#cane user jon sims

[i-eat-bugs-and-dirt]

Anyone know fics in which jon archivist sims is disabled, specifically using a cane? I need to get one soon and to feel less self conscious about it, it helps reading about characters I like going thru the same things as me. Idc about length or really plot, I’ll read pretty much anything. Thanks!

[fishgeraldthealmostincel]

hits your favorite character with my disability beam

[im-secretly-a-frog]

Random Jonathan Sims head canons

He uses a cane -i just like the idea and I'm a cane user too, also I was robbed of my previous cane using Jon (Watson, fuck you BBC let me have my disabled rep) so I'm making this one a cane user

He is transmasc, but generally doesn't relate super hard to gender as a concept -this is probably just me self inserting at characters I relate to again, but is that a crime??

He wasn't actually that good in school and frequently just kinda left. Walked off. He gets distracted by things. Of course if he cared at all about the assignments they were impeccable, but most assignments he didn't like so he just didn't do them. He was however great in uni, because he chose that one, so his stubborn ass was going to be the best at it.

[gerrydelano]

Seventh Installment of the Pharos By Right series

Title: CROSSROADS Rating: M Chapters: 7 / 7 Words: 12k Characters: Gerry Keay, Jon Sims, Martin Blackwood, Tim Stoker, Sasha James, Melanie King, Danny Stoker, The Contortionist (OC), Jonah Magnus, Georgie Barker (mentioned), Mikaele Salesa (mentioned), Annabelle Cane (mentioned)

Relationships: Gerry/Tim, Martin/Danny, Sasha/Melanie/Georgie, Jon & The Distortion, Danny/The Contortionist

Additional Tags: Archivist!Gerry, Canon Divergence, Mostly Morbid Humor, Angst, Tragedy, DID/EDS/POTS Gerry, HoH Tim, Cane User/Monocular Vision/Autistic Jon, Autistic/BPD Martin, End!Tim, Stranger!Danny, The Eye, The Spiral, The Stranger, Non-Canonical Character Undeath, Canon-Typical Apocalypse, Canon-Typical Smiting, Graphic Violence, Murder, Suicide, Just a whole lot of death in this one lads, But there's hope too

Chapter Summary:

There’s a dying part of him that wants to smirk back at her, naught but a frail bud of flame in a chipped lantern. If it’s just Gerry, he can’t tell. Pharos can’t feel him anymore. Any of them, really. They must have taken him rather seriously when he first told them to stay inside. This is for him to see through to the End. “Let’s get moving,” he says. “It’s a long way up.”

Or: The end of all things, for beginning's sake.

[archive-cat]

Revamping my pinned post:

Hello. I am Jon (he/him), and I’m the head archivist of the Magnus Institute. While this is a personal blog, if you have work related questions, feel free to ask them.

All Magnus Related Blogs: link

Pfp ID: a pencil drawing of Jonathan Sims, a tall thin man with his hair in a ponytail, wearing a button down shirt and tie, sweater vest, and slacks, one hand up by his chest, the other holding a cane. On top of the image are orange cat ears and tail, drawn in digitally. His skin is shaded slightly darker and is pockmarked with worm scars.

Header ID: A drawing of an eye in pencil shaded in with green highlighter, with similar green lines around it, with printed black text underneath reading “He exits”

Hello and welcome to my Jon Sims rp blog

This is run by @petticoatedmouse and is entirely for fun. The pfp was drawn by the wonderful @lycanthrop-ee , and the header is a doodle of mine

Tags:

#meow -> original posts

#cat toys -> rp tag

#reblog -> reblog

#answer -> asks tag

#ooc -> out of character/mod posts tag

#jon’s personal archive -> tma askblog information/blog information in general

#fact queue -> queued list of fun facts

#personal -> personal information about Jon, shared in an attempt to combat the Eye

Due to the nature of a rp blog, it is not canon! This Jon is currently somewhere vaguely in s3 with some non canon elements that have been included because I personally find it funny or they are my headcanons

Non canon elements:

-> Jon is trans (jonbinary :3)

-> Jon is Jewish

-> Jon is a cane user and has rheumatoid arthritis

-> Jon is slipping into the beholding a bit too quickly

-> Nikola’s kidnapping and the coma have already occurred

-> He’s been on a couple of dates with Martin already and they’re moving in together

-> He has two cats and fosters kittens

-> He also IS a cat! On full moons, at least ;)

Alright, carry on :) If you have any questions shoot me an ask or dm

[yum-cy]

I feel like there should be more described fanart of jon archivist aggressively pushing himself around in a rolly chair. Its a pretty accepted headcanon that hes a cane user, and as a cane user in an academic setting, he has absolutely found the Best chair to glide around in so he doesnt have to keep getting up just to grab something from another table. I am speaking from experience.

Bonus points if he does it with a completely dead pan expression and / or is season 1 jon.

[janekfan]

Chronic

https://archiveofourown.org/works/27802141

Thank you @taylortut for helping me!!!

