rusty_kink | Prompt Post: The Magnus Archives #1

Prompt Post: The Magnus Archives #1

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Page 107 of 139

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Here is a fill!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/29081661

I'm back! I'm trying to finish it! I'm also updating on ao3, here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28707984

op here, holy shit, thank you so much!

holy shit OP
fantastic prompt, wish I could do it justice

your brain is huge OP

Third chapter done, and fic is finished :)

-Hawke

AU in which Jon has already been Head Archivist for decades by the time Martin gets hired. This Jon is a more experienced, Gertrude-like figure than his canon self.

Martin's crush on Jon remains unchanged, because this Jon is also the DILFiest goddamn silver fox to ever inhabit the Magnus Institute.

So there have been a few fics in which Jon goes fully Archive and Jonah keeps him as a pet in the Panopticon. In light of 192, I’d like to see this reversed. Jonah as the Eye’s Pupil is utterly helpless and little more than a conduit. Killing him won’t turn the world back even if they could do it, and he’s barely a person like this, let alone the man who destroyed the world, so even for Martin a revenge killing would be hollow at best. Instead, Jon and Martin keep him as a pet as they formulate their plans as to how to change the world back. I’m here primarily for the psychological aspect, but any level of sex is fine with me! (after all, what is a pupil but another hole?)
Bonus points for Jonah being instinctively obedient/affectionate because Jon and Martin are Eye avatars and he recognises their authority, and extra bonus points for Jonah being absently ordered around or treated as an object, especially if he’s being a nuisance while JM are having serious discussions/planning sessions.
(Actually, basically anything that normal!Jonah would find unspeakably humiliating is my jam.)

I think I’ve unlocked a new kink

Wrote a minifill in the style of snippits of events rather than a coherant story, but i hope you still like it :)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/29130945

It's not complete, and I've still ideas, but its there.

-Hawke

aw hell i love this idea.

For a heartbeat, Martin believes he is saved.

“Jon.’’ A whisper, followed by a cry of terrible hope. “Jon--?!”

Tearing the Polaroid from Martin’s hands doesn’t erase what he’s seen. Nor does it let you find out yourself. Its message is blotted out to you as much as its existence was before.

You look into Martin’s head, scanning for whatever knowledge he has gleaned from it. But as with his memories of the blind spots, that is blacked out to you as well. A blind spot in Martin’s mind that you can only see the borders of.

Jon, it was Jon, Jon did this, Jon Jon Jon

Martin’s face twists into several different expressions. His hands hover in the air. He tentatively reaches them an inch forward.

“Jon!’’ He doesn’t touch the Archivist. “Jon, I’m sor—talk to me, please--’’

You rip up the Polaroid with the Archivist’s hands. Martin’s face falls, his hands withdrawing and curling back into his chest. But tearing the thing to pieces can’t remove what has been seen.
Martin's mind wraps around the knowledge, and will not let it go.

Uncertain, you cast him into a deep sleep.

The thing is—when Martin wakes up after that, he gets up and drinks the tea you placed at his bedside. He swallows harshly, throat threatening to close up, but he does it.

“...Jon?”

“Martin. I love you.”

Martin takes a careful breath, and presses his lips into a flat line. “Thanks for being obvious, at least,” he says. “So, you can’t wipe memories, then.”

“Martin...”

“Because you would have, wouldn’t you? And you haven’t, so that means you can’t. That’s one thing you can’t control.” Martin’s eyes dart around the room for a second. “I know there’s a way out. I saw it. I know Jon can leave, and--”

“The Archivist won’t survive, cut off from us.”

Martin’s mouth hangs open for a moment. Then, he closes it.

"You already suspected, the first time you learned how to quit,'' you remind him.

There is a tape on a nearby dresser. Martin jumps when he hears the click, followed by his own voice.

''Can you even survive?''

You do, and don't, love the utter misery on Martin's face at the reminder.

"Without us, he will die.''

