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seadem-on · 3 years

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“Blessed are you who are poor, for yours is the kingdom of God. Blessed are you who hunger now, for you will be satisfied”.

- the Gospel of Luke, 6:20-21

Your probably too long to read, incomplete and obscure introduction to the themes of loneliness and forgiveness in the Good, the Bad and the Ugly (including religious references).

Image there just for cuteness. Let’s go!

1) Loneliness

Tuco is a tragically lonely character. The layers on which this loneliness is played out are multiple. Not only he is cast away from his family - having deserted it - and morally from religion - as his priest brother points out he has done nothing “outside evil” - and from the law-ruled society - being Tuco a literal outlaw, with a long rap sheet to testify for it - but also he is spiritually outside of God’s grace - “while I wait for the Lord to remember me” he says to his brother Pablo.

He does seek out company - he tries to reintroduce himself in his family at the monastery, when he meets his brother again after 9 years. The scene with his brother draws a parallel between Tuco and the “Prodigal son” of Jesus’ parable, who left his family for a life of sin. His angered brother Pablo cannot understand the reason why he came to visit and underlines the evil he has done. The scene does not only show the derangedness of traditional familial relations; it also expresses a strong anticlerical statement showing how far the Church is from putting into practice the original spirit of brotherly love and solidarity.

He has no one on his side. No God - when Tuco says that God is on his side something happens that contradicts his statement. No brother - being rejected by Pablo. No friend - being betrayed by Blondie at the beginning of their partnership.

The symbol of loneliness and lack of human connection is the desert. The torture of Blondie at the hands of Tuco takes place in the desert. The film itself begins with a long shot of a desert landscape which is immediately filled by a gigantic close-up on the face of a killer. In this desert we are immediately welcomed by a threatening figure: it is really the only kind of humanity that can be found there - ruthless and keen to murder.

Tuco is deeply violent too. He is a murderer, a torturer, a thief, a criminal. He is the lowest a man can get. And he is fully aware of his own nature. The image of the dog wandering at the beginning of the film in the ghost town embodies the way Tuco moves in the world - belonging to none, hungry, constantly threatened, constantly looking for company and food. He is in fact chased by the afore mentioned killer but manages to escape.

Though it is never stated outright, Tuco’s real quest is to find a friend. But in the kind of world painted by Leone “friend” is someone who can potentially turn on you. A danger. Society (food sharing, family) is embued with violence and threats. One has to put up a facade to hide their weakness and survive.

But this desire is persistent in Tuco. Through his lies he states it to Blondie: he needs to know that “even for a tramp like him there is always a bowl of soup”. He needs to know that there is someone out there that can fulfill this hunger for company. Someone who does not point out his sins like his brother does. Someone who loves him for who he is - a tramp, a criminal, a bastard, a sinner.

2) Presence

“Were you gonna die alone?”

Is there anything more absurd than loving your enemy? After all that Tuco has done to him, Blondie - the archetypal rebel - makes a disruptive gesture. He kindly offers Tuco the cigar passing it from his mouth thus symbolically offering himself.

The cigar is a part of Blondie, as we cannot imagine his character without it. Furthermore he is literally taking it from his mouth, as if sharing with Tuco a part of himself.

The parallel with the wafer of the eucharist is evident as the gesture - and its orality - symbolically represents union and community. From this moment on Blondie and Tuco form a partnership which is hard to break - that draws them back together when they are apart - a kind of connection that does not entail money. Furthermore, the wafer in the eucharist is the body of Christ - offered “to wash away humanity’s sins”. This meaning is carried out to the end of the film. “He who eats the body of Christ does not die”.

Blondie reaffirms his offering himself multiple times. When he reunites with Tuco, Blondie tells him to kill Angel Eyes and his henchmen, and then joins him in the fight, asking him mockingly “were you gonna die alone?”. He makes it clear he is on Tuco’s side, and actively supports him.

Finally during the last showdown Blondie offers him protection - right when Tuco is at his weakest. Blondie’s gaze and nod in his direction calm and steady Tuco.

This goes to close Tuco’s quest to find a friend; a competitor, a rival, and enemy who also is on his side when needed.

Blondie’s actions are aimed at mending the relationship with Tuco with forgiveness and love - making Blondie the bearer of a “love thy enemy” message. And this is clearer if we look at the parallels between Blondie and Christ: he is tortured, (almost) dies and comes back to life, loves the one who hurt him, and protects him (see citation at the beginning of the post).

Blondie is even seen occupying the same position as a statue of Christ - see image below.

By this I do not mean he is painted as a superior being - actually it is the opposite. I mean more simply that as a character he carries a worldview embued with forgiveness, kindness, and love. He still is a criminal - but he is capable to feel tenderness despite his violent actions. Both he and Tuco show this “duplicity”, or ambiguousness. Moreover, in the film he and Tuco switch roles at different times - sometimes Blondie embodies Christ, as the “innocent” victim, whereas at the end Tuco takes on the position of Christ (and of course to they respectively embody Judas too, betraying each other for gold). That goes to show how thin the line is between victim and perpetrator, how there is both good and bad in our our nature.