Jon looked at the clock.

537.

The glowing numbers burned themselves into his retinas. How had it been less than an hour since last he’d checked? No use for it. Better to get himself up and ready for work. But he’d closed his eyes against the headache blaring like a klaxon and he’d have to open them again at some point.

Taking advantage of his lonely flat, Jon allowed himself to indulge the noise pushing its way through grit teeth as he maneuvered his sore legs from under the quilt. He sat a moment, pressing the bare soles of his feet on the cold floor and levering his heavy body upright with a shaking arm.

Exhausted.

And it’s only--a quick glance.

544.

The hell was wrong with him?

Since just before accepting the position as Head Archivist, and rightly pissing off both Sasha and Tim on her behalf, Jon felt like he’d been constantly coming down with something. Dizzy and nauseous and unable to eat, he was chronically exhausted and while he’d never slept well at the best of times, it was evading him more than ever.

And there were his mornings. Struggling to motivate himself out of bed, brushing his teeth with his eyes closed and leaning against the wall. Deciding he could forgo a shower just once more and choosing instead to make breakfast. Forcing himself to eat a piece of dry toast with his heart hammering away in his throat and half laying on the table, panting through his tea. Mentally, Jon prepared himself for the walk to the train, automatically going for his cane because lord knew he needed the support.

He’d get to the Institute hours early.

At least that made him look good?

Taking advantage of being a cane user, Jon opted for a reserved seat, the guilt at truly needing one eating away at his insides. But there were black spots at the corners of his vision and he had to sit down before he fell down and the guilt is a far sight better than causing a scene. The trip was too short. His chest ached from the constant pounding and he pressed the hand not holding his cane for dear life against his breastbone. It didn’t help but the pressure and touch grounded him enough to stand up. To head to the cross street. To wait for the lights to change. To stagger down the stairs and into his office, to drop into his desk chair and focus on every breath of air moving into his body and back out of it.

Jon put his head down. There was no one here. Wouldn’t be for a couple hours yet and he was exhausted, shaking from it. Nauseated. There wasn’t a fever. He’d gone as far as to purchase a thermometer to be certain when the strange symptoms refused to abate no matter how often he let himself rest, no matter the meals he tried his damndest to eat, the water he drank down. He was trying. Jon couldn’t remember ever taking such good care of himself and of course it refused to pay off. In Uni, he’d driven himself into the ground with little consequence. He’d maintained those habits until a few months ago and now--

Muffled voices drifted through his door, the rise and fall of easy conversation. The kind he’d once been allowed to partake in. Laughter filled the air and while Jon wished to join them he knew he wasn’t welcome.

Why had he done it?

Why hadn’t he refused Elias?

Because you’re selfish. You’ve always been selfish. Needy. Greedy, grasping, always striving to know answers and never satisfied with what you're given. You take what you don’t deserve.

Reluctantly, Jon stood, slowly, because doing anything quickly these days has him ducking his head between his legs or waking up on the floor without any recollection of how he came to be there. He could at least collect their research in person, greet them. Try to be the boss they deserved.

Sasha was the boss they deserved.

“Ah, g’good morning.”

“Jon!” Martin, smiling shyly. “You’re here so early!” He began to stammer and Jon’s legs began to ache. This wasn’t a good day. They seldom were anymore. “I m’mean, of course y’you are, you work very hard!” Martin was saved by Tim swinging an arm around his shoulders.

“You’ve broken ‘im, boss.” A flush rose in Jon’s cheeks. He could feel it. “No worries, Marto. He’s always been an early riser.” While it was said in jest, the tone settled heavy in Jon’s chest, directly beside the pain blossoming like a thorny rose. Luckily, he was rescued by Rosie, standing halfway down the stairs and informing him that Elias requested him in his office. Jon didn’t relish the climb, no matter how grateful he was to escape out from underneath Sash’s heavy gaze. She had every right and he would bear his punishment in silence until she chose, if she ever did, to forgive him.

An indeterminate amount of time later, Jon limped out of Elias’ office without any recollection of what they’d spoken about or if he’d even spoken at all. Thumping pain and panic and he knew he was rude to ignore Rosie at her desk but he wasn’t in any shape to hold a conversation, fairly certain that he wasn’t able to currently speak, far too focused on trying to hide how ill he was. But every sound was magnified tenfold in his ears and he could barely remember where the door to the archives was with the way his head reeled and spun. Jon wanted to sink to the ground once he had the door between himself and the lobby but he’d never make it to his feet again after that. Push through, he told himself. Get to your desk. He allowed himself a moment, two, just to put his head to rights, to try and breathe through the battering of his pulse.

And oh god he wasn’t going to make it and he wondered if somehow Elias knew. It was as though he’d kept him standing there talking about nothing until Jon hit his limit, knowing he wouldn’t have the strength to get back to his office.

