#TMAHC week

[summerofspock]

Chapters: 1/? Fandom: The Magnus Archives (Podcast) Rating: Not Rated Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan “Jon” Sims | The Archivist Characters: Martin Blackwood, Jonathan “Jon” Sims | The Archivist Additional Tags: additional ships and character tags to be added, Ficlets, Hurt/Comfort, Tags On Individual Chapters Summary:

a collection of TMA ficlets for TMA hurt/comfort week on Tumblr!

**

this is how I learned to kiss, from studying this scene, and I remember quoting the hands, the eyes, the lips – Broken Testimony by Daniel Borzutsky

**

Jon is fine. As fine as he can be given the hunger pangs that don’t so much radiate from his belly but from his eyes. An ache like a migraine burrowing down his throat, taking root in his heart.

But he is here. He is alive. He is with Martin who fusses over him with tea and blankets and they haven’t kissed but Jon Knows Martin wants to. The same way he Knows that Martin looks at him with a different hunger. A hunger Jon will never understand. A hunger Jon is beginning to accept he will submit himself to if Martin ever asks.

Because this is it for Jon. He knows it. Lowercase k. The sort of knowing that curls inside him like a contented cat, like the steam from a perfectly brewed cup of tea, like the smoke from the fireplace as it swirls up and out the chimney. Jon loves Martin. He loves Martin in a way he has never loved anything before. In a desperate, hold it in your hands so delicately for fear of breaking it, heart racing, earth shifting way. And Jon won’t ruin it. There is the barest equilibrium between them in this small cottage surrounded by overgrown grass. This tiny corner of the world atop a hill.

Jon will not say no to Martin. He will not risk Martin leaving the only place Jon has ever felt at home.

They kiss for the first time for no reason in particular. Jon has set aside the book he was reading aloud for evening entertainment— I like the sound of your voice, Jon —and has stood to say goodnight, to take himself off to his bedroom, His very separate bedroom, when Martin catches his hand and pulls him close.

The kiss itself is awkward at first. Their glasses bump but Martin, clearly more experienced, readjusts and then it’s good, soft in a way Jon hasn’t felt anything be soft in a long time. And they are just kissing in the living room, the fire long burnt down, his hands fisted in Martin’s jumper.

And then Martin slips his tongue into Jon’s mouth and Jon has to push down a wave of discomfort, pretending everything is just as good as it was moments ago. Martin makes a sharp sound against his mouth that goes a long way to helping Jon forget how absolutely disgusting this is, how his stomach is turning, the barely-there thrum of arousal entirely washed away.

Martin somehow maneuvers them onto the couch, pulling Jon into his lap. Jon follows because that’s the done thing. Martin is hard in his trousers and it sends another crashing sense of harsh reality into Jon. He doesn’t do this. Not with anyone. Sometimes when he’s alone he thinks he might like it if he were in the right mood with a person he trusts, who he loves. But that mood is not now. Even if he trusts Martin more than anything.

Martin’s hands are warm and soft and guiding on his hips and Jon desperately wants to like it but they are kissing again and there are tongues. He tries. He does. He doesn’t want to be broken in this other way. This human way. He’s already a monster and somehow Martin is with him regardless. But this?

Jon is terrified this will be the thing that drives him away.

With shaking hands, Jon reaches between them and rucks up Martin’s jumper, only.to find he’s wearing a white t-shirt beneath. Jon can feel the heat of his skin through it, grounding. It’s nice and under other circumstances (holding each other in bed, a slow morning, trading lazy shallow kisses) Jon thinks the feel of Martin’s soft belly would bring on the low fizzle of heat he’d felt before when Martin had started to kiss him more deeply.

The shake in his hands grows worse and he tries to still them as he tugs at the undershirt as well. Wide hands grasp his wrists and he realizes his whole body is shaking.

Martin pulls away and a new fear threads its way through Jon’s heart.

“Jon?” His voice is soft and Jon realizes he has squeezed his own eyes shut as tight as they will go. He opens them.

Martin’s gaze is as soft as that single word. Concerned. In love. Jon sees it. Knows it. And knows it. Both cases. Both ways.

“You don’t like this, do you?” Martin says more than asks, blunt nose scrunching up adorably. Everything he does is adorable because Jon adores him.

