#My name is Jonathan Sims. I work for the Magnus Institute

[rubykgrant]

Imagine some point either at the safehouse, or when they're out walking through the eyepocalypse (but nothing especially horrific is happening), and Martin starts thinking out-loud about what if they could have a "normal" life again...

Martin; I mean, I know it won't ever be NORMAL-normal, but it would be nice if we could just go to a grocery store and buy ice cream without something trying to bite our heads off or turn us inside-out and set us on fire or whatever

Jon; That might be a little too optimistic, but I suppose we can always hope. Hmm, even without the monsters being a threat, we still might have trouble with regular problems. It is very possible I'm still a murder suspect, and you might be held responsible for various legal business issues from the Magnus Institute

Martin; True. Murder and spooky horrors aside, that place was an HR nightmare... maybe we could change our names. Would you like to do that?

Jon; Oh. Yes, that could work

Martin; Any preference?

Jon; I think... we'd better go with me taking yours. Martin Sims sounds too repetitive with the "in" and "im" together like that, but Jonathan Blackwood sounds very grand. Maybe a bit like I'm a character in a vampire romance novel, but most people won't know why that's ironic or inaccurate

Martin; ... wait. Wait. Did you- Jon, I was talking about us making totally fake identity names! Did you think that was me PROPOSING? Was that you saying YES!?

Jon; Well, if you'd rather not make an honest man out of me, fine, we'll change our names to- to Chester Blims and Norris Sackwood-

Martin; THE HELL AM I SACKWOOD FOR???

Jon; I swapped the first letters of our last names, it's genius, nobody will be able to crack that code. We'll just change our names, and go our separate ways...

Martin; Oh, shut UP. Yes, the first chance we get, I'll marry you, and yes, Jonathan Blackwood DOES sound better than Martin Sims, but you know damn well what I was talking about, and now you're trying to distract me, and- and, UGH, you'd better let me ask again someday, in an actually romantic way!

Jon; I might not say yes next time... now that you've spurned my affections

Martin; I hate you. I love you so much, but I hate you

[compasspyxis]

Uniform redesign i was bored after losing motivation on the last drawing.

Also some other hc like the robes are made out of rayon or smth lightweight n cheap idk

[bonemeal12]

sigh. does anyone have a drawing of Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist of The Magnus Institute, London experiencing period cramps or do I have to do this myself.

[sarcasticscribbles]

"Statement of Pearl Ainsley, regarding her acting career from the early childhood to present day. Original statement given June 2nd, 2014.

Audio recording by Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute, London. Statement begins." "I started my career when I was two, had my breakout role at seven, and faced my first controversy at 17. My manager, Violette Ainsley, worked tirelessly to build my career. She suggested the name Pearl—it was sweet, innocent, and pretty. She never wanted an Ophelia.

Everyone loves her. To them, Pearl's their best friend; they grew up together and can't fathom life without her. The photos, the videos, the interviews— they adore her. The smoking scandal was Ophelia. Not the perfect little pearl my mum had crafted.

I see her in my reflection, not mirroring my movements but staring back at me with those wistful eyes. On film, I see a lovely girl, but I don’t remember the script, the filming, or the premiere. I'm fading away, longing to become who everyone loves. But I'm just Ophelia."

Ophelia Ainsley, a child actress who grew up in the spotlight under the name Pearl, is slowly feeling increasingly isolated from the persona everyone knows on screen. Trapped in the shadow of a perfect image, she can no longer relate to it.

Make a TMA OC with me 9: Lonely

[sieveyourtea]

Born Archivist AU Wrap Up Post

Image ID below the cut. Art by @dcartcorner !

Series Summary:

Agnes Montague was a failure, the ritual poorly planned and even more poorly executed. But for the Ceaseless Watcher and the Avatars who have learned from this mistake--perhaps things could be different...

...Jonathan Sims, John as he prefers, is eleven years old when Mr. Bouchard comes to see him.

A massive thank you to you all. For reading, especially for commenting, and for all the support in getting this over the finish line.

If you're interested in reading or seeing more art, please check out the links below the cut. You do need an Archive account to read!

My ask box is open, I'd love to chat theories, questions, and thoughts anytime! Please don't be shy!

What to Know:

Child of Illumination is a fic series with three primary story arcs that follows John Sims from age eleven to his time as Head Archivist of Magnus Institute after being adopted by Elias Bouchard and Peter Lukas.

All three main arcs are rated T and suitable for those who can enjoy the same sort of content as in the podcasts. CW's are provided on individual chapters.

The Main Story:

Part One: Child of Illumination:

Agnes Montague was a failure, the ritual poorly planned and even more poorly executed. But for the Ceaseless Watcher and the Avatars who have learned from this mistake--perhaps things could be different...

...Jonathan Sims, John as he prefers, is eleven years old when Mr. Bouchard comes to see him.

Image Id at the end. Art by @sarcasticscribbles!

Part Two: Shadow in the Hunting Grounds

Agnes Montague was a failure, the ritual poorly planned and even more poorly executed. But for the Ceaseless Watcher and the Avatars who have learned from this mistake--perhaps things could be different.

Jonathan Sims, John as he prefers, has lived with fathers for six years. Like for a lot of other young people, University presents a time for self-exploration, and a first occasion of being out on his own without someone...Watching quite so closely.

Image ID at the end. Art by @sarcasticscribbles!

Part Three: Blood of the Covenant

Agnes Montague was a failure, the ritual poorly planned and even more poorly executed. But for the Ceaseless Watcher and the Avatars who have learned from this mistake--perhaps things could be different.

Jonathan Sims, John as he prefers, has spent three years working as a Lead Researcher at the Magnus Institute. For someone for whom home has had a less than solid definition, the Institute offers a chance for safe place for John to finally answer the questions that have followed him for as long as he can recall.

Being able to work alongside his father is simply an added bonus, of course.

Image ID at the end. Art by @sarcasticscribbles!

Art:

COI wouldn't be what it is without the amazing artists who have brought it to life!

Official Scene and Summary art is by @dcartcorner who does exceptional work across the board.

Official Covers for all three main stories are by @sarcasticscribbles who's art is one of the reasons I started to engaged in fandom at all!

Official additional art of some choice scenes as done beautiful by @mxwhore who I cant thank enough for their amazing work!

Other creators who have made art related to COI include @obscuravoid, @the-awful-dread-that-leaves, @novae-viking, @basilikum7, @hemi-demi, and @moominmammaonhero1n!

Please, go and show them some love! I will post an Art-chive into the series on A03 as well to link back directly to all of the amazing work that's been made! If you've made something and don't see your name here, please let me know!

Additional Content:

Part of the fun of the series are the additional side fics. They cover a range of topics from John's interactions with various people, time spent with Peter and Elias, and the horror content that makes TMA what it is. There are all flavors, from G to E, and all can be found at the hyperlink above.

These are NOT necessary to understand the story and do NOT contain critical plot points. They're simply for fun! .

A special shoutout to @selinko for a lovely set of memes that absolutely made my day and continue to do so!

