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Jon Tma - Blog Posts
Jayce and Viktor are definetly gonna get the Jonmartin treatment in the sense of "They disappeared and we didn't see a body so they're actually just in a different universes and they're happy and alive and very gay"
Alice is kinda hot
Also Martin would be so pissed knowing that his name is Norris
When u don’t like ur coworkers as much as you don’t like yourself
Yes 👏
Welcome to the “whoops! I accidentally started got manipulated into starting the apocalypse!” Club. Members being Jonathan Sims and Mable Pines. They’re both ✨traumatised✨
Bonus comic
Dear Horror Podcast Creators,
Hi aroace person here. Ummm, could you stop making aroace people Standish unfriendly assholes that need to learn how to open up to people? Because three times a pattern, and I don't super love the pattern. Like we don't get a whole third of three main options for human affection. I'm an introverted weirdo who writes open letters to podcast writers on tumblr. But I do treasure and protect the few friends I have made. And I act pretty kindly to those others because, well, I'm not an asshole. It's just weird that there seems to be an unintentional correlation between being aroace and being cold and standoffish. I undertand its becuae they also happen to have trauma that makes them that way. But, for example, the sheridan tapes have two main characters. Both of them have trauma. One of them is cold and distant and the other is pretty socialble and talkative and has fucking friends. Which is the ace one and which isnt? Im not calling it out. I like the Sheridan tapes. I'm just saying it's weird that this keeps happening. So you know, mix it I guess. For me?
Sincerely, someone who will listen to the podcasts regardless because I have no morals.
P.s. TMA fans, please don't come for me. You scare me more than voltron people.
I don't know of this is far or even makes sense. But I think that Jon (tma) would have a harder time in the Malevolent universe than Arthur would have in the TMA one. I just get the feeling that he would have a harder time adjusting to fight the size and abilities of the monsters Arthur fight. Most of Jon's (tma) enemies are human shaped and have some abilities but nothing too bad other than Nikolai. I think Arthur would honestly be kinda happy to know he's mainly fighting things that are people shaped. Also the "gods" here don't directly interact with you sp they don't usually have personal beef. Unlike in Malevolent where those bitches can hold a grudge. Can you imagine Jon warning Arthur about Elias only to find him just physically fighting him because he had the nerve to say his daugters name. Arthur tries to warn Jon about like wildebeast or some other monster. And Jon tries to ceaseless watcher it but it moves so fast and maybe turns invisible? He gets it but oh shit there's more! Also there are cultists now!? And who the fuck is that dude in a suit eating chips and saying Arthur would have dodged to the left? Idk i just think it would be funny to have them switch worlds.
Goretober day 8!! Not very gorey, but I like it!
vv My list! vv
Jonathan Sims, Researcher at the Magnus Institute, London
original, close up, and timelapse under cut
you know all those fics where everyday Jon visits like an ally cat near the institute? I have a pretty sad headcannon that is basically that, but after the worms start showing up outside the institute Jon gets so caught up in his work that he forgets to go feed the cat, and when he finally remembers to, the cat's been eaten by worms. I do not know why my brain would conjour an idea such as this but it did, and know you also know about it, sorry.
My design for my button for The Eye. This, alongside my buttons for The Buried and The Lonely are all available for preorder on my Storenvy!
Ok I don't have time rn to actually do much with the idea but season 5 jon have like a second set of pupils/irises inside his eyes instead of gaining full extra eyes
How can a man have such beady eyes. Are you a man at this point? Or just like.. a rat-man or something lol. Or a- UHH OH MY GOD WHAT IS THAT THING what the HELL is that why is there so much skin???
pov: youre just trying to get coffee but this fuckin guy wants to hear about your trauma
i almost never make fanart but i think i need to draw jonathan sims because i’m actually obsessed with him
They’re having fun
Why do my hyperfixations have to physically hurt me this is so stupid. like oh no my favourite fictional man is having a bad day I guess I should get a stomach ache about it
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
like i can’t explain it but i love him so much because like. he’s pathetic and he’s terrifying he’s a coward and he’s courageous he’s a good man he’s an eldrich horror he says he’s a skeptic but he’s really a believer he’s powerful and helpless he’s afraid of everything including himself. also he’s queer.
i almost never make fanart but i think i need to draw jonathan sims because i’m actually obsessed with him
Had to do it
jonathan sims in this shirt
Screw it, here's how Martin meets Jon in my Monster au
He’s making tea when he first sees it. An early morning, his mother still asleep and the haze of just past sunrise settling over the world as he pulls the kettle with him to the sink to fill it up. His mind about just as foggy as the air outside, wiping sleep from his eyes before setting his gaze through the window above the sink; and he has to do a double take at the shape that’s standing under a tree behind the fence line.
He turns off the tap.
He can’t make out much of the details from where he’s standing, but that hardly matters in the face of its impossibility. A black shape with almost undefined edges and a shape that could have been human but… wrong, somehow. Fundamentally wrong. Like staring into a shadowed void that made his eyes water when he tried to look closer, a lack of tangibility looking like cracking static or a bug in the very nature of reality, a glitch personified and absolutely covered, head to monstrous toe, in glowing, never once blinking, bright green eyes. Fingering, with impossible clawed fingers and predatory intent, through decaying box of old books and magazines and things from the attic he’d left there with still every intention to throw out.
