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phynoma · 7 months

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HALLOWEEN COUNTDOWN

As a countdown to Halloween, I'm sharing the original statements I wrote for the Consuming AU! (<<click for ao3 link) The statements function as horror shorts that work on their own, and I'm proud of them, ngl

Without further ado:

Statement 1: The Chocolate Pot

CW: Manipulation, supernatural compulsion, accidental dead-naming, drowning

[Tape clicks on. Head Archivist’s Office]

ARCHIVIST

Statement of Corey Garrett, regarding his discovery of a vintage, silver chocolate pot. Original statement taken August 9th, 2007. Audio recording by Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute, London.

Statement begins.

It was an estate auction that did it.

My cousin, Niamh Flaherty and I, would get out of mum's house by taking our bikes up and down Elvendon Lane. There aren't a lot of turnoffs, and it's one of those narrow, country lanes that seems like it keeps its own secrets. We were lonely, in the way that two young adults in the countryside could be: on the edge of adulthood and the fears of being cast into the unknown, even as we longed for it with all our fledgling desire for flight.

It was the end of summer, and Niamh was visiting from Limerick, and we were terribly bored with country life. Just eighteen, the both of us, and playing at being proper adults. Independant, all that. Both of us had a thing for antiques–though I’ve lost a bit of my taste for it, now–and we were incorrigibly curious.

There's not much that goes on around Woodcote that the whole village doesn't know about, so when Niamh and I saw the lorry at the end of a short drive, nearly blocking the narrow road into town, we stopped. The drive itself was far too small for the mini tipper to navigate; just a blind opening to a gravel track so overgrown it could have just been a path into the woods that would end, like a fairy-path, with no house or sign of humanity in sight.

My parents had moved out to the village when I was at school, and I didn’t know whose house it was that had attracted the house clearance auctioneers like flies to a decaying corpse. All I knew was folks that needed seven tonne lorries were likely old and rich, and that sounded like a magic combination. A proper treasure hunt, you know?

Maybe it was a bit ghoulish, but the idea of a dusty, mouldering house of forgotten and unwanted treasures really got to us–Niamh and me. Like I said, Niamh and I were still pretty young, but I was always impressed with her. She seemed sort of worldly, always got men's attention. She wasn't that pretty, I don't think–well, I mean, I don't know. I'm her cousin, aren't I? But she had a way about her, something that drew people in. I could never figure out if I was jealous of her or if I wanted to be her.

Anyway, watching strangers pack up a lorry with some old, unlucky geezer's worldly treasures might not seem like a good time, but we made the most of it. We made guesses of what was in the boxes, what kind of person they'd been, why they didn't have any family to collect the goods. It was an “adult” kind of fun, nothing kids would be interested in, but now that Niamh and I were grown up we could watch the delivery men carting boxes and furniture down the dusty drive and feel like we were gossiping like real people, real adults did. We were so hungry for a world beyond us.

And there was plenty to gossip about. Crates of old knickknacks and rubbish– porcelain table sets shaped like too-quaint dolls, ratty old tapestries from the 70’s made to look mediaeval and missing the mark– that sort of thing. We sat on our bikes across the lane and kept our eyes peeled for the priceless artefacts we knew we’d spot among all the junk. With our keen, young minds we had a plan that if we did see anything, we’d be the first down at the auction houses and charity shops in Reading to snatch it up. Ghoulish, like I said. But at the time we felt very clever and sophisticated as we guessed at values and made crude but cutting remarks.

We could see a bit of the house from the road–disappointingly normal, all told. Renovated maybe in the mid-90s, one of those monstrosities that was probably a fine thing when it was built two centuries ago and which had been “upgraded” nearly out of existence. We were guessing at how terribly the inside had been refurbished when a woman wearing a cream suit left the front door. For a moment, I could have sworn she looked right at us, down by the road. And she smiled. I don't know how, but I could feel it, like an itch behind my teeth. Then she turned and disappeared behind the hedges and fruit trees that blocked most of the house.

I shook off the shudder that half-imagined smile had given me, and put her from my mind. In any case, Niamh hadn’t seemed to notice the woman. I’d have almost thought I’d made her up, except after a good ten or fifteen minutes she appeared again at the bottom of the lane. She must have walked all the way down, and her cream suit was coated in a fine layer of dust. She held a small crate in her hands.

I don’t know how, but I knew that crate was full of the treasures Niamh and I were waiting to see. I tried to be subtle watching her, but Niamh and I were the only ones on a long, lonely lane, so it was pretty obvious we were gawking. I expected an annoyed glance, maybe, or for the woman to shoo us off. Instead, she looked up. Our eyes met, and I got that weird feeling again, like she was…amused, somehow. It turnt my stomach right over.

