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moth-song-archives · 3 years

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The Insatiable Flow of Time (1/8)

I remembered that I can make posts here too huh! Anyways, I wrote a post-MAG200 fic <3

I’ll reblog it again with the link to ao3 if you’d prefer reading it there :D

Rating: Teens and Up Archive Warnings: Choose Not To Use Categories: F/F Relationships: Georgie/Melanie, Georgie & Jon, Jonmartin (mentioned) Characters: Georgie Barker, Melanie King, Jonathan Sims, the Admiral, Basira Hussain (mentioned), Rosie Zampano (mentioned), Martin Blackwood (mentioned)

Additional tags: Diary/Journal × post mag200 × Post-Canon × Canon Compliant × Rated for swearing and me doing my best to write a fitting epilogue for my most fave story of all time × Bittersweet × Hurt/Comfort × Grief/Mourning × Gentle-Sad-Soft × Fluff × Non-Sexual Intimacy × Tenderness × Generally Hopeful Ending × Ambiguous/Open Ending × Catharsis × You know how TMA is a tragedy? ... yeah × Hope Punk × dealing with the fallout of surviving a literal apocalypse × Moving on and letting go × Trans Georgie Barker × Nonbinary Melanie King × Melanie uses any pronouns but needs to (re)discover this first × and is then mainly referred to with they/them pronouns for diary-simplicity × Melanie is ace in my heart ♡ × Jon is also enby but it only gets referred to in passing × Georgie has a Type™ × Character Study × i love them all so much × Nonbinary aspec author × it's very hope punk and somft BUT ALSO VERY SAD × in like a cathartic way × because i like causing pain :') × pre-written and updates every 2-3 days

I think I might use it to… rediscover myself. That’s what I liked about journaling in the first place, I think. Getting to think about things outside of my own head, putting it out there so I could move on? Maybe it’s time to return to old coping mechanisms and try again. Even if I haven’t really changed. Even if I should’ve changed. Right?

As the world tries to piece itself back together, Georgie grapples with her past, her present, and her future by keeping a diary. She also keeps having this strange, recurring dream that involves Jon. Post MAG200.

Finished at ~12k, will upload over the next couple of days <3

Day 3 - Evening

Melanie is sleeping. Basira is also sleeping, on the sofa in the living-room. She doesn’t really know what to do with herself, these days, so for now she’s staying with us.

I am not sleeping. I’m so far beyond tired that I can’t sleep anymore. It’s been... how long? More than a day, certainly. I’m at the kitchen table and the night outside is darker than any I’ve ever seen. There are no street lights and a million more stars than I could’ve ever imagined. I wish Melanie could see them too :(

Back before everything in my life went wrong, I used to be really good at this. I think I got my first diary when I was... seven, maybe eight? I used to be obsessed with it. I guess I stopped writing in college, after the incident, because it felt... wrong? Like I was lying to myself, trying to fabricate emotions that just weren’t there, keeping up with things that no longer seemed important or note-worthy. Mainly, I couldn’t make myself care about anyone or anything anymore.

I think I want to find that person again, now that it’s over. Try and… move on? And Melanie encouraged me :) I guess that’s the main reason. I found this notebook in one of the domains when we were rescuing people. I don’t know what I originally wanted to do with it, but I did end up forgetting about it until I went through my bag again today. It smells like fire and is a bit singed in places, but I kind of like that? I think I might use it to… rediscover myself. ...that sounds very pretentious, but this is just for me, so...

And I like that it’s just cheap paper scribbled on with a shitty biro. Maybe I’ll just burn it when all the thoughts are on the paper instead of in my head. When I can sleep again. And the prize for the most dramatic way of closure goes to Georgie Barker! But yeah. That’s what I liked about journaling in the first place, I think. Getting to think about things outside of my own head, putting it out there so I could move on? Maybe it’s time to return to old coping mechanisms and try again. Even if I haven’t really changed. Even if I should’ve changed. Right?

But I don’t feel any different. Shouldn’t I feel different, now that they’re gone? The entities, I mean, though Jon and Martin seem to be gone, too.

I keep remembering Martin’s expression when he told us to go early, how upset he was.

Honestly, I can’t say I’m surprised. As long as I’ve known Jon, he’s always done what he thought best. It used to drive me up the walls, but I also admired it, I think? I never would’ve told him that, but… Well. He’s gone now.

It’s over, all of it.

And I still can’t sleep.

And Melanie is still blind, and I still feel empty, and my fear still hasn’t come back. Everyone who died is still dead, and the trauma is still there. There were angry mobs in the streets, and people got killed.

I can’t quite believe that Jon and Martin went with them. I can’t believe they left us behind to explain the entire mess.

We’re back in our old flat. It’s so weird to be back home. Everything looks the same, as though no time passed at all. Nobody knows what date it is. How long were we caught in there?

Outside, it feels like spring. There are birds everywhere, singing their hearts out. Sounds like more birds than there used to be, too. The trees are leafless and dead-looking, but Basira pointed out that they’re getting there... and it feels like spring.

I haven’t slept properly in 3 days because the questions keep me awake. It’s not that I’m worrying, really, just… thinking? I think I could sleep better if the worry had come back, but it hasn’t.

As far as we can tell, all modern devices are broken, too. Computers and phones and such, digital cameras, generators... we don’t even know what the rest of the world looks like. I hadn’t realised how much gets controlled by computers these days, we don’t even have central heating or water access in our flat. Rumours and news are spreading person-to-person, like in the Olden Days. We only have emergency systems that were installed in case of nation-wide blackout. I guess I’m glad we don’t actually have a blackout, we just need to get the computers back to work. (If I understood it correctly.)

Melanie thinks it’ll all come back to life in a few more days. I certainly hope so. I also hope I’ll stop feeling like this. Or rather, not feeling like anything. It’s so strange. Like in the first days after the incident, when I just felt numb?

They’re gone! I want to feel like a person again! What if I never get myself back?

They’re actually gone.

What will we do with our lives now? Basira isn’t the only one who feels uprooted. I think the whole world feels like that right now.

I hope my computer comes back soon. I miss music, and making things. My photos, all those memories.

I don’t want to lose all of that. I want to start fresh, but not without records of the past.

