The Magnus Archives - Blog Posts
I feel like id be a really annoying eye avatar. Annoying to beholding specifically. Id be summoning its attention all the time like “ceaseless watcher whats the square root of 906” “ceaseless watcher check out this cool rock i found” “ceaseless watcher whats the song thats like (bad singing)” “ceaseless watcher did you know cellar spiders hunt by pretending to be caught prey and then eating the other spider” “ceaseless watcher where did i put my keys” eventually it’d stop listening to me. And then id be invisible muahahaha
Artworks of michael distortion and michael shelley in the same image often draw the former intimidating/enfolding the latter. But that’s not it at all, is it? They’re one and the same, yet mutually unrecognizable to each other. The distortion did not prey on michael shelley, he was fed to it and it was bound to him. And once it became clear it would not escape unscathed, it did not want him. Michael shelley was never even meant for the spiral at all, and it shows in how it acts as a distortion. If anything, the intimidating factor above the hapless human should be gertrude robinson, not any facet of something that could be called michael in some capacity
oh no cigarettes for me thanks i just wanted to be in this dank alleyway with you
Mmmm green (PHIGHTING x The Magnus archives au)
I finished this at like 2am BUT ANYWAYS,,, you could technically call this a teaser- once I get all of the designs done I plan to make a bunch of pieces like these for all of the guys! I think I’ll probably do one for Mike crew Slingshot next after I finish coloring all of the designs :3
Anyways enjoy Jon-kit, I’m off back to my hole
helen distortion 🤩
Miasma
Statement of Hannah Dean, regarding a sick patient she took care of. Original statement given August 12th, 20XX. Audio recording by Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute.
Statement begins.
My name is Hannah Dean, I work as a doctor at Pearl Garden Hospital. Let’s just get right to it. I don’t know when she was admitted into the hospital, where she came from, who her parents were, nothing. All I knew was that I was to be taking care of her. When I first entered her room, she was sat in her cot and stared right at me. She looked to be around, 13 or 14 years old? Had greasy hair and old bandages around her arms and legs. I’m not sure why I didn’t notice how everything was so… dirty, at first. The walls were stained, the floor was grotty, and the patient herself was overall, filthy. I walked over to her nonetheless and introduced myself, like I always did. I tried to run a few checkups on her, but as soon as I got close I felt a wave of sickness… emanate from her, somehow. I immediately stepped back, and that sickly feeling went away.
Have you ever heard of the Miasma theory? Where diseases are supposedly caused by bad air and such? This patient—I’m not sure how else to explain this. She had… bad air. There was like an invisible ball of gaseous sickness all around her. It made me want to puke. She gazed up at me with an innocent and confused look, and I couldn’t help but feel bad for her. I went back to do a physical exam on her, checking her skin and eyes, looking into her throat and ears, checking her pulse, the usual. It was hard to focus though, the awful feeling of nausea and illness ruminating off of her and right back at me. She was in a rough shape from the looks of it, she could’ve be suffering from a myriad of things. I figured I’d prescribe some acetaminophen, so I told her I would be back, and left the hospital room.
When I exited, I instantly noticed the change in air quality. It was so much more fresh and breathable outside of the patient’s room, despite still being in a building with what should’ve been the same conditions. That’s when I realized the difference in cleanliness as well, the halls had a scent of rubbing alcohol and chlorine, but her room… honestly, was foul. I went to grab the medicine for her when a friend of mine and also fellow co-worker, Wendy Lovett, bumped into me. She was surprised to see me and said that I looked unwell. I didn’t know what she was talking about until she showed me with her phone. I looked like I had a cold or something, but it wasn’t that serious, could just be the long hours getting to me. I mentioned I was getting some medicine for the patient in room 43, but Wendy looked more concerned for me. She told me there wasn’t a patient in room 43. I said that there definitely was one, and that she could come with me to take care of the patient if she really didn’t believe me.