I didn’t notice that Niamh had grabbed my arm until later, when I saw the bruises, because I was so focused on that woman. She walked over to us with that little half-smile, the crate still in her arms. She said her name was…I think it was Karen? Karen…something common, I think, but like an old man name. Withers, maybe.

Anyway, she came right up to the both of us and asked if we had known the owner of the house. I don’t remember what we said–if we lied and claimed we did, or what. The answer didn’t really seem to matter. She said the owner had been old and eccentric, and he hadn’t had anyone to leave his belongings to, so they’d been called in. Hope Charities, she said, and pointed at the lorry. There wasn't a name painted on it or anything, but the men doing the loading were wearing white coveralls with B&H on the back. Don't know what the "B" stood for.

She– Karen– showed us the crate. It was open. Inside was a jumble of knick-knacks, exactly the kind of thing you’d expect: a couple of old books with faded dust covers from the 50s or 60s, some miscellaneous silverware, a snowglobe that was nearly opaque from the dissolved snow, a single Skittles pin.

She said it was a box of the things they didn’t think would sell, and offered to let us take anything we’d like. She smiled when she said it, and the smile didn’t match her eyes. Even though it’d been what we were hoping for, I was suddenly uneasy. It didn’t feel like we could say no. I wanted, desperately, to say no. I think I hoped Niamh would do it for me.

Niamh took a book–at random, I think–and I picked up a tarnished chocolate pot. I had half a mind that I could give it to my mum as a birthday gift, with a bit of polish. Karen nodded like I’d made a good choice and gave me one more of those little half-smiles. It reminded me of a crocodile, somehow.

“Enjoy,” she said, and brought the crate back to the lorry to be packed away.

Niamh and I went home after that. There wasn’t much more for us to do, really. We laughed about it, about how we thought we’d been in trouble. Niamh said I must have charmed her with my wicked good looks–but Niamh was always the charmer, and she didn’t seem to realise I didn’t have her way with people.

She showed me her book. It looked like it’d been a library book at some point, and the dust cover was a bit torn. It had one of those generic, oil-painted landscapes as the cover art, of a circle of grey-green mountains with a blue-grey sky behind. It was called A Very Windy Day, and I didn’t know what possessed Niamh to choose that over everything else in the crate. When I asked her, she shrugged and said it reminded her of something.

In the end, I was rather proud of my chocolate pot, and I spent the rest of the afternoon trying to shine it up with some of my mum’s old Wright’s jewellery cleaner. Niamh settled down with her book–I don’t know if she was actually that interested in it, but after my teasing she made a point of reading it in front of me. She even read a bit out loud–something about big spaces and the ever-expanding entropy of the universe. It was way more dry than I expected, and it made me feel sort of funny and small, so I told her to read to herself.

The chocolate pot shined up nicely, though it took a good deal of time. By the time I looked around to ask Niamh something, she had left with her book–probably to get away from the smell of the cleaner. I was a little miffed that she hadn’t said anything to me; but then again, I had been rather focused.

I cleaned the inside of the pot, and noticed that it was in good shape but had some strange scratches on the inside, like someone had gone in with a wire scrubber at some point in the past. The scratches weren’t deep enough that I was concerned it would be unsafe to drink from, and I resolved to make some tea in it, just to try it out.

I steeped a few bags of breakfast tea directly in the pot itself–after all, if the thing was to be used for brewing chocolate, it shouldn’t have any sort of flavour itself, and there was no point in putting hot water from the kettle into the pot and then pouring it over bags from there. But when I poured the tea into my cup, it was almost black, and thick as mud. It had a strong, earthy aroma that wasn’t unpleasant– a bit like a very strong, very unsweetened cocoa.

This was rather off-putting, but I figured to myself that perhaps I hadn’t cleaned the inside of the pot as much as I’d thought, and the hot water had now cleared it out. The vaguely-chocolate-like scent could be from years of accumulated grime, for all I knew. I poured out the rest, washed out the remainder, and tried again.

The second steeping, the stuff was a little thinner, and the aroma thick but sweeter. Perhaps, I thought, the boiling water was doing its job to scrape out the inside of the pot. I poured it out again and resteeped it a third time. This time, the liquid was a warm, golden brown, like a well-sweetened and milky cocoa mixed with cinnamon or turmeric. It smelled mouthwatering.

I realised, belatedly, that I hadn’t added the teabags at all, and couldn’t help but wonder if that had been the reason for the odd black sludge the first time. Whatever the reason, the fact was now that this chocolate pot was a more exciting find than I could have ever hoped for in my attempted grown-up adventure-seeking. I allowed myself a bit of childish delight, that I had something truly special.

