#and messy bun gerry

[occudo]

So, uh.

Have you heard tmagp8?

ooooh, do I

#the way I get up to draw this after I finished the episode #gee gee? #grandson? #ahjkkldsdjgfajk #I'm so normal about this #also you can see how 90% of my designs just hair #but have a short hair gertrude #and messy bun gerry #tma fanart #tmagp fanart #tmagp spoilers #gertrude robinson #gerry kaey #occudo's art #tmagp ep8 #ask

[envihellbender]

TMPverse Gerry with an equally Different TMPverse Michael

Characters: Gerry Keay (he/they), Michael Shelley (they/them), GG (mentioned - she/her)

Source material: The Magnus Protocol

Tags: fluff with angst, Doorkeay, coffee shop date

—

Gerry’s eyes snapped open when his alarm beeped that morning. They immediately jumped out of bed and pulled on a pair of dog patterned pyjama bottoms over their purple boyshorts which they had slept in with their old Slayer t-shirt. He made sure to keep quiet as he patted past GG’s bedroom, he headed to the kitchen and made himself a glass of orange squash. He took their medication, did a quick stretch, and quickly made a bowl of Coco Pops. He wolfed down their breakfast, humming and pacing as they did. He put it in the bowl and then hurried to his bedroom as quietly as they could.

They grabbed a selection of clothes from their wardrobe - a green and blue tartan skirt, black leggings, a loose Mastodon t-shirt, and a hooded black cardigan that almost came down to the end of the skirt. The night before he painted his nails black with brightly coloured skull stickers on them. He showered as quickly as he could before changing, yet didn’t bother to dry his hair properly and instead just gave it a quick go over with a towel before putting his long, thick, black dyed hair into a messy bun. He brushed his teeth quickly, and they grabbed their backpack they’d packed the night before. He slipped on their customised Doc Martens - they were originally a standard black but he painted several blue dart frogs on his boots, Michael said they were so well done they looked professional. Gerry slipped out of the apartment, sighing in relief when he managed it ten minutes before 08:00 - the time when GG left her bedroom.

Gerry was happy living with GG, as they insisted regularly, and she wasn’t remotely controlling, he thought. It wasn’t that Gerry couldn’t leave the flat exactly - he was an adult after all. It was just that whenever Gerry wanted to go out GG suddenly thought of a job that needed doing. Most of the time she didn’t even ask, but Gerry wanted to help her. She was getting on in years as much as she hated to admit it, she needed his assistance. The problem was, it usually took up most of the day. That meant Gerry couldn't see his friends, Michael, go to a gig, or something else as he was too exhausted. They would simply have to spend the night painting and listening to music. However, there was an easy way around it that Gerry had established. GG had a strict schedule, and very specific rules regarding it. Between 23:00 and 08:00 no one, absolutely no one, was to enter GG’s room. She must not be disturbed, under any circumstances. If it was an emergency Gerry was to write a note and push it underneath the door. They thought it was a little strange, but he trusted GG. She wouldn’t do something if it wasn’t necessary.

Gerry felt on edge until they left the flat building, their hands tripped onto the arms of their backpack - a black bag covered in patches they had sewn on himself. Inside he carried a few books, a water bottle filled with juice, medication, and a sketchbook. He walked the familiar route to the coffee shop where they always waited for Michael, it was perfectly situated between where they both lived and whilst it was only twenty minutes away, Gerry was out of breath and overheating by the time they got there. They were early, they had an hour and a half before Michael would show up, they often tried to come earlier but they found it physically painful and exhausting to get out. Michael didn’t do mornings, often he struggled to stay awake never mind wake himself up. That meant it was possible Michael would forget, not out of malice but when your an old experiment who exists between universes and probability is who sees the fabric of the universe. Gerry ordered a matcha tea and slice of lemon drizzle cake. They picked a cosy nook with two arm chairs in the corner. They got comfortable and then picked up their old battered phone to text Michael “hey baby am here x”. To his surprise they responded almost instantly to say they were on there way. Gerry tried to tell himself that just because Michael was up early didn’t mean there was anything to worry about. He resisted the urge to bite at his painted nails. Instead he slipped a book from his bag and began reading “Legends and Lattes”. He managed to slip into the world fairly easily, enough for them not to notice the pattern the dead were tracing onto his neck.

They weren’t too engrossed that he didn’t look up at the entrance every time he heard the door open, his attention was entirely on his book and the door. A giddy smile spreading across his face as he recognised a tall, gangly person wearing a loose denim shirt dress, floral leggings, and a duffle coat. Michael’s blond curls were disheveled as usual, their eye were dreamy and half lidded. They looked around, smiling as they reached Gerry’s gaze. They ordered an ice tea and a chocolate muffin, and when they sat opposite Gerry, he leaned over to kiss him on the cheek, and before that they noticed the new markings on his neck. It was the most focused and grounded than they had been in a long while, they actually managed to watch without their eyes drifting away, they managed to focus, they didn’t even seem tired:.. That was definitely worrying.