But he had to try and he’d almost gotten down the ridiculously narrow stairwell before he forgot nearly entirely why he was there in the first place. Was he going up? Down? Meeting with someone? Just arriving? He could barely breathe and the panic welling in his throat was choking and the black was crawling over his eyes and the dizziness only increased and he needed...needed…

For a moment, Jon didn’t recognize where he was, the migraine, the fuzziness, conspiring against memory and reason. But he knew this color, the hideous lick of paint some contractor had splashed over the walls a lifetime ago.

Breakroom?

Wha--

“Jon!” He winced, his own name like broken glass shredding every sense to ribbons. “Christ, are you alright?” Martin, the sounds he made were shrill, grating, and if he’d been able to tell him to be silent, he would have. “We heard the noise--you’d, you fainted! On the stairs! Luckily it was only the last few.” Jon blinked, dull and dumb, forcing himself up, up, up, and through heavy mist and fog in his search for words. Weary to the marrow of his aching bones, Jon slumped on the cushions and tried to think of a way to stop Martin’s incessant chattering. Tim and Sasha, alerted most likely by all the commotion, stood over him and he craned his neck up to look at them. Tim especially looked furious.

“You could have been seriously hurt!”

“S’sorry…” And he was, between his rabbiting heartbeat, throbbing migraine, and difficulty drawing breath into his exhausted lungs, he wanted to cry with how sorry he was.

“This is ridiculous. You need to take better care of yourself.” Jon wasn’t sure why the sting from Tim’s accusation cut so deep and he hung his head, biting trembling lips to prevent the tears threatening to spring free.

It wasn’t fair.

By all accounts he was taking care of himself. More than ever!

“Did you even eat today? Drink anything?” He nodded, miserable, unwell, and equipped with no better answers than the truth.

“Tim. He’s just come to.” The understanding was the final straw, and Jon’s sight blurred with salt damp. “I’ll make sure he eats something before going back to work.”

“Alright, Martin. If he gives you any trouble, call.” At Jon, he pointed. “And you, no trouble.” And he nodded miserably.

“Okay, they’ve gone.” The familiar sounds of the kettle heating filled the room, the clink of a pair of ceramic mugs, the rustling of the tea bags, Martin’s distracted murmuring, all combined to calm him. “How long have you been feeling this way?” Jon looked up, surprised, and shrugged one shoulder, accepting the small plate of biscuits and nibbling slowly and when he finished those, Martin offered up the tea. Sitting with him in companionable quiet, he sipped on his own cup. Nothing more was exchanged and when Jon finished he thanked Martin for the company and locked himself away.

Jon was at wit’s end. Nothing he tried seemed to improve anything and the few times he did speak with a doctor, he was sent away with the same, useless advice, or worse, told he was imagining things, making it up, having panic attacks even though he was familiar with those and this was not that.

Work was a nightmare made even more miserable with the overwhelming amount of paperwork, statements, boxes, misfiled folders and envelopes and items and Jon missed the easy camaraderie and understanding he’d had with Sasha and Tim. Maybe he should resign, try and salvage what little of the relationship they still had, or, or invite them out for dinner, his treat, but Elias would never let him quit and the very idea of entertaining exhausted him. A cuppa appeared at his elbow filled with something new, something floral and slightly sweet, accompanied, as always, by a few biscuits.

“That’s a lot of work, Jon.” He sipped, grateful, lifting an eyebrow in response.

“I knew it would be when I accepted this position.” Undeterred, Martin stumbled forward.

“Y’yeah, I mean, you would have. Of course. I just--” A breath. “I’ve finished with my other assignments, ready for round, uh. Well, another round!”

“Ah. Alright, I’ll bring something over when I pick up your translations.” Martin took back the cup, nodding enthusiastically, and Jon appreciated that it was business as usual, selecting a few he’d been putting off and making his way toward his assistants ignoring inquiring looks in favor of taking the chair Martin offered up to go over his expectations. Short, succinct. A few notes on one translation, advice to remember for next time, and Jon felt reasonably confident Martin could handle himself. It wasn’t until he’d gotten back to his office that Jon realized that was the first time he’d been offered a chair. It was becoming apparent that Martin was good at noticing the little things about them. A blush heated his cheeks and he tried to rub it away, feeling ridiculous that such a small act of kindness made him feel so seen.

Jon pushed forward, ignoring the warnings his body was trying to give him in favor of plowing through his work like he’d always done, and by the time he made it home, was on the verge of collapse. Hot tears of frustration stung at the corners of his eyes, spilling over when Jon allowed himself to feel it. More than anything, he was used to having control over himself, working when he wanted, burying himself in the research, devouring knowledge. Now he was at the whim of his physical form. Paying more attention to it than ever before and never knowing if he was going to wake up and have a good day or a bad day and it was maddening. Managing whatever it was without knowing what it was, was impossible with no rhyme or reason he could discern.

So in the absence of both, Jon kept shoving his way through how difficult it was because if he could just be normal through pretending everything was normal, then it would be.