…I’ve had a lot of time to think about that, specifically. Records, and futures.

What the Ghost is done, right? There’s no fun in creepy ghost stories if you’ve been through an actual, living nightmare.

I think I want to start new with that, too. When everything works again, that is.

New world, new future, new podcast. I like that. I think. Make a record of what happened through eyewitness accounts? Or is that too similar to the Statements… then again, it’ll be more like interviews. And I think we shouldn’t forget.

We owe them that much.

I’ll have to talk it over with Melanie tomorrow. Maybe.

We’ll see.

God, I think maybe… maybe I can actually try and sleep tonight. Writing does seem to help.

Note to self: thank Laverne for suggesting it. (Also for being there for Melanie. And listening to us. And stopping with that culty nonsense. She’s the only one we found so far, but she actually listened to us. Strange to think that in this world, I have to be grateful for someone not worshipping me for some dumb reason?!)

Day 4 - Morning

So. Three things.

1) I did manage to fall asleep after all! I’ve always been a bit of an insomniac, especially after the incident, so actually getting some proper rest felt really good.

2) I somehow woke up right as the sun went up! I think I’ve never seen a dawn this beautiful? I watched it from the bedroom window and I’ll definitely describe it to her in detail when she wakes up! The Admiral was sleeping on our pillow, right next to her head, snuggled up against the back of her neck and shoulder... it was so cute. I can’t believe my phone and camera still don’t work! Melanie has that old polaroid camera somewhere but we haven’t found it yet, and I wish my art skills were any better. I did draw a sketch of the two of them though. I’ll cherish it forever, no matter how shitty it is :’)

After everything that happened, the Admiral is still a bit weird around us. He started out really aggressive, calmed down a bit, and now… now he’s weirdly skittish? Meows a lot. Keeps walking around the flat. The only thing that even remotely returns him to how he used to be is tuna. It’s weird.

But seeing him like that, with Melanie? I love him so much.

I think he’ll be okay.

But before I forget, and why I actually got out the diary at this ungodly hour instead of trying to go back to sleep now that the sun is up…

3) I had a really nice dream. And... I don’t even know. I think I want to try and hold onto the feeling? I don’t think I’ve felt that… deeply… in a long while. Maybe the last time was before all this, when we decided to move in together. Before all of this happened.

For a moment, I felt like I was whole again :’)

It didn’t even have Melanie in it, which is very rude tbh. I think Jon was there? The Admiral, too. We were just chilling on the sofa, watching netflix I think... It felt so... mundane??? Casual, somehow??? Like it was normal to feel like that and I just... I want THAT. I want to feel like that again, instead of this weird… blank nothingness? I want that all the time, not just when I’m riding a high or feeling so terrible that it pierces through.

I don’t know if that makes sense but this is just for me anyway so I suppose it doesn’t have to.

I think I should feel bad about Jon being gone, but I still don’t even feel relief at it being over. Just this vague numbness.

I hate it so much, except I don’t, actually, I just know that I should?

Melanie keeps saying that I need a therapist but if we’re being honest here, I guess I need one the least? The whole goddamn world needs therapy right now. Including the therapists. And I’ve been dealing with this for a long time now.

I guess I keep hoping it’ll just go away somehow.

Anyways. Enough introspection, I’m going back to bed. I hope I don’t wake them! :)

Day 4 - Evening

It’s night now, the sun went down hours ago. We have a bunch of candles, but I’m trying to use them sparingly, so I just have one lit. I put a glass of water next to the candle so now the light gets magnified a bit more. It’s a weird atmosphere, but I kinda like it? Feels… cozy! :)

I’m still not over how everything looks the same, but nothing works like it did before, and there’s this… burden? This collective trauma everyone went through. It feels so surreal. So many things are still broken… it’s like we woke from a collective nightmare, but pieces of it still remain, floating around.

And we just sent it away with the tapes. I really hope those other worlds are doing better than us, but what else could we have done? I… try not to think about it. I know I should, but I still can’t really bring myself to care, or even feel overly guilty for that? …

Melanie fell asleep with her head in my lap half an hour ago. I was reading to her. She says she loves the sound of my voice, so I’ve started doing that in the evenings. (I still love that we had separate crushes from a distance on each other for ages because of youtube and WTG. We’ve been talking about that a lot, too.)

She still has nightmares, but apparently she’s also been having good dreams, and she looks so peaceful right now. The last few days have been a lot, but in comparison to before, and even before then…

It’s over. We made it out. We get to have a future together. I still can’t quite believe it. :)

I guess I’m writing again (despite already having done so in the morning) because it somehow helped yesterday and I’m hoping to replicate that. And I have a lot to think about. It’s been a long day.

Basira is still out there, helping out where she can. I think she feels guilty. Melanie says she doesn’t because there was no other choice, but I know her, and I know that she’s lying.

There’s always another choice. We just say that to make it easier to bear.

I hope she knows she can come talk to me when she feels ready to tackle it.

I hope I ever feel able to tackle it myself. No. I will talk to her when I’m ready.

We did talk a bit about things, of course. Melanie doesn’t really remember her dreams, most of the time, but apparently she’s been alternating between horrifying nightmares and a really nice, recurring one that sometimes happens after the nightmares. She doesn’t really remember much of it, but she mentioned it after I told her about the Jon dream. Not what it was about, just… in general.

From the way she talked about it, I think her dad might have been in it? I’m actually not sure, but the way she smiled…

She has that little smile on her lips again, even now, dreaming. The soft one she gets when she talks about good things. About him.

About me.

(I still can’t believe she chose me. How impossibly lucky? How did I ever deserve her? But then, it’s not about that, is it? She is mine, and I am hers, and… life will be good. I know it will be.)

She’s been smiling a lot more, these past few days.

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marlasomething · 2 years

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Cabin In The Clouds (TMA #Evento1Aniversario)

Hello there! A Discord Spanish-speaking TMA fanbase (SEOSQUIEREMUCHO) have organised this teeny tiny event trying to put together writing and drawings set in canon for the 1st Anniversary of MAG200 (already did the compulsory relisten and crying and, man, have I heard it like five times? I don't know; I just know I look STUPID while listening to it bcs I get sooooo expressive)

Anyways, here it is my piece: a study on The Scottish Cottage but...it isn't fluff...well, you'll see!