FAQ's:

The following are just some things that have come into my inbox the last couple of days in particular!

Can I make fanart of this story?

Sure! Please tag me, I'd love to see and spread the love!

Can I make other fanworks of this story?

Sure! Same as above, please tag me. I'd love to see and spread the love!

Will you be writing more?

I may do additional side pieces, but the main story is happily done. I have a total of 105 fanfics, 104 of which are Magnus if you're interested!

Can I send you questions/thoughts/songs/things that made me think about the story?

Yes, my ask box is open and there is an anonymous option. I will delete rude asks, but otherwise am happy to answer. Any spoilers, I'll put below a bar.

Image IDs:

Cover Art: A painting showing John Sims at the center, playing chess with an unknown opponent. On either side above him are Elias Bouchard, surrounded by books, and Peter Lukas, holding a stack of playing cards. Together, they hold a crown of gold and green eyes over John's head, framed by a spider-web window. At John's feet are three animals--a lion, a cobra, and penguin, looking up from a base of fire that shows Agnes Montague, Tim Stoker, Martin Blackwood, and Sasha James respectively. 

First Cover: Cover Art of John giving a statement to Gertrude the portrait. He is 11-13 years old, wearing square glasses and talking to her as if she is an old friend.  

Second Cover: A family style portrait of Elias Bouchard (aged around 40), John Sims (aged seventeen to eighteen), and Peter Lukas (aged around 50) years old. 

Third Cover: John Sims and Peter Lukas are playing a round of cards. John is debating whether or not to be on this hand with chin resting in his hand. Peter is holding a 2 of diamonds and a 7 of clubs, considered the worst draw in Texas Hold 'Em. Elias Bouchard, with a faint green light around his eyes, watches from behind John's shoulder, the whole viewed over by a Portrait of Jonah Magnus with the same faint green light. 

Thank You!

Thank you all again for letting me share this story and journey with you. After one year and nineteen days of writing, I am very happy and rather proud to say the series is complete. It's my longest fanworks project by a mile and wouldn't have been possible without all of your lovely support.

With all the love in the world, Sieve signing off.

[thestrangepoet]

The White and Orange Cat | The Magnus Archives One Shot

Based on @ultramarinaa's Cat!Martin AU and @coworkerjonathan's interpretation of it. If you would prefer a sweeter, fluffier take, that is over here.

CONTENT WARNINGS: Character death, animal death, crippling and ungodly levels of angst.

DISCLAIMER: I wrote this in an hour and haven't proofread it, so please forgive its very first-draftiness.

──── •✧• ────

[CLICK] 

Statement of Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist at the Magnus Institute, London, regarding the…the m-murder of Martin Blackwood. Statement…recorded by subject, October 17th, 2017.

Statement begins.

I…killed my coworker, yet the police refuse to arrest me. 

I know why, of course. For whatever reason, I remain valuable to Elias. His intimidation and manipulation has proved sufficient to keep the authorities from accepting my confession, despite the fact that no one has seen nor heard from Martin Blackwood in months. 

No one will see or hear from Martin e-ever…ever again. And it is my fault. 

It is all my fault. 

I…

[CLICK]

[CLICK]

Statement of Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist at the Magnus Institute, London, regarding the murder of Martin Blackwood. Statement recorded by subject, October 17th, 2017.

We have collected a number of strange and unusual books at the Magnus Institute. He knew not to meddle with them. He knew. Maybe the rather unassuming title convinced him it wasn’t a bad one, or…or maybe he didn’t realise he’d picked up a Leitner. 

The Ninth Life. I should have noticed sooner. I should have…

I…God, Martin, I…

I’m sorry.

[CLICK]

[CLICK]

Statement of Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist at the Magnus Institute, London, regarding the murder of Martin Blackwood. Statement recorded by subject, October 18th, 2017.

[THE ARCHIVIST EXHALES SHAKILY] 

Martin disappeared on June 4th, 2017. It was certainly unusual for him not to show up to work, especially without a call or message to explain himself. Naturally, we tried to contact him, but he didn’t answer his phone, nor did he answer the door when Tim visited his house to check in on him. I’d have gone myself, only another strange occurrence had taken place that day too, one I just…didn’t connect. 

The appearance of a large, white-and-orange furred cat in the archives. 

No one seemed to know where he had come from, yet he was remarkably well-behaved. In hindsight, he…

[ONCE AGAIN, THE ARCHIVIST FALTERS. SILENCE SETTLES FOR A WHILE, PAPERS ARE RUSTLED, AND WHEN HE SPEAKS AGAIN, HIS VOICE STRAINS WITH REGRET] 

I stayed to take care of the cat. I should have gone to Martin’s place, but I…I don’t know. I felt compelled to look after this poor, lost creature. 

He didn’t seem keen to leave the archives, and he constantly prowled around Martin’s desk. We’d even, ahh, joked that he was a good replacement for Martin. 

He hid under the shelves after that and didn’t come out for an hour. When he finally did, he actually hissed at me. Again…hindsight, I suppose…

So, that was the situation we found ourselves in. Martin was mysteriously absent, and a strange white-and-orange cat had appeared in his stead. 

I named the cat – I named Martin, for no doubt it is clear to whoever is listening to this that the cat was Martin himself – I named him Champion. 

Champion took quite a shine to me. I almost volunteered to take him home, especially when it became clear that Elias was allergic to cats, but Tim protested. Said Champion should be an office cat. “Keep the rats from visiting,” he said. I presume that was a dig at Elias.

For what it was worth, Champion seemed very happy to remain in the archives. He set himself up at Martin’s desk, snoozing on his chair or in my lap. He even seemed to be reading statements and—

Well. I suppose he was. 

Probably looking for a way to save himself when it became clear we would not.

It was weeks before I began to realise something was wrong. It’s…not the first time I’ve found myself aware or knowing something without any obvious reason or source, but I couldn’t shake the notion that Champion was slowly becoming…

Less…familiar. 

He napped on Martin’s chair, as always. Slinked around my legs in the morning as I made tea. But he stopped doing things that we used to find so endearing. He used to miaow in protest when I’d reheat my forgotten tea in the microwave. He’d turn his nose up at cat food; we were costing the Institute a small fortune buying him human food! If I pulled out a packet of cigarettes from the drawer, he’d leap to try to bite the box and run off with it. He succeeded a few times too! 

But he just stopped one day. Microwaving tea didn’t upset him anymore. He was no more concerned about my smoking than he was about anything else. He started eating the cat food Elias insisted on putting out every day “to teach him what he’s supposed to eat”. 

He stopped being particular about me. 

I know, that sounds ridiculous. I realised there was something wrong with the cat when I was no longer his favourite. 

That was when I started digging. Properly digging. Not Martin disappearing for weeks. No. A cat deciding to sit in Tim’s lap instead of mine, that was what spurred me to investigate Champion’s origins. 