Of course, I wasn’t a fool– I wasn’t about to start serving this mysteriously appearing chocolate to my family without some more research. I did some internet research and found very little in the way of magical chocolate pots or cursed items. There was absolutely no record of regular chocolate pots creating chocolate from hot water, although there was plenty about cast iron and other sorts of well-seasoned kitchenware, and some tales of Chinese clay teapots being used for so long that one only had to pour in hot water to get tea.

This seemed unlikely for my silver pot, but I clung to the idea that there was at least some reasonable explanation. I would have even taken a reasonable supernatural explanation–anything that meant I wasn’t simply going mad. And, just in case I was somehow hallucinating the sight and smell of the chocolate, I figured a few other senses were necessary.

For some reason, it was very important to me that I was alone. The childish feeling was stronger; that I had something special, something precious, like a stuffed animal worn to an inch of its life. I wanted to test the chocolate pot in privacy, in a little tent of my own making, someplace dim and close and warm. I imagined sharing chocolate with Niamh like we had as children in a fort made of cushions and blankets, our small hands wrapped around second-best china, in a small, dark world of our own. Safe. Intimate.

I locked myself in the bathroom and climbed in the tub, pulling the curtain around me in as much of an approximation of a fort as I'd allow myself. I poured myself a new cup of chocolate and dipped my finger into the liquid. It was pleasantly warm, not boiling, and thick and silky smooth. I rubbed it between my fingers, marvelling at it, and then without thinking I licked it from my fingers.

It was delicious, just as rich and sweet and full as it smelled. Emboldened, I took a sip directly from the cup. Flavour exploded over my tongue, rich and complex and very clearly chocolate. I finished the cup within minutes and poured another. I was starting to rethink my idea to gift the chocolate pot to my mother, when I could just as easily share its contents with her but keep the pot to myself.

I refilled the pot only once with more water–which I got straight from the bath tap– and looking back, that should have been an alarming sign. At the time, I was simply amazed at how the flavours seemed to change with every cup, perfectly setting off the previous so that each was distinct. It was impossible to tire of, and it seemed to spread through my stomach and then my whole torso and limbs like a good scotch.

I was feeling pleasantly warm and buzzing when Niamh returned. Again, I didn’t hear her come in through the door, but she was suddenly there, in front of me, asking what I was doing. I hesitated, wondering if she would want a cup. Dare I share my magic? Of course, I decided, with a warm, happy surge of devotion. How wonderful, to share in the chocolate pot! How lovely, to be embraced together in such a remarkable creation! It occurred to me that everyone was deserving of such a gift. Perhaps I could sell it. Even better, I could give it away. I could open my home to any and all and share this incredible, magical drink that tasted like the very essence of comfort!

But first, I wanted to share it with Niamh. I wanted to capture a bit of that childhood we'd been so fierce in pushing away. I invited her into the tub with me, my sanctum, my fortress.

It was then that I noticed how distant Niamh's eyes were–as if she were in the room with me, but not. I felt as if she were looking at me from the other end of a very long tunnel, like a mineshaft. She stood in a square of light, while I crouched safe and warm and hidden in the dark. It pressed around me. It was deep, fathomless, but the pressure was comforting. It was the darkness of the womb, of a mother's arms who would never grow too frail, would never turn away. There was no need to fear growing old, there. It was a place where we could huddle in the dark and drink chocolate and always be children.

By this point, it felt as if the chocolate was in my very blood. Its thickness coated the inside of my oesophagus, my mouth. In a slurring, muffled voice, I offered my cousin a cup of the magical liquor. She refused, her eyes still empty.

I felt a surge of despair that she should be so far from me, when all I longed for was closeness. I took Niamh's hand, and when she tried to pull away with a cry of anger, I simply wrapped my arms around her instead.

For a moment, it felt as if I were holding a thousand stars in my embrace–or a million dandelion seeds, about to be blown away by a breath of wind. Niamh wiggled in my embrace and then, all of a sudden, slumped against me. As I hadn’t anticipated this, I could only lower her as slowly as I possibly could to the ground, where she lay curled and sobbing. Her face was a mask of fear and anguish. She draped over the tub, spilling the pot over. Dark liquid poured from it, thick and endless, clogging in the drain and slowly rising.

I righted the pot and handed her a cup of chocolate. This batch was dark as a moonless night and it smelled bitter and woody, but it was still obviously chocolate. When Niamh trembled so much that she would spill it, I helped tip it into her mouth.

At once she became still and quiet. Her eyes were wide and very dark, and she stared at me as if she had seen unknowable horrors.

I drank the rest of the cup, as she seemed uninclined to finish it, and felt the bitterness prick through me like deadly nightshade. My head swam. For a moment, I was drowning. My mouth was filled with thick nectar, and it ran down my front in muddy rivers. My eyesight blurred.