And then the thing's head turns, snaps its hundreds of eyes all at once to focus on him as he ducks down behind the counter. Eyes wide, unstable as he lowers himself on the floor, back pressed up against the cupboard under the sink and brings a shaking hand to press against his mouth. The heavy weight of a thousand eyes all focused on him in that moment, as his mouth goes bone dry with a thing that stands what feels like right behind him. Just waiting, and watching him, and seeding his dread and just waiting for that one movement, that once excuse to crash through that window and end him before he can even let out a scream.
It takes hours of nothing happening for him to work up the nerve to move again. To pull himself up over the counter enough to peek and see the spot by the tree empty. It doesn’t bring him the relief he thought it would, not with the still constant impression of that thing still watching him, now unseen when before he at least could have had the knowledge of where it was.
It's gone now, he can't see it and oh god that just makes it so, so much worse.
The space under the tree is empty, the yard itself is as lonely as he's come to expect but he can still feel those eyes. And he stands, staring through the kitchen window, trying very hard to find it again with frantic eyes swept over the yard, picking through and focusing on every dark corner and hiding place. Expecting, with some awful dread for it to be very, very close all at once from where it’s hiding, to smash through the window or to appear right behind him, even as the feeling of hundreds and thousands of eyes all focused at once still persists, has him pinned down where he's stood. Waiting for him to make a move, for him to do… something. Something he's not sure of, and that fact alone makes him very afraid. That one wrong movement, one wrong action and it's all over. And he can't see it but oh god, he can feel that it can see him.
And in that moment, all he could think beyond the fear as he backed away from the window slowly, shaking under the feeling of that relentless gaze trained on him and waiting to strike, was that when it did inevitably come, (as by now he was sure it would even as it bided its time) all he could do was just hope it would be quick and painless.
The relentless choking dread whispered a very, very different story.
After a few more hours of thumbing through books and not daring to step back into the kitchen or anywhere near a window, the feeling faded. Slowly, no discernable moment where it all cut off, maybe just enough to not notice him so much… He worked up the nerve enough to move, to push through the door and past that threshold enough to step outside and search for a minute or two, to make sure before he gripped his shoulder bag tighter and started his trek to work.
Never stopping once, tense as all hell, jumping at shadows and trying very hard to resist that urge to look over his shoulder, or to entertain that constant fear and feeling of eyes, watching from just out of sight.
The box of books was gone. At the square of empty pressed grass all he could do was swallow it down, and squeeze the straps of his bag again, and keep walking.
[ID: A watercolor painting of Jon Sims, a thin brown man with long hair and bright green eyes. He scowls at the viewer, looking like he's speaking. End ID]
Quick watercolour painting I did of my favourite Eldritch dumbass :)
Image ID by @princess-of-purple-prose, thank you for helping me make this more accessible (´▽`ʃ♡ƪ)
"POVyoureGertrudeRobinson.png"
A doodle and a quick extract from the monster au i've been developing because I love writing tragic backstories and i love gerry keay
Gerry here is what is more commonly known as a soul eater, a wraith or many other horrible ghosty ghoulies. He hunts by marking and stalking certain unfortunate individuals, waiting for that opportune moment right after death where he can devour their souls and the remants of their lifeforce to extend his life.
[Statment Begins]
He’s heaving and crying, shifting in an out of focus as eyes blink in and out of existence all while shuddering in his place in the circle. He’d thrown himself from his chair at some point, losing it in his desperate primal instinct to just crawl away even trapped with nowhere to go he were. Something awful pulling him apart from the core before it eases under the sigils tight grip. Heaving, hurting even when it ends, crying despite it all. Trying to force himself to take a breath, to work past the pain and fear keeping him locked tight, something blackened among the divots of claw marks carved into the wood of the floor.
Gerry is in the room now, he looks right to burn everything to the ground with agony and murder on his face. Gertrude, a mix of fury and sick unexpected fear of her own he can feel goes much deeper than him failing to die.
He forces himself to speak through raw, gasping breaths as he forces himself through the lock on his body. Still clutching his head and digging lines into what used to be his skull and moving just enough to look at her, eyes wide and voice shuddering as he tries to keep the growl of static of unwitting frantic compulsion from his throat.
“He knows what we tried to do,” is all he can force out
“We?!”
“Of course he does,” she snaps, tearing papers from the walls and stowing them away into open books, scrambling in a way none of them have ever seen before, “I’d wager the bond is more than enough to make him clear of that, even with the measures I put in place”
Gerry is steps between them.
“He’ll be here any minute now,” She says.
“What the fuck did you do?” Gerard thunders, form morphing, turning into something else. Something that towers over both of them and sends the world into shades of black and white. Permeating the world with thick ink tendrils that turn over filing cabinets behind him, as ink flows like blood out of the closed books on the shelves and from between the spaces in stacks of yellowed pages. The stench of death choking them both as his face twists into something horrible. Something that would have made the old Jon, the Jon who'd only ever known to fear Mr. Spider, choke on his fear.
He’d… he’d never seen Gerry look like that before.
“Gerard, now is hardly the time.” She grits out.
“Answer the fucking question!” he roars, "What the fuck did you do to him?!"
A yellow door opens, and all argument ceases with the man who walks through.
“What do you think, they were trying to do?”