…

…I, err…I went through Martin’s desk. I should have done it sooner, it just…didn’t feel right. Even when days became weeks, it just…seemed like a violation? It wasn’t that I didn’t care where Martin was, I swear, it just…felt like he’d come back at any moment.

The police had rattled through it, of course, but they didn’t pay any mind to the battered copy of The Ninth Life. 

But I did. I was practically drawn to its shabby cover, my heart growing colder and colder, knowing whose damned name would be scrawled on a bookplate on the front page. 

From the library of Jurgen Leitner. 

I didn’t read too far. I gleaned enough from its presence, its former owner, and Champion’s appearance to finally put the pieces together. 

Martin hadn’t been missing. He’d been in the archives every single damned day…as Champion. 

Martin was Champion. And, as with any good Leitner, his humanity had been fading away day by day as we chuckled at his antics and cooed at his funny miaows and gave sickly sweet sympathy as he bumped into a chair leg or door again and…

He was trying to tell us. Of that, I am now sure. He was begging us to notice him. 

He’d always been begging for someone to notice him. Notice his plight. 

And we failed him. 

I threw the book back into the drawer and raced through the office, searching high and low for any sign of that fluffy tail or strangely attentive blue eyes. I called out for him. By his name. 

Nothing. 

I finally found him in the break room, curled up without a care in the world on the counter. I called his name – Martin, that is, not Champion – praying he’d look up, that joy and relief would flood his features, that he’d realise he was saved. 

He barely flicked an ear at me. 

Not until I said his name. 

Champion. 

He looked up at that. For a little while, at least. 

The sight of me crying didn’t interest him all too much, I suppose. 

I knew at that moment that Martin was gone. I knew…but I didn’t want to know that. The idea of having failed Martin so spectacularly just…it just drove me to try to fix it all. 

I’d run out of time before I’d even started looking for a solution. And I knew that, deep down. I suppose that is why I was so reckless, so willing to believe the most hideous of suggestions. 

It took me three nights of pouring over literature and statements, with Champion occasionally visiting me for ear scritches or to remind me loudly that he hadn’t been fed yet. It was as I was scraping out some pungent chopped meat into his bowl that I recalled one of the countless fairy tales I’d devoured in my youth. 

The White Cat. A-a…Slavic fairy tale, I believe. I don’t recall all the details; the usual fare, a king and his sons, he sets them three tasks, completing them will grant great fortune. But one of the tasks struck me – he requested his sons to fetch the most beautiful princess to take as a bride. One of the sons had formed a bond with an intelligent white cat who had helped with the previous tasks, so he returned to the cat to ask for its assistance. 

The cat told the son that she would give him a beautiful princess…if he would…if…

[THE ARCHIVIST HESITATES, HIS VOICE CATCHING]

If he would…cut off her head. He…refused. But then he did so and from the cat’s body, a beautiful woman emerged. 

The woman explained that she’d been transformed into a cat by some power or other, and she would only be free if the man she loved cut off her head, I think, and…

…

…He loved me. 

Martin. I…I know he did. I didn’t at the time – I am not so arrogant – I just thought that…that maybe the solution, as awful as it was, it was from a book, a-a-a tale about a person cursed to be a cat and I just…

I thought Martin would reappear if I did. If I did the same as the prince. 

He was eating, oblivious as I went to the kitchen drawer. The knives obviously aren’t the biggest or sharpest, it’s a workplace, but I found one that I thought would be, ah…swift, a-at least. 

Picked him up. He didn’t mind. He liked being on the counter. Think he liked being able to see everything a bit better. 

His eyesight was terrible, you see, and…

I-I think he knew? Or…m-maybe he wasn’t entirely…cat yet. Maybe a small part of Martin was still there, still aware, and realised what I was going to attempt, and…

He…panicked. 

…You can, from the fairy tale, figure out what happened next. 

Martin did not emerge from the cat. 

[A LONG SILENCE. FOR A WHILE, IT SEEMS LIKE THE ARCHIVIST MIGHT END HIS STATEMENT THERE. BUT HE INHALES DEEPLY – A TREMOR BETRAYS HE’S BEEN SOBBING AS HE RECORDS THIS – AND CONTINUES.]

Elias found me first. 

He was smiling. 

Took the knife from me, said it was for the best that Martin was gone. That things hadn’t…hadn’t gone as planned with him. 

I didn’t ask him what he meant by that. I couldn’t. I couldn’t…do anything. 

I just stayed there, having sunk to my knees on the floor, watching Elias pick Martin up and…dispose of him. Just like that. 

He must have known the fairy tale too, because when he collected Champ— Marti—

When he picked up the head, he…he laughed. 

“Oh. Oh, I see why you might have thought that. You old romantic, Jon,” he said, dropping the head into the bin. “If only you knew how fitting that was. Would you like to know?”

I didn’t. 

I really, really didn’t. 

But he showed me anyway. Right into my head. Just…tore open the wound and poured all that agony upon it. Martin’s heart, his feelings, his…his love for me. 

He loved me. And I…I…

He…

We didn’t notice him. He was right in front of us, losing his humanity day by day and we just…

I’m sorry, Martin. 

I…

[ONCE AGAIN, A LONG SILENCE FALLS UPON THE ARCHIVIST. WHEN HE SPEAKS AGAIN, HIS TONE HAS DROPPED TO SOMETHING EERILY EVEN-KEELED]

Elias asked me where the book was. 

He knew the whole time. He knew what had happened to Martin. For whatever reason, it seems Elias had backpedalled on his decision to transfer Martin to the archives and wanted him gone. The book provided the perfect opportunity. 

Had I a reason to, I would endeavour to find out why. What Elias is up to, why Martin being in love with me would cause a problem with that. 

I have no reason. 

Not now. 

…

I’m going to read The Ninth Life. Cover to cover. I’m going to know his pain. His loneliness. My failure. 

But first, I’m going to leave a copy of Grimm’s Fairy Tales in Tim’s desk drawer. 

Tim. If, by any chance, you listen to this…I’m sorry. 

You did the right thing. 

You…avenged Martin, after all. 

End recording. 

[CLICK]

[becoming-the-archivist]

Recording begins.

To whoever may be reading this, to whoever may find this, my name is Jonathan Sims. I am the head archivist at the Magnus Institute.

But this isn’t about my work. No. I have had a dream that felt too real. I may just be crazy, all this stress getting to me, but…I can’t shake this feeling that something is happening to me, that I am becoming something else.

This recording, all of this, is to keep track of myself in case something does begin to happen to me.

I refuse to be another goddamn mystery.

Recording Ends.

[laora-ryn]

Chester, [ERROR], and Jonathan Sims: The Anthill Theory

Hello Tumblr, may I present a follow up to my initial thesis that [ERROR] is Jon? As well as a rebuttal to the argument I've seen floating around:

"[ERROR] can't be Jon! Jon is in the computers!"

Why are you treating these like two distinct eventualities?

Jon died as an omniscient, omnipotent demi-god half a step down from The Eye itself. Jon died at the exact moment that he was pulled through a rift in space-time. If Jon survived that, I doubt he'd end up human on the other side. He'd probably end up as something else entirely.