For some reason, my only thought was that I had something in my throat, and that the solution was clearly to wash it out with more chocolate. I poured another cup with shaking hands and slipping gaze, and when I spilled it I simply raised the chocolate pot and poured the sweet liquid directly into my mouth.

There was no end to the flowing chocolate, and for a moment I had a vision of the chocolate continuing to pour, and pour, until it flooded the room and down the street. I imagined the faces of the village as they saw the approaching wave, surprised and then delighted. I pictured them licking their hands like I had, or scooping up teacups full of the stuff to fill their own, hollow bodies. Like a children's story, a fairytale. All was innocent and sweet again, simple. I could save the world with my chocolate pot. All I had to do was keep pouring.

I could imagine how it would sit in us like ballast, thick and choking and so full that no one would ever have to feel loneliness again. To be embraced, inside and out, in thick, sweet nourishment. It was horrible. I had never imagined anything better, or worse. If I’d had any air left in my lungs, if the chocolate wasn’t already pouring from my mouth in an endless fountain, I would have screamed and not stopped. I sobbed, for the fear that I might never reach the beautiful image in my head, the promise of an endless, close embrace.

I felt arms around me, and then Niamh was trying to force the stuff from my stomach, my lungs. I coughed and choked and only managed to let more of the chocolate fill in the last bits of air I had. I was drowning in it. No, that's not right–it was swallowing me. I lay back in the tub that was slowly filling with chocolate and knew it would be my tomb.

I saw, rather than felt, Niamh’s hands pound against my chest. The tub could be our tomb, if only Niamh would join me. I tried to grasp her hand, to pull her into the warmth with me, but the chocolate coating my hands was too slick and she pulled away.

I wailed for her. My consciousness slipped. I was sinking into a deep, black pit of primordial warmth, and I knew I would never escape.

Except…well, I did, didn’t I? I’m still not completely sure how. I think Niamh did it, somehow.

I woke in my bed, with a horrible pressure headache, and Niamh at my side. I could have sworn, in the moments before I woke, that I heard her reading aloud to me–though I can’t recall the story, I do have a vague memory of her setting aside that little hardcover book she’d taken from the crate when I woke.

She explained that I had fallen asleep in the bath, of all places, and nearly drowned. I asked about the chocolate pot, and she seemed confused for a moment. I reminded her about the house, and the crate, and her eyes lit up. She brought to me a small, silver teapot and claimed that this was the thing I had chosen.

I was so tired that I hadn’t the energy to argue with her, and simply decided to ask about it more when I woke again. By the time I did, I could hardly recall what the original chocolate pot had looked like, and I couldn’t truly confirm whether or not the teapot she showed me was the one I had taken from the crate.

Niamh left at the end of that summer, and besides a few emails, we’ve mostly lost touch. It’s too bad, because we were very close once and I have a strange feeling that something that happened that summer contributed to her distance. She moved to Switzerland, I think, to be a ski instructor.

I gifted the silver teapot to my mum after all. She adores it, and it makes very good tea. But sometimes, whenever I’m drinking something, I get a thick, sweet taste on the back of my tongue like the finest of chocolate.

Statement ends.

ARCHIVIST (CONT.)

If I’d read this a year ago, I’d have dismissed it out of hand. It's exactly the kind of urban legend I'd expect would flood the shelves. But perhaps The Magnus Institute is a far less interesting or gratifying audience for such creators of tall tales than the usual, hungry internet forums.

(sigh) Nevertheless, there are a few details of note.

[Paper flips]

ARCHIVIST (CONT.)

(clears throat) Hm, excuse me, it seems that–Cora Garrett has not suffered any long term effects from her experience.

(to self) Note to self, re-record the intro of the statement using the correct name and pronouns.

(aloud) From the preliminary follow-up, it seems like Cora spent a few days in the hospital to get rid of what appeared to be a sudden case of pneumonia. No police report was ever filed, and we've had difficulty tracking down any relations to the original owners of 15 Elvendon Lane, assuming that number 15 was, indeed, the correct house. It was certainly the only house on auction around the correct time. It seems to have been renovated by the new owners, and there are no pictures online of the original house to try and match to Cora's description.

Karen Withers, or Smithers, or whatever her name might be-- the auction agent-- does not seem to exist–either in the Reading area or beyond. I am exceedingly curious to know who and what she is, or if she even exists. For all we know, she could be an invention of Cora and her cousin to explain away an adolescent break-in, or a hallucination like that of a (heavy sigh, dry) overflowing chocolate pot.

