Prompt Post: The Magnus Archives #1
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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.
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3. Warning for spoilers and subjects such as non-con, incest, underage, character death and worms is highly recommended, but not mandatory.
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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:
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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AO3 Collection
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
Links
Ask a Mod
Fills Post
Chat and Off-Topic Discussion
AO3 Collection
Prompt: Jon/anyone, omorashi/desperation/watersports.
Date: 2018-09-01 02:05 am (UTC)Fill: Jon/Elias, omorashi/desperation/watersports. (1/2)
Date: 2018-09-11 01:36 pm (UTC)Jon’s office is in a state of what he likes to think of as organized chaos. The last few weeks have been a particular sort of torture, and he supposes his working – and, if he is honest, living – spaces have adjusted to reflect this reality. He never has been a fan of the wait and see method. Sitting on a bed of figurative pins, flinching at shadows; none of that his ideal.
At least, if they were doing something - if there were anything to be done - Jon could have something to occupy his restless mind. Something that might stymy the erratic flow of his thoughts, stifle the low-brewing dread that seems to cling to all of them, anymore, lending teeth to Tim’s increasingly rigid smiles, setting a tremor in Martin’s hands that makes teacups rattle and shake when he extends them kindly, and misguidedly.
The effect is less pronounced on Daisy, who prowls the halls with the manner of some loping, misplaced predator. She continues to stalk along in his shadow, skulking at his peripheries, serving whatever ends Elias has decided she must pursue. Waiting, to her, seems to come naturally. If waiting is the right word for what she does, seeped in carnage and intent. When he considers her, he thinks of animals crouched in underbrushes, still save for their eyes, gliding to track unaware and unassuming prey.
Unfortunately, and doing little and less for the state of his mental well-being, Jon most often feels that gaze locked onto himself. Pinned between his shoulderblades. A fine place for a knife to slide between his ribs.
Melanie avoids them all. Or perhaps she’s avoiding Jon, specifically.
Basira – she’s caught Jon off guard. She comes by every so often, with statements she’s read but not recorded, dropping them on his desk with a practiced air of disregard. Jon had bought it entirely the first few times she’d saddled him with a stack and then found reasons after to linger in his office. Browsing his bookshelves or whittling through the short array of topics that either of them might engage with for small talk. Her eyes constantly ticking back to Jon as he sorted through what she’d offered him. As he let something that was almost instinctive, but not quite – too new, too unfamiliar for it to be natural – dictate whether he discarded them or saved them for later, already considering the stack of blank tapes tucked into his desk drawer.
“How do you do that?” she’d finally asked, thumping her palms flat onto his desk as she leaned into his space.
“I-I beg your pardon,” he’d said.
“The statements,” she said. Paused to tear her gaze away from his own. “How do you know which ones to read? Which ones won’t- record, properly.”
“I- I don’t know,” he’d said, and stopped. “I just… do.”
She’d studied him, brows furrowed a little bit, as if by looking long enough she could find a statement writ in the lines of his face, the awkward twist and twitch of his lips – the way he could only hold eye contact for so long before he was driven to flick his gaze away. Maybe she could.
Jon doesn’t know if his answer satisfied her in any way. He rather suspects it hadn’t. Honestly, he’s not sure why she cared at all, what question was lurking unsaid between her words. He’s never been good at figuring out that kind of thing. Well, now that he can pull secrets out like loose teeth, it’s a moot point, isn’t it?
Jon frowns, shaking his head. He reaches for his cup of tea and finds it empty, and instead takes a sip from a water bottle Martin had dropped off earlier. Something about staying hydrated, Martin had said, and Jon’s still thinking about hidden words, disguised meanings, how he wants to pin every syllable down and ask them to say what they mean, what they want from him. Of course, when it comes to Martin, all he means is that he’s worried about Jon.
His water bottle is close to empty, too. Jon’s been holed up in his office most of the day. Before that he’d scoured the still boxed and uncatalogued statements, hoping for something – anything – that might give them more clues as to what they can expect from the Stranger and its circus. Some statement that had been misfiled, or misplaced, forgotten and overlooked by both Gertrude and Elias that would have a key detail hidden within its narrative.
