#tma hurt/comfort

[ego-sum-ex-altiora]

You Can't See Me (text below link)

Chapter 1: Martin

Martin never liked being touched.

Not that anyone cared or- in saying that- even knew about this dislike. He was always the one people went to for physical comfort, the one who “gave good hugs”- though he knew the latter was just because he was on the chubbier side. Maybe it was the self-consciousness this caused, or his mother’s insistence on physical closeness, but either way; Martin Blackwood did not like hugs.

He supposed that this was why he was so drawn to Jon- beyond the distracting softness of his silver and raven-black hair; the way it framed his face when whisps fell from his bun. Beyond the way his eyes looked soft beyond his stern expression, and how his cold hands and tone when accepting tea sent shivers through Martin that could not be described as unpleasant or unwelcome. Beyond the button-ups and grandpa sweaters that the others said aged him, but Matin felt only gave him a soft charm. And beyond-

So, maybe Martin’s dislike of physical comfort wasn’t the only reason he liked Jon. But he still liked the idea of not constantly being expected to touch his partner, and rumour has it, Jonathan Sims didn’t do that kind of stuff.

Although, it was beginning to seem like “that kind of stuff” included noticing Martin.

Perhaps Jon’s coma, and apparent death, finally sent the message that Martin would never have a chance with him. Certainly, it was enough for Martin to finally embrace the Loneliness and give in to the isolating fog that had lingered around him for as long as he could remember.

There was a comfort in letting that Lonely feeling take over him, the way it took away all expectations. It justified his burning dislike of being touched, taking away any fear of hurting those around him by forcibly pushing them away. He was blissfully revoked of all self-consciousness; with no one around him, who’s judgement was he afraid of?

The Lonely’s fog had always sat thick and heavy in his chest, but its swirling blue-greys were beautiful in his eyes.

That’s what set him apart from Jon. His fog-filled vision was a welcomed comfort, fulfilling his desperate desire to escape the dreads of reality. Jon, however, was so fixated on seeking knowledge and information. He dedicated his life to research and collating information, trying to make sense of a meaningless universe filled with randomised events. Jon needed to know, to explain away everything that had ever hurt him. Martin just wanted to forget.

The Lonely could provide that to him.

Martin’s co-workers had sensed him losing himself. The cups of tea became less frequent, and the cheery air that used to follow him gradually became darker and cloudier; both figuratively and literally. Eventually, the fog formed a near-opaque barricade between him and everyone else. Those who tried finding him in the fog were blinded, and all he could see was the brief image of lost, searching eyes. Then, the fog would once again consume him and he would be utterly alone.

Eventually, they stopped trying to find him.

It was peaceful then. Without the desperate faces of those he once called friends reminding him of his isolation, Martin quickly found comfort in the empty fog. He could sit at his desk, uninterrupted, for hours on end. For the first time since he was first hired, he tried hard and got a large amount of work done. Best of all, he didn’t need to feel anything.

Just like he had wanted.

Chapter 2: Jon

It ripped Jon apart to be unkind to Martin, it really did, but the defensive move was all he knew. He didn’t have time to deal with feelings, it was easier for him to just push them deep down and try not to think about them.

That’s not to say he was heartless. Certainly, he was aware of how lovely it felt to be brought tea and checked in on, but he didn’t want to explore what exactly those feelings meant. He knew there was a reason why Martin was being so kind to him, but the implications of doing so were not something he wished to consider. It was far easier to snap at Martin over insignificant mistakes, cursing his foolishness. Of course, the guilt that made Jon feel was yet another feeling he didn’t want to look too deep into.

Blissful ignorance. That’s how he lived.

There was no dramatic gasp of air or sudden bolt upright when Jon awoke, he was simply no long unconscious. A bedside calendar marked the date as a shocking six months since he had last been conscious. His body was too frail and aching to move, he simply looked around in desperation for a familiar face. Even through his tear-blurred eyes, he knew the room was empty; there seemed to be a void where he knew someone should have been. Lost, Jon desperately called to someone he already knew was gone.