Jon knew Tim was cross with him and managed to avoid him for most of the day, taking breaks here and there like he’d promised Martin he would do. But his luck, while it had been holding steady, had just run out and he found himself cornered in the breakroom.

“What do you think you’re on about?” Frustration had long since turned to outrage, boiling over.

“Tim, I. I’m not sure what you mean--”

“Damn it, Jon! You’ve already taken on a job you aren’t fit for! You can’t keep heaping your work onto Martin and then swanning off!”

“That’s.” He balled his hands into fists, nails biting crescent moons into his palms. How could he explain when even the doctors thought he was making it all up? Heat rushed through him, top to toe, flushing his face and he wavered, legs threatening to buckle, vision threatening to go dark. He was going to pass out a second time today if he didn’t sit down. But that would mean walking away from Tim, and he didn’t think the man would let him. At least not until he was done telling him off. Better to be silent. Try not to pay attention to how erratic the persistent beating caged behind fragile ribs had become.

“Why didn’t you say no?” Because he wanted to be useful. Because Elias made him feel like he was capable even if he wasn’t. “Why didn’t you just let Sasha have this?” Because he was an awful, selfish person. “God, Jon. Why did you drag us all down here with you?”

Because he was lonely.

Because they’d been friends. Once.

Rather than remind Tim that he was free to go at any time, that he and Sash hadn’t been forced or coerced into accepting positions here in the archives, Jon pressed his lips into a thin line.

“Well?!” Sharp, strident, Tim’s shout echoed around in the space between his own hurting, agonal breaths in his ears.

“I. I, I need to si’down…” wanted to lay down. Wanted to sleep, trembling with exhaustion, about to go down.

“What?” Lashes fluttering as he gripped the thread of consciousness with both hands, he barely registered Tim’s hands around his shoulders, guiding him into a chair and pushing his head down between his knees. “Jon?”

“M’okay…”

“You are clearly not.” A wide palm settled on his back, keeping him folded over. It was helping.

“S’mm...been. S’fine.” The floor came back into focus, all the little cracks and imperfections and Jon counted the streaks in the pattern in an attempt to ground himself but kept losing track of the number. Neither moved until Jon attempted to sit up, slowly, accepting Tim’s help.

“Jon?” He looked spooked, pale. “Please, what’s going on?” His hand settled in the crux of shoulder and neck, thumb ghosting along his clammy skin, and Jon allowed himself to find a morsel of comfort in the familiar gesture, the threat of tears closer than ever. So he reached for him.

“I don’t know.” And Tim pulled away as if burned, the frustration and anger rising in his face again, and Jon was bereft. “T’truly! I--”

“Why won’t you be honest with me? Don’t you trust me?” Standing, he took a step backwards, away from him, the hurt in him a palpable thing. “We’re supposed to be friends!”

Yes. They were friends. It was most likely why for the first time in a long while, the pain in his chest wasn’t a physical ache.

“Tim, I.” Fingers folded to fists to rest on his knees. But he was already gone.

“Jon!” Tentative, Martin lifted his chin. “Oh, oh.” Having been crying, Jon figured his eyes were red-rimmed and puffy and he didn’t bother attempting to hide the evidence. “Alright.” Martin went about making tea, chamomile, herbal and calming, placing it before him on the table with a chocolate digestive. “Drink this down and then go home. It’s half six.”

“Mm.”

“Sleep will help.”

“Mm.”

“I could speak to them for you. If--”

“No!” All but shouted. “No. That won’t be necessary, Martin.” Carefully he stood, paused. “Thank you.” And left.

Jon called off.

Called off again.

Again.

Apologized to Elias in a curt email requesting leave and was granted it.

He ignored his phone. His texts. The knock at the door and Martin’s voice behind it. He slept when he was tired and he was tired often and it was easier besides, to finally listen to the screaming of his body. It was after hours on his fifth day gone when Tim let himself in with the spare key to Jon’s flat.

“Hey.” Sheepish, he held up his hands in surrender, a bag of takeaway from Jon’s favorite place dangling from one. “Martin said you wouldn’t let him in.” Dressed in the most comfortable clothes he had, which were also the shabbiest, Jon glared at him from where he laid on the couch. “I was an arse.” Slowly, he sat up, making Tim wait on purpose, a powerful frown still aimed in his direction.

“You were.” He was aware he looked a mess, greasy hair pulled back in a sloppy bun, but he felt a sight better for the rest he’d gotten.

“Would you accept an apology?” Folding his arms, Jon leaned back into the cushions and fixed his stare at whatever rubbish was on the telly.

“Might do.” Silently, Tim scurried into the tiny kitchen and Jon listened to the familiar sounds of him rooting around for cutlery. It smelled delicious and comforting, a reminder of nights spent together laughing at nothing on this same couch and despite himself, Jon began to relax.

“I’m sorry.”