Yeah. Jon isn’t exactly holding his breath.
Still, it has kept him occupied, and a glance to the clock shows that he’s nearly managed to fritter away another day. This might all be borrowed time, he knows. These next few weeks may be the last he has to be impatient for the day to end, and some part of him is convinced that he should be more- something. Appreciative, maybe? Savor the normalcy he can before he dies, or worse. Easier said than done.
Easier to not think about it at all. He sighs, setting the last statement he’d looked through to the side. It hadn’t been a real one, anyway, but a cursory glance through the tagging system (a sophisticated series of post-it notes plastered to its front page in various people’s handwriting) had made it seem promising from the outside. Clowns, in particular, was a word that had shown up multiple times – once, even, underlined, with three exclamation points the only punctuation.
Worthless. Jon drums his fingers on the desk. There’s only one statement left, and honestly, it’s a bit intimidating. One of the larger statements he’s seen, with little to no supplemental materials or readily verifiable facts, but at this point he’s come to expect that from the Archives. He drags a finger down the front of its manila folder, feeling that sensation he couldn’t name for Basira, his mouth dry.
The tape recorder is already on his desk. It’s almost the end of the day. He could leave it until tomorrow. More than likely, there’s nothing more of interest in this one than the last, and if he’s really honest, he’s not expecting to find anything at all.
More embarrassingly, but also more pressingly, he feels a familiar twinging in his bladder, a discomfort deep between his hips that’s been on and off for the past half-hour or so already. It’s a minor issue, nothing worth interrupting his workflow over. But something that he should probably take care of if he’s going to be recording something. And if that’s the case, well, he might as well just end for the night-
The tape recorder clicks on. Jon blinks, startled, before glaring at it. He’s not going to let an inanimate object dictate what he does, and he opens his mouth to say so before pausing. This would be the first actual statement he’s read this week. And it’s right here. He wants to walk away, what, because he has to use the bathroom? Because he’s irritated that the Archives are being more sentient and micromanaging than normal?
“Statement of Paul Verveen, regarding a blind date,” Jon begins, pausing to clear his throat and take another drink of water, “and their subsequent, unusual encounters.”
The statement is long, and meandering. Jon finds himself sinking into its depths in an almost hypnotic kind of way. Another person’s story – another person’s fears, their life – washing over him, lapping across him like waves. It’s always a bit unnerving, to find his cadence shifting to unfamiliar rhythms, his heart pounding as if these were things he had experienced, had known for himself.
The thrill of meeting someone new, the soft rose-colored world of newly blossomed infatuation (these were not things Jon had much experience with). The slowly dawning realization that something was not right with the world, that at some point reality as he’d known it before had shifted ever-so-slightly, an off-kilter feeling that warped all things inward towards itself, until the entire universe seemed bent and strange (these were more familiar).
“Statement ends,” he says, grateful as he ever is to come back into himself. Except this time that comes with an unfortunate stab of something that is skirting the edge of pain, the pressure in his bladder nigh short of unbearable and causing him to gasp quietly and press his legs together beneath the desk.
It seems that issue has become more pressing over the past – Jon’s gaze jumps to the clock – forty minutes.
“Well,” Jon says, “Paul Verveen seems to be a singularly… verbose man. Can’t say I’m surprised to hear a tale of a blind date ending poorly, though I suspect that most people don’t find themselves set up with a- No-Face, as he called it. Obviously-”
Jon stops, sucking in a breath, digging his fingers into wood of his desk. It’s hard to concentrate. His body keeps drawing his attention back to itself, giving a sudden pulse of clenching tension before fading back to a dull, baseline ache. And all he really keeps thinking about is relaxing his muscles, how it would feel, how much a relief it would be to just-
He needs to finish this.
“Obviously, facts in cases such as these are difficult to verify,” Jon says quickly. “Records of Paul Verveen and the woman he- was seeing, are able to confirm the existence of both. Mr. Verveen has since moved out of London, and has stated he has no further interest in being contacted by Institute staff.”