Forgive all my quick tipper and non-native speaker mistakes,

Marla

(Now also on AO3!)

Every person on planet Earth understands that, every single time a human being is born, there is part of those in charge of raising them (or, if you may, construct them) that will turn into an undeniable influential piece of what would eventually construct the full-craved individual said person is due to become.

It doesn’t seem to be such a straight-forward concept when it comes to buildings or any other artificial lifeless items, though.

However, the fact that we do not perceive so (or, in most cases, it could be argued, we do not wish to perceive so) doesn’t mean that it is not happening. For, isn’t a hand-made scarf always ever so slightly more warm and comfortable that the one manufactured, even when said piece of clothing is of the highest quality?

Of course, this is not equally remarkable for every object of study we might take into consideration. There is a plethora of variables to take into account; from the nature of our subject of study to the historical and cultural context in which it was created and, later on, used.

One clear example of great influence through the flesh-creators of these tangible tokens is the one to be noticed in cabins and other sorts of small habitable architectural pieces.

As it is the cabin we are about to analyse in this chapter.

In the middle of a Scottish valley stands a cosy wooden cabin, surrendered by hills high enough for the local people to casually refer to them as mountains, and yet still being obviously just barely enough worth of their original classification as Hills. So short they were in comparison to, almost, any other hill that anyone from a land with actual considerable mountains would just laugh at the notion of said geographic accident being referred as anything even remotely close to a mountain.

Said wooden cabin was first made after the end of that dreadful period of time that was then known, not without certain level of naïveté, as The Great War.

It was built by one Joshua Fielding (no relation to the dreadful man that will forever be studied as one of the key pieces in the Event that teared our world apart, its effects still palpable even after it was reversed by the willingly brave women whose names are to remain anonymous for their own intimacy and well-being, as well as the tragically departed Martin Blackwood and Jonathan Sims), after the horror of war had taken the life of both his brother and his lover in front of his once beautiful light blue eyes, now turned into a dirt dark grey, almost black but not even quite, as if they weren’t alive enough even to achieve that degree of totally in its pigmentation.

His whole body had also greatly changed after the spoils of war had craved a perpetual mark on his whole being. Once a man even mocked for his soft figure, he had become a scrawny creature that, somehow, had a strength only expected of the most muscular of men.

These details were described in great detail by his little sister, who fancied herself a physician even though she wasn’t allow as near as five miles from any campus as long as she tried to approach said places in the quality of a student.

For what had been found, it is a celebrated fact that her knowledge and medical abilities were rather remarkable and well put into practice among the common folk all around the vast territory of the Scotland landscape.

It was the combination of these two factors (the traumas of the brother and the will of the sister to be able to put into practice all the facts and skills contained within her) the reason why they both decided to leave their family household in Oxford and go all the way up to the place where, with their not unremarkable monetary resources and the new-found strength of Joshua, the cabin was built.

A cabin built by a man constantly haunted by Death. A Death he had, in reality, cowardly escaped by hiding while the two most important people in his live (for, after all, he was a man of his times and, then of course, his sister had always came as a close second in what importance was referred) were killed by enemy fire.

The very same Death he wished came for him and, yet, dreaded more than anything else in the entire world.

This was in the foundation of their new residence, every single wooden piece put into place with the almost subconscious wish of it being both another piece of his very own coffin and a protection barrier against his final breath’s arrival.

If this wasn’t enough for the building to get soaked into The End itself as it was being constructed; there was the fact of the sister, of course.

Julia Fieldling (later Shelley, though the information regarding her husband is quite thin and unreliable for the most part) might have been extremely prepared in an intellectual and even practical level for the job she would spent the rest of her life practising on an almost daily basis; but she was still a young woman from an overprotective privileged family and, hence, when first faced with a patient that could not be healed, she crumbled into pieces, even if only for an instance.

This event repeated itself over and over, every time science of the time, her own limitations or nature itself made it impossible for her to save the person in front of her.

Departure just wasn’t made for her.

As she had been kind enough to tell in her personal diaries, this would have ended her if it wasn’t for a solution she came to as she succumbed to a terrible mental breakdown when a little orphan girl died in her desk of operations after an incident so gruesome it will be better left out of this report.

That dreadful evening, she found herself so covered in human blood; her corset was starting to feel heavier, soaked in the red liquid as it was.

Being too in shock and knowing it was supposed to be a busy evening, she carried on in those very same garments, not even cleaning her hands and, every time a drop of the little kid’s blood touched an open wound and/or orifice of her current patient, they always healed, never died under her command of the day.

Marvelled, she started a gruesome practice every single time someone was taken by Thanatos: opened them, almost as a butcher rather than a physician, and covered herself on the dead person’s blood.

According to her, it worked like a charm; and, for what the study of the Former Entities had provided us, this sounds quite plausible.

Just as the insinuations extracted from her diaries that sometimes she let one person go so many more could be saved.

There was only one significant problem she was presented with: she was still a proper dame and, after she came home every day, she needed a place to get cleaned; so she asked her older brother to build her a small lavatory whose only use would be to take away the already by then brownish blood.

All that death, all that supposedly supernatural charm filling the room day after day, some of said blood even starting leaving permanent stains on the wooden walls...it just kept piling up inside the newly erected place.

The cabin was definitively Marked.

Of course, it didn’t aftect the siblings much as it affected their occasional tenants, most of whom could easily be tracked down when they came back to their regular lives, often marked by a complete swift of character and even physical appearance, more usually than not followed by tragedy and despair in all forms and shapes.

All thrown upon their own mortality in a myriad of perturbing manners, some relatable enough to make almost anyone with the bare minimum of sentiment in them feel, at the very least, uncomfortable in their own skin at the mere thought of them.

The bleak fame of the cabin grew up to an extent in which it was decided by the nearest village people to never get close to the place and warning every oblivious potential guest against even set one foot inside the wooden-based building.

Therefore, after both siblings died (tragically soon, must be mentioned), the place became abandoned, completely deprived of the existential horror consuming both Joshua and Julia and, eventually, starving to the point The End’s presence was just a latent one.