#envi writes #the Magnus protocol #Gerry Keay #Michael Shelley #tmagp fanfic #doorkeay

[renidyy]

A few of my TMA hair headcanons(SPOILERS FOR ALL SEASONS)

I’m an artist so naturally I’ve been thinking a lot about how I’ve visualized the characters throughout the seasons, & I’ve decided I’m just gonna compile my headcanons here for some of the characters’ hair. These are just the characters I’ve put thought into btw so plenty are missing

(Also apologies for any mischaracterization, I listened to TMA in very spread out intervals and am relying on what I remember interpreting the characters as and what few notes I took on them)

Gerry has curly hair. No one knows until it storms one day on the way to work and his freshly straightened hair is now drying into tight curls. Everyone bothers him about it all day, to his dismay(it’s his mother’s hair type, after all). He brings his straightener with him every time he and Gertrude travel. He forgot to pack it once and casually just traveled back home to get it. She hates that damn straightener.

Melanie uses her hair as a way to keep a little bit of control in her life, so it often reflects her feelings at the time. She cuts and dyes it herself, and through most of the early seasons it’s shoulder length with the occasional trim or touch up. She pulls a classic Mental Breakdown™️ and chops several inches off after she gets shot in India. Her hair goes through every color imaginable after that and is probably very fucked up from all of the hair dye & bleaching. Once she blinds herself and leaves the institue behind, she completely stops dyeing and cutting it. Not that she thinks she can’t take care of it herself, but she trusts Georgie to take care of it now. It looks healthy again by the end of the series.

Daisy has had the exact same somewhat well-kept haircut since she first got a job. Her hair has always been short. Always. After escaping the coffin with Jon, she lets it grow out. Not on purpose, though, she means to get it cut but she just never does.

Jon’s hair starts out quite short with only a few streaks of grey hair, and is more of a dark brown than anything. He starts forgetting to get it cut through the stress of season 2 and decides to just let it grow out so he could put it up in a bun and forget about it. It gets surprisingly long and always seems to be a little bit tangled(until he starts to brush his fingers through his hair out of stress, at least). By the end of the series, his hair has almost completely greyed. It goes from brown with streaks of grey to grey with streaks of brown. No one ever comments on it getting worse. Martin notices Jon’s hair getting worse before even Jon does, but never pries. He knows why it’s getting worse, anyway. He does bug him to cut his split ends in the later seasons, though.

Martin is one of the only ones to keep his hair decently taken care of throughout the entirety of the seasons, and it only started to grow out and get messy because he stopped going out to get it cut during season 4(for obvious reasons cough cough self isolation cough cough he hates interaction cough cough). He finally has Jon help him cut it when him and Jon go out to the cabin. It doesn’t seem to grow after that.

Tim takes care of his hair RELIGIOUSLY. The guy is a fuckin trooper. Even when he stops giving a shit about his crappy job, he still follows his hair care routine and goes to get it cut every couple months. His hair is physically incapable of looking bad. It just always looks absolutely amazing. Steve Harrington kinda vibes. He just has such good hair even when he starts to collect trauma like pokemon cards. He hardly even styles it, it’s just Like That when he uses the right products.

Elias doesn’t actually take care of his hair like Tim does, but he does style it everyday. Literally everyday. Even in jail(he uses water to style it in his stupid little Victorian-era waves). His hair is probably greasy as hell. He probably doesn’t care much about shampoo. The kinda guy to use a 4 in 1 shampoo coz he just doesn’t care enough about products as long as he can still wear his Evil Boss hairstyle. Probably only washes his hair when it starts to get absurdly greasy from him styling it everyday.

That’s all I have for now. I wish I had smth for Basira, sasha, & not!Sasha but I haven’t been able to decide on designs for them yet :/. Maybe I’ll add to this later

#tma #tma spoilers #the magnus archives #the magnus archives spoilers #tma jon #tma martin #tma daisy #tma elias #tma tim #tma gerry #tma melanie #magnus archives #tma headcanons

[peniscat]

which succession character would you rather be sold to

it really shouldn't surprise anyone that my answer is obviously gerri. in fact i probably wouldn't even need to be sold to her because i'd just willingly do anything for her :)

#mom: we sold you :) #me: what the hell no i don't want to go #mom: to gerri #me: *fixing my messy bun* ok bye see you never <3 #answered #don't mind me just being a bit deranged on main

[bookburnt]

yee haw

#strike a violent pose | ART ⚿ #//literally half my remaining braincells are dedicated to thinking about messy bun gerry at any and every point in time

[cookiesandcantarella]

So I just watched the corpse bride and the jgm brainrot is real. I’ll probably post more doodles for this later but it’s 3 in the morning and I need to sleep.