The transcript log of the follow-up call with Paul Verveen specifically noted the words fuck off as featuring prominently in their discussion. Jon shifts in his seat, tilting his weight from one leg to another. There’s no easing of his… predicament to be found, and in fact the moments of movement only make it worse, but he can’t stop, it’s either that, or-
“Miss Ekers did indeed reside at 45 Baldock Street at the time that she and Mr. Verveen were meant to have been dating, and she has since dropped out of communication with friends and family.
“All told, it seems like a pretty straightforward case, and it definitely has all the hallmarks of a creature associated with the Stranger – but nothing to do with the Unknowing, which is the more pressing matter at this time. Maybe we can revisit this one at a later date – assuming we’ve all survived to a later date, that is. End Recording.”
Jon jams his fingers on the stop switch a bit harder than necessary and sighs. He rushed through that. The knowledge doesn’t sit easily with him, and he thinks maybe he’ll have to come back and do it again – or perhaps just add on a supplemental recording, when there’s a knock on his door.
He freezes. Considers ignoring it entirely, but there’s no one at the Institute that would actually be dissuaded by him not inviting them inside. Maybe it will be quick.
“Come in,” he says, feeling like he’s making a mistake even as the words leave his mouth, and Elias stepping through his open door all but confirms that suspicion.
“Jon,” Elias says mildly in greeting. He shuts the door behind himself. “I’ve been meaning to speak with you. I had actually meant to do so, earlier, but-”
“-Yes, yes, pressing matters to attend to, right? We’ve all got to do our part to stop the end of the world,” Jon says. He shifts restlessly as Elias settles into the chair across from his desk. The man is chuckling, like Jon’s being amusing and not just a prick.
Like Elias is a man at all and not just a monster.
“Indeed. I see that you’ve kept yourself busy.”
Jon slaps the folder closed. A feeling similar to getting caught at something making him want to slip the fruits of his useless labors out of sight. “Yes, well, we need all the information we can get.”
“Of course,” Elias says smoothly. “I would never discourage your attempts to learn more for yourself, Jon.”
“Except when they come from sources you don’t approve of,” Jon snaps. He wants this conversation to end. His bladder hurts, and he keeps making these automatic, half-aborted starts at getting out of his chair before he remembers that he can’t go, not just yet.
And he hasn’t been alone in a room with Elias since before he’d left for China. Has barely said more than few words to him since he’d come back, and the weight of everything unspoken is heavy between them. Jon doesn’t even know what to say – what he would want to say. If he wants to hear Elias’ thoughts on their plan or not, if Elias thinks they can do this, if Elias knows what else they have been arranging over the past weeks.
None of it matters. None of it would change anything.
“It’s not the sources I disapprove of, but the method,” Elias says. “You know that.”
“No easy answers,” Jon recites.
“Precisely.”
“Why tell me what you already know when you can waste time neither of us have watching me figure it out on my own?”
Elias huffs out another laugh. He leans back in his chair, and every line of him exudes languid indulgence. He certainly doesn’t look like he’s preparing to leave any time soon, and another pulse of that not-pain flares up between Jon’s hips, has him gritting his teeth and squirming minutely in place.
Elias inclines his head to one side. “Is everything all right?”
“Fine,” Jon forces out. “Everything is fine.”
It is fine. It would be fine. It would be better, even, if Elias would just leave. Allow them to go back to their mutual unspoken avoidance, allow Jon to stop thinking about all the things he wants to say, to ask. Allow Jon to flee and take a bloody piss already.
“Are you sure, Jon? You don’t look fine,” Elias says. He’s watching Jon carefully, and if Jon didn’t know any better, his expression could almost qualify as concerned, and-
And Jon does know better. His eyes narrow. “You know exactly what’s wrong, Elias. Don’t you?”
He doesn’t bother to keep the compulsion free from his question. There’s no reason to hold back against Elias, of all people. The snarling, electric snap of it on his tongue, between his teeth, is barely enough to distract him from the sore-muscle throbbing in his groin, the anticipation of being answered in kind mixing strangely with the other unanswered needs pulsing through his body.
