hey kani,,,, could you draw me mister gerry magnusarchives 👉👈🥺
I went a bit more metalhead than goth bc..... it is my type and he is my type what is there to say anyways yeah I forgot how much I love him and I'm having little heart palpations thinking about holding his hand........
#3 - writing a love letter but keeping it to themselves
cheesed the prompt a little bit but it still kinda works!
_____________
The train rattled and Jon's pen slid across the notebook page, slicing his last sentence in two. Growling in frustration, he carefully drew two straight, deliberate lines through the words, and wrote them again. As a rule he liked to keep his writing neat and even, and this letter in particular he wanted to look nice, despite the inconvenient spot he was in.
He hadn't had much of a choice. The idea to write the letter had come to him while they were all standing on the platform back in London, and he knew there'd be no time once they arrived at Great Yarmouth. Besides, though the train was loud and shaky it was a night train, and the others were fast asleep in their seats, giving Jon the privacy he needed to really think about what he wanted to say to Martin.
Because, of course, the letter was for Martin. He was trying to use it to say everything he hadn't known how to say these past few months, things that Martin deserved to hear. Things he'd intended on telling Martin once they got back--because they would be getting back, Jon wouldn't entertain the alternative--but his mind had kept turning the words over and over in his head, not letting him alone, and so he'd put pen to paper at the first opportunity. He wanted to make the words tangible, real things, that he could show to Martin and make him understand.
As he finished up the last sentence, Jon turned back to the previous page in his notebook and read the letter through.
Martin--
I'm sure I gave you this to read and then walked away, probably said I was going to wait in my office or something. As I write this I'm promising myself I'm going to do that. But knowing me, I'm probably waiting right outside the door to hear your reaction. So feel free to stay as quiet as possible to give future me a hard time. He probably deserves it.
I know this isn't the normal way of going about this sort of thing, but . . . well, why start now? Our track record with normal hasn't exactly been consistent.
I suppose this letter is a confession, of sorts. Though it hardly feels like one; I feel like most of these things I'm about to write are things you already know. But I'm not sure, and that's the point of it, because these are things you should know. They're things I probably should have told you already, to be completely honest.
First thing is that I never properly thanked you for helping me after I got back from my little month-long "vacation." To be honest a lot of that time is a blur, but I do remember you offering me a place to stay, and helping me stock back up on groceries, and just being there. You didn't need to do any of that, so, thank you.
And thank you for believing me. About Leitner, about Nikola, about all of it. I know it's a bit very hypocritical of me to say that I was afraid you wouldn't believe me, but you did. You always have. Except when what I'm saying is bullshit, which, thank you for calling me out on that, too.
Second thing is that I'm sorry. For . . . everything, pretty much. For treating you the way I did, for not trusting you, for just generally being an arse and a stubborn idiot. For getting you involved in this mess--Prentiss, the Unknowing, all of it. I know an apology doesn't fix anything, but you deserve at least that much.
I won't apologize for not bringing you with us, though. It's not safe, where we're going. I suppose it's not safe where you are, either, but it's safer, at least. If Elias wanted to kill any of us he'd have done it by now. Which, now that I'm reading that back, I'm realizing it's not actually very comforting.
It doesn't matter anyway. If you're reading this, it means you're okay, that I'm okay. That we saved the world.
As I write this I really, really hope that that's how it works out. Because I need you to be okay, Martin. I need you to be okay and I need to be back with you. I care about you, a lot, and I need you to know that.
While I was in America I was miserable. Nothing was familiar and I constantly felt like I was being followed and I had nothing to do all day but chase imaginary leads that ultimately led me right back to my own front door. But I always looked forward to your calls. Talking to you was always the best part of my day. I kept counting out the time difference trying to anticipate when you'd be awake. I planned my days around those calls. And at first I thought it was just that you were a familiar voice, a port in a storm, that it could have been anyone. But then I realized no, it was just you, I liked talking to you and I wanted to talk to you more, and I missed you when we had to hang up. Hearing your voice made me smile, every time. I kept thinking about your tea.
That was when I knew.
And when I came back, you were there. You were happy to see me. At least I think you were--I don't want to assume. But I know I was so, so happy to see you, Martin. I should have told you then, but I was scared. I didn't want to come on too strong. I didn't want to ruin any of it.
But, well, now the world is ending, or it didn't end, and I want you to know how I feel. So the third thing is that I'd like to have dinner with you sometime. And when I say that I mean somewhere nice with a wine selection, not in document storage with day-old tuna sandwiches. Though that evening wasn't half-bad, either. I'd like to go out with you, on a date, and yes, this is how I'm asking you. Remember what I said about normal.