But he didn't, at- Martin's eyes dart around. Maybe it’s not--

“You know what I think?” Martin says. “I think you’re full of shit. He didn’t die when he was cut off from you.”

“A slower death isn’t the deliverance you’re hoping for, Martin."

“We could get help. We could take him to a hospital and..."

"And what?" you ask. "Lose all brain function a bit more slowly than otherwise? Draw out the complete loss of memory and motor function to excruciating lengths? Extend that horror for a few measly years before succumbing?”

"Years?"

His tone goes soft, at that. The Archivist frowns, puzzled.

"The Archivist will die without us, at this stage," you repeat. "That is certain."

"How many years, exactly?" Martin demands. "How long will it take for him to die without you?''

"Oh, Martin." You ache at how human this is of him. "Years are not as significant as you imagine. They are less than the blink of an eye against the vast expanse of history--or the vast expanse of what we can now experience together."

Martin grits his teeth. “How. Many?”

You consider denying him. You consider withholding the information entirely, and waiting to see how he might plead or beg or bargain for it. But right now, Martin is alive. Truly alive and feeling, instead of withering away into fog. And you love him so, especially like this.

"The last Archivist who reached this level and quit—well. That was hundreds of years ago,” you say. “It is rare for an Archivist so perfect to come into themselves, and among those even rarer for one to quit. So there is little information on what happens in these cases, even for us.”

Martin's eyes are wide and focused, drinking up your every word. He is so fixated on you it makes you soar.

"He lasted slightly over three years, blinded,'' you explain. "He was well taken care of, for he was a wealthy man with every luxury available for his time and place. But his mind quickly deteriorated. At the end, he died ranting and raving, unable to recognize any of the people he loved.''

Martin stares."But with modern medicine...''

"Maybe the Archivist now could last longer. Maybe not. But it would come to the same, for that is the fate of all minds outside us—brief sparks that flicker away into the cold night. Only we preserve life. Only we save life.

“Martin, that is the difference between what you seek for the Archivist, and what the Archivist has here. A tiny flash of a miserable life, against an immortal existence with all the knowledge and power in the world, where every moment is filled with the purest of our joy.''

Martin looks at the Archivist, hollowly.

"Years,'' he says. "We could have had years.''

“Martin,” the Archivist paces, feeling your agitation. “You do not understand—cannot understand. If you could, you would not want this.”

But Martin does not hear. He thinks only of that moment on the tape. The moment where the Archivist thought to quit, and Martin cut him down for fear of his life.

"Jon, I'm so sorry.''

You expecting the worst: more cycles of fighting, then despair, and then shutting himself off from everything. But instead, there is only quiet resolve: Martin pacing in his room, questions and thoughts and quickly discarded plans mixing in his head.

“Walk with me?’’ you lilt the Archivist’s words up at the end, to ensure it sounds like a request and not a demand. “You always used to imagine walks in the park.”

Martin considers for a moment, and then gets up to follow. You have the Archivist smile.

It is a giant dome, closed in so that there is no danger of Martin looking at the sky. The garden is lit instead with bioluminescent flowers. Martin looks at them for a minute, and then shudders when he sees they, too, are eyes.

“So,” --moving on, don’t feel it, don’t feed him-- “You do sometimes answer questions honestly, it seems,’’ he says.

“We love your questions,” you tell him.

Martin’s thoughts rush. I can get answers, find things out, find out the limitations--

Martin’s gait changes, when he is thinking. There is a bounce in his steps, quick and energetic quality to way his head and eyes move with him. He doesn’t notice the Archivist beaming at him fondly, channeling your joy.

You think before you make your next move.

"Maritn, I am going to hold your hand now."

Martin’s thoughts freeze, and his hands immediately shoot up so he can stubbornly cross his arms.

"You--"

"I thought I'd warn you. It seems worse for you when there isn't any warning."

Martin squeezes himself, a defensive little self-hug.

"Just holding hands," you tell him, keeping the Archivist's voice slow and reassuring. "I won't do anything else."