“It’s fine,” Jon says hurriedly, not answering the question. “Let’s keep going.”

He runs his hand up under Martin’s shirt, feels the growing heat of the skin of his stomach, his chest. “I Know you want this.”

Martin’s hands tighten on his hips. His fingers have just dipped under the hem of his shirt and they are distractingly hot on Jon’s bare skin. Then his hands move away, sliding up his back, one to cup the back of his head and the other wide between his scapulae as he pulls Jon against his chest, tucking him close.

“Jon, I love you.”

His breath hitches in his throat, caught in the web of fear that makes him want to pull away, to push Martin down on the couch and give him what he wants.

“Whatever way that looks. Separate bedrooms. Kissing. No kissing. Shagging like maniacs or whatever.” Martin’s breath tickles the hair on the top of Jon’s head as he brushes his fingers through the fuzz at the nape of his neck. “I love you and I don’t want you to pretend you like something you don’t.”

Jon takes a deep breath. It’s filled with the scent of detergent and earl grey and tinged with the subtle-Martin smell than Jon can’t get enough of now that Martin is always near. “I want you to be happy,” he confesses.

“I am happy. You’re here.”

Jon rests his head on Martin’s shoulder and that night, they share a bedroom for the first time, feet tangled together, waking up to the cool sunshine just to hold each other because they can. Because they love each other. Because they are safe.

[themagnuswriters]

Announcing: The Magnus Archives Hurt/Comfort Week

With the brief break we have from season 5 of the Magnus Archives wreaking havoc on our emotions, we thought we’d unwind by... wreaking havoc on our emotions!  In between the horror of canon and the fluff of escapist AUs lies the well-loved medley of suffering and support: Hurt/Comfort!

We are holding an event for Hurt/Comfort fan content, including both art and writing.  Your creations can be about any character(s) from The Magnus Archives, AU or canon, gen or shipping.  The event will run from Monday, August 24, to Sunday, August 30.

For each day of the event, one Hurt/Comfort trope and two other prompts will be provided for inspiration.  Use one or multiple prompts, or go in your own direction!  Any Hurt/Comfort fanworks will be included, as long as they contain both elements of the genre.

Event and Prompts

We will be using the #TMAHCweek tag to collect works on tumblr. To ensure the well-being of those enjoying the event, please make sure to include applicable content warnings (including NSFW content), even if they’re canon-typical, and use a read-more cut or link to ao3. There is a TMAHC Week tag on ao3 as well, if you would like to use it.

Our list of prompts for the event are below:

8/24  Monday Self-worth Issues  ♢    Pretend  ♢   Shaky hands

8/25  Tuesday Treating / Distracting From Injuries  ♢  Confession ♢  Fear

8/26  Wednesday  Sickfic  ♢   Misunderstanding  ♢   Overwhelmed

8/27  Thursday Touch-starved  ♢   Sharp    ♢    Fragile

8/28  Friday  Hiding Pain / Injury   ♢    Childhood   ♢    Calm

8/29  Saturday Delirium / Confusion    ♢     Cradled    ♢     Accident

8/30  Sunday Messy Breakdown / Panic Attack  ♢   Blindfolded  ♢   Home

Feel free to contact us if you have any questions, and give us a reblog to spread the word!

[blushingwithafever]

TMAHC week day 3: sickfic || misunderstanding || overwhelmed

I finished this at around 7 am so apologies if there’s any errors, I’ll fix them later on

Set sometime while Martin is still sleeping at the Institute

To be completely honest, Jon had no idea how he made it to work in one peice this morning.

Actually, it could be counted as afternoon now since it was around half past twelve when he stumbles into the Institute, but he still made it, and that’s all that counts.

He’d slept through the multiple alarms he had set, which was unusual for him since he’s normally not the deepest sleeper— the drop of a pen was enough to wake him with a start these days. A pulsing pain within his skull eventually drew him out of the comforting darkness of sleep as it throbbed in time with the annoying beep of his alarm. He wanted nothing more than to let sleep take him away again, away from the pain, but he knew he had to get up and head out.

Suck it up, you’re fine. It’s not even that bad. You’re just being dramatic, he grit his teeth as his exasperated grandmother’s voice rung out in his aching head. 

“Let’s get on with it then” Jon muttered while he scrubbed a hand down his slightly flushed face.