Something none of us, and none of the Protocol-universe characters, have ever seen before.

"Imagine you are an ant, and you have never before seen a human - "

1. We have Chester, who has Jon's voice, and has shown signs of autonomy and a personality where Norris and Augustus have not.

I have another meta post picking apart the fr3-d1 stuff, but for the sake of staying on topic, I will show an abbreviated, summarized list from that post below:

Mystery emails sent to various OIAR employees:

Episode 4: Gwen receives an email from an unknown source showing Lena trying to kill Klaus

Episode 4: "the system" sends Alice a notification that Sam searched for "Magnus" and "protocol"

Episode 7: Sam receives an email from a "John" with an internal email address, with Gerry's name and address

Episode 20: Sam receives an email from a garbled email address, with documents from 1999 regarding Starkwall and TMI

Error messages:

Episode 3: Alice receives a jmj error that Colin troubleshoots. Freddy snarks back at both of them

Episode 17: Alice receives a jmj error that Gwen troubleshoots. There are plenty of error noises, but imo it comes across less snarky than it did in episode 3

Other miscellaneous interactions:

Episode 5: Alice: "what the hell is wrong with everyone today?" OIAR computer, not having been touched or interacted with: [error noise]

Episode 17: Chester reads a universe-hopping statement to Celia

Episode 19: Sam asks Alice to talk with him about the Magnus Institute. Immediately, Alice's computer throws an error, like it wants her to stop working and talk with Sam

Magnus Institute Statements read to Sam:

All of the below statements are read out by Chester, and are (meant to be, in 21) read out to Sam specifically:

Episode 1: RedCanary

Episode 9: the cursed dice Magnus statement. This one starts on its own, while Sam is doing the Response Dept paperwork

Episode 14: the snake emporium. I'd almost mark this one as too much of a stretch, but Sam himself caught the Institute mention and was bothered by it

Episode 19: the one with Newton's alchemical tree that talks about the Protocol

Episode 21: the one about the Dome construction in the 90s, which Alice intercepts on Sam's computer

As far as I can see, the only statement that mentions the Magnus Institute that isn't read by Chester to Sam is the one that is read by Chester to Celia, as mentioned above

In terms of Norris and Augustus:

Martin was pulled through the rift at the exact same time as Jon, except as someone mostly human. Relatively human.

Jonah was too, but Jonah was already a static dead body at the moment of the rift - it wasn't the released potential energy of his death that catalyzed and pulled everything through the rift.

It makes sense, to me, that if all three of them are here, Jon is in a uniquely powerful/sentient position in comparison to the other two. Which leads us to point 2:

2. We have [ERROR], exhibiting characteristics that are indicative of Jon and no one else

See my other meta post for more info, but in summary:

The tape recorders spawned specifically for Jon in TMA, via the Web

Did even Elias show abilities to compel people to give their statement? He could tell people their statement, and force images into their heads, but could he force it out of their mouths? I don't remember seeing that

Along with the other evidence that isn't Jon-specific but is indicative of a TMA character:

They were initially trapped underneath the Magnus Institute - which could also be Jonah, or Martin

Their apparent desire to protect Gwen and "all of them" - which could also be Martin, or some non-familiar benevolent being

Jon being Chester and Jon being [ERROR] are not mutually exclusive.

Who's to say Jon, the Archivist, or what's become of him, or what's left of him, isn't the fingernail, and the boot, and the eye? Maybe he's even something else we, the ant, never live to see, or don't have the senses to perceive at all!

Additionally!

I think this might even tentatively explain why [ERROR] is voiced by Beth Eyre instead of Jonny - beyond "it would be way too obvious if they want it to be a plot twist"

If Jon/the Archivist is split into multiple parts of the same whole, in this universe. If, in the chaos of interdimensional travel, traits/attributes/parts of Jon were not distributed equally or correctly. For our anthill example, perhaps the color of our gazing eye, or the rubber material of our stomping boot, was applied to our fingernail instead. Maybe [ERROR] should have Jon's voice, but they don't. Maybe they didn't have a voice at all. We didn't hear them say anything at all in episode 10, only take a deep breath

Maybe they had to take a voice from one of their victims. Do you think there was a reason that we heard the autopsy statement secondhand, after the doctor transcribed it, rather than the victim's voice herself?

(When, as far as I know, the common ways to record information during autopsies is either with a voice recorder, or dictating to a secondary person to write, who was demonstrably not present? When, by all rights, there should have been a voice recorder present?)

I'm currently working on a master TMAGP timeline (and a TMA one otl), but an extremely abbreviated, specific version of it is as follows:

9 March: Sam and Alice visit the Magnus Institute and release [ERROR]

20 March: the autopsy victim is found dead in a park

22 March: Alice encounters the drowning woman

12 April: [ERROR] appears during Ink5oul's attack on Gwen

How many victims do they have, since Sam let them loose? Is it just the ones we've already seen, or were there others too?

This could go off in about 5000 different directions so I'm going to cut it here, but what I'm getting at here is - it makes a LOT of sense to me that we might be looking at another "creatures far beyond our comprehension" here; it'd make a lot of sense thematically; and it's just really freaking cool, if I'm being honest!!

[livebloggingmydescentintomadness]

Hi there, I've been wanting to start a new podcast and seen a lot of people talking about Malevolent and The Magnus Archives (I thought they were the same podcast for the longest time...). Anyway, it seems like maybe you've listened to both of them? Do you have a recommendation of which I should start with? I know almost nothing about either of them lol

hi! i'm far from a podcast connoisseur, but i have listened to the entirety of both tma and malevolent and i'm a huge fan of both, so i'd be happy to give a pitch for them haha. i will try to give the vibes without spoilers.

i listened to tma first, and the premise is that everything you hear is being recorded onto a tape recorder, primarily by the head archivist of the magnus institute, which is a private facility that collects and researches statements of paranormal experiences. each episode is jonathan sims, the archivist, recording one of these statements, and then giving his (usually skeptical and scathing) opinion at the end, along with what his assistants' research has turned up on the events of the story.

it's a very slow-burn show, as it takes 20 episodes to even hear another voice and 40 episodes before Shit Gets Real. things shake up a lot at that point, but i don't want to give spoilers.

it's extremely well-made, and i think one of its biggest flaws is also one of its biggest accomplishments, which is the incredibly intricate, non-linear web of characters it weaves through all 5 seasons. a name will be mentioned in passing in a statement, a description of a person mentioned in another, and then a couple seasons later it turns out they're the same character and vitally important to the plot.

