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A fanfic for this Jon!distortion AU inspired by @jimsandfruit . This is just the prologue and I plan on adding more too this. Feedback and questions are greatly appreciated.

(Seriously tho this concept has so much potential)

Trigger Warning: the following story contains derealisation, dissasociation and a whole bunch of mental fuckery

Spoiler warning: potential spoilers for season 1-3 of the magnus archives. (And a lot of speculation and headcannons concerning the contents of the stated seasons)

Prologue

Jonathan Sims had just finished taking the poor disoriented Helen’s statement, and she was about to leave. Jon noticed that the door she was about to leave through was not always there. It was painted an ivory colour with a round purple doorknob which contrasted starkly with the dark stained wooden doors with silver handle knobs of the archive. “W-wait Helen!” he cried out, but it was too late, she had already gone through the door, and with hesitation, she turned her head to look at him thick with dread before the door slammed shut with a thud. For a long moment all he could do was stare at the door in disbelief. He needed to save her.

He stood up out of his chair and ran through the door to try and save her. Suddenly there was a strange headache inducing laughter echoing behind him before the door shut behind him.

He didn’t look back to see if the door was still there. Knowing what he knew from Helen’s statement about this place he was sure that he needn’t bother. Besides, he had to find her and couldn’t afford to waste any time. He ran through the hallways looking for her, seeking any trace of her, trying to get to her before this “micheal ” got to her first. There was no sign of her anywhere. He hadn’t run into a single other person in these halls despite having been here searching for hours. Still, like the stubborn fool he was, he pushed forwards.

He saw movement from the corner of his eye. Was it Helen, had he finally found her? He whipped around to look behind him but was instead greeted by that awful laughter.

Micheal.

“Oh Archivist… you really shouldn’t have come here.” that stupid grin was plastered on his stupid face.

“Where is she, Micheal!” he yelled with frustration, gritting his teeth as Micheals name was ushered from his lips. Jon didn’t have time for Micheals games.

“She is somewhere. Archivist, she's already long gone as far as it concerns you or I” laughter echoed through the twisted hallways. “It's already quite impossible for you two to ever reach, I’ve made quite sure of that.'' The contorted, twisting movements of Micheals body gave Jon a splitting headache.

“I wouldn't be too sure of that.” Jon responded with a spiteful tone, and Micheal laughed like it was some sort of joke. The laughter faded, and just like that he was gone. With much frustration Jon slammed his fist against the blue wallpaper, which was yellow before but was now red. His eye caught a piece of paper on the floor. It was yellow with age and had clearly seen quite a large amount of abuse. He walked to it and picked it up. He smoothed out the scrunched up paper and looked at the squiggly nonsensical lines that made perfect sense within these halls. It was a map. He had to follow it. Even if he wasn't sure where it led, there was still a certain air of importance in following it. It was the only sliver of hope he had left in finding Helen.

His eyes had a glint of hope as he began to follow the map. He wasn’t quite sure how he knew that it was taking him to some final destination, or that it was supposed to take him anywhere at all, but in these contorted and twisted halls it seemed to be the only tangible thing he had. He hoped the destination it led to was Helen, but deep inside his heart he knew that wasn’t true.

How long had he been here now? His mouth felt dry, from not drinking anything for who knows how long. Even so, something inside him knew this place wouldn’t let him die of natural causes. Fuzz began to creep into the corners of his mind.

To distract himself he started to say the directions out loud to no one in particular. For how long he did this he did not know.

“Left, left, Left, straight, through the window, break the mirror, down the stairs, right, right right……” the words were beginning to melt together as he spoke. He came to a realisation that he didn’t fully have the energy to comprehend the weight of. He couldn’t for the life of him remember his own name. Was it Charles? Wait no it started with J. James? Jack? Jonathan? Jim? They all seemed completely foreign to him. He couldn’t remember.

His eyes were zoned out, no longer frantically looking for answers like they almost always did. He was lost in his own head. He looked back at the map, it didn’t feel real as he held it in his hands. It was his only anchor in this messed up place, and even that couldn’t keep him grounded against the strong currents of the Sea of Dissociation, where each wave brought foreign things from another beyond onto his ship.

—-- He had aimlessly followed the map without thought for what felt like weeks. Finally it seemed he had reached his destination, the path had ended. All that lay in front of him was a mirror, he picked it up off the wall and looked into it. He recognised the face, it was supposed to be him, Jon. That was his name, right? But it wasn’t him. It was an eerie feeling looking into that mirror. Like looking at a doppelganger. He looked at where the mirror once was. There was a hole that stretched on for what felt like forever. He looked into the tunnel and saw something at the end. It was too far away to make out.