The day only seemed to get worse the more it dragged on.

He was already late, which of course Tim just had to make snide comments on, it was making the pounding headache turn into feeling like a jackhammer across his temples. It was bad enough that he was shambling down the hall like a drunkard, having to hold onto the wall for support every few steps, but he almost let out a frustrated groan when he heard Tim’s footsteps follow him.

He has neither have the time or the energy for this.

He wants to be left alone, is that so much to ask?

His office.

All he has to do was reach his office and he could find some peace, he was so desperate already that he flung open the door and slammed it after his entrance, nearly toppling over afterwards and wincing hard. He hadn’t actually meant for the door to slam shut as hard as it did, but the damage was done and he was regretting it. He had to lean back against the door as he rubbed at his temples with both hands, the loud slam made the pain 10x worse.

At least he was alone now. Alone in the quiet darkness, that seemed to help slightly after a couple of minutes.

The next three and a half hours are an agonizing blur of statement readings and recordings. A deep ache had made itself at home in his bones and his small frame is wracked with chills that switches to a sweltering heat in the blink of an eye. His free hand reaching up unconsciously to jam two fingers into his temple again for the umpteenth time, this time frowning when he notices the heat and sweat on his brow.

He isn’t sure if his throat feels sore from all the reading without anything to drink or if it’s just a little added bonus to his illness— but the coughs he produces after clearing his throat are answer enough.

Lucky him.

He’ll finish this statement, it’s getting a bit hard to focus anyway, and then lie down in the cot for a quick 10 minute power nap.

It’s worked in the past so why wouldn’t it now?

He remembers the old bottle of paracetamol in his desk before getting up, knowing that he should probably take something before heading over to the storage room, but his face falls upon finding it empty without so much as a rattle. Well... so much for that.

—————

Martin quietly shuffles around the Institute after hours; making sure everything’s locked up tight, washing up in the restroom, fixing himself dinner and a cuppa, and settling down by watching the telly in the break room before heading to bed on the cot that Jon lent him for the time being. It’s been his nightly routine since Jane Prentiss trapped him.

There’s no one else here to his knowledge, even Jon’s office is dark and empty, so he doesn’t expect company until at least 6 or 7 am.

Jon usually got here the earliest but today he threw a bit of curve ball at them by arriving at 12:30 pm while looking quite disheveled, almost like he’d just rolled out of bed. 

He really didn’t look good, and Martin wanted to press on the matter, but he’d promised to do the lunch run today so it would have to wait. By the time he returned, Tim made sure to let everyone know that ‘boss’ was in a mood. Martin went to check on him but decided against it when he felt the locked handle and heard Jon’s strained voice while he read aloud. He’d just check in before Jon goes home then.

He must have missed him.

But if Jon’s well enough to leave then he must be fine, maybe he was just exhausted after a few nights of restless sleep— Martin now knows the feeling.

He almost falls asleep in one of the wooden chairs as the show he was attempting to watch drags on. Turning off the boring show, he makes his way to the restroom one last time to change into sweats and a tee.

The silence of the Institute after hours is probably something he’ll never get used to. There’s just something eerie to it, like it’s too quiet, too calm.

A noise cuts through the silence, effectively spooking him, that’s coming from further down the corridor ahead of him. He’s not sure he wants to continue after that but he thinks it sounded like a moan of pain, there’s a beat of hesitation before his curiosity and concern win out as he continues to silently press on.

The door to the storage room is ajar so he makes his way over with caution until he can peer inside. What he sees isn’t what he was expecting. Jon’s on the cot, curled in on himself and shaking like a leaf while the blanket is hanging off the edge onto the floor. Martin’s quick to enter, concern overtaking caution as he hurries his way over.

“Jon?” Martin starts softly as to not cause more harm than good, “I thought you went home.”

He doesn’t like that Jon barely stirs at the intrusion, but instead he focuses on taking in more of the sight before him. Jon’s face looks too drawn and pale, a high flush on his cheeks, sweat making his shirt cling to his skin, and the ragged breathing that had a slight wheeze on the end— he looks a right mess. Before he even realizes it, he’s reaching a hand out to brush against Jon’s forehead.

He expects Jon to startle when he touches him, but the only response he gets is another moan that gets choked off as the poor man’s voice cracks painfully.