“Alright.” Tim’s face split in a wide, relieved grin, and he flopped down next to him, planting a loud kiss to his temple before urging him to eat. “Martin sent you here.”

“An angry Marto is not to be trifled with.” Through a mouthful of noodles, Tim chuffed in laughter. “Wouldn’t tell me anything, other than to stop being a prick.”

“He did not.”

“He did not. But it was more than implied!” He put his bowl on the low table in front of them, sitting forward with his hands dangling between his knees. “And he was right. I didn’t give you a fair shake and accused you of awful things. And I know you’re doing your best at this job.”

“Gertrude isn’t making it easy.”

“Neither is your health, I take it.” Jon set his own meal aside, curling into the padded arm.

“No. It isn’t.”

“And you don’t know what’s causing it?”

“I know some things that help. M’Martin has been invaluable.”

“Has he, now?”

“Leave off!”

“Okay, okay.” But he continued giggling as Jon felt his face go hot, muttering.

“He really has.” This time Tim pulled him gently into an embrace.

“Then Sash and I will just have to catch up.”

[grayscaleskies]

[ID: Three drawings depicting Jonathan Sims and Martin Blackwood from the Magnus Archives. Jon is a thin Pakistani person with medium brown skin and long, slightly curly black hair with grey streaks. They are wearing a black bralette under a long sleeve black mesh top and a dark purple skater skirt. He has semicircle glasses, purple hoop earrings, a Nazar pendant necklace and a horizontal lip piercing. They are covered in various scars and tattoos, have blue eyeshadow and are holding a purple cane. They have an ace ring and a wedding ring and are looking back at Martin with a fond expression. Martin is a fat Afro-Brazilian non-op trans man with dark brown skin and a fade hairstyle with bleached white 4c textured hair. He has freckles, glasses,, various tattoos, and a pink stud earring. He is wearing a billowy white shirt that is open at the front to show his chest, a leather jacket with a pink inner layer draped across his back and leather pants. He is looking at Jon with a smug expression. Behind them both are pink leaves flowing through the wind, pink and yellow lighting and cherry blossom petals throughout.

The other two images show Jon and Martin separately. The first with Jon, same as before with a pale purple textured background and the second with Martin with a pink textured background. End ID/]

Finally I can share what I created for the @seasons-in-the-archives spring event! This event was about healing and growth, so I really wanted to emphasize that with Jmart gender expression and body reclamation. I even gave Jon my cane that I named after them :) Thanks so much to the mods for hosting!

[captaincravatthecapricious]

Look at my small Jonman.  He is very small and delicate.  Please don’t break him.  

[devilswalkingstick]

[id: a digital drawing of jonathan sims from the magnus archives. he is depicted as a pakistani-iranian person with brown skin, a long black braid with gray streaks, and a beard, wearing black shoes and pants and a purple long sleeve shirt. he also has two helix piercings and a lobe piercing. he is sitting outside on a ring made of stacked rocks, trees and buildings can be seen in the background. he has his left foot over his right knee, his left elbow propped on his left knee as he rests his chin against his hand. in his right hand, he is holding a cane with a wooden fritz handle and purple floral pattern down the length. end id.]

jon w my cane is good for the soul <3

[mossy-rainfrog]

[Image ID: A digital painting of Jonathan Sims posing with a cane. He is a thin British-Persian person with brown skin, a short beard, various scars, and long, curly greying hair. They are wearing a light green button down shirt over a long grey skirt, with grey dangling earrings and an ace ring. He holds a cane to his chest with both hands and closes his eyes with a pensive, mournful expression. The background of the image is a bright green, with stylized images of eyes, canes, human ribs, and knee sockets behind Jon. End ID.]

Recently I received the news that I’m likely going to need to use a cane for the foreseeable future, so naturally I’ve been thinking a lot about acquired disabilities, and trying to project all of the related stress and pain onto Jon. It’s extremely cathartic, getting to visualize him going through the same thing. So, yeah. To any fellow cane users or disabled folk out there, here’s to us💙

[ebenrosetaylor]

Sassy Jon doodle ayyyyyyyy

[ID: Digital drawing of Jonathan Sims from The Magnus Archives. He is a short Cambodian nonbinary person with brown skin and black & white hair. His hair is long and pulled into a loose bun. Pieces of his hair at his hairline is falling loose and falling in front of his face. His skin was various worm scars and a scar over his throat. 

He is wearing rectangular glasses with a thin chain draped behind his neck. The chain has jewels that are shaped like green eyes. He is wearing a colorful shawl modeled after the emperor moth. It has a gold trim along the edges with a purplish brown underside. The patterns on each side of the arms are shaped like green, grey, and black eyes. There are orange and pink “feathered” patterns on the bottom near the trim. The shawl is pinned in place by a brooch shaped like a green eye. On his right middle finger he wears an ace ring, with his purple cane’s strap wrapped around his wrist. He is also wearing a purple sweater, a dark purple skirt that falls to his ankles, and shoes that are purple and black. 