The most interesting piece of this statement, to me, is of course the reference to A Very Windy Day. The details are vague, but it could very well be a Leitner, and if that's the case I–

[Door opens]

ARCHIVIST (CONT.)

Ah. Martin.

#tma #the magnus archives #horror shorts #fanfiction #original statements #the consuming au #jonathan sims #the Archivist #fanfic #ao3 #phynoma #phyn writes

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poigdomevents · 2 years

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The Light Through the Trees

by Phynoma

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence; Major Character Death; Rape/Non-Con

Fandom: Fae Tales - not_poignant

Pairing: Mateo Zambrano Aschonera/Makalo ai'Nefreme

Tags: Mateo Zambrano Aschonera; Makalo ai'Nefreme; Original Character(s); Angst; Animal Shifter; Snakes; Xenophilia; Depression; Suicidal Thoughts; Hopeful Ending; Vore; Homosexuality; Homophobia; Homophobic Language; Asexual Character; Asexuality; Mating Cycles/In Heat; Magic; Predator/Prey; Mages; Murder; Mayhem; Serial Killer Vibes; maybe some cult vibes; Temporary Character Death; Fae & Fairies; Faedom Week 2022 (Faetales); Dead Dove: Do Not Eat; Suicidal Ideation; Blood and Injury; Winnowing

Summary: "You know I won't give you this chance again," Kal warned without turning around. Mat gritted his teeth. "I'm aware of what you're offering," he replied in clipped tones. And he knew exactly what he was doing by walking away. His dreams had been warning him of this inevitability for weeks. Sooner or later, Kal would kill him. Mat almost hoped it would be sooner.

Chapter 2: In which a debt is declared and Mat escapes

#submission #Phynoma #faedomweek2022 #faedom week 2022 #notpoignant #not-poignant #the ice plague

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annabelle--cane · 7 months

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(tags by @phynoma on this post)

this is very shrimple. the web and the eye are in an unhappy but stable marriage where the eye thinks it's the head honcho breadwinner of the family and has really let that self image go to its head but the web has that employment-childcare-household admin triple burden thing going on and is fully aware that if it took three days off of all its responsibilities then the entire family would come crashing down and has also let that go to its head, and it's just waiting until their child comes of age and moves out so it can finally fucking divorce the eye and thrive on its own. their child is a beautiful baby girl named jonathan sims and his parents are giving him every trauma ever.

#tma #id in alt text #marina marvels at life

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isbergillustration · 2 months

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A very fun commission I got to do for @phynoma

#acrylic painting #colour pencil #painting #horror art #body horror #illustration #artists on tumblr #commissions super open still btw #my art #keyword for this was unpleasantly fleshy and i think i got there #i had a lot of fun with this thanks for commissioning me

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dcartcorner · 4 months

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An OC commission for @phynoma for the fic "lust of the flesh, the lust of the eyes, and the ambition of the world". Thank you for the support!

#tma #the magnus archives #fanart #oc #fic

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bluejayblueskies · 8 months

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the lust of the flesh, the lust of the eyes, and the ambition of the world | phynoma

[ID: Two pictures of two hand-bound books, the first of which shows their front covers and the second of which shows their spines and part of their front covers at an angle. The leftmost book is bound in yellow bookcloth and has a hand-embroidered smiling mouth with bloody teeth on the bottom portion of the front and back cover. The title, "the lust of the flesh, the lust of the eyes, and the ambition of the world" is in the top right corner in black as well as the words "volume one" in maroon. The rightmost book is bound in red bookcloth and has a hand-embroidered ribcage on the lefthand side of the front cover and the righthand side of the back cover. The title, "the lust of the flesh, the lust of the eyes, and the ambition of the world" is in the top right corner in black as well as the words "volume two" in white. Both volumes have stitching across the spine that joins the embroidery on the front and back covers so that the design stretches across the spine. /End ID]

It's finally time to share the books I made for the 2023 Rusty Quill Big Bang, hosted by @pilesofnonsense! This year, I was paired with the wonderful @phynoma, who wrote a post-circus AU entitled the lust of the flesh, the lust of the eyes, and the ambition of the world where Jon is marked by an entity known as the Consuming that feeds off hunger and desire and focuses, in Jon's case, around sexual hunger and desire. It's a truly spectacular fic with excellent worldbuilding, spot-on characterization, and a wide variety of sexual encounters of all flavors, and I highly recommend it!

As this fic is written in transcript format, I wanted to go with an open-spine binding style that would have the advantage of both lying extremely flat when opened and giving the fic a more screenplay-like appearance. Also as a consequence of the transcript format, the final page count ended up being large enough that I split the fic into two volumes, the first of which covers season three and the second of which covers seasons four and five.