(i call that a flaw bc my adhd ass had a HARD time keeping track of all these names, remembering who was who and what happened to them, and mixing up names pronounced similarly. you can consult the wiki, but that will also give you spoilers.)

the story-telling is superb, the characters are great, the romance subplot is wonderful... i think the only thing that isn't exciting for me is that i'm not really a horror fan for the sake of horror itself, so i don't absolutely love listening to the all the standalone statements, which make up the majority of the show. i really like the plot and character work that surrounds the statements.

now, malevolent is often put in the same category because they're both about english men experiencing The Horrors, but the listening experience is VERY different. while tma is like listening to a repressed autistic man tell you a spooky bedtime story, malevolent is being thrown into the shoes of a blind man running for his life while a demon screams in his ear to run faster because the monster is about to eat them.

malevolent is about arthur lester, a 1930s private investigator who comes to in his office, suddenly blind, with a voice in his head and a corpse at his feet. he's just opened a book that was imprisoning an eldritch being, who has subsequently taken up residence in his head and stolen his eyesight.

arthur and the entity, who later chooses to name himself john doe, have no choice but to work together to navigate the world to both figure out what just happened and how they're going to separate, and outrun the powerful forces that want to kill arthur and take john back.

since arthur is blind, john has to narrate everything he sees and describe what arthur needs to do, which works extremely well for an audio drama format. it also works really well to inflict a very visceral type of horror, as we're in the same position as arthur, "blind" to what's happening until john tells us.

while the plot is interesting and the messages are, imo, good ones, the main selling point for me is entirely john and arthur's relationship. they start out as unwilling allies, arthur terrified and john manipulative. slowly, they work their way toward tentative friendship, as they bicker and discover that their love language is being just absolute cunts to each other and divorcing every ten minutes. by virtue of being forced together in their "get along body", they figure out how to sand down those rough edges, how to understand each other and work out their problems, how to apologize and open up and trust each other.

eventually, they become so entangled that they are essentially one being, with enough love for each other to defy the gods and crawl through a blizzard on broken legs in the mere hope of being reunited.

where tma is the asexual podcast (since jon is canonically ace), malevolent is sort of the aromantic podcast. arthur is not quite canonically aro (i have a rant for why i think it's creator-confirmed, but it's not confirmed in-text), but he's as aro-coded as i've ever seen, and him and john are as qpr-coded as i've ever seen. the creator says that they're never going to be confirmed romantic (though he's fine with shipping), but they've also said "i love you" to each other, and it just really warms my little aro heart.

the same as tma, i think malevolent's biggest flaw is also it's biggest strength, which is that it's literally a one-man show. harlan guthrie writes, edits, soundscapes, and voices EVERY single character, which i think is incredible. i only call it a flaw because there are times when i do think he could have maybe used a co-writer or editor on some rough areas, and because it's a common complaint that there aren't more women in the podcast.

i'm not sure i can recommend which one to start with, as to me they have very different vibes. maybe just listen to episode one of each and see which one fits your mood better. i think they're both excellent, just not actually as similar as we like to joke they are.

so yeah, that's my long schpiel about my two favorite podcasts lol 😊 feel free to ask if you have more questions!

[nastya-steel]

(presses play on Veiled Lodger part 1)

"My name is Jonathan Sims, I work for the Magnus Institute"

Me: did I. Click on the wrong episode, what the fuck-

It was a Magnus Archives trailer at the beginning of the episode. TMA was the first podcast I ever listened to. "Search for the Magnus Archives" NO NEED SIR I AM VERY WELL AWARE.

[magnus-archives-fan-statements]

MAG0001 - Still-Beating

[CLICK]

Archivist

Statement of Pierre-François Percy, regarding the life, and autopsy, of the Frenchman simply known as ‘Tarrare’. Original statement given as a part of a letter to Jonah Magnus, February 18th, 1824. Audio recording by Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute, London.

Statement begins.

Archivist (Statement)

My dearest Jonah, 

Having heard through mutual acquaintances, it must be stated how strangely fond you have become over that endeavour of yours. It amazes me, truly, that there could possibly be as much esoteric substance in this world as you believe. It finally explains one thing that has irked me for the past few decades. Thus, I found it right to finally indulge in your youthful project, as I believe it holds a great deal of value for the future. Perhaps long after both of our times on this earth are up. I grow sick of my memoirs, and thus I shall bestow upon you my statement. One that bodes no relevance in any of my texts. Any relevance that I’d wish to give to the public, that is. 

I’m certain you remember my most notorious autopsy. A man of no proper name, date of birth, or worth. From what I can tell, he earned the name, ‘Tarrare’ from the likes of fellow showmen of the streets of paris. What made him so special, as I am sure you already know, was his nature as a polyphage. He would eat anything. He could devour feasts fit for dozens of full grown men, and yet still remained hungry. In the few moments that we had been within each other's presence, before his death, he spoke rather fondly of being eternally hungry. Alas, he may have associated himself with charlatans and thieves, he could not lie to save his life. That hunger had ached him. It must have been a true pain for his life to constantly endure that necessity to gorge on whatever he could find. If that pain of his was akin to what I’ve had to endure recently, then it is no wonder he went to such taboo thresholds of debauchery. He ate plenty - plenty of things he should not have. Live animals, the poor things, had been subject to being mere meals to him. He didn't have the decency to kill them first, and I struggle to imagine the pain that they’d endure, trapped from within him. A monster he may have been, yes, but a monster that was in pain. I could not stop myself from giving him my sympathies. 

There was always something wrong about poor Tarrare. In all of his tricks, it never seemed to be that he was actually filled by whatever he ate. You would expect a little bit of bloating after he had eaten, say, an entire basket of apples. Alas, he always seemed malnourished. Deathly thin, past his rancid demeanour. As if he hadn’t actually been digesting what he was eating. It was certainly not an illusion, some brave fellows had directly dropped whatever they could find directly into his mouth. I could never. Whilst his cadaver was of interest to me, the idea of being close to him, whilst still being alive haunts me. 

It had not surprised me that his parlour tricks would eventually be the death of him. With nowhere else to go, he must have fled from all forms of medical attention until being diagnosed with tuberculosis, with not much time left to aid him. He called for me, directly. I had to travel from Paris down to Versailles, of all places. In all the years since our initial time together, he really did not get far. I left a few days later, I had unfinished business that was of relative importance. Although, I was too late. Tarrare had been pronounced dead, soon after, in the year of our lord, 1798 AD. By the time I got there, he had been dead for a few days. Not one person had the decency to preserve or care for his remains. They were dirty, and disgusting, but the lack of care for him was what truly aggravated me. A man of his wonders, and everyone sat by and did nothing? Blasphemy, I tell you. Blasphemy to what we work for. For discovery.

 He did not leave a clean corpse behind, to nobody’s surprise. The polyphate was bloated, and had rotted away as if he was being supported only by his strange feasts, and not by the air that we breathe. That was made evident after I volunteered to dissect him, myself. Nobody else could, especially from the dreadful stench that had filled any room that his corpse had been left in. Despite this, my curiosity had gotten the better of me. I had to know what he was hiding, underneath those piles of flesh. This, my dear friend, is the reason that I believe this story belongs in your collection of events. 

