#archivalpride

[archivalpride]

Would you all ever consider running archivalpride month again (or even just archivalpride week)?

The mods are currently looking into running another event either in late June or early July. We’re only going to do a week-long event and are still working out the details, but we should be posting dates within the next few weeks.

#asks

[danikatze]

I worked on this thing for @archivalpride for so long and I don't even like it that much :< I'm too stubborn not to post it anyway and I don't want to touch it anymore heh

ID below the cut:

[ID: a three-page digital comic about Jonathan Sims and Gerard Keay from the Magnus Archives. The colours used are black, grey, white and purple, like the asexual pride flag.

Page one has four panels. Panel one: Gerry is strolling through a park, a bit slouched, hands in the pockets of his zip-up hoodie. Panel two: Gerry walks by Jon, who’s sitting on a bench, drinking some take-away coffee. Panel three: a close up of Gerry looking at Jon. Panel four: a close up of Jon looking up at Gerry.

Page two has five panels: Panel one: Gerry sits down next to Jon. Jon looks very surprised. Panel two: Gerry turns to Jon and says: "we match." Jon, still looking bewildered, replies with: "we m- excuse me?" Panel three: Gerry says nothing, but holds up his right hand. He wears a black ring on his middle finger. Jon looks at the hand, but says nothing either. Panel four: a close up of Gerry's hand. The ring on his finger catches the light. Jon, off screen, says "oh." Panel five: Jon now realises what Gerry means. "Oh!" he says, "Rings!" He smiles, although still a bit uncomfortable, and shows his own right hand with a black ring on the middle finger to Gerry. He's holding his cup with that hand, making it look like he's making a toast. Gerry makes the peace sign with the hand he presented to Jon.

Page three has two panels: Panel one: Gerry puts his hand on Jon's shoulder and starts to get up. "Have a good day, Ace." he says, smiling. Jon smiles too, and blushes slightly. Panel two: Gerry is walking away from Jon, in the direction he was heading before. He wears a contented smile. Jon stares at Gerry walking away, he still looks a bit shocked and flustered, like he's wondering what just happened and who that was. /End ID]

#the magnus archives #jonathan sims #gerard keay #jongerry #archivalpride #archival pride #asexuality #fanart #danikunst #comic #4 #ace pride #described

[vacationgerry]

is there anything better than safehouse identity talks?

first finished tma art and first piece for @archivalpride !!

#archivalpride #tma #the magnus archives #jonmartin #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #asexual jonathan sims #didnt make it to week one but slidin into week two right under the wire lol #my art

[iiiumihottie]

[ID: A drawing of Tim and Sasha from TMA wearing various Pride clothing. They lie down on an abstract background and smile at eachother. Tim has a hand lying on his chest, and another arm around Sasha. He wears a sleeveless, cropped shirt with the bisexual flag colors, and the colors of the trans flag on his bicep. He’s depicted as East Asian and pale, with cropped black hair. Sasha has her arms crossed and wears a tank top with the aromantic flag colors, as well as a Philadelphia pride flag pin on her chest. She’s depicted as black with dark skin and coily brown hair. End ID.]

platonic pride timsasha for @archivalpride week one! this is for the prompt friendship 😌

(click for quality)

#archivalpride #pride month #tim stoker #sasha james #tma #LOVE the hc that sasha is aro but they stay good friends.... #i should be doing work rn i still have to graduate but O.O pride month #edit: added ID

[cirrus-grey]

Thinking about Martin conflating asexuality and aromantism and being perfectly content in his unrequited feelings for Jon, he knows he never had a chance, it’s not him it’s just that Jon doesn’t want that from anyone.

Thinking about him learning in season three that Georgie is Jon’s ex-girlfriend and being so confused because he didn’t think Jon really? Dated? At all?

Thinking about him actually getting up the guts to talk to Jon about it, to say “hey, I think I’ve misunderstood something here, if it’s not too personal a question to ask could you explain to me what asexuality really means because I think I’ve got entirely the wrong end of the stick.”

Thinking about him listening to Jon’s explanation and having a minor existential crises as he realizes holy shit, I think I’m asexual too.

#the magnus archives #martin blackwood #ace!martin #archivalpride #my magnus archives stuff #original post #and minor: #the dinghy #jonathan sims #500 notes!

[welcometogrouchland]

Happy pride month!! This year’s been rough and I’m glad to have a month that reminds how much I love women <3 for @archivalpride -not based on any specific prompt, just a general show of tma characters and pride. I don’t even have a funny meme for this caption, I just want you all to have a great pride month!

[ID: three digital drawings of characters from the magnus archives with pride flags.

The first image shows Melanie, a thin, light skinned chinese woman with black hair died blonde at the ends, and Georgie, a fat black woman with brown skin and dark red locs in a pony tail. Melanie has scars around her eyes and is holding her white cane in one hand, and the sapphic flag in the other. She has a hear with the bi flag painted on her face and wears a navy dress decorated with moths along with accessories like a necklace and choker. Georgie has her arm around melanie and is holding a pan flag. She wears a pink fishnet top underneath a sports bra with the nonbinary flag on top and jeans. She has stretch marks on her stomach. Her and Melanie are both smiling with their eyes closed. The background is pink.

Next image shows Tim, a stocky Malay man with medium brown skin covered in pockmark scars, and Sasha, a thin black woman with brown skin, glasses and red-brown hair. Sasha has her arm around Tim as the two of them hold up a trans flag. Sasha has a scar on her shoulder, visible underarm hair, and wears a white tank with a blue skirt, decorated with hearts in the bi flag colours. Tim has stubble, wears a black tank with the slogan “baby, bi bi bi” and the bi flag colours on it with blue-grey shorts. The shirt rides up to show his stomach, which has stretch marks and hair. They look at each other with playful expressions. The background is blue.

Third image shows Jon, a thin Sri Lankan man with brown skin covered in scars, and martin, a fat latino man with glasses, stomach hair and stretch marks. Jon has black, greying hair and martin has black hair with a streak of white. Jon wears a shirt with the ace flag colours, a bandana with the pan colours around his neck, and is holding a nonbinary flag in one hand. Martin is wearing a binder and jeans, and is holding the mlm flag in one hand. He has a heart with the trans flag painted on his shoulder and the poc inclusive gay flag painted on his cheek. Jon is behind martin, reaching over his shoulder to hold his hand. Martin is gently touching jon’s hand and smiling fondly. Jon is also smiling. The background is yellow.

Each background is decorated with white doodles, which includes the names of characters and flags, along with, in big block letters, “queer as in fuck you”. End ID]

#the magnus archives #tma #archivalpride #q word #q slur #btw- the ''queer as in fuck you'' is 100% not directed at the crowd who isn't comfortable with the word #it may be an important word to me and a facet of my identity but I understand that's not the case for everyone #the message is directed soley at heteronormative society and the homophobic Eldritch monsters #wtgfs #jmart #jonmartin #what the girlfriends #timsasha #Tim stoker #sasha james #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #Georgie Barker #melanie king #uhh as far as headcanons go? #Melanie: identifies primarily by sapphic as an umbrella term but also identifies as bi #georgie: pan and she/they nonbinary! #Tim and Sasha are both bi and trans #Jon is pan ace and nonbinary and martin is trans and mlm #don't think any of that is too. idk exciting? it's all pretty fanon typical #I usually flit between headcanons for Jon and Melanie #but I saw someone talk about pan Jon today and why it made them happy that I was like. yeah I'll make him pan for today #and then Melanie I just flit between her being a lesbian and her being bi and today I decided that...the bi flag colours were easier #not pictured is basira waving them on from 'no cops at pride' jail

[gh0stlymoth]

tiny thing i drew for the archival pride week 1 for affirmation (i at least hope that this falls under the affirmation category)