"And I don't get a say in it, I suppose.”

You gently touch his upper arm, and follow it to his wrist. He pulls away just an inch and grips his own arm tighter for a second. But then, he thinks through his options and relents.

Warning in advance is a success, it seems. You make a note of this.

You link the Archivist's hands with his. You beam at him, but he refuses to look at the Archivist's face (--I can't--Jon doesn't deserve--I'm furious, I can't--) so instead you decide to have a flower glow at him, its eyes radiating a soft glow. Martin shuts his eyes, and swallows his anger.

It’s fine. It’s not a big deal. It’s—I can deal with it. I can use this. I just have to get him to answer--

“Not so bad, then?” you ask.

Martin keeps his eyes fixed on the ground. “Let’s just walk.”

Martin barely looks at the fountains you grow before him, in your garden. Instead, his hand twitches in your Archivist’s hand, and he gets straight to his questions.

"Do you need Jon?''

"You're speaking to 'Jon' now,'' you tell him, amused.

He rolls his eyes at you, adorably enough.

"If Jon left through Hill Top road, or stopped being the Archivist, would this horrorshow end?''

No coyness. No hesitation. Martin's eyes glint in the soft bioluminescent light around him. He knows that he has no way to force you to answer, much less answer honestly. But he knows there are answers, and he thinks those answers might help him. The possibility is turning his desperation into steely determination.

You pause, considering.

"You're afraid,'' Martin challenges. "You're not so certain you can stop us from escaping. That's why you don't want to answer.''

"Martin.'' You still love his name on the Archivist's lips. "Manipulating us isn't really possible when we can see the intent in your head.''

Martin juts his chin forward, determinedly.

This is a far cry from Peter, Martin admits. But he...people can still be... but you can still be influenced, even if you know it's happening.

It takes you a moment to realize he is addressing you in his own thoughts, accounting for your presence in them. The many-eyed flowers glow brighter, new blooms sprouting on them. Martin shrinks back. He tugs his hand away for a moment, but you hold it tight, and so he gives up.

You rub the Archivist’s thumb in gentle circles against the skin of his wrist. Martin squirms, but does not pull away again. You mark this as another success.

"If you must know,'' you say, "No. Removing the Archivist--this current Archivist, ‘Jon’--will not collapse our world. Instead, the position will simply fall to the next most appropriate person--and there are quite a few in this world, budding Eyes ready to drink in more, once they grow.''

“So, you wouldn’t die.” Martin says. “You wouldn’t even be inconvenienced.”

“Not in the way you re thinking, no.”

“Let him go,” Martin asks, keeping his voice level. “You keep saying you love me, and that you want to give me what I want. I want Jon out of this. I want him to be free to make his own decisions, uninhibited by you.”’

“It’s not inhibition.” Your indignation makes the Archivist’s tone petulant, almost whining. “You’re not conceptualizing it in the right way.”

Martin blinks tiredly. “I don’t care. Just let him go.”

“No.”

Martin didn’t, and doesn’t, expect anything to come of his request, so there is no disappointment. “You’ll lose nothing.”

“I’ll lose you.”

This actually makes Martin start, surprised. He stares at the Archivist, confused.

You try to explain. “We won’t be able to experience you without a human vessel—with all the senses, and talking to you as we do so.”

“So can you pick another--”

“You won’t look at us the same way, in another face.” But no, that’s not entirely it. You hiss at the difficulty of putting these contradictions into words. “You won’t look at us and have it bloom in you. Love.”

Martin’s jaw hardens, and his hand twitches in yours again. “I already don’t love you. Wearing Jon like a-a Nikola suit doesn’t change that.”

You tilt the Archivist’s head at him, and feel everything go soft in you.

“I know,” you say. “It doesn’t matter. I love you, Martin.’’

You bring his hand up. Martin twitches again, hand instinctively jerking away before he stops himself. You press the archivist’s lips to the top of his hand, and plant a kiss.