We came back to the patient and Wendy wrinkled her nose as she entered. The patient still sat on that cot. I poured one chewable tablet of the medicine in my hand and instructed her how to take it. I’m not sure why, but she looked a little disappointed when she took it. Wendy walked over to the patient and I could see her face shift from mild disgust to utter repulsion. She must have gotten a little close and experienced that… bad air. Once the patient was done, I gave her a glass of water and Wendy practically dragged me out. She shut the door to the room and told me that patient was not normal. It was hard to disagree with Wendy, there was something strange about her and we both felt sick after being around her. We agreed that I would give the responsibility of taking care of this patient to someone else, probably more capable of dealing with sicker patients. The next day, I asked another doctor, Vincent Roussel, if he could handle the patient for me, as I was feeling ill. He begrudgingly agreed, and I stayed home.
I came back to work feeling much better after that, but I couldn’t help but notice Vincent looked really bad. His usually kept hair was a mess, he had stains all over his shirt, and his glasses were smudged and crooked. I asked if he was okay. Vincent glared at me and told me he was just fine, but judging from his cough and sniffly nose, he was not. I didn’t see him for the rest of the day, until I walked past room 43 nearing the end of my shift, the door slightly askew. Curiosity got the better of me, and I took a little peak inside. The room looked a lot dirtier than I remember, now with insects crawling and flying around the walls and floors. Vincent was now lying in the cot and he looked like a corpse, but he was still alive, the shaky rise and fall of his chest showed that. The patient stood beside the cot, remarkably looking a whole lot healthier, with her hand on Vincent’s shoulder. I think she was saying or whispering things, but I couldn’t hear what. I… I quickly left after seeing that.
Vincent was found dead in the hospital a few days later. The police haven’t found anything about what could have caused his death. I’ve only told Wendy about seeing the patient with Vincent so far, since I doubt the police would find the information helpful. We’ve both been avoiding room 43, even though it’s probably perfectly normal and clean now. That patient… I don’t know. I haven’t seen her since. I hope I never do.
Statement ends.
ough. sickly child not feeling too well.
Idk if it’s like, frowned upon but I did trace this pose from https://www.deviantart.com/adrimmd/art/MMD-P2U-Family-Guy-Death-Pose-30-points-916890006
if that’s a problem please tell me!
man contracts tuberculosis after contact with weird stinky homeless child
Michael distortion (TMA)
Breaking away from my usual phighting posting for once to drop this thing I made :3!
Anyways I’ve been listening to the magnus archives lately and oh my god. Him. Michael distortion my beloved,,,, I like NEVER draw people LMAOOOO so this was a bit difficult but getting to mess around with the colors and expressions was really really fun,,, also dw about me dropping ohighting anytime soon because now I’m working on a TMA phighting au EHEHEHEHEHEHEHE
I am currently sickly and dying so I decided ‘hey, what if I made a magnus archives oc to represent my suffering’
meet Alissa Miller, avatar of the corruption, she’s got every single disease and infection at once and will gladly share
NOOOOO NOOOOO WHAATTTTTT NOOOOO AHHHHHH WHYYYYY STUPID GUHGHHDHFJ NOOOOOOOOOOOOO THE THE THE BOYS THE AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH SOB SOB SOB SOB SOB SOBB
UUHHOOHOOHOHOOOOOOOOO
haha im about to finish 200 episodes and im so normal
*AGRESSIVELY SOBS*
haha im about to finish 200 episodes and im so normal
*AGRESSIVELY SOBS*
Where are his eyes?
Exactly where they’ve always been, Martin. Watching over my Institute.
been listening to this cool podcast called the magnus archives, and im only ten episodes in, but I like it 👍
if someone doesn't write a fan fiction where Jon sims (archivist) time travels and avoids the end of the world by flat out ignoring all the rituals, hiding all the real statements away from the assistants and killing all the avatars who Elias sends after him with a flame thrower or cement I will have to and I suck at writing
Jon sims is a A- archivist (the fic)
Some random illustrations
Hold me like water
Or Christ, hold me like a knife
Elias laughs and the sound of it isn't unkind. Jon isn't sure why he expects it to be. It's somewhat pleasant, actually, to see his shoulders shake undone, forehead pressed to the roof of the car.