[ID: a 6-panel monochromatic comic featuring jon and sasha from the magnus archive. Jon is a slim man with medium dark skin, short, dark, wavy hair, and rectangular glasses. He is wearing a dress shirt under a dark grey sweater. Sasha is a chubby woman with dark skin, long curly dark hair and rounded glasses.  She is wearing a white blouse. Panel 1: jon sits at a desk in a nondescript room, writing something on a piece of paper while holding a mug with a displeased looking cat design on it. Sasha enters the room from the right and says: “Jon I need to ask yo-“. She cuts herself off as she notices something. Panel 2: jon has turned to sasha with a questioning look and asks: yes, what is it sasha?” the mug is now raised higher. There is a plant visible behind him. Panel 3: a closeup on jons right hand that is holding a pen. He is wearing a black ring on his middle finger, highlighted by lines going away from it. Panel 4: jon, still looking at sasha, still looking confused, is drinking from the mug. Little question marks float around him. Panel 5: sasha is now holding up her right hand to show it to jon, smiling widely. She also wears a black ring on her middle finger. Panel 6: jons eyes widen in understanding, a quiet “Oh” escaping him. in a little drawing at the bottom, we see both smiling at each other happily. In bubbles around them are pride flags, for jon the asexual, panromantic and agender flag, for sahsa the aromantic and asexual flag. End ID]

#the magnus archives #tma #jonathan sims #sasha james #archivalpride #my messy art #idk about other fellow aces but when i see someone wearing an ace ring my heart skips a beat #can't tell if i found the idea for this just cute or if i want this interaction to happen to me #anyway stop me from only drawing jon for the other prompts #if i manage to do them #the ghost scribbles

[lo-fi-charming]

Drew Jon and Daisy hanging out for the first week of @archivalpride‘s event! The theme is Friendship, and the one these two strike up during s4 of the show is really important to me ❤️

#my art #jonathan sims #daisy tonner #jondaisy #archivalpride #is this during s4? sure #i mean i know i drew jon with his scars but that's just bc jon without his scars feels a lil odd to me sometimes at this point #anyway.. i like the idea of them Both being ace and commiserating about it a lot #and i hc daisy as aroace* #*it's complicated!! !

[bluejayblueskies]

an ill-fitting definition

rating: M words: 4.3k relationships: jongeorgie, jontim, jonmartin, background wtgfs additional tags: canon compliant, pre-canon, scottish safehouse period, canon asexual character, fluff, kissing, implied sexual content, rumors and misconceptions

written for weeks two/three of @archivalpride for the prompts identity and doubt!

cw for misconceptions about asexuality, assumptions made about somebody’s sexuality, rumors and outing somebody without their knowledge, non-explicit/implied sexual content, mention of canonical character death, mention of canonical stalking and paranoia, gossip (including of the sexual nature), food, very mild blood, mild internalized acephobia

ao3 link in source

.

It’s three weeks and two days after they began dating, when Georgie picks up Jon’s hand where it’s clasped in hers and asks with plain curiosity in her voice, so does the ring, y’know, mean anything?, that Georgie hears the word asexual cross Jon’s lips for the first time.

It’s not a word she’s unfamiliar with; she’s run in enough LGBTQ spaces in her time in uni that she has a good idea of the breadth of identities that are out there. She rubs her thumb across Jon’s ring and thinks, in the voice of the gender and equality training instructor with sharp red heels and a “fun” black dress who’d stood in front of the seminar she’d been mandated to take for one of her courses:

Asexuality. A lack of sexual attraction. An aversion or repulsion to sexual activities.

It had been a small word on a large black-and-white slide, crammed in next to aromanticism and overcrowded by a myriad of other sexual identities discussed at length. It had been… quite a comprehensive training, Georgie thinks as she quits fidgeting with Jon’s ring and instead threads their fingers together. For a moment, she considers asking what he means anyway, but she quickly dismisses the thought. She wants to be supportive, and as Jon looks at her with open, trusting eyes and a faint smile, she decides that she knows enough. She doesn’t want to make it awkward, and with things like these, she’s found that asking Jon to explain his feelings in plain terms can be… well, awkward is certainly a word for it. Best just not to bring it up, she decides.

Still, she feels the need to ask, “Can I kiss you?” because the red no sex sign blinking on and off in her head is frustratingly vague on what, exactly, is contained within that stipulation. When Jon voices his assent, she tips her head up and presses a quick kiss to his chin before kissing him on the lips, wiping the disgruntled look off them.

So yes to kissing, she thinks, tucking that away next to no sex. Yes kissing, no sex. Yes holding hands, she adds as she squeezes Jon’s hand in hers and he smiles at her, warm and soft, that special side of Jon that she only sees on occasion. No pet names, she adds a week later when she tries out sweetheart and Jon’s nose wrinkles with displeasure. No foot rubs, when Jon swats at her and says, between giggles, that he’s awfully ticklish. Yes back rubs. Yes cuddling. No PDA. No touching with wet or sticky hands. Yes brushing hair.

That’s as far as she gets before, one year and two months after she begins dating Jonathan Sims, she stops. After which point she stops keeping track, because, well. There’s really no point anymore, is there?

.

.

.

“I’m sorry,” Jon says, burying his head in his hands.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Tim says quickly, holding his hands in the air in a placating gesture. He scoots a few inches away from Jon on the couch for good measure, unsure just how much space Jon needs right now. “It’s okay. You don’t have to apologize—I should apologize. I should have asked first.”

“It’s just—” Jon makes a frustrated noise, and when he takes his hands away his cheeks are dark and he won’t meet Tim’s eyes. “It’s complicated.”

“It’s okay,” Tim repeats, watching with a twisting feeling in his stomach as Jon apparently notices that the button of his trousers is still undone and quickly goes to redo it. His eyes follow the movements of Jon’s hands automatically, and just as automatically, he notes the distinct lack of a tent in the front of Jon’s trousers. The same… cannot be said for his own. Particularly after nearly twenty minutes of kissing, which Tim had very much enjoyed.

Christ, had Jon been uncomfortable with that as well? All in a rush, Tim says, “Was the kissing bad too?” Then, he winces—fuck, that sounded accusatory—and adds, “It- it’s okay if it was, I just- I didn’t know, and I don’t want to do something that makes you uncomfortable, Jon.”

“No, the- the kissing was fine, it’s just...” Jon makes an aborted motion with his hands, like he’s trying and failing to find the words.

“... complicated?” Tim supplies.

Jon nods mutely.

“That’s okay,” Tim says, and he finds that he means it. “We don’t have to do anything more than kissing if you don’t want to.”

“I- I don’t…” Jon worries his bottom lip between his teeth. He opens and closes his mouth a few times, like he’s searching for the right words, the crease in his forehead deepening every moment he fails to find them. Finally, he lets out a long, labored breath, pinches the bridge of his nose between his fingers, and says, “Yes, that… that might be best.”

Tim studies Jon’s face. It’s pinched and a bit stiff, like Jon would very much like to crawl out of his skin or melt into a puddle and disappear. “You sure?” he feels compelled to ask, placing a hand carefully on Jon’s knee. “You, uh. You seem a bit unsure.”

Jon sits there a moment more, spine straight and rigid, before melting slightly against Tim’s hand, his face slipping into something more relaxed but no less unhappy. “Yes.” He hesitates a moment, then says, a bit stiltedly, “I’m, um. I’m asexual. Since we’re already talking about this, I… I may as well get that out in the open as well.”

Oh. A few pieces slot into place, and Tim says with perhaps a bit more enthusiasm than necessary, “Oh. Why didn’t you tell—?” He cuts himself off and offers Jon a sheepish smile. “Sorry, sorry. That was rude of me. Thank you for telling me.”