“Ma-Martin…”

Jon’s calls were answered by the rush of doctors and nurses entering his room, but he paid them no notice. All at once, he was achingly aware of a single fact; he loved Martin Blackwood.

The guilt that realisation filled him with was enough to tear him apart, the pain of warm and fuzzy love nothing compared to that of his regret. The regret he felt from lying to himself for so long, even when he knew Martin had felt the same way. The regret of pushing him away and hurting him.

The regret of leaving him alone all this time.

Jon desperately needed to go make amends, to fix the mess he had made out of what could have been love. He prayed he wasn’t too late, that he could still salvage the messy remains of his unrealised love.

He needed to go find Martin.

Much to the doctor’s dislike, Jon insisted on going to work. He had to, he needed to fix things with Martin as soon as he could. Maybe he still had a chance to make it work between them.

The tube to the institute was more than unpleasant, his still-weak frame rocking violently with each movement of the carriage. His sigh of relief was audible when he finally arrived at his stop, his legs still trembling slightly as he disembarked, but he was determined to keep moving.

Stepping through the doors into the research department felt like stepping into a new climate. There was a chill- not enough to call cold, but enough to cause discomfort- and a thick air that was stuffy and suffocating. For most people, especially those working with the paranormal, this would have immediately caused alarm.

The problem was, Jonathan Sims was not the type to leave a task unfinished. And unsettling cool drafts and humidity were not his top priority. He needed to focus on the problem at hand.

In his determination to make amends, Jon bumped, hard, into someone turning the corner. In the few moments it took to make sense of what had happened, he felt the cool air turn freezing and stab deep into his bones. The humid air became heavy fog, and blurred his vision.

Still, unmistakably, Martin Blackwood stood in front of him.

Chapter 3: Jon

Jon hated to admit it, but he had always admired Martin’s eyes. They were a muted green like a gentle forest, with prominent limbal rings the colour of a walnut tree. They had small specs of brown like the freckles that lined every inch of his body, that Jon had to resist getting lost in. Martin’s eyes almost always were bright and lit, indicative of his cheery mood.

Jon had, more than once, nearly been caught out admiring those eyes. Office meetings had often been spent fixated on them, which Martin had always mistaken as agitated glares. On more than one occasion, his co-workers had needed to bring his focus back to the meeting, after he had gotten a tad too distracted and ended up spacing out, lost in thought.

Now, there was no light or sparkle to his eyes, their freckles nearly as paled as the rest of his goose-bumped skin. His once-green eyes faded to near-grey, and they held an absent expression. They could barely even be called his, Jon was standing face-to-face with a pair of empty, unseeing eyes.

The fluttery butterfly-like sensation of finally planning to confess his feelings had vanished, replaced with a dread that felt as heavy as boulders in his chest. Jon knew exactly what he was looking at, and it certainly was not Martin Blackwood.

He was looking the Lonely dead in the eyes.

The Lonely did not look back at him, though. That pair of greenish-grey eyes looked beyond him, deep into the never-ending fog, and Jon knew he was not being seen.

Even beyond those empty eyes, Martin looked terrible. He had always been so cheery that his empty expression made him almost unrecognisable. He was pale, sickly so, and his typically fiery-ginger hair was a dull burnt orange. Though his physical frame was no different, he felt small and fragile. Jon couldn’t explain how, but somehow Martin looked lonely.

It was only then, seeing the Lonely in Martin, that Jon began to see it in himself. He began to see his pathetic, friendless self, caused by his neglect and disrespect of those around him. Caused by his hostility to the few people who truly loved him; his hostility to Martin.

Jonathan Sims was a terribly lonely man, and by nothing but his own fault.

The gap between the pair felt near-infinite, as if Martin stood on another planet. Jon reached outward and, before realising the gravity of what he was about to do, grabbed hold of Martin’s hand.

The touch was beyond gentle, uncharacteristically so on Jon’s behalf, but Martin’s whole body jerked backwards from the contact. Even so, Jon refused to let go. Martin stared down at their interlocked hands, as if desperately trying to see, and Jon remained latched on. The blank face that watched Jon told him what he needed to do.

