I HAVE To Change My Username Because The Wrong Irl Found Me (my Sister) And Is Using It As Blackmail

btw if we're mutuals i automatically think ur cooler than me. doesnt matter if we have been mutuals for 2 minutes or 3 years, if we are following each other u are cooler than me by default <3

Oh my lord this is so beautiful I love my pathetic little eyeball man

All I could think while drawing this is how impractical it would be if jon cried.

The best part is that both of these would be from the same artist

The duality of Jonathan Sims artists

strawpage request

The Burden of Truth | The Magnus Archives | Part 1/??

I finally decided to post this fic!!! I've never posted writing before so apologies if the formatting is weird.

DESCRIPTION: Season 2 Jon manages to find and listen to Gertrude Robinson's warning tape that she left for the next Archivist. Unfortunately, he is already sleep deprived, terrified, and deeply paranoid, so these disturbing revelations don't exactly calm his nerves...

NOTES: The tape I am referring to is the one that plays in episode 161. If you would like a refresher on what is said, you can find it here, and this is the post I made that kinda explains where I got the inspo for this. This fic takes place between episode 069 and 070. Also, I used [these] to indicate thoughts and internal dialogue.

WARNINGS: SPOILERS FOR SEASONS 1-4 OF THE MAGNUS ARCHIVES!!

The Archivist, Jonathan Sims, sits at his desk. He holds a tape recorder in one hand and stares down at a different tape that lays in front of him. He draws in a shaky breath, steeling his resolve, then–

The recorder clicks as he turns it on.

“I-I don’t usually record a supplemental before a statement, but I just feel like I need to get this one out before—“ He cuts himself off. “In case something happens to me. I found a tape down in the tunnels. One of Gertrude’s. If I didn’t know any better, I would have assumed the police had dropped it, left it behind, but I know that’s not it. I know that they never found it because the tape was hiding. In the wall. I don’t know why the tape chose to reveal itself to me [Chose. Why did I say that the tape chose me, it can’t choose anything, it’s a tape. Am I really this far gone?] But it did, and I have it now. I don’t know why I’m feeling like this. I have this strange dread, like I’m, I don’t know, breaking a rule? Doing something that I’m not supposed to do. Crossing a line that I’m-I’m not supposed to cross. I know this is just a tape [It is never just a tape] but this one, it… it feels different somehow. Important. I-I don’t know. I guess… I guess I just have to listen to it.” 

He turns the tape off, replaces his cassette with Gertrude’s. He takes a deep breath, pushing down his doubts, then plays the recording.

Click. 

There is silence. Drawn out, suffocating silence that is only exaggerated by the whirring of the tape recorder. The Archivist tries to pick out and verbalise one of the thousands of thoughts and questions that have flooded his mind. They race and push and twist in a whirlpool, leaving him dizzy and disoriented. He attempts to speak, but the only sound that comes out of his mouth is incomprehensible stammering. He leans back in his chair and tries to calm his shuddering breaths, his racing thoughts. After a few moments, he speaks. 

“I don’t know what to do with this.” He tries to keep his voice controlled, pronouncing each syllable as clearly as he can, but his distress remains apparent, and despite his efforts the words still tumble over one another as he continues.

“I don’t know what to-to think of this I-I… okay. Okay, I shouldn’t get ahead of myself. There is no proof that any of that was true. [But I know how to prove it. She told me.] Perhaps…perhaps Gertrude was just a little…confused in her old age. Lord knows this place can drive you mad, what with the [The what? The supernatural attacks? The paranoia of never knowing who to trust? Or is it the oppressive, unrelenting sense that you are being watched. Watched by something you cannot see or touch or know. Is that what I am referring to? Is that what is driving me mad?] the… strange nature of our work here.

“Still, I would be a fool to brush this aside or- or to ignore it. After all, dementia didn’t shoot Gertrude Robinson three times in the chest. No… no she must have… gotten too close to the truth. Known or-or said too much. Or maybe she had done something to make someone [Elias. You know now that it must have been Elias.] upset. At the end there, I think she was planning on… burning down the archives [The Eye wouldn’t like that] or-or someplace else? I don’t quite remember, there-there’s just so much. She…she was with Jurgen Leitner. The Jurgen Leitner. Sh-she knew him! She was working with him! She…”

It was all becoming too much for him. He stands and begins pacing the cramped office, muttering more to himself than to the tape recorder clutched in his hand.

“What did…what did she mean? …Leitner… she told Leitner…she told him to–“

The realisation washes over him, stopping him in his tracks.

“She told him to go back to the tunnels. Back to the tunnels! He-he was living down there! What if… no. No not what if. It was him. I-I know his voice now, I know it! That was his voice I heard down there, down in the tunnels. That was Jurgen Leitner that told me to ‘leave’ and that made the…made the…the walls close in on me. Walls…could it…could it have been him that hid the tape, that gave it to me? It must have been, he has that book the… the Ruskin book, I think Gertrude called it! It can shape the tunnels! It was him who kept the tape and him who gave it to me! But - but why? 

“Could it have been because of the… the [Come on, Jon. You can’t keep avoiding the topic. You need to address it eventually.] the… other things she talked about? The stuff about fear and - and gods and… rituals? And what she said about Elias [You mean Jonah Magnus] and the institute? That it and - and I serve some voyeuristic god of fear? That Elias [Jonah] can see through all eyes? And that I am a-a ritual? What does that - what does that mean? It doesn’t make any sense. It can’t be true, it’s just too absurd. It’s ridiculous! It can’t be true, it just– it just can’t. I cannot believe that it’s true! But… but Gertrude did. She believed every word she said in that tape, I-I can tell. I know. 