[ID: Two pictures of the same hand-bound books, the first of which shows volume one and the second of which shows volume two. Both books are fully open to display their front and back covers touching. We can see that the embroidered design, half of which is on the front cover and half of which is on the back, forms a complete picture when the book is fully open. /End ID]

Each volume has hand-embroidered front and back covers, with titles done in black, white, and maroon gel pen. The covers were designed so that when the book is fully open, the front and back cover designs come together to form one single cohesive image. Additionally, when the book is closed, the spine stitching was done so that the design stretches across the spine, thus making the full design complete whether the book is fully open or fully closed. I'm really proud of how these covers turned out, and even though the embroidery took much longer than I anticipated it taking, it's definitely something I would do again!

More description and pictures of the interior of the books are below the cut:

I went with a visually simple yet technically complex design for the typeset of this fic. Microsoft Word's styles were very much my friend, as well as its advanced find-and-replace feature, to automate a lot of the formatting for this fic. The most complex bits were the group chat excerpts and making sure all the profile pictures were positioned correctly, as well as the email chain excerpts in volume one. The text messages were done separately in an HTML workspace and then included via screenshots, and because I had an HTML/CSS text message code already sitting around from a previous project, those were relatively simple to format!

[ID: Eight pictures of the interior of the hand-bound books from previous photos. The first picture shows the title page of volume one, which has the title and author name in black and "volume one" in red, as well as a picture of a ginko tree. The second picture shows the title page of volume two, which has the title and author name in black and "volume two" in red, as well as a picture of a cherry blossom tree. The third picture shows the colophon and table of contents for volume two, highlighting the binder logos--a bluejay and a bookpress--and the faux-label table of contents title. The fourth picture shows the chapter header page for the chapter "voyeurism" in volume one, featuring brackets around the notes, content warnings, and pairings for the chapter as well as a quote from the confessions of augustine, which is separated from the warnings with an open eye graphic. The fifth picture shows the beginning of the chapter "hunger in the garden" in volume two, displaying the transcript formatting of the text as well as the faux-label chapter name on the top left. The sixth picture shows text messages in volume two, which are formatted the same as text messages on an iOS system with blue and gray bubbles and a name header that says "Jonathan Sims." The seventh picture shows some chapter text as well as a faux-office memo, done in a sans serif font, written from Elias Bouchard to the Archives team. The eighth picture shows on the left page faux emails, done in an iOS style with profile pictures for each email, and on the right page a faux-group message with profile pictures for each member and a header that labels the groupchat as the Snarkivists. /End ID]

The fonts used for this typeset were chosen based on those used for the unofficial Magnus Archives transcripts--DejaVu Sans Mono for the chapter intro pages and Libre Baskerville for the body text. I'm not 100% sure that those are the actual fonts used for the unofficial transcripts, but based on the reverse font search I did, those seem to be a close match for it.

This was a big project for me, and I'm so happy to finally see it to completion! Once again, a big thanks to Phynoma for being such a wonderful partner to work with--I'm excited to send you these books so you can see them in person 💜

#tma #the magnus archives #rqbb2023 #bookbinding #fanbinding #jay's bound books

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confoundedpangolin · 5 months

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tag game! we (tma discord) have come to the conclusion that this fandom is like a fucked up family dinner party! That being said, what are you bringing to this paranormal potluck, and what fun (terrifying) activities do you think we'll be roped into?

I am bringing fried spiders and a cake modelling (and made of) skin, and I think I will start off the shenanigans by forgetting who I am. and the fact that I am human. and due to this, cannibalising several living people.

Tags:

@nerdypixel, @melandrops, @ceaseless-sobbing, @cryingyouariver, @mintytea-exe, @murderandcoffee, @asentienthaze, @cielle-b, @ceaslesswatcherwhatistboyswag, @superpaperclip, @teddylacroix, @eliias-bouchard, @theburninggalaxy, @kazoohu, @phynoma, @rigormortisriot, @j0ytea, @poisoncoffeecup, and anyone else who wants to join!

#tag game #tma #the magnus archives

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swordtit · 4 months

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tagged by @the-cooler-sidestep ty ty ~

Rules: shuffle your repeat playlist ten times and tag ten people

the michael jordan of drunk driving / gift of the magi 2 (live) - AJJ

24k casket - amigo the devil

cocaine and abel - amigo the devil

ouija (live) - harley poe

people ii: the reckoning (live) - AJJ

self esteem (live) - AJJ

ducks - toodles & the hectic pity

hell and you - amigo the devil

baby no more - anjimile

1978 (reunion) - anjimile

hrm.. i'll tag @alouvrr @haaardly @crowshuh @phynoma @asthecrowrambles ... and anyone else who wants to do this lol...

