph has a chance.

Because Aiglamine needs Gideon to be great. And aiglame vouchsafes Gideon. Because how could anything hurt her unkillable girl. The ninth house hasn't duller her flame nor slowed the flash of her teeth.

And Aiglamine is sad to hear that ortus died...but she cant care more.

So Aiglamine sends her girl out to shine....

And then she received a note that Gideon has died along with a a whole crop of new students....students who can't measure up.

And she can't belive fully that Gideon is dead...If her girl is dead...then where is the body....why hasn't anyone sent back her body? It's not like her body is hard to loose

Then as the ninth house is attacked Gideon and harrow returns....except gideon Nav is dead....she shows Aiglamine the hole in her chest.....the fact that she is a prince now, and still moving is just confusing. And harrows someone else completely but Gideon is dead

Where is her sword....the two handed you taught her to use for 8 long years

Where is her breath...the breath that cursed the house for 18 long years

What have they done to your child?

What are they doing to her body?

#the locked tomb #nona the ninth #gideon the ninth #harrow the ninth #tlt #gideon nav #nona the ninth spoilers #ntn spoilers #aiglamene #kiriona gaia

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evil-flesh-eating-ai · 3 months

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top 13 deaths in the magnus archives

SPOILERS AHEAD!!!

Hello, John. Apologies for the deception, but I wanted to make sure you started reading, so I thought it best not to announce myself.

I’m assuming you’re alone; you always did prefer to read your statements in private. I wouldn’t try too hard to stop reading; there’s every likelihood you’ll just hurt yourself. So just listen.

Now, shall we turn the page and try again?

Statement of Jonah Magnus regarding Jonathan Sims, The Archivist.

Statement begins.

[A SLAP ON THE TABLE – OR A CRACK? SPOOKY.]