I had little help with my investigation, as expected. From my discovery, though, I could tell that his hunger had a perfect explanation. His torso, alone, had almost been entirely dedicated to his digestion system. From what I could tell, his lungs, whilst being of a fully-grown man, had been the size of a toddlers. He should have been dead long, long ago, and yet he remained relatively healthy, for his deformities. The same could be said for his heart, kidneys, and his ribcage. By all means, he should never have been alive to begin with. And yet he had lived for so, so long. His eyes twitched with every pull and twist I had made from within his cadaver. Even when I pulled his heart from his chest, there had still been a strange sense of life in his twisted face. I had to investigate, you know me. It was strange, even for a man of his uniqueness. The first place I investigated were his eyes. They should have been dull, with the corneas clouded. He passed away a day or two ago, you see. He should have been showcasing more symptoms than simply being… dead. Yet, here he remained. His eyes were clear, and for a brief moment, I thought I saw them look at me. Not in my direction, no, but rather directly at me. That hadn’t been the only peculiar thing about him, though. Saliva dribbled from his mouth, as if he were still hungry, even in death!

The most disgusting part of that procedure was his skin, and any visible aspect of his body before I began to make any incisions. When I stood above him, I had the faintest idea that he may have still been alive. His body had a sense of weakness to it. One that had a flicker of warmth, not found in the healthy, nor the dead. Alas, he had no pulse, and when I had eventually found his heart, it remained still. That’s why I still feel nervous, over what I had observed of him, before looking inside. His skin was horrid, rancid, even. Disgusting to even imagine, to this day. If it hadn’t been for the fact that I had removed his heart mere moments ago, I’d suspect that he was still alive. My suspicions were, unfortunately, correct. Involuntary spasms are common in the dead, last moments of life desperately trying to hold on. Yet, I’ve never heard of a corpse that could talk. 

He told me something that I fear I’ll never forget. As if paralysed, he moved only his eyes, and began to speak. ‘Please help’ was all he could muster, without blood foaming at his mouth. It could not have happened, I swear on it. Perhaps they were delusions, frightful delusions. There’s nothing that could cause that, and still it happened. I had to keep going, ignore the falsehoods that projected in front of me. That delusion of mine was auditory only, it must’ve been the idea of him still being alive that made me think of him looking at me. 

I finally got to his stomach, the bloated, ulcerated mess that it was. Almost all of his torso was dedicated to his digestion system, the damn thing. I’ve seen plenty of organs in my lifetime, of the human variety and of beasts. Nothing ever looked like what I saw. It was noxious, to say the least. It still moved. Gargling, twisting, jerking. Like a heart.

I had to remove it. I could not think of anything else to do. If something was causing it to move, it was a danger to me, and to anything else in the vicinity. It grumbled, churned, akin to a parasite. Putting my palms on either side of it, I pulled. Nothing. After a few incisions, slicing it away from the rest of his body, I pulled again. Still, nothing. With all of my force, I tried one final time, and ripped it apart. From the other side of his stomach, there was no inner lining. No resemblance of stomach acid. Instead, there was a hole. Not a wound, it wasn’t bloodied, and there was no resemblance of damage to his back either. Yet it was there. Gaping wide, what I could imagine to be saliva having dribbled from its crevice. I regret looking inside. What I saw wasn't right. 

I saw meat. Plenty of it, more than what could have been from within his body. It wasn’t right, it wasn't his flesh, it was of his prey. Snake meat is easy to differentiate, and it made up plenty of what was inside of him. I took it out, piece by piece, heap by heap, and yet it was never ending. I had carved away everything that was once inside of Tarrare, and yet there was more. It wasn’t possible. I turned Tarrare on his side, and pushed my hand in. I would feel his spine, eventually, but never did. I only stopped once I pushed my elbow past his skin. It would not stop. 

When I looked back at Tarrare's face, he fell dormant. His eyes were fully opaque. I hate to imagine what that meant. He was human, despite the abnormalities, but that could not have made sense. 

I looked within. Curiosity had latched onto me, and I knew that I would not stop until I’d find a proper explanation. Something to define this vile monstrosity. There were piles of it. Blood-coated things, that laid in great mountains, from within him. The smell was enough to make me nearly faint. The hells were open, and I am afraid that it may be the same place that poor Tarrare’s soul has been dammed to. The mountains were getting smaller, toppling over, small pieces being dragged away by the floor itself. As if I had peered into a hall of putrid flesh, made manifest. 

If I kept my hand in, much longer, I fear it would’ve been taken. It seemed to be a place with pure indifference to what entered the heaps. I saw gold. Shiny materials interwoven with the blood. Cutlery, a gold fork, something he apparently spoke of as being the cause of his illness, was lodged in the piles of flesh. He did eat the fork, yes, despite what my medical records show. I couldn’t write in them saying that I had found a mountain of meat from within him, containing the very fork, no. I’m eccentric, but I am not crazy. 

Upon this horrific inspection, I had to excuse myself from the morgue, for my own wellbeing. More and more of the impossible had been unveiled about this polyphate, more than what I was happy to think of. In the halls, I managed to breathe some relatively fresh air. That was when I had run into a strange fellow, one I had never met before. He seemed as if he came from your part of London. The one of Aristocracy and arrogance. Of course, I mean nothing of the sort to you, Jonah. I find you to be welcoming company, unlike that man. 

Despite his voice, that man was built as if he were a tavern brawler. He dressed as a surgeon, had the scalpel and equipment of a surgeon, and yet seemed so out of place. His clothing seemed to be a few sizes too small for him, and the clothes were certainly not clean enough for him to consider doing his job. I believe he stole it. The name that’d be stitched into his shirt had been ripped away, too, and a crude patch was sewn on in its place. He wouldn’t let me see what was written there, saying that his word was more than enough proof to who he was. In one hand had been a glove, gripped tightly into a fist, whereas his other hand was keeping a hold of a potato sack, stained red. It bulged and contorted in shapes that made me believe that it was not potatoes inside. Something else. He called himself Doctor Aver. He hadn’t given me any proof of that name, so I believe it could’ve been a lie, or that he wasn’t a doctor at all. He asked if he could see ‘The Remains’. My belief is that only the doctors who had begun the investigation should keep with a cadaver. They know what they’re looking for. If this Aver fellow ended up removing the wrong thing, it could remove all notions of interest on what made Tarrare into, well, into what he was. I stood my ground, if you’d believe it. Against such a behemoth, I felt akin to David against Goliath. But, it wasn’t enough. He attacked me. Threw me to the ground, and gave me a rather nasty head injury. By the time I had come to my senses, I had returned to the surgery. Tarrare was gone, the tiles on the floor were shattered, and the surgical table that I had him laid upon was toppled over. Aver was nowhere to be seen, either. They had both disappeared into thin air. All that had remained was a steaming pile of fresh blood and guts, with the same potato sack, empty, thrown across the room. 