Elias shivers in his chair, no doubt delighted.
“I do.”
“Get out,” Jon demands, cold with fury – and hot, twisting in his stomach, embarrassment, warming his cheeks. He forces himself out of his chair and has to freeze, horrified, as the movement threatens the integrity of his self-control.
“Come now, Jon,” Elias says. He’s still watching Jon, though he doesn’t look nearly as relaxed as before. He’s sitting up straighter, eyes intent and- hungry. Devouring. Fixated on Jon, and it sends a shudder down his spine that does absolutely nothing to help. “There’s no need to get upset.”
“Why did you come here? Just to- what, make me uncomfortable? One last little game before you find yourself short an Archivist - again?”
Jon’s made them all compulsions, throwing his irritation and desperation behind them, and he marches carefully – slowly – across the room, to the door, feeling every step keenly in his bladder. He’s got one hand on the doorknob, is pulling it open when Elias steps up behind him, reaches a hand over his shoulder to shove it back closed.
“No, Jon, that’s not why I came here,” Elias answers.
His voice is low, and he ducks his head so his breath shivers down the side of Jon’s neck. He leaves his hand against the door, caging Jon in one side, and the other slides around the edge of his hip. Around to his front, and Jon almost thinks Elias is going to slip his hand into his slacks, but instead he just hooks his fingers around the lower edge of his pelvis – the backs of his knuckles brushing his dick - uses them as leverage to grind his thumb in, hard, against Jon’s bladder.
The effect is electric, and Jon jerks back against Elias, who wraps his other arm across Jon’s chest, holding him in place as he shoves down again and Jon moans helplessly at the pressure, shocks of something that might be pain or might be pleasure shooting through his groin.
Re: Fill: Jon/Elias, omorashi/desperation/watersports. (2/2)
Date: 2018-09-11 01:37 pm (UTC)His face feels flushed, he’s sure he’s red up to his ears. Elias’ lips brush over his neck.
“Just relax, Jon.”
“I- I’m not-” Jon stops, and swallows. “What do you want?”
Elias pauses, as if this is the first time he’s considered the question. Jon finds himself being guided forward, turned so his back is to the door. So he has to face Elias, barely able to bring his gaze up.
“I want to watch you,” Elias says. Jon scoffs.
“You want to watch me-” Jon can’t even finish it. But it’s not- it can’t be the worst thing Elias could watch him do. Though his stomach twists uncomfortably at the thought. “You’re still going to have to let me open the door, you know.”
Elias shakes his head. He makes a noise in his throat. “I want to watch you do it here, Jon. Right here. Just like this.”
Jon’s eyes widen, and if there were any where for him to go, he would go, but Elias is pressing into his space, and his hand has found its way to Jon’s pelvis again, thumb rubbing small circles into his aching bladder. Jon presses his hands flat to the door, his hips squirming, and he’s- he’s insane, he has absolutely lost his mind, it’s the only logical explanation for why he’s even considering going along with this.
“You have to tell me why,” he gasps. “What are you getting out of this?”
“I like seeing you like this,” Elias answers, and the jolt of him actually succumbing to Jon’s compulsion heightens the sharp agony of his thumb digging into him again, and Jon digs his teeth into his lip, struggling not to give in then and there. “I like knowing how desperate you are, how uncomfortable this makes you.”
Jon gathers himself enough to give Elias a withering glare, but the expression is knocked free by the sudden rhythm Elias starts with his hand, just lightly pressing into him before relaxing, short, even jabs of his thumb against his bladder, and it has all the heat in Jon’s body pooling to his groin, leaving his limbs cold and shaking, broken out in goosebumps.
“E-Elias,” he says, half a warning, half a plea.
“Does it hurt?” Elias asks. “Or do you like it? Or maybe it’s both, hmm?”
He pushes even closer to Jon, his hand not letting up, and Jon can barely pay enough attention to make sense out of his words, too busy fighting against his own body.