So he, like one did before, crawled through that tunnel. With each passing moment as he made it through that tunnel he could feel himself moving back further and further into his own head. Time faded away and became all but an illusion. As he got closer a sound got louder. It was like that of a beating heart. When he was almost to the end the sound was almost deafening, but still he pushed through. It was far too late to turn back now. When the end was finally reached he saw it in all its clarity.

It was the beating heart of the distortion. It sang to him, it called for him. He reached out and held it. It was a strange feeling to be holding such an impossible object. It was like every paradox was solved within it with yet another paradox. It didn’t look like a heart, not really, but he just knew in that dream-like manner of knowing, that it was the heart, the centre of it all.

He felt a tearing sense of agony go through him as his who was torn completely from his what. It was like he was torn apart and reassembled over and over again. He let out a pained cry of sheer and utter pain despite having no physical ability to scream as his body was forcefully twisted and contorted. His scream, and one other, could be heard all throughout the hallways. The distortion became Jon, and Jonanthan Sims became the distortion.

It was then that he remembered something he had all but forgotten. Helen. He needed to save helen. He ran through a door that was not there before. Jon called out for Helen and he heard her call back. He let out a sigh of relief. When he turned a corner he felt something run into him. It was Helen.

“Oh good heavens! Are you alright Helen?” Jon said worriedly..

“M-Michael? Get away from me!” she exclaimed, looking up at him with fright, not seeming to register the distortion's new identity.

“I’m not Micheal. It’s me, Jon” the mention of his own name felt wrong on his tongue.

Helen’s eyes cleared enough for her to fully take in what she was seeing. “J-Jon? But how? Why are you that… thing…?” her breathing slowly began to steady.

“I’ll explain when we get out here. This place isn’t good for you Helen.“ A door appeared next to them, and Jon picked Helen up with an ease he was not used to. When they were out of the room and back into Jon’s office he set her down. His office looked different from when he was here last. Dust had thickly layered on every surface it could, and everything had been put neatly away.

“... so are you going to tell me what happened Jon?” Helen’s tone was confused yet stern.

“Well, I went in after you, and I uh… ended up taking a shift in identity. Micheal is gone. permanently. I was him, but now I’m Jon, The Distortion.” Helen gave him a confused glare. “I’m not making sense am I?” Helen shook her head. “Well it makes perfect sense to me.” he mumbled, folding his arms and looking to the side with mild defiance. He couldn’t seem to explain it in words people could understand. “I’m sorry it took so long to save you.” He let out a exhausted sigh. -”I-I just don’t know where to go from here.” he sat in his chair, struggling to fit in it comfortably. “You should just go home and try to forget this all ever happened Helen. One more thing, please don’t tell anyone about what happened to me, or mention that I was ever in there. It’ll be what’s best for both of us.”

“Ok… Goodbye Jon…” Helen said, very confused but feeling as if she now owed something to Jon for saving her. Helen left the room and Jon was left to ponder.

What was he going to do now? He couldn’t just continue work as normal, no not when he’s been missing for who knows how long and and especially not when he looked like this. How were Tim, Sasha, and Martin going to react? Sasha… he remembered something, something from before he was Jon and from when he was Micheal. The real Sasha was dead. His friend was gone. Did the others know that she had been replaced? A pang of sadness washed over him. She had died and he hadn’t even noticed. He began to feel sorry for Tim for putting him at the top of his suspect list.

Suddenly his phone rang. He debated on whether or not to answer it, before eventually hitting the answer button and holding it to his ear with long fingers.. “Hello?”

“Jon, we need to talk.” It was Elias. He didn’t sound too pleased.

“Hello Elias…” he paused, remembering from michaels past what his boss was. “You want to talk to me about my recent… changes… yes?” there was a slight shakiness to his voice

Elias let out a sigh. “Come to my office. Now.” there was a certain finality to his voice. Jon thought for a moment.

“Why should I?”

“I had a feeling you would be difficult. Let me phrase it differently. Come to my office, or I kill Tim.” that shut Jon up very quickly. There was a beep as he hung up the phone. The time was long after hours. He put his phone in his pocket before he cautiously made his way to Elias’s office. Jon took a deep breath before going through the door of his boss’s office.

“So, what do you want from me Elias?”

“You have no idea how much your little show of heroics has cost me, Jon. I can’t get a new Archivist because you're still alive… and still the Archivist.”