Looking at the symbolicism again, Angel Eyes (whose name is originally Sentenza) embodies judgement, which opposes forgiveness. Tuco can finally escape judgement and death thanks to the presence and forgiveness of Blondie.

Also ultimately it is not Blondie who acts alone and saves Tuco. He lets Tuco take his decision. He lets Tuco make the choice to shoot first - choice which is possible since Tuco trusts that Blondie has his back. Tuco is freeing himself from the violence ridden world choosing partnership, trusting another person.

The most absurd thing of it all is that Blondie - the unbound rebel, the embodiment of individualistic self interest, and most of all the victim of Tuco’s torture - actively chooses to be by his side. This choice is disruptive in many ways. First, it is an act of tenderness in a world ruled by violence. Secondly, their partnership allows Tuco to find a haven out of the systems of religion, law and society that have excluded him. And ultimately it saves Tuco from death as a form of punishment for his crimes (forgiveness vs. Judgement).

#the good the bad and the ugly #gbu meta #clint eastwood #eli wallach #sergio leone #spaghetti western #the dollars trilogy #tuco ramirez #il buono il brutto il cattivo

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ladyy-grimm · 4 years

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~Corvid Bride~

Dire Crowley x F reader

*In inspiration of the Ghost Marriage event - as well as watching one too many dramas - I present whatever AU this is.

“I’m sorry dear, I’m so, so sorry...” Is the only words your mother gave you. Her voice strained and hoarse.

The day, which was as gloomy as a funeral - was your wedding day.

The hushed murmurs of your friends and neighbors were your accompaniment, instead of celebratory music as you made your way towards a lone black carriage.

“So, she’s to be the bride?”

“Poor thing, she’s so young...”

“Thers’s nothing that can be done...If we don’t offer someone then, then we will starve. All of us..”

“We have to calm him...”

By whatever good grace yet remained in the world did you find yourself in the carriage with what remained of your closest friends. One of them adjusting your white veil, giving you the pitiful excuse of remaining hidden for your “groom”. They couldn’t bring themselves to look at you, not with what awaited you at the end of the carriage ride.

“Please don’t hate us.” One of them finally dared to speak. Yet somehow it made the small space quieter as they spoke. “We didn’t want this to happen...None of us. But, I’m glad you are going.”

“We’re very grateful to you.” Another spoke up.

“We can now all live because of you.”

You wanted to scream.

How dare they. How dare they try and make you feel better. They were just glad it was you and not them. That it was not their daughter. It wasn’t their fault you were unlucky, there needed to be a sacrifice anyway. It may have been an old fairytale, but they didn’t care so long as the crops and animals were blessed back to what they once were. As long as it wasn’t them, it didn’t matter.

Despite all that, your lips remained shut. As you arrived at your destination did you remember as to why you should remain so. The wind was still, despite being so high up into the mountains. The horses nervously whinnied behind you, your heels crunching under the stone as you made your way towards the cliffs end. Your bridesmaids giving you a wide berth as you made your way towards a large iron birdcage, alongside an old iron crank.

There were no final goodbyes nor tears as you made your way inside. Your veil and gown semi spilling out as you were lowered to the blanket of fog below. The air grew colder, your breath began to appear as from above you could hear your wedding party scrambling to leave. Leave behind all memory and with time - all traces of you. In resignation did you sit down, not even a bubble of a sob surfaced to your throat.

What point would tears give you? It didn’t help Lettie; as she was torn away from her widowed mother and not given a chance to be a proper bride. Or how about Amilie whom had tried to run away with her lover, condemning them both.

‘At least they died together.’ You couldn’t help but muse. You? You had no one besides your family back home, if you could even call it that anymore. They were just as part of this as any other. Yet any hatred you wanted to direct was cut short as you shivered. The cold had begun to set in.

Halfhazardly you wrapped your wedding gown around you as best as you could, aiding you a little. The birdcage swinging back and forth at your movements, causing slight nausea to set in. Repeatedly like a prayer did you tell yourself not to look down, though even if you did not but fog would greet you. How you wish it had deigned to surround you as well, that way you wouldn’t have had to see the other birdcages littered around you. All human sized, rusted, frosted, some even broken while others still housed their “residents”.

You didn’t consider yourself fortunate in the least at seeing the skeletal remains. A corpse should be best left alone after all, at least that is what you wished for yourself.

Would you freeze to death first? Or maybe you would attempt one last daring escape and fall to your death? Which was quicker? Or perhaps, you would wait for him? Whatever it was your village gave offerings to for a plentiful harvest, that had suddenly decided to stop granting such a boon. Devil? Fae? It didn’t matter so long as there was food at the table and all was well.

But obviously, not anymore. Not for a long, long time now.

“Having fun? Thinking of your final moments?”

You would have fallen to your death had the bars of the cage not been small enough, as you jumped in shock at the sudden voice. Wildly did you look around, seeing no one - except of course for one lone crow at the opposite side of you. It cocked its head, curious at you as it sat between the bars.

“You haven’t lost your mind yet.” It stated as to what you were thinking, its beak curving into the hints of a grin.

“I wish I was.” You blurted in response, earning you a cawing of sudden laughter.