Jon has his hip cocked to the side and he is leaning on his cane with his right hand. He has half-lidded eyes and is glaring at the viewer with an unamused scowl. The background is a light pink while the lineart is a very dark purple. The artist signature reads, “EbenRoseTaylor.” END ID]

[alexandenigtscreations]

I’m chucking GOURDS at you @celosiaa

For no other reason than I can, and you are cool.  So, There!  

Why not have Jon and Martin do a Scottish Safe House pumpkin carve. 

[gerrydelano]

Seventh Installment of the Pharos By Right series

Title: HOUSEFIRE Rating: M Chapters: 6 / 7 Words: 13.7k Characters: Gerry Keay, Jon Sims, Martin Blackwood, Sasha James, Melanie King, Tim Stoker, Mike Crew, Georgie Barker, Mikaele Salesa, Annabelle Cane, Danny Stoker (mentioned), Jonah Magnus (mentioned)

Relationships: Gerry/Tim, Martin/Danny, Sasha/Melanie/Georgie, Jon & Martin, Gerry & Mike, "Gerry" & "Annabelle"

Additional Tags: Archivist!Gerry, Canon Divergence, Mostly Morbid Humor, Angst, DID/EDS/POTS Gerry, HoH Tim, Cane User/Monocular Vision/Autistic Jon, Autistic/BPD Martin, End!Tim, Stranger!Danny, Corruption!Sasha, The Eye, The Corruption, The Dark, The End, The Vast, The Web, Non-Canonical Character Undeath, Canon-Typical Apocalypse, Canon-Typical Smiting, Suicidal Intent

Chapter Summary:

“…Hello?” “Ah! Is this Jon?” comes the voice on the other end. “Just the person I was looking to speak with.” Jon’s brow sinks. “Who is this?” The voice giggles. “Tell me your name and I’ll tell you mine.” “…You guessed it, it’s Jon.” Martin makes a disbelieving noise, and so Jon smacks him. “Now who are you?”

Or: A long walk through a Changed world, and then — solace.

[shuttymcshutfuck]

So deeply hurt

Fandom: The Magnus Archives

Relationships: Jonathan Sims/Martin Blackwood/Tim Stoker/Sasha James (polycule)

Type: Hurt/comfort

Word count: 2,039

TW: crying, hiding pain, fever, internalised ableism

A03 link

Now that he was closer Jon could tell it was a bad day. He could see the tension in Tim’s jaw, the way he swayed ever so slightly when he stood before righting himself, the fake smile he’s plastered on.

or: Tim's having flare up so they have a movie night.

Set vaguely in S1 or S2 but Sasha doesn't get not!them-ed.

As much as Tim joked around and slacked off, he was very rarely late. Especially not almost two hours late. Jon tried to relax as much as possible but with the concerned glances from Martin and Sasha every few minutes through the window in his door and the constant ticking of the clock in his office it was getting harder by the minute. But he had to stay professional, Elias couldn’t know about their relationship. Jon wasn’t ashamed in the slightest, he just didn’t want to get them all fired. Although, that didnt mean he hadn't sent off quite a few messages to him. All of which were unanswered. He was typing another when he heard a voice curse at the top of the stairs. Trying to look as casual as possible but presumably failing miserably, Jon grabbed his cane and rushed to the bottom of the stairs.

“Tim?” Through the fluorescent lights he could barely make out Tim sitting at the top of the stairs, crutches lying next to him. “Do you need a hand?” He tried to keep the worry out of his voice. They’d all agreed that none of them would make a big deal if Jon or Tim were using their aids. He wanted to respect that as best he could since he knew how bad it felt when people would keep pointing it out.

“Ah, no need. I got this!” Jon watched as Tim slowly slid himself and his crutches down each step before using them to stand. Now that he was closer Jon could tell it was a bad day. He could see the tension in Tim’s jaw, the way he swayed ever so slightly when he stood before righting himself, the fake smile he’s plastered on.

“Well, that was one way to do that. I’m sure Martin or Sasha would’ve been able to help.”

“Na, it’s alright. This building’s just inaccessible as shit. I doubt we would’ve been able to all fit together on those weird ass stairs anyway.”

“Well since you’re here now, there’s a statement on your desk I’d like you to look into after you’ve finished compiling the research from yesterday.” Putting his professionalism on as much as he could, Jon went back to his office leaving Tim to get settled at his desk. He shot Martin a quick text to keep an eye on him and tried his best to continue with his work.

Recording a few statements helped distract him for a bit even if he knew that they were all fake. Floating lights, a ‘disappearing’ man and walkie talkie feedback that sounded like words. It wasn’t long until a knock at his door brought him back to the present. “Come in.”

“Hey,” Martin, of course. “I’m going to the breakroom to make myself a cuppa, do you want one?” Jon never understood why Martin always lowered himself when he entered a room. It was like he was trying to take up the least amount of space possible.