“So what do you want from me then?” Even though he could now easily overpower Elias if it came down to it, at least physically, he was still terrified of the man, even more so now that he remembers what he did to Gertrude.

“I want you to keep working in the archive as normal. I told everyone you had gone missing and were presumed dead, assuming you wouldn’t end up returning. I’ll tell them you had a bad encounter with the paranormal, and that they shouldn’t pester you about it. Please just try your best to act relatively normal or so help me.”

“I suppose I could do that.” he didn’t want to, but it wasn’t like Elias was giving him much choice in the matter.

“Great, now please leave my office. you're giving me a headache.” He said in annoyed tone as he gestured towards the door

“Gladly.” Jon responded spitefully, before leaving, and heading back to his house.

Elias’s plans had been shattered, leaving him to put the pieces back together as best he could.

Finally got an ao3 account after a lot of procrastinating on my fault, but I now have the first chapter of my fic out! It’s a tma au based after the events of season 5.

Silly little anthology for the au I have put way to much effort into worldbuilding but not actually writing much until this point.

2nd chapter of Odds And Ends(Or The Lackthereof) is out!

Check it out here:

I love horror when it’s beautiful.

When what you look at is horrific and terrifying, but beneath that there is beauty.

I want the cosmic being staring at me so deeply with all of its hundred of thousands of eyes to be ethereal and filled with colors a mind cannot comprehend. For its beauty to be a horror all on its own, one that drives you into an obsessed madness, trying to recreate the beauty you saw that day. But you can never recreate it. You cannot capture this no matter your skill and no matter how hard you try.

I want the mounds of flesh and sinew to be crafted elegantly into a grotesque mosaic which as disgusting and putrid as it is, could be seen as beautiful. Not by all but to a certain kind of eye perhaps it could better than Picasso. They do say beauty is in the eye of the beholder after all.

I want characters who are driven to transform themselves into beings so beautiful they become god-like solely due to the flesh they rended from their bones, replaced with mounds of mud, sculpted into finely crafted art.

I want my horror to be beautiful.

You are a fool to believe my writing can stomped down into the dirt. Meter flows through my veins like a winding river, twisted and churning and winding. Text may be ripped from the world but it’s imprint, however small, shall prove your ruin. I pity you really, as I am the writers word, and it is mine against yours.

Thoth sat at his desk, writing words on a page made from void, an eternal thing to which spawns the world.

“And so a revelation came to the man, a cosmic morsel of knowledge given by what could only be called a god. Each end every language laid out in neat little dictionaries within the mind, and how exactly to use each of them for their true purpose.”

———

He looked in the mirror. Words were floating around in his irises, faint and yet clearly there. All in a thousand different languages. He found that he understood each and every one of them. Looking through the library now nestled neatly in his subconscious he notice something extraordinarily odd. His native language, English, had a purpose like all the others yes, but it’s purpose seemed to be one which he could mold and shape to his own will. It was his language. Originally, it had been used for some archaic purpose like wand crafting, but now, it’s was the language of him. Pantheons all had their own languages, used to interact with them. Why was a mortal man such has him given this?

Turns out of every language is specialized for a certain supernatural task, Latin is for summoning demons, Hebrew is for summoning angels etc. recently You’ve discovered what English is used for

Oh hey, Thoth here, you don’t mind if I just set this envelope containing a little snippet of what I’m working on your desk would you?… alright then… Just don’t open it, ok?

Open the envelope?:

“My name is Lyfrassir Edda, I am the new Head Archivist of The Magnus Institute, London. Due to recent events I have acquired a job here. Before this I worked as an inspector, and perhaps that’s what got me hired. Either way my employer, one Ms. Carmilla, seems happy with my placement here, and who am I to complain about getting a paycheck. She has given me three assistants. Their names are Ivy Alexandria, Raphaella La Cognizi, and… Marius Von Raum… I will not say much about them, but I hope I will not be needing their assistance often.”

Don’t worry guys I’ve started working on my kaiju stuff again. Using the power of shoving my blorbos into the world to force myself to build it.

Aka: new chapters on Odds and Ends(or the lack thereof)

I had stopped updating it because I changed so much about the world, but then I remembered I don’t have to care about that and I can just do whatever I want because it’s an anthology and my fic.

The first chapter of my fic where I throw mechanism’s characters into the world of The Magnus Archives is finally complete! It is a pleasure to present to you the first of the writing which I have spent hours pouring over, being a bit of a perfectionist.

Enjoy