For Death is unavoidable and, even in these new times, the dread of it catching up cannot be outrun forever.

It all changed when one Arthur Bouchard (in this case, he was actually related to which the high-society family from which the victim-accessory of Jonah Magnus’ crimes, one Elias Bouchard, belonged) bought it as a present for the Police Force, for he had personal interests in a certain line of his business to be kept under the rug and had known for quite some time about the need of certain members of the police to have a place where to dispose of both part of their special cases and some terrible yet unavoidable mistakes made in the regular line of duty.

At first, the feeling fulfilling the cabin wasn’t as different as what had previously taken upon it from its very floors to the highest point of its chimney; as corpses started to accumulate on its outskirts.

However, as the police people started to come in more frequently and to feel clearly more comfortable in it, there was one new influence awakened inside of the property.

The thrill of the kill, the new owners all felt. The fact that, from time to time, especially when it was one of the infamous Section 31 cases, the victims would came still alive, for their proper termination was in order according to its captors (and, even occasionally, final hunt ).

This all managed to change what the cabin was, turning itself into a place sadly known for the destiny reserved to the not quite constant, and yet usual enough to be worth mentioning, stances of regular people who just went hiking and decided to stop there for a wide variety of reasons.

These individuals, if violent enough on their own, quickly became a danger to anyone who didn’t watch the world as they did.

And, tragically enough, this usually meant many innocent people getting hurt by people that, the irony, eventually were hunted down by The Police itself in their less public domain, becoming yet another corpse in the backyard of the place that had turned down the filters that had previously contained their most animal side.

The circle complete, nurtured, ever growing…

…until one very day when, for once, good intentions crossed the paths of these individuals acting in a morally indefensible manner in the name of justice and, never forget, under the Name of the Law.

Alice ‘Daisy’ Toner is a rather polemic figure, in the centre of most arguments of the still ongoing attempts to completely redo the way Law and Justice are assured in our world; for she was once one of the most efficient engines of this rotten system, and still managed to walk away.

Even though, in her particular case, it was far beyond the commons laws of nature (for more references, see the bibliography section of these article).

It was her the one who, almost by accident, gave the cabin a new purpose when, in a gentle gesture she had been barely conscious she was doing, once took her new companion to the cabin, as she had been injured by a creature that was far too horrible to even begin being described with mere words.

She healed her, took care of her and made sure their superiors had absolutely no clue about how their mission had gone.

Both Toner and the other now former cop (once again, for their own shake, the still alive people in this narrative will remain unnamed) returned and, though both were without the shadow of a doubt part of the system still feeding the needs of the cabin (especially Toner, even if her companion’s participation in these corrupted system shall not be forgotten), they always brought with them part of that worry for each other, that companionship that, if not having a proper positive outcome in what the cabin did to people inside of it, it clearly buffered the current effect on them.

From that moment on, this buffer kept increasing until the day the final stone was put.

The day two people as in love, as two people in extreme dreary circumstances can allow themselves to be, temporarily become part of the household.

What a shame it didn’t last but, once again, what does in this world of us?

Before The World Changed, two key pieces of that equation (the aforementioned Jonathan Sims and Martin Blackwood) were hiding themselves of a plethora of the threats that made said Change come to be ( for more details, it is especially encouraged to consult Melanie King-Baker’s The Sixteenth Fear is Still Capitalism ), using the place not only as a safe haven, but also as the perfect lieu to learn as much as possible about each other; to discover the other person and whether they were really the one they could just hold onto in the middle of a storm and, even though in reality knowing it was of no use, feel completely safe and sound if only for an instance.

The answer was affirmative and, not only that but, for what we can gather of Martin Blackwood’s personal diaries (all of Sims’ records on the matter were lost, as any other piece of information recorded in a tape recorder within those five years), they helped each other begin healing much more deep traumas.

Once again, this didn’t turn the cabin into a proper place of personal growth but, at least, made The Hunt run away from it, defeated, knowing itself to have no more business in the proximities.

Leaving, that way, space enough for another thing to occupy it once The Event took place.

Something far much worse.

For obvious reasons, trusting completely Blackwood’s diaries from The Event time period is a quite unadvisable attitude. However, since he and his partner seemed to be two of the few people whose ability to discern truth from illusion remained in an actual healthy shape, we would have to rely on them.

Picture these two men, victims of a world of human monsters that had surrendered themselves willingly to forces that they could not truly grasp, as much as they had believed they did; in the middle of a land that, after all, wasn’t exactly their motherland, and that now was not even recognisable as the landscape they were starting to become used to.

They only had each other but, for how long? And, would that be enough if there was not even a place to be them per se?

An almost sickening need of holding to the other started to grow deep within themselves; though it came not only from them, but also from the house.

The cabin that now had its own agenda and knew how delicious those two afraid souls were. Therefore, it made them cling to one another up to the point Blackwood tells us how once his partner just started randomly weeping when he left for a blanket, truly believing he was leaving him for good.

Of course, the harm didn’t end just right there.

Death made its great comeback, for both men couldn’t even tell what perspective was more dreadful: not being able to die, forever trapped in a non-moving continuum of pure horror; or dying at different times, not noticing, not wanting to realise that the other one was nothing but a lifeless body held by their weakening arms.

And the solitude…oh! How Lonely one can become when you want the person you care the most about not to realise how broken you are. Because they need you to stay strong, even if that means that the part of you that more company needs will remain in between shadows, getting lonelier by the minute.

Finally, never forget The Beholding.

Many things had been said about Sims’ connection to The Eye, but his ultimate sacrifice must speak for itself, and, even if said rumours were true up to any level, that doesn’t mean it was a pleasing connection and, more certainly, the way that wooden floors and walls crawled on them, not allowing them the pure minimum intimacy they so much needed and deserved was not a pleasure experience.

Eventually, both men left the place behind, Martin Blackwood’s memories left behind. Perhaps a mistake, perhaps a completely intentional action. This study would not fuel the conspiracy theories that some others are so willing to spread and, in case you were wishing to follow that line of thought, I shall recommend you the reading of the paper The Fear of Well-Placed Rage by Rose Zampano, so you can reconsider said opinion after having contrasted your vision on the matter with someone who had actually studied it in depth.