“Oh, Jon” Martin coos while brushing sweaty bangs out of the way, “that’s a pretty nasty fever you’ve got.”

Jon really doesn’t want to wake up and he wants to open his eyes even less with the spinning sensation he’d felt earlier when he woke. He registers a warm hand brushing his hair and chances cracking one eye open. It’s so gentle, working out the tangles and smoothing his sweat soaked curls, he almost falls back asleep before the person says something he can’t make out.

“Wha’d say?” It comes out a lot less elegant than he wants it to but whoever it is seems to get the point.

“I asked how you were feeling.” Martin is as patient as a ever while he watches Jon’s eyes blink blearily up at him as of trying to process what’s going on and what’d he just said.

“M’tin” recognition flashes in glassy eyes when he sees that Martin isn’t in his usual clothes anymore. “S’rry, I’ll get up. Jus’ needa sec.”

“No, no you’re fine there” Martin’s hands hover over Jon should he need to push him back down but Jon’s arms give out before then, “stay right here. You’re alright. I’d like to get a read on that fever and a bottle of water for you.”

“But your cot—”

“Don’t worry about it, plus it’s really yours and you need it more than me. Now, can you stay here for me? I’ll just be a second.”

Martin’s satisfied with the small nod he receives and bolts out to the break room for the first aid kit and a bottle of water from the fridge. Jon’s still in the same spot when he returns to his side.

He must really feel poorly if he’s accepting help so easily, Martin bites his lip while shifting through the kit, looking for everything he needs.

It’s a good thing he always checks the kit to make sure it’s well stocked with whatever the crew might need. He holds out the thermometer and waits for Jon to open his mouth far enough to slip it in. He’s already shaking a few tablets out of the bottle of paracetamol before the device beeps.

39.6

Martin tsks softly, helping Jon sit up before depositing two tablets and the bottle of water into his shaky hands. He doesn’t even complain when Martin helps lift the bottle to his lips.

The quick interaction seems to take what little energy Jon had left out of him as he slumps bonelessly against Martin, head pillowed on his chest. He’s never seen Jon like this before, and of course that’s concerning, but at least he doesn’t have to suffer alone through it.

“Stay” Jon whispers hoarsely against Martin before an even quieter, “please.”

“I’ll be here.” Martin shifts slightly to run a hand through Jon’s hair, gently coaxing him to sleep. He holds back a chuckle when he watches Jon try to fight against closing his droopy eyes.

Martin stays with him for the rest of the night and doesn’t dare move his body except for the hand that’s playing with Jon’s hair, even though the heat of the fever penetrates his shirt and leaves him a bit uncomfortable and sweaty— it’s well worth it.

[sickfics-for-days]

Knowledge is All We Have

Hello! This is my first fic for the TMAHC week! I went with the shaky hands prompt, as well as a dash of pretend. Enjoy! :)

The end of the world is here, and all Jon can do is hide here in this cabin with Martin. He knows they cannot hide here forever, but he is willing to try, even if for just a little while longer. He knows... well that’s the problem isn’t it? He Knows. He Knows everything that happening outside the illusion of safety the walls provide. He Knows the fear, the agony that he has brought to the entire world.

He Knows about the woman Martin spoke to at the shop in the village. She had smiled when she handed him his receipt, asking politely if he was in area on holiday. Martin had laughed, saying it was something like that. Now, she was trapped in what used to be her flat above the shop, consumed in an endless flame. He Knows about the farmer down the lane, whose cows Martin always enjoyed observing. He Knows that he is now running, always running, away from the Hunt. He is prey and there is nothing Jon could do to save him from his inevitable fate. Jon hates that as The Archivist all he can do is watch. He hates even more that somewhere deep down, he enjoys it.

Martin is doing his best. He is trying to give Jon the space he says he needs, give him time to come to terms with the fact that he just ended the world. But he will never Understand, and for this Jon is grateful. In this new world where rules do not apply and each moment is more terrifying, Jon is grateful that Martin is protected from the full force of it. However, he drowning under the weight of everyone’s stories. The woman in the shop and the farmer are not unique. He Knows the fates of everyone, who they were and what they are now reduced to. The best parts of humanity are gone, everyone is now just terror and fear. When Martin leaves, trying to offer the space he thinks Jon needs, Jon often finds himself on his knees, the heels of his shaking hands pressed into his eyes, trying and failing to stem the flow of knowledge that he cannot stop any more than he could have stopped the tide from coming in, back when things like that still happened.