The question that brings it all down comes over a dinner table you laid out for him of his favorite foods, in between a few half-hearted bites.

"So," Martin starts his first question, looking at the eyes on the wall rather than the Archivist. "You keep calling yourself 'we.’ What’s that about?”

You take a moment. And then longer. It is not something you thought through, when you started to use the Archivist's words to talk to Martin. You search the expanse of your memory and thoughts throughout existence

"What's wrong?" Martin grouses. "Are you going to tell me you don't know? Because that would be just hilarious."

"Because we are many," you say.

"What does that mean?"

"It means--hmrgh." There is a bit of a twinge, upon considering yourself. "You think of 'the Eye' as a singular presence. A giant alien brain in space, somewhere, outside of all reality but inserting itself into it."

"I--" Martin frowns. "Okay, yeah. That's not what you are, then?''

"We arise from many consciousnesses," you say. "Many different brains, people, throughout existence."

"Many avatars, you mean."

"Yes. But non “avatars” as well. The powerless woman who keeps checking her apartment every day for hidden cameras--she is part of us too. The little boy who sticks his nose in all the places he shouldn't--he is us, as well, even before anything you call supernatural has touched him."

Again, there is a rush at seeing Martin look directly at you, so carefully considering what you say.

"And," you say, thinking. "And because, there are many eyes experiencing, watching through the Archivist, and have been all along."

"What does that mean?'' Martin frowns. "Like... other people, looking at what's happening through Jon's head?"

"More or less."

"Other... other avatars?'' Martin asks. And then, he shrivels back. "Elias? Wait, how much has Elias been--has he--has he seen...?"

"The one you call Elias, Jonah Magnus, has been watching, yes. For he is also us."

Martin swallows. Then, he puts a hand over his mouth, feeling sick.

"When I… Elias was--he--"

"Magnus is us, too,” you reassure him. “Of course he loves you, and has been with us in these moments."

Martin's stomach churns.

"I need a moment."

There isn't any place Martin can "have a moment" in the way he wants.

He gets up from the table to make a run for it, and a quick sweep of his eyes remind him there are no doors, only walls with eyes.

"Let me--" Martin starts, only to realize it's no use. He's started to internalize the immensity of your presence threading through this world. If you were to let him run to a bathroom, or his bed, you would be there as well. You are everywhere, in this world.

So he freezes where he is, one realization hitting him after another.

Elias, watching the Archivist's hands assault him.

Elias, laughing at Martin’s undignified shrieks.

Elias, not just seeing it but experiencing it in all the ways you do, feeling how Martin's bare skin feels, how he shrinks away.

Elias, (worse, worse, worse) there in the moments that Martin had thought safe before--during the chaste hugs or the reassuring holding of hands on the way out of the Lonely.

“Stop,” Martin pleads. “I get it. I get it. Stop putting it in my head--”

“We aren’t.”

Martin puts a hand to his mouth. His eyes are darting around the room, again looking for a place to rest where you don't meet his gaze from the cracks in the wall. He breathes in, and it makes a pitiful noise.

"Martin," the Archivist's face falls. "Oh, Martin. I’m so, I-I-"

Martin actually slaps his hands away when he reaches out. Not enough to hurt, but enough to be a warning. "Don't.''

The Archivist closes his mouth, and waits.

Martin doesn't vomit. Instead, he closes his eyes and sucks in a deep breath, and holds it. After a few deep breaths, his thoughts solidify.

“So you don’t actually need Jon to ‘experience’ me, then,” Martin says.

“What… what do you--?”

You look into Martin’s mind, and see the idea that has formed there. A single, succinct compromise that would resolve Martin’s most pressing issues with the situation.

“No,” you say. “Martin that’s not—that’s not what you want. That won’t make you happy.”

Martin opens his eyes wearily. “I’m already unhappy.”

And since I’m going to be unhappy either way, I’d rather Jon be free.

“No. It won’t be the same. It won’t be like—you won’t smile.” It is so hard to put into words. “We don’t—I want it to go back.”