“We’re dating,” Jon says bluntly. “It was going to come up eventually.”

“Still.” Tim shrugs, then reaches for Jon’s hand and holds it tightly in his. “Thanks.” He hesitates only a moment before leaning forward and pressing a quick kiss to Jon’s nose. Jon makes a disgruntled noise, which Tim thinks is adorable. Then, because it feels appropriate, he says, “Y’know, Danny… Danny was asexual. Aromantic too, actually. We had a big talk about it a few years ago where he sort of… laid it all out for me.” No sex, no romance, no thank you, had been the overall gist of it. Tim makes a new box for Jon and fills it in with the words no sex, yes romance, it’s complicated.

“Oh,” Jon says quietly, with that same sort of sadness in his eyes that he gets every time Tim mentions Danny, something much gentler than pity and significantly less cloying. If Tim notices the faint discomfort that accompanies it, something that whispers that isn’t my definition of asexuality, we’re not the same, you don’t understand if one were to listen closely enough, he doesn’t let on.

Tim does, however, notice the discomfort in Jon’s eyes—now mixed with anger—when two years, six months, and seven days later, he accuses Tim of murder. But by then, their days of hand-holding and nose-kissing are far, far behind them.

.

.

.

“Maybe he just needs to get laid,” Melanie says with a groan, lying on Georgie’s couch and staring at the ceiling. The Admiral is curled up on her lap, purring contentedly. She scratches absentmindedly under his chin.

“What, Jon?” Georgie appears in Melanie’s field of vision, wielding a damp wooden spoon and frowning.

“No. No.” Melanie shakes her head emphatically. “Martin. He’s been all… sulky lately. I think he’s still upset that Jon came to me instead of him for help, but I don’t know why he has to be all… touchy about it.”

“Ah. Well, you know, he is a bit hung up on Jon. At least, according to you.”

“I don’t see how that’s my problem,” Melanie says grumpily. “Besides, didn’t you say that Jon went on about Martin, like, all the time? Sounds like he’s got it bad as well. Maybe they could just… y’know.”

“Melanie.”

“What?” Melanie tries to shoot Georgie a glare, but it’s obstructed by the back of the couch. “I’m on my last nerve, Georgie!”

“I know, honey. But Jon’s really not… well, he’s not very open about these sorts of things. Getting him to talk about his feelings was like pulling teeth when we were together.”

“It still baffles me that you used to date.”

“He’s very sweet when you get to know him!” There’s a pause, a few clatters from the kitchen. “Besides, even if he and Martin got around to talking, Jon… well, he doesn’t.”

Melanie frowns. “Doesn’t what?”

“Have sex.”

“Really?” Melanie sits up, disturbing the Admiral, who lets out an irritated mrpp before adjusting himself accordingly and curling back up on her lap. “So when you were together…?”

Georgie shakes her head. “Nope. Never.”

“Huh.” Melanie thinks for a moment. “Is he like… religious or something?”

Georgie chuckles. “Jon? No, not at all. He’s asexual.”

“Isn’t that like… that thing that sponges are? Where they self-reproduce?”

“Seriously?”

Melanie scowls at the incredulous look Georgie’s giving her. “What? I’m not being a- a dick, I’ve just never heard of it before.”

“You were a YouTuber. Your job was to be internet famous.”

“Okay, now you’re just making fun of me.”

Georgie shoots Melanie a grin. “Sorry. Basically, it means that Jon doesn’t do sex. Like… at all. He just… doesn’t.”

“Huh,” Melanie says again.

“Yeah.” Georgie turns back to the stove. “Now, come here. Tell me if there’s too much salt?”

“Sorry Admiral,” Melanie whispers as she deposits him onto the floor and crosses the room to wrap her arms around Georgie’s waist from behind and take the bite of sauce on the spoon Georgie holds out for her. “Mm, tastes great. As always.”

And in the back of her mind, Melanie adds another line to the section labeled Jonathan Sims and writes, with careful handwriting, he doesn’t.

.

.

.

Although… according to Georgie, Jon doesn’t.

Martin pauses the tape and rubs his hands over his eyes. His cheeks are burning red, and he takes a few minutes to just breathe.

Doesn’t what? Doesn’t date? Doesn’t kiss? Doesn’t—

Martin stops that train of thought before it goes any further, the flush on his face growing in intensity. It’s none of my business, he tells himself as he ejects the tape and turns it over in his hands a few times before sliding it back into the small box it had come from.

He still can’t help but think about it. He thinks about it before the Unknowing, when Jon hesitates just a moment before wrapping him in a tight hug and whispering, I… I’ll be back, Martin. Then we can talk. He thinks about it when Jon’s in his coma, when Martin sits at his bedside and loses himself in daydreams and what-ifs. He thinks about it when Jon’s hand is clasped in his and he’s leading Martin out of cloying white fog and sea-salt air, his shirt speckled with bits of dark liquid that Martin tries to pretend isn’t blood. He thinks about it on the way to the safehouse, Jon leaning against his side, Martin’s hand clasped firmly in his.

He thinks about it a lot, in the confines of the wooden walls that let in the growing chill of the Scottish countryside.

Jon doesn’t.

He knows what Jon does. Jon makes him breakfast most days, eggs and toast and sometimes waffles, which Martin’s always considered a guilty pleasure but that he’s had more times in the past week and a half than he’s had for the past ten years. Jon puts his head on Martin’s shoulder when they sit on the couch and read, flipping through the dusty novels they’d found tucked in cardboard boxes underneath the bed that Jon had wrinkled his nose at but has been slowly making his way through nevertheless. Jon clings to Martin like his life depends on it when they sleep, and Martin will wake in the morning with one arm slung across his chest, a leg between his, and a sizeable portion of hair tickling at his nose.

And, nine days into their stay, Jon smiles at Martin as he shuffles into the kitchen in the morning, stands on his toes, and presses a soft kiss to Martin’s lips.

“Um,” Martin says eloquently, still half-asleep and trying to process what he’s 98% sure is their first kiss. He’d be 100% sure except for the fact that Jon kissed him like it was nothing, like it was easy, like it was something they do every morning.

The smile slips from Jon’s face, and he looks nervous. “I- I’m sorry, I should have asked first—”

“No, no, it’s- it’s okay,” Martin hastens to say, taking one of Jon’s hands in his and squeezing gently. “Just- just surprised, that’s all. I, um. I wasn’t sure if you wanted to kiss me, given that we haven’t…” He gestures absently, his face heating up. Stop talking, Martin. “Yeah,” he finishes lamely.

“Oh,” Jon says with a frown. “I… apologize for giving you that impression. I- I love you, Martin—I have no problems with kissing you.”

Warmth courses through Martin, as it always does when Jon tells him that he loves him. It all feels so unreal sometimes that he’s here, with Jon, away from it all and living in quiet domesticity. “Oh,” he says, face flushed. “A- all right, then. Great!”

“Great,” Jon echoes.

“Just- just thought maybe you didn’t—”

Martin clamps his mouth shut, face heating up more, this time in embarrassment. Shut up, Martin.

Jon raises an eyebrow. “Didn’t… what?”

“Um.” Martin rubs a hand across the back of his neck. “Kiss?”

Jon looks at Martin blankly. “Oh. Well, I- I do.”

“Right, yeah, I- I put that together. When we, um. You know.”

Jon looks amused. “Kissed?”

“Yep, that,” Martin squeaks out.

They look at each other for a moment before dissolving into giggles. Jon presses another kiss to Martin’s lips and finishes making the waffles and kisses Martin again when he hands Jon his tea, and it’s really quite lovely indeed.