#speaking #tag game #i have a lot of amigo/AJJ saved #compared to other artists

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nialoke · 4 months

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tagged by @phynoma :D

Rules: Shuffle your repeat playlist ten times and tag ten people

(Confession: I don't actually use Spotify that much and had to look up what a repeat playlist even is, never knew this function existed asdfg so idk how much this is actually gonna say about my music tastes)

1. I Caught Myself - Paramore

2. Supermassive Black Hole - Muse

3. What Else Can I Do? - Encanto Soundtrack

4. Grifters - Charming Disaster

5. Why Do You Love Me - Garbage

6. Calamari Inkantation - Splatoon Soundtrack

7. Für nichts garantieren - Wir sind Helden

8. The Bird and the Worm - Owl City

9. The Bitch of Living - Spring Awakening the Musical

10. don't worry, you will - lovelytheband

I'm tagging uh @cupofcopper @cathyfowl @princeoftenderness @aelorn @not-poignant and everyone else who wants to do this

(if any of you would prefer not to be tagged in anything by me in the future, please let me know!)

#meme thing #surprised that one song from demondice wasn't even on the playlist

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milkteamoon · 5 months

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20 questions for fic writers

Tagged by @shinyopals thank youuuu

1. How many works do you have on Ao3? 42!

2. What’s your total Ao3 word count? 340,042

3. What fandoms do you write for? Currently and primarily The Magnus Archives — I only rarely write for multiple fandoms at a time. In the past I've written for Jibaku Shounen Hanako-kun, Deltarune, Victoria's Electric Coffin......a friend and I used to write OC/Black Butler crossover fics in like, middle school lol

4. What are your top five fics by kudos?

Cicada Summar (JSHK, rated T, gen) — Pre-canon JSHK backstory fic

No Sort of Name for People Like Us (TMA, rated T, jmart) — mid s3 practice kissing fic

Our Own Personal Hell (TMA, rated T, jmart) — s2 time loop shenanigans

Tongue to Teeth (TMA, rated T, jmart) — victorian monster hunting au

Check Each Box That Applies (TMA, rated T, jmart) — s2 lunch dates and personal discussions

Cicada Summer was posted at the height of JSHK fandom popularity, so I don't think that one is super representative of my "best" fics, though I do think that No Sort of Name is pretty good haha

5. Do you respond to comments? I do my best to!

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending? Prooobably Hazy Days of December...I got a lot of people yelling at me for that one haha (even if I don't think it's too bad? It's open ended at least)

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending? Umm I'm not sure! I think most of my fics are happy endings...maybe Worth More Than All the Silence

8. Do you get hate on fics? I've gotten a few weird comments but I don't think I've ever gotten anything outright hateful

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind? I've written a few fics but must of my smut stays in the Google docs. My asexual ass likes things more focused on the humorous lead up and/or kink than the actual sex part haha

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written? I think the closest thing I've written to a crossover is the doctor who au I wrote earlier this year — I don't really write proper crossovers :,)

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen? Not to my knowledge

12. Have you ever had a fic translated? Don't think so!

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before? Me and @indigosienna attempted to write a collab fic back in 2020, but we both ended up falling off of it before we finished (oops). The first chapter is still good though I think!

14. What’s your all time favorite ship? HARD question, but jmart and hananene both have very special places in my heart

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will? Too many fic ideas to list haha

16. What are your writing strengths? I think I'm pretty good at humor and getting into a character's head. Also love writing an emotionally charged scene

17. What are your writing weaknesses? Dialogue heavy scenes are the WORST (writing dialogue tags without sounding stupidly repetitive...shaking my fist at the sun). Also forever complaining about editing

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic? I don't know any other languages well enough to do so

19. First fandom you wrote for? I have vague memories of writing warrior cats fanfiction waaaaay back in the day

20. Favorite fic you’ve written? This is a haaaaard question but currently I'd have to say 1. Learning the Ropes — I originally started this for the RQ big bang in June and didn't make it to the deadline, so it felt like a big accomplishment to actually finish it. Plus I just really like delving into that era of canon and Jon and Martin's whole not-quite-dating shtick they have going on. And 2. Tongue to Teeth — I really love this fic and this au and I was noooot at all expecting the love for it I ended up getting on it. I love this silly au and I'm glad others do as well :,)

Not sure who has been tagged so! Sorry for any repeats! @rakel-on-ao3 @asleeb @thatsrightdollface @crit20lesbian @phynoma @lo-fi-charming @pinehutch @cnnmonbimee

#tag game #thank youuu for the tag opal. these are always fun to do :)

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phynoma · 2 months

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Oh hi!