[ID: Redraw of a screenshot from the corpse bride with jon and gerry from the magnus archives. Gerry is grinning at Jon as he hands him sprig of small white flowers. Jon is a British-Indian man with greying black hair pulled back into a loose, messy bun. Gerry has pale skin and he is wearing black lipstick, eye-shadow, and has several piercings. His hair is dyed black with blond streaks showing through, especially at the roots, and it is in a low ponytail. They are both wearing dark clothing and they are surrounded by fog. End ID]

Reference under the cut:

#im ignoring the fact that gerry is literally undead in the show because i have a vision #this is it. this is the most self indulgent thing ive ever drawn #my art #tma #tma au #the magnus archives #jongerry #jonathan sims #jon sims #gerard keay #gerry keay #gerry delano #if there are mistakes or spelling errors or whatever im sorry im very sleepy

[yellowocaballero]

Web!Jon Roleplays Canon!Jon: With Mixed Results?

I wrote this a while ago and now that Sucker’s Bet is finally finished I can post it! Yay! This takes place an indeterminate amount of time after the end of Sucker’s Bet. The exact opposite thing happened with this story that usually happens: I had a very depressing idea and then I was REALLY METICULOUS to make sure it was fluffy. What’s fluffier than healthy discussions about boundaries, needs, and consent?

CW for some unnegotiated roleplay stuff? The same topics that were hit in Sucker’s Bet are hit here. Suggestion of future sexual activity/language but no follow-up. 

“Do it! Do it! Do it!” Sasha chanted, thumping her glass on the table and cheering uproariously. “Do it! Do it!”

Tim laughed drunkenly, slapping the table too. “Double dog dare you! Do it! Do it!”

Good lord, this was like secondary. Jon rolled his eyes, hiding himself behind his cider. Out of the corner of his eye, he glanced at Martin.

Sasha: thought it would be funny, scientific curiosity. She wanted to see some magic, and Jon was a magician. Little more than a pub bet.

Tim: similarly, morbid curiosity.  Had more complicated feelings about the whole thing, but that was partly why he was doing it: make everything normal, settle in, stop awkwardly hiding parts of us from each other. Thought that this would help them make friends, also a pub bet.

Martin…

They probably wouldn’t have asked if they weren’t drunk as hell.

Or maybe they would have. Jon was silently hoping that Tim and Sasha would become more comfortable with him. He had a lot of tricks and methods to make them more comfortable with him, but he had decided very firmly to relax. If Tim and Sasha didn’t like him...well, he had already done possibly the douchiest thing possible to them, and they hung out with him anyway, so their expectations were probably on the floor.

Granted, that was mostly in Martin contexts. He rarely hung out with them alone. They were probably only putting up with him because he was Jon’s boyfriend. Jon knew how it was, and frequently exploited it: you think you’re part of his group until you realize he’s terrible and break up with him, and then suddenly you have no friends, so you never get around to breaking up with him and you’re never happy and you never find someone you’re happy with. 

Martin assured him frequently that they liked him. He suggested that Jon ask them, which he may have gotten from a CBT workbook that he surreptitiously read, but Jon was well aware how that put people in an awkward position. If they didn’t like you, what would they do - tell you?

Well. Tim would. Yeah, Tim would. This was why Tim was trustworthy and a good person. Jon loved people who were incapable of lying, it was like watching zoo animals through binoculars. 

They wouldn’t have asked if they weren’t drunk as hell. But they were drunk as hell, and there was nothing better than pub tricks. 

“What I don’t understand,” Tim said, in that kind of dancing lilting way that only the half-drunk were capable of, “is how you convinced everyone that you knew how to do that job when you, like, don’t read anything more complicated than fashion magazines.”

“I knew he couldn’t do the job,” Sasha said furiously, draining her gin and tonic. “I knew it, but did anybody listen?”

“We all knew, honey.”

Jon shrugged, adjusting his long linen shirt that hugged his torso flatteringly. Honestly, if Jon had been born a woman he would have been too powerful. “That one involved a little bit of spider powers,” he admitted. “But not much. I didn’t do much other than record statements. Telling Sasha that we ‘appreciate her initiative’, but, like, grudgingly, meant that she actually did most of the work.”

Sasha’s jaw dropped in indignation. “I did most of the - shit, I did! I did all of the archiving stuff, didn’t I?”

“I just looked really hurried and spent a lot of time in my office,” Jon said apologetically. “If you always sound stressed then people just assume that you’re doing things. I was really chatting up people on Tinder most of the time.”

“I was not paid enough,” Sasha grumbled, leaning back in her seat. 