“Yes, thank you. I’ll come along, I need to stretch my legs anyway.” Perfect, a completely professional reason to talk to him in relative privacy. “How has he been?” Jon set his cane beside him as he sat at the breakroom table, watching Martin go through the practiced motions of making tea.

“I’m not sure, he looks a bit peaky but he seems alright.” It was days like these that Jon struggled with boundaries the four of them had set. He knows that if Tim needs help, he’ll ask for it. But he also knows how stubborn you can become when you’re in pain, how frustrating it can be, how hard it is to ask for help. “In other news, I was thinking of having a movie night at mine tonight? Tim and Sasha are down, fancy it?” Jon brought himself back, this is something he could do. Something that would help.

“That sounds lovely but why don’t we have it at mine?” Jon took the cup Martin handed him and sipped, perfect as always.

“Uh, sure.” Martin looked a bit hesitant, probably because Jon usually doesn’t offer up his flat if Martin’s already offered. They all know Jon prefers their flats to his because then he can kidnap a jumper or cardigan to feel safer once he has to leave.

“It’s just, my flat’s closer and I think it’s best for Tim and I since there’s a lift.” He wasn’t lying persay, the lift would be better for the two of them but that wasn’t the only reason. He had supplies for bad days at his house. Heat pads, painkillers, ice packs, you name it. And he knew Tim was going to need it. He’d crash soon enough, most likely when they were all finally settled at Jon’s, so he needed to be able to help once Tim let them.

“Oh right, of course. Sounds great, I’ll let them know.”

-----

It wasn’t long until Tim popped into Jon’s office, struggling with the door slightly. “I’ve got that research for you, Boss.” Jon gestured to one of the seats in front of his desk which Tim took quickly. He pulled the file from his bag once he sat down and had his hands free again.

“Tim, I- um. Is there anything i can do?” Jon tried to be as gentle as possible, not wanting to sound patronising.

“I’m not sure what you mean.” So he was still in the stubborn stage, great. “I’m all set for the last hour work wise if that’s what you’re asking.” He stood and Jon could see him hide a wince.

“Okay, I’ll let you get on then. Thank you again for the research.” All Jon got in return was a nod before Tim was out the door as fast as he could be.

-----

The journey to Jon’s flat was nice for once, mostly due to Sasha driving them all instead of having to take the tube. But even just sitting mostly in silence it was comfortable. As soon as they were in his flat he wandered off to get changed into comfier clothes, urging them all to do the same. Once they were all back in the living room he spotted Tim in a familiar jumper, specifically the one Jon was looking for as it was nice and cosy but he left it with Tim. He looked like he needed it more than he did.

Stocked up with snacks and tea, bundled up in Jon’s duvet that he’d asked Martin to bring through, movie night began. After finishing La La Land per Sasha’s request and Howl’s Moving Castle per Martin’s request they decided to order some takeout.

“Tim, do you just want your usual?” Sasha was over at the table, notepad in hand with everyone's orders but his. The only answer she got however was a groan. Jon gently moved him off of his shoulder where he had been resting his head and it was only then he felt the heat coming off Tim’s skin.

“Hey, sleepyhead. Can you wake up for a minute for me please?” Jon watched him blink slowly and he swore he had fallen in love with him all over again.

“Is he alright?” Martin moved the duvet off of their laps and knelt at the feet of Jon and Tim. “Love, you’ve got a bit, uh-” Martin's gaze fell to Jon’s shoulder and when he followed he saw what Martin was clearly holding back a laugh at. Tim had drooled over his shirt.

“Martin, can you go into the cabinet in the kitchen, grab some painkillers, water and the thermometer for me please?” Martin’s face dropped so Jon rushed to calm him. “He’s okay, I think it's just a flare up. Take a breath, Love.” Jon watched him do as asked and head over to the kitchen. “Sasha, just order him his usual as long as it’s not too spicy.”

“Gotcha, I’ll be back in a minute.” She placed a kiss on Jon’s cheek then Tim’s, frowning slightly at the heat before heading to the bedroom to order.

“So, how are you really feeling? All of it, okay?” Jon kept his voice low and soft, channeling all the times Martin had calmed him down from a nightmare, all the times Sasha had comforted when the knock on his office door sounded too familiar, all the times Tim had helped him home once everyone had left because the pain was so bad.

"I'm alright, just being a drama queen as usual." Jon watched as Tim’s eyes filled with tears.

" Tim ." It seemed that Jon had finally chipped at his stubborn exterior just enough to let Tim breathe.

“I…Awful, it just hurts and I’m so tired, I don’t-” Jon pulled him into a hug as he finally let the tears fall, running a hand up and down Tim’s back while the other cradled his head.

“It’s okay, it's okay.” They sat there, Jon whispered sweet nothings until Tim’s sobs had calmed enough that he could speak “What hurts, Love?”

“Everything but my hips hurt the worst. It’s like they’re shooting pain down the rest of my legs.”  Tim pulled back slightly and Jon let him, wiping away Tim’s tears with his thumb.