However, The Cabin (as avatars had come to be spelled always with capital letter, so should this building during The Event) kept its alliances and, for the very few lucky souls that wasn’t trapped in their own realm of horror and pain, it became their very personal torturer.

Just until The Event ended, becoming once again just again a regular cabin.

Or, perhaps, being so for the very first time.

The fog surrounding the cabin was even thicker than usual as the woman closed the book in her hardened hands.

Basira sighed as she finished re-reading her own words.

It had been a month since her book studying some of the most interesting formerly cursed objects had been released (wonderfully illustrated by Georgie) and, though she had finally chosen to publish it under a pseudonym, most people in her life knew it had been written by her.

The former cop, former archival assistant, former apocalypse-fighter, current survivor or far too many traumas to even get a hold of them in a few scattered words allowed herself to look up, facing the cabin right next to her.

It hurt, it hurt to even simply contemplate it; it had hurt even as she had approached in her car, looking from afar.

The place just screamed Daisy in a tone that would have made sound soft the one she used herself in her nightmares, as she shot her over and over and over again.

She couldn’t even point out how long it had been since the last time she had actually been there; though she knew it had been already quite a while before…before everything.

A lock of greyed hair covered one of her eyes and she could not help but think about Jon, about how she would have liked to meet him in a different context (even though, she knew, she might have still been a cop –and he wouldn’t have liked that so much, or at all, to be completely honest- and he would have acted as stuck-up as Melanie constantly complained he had used to –thing that would have likely made her just leave the man alone rather quickly-).

She wondered, once again, whether he and Martin had actually made it through. They had already buried the couple, to empty tombs as hollow as their hopes of them being… alright, as they should have been.

However, Hope sometimes can be even more painful than Fear and she couldn’t get herself round to stop believing that, Somewhere Else, they were just fine.

Or as fine as any of them could ever be, that is.

And it bloody hurt; to realise how wrong she actually was and how head-bound she was to keep being so.

She turned her attention once again to the now abandoned wooden building, once a perfect place to cover straight-up murders (no matter how the discourse was lighted in its time), then the only save haven two people had ever known in their entire lives; then, a prison and torturer just as any other.

She let her fingertips felt the entirety of the humid wood; now forming a mundane cabin.

Because that is all it was now.

It had to be, for all to have been worth something (Daisy calling her name with an almost animal grunt, the months turning into years looking for two corpses that just wouldn’t appear…).

It had to be.

#the magnus archives #evento1ºAniversario #tma first anniversary #magnuspod #tma #canon compliant #basira hussain #scottish cottage #the fears #fanfic #writing #study on fears #finale anniversary #post mag200

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ebenrosetaylor · 2 years

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Here is the animatic I made for @lymazhu’s fic, “Tell Me I Am Good Enough,” for the 2021 @tmabigbang! It’s a post-MAG200 fic about Jon and Martin arriving in “somewhere else” and their adaptation to this environment. The content warnings at the start encompass the whole fanfic, and are touched upon briefly in the animatic, even if they are not explicit. (There was meant to be more, but I lost motivation to finish it to my own standards. I thought I’d post what I have because I’m very proud of it.)

[begin video ID: the video starts with text in the middle that reads: Content Warnings: Hospitals, blindness/disability, depression, unhealthy coping mechanisms, trauma, relationship conflict. The words, The Magnus Archives Animatic, in larger font appear below the content warnings, pushing the warnings up toward the top of the screen. Canvas, in even larger font, appears, pushing the previous text toward the top of the screen and the content warnings off the screen. The title scrolls and the words, Animated by: Eben Taylor, appear in the middle. Pushing the credit toward the top, more text appears: Tell Me I Am Good Enough, by Lymazhu, for The Magnus Archives Big Bang. The words disappear and the animatic starts, bordered by large, black watercolor lines.

It first shows a hotel receptionist, Lynn, standing at the desk, on the computer, looking at a computer. Lynn has half-circle glasses. She has bangs and the rest of her hair is tied up into a bun. Next to her desk is a vending machine. Behind her are three clocks displaying three different time zones. The scene cuts closer to Lynn's desk from the left side, as she turns and reaches for the phone, picking it up. The scene cuts to a closeup of her face, receiver held to her ear, her eyes looking down and to her left at something off screen. She blinks slowly, her eyes widening in shock and she drops the receiver.

The scene cuts to a low angle of the front of her desk, showing Lynn leaning over it, both palms pressed on the desk as she looks down at something off screen. The scene cuts to a shot a step away from Lynn's desk as she leans over it, looking down at the bodies of Martin and Jon lying on the floor, on top of each other. There is a blood stain between them and they're holding hands.

The scene cuts away to a wide-angle shot, fully showing Lynn's desk, and Jon and Martin's bodies. Lynn straightens up and runs around her desk to where the bodies lay. The scene cuts to a low-angle shot, from Martin's feet, showing his back from the waist up, and only showing Lynn from the waist down. Lynn kneels down, hand reaching out toward Martin. The scene cuts to a close-up of one of Lynn's eyes, wide with shock.

Lynn’s eye cuts to the gaze of the Ceaseless Watcher and it closes it’s eyes, symbolizing how it is taking Jon’s sight in the new world. A white, watercolor line drops down cutting the screen and cuts it in half as the scene transitions to two separate boxes, bordered by large, white watercolor lines. In the box on the left is a close-up of Martin’s face, his eyes closed. In the box on the right is a close-up of Jon’s face, his eyes closed, as well.

Still in split screen, Martin’s eyes open, and Martin’s screen pans out to show his face and neck. After a beat, Jon’s screen pans out to a low-angle shot of Jon lying in a hospital bed from the end of the bed, with the monitor above the headboard. Jon’s eyes remain closed. After a beat, Martin’s screen pans out to show Martin in his hospital bed from his left side.

A beat, Martin sits up and looks over to his left. Martin’s screen cuts to a smiling doctor coming around a curtain with a clipboard. They peek around the curtain at the same time Jon’s screen changes to show him still in his hospital bed, but from the left side. Martin’s screen cuts to the doctor, now standing way from the curtain, smiling at Martin.