“Do you want to know what I like the most, Jon?” Elias asks, his mouth at the crook of Jon’s neck, teeth just barely grazing his skin. Jon nods, is rewarded with a particularly sharp thrust of Elias’ thumb against him, hooking almost cruelly. “I like that you’re going to do this because I want you to. You’re going to piss all over yourself just because it’s me asking you to, because you know I want you to, and even if you find it distasteful-” -punctuated with a bite to his neck- “-even if you think it’s humiliating, you’ll do it for me.”
There’s a steady stream of noises coming from Jon’s throat now, his legs trembling, and he wants, wants to so, so badly-
Elias shifts his hand, presses four fingers hard into his bladder and holds them there, and asks him, “well, Jon?”
And Jon lets go, his head thumping painfully into the door, swept in a flood of relief and mortification alike as he feels his pants grow wet, spreading down to his thighs uncomfortably warm, the material of his slacks soaking and clinging to his skin and the stench of urine, bitter and acrid, suddenly curling in the air of his office.
It takes a few shuddering moments for Jon to feel like he’s come back to himself. Like the entire experience had briefly knocked him loose, and Elias’ hands run up and down his sides in the meantime, chaste touches of his mouth to Jon’s neck. It doesn’t miss Jon’s attention that Elias has put space between the two of them, has ensured that only one of them is going to end up stained and sullied from the experience.
Isn’t that just typical.
Elias’ hand goes to his jaw and Jon looks to him. Elias leans in and fits their lips together, briefly. Jon’s body feels cold, his legs and crotch even more so as the wet material cools.
“Thank you,” Elias says.
“I really don’t know what to say to that,” Jon replies. He finds himself enjoying the rush of air across his mouth from Elias’ laughter.
“You’re welcome is something of a gold standard, I believe,” Elias offers.
“I’m not sure it applies here,” Jon says. Still unsure how he felt about- any of that. Trying very hard not to consider it too deeply, or chew over the ramifications of how thoroughly he just humiliated himself in front of Elias. How Elias wanted him to, he reflects with a shiver.
“The others should have left by now,” Elias says after a glance at his wristwatch. “I happen to have some spare clothes you can borrow in my office.”
“Happen to have.”
“Entirely coincidental, Jon, I assure you.”
Elias’ assurances are worth less than the air they’re written on. But Jon doesn’t bother to argue the point any further- for the moment. Maybe he will, once he’s cleaned up. At least for now, he’s content not to think about the future, and the rapidly approaching forks in the road therein.
Re: Fill: Jon/Elias, omorashi/desperation/watersports. (2/2)
Date: 2018-09-11 01:49 pm (UTC)Re: Fill: Jon/Elias, omorashi/desperation/watersports. (2/2)
Date: 2018-09-11 08:15 pm (UTC)I love the small glimpses of character interaction (or lack thereof, in Melanie's case :( ) in the beginning.
And the build up to the desperation situation is really well-done too. The tape recorder "ordering" Jon around, and Jon immediately getting into Archivist mode, disregarding his own comfort, was great. And I enjoyed the descriptions of Jon reading the statement and the follow up as well! Though of course, the follow-up was getting more and more stressful for poor Jon.
Cue Elias, with his suspiciously perfect timing. I love how fast Jon sees through him! But before that, I also enjoyed Jon's conflict about Elias' involvement and really, Elias in general.
The descriptions of the compulsion and the effect it has on Jon while he's using it is really great! And of course, the effect it has on Elias, too...
And god, the part where Elias traps him against the door and everything that follows... really, just pure perfection, and Jon's reactions to what Elias does to him, the mix of desperation, confusion and pleasure - and Elias telling him about how much he relishes his discomfort, and that he wants to watch, because when does he not??
But my favourite part is Elias telling Jon why he is going to do it, "You’ll do it for me.". The way he treats it already as a given fact, because he knows, and then that challenging, "Well, Jon?"
And I enjoyed the aftermath too - the kiss, Jon not knowing how to feel about it (but definitely not hating it.) And Elias not only avoiding the mess but also coincidentally having spare clothes for Jon.
Re: Fill: Jon/Elias, omorashi/desperation/watersports. (2/2)
Date: 2018-11-12 04:59 pm (UTC)