So Martin adds Jon kisses to his mental list of Jon does and finds a sole remainder on the list of Jon doesn’t. And it’s fine with him, he decides, if Jon doesn’t want to have sex. He just wants Jon, in whatever way Jon will have him.

Jon doesn’t do sex, he thinks as he kisses Jon goodnight.

So, three days later, when they’re on the couch and they’ve kissed until Martin is red-faced and breathless and Jon pulls back with a pinched expression on his face, Martin assumes—with hot embarrassment coursing through him—that he’s somehow gone too far and strayed into sex territory and made Jon uncomfortable.

Then, Jon says with cheeks dark and eyes focused resolutely on Martin’s chest, “Martin, would… would you like to move to the bedroom?” and Martin’s thoughts grind to a halt.

“Sorry, what?” is all he can think to say.

Jon’s cheeks grow incrementally darker. “I am asking,” he says slowly, like the words are clunky and unwieldy in his mouth, “if you would like to have sexual intercourse. With me, of course, I- I hope that was implied.”

Martin’s aware that his mouth is quite literally hanging open in shock. He closes it quickly before swallowing and saying, “I… yeah, Jon, I- I’d love that, but I thought you—”

He clamps his mouth shut again, a touch too late. Jon’s forehead creases in confusion and he says, “I what?”

Martin hems and haws for a moment before biting the bullet and saying, all in a rush, “I thought you didn’t like sex.”

Jon’s frown deepens. “What? Why?”

And god, Martin doesn’t want to admit that he’s been thinking about office gossip for nearly a year, but he’s dug his grave—he may as well lie in it. He sighs, worries his hands on his lap, and says, “I… may have listened to a tape where Melanie said that Georgie said that you… didn’t.”

Jon looks at Martin blankly for a moment before his expression flattens into something that’s equal parts irritated and resigned. “Ah. Right. That… that makes sense, I suppose.”

“I’m sorry, Jon,” Martin says emphatically, placing his hand atop Jon’s and squeezing. “I- I didn’t mean to hear it; I was listening to the statements and it was just there.”

“No, it’s… it’s not your fault.” Jon sighs and rubs a hand across his eyes. “If it’s anyone’s fault, it’s mine.”

“What?”

Jon makes an aborted, dismissive gesture with his hand. “I’ve… never been good at explaining my own preferences. I never did with Georgie, just… told her I was asexual and left it at that. I suppose she took that to mean that I, er. Didn’t.”

Asexual. Martin has a vague notion of what that means—he’s been in enough online LGBTQ spaces to have encountered the word before, but he’s never really looked into it much himself. If pressed, he thinks he’d also assume it meant that Jon didn’t. Something a bit guilty twists within him at that thought, amplified by his next thought that Georgie shouldn’t have assumed, because, well, that’s a bit hypocritical, isn’t it? Still, he feels the need to voice it; he squeezes Jon’s hand again and says, “It’s not your fault that she just- just made assumptions about what you wanted, Jon.”

“Yes, but it’s my fault that I never corrected her.” Jon makes a face. “Or Tim, now that I think about it. I… I suppose I’m just not very good at talking about these things. Particularly because my own preferences are…” Jon’s pained expression deepens. “Christ, I don’t want to say complicated again, but there really is no other word for it.”

That’s not your fault either, Martin wants to say, but he knows Jon will just contradict him again, and he’ll repeat himself, and then they’ll just be talking in circles, and that won’t help anything. It’s frustrating, but it’s the truth. Still, Martin finds the words waiting on his lips when he opens his mouth, so he shuts it again and thinks for a moment, promising himself later. I’ll tell him later. Finally, he says carefully, “Do you… do you want to talk about it? We don’t have to if you don’t want to, but I don’t want to assume.” He lets out a humorless laugh. “Well, I don’t want to keep assuming, I suppose, given that I’ve already assumed quite a lot.” Quieter: “Sorry, again.”

“It’s fi—” Jon cuts off, takes a breath. “Th… thank you, Martin.” He hesitates a moment, then says haltingly, “I- I do want to talk about it, but I don’t—” He makes a frustrated noise. “—I don’t know how.”

“Okay,” Martin says after a moment. “You said it’s complicated, yeah?” When Jon nods mutely, he continues, “Would it help if you described how you feel right now? That’s- that’s less complicated, right?”

Jon’s mouth flattens into a thin line. “I… suppose.”

“All right, then.” Martin makes a go-on gesture, then rests his hand atop Jon’s and applies a gentle pressure.

Jon takes a few deep breaths, squints at nothing, makes a few wordless noises, then says bluntly, “I want to have sex with you.”

Martin tries really, really hard not to blush, but he doesn’t think he quite succeeds given how hot his face feels when he says, “Right, okay.” His voice is a bit higher-pitched than normal; he hopes that Jon doesn’t notice. “And, um. Do you always… want to have sex with me? Or just right now.”

Jon grimaces. “That’s where it gets complicated.” He makes an I-don’t-know gesture with his free hand and says, “No? Yes? I don’t know, Martin. I’m told that not wanting sex all the time is- is normal, that- that you have to be in the mood, but apparently I’m just supposed to know when I’ll be in the mood and when I won’t be, and that- that doesn’t really work for me.”

“Are you—” Martin cringes internally, but forces the words out. “—in the mood right now?”

“Well,” Jon grumbles, “not anymore, but I was. And it’s complicated, because even if I am, I- I don’t always want to be touched, but how do you explain that to someone, how- how do you tell someone that it’s mostly no but sometimes yes and there’s a very good chance that I might change my mind halfway through and decide that it’s no after all?”

“I think,” Martin says patiently, “that you just say that.”

Jon gives Martin a look. “Martin.”

“What? It’s true!” Martin gives Jon as reassuring a smile as he can muster. “It made sense to me, at least.”

“Yes, but that’s not—” Jon makes a frustrated noise. “It’s not whether or not it makes sense, it’s whether or not somebody is willing to put up with a sexual partner who doesn’t know whether or not they’re going to want to have sex on any given day, whether they- they’ll be repulsed or interested or want to give but not receive or the other way around or- or something else that I haven’t thought of but that will likely happen because consistency is, apparently, off the cards for me entirely.”

“Hey, hey,” Martin says gently, placing a hand on Jon’s shoulder and rubbing gentle circles with his thumb. “Jon, look at me.” When Jon looks, albeit reluctantly, Martin continues, “I can’t speak for other people, and I- I can’t tell you how to feel, but I can tell you how I feel, and I… I’m willing. No, more than willing—I love you, Jon, all of you, and if this is how you feel, then I love that about you too. Whatever you’re willing to give me, it… it’ll be enough. You’re enough.”

Jon’s cheeks darken and he looks away. After a long moment, he says in a stiff voice, “Well. Thank you, Martin.” Then, a bit softer: “I… I love you too.” He looks at Martin then and offers him a small, weak smile. “It’s… well, it’s still awkward, but it’s not quite as bad—talking about all of this—as I thought it would be.”

“Well, I’m glad you did. Talk to me about it, that is.”

Jon’s smile turns a bit hesitant. “So you would really be okay if I… if I never asked again? To, er. To have sex.”

“Yes,” Martin says, without hesitation.

“Oh,” Jon says quietly. “And- and if I said that I did? Want to? That… that would be okay too? Even if I’d already said that I didn’t?”

“Yep.”

Jon looks down at his hands where they’re twisted tightly in the hem of his jumper, then back up at Martin. “All right.” He hesitates a moment, then says, “And if… if I said that I wanted to have sex… now?”

Ah. It looks like Martin’s not done blushing quite yet. “Yep, that- that’s fine with me,” he squeaks out, then cringes internally. Fine? Really?