He needed to pull Martin out of the Lonely.

Chapter 4: Martin

Martin flinched away from being touched that he very nearly fell over backwards, but whatever gripped his hand was determined to stay latched on. It had been months since anyone but Peter Lukas had come near him, and Peter wasn’t exactly the touchy-feely type.

Martin didn’t understand. People weren’t supposed to be able to come near him, his fog was supposed to keep them away. It was supposed to keep him safe, where he couldn’t hurt anyone or be hurt. The touch he had felt was an invasion, an unwelcomed visitor who seemed determined not to leave. He wasn’t supposed to be able to feel anyone, hear anyone, see-

Martin gradually became aware of a voice; faint, but clearly calling to him. Something inside him could recognise it, a distant memory of a time when he wasn’t lonely. Well, was he ever not lonely? He couldn’t remember, and he couldn’t remember that voice, so achingly familiar yet unknown in that vast fog. He could make out a sound coming from that voice, a distant word that could have been his name.

Martin forced his mind to remember, forced his mouth to speak for the first time in months. His voice croaked from lack of use, but he made a single, barely comprehensible sound.

“Jon?”

His vision still swirled, so strong he could barely make out his own body, yet his mind focused, so sure it was Jon. Or was he only hoping it was Jon? The thought crossed his mind briefly, before he shoved it away. Jon’s voice slowly came into focus, his words becoming more comprehensible.

“Martin? Are you with me? Listen to me, I’m going to find a way to break you out of here.”

Martin stared down at his seemingly empty hand, his fingers pried apart by an unseeable force. Though he had no visualisation to be sure, Martin realised he was holding hands with Jonathan Sims.

Martin lurched forward, falling into the space he desperately prayed was occupied by Jon. He leaned into a small, cold, and yet surprisingly comforting frame, that felt exactly as he had imagined hugging Jon would. His eyes forced themselves shut, great big sobs being wretched from deep inside of him, dampening Jon’s shirt.

When Martin’s tears stopped enough to reopen his eyes, the fog felt different. He was sure it was further away, and a less dark, foreboding grey. He was acutely aware of the fact that he could no long see through the figure that held him.

He took a step backwards, frantically reaching his hands towards where Jon’s face should have been. He made contact with what was a blurred shadow in his vision, and squinted in a desperate attempt to make out the figure in front of him. The comfortingly familiar face of Jon slowly came into focus, his edges softly blurred.

With remnant tears in his eyes, Martin’s legs shook violently as Jon half supported him with a firm embrace. Jon apologised, tears welling in his own eyes.

“I’m sorry, Martin, for everything. I’m not going to let anything else hurt you, myself included.”

It was enough to again set Martin off with huge, heaving sobs, burying himself deeper in Jon’s shoulder. Jon gave a weak smile before speaking, the strongest he could manage, that filled Martin with a fuzzy feeling of anticipation.

“I love you, and I wish I’d realised it sooner.”

[thegaynessarchives]

HOLY SHIT U GUYS

I FINISHED MY FIC

[the-antichrists-plus-one]

Reading a really good fic like

[cult-of-the-eye]

obsessed with hurt/comfort fics where martin attempts to comfort jon like how someone would try and coax a spooked cat down from a tree

[dcartcorner]

My only friend was the man in the Moon And even, sometimes, he would go away, too (lost boy, ruth b)

[vieramars]

I wrote a doorkeay fic

My Bones on Your Bones

The Distortion is not happy that Michael Shelley's body comes with a free subscription to hypermobile joint pain with no cancellation. Gerard discovers that the Distortion is more like the Michael he loved than he once thought.

@theclownfromdowntown here's the fic it's already done lol

[pan0pticonn]

A report on the Archives inevitable end - prologue

Mag 200 - Jon succeeded in his plan to take over Jonah’s place

——————————————

“I didn’t think you’d go through with it! Not without me! I can’t believe you’d do this! That you’d leave me like this! You swore to me! You swore to me, you bastard” the one that had followed The Archive all the way here had said before he left, tears running down his flushed cheeks as he descended the stairs he’d followed The Archive up because he’d been the only one who had ever truly known the person that ceased to exist more and more by the second and had, against his better judgment, believed that, maybe that would be enough to stop what he’d known would happen if his loved one took over Jonah Magnus’ throne.