Martin had returned during one of the first of these episodes, before Jon had acclimated and learned to hide what he Knew, and he had hurriedly set down the mug of tea in his hands and knelt beside him.

“Jon? Jon, what’s wrong?”

The best Jon could offer was a low moan, more of an instinctive response to the worried tone than a coherent answer. There was just so much information, he didn’t even have the brain space to comprehend what was being said, just the fact that Martin was scared. It triggered some last human instinct within him, the desire to respond, to say it was okay, anything to remove that fear from the one person he had privately resolved should not fall under the fear that had taken the rest of the world.

“O-okay, let’s, ah, let’s get you onto the sofa. Come on.” Gently, Martin lifted Jon to a semblance of a standing position, shuffling them backwards onto the cushions in a movement Jon barely registered.

He knows he isn’t helping, limbs moving stiffly, awkwardly, and relying too much on Martin for support. But before he can put together what to do, how to help, he is lost again in the tide, thoughts swallowed by pain and fear and suffering too great to imagine, and yet, he doesn’t have to. It plays out in his mind’s eye, and he can feel the pain, the fear. It’s not enough that he can see it, the Eye needs him to feel it too, to drink in the cocktail of terror as if it were the sustenance keeping him alive.

That’s the part that gets to him the most. All the horror, pain, gore, and terror, everything that should overwhelm him and shut him down with the absolute monstrosity of it all, and he is drinking it in. It feels right, natural, and in some ways he can’t get enough. After so long subsisting on dry, stale statements from the archives, this buffet of fresh terror feels like a feast.

As the tide recedes, he lets out a dry sob, and he is not sure if it is of relief or painful, aching loss. He finds he is on the couch, folded against Martin, and the fire is crackling in the fireplace. Martin has his arms around him, trying in vain to offer comfort and support, to ground him. Taking a deep breath, Jon sits up, pulling away ever so slightly to take his own weight.

“Is- is it over?” Martin asks hesitantly.

“Yes, I think- I believe so.” Jon lies, unable to fully describe how even now he still Knows and will never fully stop.

Delicately, as if the slightest touch could shatter him, Martin takes a blanket and wraps it around Jon’s shoulders. “It’s that bad?”

Jon inhales, a deep shuddering sigh, before replying. “It’s... it’s everything, all of it. I’m The Archivist, and the Beholding wants to... to reward me, I guess. I can see everything, every detail of every person and what’s happening to them.” He pulls the blanket tighter around himself, the shaking in his hands fading, but not gone yet.

“Some reward,” Martin snorts.

“I- I wish I could agree. But it just, it feels so right, and- and I hate it more than anything.” Jon crumples under the blanket, shame and guilt crushing him.

“None of that,” Martin rebukes gently, pulling him closer. “This was Elias’ fault. He tricked you. You never wanted this, never even dreamed of doing it. You were just a piece in a much larger game.” He picks up a still warm cup of tea from the coffee table and hands it to him. “Here, take this, it might help.”

Jon takes it, hands finally steady, savoring the warmth and comfort, even as he knows it cannot last.

[voiceless-terror]

First Day for TMAHC Week @themagnuswriters: Shaky Hands

CW: Mental Heath Issues, Talk of Medication, Talk of Anxiety and Depression, Minor Injury/Some Blood

[karliahs]

i’m gonna try and write something every day for tma hurt/comfort week even tho i predict absolutely none of it will be finished/edited by the end of the week. look out for some TMAHC fics from me long after the event has finished

so far this has mostly meant sleepily writing fic on my phone right before i go to bed but...it all counts

[ao3feed-themagnusarchives]

A Brand on the Skin

by voiceless_terror

Jon gets marked by three entities in a matter of days and crashes.