Thankfully, Jon doesn’t seem offended; if anything, he seems amused, his mouth quirking up into a small smirk. “All right, then.” He leans forward and presses a kiss to Martin’s lips, soft and chaste and ever-so-slightly lingering before he pulls away. “I, er. I think I’d like to just kiss for a bit, though.” His smile turns teasing. “Foreplay is very important, after all.”

Martin groans and gives Jon a look, his face likely fully tomato-red by now. “Jon.”

“Need to make sure we’re fully in the mood before beginning proceedings—”

“Yes, yes, you’ve made your point,” Martin says, a giggle slipping out around the words. Then, because he’s nothing if not a little mischievous himself, he leans forward and captures Jon’s lips in a kiss, significantly less chaste and a touch more insistent, pressing until Jon is leaned back against the arm of the couch and Martin is hovering over him. Martin disengages from the kiss so he can marvel at the flushed, wide-eyed expression on Jon’s face. “Like that?” he says innocently.

Jon blinks up at him for a few seconds, like he’s not entirely sure how to process everything in front of him, before he smiles, a warm, happy thing that captures Martin’s heart entirely and steals it away. “I do believe that was adequate, yes. Perhaps you should do it again though, just to make sure.”

So Martin does. I love him, he thinks as he kisses Jon on the couch and kisses him again on the bed, kisses him in the spot between his shoulder blades where he always carries tension and in the dip of his clavicle and on the inside of his thigh. And when he’s curled up next to Jon after, he presses another kiss to the crown of Jon’s head and wraps his arms around him and quietly discards his mental lists of does and doesn’t. He’ll start from scratch, he decides, and after a moment’s thought, he comes up with two more lists, upon which it’s surprisingly easy to add item after item after item.

Jon likes to be kissed. Jon likes eggs and toast, but not jam, and likes his tea black and slightly oversteeped. Jon doesn’t like wool because he finds it itchy. Jon doesn’t like white wine, but he likes red, the kinds that are too dry for Martin’s tastes.

Jon likes Martin, and Martin likes him too. So, so much. And even when things change, when Jon finds a white wine he likes at a restaurant they visit and he takes his tea once with honey and enjoys it and he goes through a period where he doesn’t enjoy open-mouthed kisses and Martin adjusts his lists accordingly, that remains.

#archivalpride #the magnus archives #jongeorgie #jontim #jonmartin #tma #jonathan sims #tim stoker #georgie barker #melanie king #martin blackwood #my fic #my writing

[voiceless-terror]

Outside the Lines

for @archivalpride month! the prompt was ‘sharing clothes’ so I decided to add on a bit to my More than Enough archives polycule fic. you don’t need to read it beforehand, though. 2.2k words, cw in the tags.

Jon likes Sasha’s clothes. Particularly, her cardigans.

They’re warm, oversized things in pastel colors, chunky cable knits and ancient pullovers, smelling faintly of jasmine and sandalwood. There’s always one draped over the back of her chair at work, at home. Sometimes a pile of them.

“Just in case,” she said knowingly, when Jon mentioned the teetering pile on the back of her office chair. 

“Of what, a blizzard?” he replied archly, to which she had no response.

But Jon runs cold, so it makes sense that he’d like them. And eye them. And eventually, borrow them.

“You look good in pink,” she said casually, walking by him cozily wrapped up, surrounded by books for his latest case. “You should wear it more often.” Jon just grumbled in response.

It now sits on the back of his chair.

Point is, they’re not strangers to sharing clothes. Once they move in together, the lines blur even more. Jon’s scarves become hers, her jackets become his. It’s nice when the someone’s scent begins to remind you of home. Embarrassingly, he’s come to think of it like a hug when she’s not around. Perhaps she feels the same way, but Jon’s not going to bring it up. He’s not that maudlin.

“You need to stop me from online shopping,” she groans one day, dropping a pile of clothing into his lap that must have been from the newly-arrived and altogether giant box he found on the steps of their flat. Jon had raised an eyebrow as she guiltily hauled it to her room and got to work. “I swear, I don’t remember ordering half of this.”

“Far be it from me to get between a James and her phone,” he replies, picking through the pile of utterly un-Sasha-like clothing. It’s all floaty tops and tiny skirts, nothing like what she usually gravitates toward. She certainly has more...adventurous tastes, when she’s intoxicated.

“Don’t look at me like that.”

“I’m not looking at you at all,” Jon retorts, picking up the most offensive piece from the pile with his thumb and pointer finger: a muted brown, and yet somehow sparkly miniskirt. He raises a judgmental eyebrow. “Really?”

“I was not in my right state of mind, you know that.” She ran a hand over her face, refusing to look him in the eye. “Anyway, see if there’s anything in there you like. Otherwise, it’s all going back.”

Jon very much doubts there’s much in here for him - not a chunky knit in sight. The tops aren’t too bad, but a bit too sheer for his liking, and if he’s going to layer, he’d rather be comfortable than fashionable. He pushes the pile off his lap when something catches his eye. Buried beneath two very loud shirts is something black, with bits of lace. He pulls it out to find a simple black dress, high-necked with pearl buttons and slightly puffed sleeves.  It’s modest, but covered in a delicate lace pattern. His grip tightens incrementally. “You don’t like this?”

Sasha peeks her head around the corner. “S’bit short on me. You should try it on, though. It’s cute.”

Jon flushes. It’s something he might’ve worn in uni, when he and Georgie made a night of it and Jon had just enough liquid courage. Now, though, it doesn’t fit with his professional persona and strict uniform of blazers, vests, and button ups. He needed to be taken seriously, and he didn’t feel he could do that if he was...experimenting, as his grandmother would phrase it. His hair he still wears long, the only vestige of that life he kept. “Oh,” he responds automatically, “I couldn’t.”

Sasha blinks. “I think you’d look really nice. Put your hair up, maybe add some earrings.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“I’m not.” She comes behind his perch on the sofa, gathering his hair up in her hand and pulling it from his face. “Leave a few pieces out, y’know, artfully messy.” She takes the dress and pulls it up against his body. “What do you think?”

“Um, maybe,” he barely manages to whisper. It feels nice, right. He can see it in his mind’s eye - it looks very him. Not feminine or masculine, just pretty. Just Jon. “I’ll think about it.”

He thinks about it. The dress hangs in the back of his closet, untouched and passed over many a morning. He tried it on and Sasha had been right- of course she was, she’s good at that sort of thing when not inebriated. Maybe one day he’d wear it out - not to work, but to drinks or something.

Maybe.

It’s not until months down the line that he tugs it out, on one of those days where he feels like his body doesn’t make sense and names sound wrong in his ears. Drinks with Tim, the newest recruit to their department. Hard won drinks, if Jon might add; Tim was just starting to open up to them. He tugs the dress over his head and digs through a plate on his dresser for the long silver earrings Sasha gave him last Christmas. He studiously avoids the mirror on his way out the door, throwing his bag over his shoulder and standing in the doorway, as if waiting for Sasha’s reaction. 

This was a bad idea, he thinks as his palms start to sweat. You look ridiculous, you shouldn’t have- his thoughts are interrupted by a gentle hand tucking a piece of hair behind his ear. Sasha smiles at him.

“Oh, you’re perfect.” 

Tim thinks so too.

----------

“Oh man, I’ve got to get rid of that.”

Tim motions to the blazer in Sasha’s hand. “Hasn’t fit me since uni. Y’know, when I got these guns.” Sasha rolls her eyes as he makes an exaggerated motion with his arms. They’ve been cleaning out Tim’s apartment for the past few hours, she and Tim in the bedroom while Jon sorted through his books in the living room. She suspects he’s doing more reading than sorting.

“Why’d you keep it, then?” She holds the hanger up, smoothing the fabric out with her hand. It’s heavy, quality fabric. A shame to get rid of it.

