Statement Of Dolly Parton Regarding…”Jolene”

Symmetry

Poor little archival assistants, hired too young~

Genuinely curious about how Oliver Banks feels about waking Jon up.

Like he spends so much of the series trying and failing to help people. He can't save Gertrude. He can't help Jane Prentiss.

He can't even save his dad.

He kills twenty people when he goes to Point Nemo

Then one day, after he's given into the End, given up on rescuing anyone, he dreams of Jon, finds him in a hospital, gives his statement. And Jon wakes up.

For ten years, Oliver's been haunted, cursed with dreams of people dying, unable to prevent it from happening. Until finally he meets Jon and he's able to help him.

And then Jon ends the world.

this is part 1 [part 2] Happy TMAnniversary haha the song is  A Complete List of Fears Ages 5-28 (Aprox) by The Yellow Dress I really love this podcast so so much. I just finished it like a month ago and it still lives in my brain so i just had to do a little tribute

Not to beat a dead horse, but the naming conventions in the Magnus Archives are truly delightful. Jonny really said, “Here’s a cast of fascinating characters! Their names are:

My actual full legal name

The first names of my friends + the last names of famous horror writers

Michael (x4)

They all die horrible deaths :)”

Stanley Pines winning the title of Tumblr sexy man 2025 and Pope dying gotta be the funniest shit ever this year I'm dead serious

finished TMA

So.

I listened to one episode of tma last night.

Guess the episode based on how insane I went:

Time has stopped. I listen to one episode of this and suddenly all time stops. What do you mean it’s only been an hour? What do you mean that just being reminded of them turns my inner voice into theirs? Into his?

My mind tries to fill itself with static to maybe rid itself of his voice. Of their voices. Go back to what it once was. But it won’t. There’s no going back on a promise that you shouted out to the world. The voices of the people inside this glowing rectangle in my hands will be waiting. Each day I will go back and each day I march closer and closer to oblivion. I have his speech pattern down to a t. I have the voices tuned like the ones in the machine, able to be twisted and distorted, but never truly being mine.

The music itself is trying to drown it out. But it won’t. It knows the voice. Any time it is mentioned, it shudders. There is a dread behind it all. That it will end. Each day I listen, I walk ever closer to oblivion. I walk into the open arms of death, of life, of chaos, of fear. This whole ordeal, this monologue, spoken through the mouth of a man who has no control over his mind once a tape begins to play, all spawned from something simple. A set of six voices. The Book Burner. The Catalyst. The Replaced. The Ignition. The Lost. The Archivist. Six voices, a creaking cabin that threatens to swallow them whole, a world slick with the blood and choking cries of the survivors, and an ever so invasive god peering down and watching it all. He may not know it, but something exists beneath his skin. A power that wants to be released. If one misstep occurs, if anything goes wrong, the shell will burst. And nothing will be able to stop what emerges. Not even the one who raised the larvae, and prepared the resting bed for the cocoon. He too will be forced to face the monster he has created. But that can wait.

58 days. Maybe less. But no matter how long it takes, it will continue. And it will end. As I march, ever forward, toward oblivion.