"Did I say something wrong?"
Elias waves him off and straightens up with a smile that gets his face all crinkled up. It's a lot of fine lines, a lot more under the unforgiving streetlights than what Jon is used to. It makes him seem more articulated, somehow. Less of a, what is it that Sasha keeps calling him, Walt Disney's frozen head?
"Not at all. You are one peculiar man, Jonathan."
Jon, he wants to correct, but doesn't know if it's appropriate — they're not really on the first name basis, are they. Elias is, sure. Was, from the very start, but the "Elias" in question never actually slips past Jon's head. So, instead, he finds the logo on the bumper very noteworthy.
"Cadillac," Elias suggests and now Jon scoffs himself.
"Are you showing off?"
Elias bops his head in a touché kind of way and scratches at his brow with a thumb carefully stuck away from the burning cigarette. "You looked like you were about to ask."
"It's just my face."
"Oh, I know."
Jon buries his freezing fingers into the coat's pockets and joins him, pressing a hip to the cold metal. Elias offers his portsigar in that sickeningly polite manner of his and Jon grabs a smoke for himself without thinking it through, mainly because he feels awkward standing empty handed. Something about them and the deserted Tesco parking lot does feel extremely inappropriate, now that he thinks about it with a cold cleared head.
Elias squints at his scrambling. "Are you uncomfortable?"
As he pockets for his lighter, Jon actually contemplates his answer. Elias doesn't rush, but does, however, mirror his stance so they end up face-to-face.
"No, I suppose," Jon clicks the wheel and takes a drag. "Are you uncomfortable?"
Cranks his head a bit and tries to roll something on his tongue along with the smoke. "Do I make you uncomfortable, Elias?"
He looks at him then, really looks at him, so prolonged and heated Jon feels like he might break sweat. But then the gaze slips somewhere above his shoulder and Elias smiles to himself as if remembering a joke.
"Somewhat, yes."
"Unfortunate."
"Not at all."
When Elias reaches out to him after a moment of silence, Jon isn't really surprised. He's not good at this but god knows he isn't entirely lost in clues, not when it comes to someone as blunt as Elias. It leaves him soured, really, the momentary rush of anxiety and disappointment. He takes a deep breath, preparing to say his best collected good-byes.
Elias runs his fingers gently along his clenched fist, so much so that Jon trails off with a stupidly hanging mouth. The nails, somewhat long and polished, scrape his dry skin up the sleeve and slip to the underside, following the veins with just their pointy tips. Jon makes a noise he's terrified to hear as his hand opens involuntarily. Elias holds it like he has held Jon's hand a million times before, like he watched it weather through the years just alongside his own, like he pressed kisses and whispered prayers into his palms. He holds it like he knows it, turning it over towards the dimm light above them.
Jon stares at his own clipper laying now cradled. Elias points a finger, connects the moles on his wrist and draws a thoughtful line to the cheap plastic, eventually tracing the pixelated design. The eye stares back at them.
"Let me drive you home, Jon."
Jon can't breathe for some reason.
"Wha..."
"You seem tired."
Kill count higher than your salary
'Cause we'll dance together so close we're sharing breath
But now I'm leading, doesn't that just scare you to death?
20 years of promises
"I like the new hair"
"I fail to see how any of this is amusing to you"
"Sorry sir, you have 👁️" "I see"
More Elias cosplay. Though, this time it's not about the outfit.
I have freaky Bouchard eyes, God given, so, conveniently, I can use them for any Elias fanart I do. If I need a reference for an expression, I just do it myself.
When I did my first art piece, I asked myself "how do I convey this expression on an unsettling, unblinking man?" Then I remembered that 'I' am an unsettling, unblinking man, and my stupid eyes are under utilized.