“Dunno, just one of those things,” he shrugs, throwing another pair of joggers onto the bed. “It was expensive, but I only ever wore it to interviews for internships and the like. You can toss it in the donate pile.”

She hums idly, making no motion to get rid of it. She’s rather fond of blazers, has quite a few in her collection. They’re nice when she wants to be a bit more dressy and professional. A woman’s outfit can occasionally be her armor, particularly in academia, and nothing says ‘take me seriously’ like a nicely fitted jacket and skirt. Never mind how it makes her feel. But this is very much a men’s blazer, barely a nip at the waist and with nothing to outline the curve of her body. And yet.

She shoves it in her bag. If she doesn’t like it, she’ll throw it out.

_______

When Jon and Tim are tucked in bed, she tries it on.

She doesn’t know why she’s being so secretive about this. It’s not like Jon and Tim will care, it’s just clothes. Lord knows she’s encouraged Jon to wear whatever he wants, and there’s no surefire way to get Tim blushing like wearing one of his pullovers. But there’s something that feels a bit transgressive about it. She was generally drawn to more feminine looks, growing up as a tall girl there’s an inherent (perhaps taught) idea that making herself look smaller and delicate would make her more appealing. Appealing for what? She always wanted to ask. But she knows the answer now. It’s taken near a decade to get the slouch out of her posture and to get comfortable wearing heels. 

It seems silly to feel so cowed by a blazer. She’s thirty years old, unmarried and living with two partners. She stopped playing by the rules a long time ago. Her hands shouldn’t be shaking. For Christ’s sake, just put it on.

She slips her arms into the sleeves, pausing to inhale the leftover scent of Tim, his laundry detergent and the after shave he occasionally wears. Her entire body warms, like stepping into a bath. She slips the rest of it on, pausing to adjust the shirt underneath. When she looks in the mirror, she can’t help the grin that fills her face. She looks good. Her broad shoulders fit the line of the jacket perfectly, her curves hidden and barely even suggested by the cut. It is decidedly not feminine. 

She likes it.

It takes her twenty minutes to drag herself from the bathroom and back into bed. She lies awake through Tim’s light snores and Jon’s murmuring, filled with a strange, nervous excitement. It’s just a blazer, she thinks to herself somewhat giddily. It’s just clothes. But when she throws it on that Monday morning and steps into the kitchen, she starts to think it might be more than that. She walks a little taller, feels a bit more at home in her skin. Tim choking on his orange juice when he sees her is just an added bonus.

“Glad you kept it,” he stutters out, once he manages to stop gaping.

She’s glad too.

______

Martin’s sitting on Jon’s bed, watching as he runs a brush through his hair.

Jon’s hair is lovely, long and shiny. His own he keeps rather short, though the curls are getting a bit unruly these days. When he was a child, his mother insisted he keep it long, just like she insisted on a great many other things. But he shed all of that, got as far away from it as possible. And yet, eyeing the silvery tray on Jon’s dresser, he has to admit he’s curious. 

It’s full of delicate, pretty accessories- hair clips and necklaces and earrings. Jon’s like a magpie, collecting shiny things; though this collection is mostly gifts from the three of them. It’s a little dance they like to do- Jon sees something in a store, stares a little too long, insists he doesn’t need it, and eventually it ends up in their flat. 

Their flat. He’s still getting used to it. He’s never felt at home anywhere, but he’s starting to think he has one now. Listening to Jon hum as he cooks, Tim reading aloud from his recent article deep-dive, Sasha butting in with a comment - these are all good things. The background noise to his days that used to be filled with silence. 

And he’s never been around people so at home with themselves. Martin is so used to putting an effort into how he presents himself in the world, he’s never enjoyed being misconstrued. A strange, delicate balance of pride in who he is at war with a desperate need to be understood and accepted. Palatable. Easier to put yourself in a box with clear labels than to deal with the confusion and the questions. Any passing thought or fleeting impulse that goes outside the lines is dismissed.

But nothing about his situation now is easily labeled, to be honest. It’s hard enough explaining his relationship status to others, though Sasha has a little spiel ready to rattle off at a moment’s notice. They’re all so comfortable with each other, with themselves. It makes him both a bit braver and a bit more afraid.

While Jon scurries off to flick through his closet, Martin gets up, walking over to the collection and picking up the small moth broach he’d gotten him on one of their first dates, before Tim started to come along. The memory brings a smile to his face.

“Oh, it’s lovely, Martin.” Jon had immediately pinned it to his jacket, before reaching down to grab a bag at his feet. “And ah, actually- I got something for you too?”

A little Highland cow plushie. So he had been listening to his rant on Scotland the other day. It still sits in place of pride on his desk. 

“Do you want to try one?” Martin jumps at the sound of Jon’s voice, dropping the pin unceremoniously back into the pile as if he’d been burnt. He turns around, prepared to voice a thousand excuses, a knee-jerk reaction. 

“No, it’s-”

But Jon’s already sorting through the pile with clever fingers, hand lingering over a thin barrette with a tiny, gold flower. Pretty, simple. Martin’s hand itches to reach out but he draws it into a tight fist. Admiring is one thing, but actually wearing it-

“C’mere.” He thinks he should refuse but instead he leans down, lets Jon’s fingers wind their way through his hair and feels a settled weight against his head.

“There.” Jon smiles. “That’ll do quite nicely.”

He looks in the mirror. Oh.

It’s barely even noticeable, just a small clip bringing the longest of his curls behind his ear. But Jon’s right. It looks nice. It goes with his hair and it doesn’t feel feminine or wrong, just a comfortable weight against his head reminding him he belongs, he’s loved. And that Martin’s still himself, even if he steps outside of the box every now and then. 

“You don’t have to keep it in if you-”

“No. I like it.” He straightens his spine, tilts his head. Smiles. Jon smiles back.

Yeah. He likes it.

ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/31803076

#my writing #archivalpride #tma #the magnus archives #jonathan sims #sasha james #tim stoker #martin blackwood #archives polycule #jonsasha #timsasha #jonmartin #aromantic sasha james #transgender martin blackwood #jon is pan and ace and tim is bi #but these are more focused on in the previous installment #queer platonic relationship #cw gender dysphoria #but mostly gender euphoria and feels tbh #also mentioned transphobia #reblogs appreciated <3

[cyanid-apple]

[ID: digital illustration of Mike Crew and Gerry Keay, from the Magnus Archives. Mike is a white blond man with a mullet. He has a Lichtenberg figure on his face and has a stubble. His head is resting on Gerry’s shoulder and his eyes are closed. He is wearing a light blue shirt and a leather jacket. He is wearing an earring with the trans flag and a pins with the rainbow flag.

Gerry is a white man with black hair with brown roots. His hair is long and straight. He has piercings and black eye makeup. He has a small beard and moustache. He is wearing a black mesh shirt with a dark purple shirt on top of it. He has an earring with the nonbinary flag.

They are in front of a dark blue rectangle. End ID]

Here’s my piece for the prompt 'sharing clothes'. Mike is wearing Gerry’s jacket.

#it’s about the inherent romanticism of meeting while hunting scary books #also of aesthetics #gerrymike #gerry keay #mike crew #tma #tma fanart #fanart #archivalpride #cy makes art #🪡 #🔅

[jonspurpleskirt]

Sharing Comfort

A/N: This is for @archivalpride. Prompt was “Sharing Clothes” and “Pre-Canon” so I wrote a fluffy piece to celebrate the quiet moments of trust. 1.7k in word length. No warnings apply.

___

Jon did not make friends fast. Most people he found to be too intimidating, boring or exhausting and not many knew what to do with his sudden info dumps and sharp comments that shot out of his mouth seemingly at random.

