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Blackwood Investigations by artefact_storage, WhyNotFly
Fandoms: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
07 Nov 2025
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Summary
Martin Blackwood is an up and coming junior reporter for the Daily Thread. Jonathan Bouchard is the notorious husband of this city’s biggest crime boss. He’s bad news wrapped in a red dress and topped off with lipstick, but he’s also Martin's only lead on the mysterious murder of Ms. Gertrude Robinson.
Martin’s booked himself a one way ticket on this runaway train. The only stop now is the truth.
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Kosma Laszlo sits on her throne, one leg folded over the other, lounging back in an exceptionally casual way that clearly says she is not intimidated at all to have the Prime Consector of the Trust aboard her ship. It is her ship, after all. Why should she be intimidated?
That’s not the first thing Jonas notices, though. Because to the side of that throne, legs bent beneath him as he kneels on the floor, is Phineas Thatch.
Phineas looks different than Jonas remembers. For one, he’s not on Midst. Or dead, which is how Spahr’s been picturing him recently. He’s also scragglier. He’s grown a bit of a poorly trimmed beard. His armor is gone, replaced by a clean uniform with Baron Laszlo’s insignia embroidered on the chest. He’s also wearing a leather dog collar that is attached via metal chain to the foot of Lazlo’s throne.
Ohhhh shit.
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James appreciates the body he will soon own.
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Elias Bouchard's incredibly competent and incredibly overworked personal assistant, Jonathan Sims, has a bit of a problem—His boss just murdered someone.
And another problem—He's suddenly complicit in that murder.
And another problem—He's desperately in love with the murderer.
He absolutely does not have time for any of this nonsense.
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“Hey, Jon?” Martin isn’t moving. He sturdies himself, holding Jon back like an anchor. If Jon wanted to go, all he’d have to do is drop Martin’s hand, but he can’t. They’re holding hands. They’re meant to be holding hands. “Why did you say my mother was dead?”
“I don’t know,” Jon runs his free hand through his messy curls. When had his hair gotten so long? “It just popped into my head like a passing thought, like something I heard somewhere once. We haven’t known each other that long, Martin, I’m sure I just mixed you up with someone else at the Institute.”
“Like a memory?” Martin asks, quietly.
“Sure,” Jon says. “Like a memory.”
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Between phantom earthquakes and visions of a terrifying future, something is very, very wrong at the Institute. And only Jon and Martin can see it.
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Daisy may be leashed by Basira's contract, but it cannot stifle the needs of the Hunt. Elias gives her a chew toy to tide her over.
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Daisy often thought about Jon's neck. It was disproportionately long for his tiny form, thin, and pale. The skin was smooth like porcelain, marred by the long, jagged scar Daisy can still taste in the back of her throat. She reached out with her other hand and ran her fingers up the side of it. It was even softer than she'd imagined.
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Art’s really not that hard. All you have to do is let a surface become the picture it already wants to be. For Jinx, most surfaces wanna be monkeys. It’s a funny little twist of nature. But Silco’s a little more complicated. Every piece of him is like a whole new flavor of bubblegum. His shoulders are just crying out for a smack of periwinkle jellyfish, but his tummy is more of a splatted frog flavor. And his forehead gets a new set of much cooler blue eyebrows and his knees get smiley faces with X’s for eyes and his side gets a pink alligator with blood in its teeth and his hips, well, those actually are crying out for a monkey, and his—
Jinx makes a masterpiece!
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“It came from inside me,” Jon says needlessly as he holds out the slim feather for Elias to inspect. It is so small, barely half the length of the fingers Elias uses to pluck it up, to turn it this way and that so it shines white in the stark kitchen lighting.
“The Vast, perhaps,” Elias muses aloud, ignoring the way Jon fidgets for his lost attention. Jon presses a hand to his throat and pushes gently at the line of his windpipe, trying to feel the stretching emptiness, the wide and endless expanse opening inside him. It makes his head ache and his mouth taste like saltwater.
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Something is growing inside Jon.
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The professors called Jon a Seer. They said they’d never seen a talent for divination quite like his before. All three of them—Martin, Tim, and Gerry—had held him in their arms more times than they could count while he shook himself apart, eyes rolled back into his head, and stories about people they’d never heard of tumbling from his lips. Gerry’s spent years keeping studious notes on everything Jon’s babbled out, just waiting for the key that will inevitably save the world, but he’s yet to parse anything useful. Martin doesn’t care about saving the world. He’s more interested in saving his boyfriend.
In a desperate bid to control his painful and debilitating divination magic, Jon goes to work with his old classmate Elias Bouchard at his mysterious research institute. His boyfriends (Martin, Tim, and Gerry) have their misgivings, considering Martin’s own dark history with Elias during their time at Hogwarts, but Jon is willing to do anything to get his life back. While there, Jon falls in deeper and deeper with the strangely alluring Elias, and learns about a dangerous side of himself he may have been better off not remembering.
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“No,” Jon whispers, his eyes flicking back and forth beneath Elias’s steady gaze. “I was mad b-because they were intruding on my time with you.”
Slowly, a warm smile spreads across Elias’s face. It might as well have been the sun with how Jon’s skin heats up beneath it. “That’s not called anger, Jonathan. That’s called jealousy. You were jealous.”
“I…” Jon’s mouth goes dry as he stares up into Elias’s eyes. “I was jealous.”