What truly terrifies me of this realisation, is not that the remains seemed fresh, but what I had seen, buried within the piles of flesh and still-beating organs. A twitching, golden chain, and the faint noise of ticking. He must have eaten it before his last meal. Memory serves me issues, nowadays, but I do faintly recall his desire to eat a surgeon’s watch, after saving his life. The Surgeon, Giraud, had threatened to cut him open and retrieve the watch himself - years before the autopsy. I worry that there may have been some sort of dastardly trick being played on me, by my associates, and yet, I found myself unable to ask anybody else what I was being subject to. It laid, bloodsoaked, on the ground, surrounded by piles of gore. Human gore.

 I burned what was left. I left that watch somewhere, a place that I do not care to remember now. I knew I could not make sense of it all, Aver, the fork, the meat… and so I kept it secret, until now. I bid to you my last secret, one that I am certain will plague me with nightmares. Although, I did do some investigations of my own, on the watch. To my amazement, and dreadful terror, Giraud had passed away mere days before that autopsy. He was found, bare, in the streets of Paris. Returning home from work, I’d assume. He was gutted, and was left as a hollow cadaver. 

My most sincere apologies for neglecting to tell you of this paranormal encounter any sooner. I figured that your work, whilst consisting of the crazed commoners of London, would be unfit for your institute. Alas, I believe that a story that goes untold is a story not worth remembering. And if there were to be a person I’d exchange this tale with, it’d certainly be you. Keep safe, Jonah. And look out for any possible surgeons, who knows what they may be holding onto.  

Yours to trust, 

Pierre-François Percy

Archivist

Statement ends.

Well, I am certainly happy that I had lunch early today. 

Jonah Magnus, in all of his wonders, certainly had famed friends. I had Sasha do some investigations into Percy’s papers, and yes, it did not mention this supposed ‘Aver’, or whatever the contents of that stomach of Tarrare’s actually held. Other than that, though, there’s not much that we can do to validate his thoughts. It should be stated that Pierre-François Percy passed away a year after giving his statement to Jonah Magnus. Unknown illness, in the end. 

I do find myself drawn to ‘Aver’, however. If it’s true that he was the one who had killed Giraud, then it’d explain how he managed to enter a morgue without drawing suspicion. Although, the name ‘Aver’ does seem to remind me of Case 0130109, with Aver Meats and its… excessive amounts of gore and guts. I worry that whatever Tarrare’s stomach had led to… it ended up in that abattoir. 

I’m getting tired of all of the meat. 

End recording. 

[CLICK]

[anthythesis]

My name is Jonathan Sims. I work for the Magnus Institute, London, an organisation dedicated to academic research into the esoteric and the paranormal. The head of the Institute, Mr. Elias Bouchard, has employed me to replace the previous Head Archivist, one Gertrude Robinson, who has recently passed away. MAG001 - #0122204 - Anglerfish

[harlenn-the-archivist]

#0160108- Introduction

[click.]

test, test, test. one, two, three.

right

[throat clearing]

I am Harlenn [static distorts the tape, we cannot hear his last name]

I work for The Magnus Institute, London, an organisation dedicated to academic research into the esoteric and the paranormal. The head of the Institute, Mr. Elias Bouchard, has employed me to replace the previous Head Archivist, one Jonathan Sims, who has recently passed away.

I worked with Sims in research for a time, and -to quite honest- I never was entirely sure why he was here. Not to speak ill of the dead, but the man was a skeptic. He always worked well, but he never seemed to have an ounce of belief in anything we were doing.

I have not been informed of the details of his passing.

I have, however, inherited his assistants: Timothy Stoker, [static rises again, the second name cannot be made out], and Martin Blackwood. They seem to be as in the dark as I am, or perhaps it is simply too early for them to open up.

In any case, I don't seem to be getting many answers

My predecessor had started to digitize some of the archive, work that I will be continuing. I have already been warned that modern technology doesn't seem to handle the statements very well, so I'll be using these old tape recorders for the majority.

the archive itself, however, is in... quite a state. I'm not sure if this was Sims' doing, or his predecessor.

It's going to take some time to get all this organized, longer to record it.

The institute was founded in 1818, so there is nearly two centuries worth of statements in here.

But, that's enough from me. I'm not here to complain.

[sound of paper rustling]

Case number: 0120406

Statement of Michael Wells, regarding the disappearance of his brother.

Statement given April 6th, 2012, recorded August 1st, 2016, by Harlenn [static], head archivist of The Magnus Institute, London.

Statement Begins.

[click]

OOC and timeline info under the cut:

hey y'all, it's me again

Back at it with a blatant self insert

This time as The Archivist. and The Assistants are here too! (Mostly....) The colored text I used for Tim and Martin are what I'll be using to distinguish them.

Ideally this is gonna be in the same universe as my other blog, Sylvester (@antiques-anon-tma) but our Elias has said we're going to keep using multiple Archivists (which I think is fun) so we'll see

Quick run down of the story so far: everything is the same up until the Prentiss Attack.

Something goes wrong, John doesn't make it, and I'm chosen as his replacement. Martin took some time off, but did eventually come back. He's not fully a lonely avatar but he's showing a few signs.

We are unfortunately at a point where "Sasha" is no longer with us. We're all under the impression Leitner killed the Not!Sasha. It was after the reveal actual Sasha been dead for almost a year that Martin finally explained to me what happened with The Worms and everything.

I was more willing to accept the existence of the paranormal than Jon ever was through this whole thing, but ironically I never realized I had already been victim to one of the dread powers

both because of my actual phobia and to make up for missing the Prentiss takeover: some time before I started with the institute I was marked very deeply by the corruption.

That's part of why I was chosen as Jon's replacement, as well as being general eager to dive into any cases that particularly piqued my interest.

I cannot stress enough that the only one of my traits I am explicitly NOT giving The Archivist right now is my crush on Elias. He actually. Doesn't really like Mr. Bouchard that much. But despite that it hasn't been hard to manipulate him.

Unlike my other blogs, I am not going to put any warnings or limitations relating to my phobias. If I'm suddenly getting a bunch of triggering content I'll change that, but for now: do whatever you'd like.

Flirting/romance is ok, no problem with that

Perhaps refrain from anything sexually explicit but otherwise nothing is really off the table

If you want/need any info about myself, my main blog is @idl3dr3ams

Tags:

Statement Begins- Answering Asks, first response from me in another person's chain

Statement ends- Last response from me in a thread

Supplemental- rp starters/in character posts

ooc- out of character

[confusedfeelsfangirl]

For my upcoming TMA rpg session:

(Séphora si tu vois ça, bestie, t’as rien vu)

[envihellbender]

Archivist!Tim

Fandom: The Magnus Archives

Characters: Tim Stoker, Jonathan Sims

Content: Roleswap

—

Tim hated his new office. Everything from how small it was to the painted eyes staring at him from all of the walls. As well as the fact it was separate from everyone. He hated that the computer never worked here, and the stupid tape recorder he had to use instead. Not to mention the unorganised mess that he’d inherited from Gertrude. He hated that this was supposed to be Sasha’s job and now she wasn’t talking to him. He held his head in his hands, his arms propped up on the desk. He rubbed his temples as he felt a tension headache looming. He’d told her he’d not applied for it, that he never wanted it, but he could tell she didn’t believe him. His thoughts were interrupted by a knock, and someone entering his office without invitation. He was thin and looked extremely uncomfortable, he had tight black curls and a grey cotton jumper with a “he/him” pronouns badge on his The Magnus Institute lanyard. Tim should have said something, which made it all the more awkward when the man piped up.