He'd been alone in Research for a long while because of it and happily so. Things had changed when Tim had joined the Institute, though. Tim had come into the library and sat down opposite Jon with a thunder cloud hanging over his head and pain in his dark eyes. He'd been quiet and snappy in a fake cheerful way that screamed undealt trauma. At least to Jon, who seemed to be the only one to feel the vibes of "Leave me alone" and "I'm grieving" that Tim gave off in a constant stream.

Having Tim as his desk partner was an intense experience despite the way they only ever nodded to each other in greeting at first. But it was also intriguing. A mystery. Jon loved mysteries.

The instances he had ever willingly initiated a conversation with a stranger could be counted on one hand. Which marked the day he tapped Tims shoulder - after roughly two months of co-habiting - to tactfully ask him what he was groaning about as a very special day indeed. They steamrolled into friendship from there, both personalities clashing in the best ways possible.

Jon pulled Tim into nerve wracking research expeditions, Tim flirted them out of being arrested a few times, they went out for drinks and karaoke and movies and stayed late nights to crack nutty cases of supernatural bullshit together.

This went on for months. A nice, comfortable new routine. Jon wasn't alone anymore. And Tim broke out of whatever had pulled him down so much, becoming more cheerful and flirty by the day. Which didn't matter to Jon because Tim would always come to him the most, would always seek out to partner up with Jon and would defend his prickly personality to his dying breath.

And then Sasha joined them. She came from Artefact Storage, which made her a prime target for every curious researcher in a five mile radius. Tim and Jon included. Alright maybe they were the worst of the bunch.

Although Jon only thought of himself as a partner in crime in this one. He had been dragged along by Tim, after all. Sure in the end he had been the one to ask the most questions, but that wouldn't have been the case if he had just been left alone to be antisocial in front of his laptop.

Sasha and Tim, much to Jons chargin, hit it off within the first few seconds. And ever since then their cozy two-someness had turned into a group effort. With specially leverage put on the word "effort".

"Morning Jon!"

Jon let out a deep, rumbly hum, voice not up to the task of supporting words this late in the- He glanced at the little clock at the bottom of his screen. Ah... early in the morning.

With a laugh that was far too cheerful however you would describe the current hour, Sasha sat down next to him. She leaned in to look at what he was working. He leaned away to get her out of his personal bubble.

Her legs brushed his and the rustling drew his gaze downward. She wore a thick wool skirt, long enough not to go against the dress code. It was a somewhat dull navy blue and fell down in enticing waves around her crossed legs.

It looked very soft and comfortable. Jon itched to touch it. Instead he rubbed against the stiff fabric of his own cream coloured dress pants.

"Would you mind?" He snapped at her.

"No. You spelled 'aboriginal' wrong."

"Thank you for your insight. Don't you have anywhere else to be?"

"Don't you?" She shot back, light and quick as though they were just bantering and not fighting over the right to sit at this table.

Sasha huffed at his glare and slid a cup of something steaming over to him. "You keep staying so late that I can buy you a drink at the asscrack of dawn and be sure you're still here to consume it hot. I'm not usually one to judge anyone's sleep schedule. But I'm judging your sleep schedule."

"And yours is any better?" Jon muttered, taking the offering and peeking inside. Black tea with a bit of cream and hopefully enough sugar to rot his teeth out of his mouth. He needed both the coffein and the sweet energy source.

"I'm getting at least two more hours of sleep than you do on a daily basis, so I'm good."

"Tim would have both of our heads if he knew."

Sasha put her hand on the table and stretched out her pinky. "I swear secrecy if you do."

With a snort Jon linked their pinkies. "I'll hold you to that."

So... Maybe Sasha wasn't that bad. She was a little aggressive in her befriending techniques, Jon mused. At least he hoped the early morning chats and cups of tea and coffee were that and not an elaborate plan to get rid of him via slow poisoning. But she was about as curious as Tim and Jon and her skills with computers were very happily exploited by the both of them. So Jon eventually had to admit that she was actually a very nice addition to the group.

Not that he could have ever said no to their friendship. Tim and Sasha put together were a maelstorm of affection, sucking Jon in with a force he had no chance to defend against. And before he knew it they had successfully gotten him accostumed to friday nights at the pub and saturday mornings in their flats, smashed together on a couch or a bed or a mattress depending on who had had the misfortune of playing host that week.

Jon hadn't been this comfortable since Georgie. And that wasn't only the booze talking. It was one of those nights where they ended up leaving the pub early to lounge around Sashas massive sofa instead. Jons head was swimming within a blissful haze of tipsiness.

He was slouching over one end of the couch, head tilted just so that he could watch his two friends bicker. The words didn't really register, but the noise was nice and their expressions were funny.

Without his conscious saying so, his gaze slid down to Sashas leg area. She wore a very eye catching, fluttery red skirt this time around and the way the warm glow of the ceiling lamp was reflected in the material was mesmerizing.

"Oh Jonny boy, don't you know staring like that is rude?" Tim half-joked as he noticed.

Sasha slapped him on the shoulder. "Shush you there's like zero sexual longing in his gaze, Tim. You don't need to go all protective big brother on me. He just really likes my skirts."

"They look comfy." Jon muttered, sinking deeper into the couch.

"Awww. Jon. Jon my love. My friend. My buddy." Tim scooted over to him, nearly face planting on the floor in his eagerness to slide into Jons side. "Is this jealousy I hear?"

"No. Did you just degrade me from lover to lowest friendship tier?"

"Oh I beg to differ." Tim sang, ignoring the question and making Jon scowl harder.

An arm got thrown over his shoulder and Jon was tugged into Tims side, relaxing into the tight hold against his will.

"You know if you didn't make it a sport to buy the most uncomfortable clothing ever, you wouldn't need to glare at Sashas fashion choices all the time. Making other people think things about your intensions."

"Fuck other people."

Jon waited until the surprised laughter of his two friends ebbed down to speak again. "I wanna be comfortable too..."

"Say no more. Sasha to the rescue."

Tim and Jon both whined as she hopped off and darted away into her bedroom. She hadn't been part of the cuddle pile, but her presence was still dearly missed. Thankfully not for long because a few minutes later she reappeared with a long, purple skirt.

"Here you go mister. Go on try it on."

Trading places with her Jon didn't hesitate to shug his trousers off and slip the skirt on. Tim wolf whistled behind him and Jon dutifully showed him a finger. The yelp he heard shortly after told him that Sasha must have taken more direct approach to disciplining Tim.

"Bad boy. I picked that colour for a reason."

Jon flushed at the reminder that Tim and Sasha knew. That they knew and accepted him and even went out of their way to make him comfortable.

"I may not be allowed to touch, but I can still appreciate beauty when I see it."

"Do you need glasses, Tim?" Jon couldn't help but ask while he settled back down.

It was his turn to be slapped on the shoulder. "Nu-uh! No self depricating jokes in my household!"

"Yes ma'am." He scooted over to Sashas side, marveling at the slide of the soft material against his legs. "Anyway. Touching yes. But no sex, only cuddles."

Sasha laughed in delight as she pulled him closer so he could stretch out, the two of them nearly shoving Tim off the couch.

"Wait, wait, wait Jon you're definitely not comfortable yet!"

"Hm?" He frowned at the renewed shifting, jeez everyone was being so squirmy today.

"Dress shirt? Really? Wait a sec."

Tim ended up finding a truly attrocious night shirt he had stored in one of Sashas cupboards. It was rainbow coloured, but at least it was made of a soft cotton and about a size too big on Jon.

"Awww Jon you're adorable!"

"Timothy Stoker don't you dare take a photo."

"Fine, fine. But I will remember this day forever."