Words: 1540, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Series: Part 3 of TMA Hurt/Comfort Week

Fandoms: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: Gen

Characters: Tim Stoker (The Magnus Archives), Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Martin Blackwood, Melanie King

Additional Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Angst, season three, Aftermath of Episode 92, TMAHC Week

source https://archiveofourown.org/works/26124868

[blushingwithafever]

TMAHC week day 1: Self worth issues || pretend || shaky hands

So I’ve decided to participate in the TMAHC week a day late but that’s fine

Jon can’t tell what’s worse— the amount of work that he still has to finish or the sleep deprivation that the stress of it is causing him. At first it hadn’t felt like more than a mild inconvenience, he’s used to pulling long hours, but that was days ago and he’s not so sure of that now.

Need more tea, his foggy mind supplies him as he stares blankly over the statement in front of him. He can’t focus on the words long enough to absorb any of the information. He knew that if he wanted to finish this stack of statements he’s going to need another cup of strong black tea.

He gets up from his chair, back protesting from sitting in the same position for so long, and moves to grab for his mug. His hands shake with the small exertion as he braces himself against a wave of dizziness, but that doesn’t stop him from shuffling his way out of the archives and towards the break room. 

It’s a quick and relatively painless experience going in and out of the break room, he didn’t feel like lingering longer than he needed to. A bone deep ache made his exhaustion feel heavy in his limbs just by waiting for the kettle. He wanted to sit at the table for a moment but decides against it as he probably wouldn’t be able to get up afterwards.

And the last thing he wants is to be caught nodding off in the middle of the break room.

Maybe if he pretends that he’s fine— the exhaustion and slight headache he’s starting to feel would all go away. It seems like it’s a solid plan, lying to himself long enough to make it truth.

The whistle of the kettle startles him from his thoughts enough to cause his eyes to fly open. When had they closed? He doesn’t quite remember that.

He tries to keep his hands steady while pouring the hot water into his mug but he can’t seem to manage it without spilling at least half on the counter. A sigh of frustration forces itself past his lips as he finishes preparing his tea.

His hands continue to shake with small tremors as he stumbles slowly back to his office. The tea is hot enough to burn is tongue slightly but it’s better than having it full enough to slosh out and burn his hand.

Now then... which one was he working on again?

God he needs a nap. It’ll have to wait until he’s finished with this statement at least though.

“Statement begin,” he starts in a wearily dull tone.

[summerofspock]

TMAHC Week Day 2: Injury

Tags: Rated T, Tim/Sasha, Supermarket Coworkers AU, Blood CW, Minor Injury CW, pining

Read on AO3

It’s not that I am translucent // It’s that you cannot know you need something if you do not know it is missing -- from Let Light Shine out of Darkness by Daniel Borzutsky

**

"Ah, shit," Tim says just before the step stool gives out from under him. He should have known better than to use the slightly twisty stool that usually molders in the corner of the stock room, but the more reliable stool had disappeared off somewhere and Tim needed to restock the beans before clocking out.

His fall isn't too bad really, his arse takes the brunt of it, but it does knock the wind from him and in his effort to catch himself, he casts out to grab something and ends up grabbing the handle which he should know better than to grab because it has that one spindly screw that slices open his palm.

"Fucking shit," he swears, snapping his hand back against his chest at the flare of pain.

"Tim, what happened—" Of course, it's Sasha to appear at the end of the aisle. Not Martin who would understand his clumsiness by virtue of probably having done the exact same thing, but Sasha who had told him earlier that she is very excited for her date with some bloke from Tinder. Sasha who is all dolled up at the end of the aisle. Who has clearly changed in the break room after her shift. Lipstick bright, curls pulled back into a ponytail.

Tim remembers the feel of her mouth under his, the way her hair felt as he cradled her head in his hand. Before he fucked it all up.

Before he made it seem like he didn't care. He's really good at that.

"Hey Sasha, hot date?" he asks with a grin, pretending he's not sitting on his arse in the middle of the canned food aisle bleeding from his palm.

Sasha rolls her eyes. "Get up, you idiot."

“I’m fine,” he says, all bravado as he rolls to his feet, still clutching his hand to his apron. His palm is slick and when he looks down, there is definitely some drippage which is not a good sign.

Ignoring him, Sasha tugs on his elbow and pulls him back towards the breakroom where she unceremoniously pushes him into a chair with what has to be more force than necessary.

“Kinky,” he says, which earns him a slap to the arm.

“I know there’s a first aid kit somewhere,” Sasha mumbles to herself as she digs through the cabinets, finally unearthing an old tin kit under the sink. She does look nice for the evening. A yellow dress that makes her dark skin even darker. Makes her brown eyes even warmer.