Jon’s screen elongates to fill up the space between the two separate screens and the colors become inverted: black background with white lines. At the same time Jon’s screen shifts, Martin’s cuts to a profile shot of Martin’s face.

A beat, Jon sits up and looks around. It cuts to a close up on him, with his face partially cut off by the borders. A beat and a hand grabs Jon’s shoulder as his eyes go to the hand. Simultaneously, Martin’s visible eye shifts to look toward Jon’s screen, his eyebrows furrowing. Jon struggles and recoils from the touch of the hands, wincing in pain. The scene cuts to show the hands taking themselves off of Jon and disappearing into the darkness.

A beat, Martin’s screen cuts to the doctor holding a wheelchair. A beat, Jon’s screen cuts to Jon putting a hand to his undetailed face. Jon pulls his hand down, showing the detail of his scars and overall face. Jon’s visible eyes shift down as Martin’s screen cuts to the doctor pushing Martin in a wheelchair. A beat, Jon’s eye shifts up, looking at something and the screens shift again, Jon’s screen shortening back to its original position.

Simultaneously, the screen on the right now shows an outline of Martin, still with inverted colors. The screen on the left shows Jon in his hospital bed, from the left, sitting up and looking around. The left frame is from the perspective of Martin and the right frame is from Jon’s perspective. A beat and Jon’s expression changes right before the scene cuts to a close-up on Jon, still in his hospital bed, looking worried. A beat, and the silhouette of Martin’s lips move. Jon’s eyes shift around as the silhouette of Martin starts sobbing.

Jon’s expression changes to panic and he reaches out, just as the screen on the right cuts to a hand, with an IV line, reaching out. Simultaneously, a hand reaches out to hold the other on both screens. The screen on the left cuts to Martin smiling, then frowning, his eyebrows furrowing as his eyes shift away.

Both screens fade into black as the words Eben Taylor appear in the middle, 2022 written underneath. A beat pases and the words fade. end video ID]

#tma #the magnus archives #magnuspod #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #jonmartin #jmart #hospitals #animatic #animation #experimental animation #tmabb 2021 #artists on tumblr #ebenrosetaylor #eben art

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nialltlynch · 3 years

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2, 4, 19 for the fanfic asks? :3

2. What’s next on your ‘to-read’ list? (Fan fiction or otherwise)

for fic stuff: kitkat's post mag200 fixit fic has been open since they posted and i really need to read it!! for otherwise: i'm almost done with Hollow Kingdom (if you want a fun zombie apocalypse story it might scratch that itch! idk i don't' usually read stuff like this sdfklf) and i think i'll either read Jude, the Obscure or Castle in the Air.

4. What fandom’s/ship’s fan fiction do you read the most?

i think.......i think sheer volume it was probably dramione. there was just so much!! most of it was Not Good!! those were wild times. don't make fun of me asdlkj

19. What’s your favorite character headcanon?

uhhhhhhhhhh bryde is definitely a dilf <333 (im sorry i cant think of anything else off the top of my head!!)

send me fanfic asks!!

#asks and answers #thank you!!#har-graves

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kindaorangey · 3 years

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Hi this is the tma anon, how are we doing

hi tma anon!!! haven't seen you in a while :)

i have the post-season twitch stream open and playing as i'm writing this. i'm not doing fantastically (in regards to processing the ending, that is) and i'll need to wait it out and see what the post-mag200 content looks like (including the q&a) and read a lot of fanfic before this can really settle fkdjxjfjjx

#tma anon #anonymous #asks

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eyes-inthe-dark · 3 years

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a literal sentence that just came out of my mouth while scrolling through post-MAG200 fanfics:

"Why is everyone writing fix-its, i just wanna HURT"

I'm clearly coping very well

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banashee · 3 years

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Somewhere Else (or: 5 Times Jon and Martin almost meet again + 1 Time they finally do)

Folks, this is it! My entry for the Rusty Quill Big Bang 2021 is complete and online ♥

This was hosted by @pilesofnonsense

Also, please show some love and appreciation for this absolutely gorgeous artwork from @captaincravatthecapricious

They did an outstanding job and I am absolutely in love with the art they drew for this story! ♥

Look at them! So soft ♥

After everything ends, Jon and Martin wake up Somewhere Else, and they're alone. After the first initial shock, they begin to lose all memories of their life before and of each other. The only reminder are recurring nightmares, and they get more and more intense and distressing as time goes on. 5 Times, Martin and Jon almost meet again. 1 Time, they finally do...

#RQBB21 #Rusty Quill Big Bang 2021 #The Magnus Archives #TMA Fanfic #JonMartin #captaincravatthecapricious #post mag200

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marlasomething · 2 years

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For this first anniversary of The Magnus Archives finale I did a pretty “personal” piece...it is not a happy one and, though there are some hopeful notes on it, it is mainly...rather bleak. But it came from deep within me and I hope you enjoy it!

I am a f*cking broken record, but TMA helped me A LOT to get my shit together and I felt almost compelled to write this (ANABELLE IS THAT YOU?!)

Hope you enjoy it as much as I did writing it!

(Extra note: the epilogue is a quite quite dark final ‘instalment’; only to read if you want the very sad ending)

#the magnus archives #magnuspod #tma #tma ending 1st anniversary #fanfic #fic #writing #magnuspod fic #ao3 #georgie barker #melanie king #post mag200 #canon compliant

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banashee · 3 years

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Hi Folks, welcome to my third fic for the Archival Pride 2021 project! Look at their tumblr for more info :) @archivalpride

Archival Pride 2021, Week three (June 15-21) Prompts: Love Languages, Doubt, Post-Canon, Intimacy, Home

The key words I've used here are Post-Canon, Home and Intimacy

- Off-screen Arguments - scars - Trauma recovery - brief but canon-typical violence - References to Canon-Stabby-Stabby in MAG200 - mention of coma, no details - reference to homophobic Parent

A Second Chance

Some days, it still feels like a dream. That they are here, together, that they get to have this. A home, a life - a second chance at everything.

It’s been almost two years since the panopticon collapsed in an explosion, almost two years since Jon and Martin woke up… Here. “Somewhere else” they called it then, but now they simply call this place “home”. More precisely, they do so because first and foremost, they are home to each other.