It turned out that he didn't need to. The next time they were over at Sashas Jon asked to borrow their clothes again and the next time after, and the next time after that, too. It kind of escalated from there, clothes mixed together until it was hard to remember who owned what.

And that was perfect. Because the most comfortable clothes were always the ones that belonged to his friends.

#tma #archivalpride #my writing #jontimsasha #jonathan sims #tim stoker #sasha james #week one #prompt: sharing clothes #hope i'm doing this right #can be read as friendship #or platonic polycule #i honestly have no clue where to draw the line #fanfic

[kellanswritingblog]

Week 1 of @archivalpride 2021: sharing clothes, self-expression, affirmation

Featuring trans Martin trying on skirts for the first time in years

“What do you think?”

Martin audibly gasped as he saw Jon standing there, twirling ever so slightly in place to show off his skirt.

“You look amazing.”  He stepped over to Jon and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek, then held his hands in his own as he looked over his outfit.  “That skirt is new, yeah?”

“I got it just the other day.”

“It suits you.”

Jon beamed up at Martin, then cocked his head to the side.

“Are you alright?”

“‘Course!  Why wouldn’t I be?”  He narrowed his eyes.  “You’re not poking around in my head, are you?”

“No!  I can tell your words are sincere, but… you seem sad too.”

Martin let out a sigh.  “Yeah, I suppose that’s fair.  It’s just… I haven’t worn skirts since I was a kid.  Part of me misses skirts and dresses and makeup and all that. Another part of me is scared that if I try those things on, that all the old feelings of dysphoria and wrongness will come right back, after I’ve spent so long trying to ward them off.”

“Oh, I see.”  Jon gently rubbed his thumb along Martin’s fingers.  “If you want, you’re welcome to try on some of my skirts, see how they feel.”

With a laugh, Martin replied, “As if any of your skirts would fit me anyway.”

“I have some that really stretch.  And if you like the feel of them, we can always go get you some more that fit you better.”

Martin hesitated, still holding Jon’s hands in his own and eying the way Jon looked so comfortable in a skirt.  Part of him was jealous of Jon’s relationship to gender, how Jon was able to play with it and mold it as he chose; Martin had been so scared for so long to step outside of the societally mandated box he’d chosen, but now he felt a longing to tear down those walls.  Or at least open a window for a while.

“If you don’t mind… yeah, I think I would like to try some on.”

Jon smiled, gave Martin’s hands a quick squeeze, and then led Martin into the bedroom where he dug through the dresser and pulled out a few skirts with stretchy waistbands that would accommodate most any size.

“Let me know how they fit, how they feel.  And if it’s no good, no harm done, right?”  Jon offered an encouraging smile as he lingered in the door to the bedroom, then he shut the door to leave Martin alone.

Martin ran his fingers over the fabric for a brief moment, then decided to get on with it before he changed his mind.  He went for the skirt with the sparkles.  He remembered when he saw Jon wear it before, and how he literally started to shine when the light hit just right.

With his fingers on the door handle, Martin took a deep breath, and then emerged.

“What do you think?”

Jon’s hands flew up to his mouth and his eyes opened wide.

“That bad, huh?”  He knew this was a stupid idea, he should have just-

“You look lovely.”  Jon’s voice was so soft and tender that Martin couldn’t help but believe it.

“You think so?”

“I do.  How does it feel?”

Martin swooshed the fabric a little and smiled at his reflection in the mirror off to the side of the room.  “It feels good.  Like, I don’t think I’m going to be wearing skirts every day, and probably not outside, at least not for a while, but right here, right now?  I like it.”

“I’m really glad.”  Jon stepped over to Martin and pressed a quick kiss to his lips, holding onto his arms and beaming.

“Thank you for letting me try this on,” Martin said.  “I don’t think I ever would have been brave enough otherwise.”

“You’re welcome.  And thank you for trusting me and letting me see you like this.”

Martin nodded.  Then, he started to play with the fabric again and swung it back and forth around him.  “How do you get anything done wearing these?  I could just twirl and swish around for hours.”

“What do you think I do in my office all day?”  Jon teased, and they both laughed.

After sharing another kiss, they flopped onto the couch, the length of their skirts flowing over each other.  Within those walls, they were safe in exploring themselves with their beloved at their side, supporting them all the way.

#the magnus archives #tma #archivalpride #jonmartin #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #trans Martin #nonbinary Jon

[archivalpride]

ID: A graphic with the words "Archival Pride 2021, June 1st - 7th" in green. Beneath those words are the prompts "Friendship | Pre-canon | Self-expression | Affirmation | Sharing clothes." The background is a rainbow gradient.

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[magnetarmadda]

For the last day of Pride Month (it’s still June 30 here!!!!), I pushed myself to finish this fic that I’ve been working on almost the whole month, and I did it! Here’s the third installment in my JonMartin series inspired by a letter in @cirrus-grey’s fic Unsent! It features a few different prompts from Archival Pride, including doubt, identity, comfort, embrace, and post-canon @archivalpride

CW: stabbing (mentioned), blood, stitched up wound, memory loss, spiders (specifically spider silk), and canon-typical apocalypse mention

Here’s the link to it on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/32292265

#archivalpride #pride month #jonmartin #my fic #the magnus archives #don’t judge me it’s still pride here!!! #also please let me know if i need additional content earnings

[cirrus-grey]

Nonbinary Jon headcanons

He uses he/him pronouns because labels are arbitrary and he really does not want to have that conversation every time he introduces himself

Masculine clothes are Fine – he doesn’t feel particularly strongly about them one way or the other, and most days he wears trousers and a button-up shirt. Ties occasionally, jackets/sweaters depending on the weather

He does, however, have a very nice skirt/blouse combination shoved in the back of his closet, and he’ll wear it sometimes on the weekends if he’s feeling it

Never at work, though, there’s too many tripping hazards in the Archives already without adding a floor-sweeping hem to the mix

He has a strong preference for feminine formal wear though. If he’s going to a formal event, he is wearing a dress

(Not heels, though – tripping hazard again)

Necklaces are great, until they’re being used to strangle you

Rings have the added benefit of making your punches hurt more, if you find yourself being kidnapped

Getting his ears pieced looks way too painful. He likes the way earrings look, and he’s got a couple of clip-on pairs, but he doesn’t really use them anymore

He spent most of his life with short hair because it was low-maintenance

Then everything with the Archives went down and he didn’t have time to get it cut

Long hair is so freaking easy

You literally just put it in a ponytail and you’re done

He’s never going back

(Also Martin will run his hands though it really soft and slow, push it back from his forehead, help him brush it or tie it back…)

(He is never ever ever going back to short hair)

Makeup can be fun on occasion but it takes way too long to do all the time

Same with nail polish (he also tends to make a mess of both when he’s out of practice – which is often)

He doesn’t have strong dysphoria. Still, sometimes he wishes he could change his anatomy at will, if only so he didn’t have such a hard time finding feminine clothes that fit

Dating sucks. He spent a long time thinking he was just afraid of getting pressured into sex, but realized later that it had a hell of a lot more to do with the gender role expectations being so high

It’s one of the reasons he liked Georgie so much. She never expected him to be the “man” of the relationship

It’s one of the reasons he loves Martin so much. Martin didn’t bat an eye when Jon came out to him, just shrugged and asked if he needed to change any behaviors that were making Jon uncomfortable

(He didn’t. He’s always understood Jon for who he is, even before he had the right words for it.)

#wrote this as a reference sheet when i drafted my jonbinary fic #not all of it ended up in the fic but i figured i'd post it anyway :) #the magnus archives #archivalpride #my magnus archives stuff #original post #jonathan sims #came out with determination #the dinghy #500 notes!