Tim’s probably in love with her.

When she comes back to him, he uncurls his fist and she grimaces. The cut really isn’t that bad and the bleeding has slowed, though his whole palm, every single line and curve is stained with the rusty drying blood.

“Gross,” she says, wrinkling her nose, but she takes his hand in hers. Sasha has always been larger than Tim. About his height and simply bigger, rounder about the hips and waist. But her hands are small, nails neatly trimmed and painted a delicate seashell pink.

Tim’s pulse flutters in his wrist and he wonders if Sasha can feel it. That would be embarrassing. Gosh, Sasha, thanks for treating my stupid cut, I’m in love with you, now go snog some guy you met on Tinder. Toodles!

But Tim’s big mouth always gets the better of him and as Sasha dabs away the dried blood with hydrogen peroxide, he says, “You look nice tonight.”

Sasha’s hand pauses in it’s delicate movements, her other hand tightening almost imperceptibly where she is using it to steady his wrist. Her mouth quirks. “Well, don’t get any blood on my dress, Stoker.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it. Now, if blood somehow gets on your dress, I’d say that’s your fault since you’re sort of in charge of the blood situation—”

Sasha heaves a long suffering sigh and tosses a clean cotton ball in his face.

What had he said the morning after they’d gone to bed together? Best not ruin their friendship?

What he’d meant was— I’ve never felt this way about anyone and I’m terrified. Sex? Sex is easy but I can’t feel like this. Because if I do and you leave, I think I’ll shake apart.

Sasha dabs some antibiotic ointment onto the cut— disconcertingly small after all that blood— and fishes in the box for a plaster.

“Sasha,” Tim says and it’s serious. He doesn’t do serious, but fuck, he’s doing serious. It’s a bike without breaks, it’s falling down a hill, it’s—

Sasha blinks at him, pauses, wide brown eyes, waiting.

“Would you get dinner with me?”

Sasha drops the plaster in her hand and it flutters to the ground without a single sound. “What?”

“I should have asked,” Tim says. His uninjured hand flexes on his blood-stained apron. “After. You’re—Sasha.”

“I’m Sasha?” Sasha repeats.

“Yeah,” Tim says, failing to find anything better to explain himself. Because she is Sasha. And that means everything.

“I have a date.”

“I know. I’m not asking you not to go. I’m just asking...maybe, sometime after, you go on a date with me.”

Sasha purses her lips and plucks a second plaster from the box, unwrapping it slowly before taking Tim’s hand back into hers. Carefully, she smooths the bandage over the cut, fingers lingering just beneath Tim’s palm. She taps his wrist twice and curls his fingers down.

“Alright,” she says, not releasing his hand. She gives him a shy smile.

In comparison, Tim’s smile must look idiotic. “Alright?”

She scowls. “Don’t be too smug about it.”

“I’m never smug,” he says.’

Sasha rolls her eyes and Tim is dead certain he is in love with her.

[themagnuswriters]

for the tmahc week it said we have to do a read more cut of a link to ao3. i don’t have/know how to work either of those. would i be allowed to use a different site like Quotev?

Yes, you can absolutely use Quotev or other sites instead of using ao3 or a read more cut! Whatever works best for you.

Also, just in case you want know how to use the read more feature on tumblr, here are some helpful guides:

https://www.techwalla.com/articles/how-to-add-a-read-more-html-break-in-tumblr https://www.theme-junkie.com/add-read-more-link-tumblr-post/

[ao3feed-themagnusarchives]

Hurry, I'm Behind You!

by voiceless_terror

Jon and Melanie help with Daisy's hunger in an unconventional way.

Alternatively titled 'The Gang Plays Hide and Seek!'

Words: 2646, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Series: Part 2 of TMA Hurt/Comfort Week

Fandoms: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: Gen

Characters: Alice "Daisy" Tonner, Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Melanie King

Additional Tags: season four, Archival Assistants Just Wanna Have Fun, The Gang Plays Hide and Seek, Hurt/Comfort, But Mostly Fluff If I'm Being Honest, TMAHC Week, Melanie and Jon have Sibling Energy, Special Appearance by Lonely Fog Martin

source https://archiveofourown.org/works/26102827

[ao3feed-themagnusarchives]

Workplace Transparency

by voiceless_terror

The statements take a lot out of Jon, even in the beginning. He tries to hide it, but Tim sniffs it out anyway.