“Nothing ever goes back.” Martin blinks slowly, voice aching. “It’s already too late for that. Just let me have this one thing—please.”

You stare him down. And then finally (not conceding, not yet) you hold out a hand.

“Come, then.”

Martin takes your hand.

It is a long walk to the Panopticon.

“We could’ve had years” fucking broke me

Thank you for the comment! Always happy to share the pain.

"I think I might go out tonight," Jon says with deliberate casualness when Martin asks him about dinner plans, and that's Martin done for the rest of the day. He normally prides himself on being able to find just about any esoteric nonsense interesting, but the research he's working on pales in comparison to the knowledge that after work, instead of coming home with him, his boyfriend is planning to go out and find a stranger to fuck. Martin spends the rest of the afternoon squeezing his thighs together and trying very hard not to think about anything that might take place outside the Institute's walls.

He does manage to make it home without embarrassing himself, at least; the effects of a Tube ride home in the middle of afternoon rush hour are remarkably calming. He picks up a curry on the way home, says hello to Mrs. Noorani in the ground floor apartment on his way up as if nothing was wrong. He feels simultaneously very normal and like he's watching a film about someone with a very normal life just a very normal person who comes home from work and has dinner and double-checks that his vibrator is charged while he waits for his boyfriend to text him about the anonymous sex he's having with someone else.

After a moment's thought, he lays out a towel on the bed, just to make things easier.

Martin is laid back on the pillows, feeling himself up a little through his pants, when his phone buzzes and he fumbles to unlock it with his left hand. There's a new text – a photo. He bites his lip and opens it.

It's a well-composed, if not particularly well-lit, dick pic – an average-sized cock, but hard and flushed red and leaking precome onto the soft stomach it lays on. The stomach is undeniably Jon's; those scars are distinctive. The hand splayed across his hip is not.

It's the first time he's ever seen Jon's cock, he realizes, and he moans a little at the sudden rush of arousal. He wants it in him so badly. He slides a hand into his briefs at last and wastes no time, slipping two fingers straight into his dripping hole. It's not enough, and after only a few moments of frustration, he puts down his phone to reach for a toy instead. It's a sad substitute for the real thing, but he might as well get used to the idea. Jon might fuck random strangers he'll never see again, but he's never going to fuck Martin. The thought curls hot and heavy in his gut, shame and inadequacy mixed with arousal, and it make Martin whine aloud as he slowly fills himself with the toy.

When he picks up his phone again, there's another photo. Between the graininess and his own addled thoughts it takes Martin a minute to figure out what he's seeing. Broad, soft thighs spread around narrow hips; Jon's fingers digging into soft flesh; a pink cunt split open on Jon's cock. Martin whines involuntarily and shoves the toy all the way in; it's too fast but the sting feels good, a counterpoint to the emotions churning in his stomach that he does not have time to entertain right now.

Ohhhh have I mentioned that I really like the way you use Beholding horror because I REALLY like the way you use Beholding horror. This gets the side of it that’s the fear of your vulnerable/private moments being perceived and judged by an unseen audience so well and intimately and the line about Magnus being there too made me physically recoil. Poor Martin!
Also I cannot think of a single happy outcome of Martin going to the Panopticon—(is he going to give himself to Jonah? Give himself to the Eye directly? Oh no I don’t like this)—and I absolutely cannot wait for whatever fresh angst the next chapter brings.
Also, little detail but the bioluminescent eye flowers were such a cool image and I’ve been doodling them on my schoolwork all day.
(PS Sorry for messing up the comments order with my last ones 😅(this is pensive))

OH ❤❤❤💦👀👀 that delicious seasoning of longing and humiliation...goddamn

And this line: "He feels simultaneously very normal and like he's watching a film about someone with a very normal life just a very normal person who comes home from work and has dinner and double-checks that his vibrator is charged while he waits for his boyfriend to text him about the anonymous sex he's having with someone else." is delightful asdfghjk

hhhholy shit everything from Martin never having seen Jon’s dick before (!!!) on is. fucj

wow this response is eight months late but if you ever wanted to go through with that i'd be down! also i hc jon as trans and martin as cis, and ideally jon would get the worst of it. also i love the idea of martin being indirectly responsible

Aaaaaaaaa I always love your comments in particular. You always notice interesting things that other people don't always pick up on!

