Prompt Post: The Magnus Archives #1

[gertrude_robinson]

Rules

1. All comments to the meme must be anonymous. Linking to fills on AO3/Tumblr/website of your choice is allowed, but comments here must still be posted anon.
2. Concrit is welcome if the author requests it, but character bashing, kink shaming, and hijacking threads by derailing prompts with contrary comments or asking for additions to the prompt are not allowed.
3. Warning for spoilers and subjects such as non-con, incest, underage, character death and worms is highly recommended, but not mandatory.
4. Crossover prompts between Rusty Quill Gaming and The Magnus Archives may be posted to both posts.
5. Please link all fills to the fill post.
6. Don't be an asshole. Mods reserve the right to freeze, screen or delete at their discretion.
7. While it should go without saying (kink meme and all) please be advised that much of the content here may not be appropriate for individuals under 18.
8. Update: All prompts can be filled by more than one person. Two cakes (or three, or four) are always appreciated.

While spoiler warnings are not required, if you would like to spoiler cut anything, you can use the following code:

<div tabindex="-1"><b>spoiler title</b><div>Some spoilery content.</div></div>

Prompting Guidelines

1. The prompt should begin with "Prompt:"
2. The fill should begin with "Fill:". Otherwise there should be no change to the title.
2. Include the names of the character(s) or pairing(s) in the title, followed by the kink or trope if applicable. Pairings should be formatted A/B(/C/D).
3. If you would like to provide warnings, please put them in the first line of the comment to prevent the titles from getting too long.

And example title: Prompt: Jon/Plant monster, sex pollen

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Comments

Fill: Michael Shelley/'Michael', identity issues, selfcest (plus mild body horror)

[(Anonymous)]

Following orders had always come naturally to Michael. The simple pleasure of fulfilling a task someone had given him provided him with sufficient motivation to act, even when he was not particularly keen on it. That was one of the reason he enjoyed working for Ms Robinson so much.

Or had enjoyed. He wasn’t sure anymore, as he wandered through the corridors, all the same and yet subtly different in ways he often couldn’t have spotted with the naked eye. He must have been walking for a while. Was Ms Robinson still waiting for him, on that strange island? Had she gone back to wait by the boat, where it was safer?

Maybe she had abandoned him. She probably had. But he couldn’t let himself think like that. Because if she had, then what was the point in walking around in this strange place? What was the point of shattering the mirrors and opening the doors and for a purpose he simultaneously understood and didn’t if he wasn’t doing it for her?

He shattered a mirror to his right and realised that he hadn’t even looked at the map first. A brief flash of panic broke through the mechanical routine he’d grown accustomed to in this place. But he hadn’t made a mistake. Perhaps he’d finally seen through the pattern, if there even was one.

It was then that the monster started following him. Or perhaps it was only then that he’d finally noticed, his gaze no longer glued to the map he still held onto, even though there was no use to it anymore. This last, tangible reminder that there was meaning to what he was doing.

The monster followed him all the time now. He could see its reflection in the mirrors, see it lurking just around the corner when he turned, its large, sharp hand tearing gashes into the wallpaper. First, he’d always run when he’d spotted it, run until he could taste blood in his mouth.

Now, he didn’t even bother changing his pace anymore. The monster was approaching, but if it truly wanted to harm him, then it would have done so long ago. It could have done it in his sleep, though he did not remember sleeping recently. Or needing sleep. Or needing anything, really. He could have stopped and let the monster catch up, but there was still a reason he was doing this, even though it was merely an echo in his mind at this point.


The door was not supposed to be there, and it was not supposed to look like that, dark yellow, a plaque handle, rusty hinges. It was a break in the pattern Michael immediately recognised. He wanted to consult the map, but when he reached for it, it was gone. Had it fallen out of his back pocket, or had the monster plucked it away when he hadn’t looked? It didn’t matter, because he knew this was the last one to open. And so he did.

There was a mirror behind the door. And on the other side of the mirror stood the monster. Michael stepped closer, and so did the monster. He raised his hand, and the monster mimicked him. He could see its face that wasn’t a face so clearly now. But he was most captivated by its hands, the only part that remained solid while the rest seemed to shift in his perception, the fine grooves in the bone that spiralled down from its sharp fingertip.

Michael reached out to touch it and placed his hand on the glass. There was an odd click when their fingers met, but looking down, he still saw his human hand, and in his human fingers, he felt the pain of getting punctured by sharp claws. Blood dripped down the mirror.

A long time ago, it would have frightened him, because he’d always hated the sight of blood, and he remembered stammered excuses to… someone.

The monster laughed, and it was Michael’s laugh, ending on a drawn out note with a pleased sigh. His face imitated the expression exactly.

Michael did not know who gave the impulse. But at some point, they both surged forward, towards each other, into each other. Lips met something that wasn’t lips, and something that wasn’t a tongue crept into his mouth. It tasted like nothing and everything at once, short-circuiting his taste buds. Solid flesh turned into a viscous liquid, cloying to the insides of his mouth and throat.

Michael retched but he didn’t pull back, because there was nothing to pull back from. He felt hands on his skin, through his clothes, as if they were a mere illusion, not even worth shredding. His skin burned and froze where the monster touched it, melted and evaporated and settled again on his shifting bones. Agony and pleasure coursed through what remained of his body, last glimpses of human arousal, his cock hard and straining against nothing as he was engulfed by a non-presence that pushed him open and entered him, filled him, made him moan, made him scream, made him scrabble against the glass for purchase and for more, until it shattered under the force of his yearning, and with it, his entire being.

The door was not a door; it was the remainder of Michael’s humanity that made it perceive it as such. And now, it could open it to whichever place it wanted.

Except to wherever Gertrude Robinson was, the one place where it wanted to be, and where it could never again be.

Re: Fill: Michael Shelley/'Michael', identity issues, selfcest (plus mild body horror)

[(Anonymous)]

Oh yes! I'm not the OP, but I loved the prompt, found it really interesting, but I had doubts about how to do it, and the answer is perfect. It works so well, and it's so creepy and weird and works perfectly for the character(s).

Re: Fill: Michael Shelley/'Michael', identity issues, selfcest (plus mild body horror)

[(Anonymous)]

*excited cooing*
Thank you for this, it's lovely :). It's so wonderfully angsty and mindfucky and I wish I had better words to describe how much I love this.