“Got them Jon, but if it’s a flare up then why do we need the thermometer?” Martin’s eyes flickered over Tim’s face and Jon could tell he was holding back his mother-hen instincts. He trusted Jon and it made his chest warm to think that he trusted Jon enough to let him lead.

“I’m just hot stuff, what can I say?” The joke made them both smile, breaking some of the tension.

“Sometimes during flare ups you can get low grade fevers, I just want to make sure it’s not too high.” Jon explained as Martin kneeled back at their feet.

“Alright, okay.”

“Martin, it’s okay.” Jon reached out and took his hand, the worry practically radiating off of him.

“I know, I’ve just never been around either of you when you’ve had a flare up before and-” Jon’s eyes fell to his lap, guilt slowly seeping into his bones. He could tell Tim felt the same, squeezing his hand slightly before interrupting Martin. “You have actually, as much as I don’t want to admit it, we are relatively good at hiding them. Which isn’t necessarily a good thing.”

Martin looked to Jon and he nodded. “Right. Well, we can talk about that later.”

“Okay.” He turned to Tim. “Is it alright if i take your temperature, love?” Jon was pretty sure that he would say yes but it was still good to ask, to make sure Tim was comfortable.

“Yeah, alright.” Martin handed him the thermometer and Jon put it in his ear, waiting for the beep before taking it out again and doing it to the other ear.

“Hmm, 38.1 and 38.3. Not bad but still could be better. Let’s get some painkillers and water into you. Sasha’s ordering food just now so you’ll have that soon too.” Tim took them without issues but seemed uncomfortable when Jon mentioned dinner.

“I’m really not hungry just now.”

“Nausea or just no appetite?” Jon didn’t want to force him to eat if he felt nauseous but he needed some form of food in him if he was going to take more painkillers.

“Appetite.” Good, that’s something at least. Something he can work with.

“Why don’t you try some food and if you don’t want what we’ve ordered I’ll make you some toast?” As much as he hated that Tim was in so much pain it felt nice knowing what to do for once. Pain was something he was familiar with, something he knew so much about that it was instinct to him now.

“Alright.” Jon stood up and motioned for him to move along the couch slightly and he complied. He got them situated so Tim was lying down with his head on Jon’s chest and legs over Martin’s lap. He felt Tim curl into him and sigh contentedly. “Jon?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks.” Jon ran his fingers through Tim’s hair, watching as his eyes started to shut again.

“Of course, love. You know I’m always here.”

[coulson-is-an-avenger]

reverse unpopular opinion on cane user jon!

OH MY GODDDD CRYSTAL I LOVE YOU SO MUCH THANK YOU

cane user jon lives in my head rent free i love him SO much. i respectfully compliment his cane and hand him a comical amount of flowers. i ADORE HIM

okay so in terms of meta, there's not a ton of evidence for this in podcast, especially since there's no cane noises or anything, but here me out, it IS canon that the worms got him badly enough that he couldn't stand at the end of season 1, and then there's a throwaway line in s2 that mentions him being at physical therapy (which made my heart go !!!!!!!!!💙💖🥰💖✨💙🥺💞💙 btw), and given how stressful PT can be, and also how much he started losing himself in season 2, I think it's reasonably plausible to think that maybe he didn't keep up with his exercises as much as he should have. Maybe some days it all gets a little much and he finds himself stuck at the top of a staircase, exhausted and shaking and so full of restless gnawing discomfort and fear of the sharp pains that will ensue once he takes a step, and then he’s forced to accept the fact that maybe he should think about using an aid here.

It's nice to imagine himself steadying himself with a cane, folding up by his desk when he doesn't need it, leaning heavily on it when the chill gets a nasty bite he can feel in his bones, coming to trust the feeling of it under his hand. I like to think it also alleviates some of the guilt about maybe it being his fault that he hasn't healed properly, that maybe he needs to be doing more, even when everything is too much and he just can't find the time or the energy, but with the cane all those thoughts get a little quieter.

I am absolutely projecting out of my ASS with this cause I have a very frustrating relationship with my own recurring pain/need for a cane that feels like it's my fault a lot of the time, and it's just so so comforting to imagine him being in a similar situation and i'm just very !!!!! spiderman pointing meme about the whole thing. cane user jon fills me with LIGHT and LOVE and everyone who uses that trope in ur art or stories i am dipping u low and kissing u so sweetly /j

PS, here is a bonus doodle as thanks for the opportunity to rant:

[Image ID: Two black and white sketches of Jonathan Sims. He is a thin, British-Middle Eastern man with long, curly greying hair, and various scars. The first sketch is very minimalistic, and shows a little image of Jon standing with a cane in his outstretched hand. The second drawing is more detailed, and shows a close up of Jon pressing a hand to his face, his eyes wide and his features pinched in an expression of pain, despite the small smile on his face. This is captioned “I am in unbearable pain.” End ID.]