“Ooh, decided to give a clever one away did they? That’s a pity for the arts.” The crow continued to laugh.

The statement was enough for a small smile to tug at your lips, only a small one though as your mind had caught up to what was currently happening. “I’m sorry, you are -“

“Hmm? Wish to know my name? I’ll give you mine if you give me yours.” Here the crow extended a wing, as if it were extending a hand.

Such an action caused your mind to reel. Memories of your grandmother teaching you the way of fairytales rushing to mind. The cold caused your voice - now laced with caution - to crack out your lie. “Y-You may call me Ainsel.”

The crow, appeared to grin more and his eyes to turn from a shiny black, like twin pebbles. To glowing moons. “Ah, you are indeed a clever one.”

With that there was suddenly a large puff of smoke, and there at the other end of your already small cage appeared a man. He was draped in a dark coat with a cut to resemble wings, and obscuring his face was a long beaked mask that only shown his glowing pupils. The birdcage was too small for him to stand fully, but he had no need to as with a flourish did he remove his top hat and bowed at his waist to you. His eyes glowing in delight as they looked towards you.

Instinctually, hurriedly did you try to stand. Only realizing that you had wrapped your wedding gown around you for warmth too tightly. This caused the man to laugh.

“‘Tis alright, I’d much rather have you remain sitting as to what we are to discuss little bird.” With that he knelt before you, being mindful of your gown and giving you plenty of room to breath. You did just meet after all. “Now, I’m sure you have already figured out who I am and what I do. So, let us cut the chase and have me ask you; What would you like to do now?”

“What?” You couldn’t help but ask.

“Hmm? Did you simply think I just fly in here and gobble you ‘brides’ up?” He chuckled at his own dark humor. “I’m kind enough to give you brides a choice, when you were given none.”

His words gave you pause, so he continued. “You can choose to try and get back up towards the cliffs. Some have made it and have lived to see their childrens children. Others, falling to a death of their own will. Others, I will say have chosen to remain in this final resting place - whilst I - well, can’t refuse what whatever God has left before me now can I? Or if you prefer I could give your corpse to those animals as a “blessing” if that is what you wish.”

The information given both baffled yet made complete sense. As was the won’t of the lands of Twisted Wonderland. With a jolt did you suddenly recoil back. He had outstretched a claw ringed hand towards you.

“I’d very much like to give you more time to ponder your choice but, it grows darker by the moment and colder as well.”

How right he was. Your teeth were now chattering without you realizing. It wasn’t much of a choice you had to admit, but it was a choice nonetheless. More than you had been given, and there was only one that you had in mind.

“Your name...” You mumbled, lips beginning to freeze.

He cocked his head to the side.

“I’d, I’d like to know my husbands name....”

He smiled, gently taking your hand in his as he drew you towards him. Weakly did you stumble into his embrace, your legs having become numb as the iron floor had frosted and your gown as well. Yet you had no need to walk a he opted to carry you as any bride wished to be. He was pleasantly warm, his overcoat framing even you a bit. As if it were a large pair of wings.

“Dire Crowley.”

You smiled, thinking of how your name matched with his. It had a nice ring to it.

In the days to come the people of your village would be back to the cliff side to check on you. They would find your almost empty birdcage, and be filled with fear immediately. The bars remained intact. Your corpse did not hang, nor had it been coated in frost or even be eaten by the wildlife that could reach you. Nay, all that remained was your bouquet as fresh as the day your mother had picked it.

Far, far away you would be found laughing happily alongside your husband. Eccentric and troublesome as he was, he had given you the choice that only ever mattered. That choice was to live, and having him at your side was a pleasant bonus.

#twisted wonderland #dire crowley #twisted wonderland dire crowley #dire crowley x reader #dire crowley x f reader #it is 1:30 am #i am going to bed

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big-oof-bi-goof · 4 years

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So there’s this meme going around with TMA fans, the whole “hello Jon” thing, but it kind of disappoints me. We, as a fandom, are capable of more. We can do better than this. We just need to 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. 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.

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 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.

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 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.

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 Gertrude Robinson 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 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.

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, 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.

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 hose years ago.

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.

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 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, 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 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.

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 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.

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 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. 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, 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 leads and dies!

Come to us.

I – OPEN – THE DOOR!

#tma #the magnus archives #jonah magnus

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les-mooserables · 3 years

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Hello, John

[AS SOON AS HE BEGINS SPEAKING, A WHIZZING STATIC KICKS IN FROM THE BACKGROUND.]

ARCHIVIST (STATEMENT)

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?

[THE ARCHIVIST MAKES A PAINED COUPLE OF SOUNDS OUT-OF-STATEMENT-CHARACTER, AS IF HE’S TRYING TO TEAR HIMSELF AWAY FROM THE STATEMENT AND PHYSICALLY CANNOT.][WHEN HE PICKS THE STATEMENT BACK UP, THE WORDS SOUND LIKE THEY’RE BEING TORN FROM HIS LIPS.]ARCHIVIST (STATEMENT)

Statement of Jonah Magnus regarding Jonathan Sims, The Archivist.

Statement begins.

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

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.