He, of course, had been wrong, and though losing the one he loved had broken his heart, eventually he left as the person he’d known drifted away and started becoming The Archive, the pupil of the Great Eye That Watches And Knows All, the Prince of the fallen world and the Vessel that drinks in all that is fear and terror more than It had ever been during it’s false pretenses of being human.

The Archive had been sorry, of course. But it Knew it’s Love would do better with those that were waiting down in the tunnels than at the Archives side as it drives every soul towards The Waiting End That Comes For All And Cannot Be Ignored, until finally - this wretched world may rest in the absence of life and fear. Even if the distant part, that had been stronger when the one that loved it had first arrived at the Archives throne, that remains more man than the record of fear that the Archive now so fundamentally and undeniably has become, had longed for the touch of the love that had never truly been allowed to exist in peace and bliss and had instead been forged on the ashes of normality and comfort as the two that had loved each other tried growing a delicate flower on the cold and unforgiving cement that flowed down both of their throats and tried to choke out their humanity.

With the only remaining part of it’s life before gone, it’s reason, The Archive rests there. At the center of the great panopticon, it Sees and Knows all the terror in this wretched broken world. It drinks in billions of nightmares that choke and know and fall and die and for a moment it lets itself revel in the twisted yet beautiful suffering of the world.

But of course, The Archive has not always been The Archive, for such a thing would have been impossible in the world Before. And the part that still believes itself to the Archivist claws and digs and bites through the Archives instincts that want it to Know and Drink in the ecstasy of the endless fear, to use it‘s rightful place as the pupil of The Great Eye That Watches And Knows All and rule this terrible new world.

And so the Archive remembers why it is here, what it’s plan was and what it has to do. For it’s love that it is sure it will never see again and can therefore only try to protect from afar. It Knows that rushing every soul towards The Waiting End That Comes For All And Cannot Be Ignored may take some time though. And so the Archive shall drink in The Horrors for one last hurrah until finally, it will cease to exist and be released from the terrible joy of being The Archive and the distant thumping of a dull heartache that the part that remains The Archivist feels so deeply and cannot get rid of.

The Archives inhales and takes in all the nightmare landscapes that the great panopticon Watches and Sees as it speeds up the process of ending those lost souls suffering in the domains of the End. And in the meantime… well, it rather thinks it is time for a statement. After all, there’s so much fear it needs to drink in and preserve

[barbiediamondcastleofficial]

If jmart Scotland era has 100 fans I am one of those fans etc etc

[teddylacroix]

What if... just what if... Jon was forced to actually get medical attention and rest for all of his goddamn injuries...

[rauchendesgnu]

I wrote another soft fanfic because Jon. And Martin. And feelings™️ that I have because of them.

[ego-sum-ex-altiora]

What should I write a hurt/comfort fic about? I lean towards Martin doing the comforting because it's what I'm better at writing. I've done post-circus of the other stuff and a bit around the safehouse period, but I want ideas!

What do you guys want to read???

[thegaynessarchives]

YAY GO READ MY NEW FIC

[hemi-demi]

Do you like hurt/no comfort pre-S4 JMart? No? Too bad! 🥲

Ok, too sad? Here's a follow up that's a little less bitter.

(The rest of the series is not this sad, so if you need a recovery there's a fuck ton of fluff to be had. Including a new bonus chapter/deleted scene for Lucid! (CW: Explicit. Spoilers for long fic in bonus chapter.))

[cult-of-the-eye]

hurt/comfort jmart fic save me...Martin comforting Jon after flashback...save me hurt/comfort jmart fic

[etchedstars]

my comfort media might have a concerning about of traumatized characters and a severely fucked up plot BUT it also has two gay people sooo

[whumpy-wyrms]

it’s 3am and i’ve spent the past few hours drawing a bunch of doodles of me and anton hanging out together like we’re the bestest of friends because it’s my art and i can draw whatever i want forever