You're wonderful, Martin, and just because it took me too long to realize that doesn't make it any less true. You're clever, and kind, and strong--I'm envious of how strong you are. I like your smile, and your jumpers, and your tea. I really like your tea. I'm withholding all opinions regarding poetry as I am not an authority on the subject. But the point is I like you, Martin, a lot. You matter very, very much to me.
I just don't want to wait any longer. I'm tired of being careful, I'm tired of biting my tongue, I'm tired of not being with you. I'm tired of everything, really, but I'm especially tired of that.
You don't have to answer right away, of course. Please, I don't want to pressure you, you can tell me no or yes or nothing at all, I won't ask. Although if I am waiting just outside the door right now, I'm probably going to give you a very persistent look when you leave, so don't say I didn't warn you.
Fondly yours,
Jon
Jon read through the letter three more times. He still wasn't entirely happy with it, but it was late, and despite the adrenaline that had gotten him through the day his eyelids were drooping now. Before he could fall asleep on his notebook, he wrote out one last line:
P.S.: Apologies for how messy this is--I wrote it on the train. Couldn't wait to get it all down.
Carefully, following the perforated lines, he tore out the pages, folded them neatly into thirds, and slipped them into his coat pocket. He'd give them to Martin as soon as he got back, he decided as he leaned back in his seat. Lulled by the steady rocking of the train, Jon thought of what Martin's excited yes might sound like, what it would feel like to hold his hand over a candlelit table, and perhaps even what it might be like to press a kiss to his cheek, and though he knew he would wake with the train arriving at its inevitable destination, these thoughts carried him off to sleep with more comfort than he'd felt in a long time.
The phrase "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger" is a real people divider. Like, either you have it proudly displayed on the wall in your kitchen, or you are revolted every time you hear it.
I think the phrase is true, but we forget to talk about what happens in between something non-leathal-bad happening, and the being stronger.
It's not just magically, "Oh no, something horrible happened that completed shattered my world, but now I'm stronger!". It's the work that happens after the Happening that ultimately makes you stronger. Its sitting with your feelings in a kiddie pool of emotional diarrhea, and not drowning in it.
Idk, I wish I was more eloquent in the subject but I just couldn't shake this thought..
the thing about jonathan sims, head archivist of the magnus institute, london, is that he CAN plan things out very well (see how he took down trevor and helen), but when he experiences a Strong Emotion he just does whatever feels right in the moment, consequences be damned. found a tiny scrap of hope amidst the worst year of your life? martin pls blind urself and elope with me right now. found out your spooky office job has a murderer running around who might want you dead? time to photograph people’s houses i guess. guy who was nice to you one time is begging for his life? i panicked, you’re a torturer now.
people like to act like he’s EITHER cold and calculating OR stupid and reckless, but honestly hes just a very smart person who also happens to feel So Much, all the time, and is completely unable to resist those feelings.
okay actually thinking about this, i wonder if this informed how the eyepocalypse works. the whole “dream logic” thing is very in line with how jon tends to respond to his own fears anyway. if martin had been the archivist instead, would the eyepocalypse look very different? would martin have looked very different? or would he simply have been incompatible?
like. if there’s any connection at all, i guess i’m wondering if a) its something in the Archive influencing Jon, b) something in Jon influencing the Fears, c) a little bit of both, or d) something in jon that aligns with the fears, that the whole ritual would have failed without
#like i know the fears in general are pretty dream-logic-y #but still some statements are more feelings based than others based on the victims worldview#like in Desecrated Host theres really concrete rules#bc the priest needed to feel like he COULDVE solved it but DIDNT to really suffer#whereas jon’s biggest fear is that there is no rules at all. that he never had a chance no matter what#arguably bc he was first traumatized as a child and because of that will always perceive these things through that lens
hey this is actually one of the most interesting things ive ever said about tma. i feel like if anyone else were the lynchpin the whole thing would’ve looked completely different. we know the categories of the fears are mostly made up and only continue to be relevant because they’re already a part of the protagonists’ worldview; i bet that every “rule” in the eyepocalypse, and maybe the entire show, was solely dependent on the fact that jon was the one experiencing it. if it’s dream-logic, then he’s the dreamer.
This sounds like it’s being sung by a passive-aggressive 1920s radio host wearing a very dapper suit and threatening me with a cartoonishly small pistol, bearing a large grin on his face that indicates that he will not hesitate to put a hole in my forehead, not for a second
been spending my breaks at work and between and during classes when bored drawing this comic. was supposed to be two pages and fun and instead its 14 pages and sad. thanks to my friends who saw me literally crying into my sketchbook while i drew this and made fun of me, also shoutout to me for drawing martin different in every panel.
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