“When I… broke into her flat I saw that… well, it didn’t make any sense to me then, but now it… In her flat, all the eyes had been cut out. On photographs, book covers, everything, she had cut out the eyes on all of them. It must have been because she didn’t want Elias [Jonah] or - or [The Eye, the Ceaseless Watcher, The Great Eye That Watches All Who Linger In Terror And Gorges Itself On–]

“–Or anything else watching her!” He exclaims, desperate to cut through his own spiralling thoughts. His voice is shaky as he continues, “She believed it, and I… oh god. What if… am I being watched? By- By Elias or whatever god controls the Institute? Can he see me right now? Is he listening to me record this tape? I need to - I need to make sure that—  I have to be more careful. I-I should–”

He turns the tape off.

<><><>

The Archivist’s office is in complete disarray. Each drawer had been pulled out, their contents dumped out unceremoniously, each lightbulb removed and haphazardly screwed back on, and the statements that he had so carefully been organizing were left scattered on the floor. He collapses onto his chair, exhausted. He glances uneasily once more at his locked office door, then picks up the tape recorder. 

“Alright. I have searched my entire office for anything even vaguely eye-shaped and have thankfully found nothing,” he relays, slightly out of breath. “I have also found no hidden cameras or audio bugs. It seems that Elias was indeed telling the truth when he said that the Archives have no security cameras.” His voice catches when he says Elias’ name, the voice in the back of his mind reminding him [You mean Jonah Magnus.] He shakes off the thought, not wanting to deal with its implications quite yet.

“I’m- I… I don’t think Elias has seen me. If he had, I doubt I would have gotten to listen to the tape and survive this long. Gertrude was— No. He killed Gertrude, likely because she disobeyed him. I don’t think I was supposed to listen to this tape. If he knows that I have… then he will kill me too. I’m sure of it.” 

A familiar dread settles in the pit of his stomach, but it holds more weight than he’s used to. He has grown accustomed to paranoia, but not the feeling of his anxieties being so thoroughly justified. 

“I still don’t know about the others. I’m not sure how involved they are in all of this. If they are working with Elias to do a ritual for this Eye god, I need to be much more careful. Tim and Sasha are already upset with me for stalk— uh, for investigating them, so I will have to find a way to avoid any more suspicion. Martin… I’m still not sure what to make of Martin. I wouldn’t say that I trust him. I can’t afford to trust anyone here. But… Martin seems innocent enough, seeing as the only lies that he seems to have told were on his CV. Not to mention that he may be the only one here who is even somewhat on my side. Sometimes, it even feels like he’s trying to take care of me. But what if it is all an act and he is just trying to manipulate me into– into… I just have to remain cautious. But if he– or - or the others aren’t working with Elias, then they are likely in just as much danger as I am.

“I-I need to know who I can trust, who I can…” The Archivist lets out a frustrated breath. “I. Need. Answers. Real answers. I need to know if what she told me was all true [There is a simple way to prove it. She told you how] and I need to figure out what I am supposed to do with this information! Where… where can I get answers? [The tunnels.] Who can I… wait.” He comes to a realization, recalling words from the tape. He continues restlessly, “Wait, Gertrude didn’t record this tape for me, not exactly. She recorded it for Sasha. Which means she must have trusted her. Sasha… I need to- I need to talk with Sasha. I need to ask her–”

The Archivist stands to rush out of his office, but he halts, noticing the state of the room for the first time. His eyes scan the room and land on the clock. He exhales sharply in disbelief.

“Good lord, is that the time? I… I’ve been here for far too long. But Sasha…” he lets out a dry laugh. ”Well, Sasha has likely been in her home and asleep for quite a while now. Sleep… I haven’t been sleeping much recently. I-I think it has been two, may-maybe three days now? It’s been hard to… I should get some sleep. No! No, I-I need… I need to… [I need sleep and I need answers. I can only get one of those right now]. Alright. Alright, o-okay. I will go home and try to get some sleep. Being here for too long may look suspicious so… yes. Well, goodnight.” He lets out a small chuckle. “Or morning, I suppose.” 

Click.

Okokokokokokok tma time travel au presents lots of fun with s1 reactions to smart and all but unless I'm forgetting about something THE DON'T FUCKING REMEMBER WHAT SASHA LOOKS LIKE

uh oh

UH OH

@dimitrikissov this was literally us in social justice class. It’s very weird to be in a room full of people debating your existence :/

So when I was in middle school and realized I'm not straight I remember feeling so alienated in public discourse because gay people were treated as a culture war talking point. and we would have literal school assignment debates in class on whether people like me should have rights. Very few people Knew this about me outside a couple friends but it felt like gay people were treated as a theoretical concept and not actual living human beings who could be sitting in the room while non gay people discussed if they should be allowed to live. I would go online and see such undisguised virtriol about people like me-- even 'allies' seemed to treat me as a Concept or Political Ideology instead of a person. It's such a bizarre feeling, but as the years went by at least people seemed to see me as a human being who could exist and maybe be in the room while talking about this kind of stuff. The feeling of being An Ambiguously Real But Conceptual Forcibly Politicized Entity slowly went away. So it is nostalgic in the absolute worst fucking way possible to be trans right now and feeling the exact same thing I felt back then.

mutuals can always dm me but be warned i talk like your coworker who is trying too hard to get to know you and my response times are akin to the response times you might get if we were communicating by letter

Oh my lord she is so gorgeous

helen distortion I would marry you if you let me