Even back when in the Institute, when both of them successfully managed to convince themselves their feelings for each other were one-sided, the few and far moments where they actually had time to themselves were precious. Even when Jon had woken up from his coma and Martin was working for Peter Lukas, just a small brush of hands or a quick hug in the hallway had felt like the only safe place left in the world. Just for a moment, before they had to move on, more alone than ever before.

By the time Martin was deep in the Lonely and Jon had pulled him out, taken his hand and not let go until they were safely in Daisy’s little safehouse in the Scottish Highlands where no one would be able to find or hurt them. Or at least, that had been the plan… It only lasted for a little while.

Still, even though the end of the world started there, the days and weeks they had before are precious to Jon and Martin to this day. It’s those weeks where they had a chance to really get to know each other, outside of work and countless terrifying encounters with the Fears.

Days spent talking in front of the fireplace, curled up around each other or not talking at all. Especially on the bad days, when everything hits them at once, it is a little bit easier to deal with everything while they’re together. Cooking together, stepping around each other in the kitchen when they tried recipes neither of them had ever tried before, laughing at and playfully chiding each other when everything turns into a big mess.

Hugs and kisses shared at the most random of times, just because they realized they can do this now.

Over time, they shared a few personal bits and pieces. After the first time they shared the bed, to be close and to keep the nightmares at bay, they started talking about their needs and boundaries.

“I love you, and I love being close to you. But I, I also need you to know that… Well, I won’t be able to give you more than this. I don’t… sleep with people. In, well, in that sense.” Jon had blushed and stammered his way through explaining what Asexuality means to him, and it is met with love and acceptance. He started to breathe a little bit easier then.

A little while later, Martin told him about the disaster that was his coming out to his Mum. He didn’t mean to, he said that day in the safehouse with a bitter smile as he shook his head, but he’d hit a breaking point. One too many homophobic remarks, one too many unhappy sneers.

“One day, I just. Snapped. Couldn’t take the bullshit anymore. I don’t even remember exactly what I said to her, but she was... “ Martin shook his head.

“Not happy.” He laughed, but it wasn’t happy by any means. Jon understood all too well, and reached out with one hand, an offer to hold on tight, which Martin happily took him up on.

“She didn’t… Like me very much before, I don’t think. Or, well, I know that now, but… But ever since I told her I am gay, that certainly didn’t help things. She never met any of my boyfriends or anything, but, well. That’s robably for the best.”

Only a short while after this conversation, the world ended. After months and months of walking through a hellscape, they finally arrived back in what once was London. Back at the institute - the tower of the Watcher.

Once they got their chance to kill Elias and destroy Jonah Magnus, things… Went differently than planned.

Even years after the fact, long long after, Jon and Martin wake up from vivid nightmares. The memories, both real and twisted, leave them sobbing and calling out for each other. Each time, they end up wide awake for hours, holding onto one another to try and keep the other from getting lost again. Dealing with everything is very much a work in progress.

Guilt eats Jon up from the inside. He is talking about it, at least he does now, but the feelings are still there, sitting on his chest and taking his breath away. The guilt about walking off on his own and leaving everyone else, including Martin behind is one of the worst he’s ever felt, and even though they have talked and worked through this particular issue for a long time, Jon is still struggling with it. The main problem is that didn’t see another way, did what he thought was best. Now he knows there wasn’t a right decision in the situation they found themselves in, only damage control.

But on a personal level? Yes, he screwed up, and he knows it.

The scar on his chest hurts those nights, like a fresh wound. Jon finds himself clutching it, without even realizing that he is doing so. If he was, he would try to stop himself from it, but every time his hands rub over the place in the middle of his chest, when breath leaves his lungs for a while, he can tell that Martin’s eyes go blank and he hates himself a little bit more for having caused so much pain. .

How often Martin wakes up in the middle of the night, dreaming again and again about that fateful day that ended with him stabbing the love of his life with a knife, he has long lost count. But it hurts, worse than anything else, and the memory alone sends him spiralling for a long time.

If the Fears had any more power here, there is no doubt that Martin would find himself surrounded by thick, white fog those nights, cold and damp and utterly alone even with another person in the room.

He’d spent months - years really - keeping it together just to keep going, doing what needed to be done and be there for the people around him. It’s what he’s always done, isn’t used to anything else, but Jon knows him well enough to recognize the signs and stop Martin before he destroys himself any further.

“Let me take care of you. Please - You don’t have to keep going all the time.”

Somehow, even with all the trauma and heartbreak, the two of them manage to form one functioning human being together when they can’t manage to be one on their own. On the really bad days, that is enough.

Martin and Jon have their hiccups - but they know just how much they adore one another, and that is usually enough to make them see reason even when things get hard.

Especially in the first few weeks Somewhere Else, there is a lot of confusion and pain. Years of trauma and injuries they are unable to explain to anyone, because how do you explain even a fraction of the fears and the apocalypse they have walked through? None of it has happened here. This is a world that has never ended, and although the Fears certainly exist here, they are in the shadows, where they belong. As far as they can tell, none of the rituals have happened here, and the entities just. Exist, but don’t do nearly as much harm as Jon and Martin have experienced.

So seeking out help, let alone from professionals, is hard. Lord knows, they need it - it takes the two of them countless trials to find individual therapists for themselves, and even longer to find one to attend for couples counseling who won’t make their skin crawl with anxiety. There are issues that need to be addressed, and it is hard to start somewhere.

Some sessions are much, much harder than others. Unpacking the baggage is logical, it is something that needs to be done in order to deal with the trauma, but for a long time, it just hurts. It hurts, having to open up about things that are so deeply personal, and even though both Martin and Jon have come up with cover stories for their situation, they still have to work on all the emotions and the things that happened to them and their loved ones.

Some days, either one or both of them will come home from a therapy session and simply collapse into bed. Most times, all they want then is to hold each other. Other times, they talk, but more often than not, being able to listen to each other's heartbeat as they shake apart or fall asleep from exhaustion is enough.

Especially at first, when everything is still fresh, when the scars are still pink, raised and puckering, things are hard.