“Hello, I’m- my name’s Jonathan Sims. Or John,” John stammered. Tim stared for a moment clueless until he realised, he got to his feet and approached him, with his hand held out. John took it and visibly unsettled about the situation.

“Oh! Hi. You’re the new guy, right?” Tim said awkwardly. “Sorry, I’m still getting settled in. Bit out of sorts.” He’d heard the new hire was quite standoffish and quiet, so having him willingly coming to the office to chat was unexpected. He didn’t look pleased to be there, in fact he looked confused himself.

“I- Yes. I’m the new researcher here.” He wasn’t looking at Tim, but instead everywhere else in the room. “I thought I should introduce myself to the Head Archivist-”

“Temporary Head Archivist,” Tim corrected quickly. He had said that so much the last few days it was more of a reflex than anything else. No matter how hollow they were becoming. “I told Elias I’ll take it until he chooses someone else.”

“Oh, right,” John nodded. Tim thought he seemed liked he never spoken to another person before.

“So, have you met everyone yet?” He asked, forcing a smile and wondering why John wouldn’t just leave.

“Erm. Elias and Martin. They mentioned Sasha but she’s not in yet.”

“Wait, she isn’t?”

“No. Is that strange?”

“You could say that.”

“Something wrong?”

“Oh, no. It’s- she’s-” Tim hated that his worry was probably showing all over his face. Everyone thought Sasha would take the job, when he was offered instead he’d done everything to try and change that. Yet here he was. “It’s probably just… Something has come up.”

“Mm, right.”

“Can I ask you something?”

“I suppose so.” It was written all over John’s face that he wanted to say no.

“Why are you working here?” Tim began, being more inquisitive than he usually would be to a new colleague. “No offence or anything, it’s just this isn’t a place flooded with applicants.”

“I don’t know. I needed a job, I suppose,” John paused, Tim saw his emotions all over his face, his brow furrowed as he deliberated whether to stay more. Eventually he reluctantly added more. It almost looked as if Tim was tugging it from him somehow. “I want to know more about Jurgen Leitner.”

“Ah. Yeah. Those bastards sure do show up a lot,” Tim nodded as he rubbed his eyes.

“What about you?”

“Oh. Well. I’m interested in this stuff I suppose, I’m a researcher and I’m good at it. Too good at it, because now I’m no longer doing research.” Tim furrowed his brow and looked above John at the large green eye above the door. The same one graffitied on the floor of the abandoned factory where Danny disappeared. He felt a little awkward for a moment, John had given him something to work with after all. “Something weird happened to me. I want to see if anyone else had experienced anything like it too.”

“Mm. That makes sense,” John replied, although Tim saw him begin to fidget and stare at the wall as if he wasn’t paying attention.

“Are you okay?”

“There’s spiders everywhere in here, I don’t care for it.”

“Huh. Never seen a spider in here before,” Tim said staring at the small black arachnid that ran around in circles on the wall opposite his desk.

“Ah, well. I better get back to work.,” John finally ended with a nod and a forced smile. Tim watched as he left, he could have sworn the spider followed him out the door.

[sunny-reacts-to-stuff]

tma 63 another day another magnus episode. "the end of the tunnels"

Darkness, Decapitation, Paranoia-Inducing, Being Hunted, Invisible Danger, Shadows, Claustrophobia

reaction under the cut so miss iris my bestie doesn't see.

tw for my own theories: child abuse / skinning / necrophilia

okay, so. i have been thinking about benjamin carslile. it is impossible that the woman made it through the snow and back to anywhere with civilization, right? but ben is already dead, so he cannot... die? so i am guessing he left the cave at some point. the thing is that he died after finding out what makes meat come to life, so maybe he is using it for himself and has been living out meat-people to carry out his legacy or something, and that's what toby is? and he was doing his own meat person? or maybe the woman did it with herself before she died? idk. OR. i don't know.

also i have been wondering about gerard a lot. i got this idea that mary sees totally capable of skinning him when he was a child/defenseless and using it to control him, or that she controlled something in order to conceive him or something and i just feel so bad.

either way. erin.

what a nice name.

YAHOO MENTION

"look it up" you are talking to an elder in her mid 60s leave her alone

TRESSPASS AS A SPORT?

are you like melanie's long lost sister

does she hunt cryptips or something

SAPPHIC SPOTTED

HE WAS WHAT

eaten by the darkness woah

i hope your wife doesnt leave you over that

i love her vibe

jon has never once in the past 5 months forgotten about under london

mmm i wonder if the fact that edinbrugh also has an under-edin has to do with the entities

getty mentions

church of england was in my exam today and i left it blank btw

MR. DARKNESS

i really hope the person made of darkness ends up being a woman because every time i typed mr. darkness i have been like "what if he is a woman" and then i go "what are the chances"

there's a panopticon under london, right?

wait howmany cages does a panopticon have. six?

"Although it is physically impossible for the single guard to observe all the inmates' cells at once, the fact that the inmates cannot know when they are being watched motivates them to act as though they are all being watched at all times." thanks wikipedia

okay so in millbank supposedly they should have 6 so is it 6 entities and the eye watches over them or something?

is the institute the one in the middle?

money always leading to the downfall of men

NOOO THE TORCH fok

i wonder why it went for luke only

wait. are there multiple mr. darknesses?

jon you are reading it so well

the rector was understanding? thats great

OH THE RECTOR WAS SECRETLY EVIL WAS HE

i hope your wife and you heal :(

why the fuck was robert smirke working so hard

GO STEPH GO

supplement!

do you guys think he was like "mmm what could have been her fav employee?" and submitted M4RT1N@blackwood as a password?

MELANIE? MELANIE?

WHEN I SAID "CAN WE BRING MELANIE BACK" I DIDNT THINK IT WOULD HAPPEN?

what new girl that's sasha james for you you are gonna trigger him into a psychotic break

SHE NEEDS HELP EVERYONE

ENLIGHTEN US

girl. girl. girl. when has jonathan the asshole sims ever not been an asshole about something

who the fuck is diana

there's a diana that lived in toby carlisle house btw

get martin to vouch, its easier

thats not a friend whatsoever

now martin blackwood? if you are nice to him he'll be your bestie

hehe what did you have going on with georgie mr. sims !!

why did you leave on bad terms

JON YOU ARE NOT SUPPLEMENTING ME ENOUGH

charlatan is a word in english?

i mean you didnt seem like you did anything wrong

YOU GOT ARRESTED?

i like melanie and all of that but why the fuck is jon nicer to her than he has been to literally all his coworkers

okay he is an asshole

ohhh are they gonna start the paranoid club?

"how do i get out" like you did the first time, lmao?

"what a strange woman" says strange man