Series
- Part 2 of The Good Neighbour
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Jon’s cigarette had nearly burnt down to ash, the flickering tip flirting with the scarred ridges of his fingers, when he says, “I think I’ve realized why I love you.”
“Why’s that?” Daisy asks, her voice gone husky with the smoke they’re forced to share in the tight quarters of Jon’s office. She could move farther away from him, but she doesn’t see the point.
“Because you could kill me.” Jon sucks on the end of his cigarette even as it crumbles in his grasp, landing hot on his deadened skin. “I always seem to love things that could kill me.”
“Everything in your life kills you, Jon,” Daisy answers. “You had to pick something to love.”
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The door swings open, quick and fluid, and Jon knows Elias has been waiting there for him. Jon asked for him to be there and he is; framed in the doorway like a manor lord with his blood red robe and his black silk slippers. He is ever so slightly taller than Jon and he is gazing down at him dark and hungry and Jon is sinking into the floor. Jon feels like he barely comes up to Elias’s knees beneath that gaze. Just a child again. Helpless.
“Hello there, little fly,” Elias says, the tip of his tongue flicking wet along his bottom lip. Jon is paralyzed watching the tips of his teeth flicker in and out of sight as he speaks, catching yellow in the lamplight. “Won’t you come in?”
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To die — to sleep. To sleep — perchance to dream: ay, there’s the rub! For in that sleep of death what dreams may come?
The first thing Jon does when he wakes up, sprawled naked across the messy satin sheets, is grab for the thick fur blanket folded up at the foot of the bed. It feels heavenly against his cold skin, soft and warm, and the dark behind his eyes is empty and comforting. He won’t be able to sleep—he doesn’t let himself sleep—but he needs ten full breaths to rest and recover. Jon squeezes his eyes shut and curls beneath the blanket and breathes. He’s alright. He’s alive.
He’s alive.
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His birthday had never meant much to Elias, his family hadn’t been the type to celebrate someone for the mere act of existing, and by the time he hit his third or fourth body the frivolous detail of the date had entirely slipped his mind. A hazard of the imperfect art of organizing, arranging, and properly stuffing away a lifetime’s worth of someone else’s memories. He can’t honestly say he mourned its loss. Detritus swept away for more critical information.
His mood had shifted oddly, however, when he’d come home to Jon sitting flushed and anxious in the center of their bed wearing nothing but a too-long button-up night shirt. Smooth, bare legs sprawled out beneath him. Slender fingers pulling at his lips. When that particular Jon had looked up at him with those same hopeful eyes he’s using now and proposed that perhaps, just perhaps, they could consider today his birthday, well, Elias rather turned around on the whole concept entirely.
Inexplicable.
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Our Lady of the Black by WhyNotFly for fav_littleleaf
Fandoms: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
03 May 2021
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Our Lady of the Black boarding school is for special children with unique emotional needs. Phobias. Obsessions. Childhood can be a struggle for a young thing with a wild imagination. They need to learn that there is nothing out there in the darkness.
After his encounter with Mr. Spider leaves Jon a troubled child, his grandmother decides it's just the place for Jonathan.
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This Will Be Entirely Forgotten by WhyNotFly for fav_littleleaf
Fandoms: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
29 Mar 2021
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Summary
This is a story about the end of the end of the world.
It begins with the end. It begins with a sheaf of paper and a mouthful of borrowed words and thunder and shattered glass. It begins with Jon on the ground, staring up, feeling the echoed pain of a thousand scattered scars across his flesh.
Or maybe it begins with the moment after that. When Jon falls asleep.
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Jon and Jonah share a dream in the apocalypse. Jonah learns to fix the house he broke.
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The first time Jon came to the aquarium (after he got over the panic attack he’d dropped into seeing the mermaid twist its way out of the dark water towards him), he’d asked the mermaid for his name. The second time he came (when he thought ahead enough to bring a sign language dictionary), the mermaid told him it was Gerry.
Which is a very strange name for a mermaid to have.
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The pen has a surprising weight to it when Jon takes it and signs the contract. A similar weight settles over his shoulders. A shiver goes up his spine and settles like butterfly wings beating at the inside of his ribs. This job is his. The Archives, all the knowledge in them, those are his. A deeper sort of greed settles into his chest, and he smiles at Elias with a bright, manic energy. The kiss Elias presses to his hand feels like a blessing.
- What Belongs to the Sea, Gilded Edges
Jon becomes Elias' Archivist. Elias decides a celebration is in order.
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There’s some sort of glittery streamer dangling down from the top of the doorway leading into the Archives. Hot pink, with little hearts of different sizes swaying gently in the still air. They hadn’t been there when Jon came into work this morning, he’s sure he would have noticed something so offensive to the eyes. It’s garishly out of place in the properly somber decor of the Archives. Jon reaches up, grasping the bottom of a tiny vinyl heart and rubbing it distastefully between his fingers. Anyone could have put it up between Jon’s modestly too early arrival and now, but Jon would put money on the fact that it was Tim.
It would certainly explain the unusually high level of amusement in his grin when he came to deliver his report on the Wharton case. Generally, in Jon’s experience, houses spontaneously burning down don’t tend to evoke a great deal of levity.
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Tim gets an unexpected visitor. Luckily, he has his grumpy old boss to back him up.
Series
- Part 8 of The Aro Archives