Words: 1850, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Series: Part 5 of TMA Hurt/Comfort Week

Fandoms: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: Gen

Characters: Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Tim Stoker (The Magnus Archives), Martin Blackwood, Sasha James

Additional Tags: TMAHC Week, Day Five: Hiding Pain or Injury, season one, Fainting, in which there is Communication, Hurt/Comfort, Jon and Tim Get to Talk Early On

source https://archiveofourown.org/works/26166121

[ao3feed-themagnusarchives]

Only a Call Away

by voiceless_terror

Jon and Tim in the aftermath of the Prentiss attack. Tim gets a phone call in the middle of the night and comes to the rescue.

Words: 1922, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Series: Part 6 of TMA Hurt/Comfort Week

Fandoms: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: Gen

Characters: Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Tim Stoker (The Magnus Archives)

Additional Tags: TMAHC Week, season two, Aftermath of Canon-Typical Worms, Ft. Jane Prentiss as "Jar of Ashes", Sickfic, Vague Talk of Medication, Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist With a Cane, Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist Has ADHD, tim stoker is a good friend, Takes Place Before Season Two Starts, Delirium

source https://archiveofourown.org/works/26177620

[ao3feed-themagnusarchives]

you know i’d never lie, except for when i lie on you in the night

by niuniujiaojiao

Georgie tells the story of how she lost her fear again, this time to a better audience. written for The Magnus Archives Hurt/Comfort Week, Day 6 Prompt: Cradled -

"God,” Georgie groans. “Why is this so hard?” “Probably because talking sucks,” Melanie says. Georgie laughs, and Melanie adds, “I could... I could hug you while you told me? If that- Would that help?” Georgie considers it, thinks about burying her face in the scent of Melanie’s citrus shampoo, so different from the antiseptic and decay of the Oxford medical building, thinks about feeling the strength of Melanie’s arms around her as she whispers out her story. “Yeah. Maybe.”

Words: 2514, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Fandoms: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: F/F

Characters: Georgie Barker, Melanie King

Relationships: Georgie Barker/Melanie King

Additional Tags: Pre-Apocalypse, Canon Compliant, Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, POV Georgie Barker, Hugs, Sharing a Bed, Hopeful Ending, Crying, TMAHC Week, Cuddling, roasting a corpse is something that can actually be so personal, Communication, Cane User Georgie Barker, Autistic Melanie King, Blind Character, references to Episode: e094 Dead Woman Walking (The Magnus Archives), Implied Sexual Content, No beta we die like archival assistants, doesn't come up but Melanie is Chinese and her last name is Qing

source https://archiveofourown.org/works/26173768

[ao3feed-themagnusarchives]

Take Care

by quantumducky

Martin gets sick while living in the archives. He's sure he can deal with it himself- just sleep it off, no need to make a big deal of it.

Jon, it turns out, doesn't agree.

Words: 4007, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Fandoms: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: Gen

Characters: Martin Blackwood, Jonathan Sims (The Magnus Archives), Tim Stoker (The Magnus Archives), Sasha James

Relationships: Martin Blackwood & Jonathan Sims

Additional Tags: martin having a crush is mentioned but it's mostly platonic, Season/Series 01, Sickfic, Hurt/Comfort, TMAHC Week, this is only rated T bc i cant remember if there are swears in it

source https://archiveofourown.org/works/26171113

[ao3feed-themagnusarchives]

The Distance Between Us

by voiceless_terror

Jon can feel Tim and Sasha pulling away from him after his promotion, so he tries to reconnect over dinner and wine.

Words: 3184, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Series: Part 4 of TMA Hurt/Comfort Week

Fandoms: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: Gen

Characters: Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Sasha James, Tim Stoker (The Magnus Archives), Martin Blackwood (background)

Relationships: Sasha James & Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist & Tim Stoker

Additional Tags: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Reconciliation, season one, Jon Misses Sasha and Tim, and he tries his best, Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist Has ADHD, Not Super Important but Does Explain Some Things, TMAHC Week, Self-Worth Issues, Crying, Cuddles

source https://archiveofourown.org/works/26143444