Surprising no one, coming from a literal hellscape into a normal, relatively calm world, is a total whiplash. Things are tense between Jon and Martin for a bit. They want to stay together, because they love each other deeply - there was never any doubt, not even a bit. But there are some situations, issues and decisions that they need to adress.

While things are still sore, it results in a number of exhausted, tearful arguments that leave both of them absolutely drained and limp from overwhelming sadness. The arguments themselves never last long, because both Martin and Jon are quick to make up and apologize after, but the feelings of exhaustion and heartbreak stay for long after.

The arguments pull on wounds and it hurts. There really is no other way to put it. More often than not, Martin and Jon spend the night with no sleep, wrapped around each other so tightly it is almost painful. Holding onto one another is all they can do sometimes to keep each other from falling apart at the seams.

Weeks turn into months, months turn into a year and so on. Both Jon and Martin have come a long way since they arrived here - they no longer call it “Somewhere else”. Their trauma still sits deep, but has become much, much more of a quiet background pain that occasionally comes out to play, rather than being a constant, stabbing sensation that leaves them bleeding and breathless, unable to function. Those days, thankfully, have become rare.

They start to live, instead of just surviving.

It is around that time that they decide they want to get out of the city. London, whether back in the old world or here, is not a quiet place to be, but now that they are free, they take the opportunity and run with it.

A little bit of time passes, and between days spent walking hand in hand through the nearby park, nights curled up on the couch with books and tea and day jobs and even occasional evenings in the pub with coworkers, they find themselves standing in their empty apartment. All there is left is a single cardboard box and a potted plant, both of which are held by the two men who spent the last year and a half there.

“...Jon?”

“Yes, Love?”

“I had no idea we had so much stuff, until we started to pack it all up.”

“We do. I’m… Not entirely sure when that happened to be honest.”

“....I believe somewhere between us starting to actually do things, and you discovering that tiny bookshop which I’m convinced should have been empty by now, thanks to you.”

“Yes. And also the plants. Don’t forget your leafy children, Martin.” Jon leans into Martin’s upper arm for a moment, a small smile on his face. He would have pulled him into an embrace, but since Martin holds the last of their moving boxes, filled to the brim with books, and Jon’s arms are currently wrapped around the pot of a fairly tall dracea, just leaning in must be enough. The plant pokes far over his shoulder, long, dark green leaves lazily moving with him as he holds onto it, tight and secure.

‘Martha’ says a small, handwritten label on the pot, carefully stuck near the edge of the pot. Giving the plants human names had started out as a joke, a throwaway sentence, but then they bought more and more plants, and so a new tradition was born.

“...To be fair, I had no idea there were so many until we had to get them all into the van.”

“Oh, I’m sure you’ll find plenty of space in the new house that looks empty. Not for long though, knowing you.”

Martin smiles at him, propping the box against himself. This thing is heavy - as small as their old flat is, it hasn’t stopped Jon from starting to form their own library throughout the living room. Truth be told, he is looking forward to seeing it expand once they’re settled into their new space. It'll be a fun opportunity to bicker over the proper way to sort them.

(“By colour ?? Martin, Dear, Love of my life, what the fuck . You’ve worked in a Library for years!” Jon will ramble on in disbelief, and Martin will cackle to himself, knowing he managed to rile his boyfriend up about something that isn’t important at all. He knows they actually agree that books need to be sorted by Author’s names. But where would be the fun in admitting that right away?)

“Ready to go?” he asks, and waits for his partner's affirmative nod before the two of them leave the apartment, for one last time.

It’s time for a new chapter in their new life, and they’re more than ready to start it.

The first morning in their new house, they are woken up by a fresh breeze coming through their bedroom window. It carries the scent of pine needles and damp earth with it. The birds outside are already singing the song of their people and have been doing so for hours, long before most humans are conscious. Waking up like this is bliss, even though the bed is about the only thing that is actually done in this room.

There are boxes everywhere and their wardrobe is only halfway assembled, but the bed is comfortable and decked out in fresh covers that still smell of washing powder. Everything is fresh and new and feels a little bit like they’re on a holiday. Maybe someday, it will become their new normal, but as of now, it feels like a fresh start.

As always, it’s Martin who wakes up first. He can smell the fresh, woodsy air, and it relaxes him in an instant. There is a small forest right by their house. It is at the end of the street where only a few more old, slightly lopsided houses are nearby. It is perfect for them.

On their search for a new home, it was clear they wanted to go somewhere more rural, somewhere remote. Ever since the Lonely, Martin is struggling with too many people around him. He can go about his everyday life if he has to, but days with too many people and too much social interaction leave him sad and exhausted from pretending to be fine and peachy with it.

It doesn’t help that many of the houses they looked at are seaside cottages. As beautiful as they look on the photos, conveniently taken on days with clear blue skies, this is England. There are way more rainy days filled with grey, suffocating fog, and that alone is enough to send Martin back into a full blown panic attack. It’s too much, way too much like the Lonely. Needless to say, they filtered their searches accordingly.

Eventually, everything clicks into place and they find their dream house in a small residential area with little traffic and even less people. The quiet of the countryside makes both of the breathe easier- it reminds them a little bit of their time in Scotland, even though the landscape isn’t nearly as raw here. They may or may not have found a field of very good cows nearby though.

The cool breeze of the morning air makes Martin shiver a bit, and he pulls the covers a little bit tighter around himself and Jon. Predictably, his partner takes this as an invitation to adjust his octopus grip that he has around him to get even closer as he sleepily grumbles,

“...Just five more minutes.”

“Make it an hour and we’re good, Love.” With gentle fingers, he starts to detangle the long strands of hair that surround Jon. There is even more grey than there was only a few years ago - no surprise, what with all of the stress and trauma they have lived through.

All that Martin gets in response to this is a low hum as Jon tightens his hold around him once more as he breathes a small trail of kisses along the side of his neck and up his jaw.

He knows that Morning-Jon is not talkative, at all, but he knows him long and well enough to understand what he is telling him, even when he is half asleep himself.

“I love you, too.”

#Archival Pride 2021 #banashee writes #tma fanfic #the magnus archives #JonMartin #Post mag200 #TMA season 5 spoilers

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