I'm Phyn! I write things. I'm not going to get into a bunch of identity stuff, but I'm queer, I'm an adult, and I like writing queer adult stuff. Mostly horror (see: queer) and absurdity (see: the world)

I have degrees in english, theology, and more theology, which just means I have a bunch of experience doing critical thinking and analysis of storytelling, and enough imposter syndrome that I don't know how to put that on a resume.

FANDOMS!

If you're already following me it's probably for Pillars of Eternity, TMA, or LOTR/Silmarillion. I cycle through hyperfixations every few years. It's still TMA/TMAGP right now. You can find my TMAGP sideblog here, where I just collect art.

Other things I like: Fallen London, everything by Pia Foxhall/not_poignant, re:dracula, SILT VERSES, Rivers of London, Murderbot, Critical Role, Saga, Wicked+Divine, anything by Neil Gaiman, I Am in Eskew, norse myths, egyptian myths, jewish myths, the dragonlance books (don't judge me they were foundational), pretty much everything Mike Flanagan makes, and much much more

WRITING!

I'm on ao3 as Phynoma! What do I write? Well. I write in-depth explorations of characters placed in harrowing situations which draw out the very inmost parts of their vulnerabilities and--

Smut. I write smut, okay?

Almost all of these fics are explicit and PLEASE FOR THE LOVE OF GOD mind the tags, I am *very* careful with my tagging for good reason!!!!

HERE YA GO, YA FILTHY ANIMALS!

The Magnus Archives:

I mentioned this is my current fixation, right?

an extant form of life: pollen fic! You could say, maybe, that the Consuming AU uses pollen tropes, but I'm counting this as my first-ever pollen fic. Jon/Tim, Jon/Martin, maybe Jon/Tim/Martin, we'll see if Sasha gets thrown in there. Ongoing.

Hey, Jude: A hurt/comfort fic about what happened after Jon shook Jude Perry's hand. Jon & Georgie & the kindness of strangers (not those strangers) Oneshot.

The Consuming AU: My pride and joy. My baby. I started this halfway through listening to TMA the first time and finished the original fic in about two months in time for the Rusty Quill Big Bang of 2023. Canon is basically the same, with the addition of "what if there was a Entity of Hunger, (fear of) Intimacy, and Codependence?" Also Jon is turning into a succubus. Main fic is complete at a little over 100k words. Sometimes I add one-shots to the series.

~Incredible bookbinding done by @bluejayblueskies HERE ~Art of human-looking Rhia (by me) HERE and commission of eldritch angel Rhia by @isbergillustration HERE ~Commission of Naadia by @dcartcorner HERE

Kittens & Kink AU: Fluffy Somewhere Else one-shots. Cat play. Mostly nonsexual kink. Oliver/Jon/Martin. Ongoing, until I get bored of it, basically.

Pillars of Eternity:

The In-Between Series: A series of fics following the relationship of Watcher Mirad and Aloth Corfiser, ten years or so after the events of Deadfire. The world of Eora is ripe for a new cataclysm, and these two elves are trying to finally have the relationship they've been dancing around for two decades. Ongoing, on hiatus as my hyperfixation is elsewhere. I do plan to finish it, though.

Moments: same universe and characters as above, focusing more on events that happen in canon-- ie, during gameplay. Complete.

Faetales:

Mat & Kal: Fae AU: You know how sometimes you keep writing characters and put them through a blender so many times that they just become something completely new? That's this AU. Mateo and Makalo are two ancient fae beings trapped in the human world during the events of The Ice Plague (by not_poignant) who become bound by each others' lives and deaths. They hate each other, they love each other, they're in weird psychosexual sadistic codependency with each other. They're a cat-person and a snake-person. I'm not a furry but I like some of their ideas, okay? Series complete.

See commissioned art of Mat & Kal by @shojoshark HERE

The Silmarillion:

Mistakes Were Made: Imma be real, this is just straight up torture porn. Sauron is punished by Morgoth after the loss of the Silmaril to Beren & Luthien. Basically, I was annoyed by all the fluffy Angbang fics I was reading and wanted to depict them in all their horrifying, codependent glory. Complete.

Cost of Surrender: I read a really good fic about what it took for Mairon to grovel/debase himself to Eonwe to gain his freedom and I took it a bit further. Complete.

Good Omens:

the beautiful and the fitting: pretty sure the title of this is a quote from St. Augustine, too. I almost didn't include this one because I don't even remember what it's about. Fluffy sex times with nonsexual beings, I think. I started writing it because Good Omens is one of my favorite books, but tbh the fandom for the show exhausts me and I don't know if I'll come back to this. Abandoned, probably.

#writing masterpost #fic list #about me #phyn writes #sorry to all the folks I tagged I just want you to be loved #on the off chance anyone actually reads this #long post #pinned post

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