Do you know what I love about Elias? He’s unredeemable. There is nothing he wouldn’t do and no one he wouldn’t sacrifice to achieve his goal. With his canon characterisation, he could never have a redemption arc, it just wouldn’t work with the rest of the writing. And honestly? I’m glad he stayed an evil bastard right until the very end because that is good writing.
“My Archivist” as in “the Archivist that is mine”, but also as in “the Archivist I chose”, as in “you will Archive me, be the Archivist of me; you will chronicle me and devote my story to the fold of your innermost knowledge, you will be the only one to catalogue me and I will let you”.
Liking a villain exists in an odd intersection; I want to kiss I want to dissect his brain I want him to dissect my brain he’s pathetic he’s regal and superior he’s insane he’s sexy he was right actually I want to be him I am him he’s a father figure he’s my poor little meow meow I want him to thrive I want to see him in a fit of despair he’s in intertextual dialogue with Paradise Lost he is unique and never before seen I want him to love me I want to piss him off I want to fistfight him I want to fuck his mum
jonelias are actually the best i think you should all really think about that for a second really deep it take a moment of silence and consider it recognise it feel it in your soul yeah
It’s a stupid idea, but since the alternatives are rapidly narrowing to “wait for something to get lucky and kill me,” Jon decides to try Knowing again. What’s the worst that could happen? The most likely scenario is that he wakes up on the floor with another horrific migraine. He supposes he could send himself straight into another coma, and maybe that’s the best-case scenario for the world at large, so.
Jon turns on the tape recorder, and closes his eyes.
“How do I stop being the Archivist?” he whispers, and focuses on it. He imagines someone sitting next to him who he might compel, someone to slake the goddamn hunger, and then imagines them fleeing him–and following. He narrows all the intensity of his Eyes on the question, mercilessly sending the searchlight of his Gaze into the world to find the answers he Seeks, to scour the minds of anyone who might know, any hint, the merest whisper, and drag the answers out of them and into himself–
–and the world whites out. It’s not pleasurable like an orgasm, but it contains the same existential pause, the same fleeting moment of nothingness that Jon has felt before gritting his teeth and jerking into his own hand, only it isn’t brief. He loses himself in the white-hot emptiness of Knowing, and he has no idea how long it lasts.
When it’s over, he’s no longer sitting at his desk in the Archives. He doesn’t know where he is–it’s a room he’s never seen before–but he recognizes the sigh from somewhere above him, familiar and fond.
“And still he does not wake. Wandering his slim collection of gifted nightmares, passing the grey and lifeless remains of severed dreams he can no longer watch, he waits - but not for long - before they all begin again.”
god i miss elias this smug ass motherfucker is just sitting there while calling the cops on HIMSELF and is like time to read my ex’s dying love letters before i traumatize my employees for life
[ID: the image is a digital illustration of Jon from The Magnus Archives. He has brown skin, long greying hair pulled into a bun, a short beard, and half-moon glasses. He is wearing a long, blowy white gown with lots of lace and pin-tucks. He is looking to the right, in his left hand is a green book, and in his right is a lit candle on one of those old-timey candle holders. the background is a light green-blue that fades up into a faded orange. end ID]
tumblr, if you don’t put my post in the tags, i swear to god,
today’s lesson: don’t put anything about gift cards, even if it’s a harmless anecdote, in your post, if you want the tumblr gods to allow it to be seen in the tags