As to Beholding horror--yes! It's such a subtle but horrible thing. The idea that someone will be watching your breakdown, will be watching your suffering and... judging or extracting something from it without your consent. It's been pretty abstract throughout this fic, but putting a name and face we know (Jonah) onto it makes it concrete.

You're right about there being nothing good that can happen for Martin at the Panopticon... but he feels like as long as it minimizes the harm done to Jon, he'll take the risk.

I am glad you liked the bioluminescent eye flowers! Wish I could see those doodles...🥺

(Re: your PS: No need to apologize--I think I should have added the chapters a bit differently in order to keep the formatting good no matter when people posted comments. Anyway, thank you so much!)

Oliver left contact information when he woke Jon up from his coma. Jon went looking for answers like usual, then one thing led to another and they hooked up.

Jon is quite lonely in season 4, so Oliver essentially becomes his booty call.

I’d love to see just the above prompt, but if you want there’s a second part: Martin finds out about this arrangement, and is wildly jealous. Maybe he even watches them accidentally during one of their meet-ups.

Bonus:

+subby!jon (doesn’t have to be full kink, I just think he’d enjoy Oliver taking charge)
++the end!tentacles get involved at some point
++++trans!jon

DNW: watersports, scat

Not necessarily a bad time per se but certainly a... time, that fic got fic now: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29055567

LMAO DISREGARD PREVIOUS COMMENT i am fucking sent that the op beat me to it, amazing

When Elias is holding everyone hostage. He also imposes a uniform. I’m talking nudity, all holes plugged and stretched, gagged unless giving a statement. Cock rings. Chastity devices. There is no place Elias won’t stop to to keep the team in line and desperate.

Elias keeps Jon as a statue in his office, his holes stretched and open and ready to be fucked. Bonus points for keeping cum inside him and plugging him up when not in use. Bonus points for creative pose. A Leitner turned him into a statue.

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

Page 107 of 139

Prompt Post: The Magnus Archives #1

Fill: Jonah Magnus/Rosie Zampano, Dom/sub, Praise kink

Fill; Jonah/anyone Lord Magnus d/s 1/?

Re: Fill: Jonah Magnus/Rosie Zampano, Dom/sub, Praise kink

Re: Prompt: Jon/Leitner, noncon, MAG 80, Leitner wants repayment

Re: Prompt: Lonely!Martin, power awakening

Re: FILL, FULL Prompt: Jon & Assistants, Accidental/Non-consensual Drugging Whump

PROMPT: Jon/Martin, age difference

Prompt: Jon/Martin/Jonah, Dehumanisation But Focused On Jonah This Time

Re: PROMPT: Jon/Martin, dom/sub, control/denial

Re: Minifill AMAB Jon questioning gender

Re: Prompt: Jon/any, fear play, masosadism

Re: Apple of Your Eye 11/???

Re: Apple of Your Eye 11/???

Re: Apple of Your Eye 11/???

Re: FILL: Jon/Martin - cuckolding kink 2/?

Re: Apple of Your Eye 11/???

Re: FILL: Jon/Martin - cuckolding kink 2/?

Re: FILL: Jon/Martin - cuckolding kink 2/?

Re: Prompt: Elias/Archival Staff, Uniform Change

Re: Apple of Your Eye 11/???

Jon/Oliver, Post-Coma hooking up

Re: Prompt: Elias/The Eye, Mind break, dubcon

Re: Prompt: Elias/The Eye, Mind break, dubcon

Prompt: sex toys, uniform, Elias/all

Prompt: Elias/Jon, statufication