“You keep making yourself out to be lazy,” Martin said mildly. He wasn’t drinking, designated as the sober one of the group tonight. “But you were using that downtime to do other work for your other job.”

Jon himself had a drink or two and he was pleasantly light headed - not drunk, but tipsy enough to feel confident and to shut up all of the annoying anxious voices in his head. It was refreshing, and felt very good. That being said, when Jon was fourteen and Gerry sixteen Agnes sat them with a twenty slide powerpoint presentation on how drinking culture in the UK facilitated alcoholism without recognition of it, so these are things you should never do while drinking and this is how to prevent binge drinking and unhealthy drinking habits. Jon didn’t always listen - alcohol was God’s solution for anxiety - but he tried. Agnes also tried that with Annabelle, but she just hissed at her and downed an entire energy drink at once while staring her in the eyes. They figured Annabelle wasn’t at risk. 

“I still don’t believe you,” Tim said imperiously, slamming his pint on the table and making his beer slosh. “If you did the whole schtick now, it would come off so fake.”

“Definitely. I never fall for the same thing twice,” Sasha bragged. “It would obviously still be Jon - what, Hawthorne? Jon Hawthorne. Or was it Hastings…”

“Hawthorne today,” Jon said politely. But he just shrugged, leaning back in his own seat and sipping delicately at his hard cider. “I can guarantee that, if I pulled out that persona again, nobody at this table would be able to see through it.” At Martin’s surly look, Jon appended, “Maybe Martin would.” Everybody shot him slightly incredulous looks, and he sighed. “I promise I’m good at my job! I’m only...transparent when I’m socializing outside of a persona. You all caught me at a weird time in my life.” He shuddered. “Vacations. Never again.”

“The problem with all of that was vacations,” Martin said flatly. 

“Do it! Do it! Do it!” Sasha chanted, thumping her glass on the table and cheering uproariously. “Do it! Do it!”

Tim laughed drunkenly, slapping the table too. “Double dog dare you! Do it! Do it!”

Good lord, this was like secondary. Jon rolled his eyes, hiding himself behind his cider. Out of the corner of his eye, he glanced at Martin. 

Sasha: thought it would be funny, scientific curiosity. She wanted to see some magic, and Jon was a magician. Little more than a pub bet. 

Tim: similarly, morbid curiosity.  Had more complicated feelings about the whole thing, but that was partly why he was doing it: make everything normal, settle in, stop awkwardly hiding parts of us from each other. Thought that this would help them make friends, also a pub bet. 

Martin…

In Martin, Jon saw the same thing that he had always seen. Even stronger, today, than ever. For a month, back then, it had been little more than intrusive thoughts and some light, bored mental meandering. For two, three, months, it had grown deeper and deeper, so thoroughly that it was a surprise. Jon had done a very good job with him. Granted, he had just meant to flirt to keep him complacent, not to end up...doing all of that, and going through all of this, and ending up here. That had never quite been in the plan. 

Martin thought that this roleplay would he really fucking hot. Which, ultimately, swayed Jon: he liked it when Martin thought he was hot. It wasn’t hard, but somehow it meant much more to him than it did from anybody else. It was very strange: that something so easily attained was treasured so highly. Deeply nonsensical. 

“I’m not doing it,” Jon said firmly, and both Tim and Sasha groaned. “It’s not a party trick, guys. Martin, can you scooch? I need the loo.”

Jon, of course, took a slightly meandering approach to the loo. He ditched his pea coat and scarf at the table hidden underneath the tablecloth just out of sight. He fetched a pair of abandoned glasses left on a pub (their owner was annoying a woman), grabbed an abandoned blazer off the back of a chair (its owner was almost passed out drunk, Jon could give it back before the end of the night). He slipped into the bathroom and added his new accessories, taking care to tuck his shirt in. He slipped a hairband from his wrist and quickly did his hair up in a messy bun - he really did need a lot of gel and some combs to get it in his bun normally, but he’d do the best with what he had. Jon glanced in the mirror, looking himself over and fixing his bun as best as he could. He took a deep breath, then two. 

There was always that moment: when Jon slid into it. It felt like skidding on ice, thrust someplace else. Or like an exhale, centering himself as his molecules rearranged. It was a thrilling feeling, often accompanied by a heady thrill or adrenaline. 

No matter how many times he did this, it was still fun. Jon loved it. He really, really loved winning. And Jon always won. 

When Jon walked back to the table, his posture was uncomfortably stiff yet visibly hunched over. Look proud and professional, but deeply feel uncomfortable with the noise and sound and clamor of the pub. Anxious and socially awkward, but trying to hide it - that was familiar. 

Jon halted at the table, where Tim was already telling Martin about a snowboarding accident. They stopped short when they saw him, one hand worrying at his blazer as he scowled at them. “Martin, will you move over? I can’t get to my seat.”

“Uh,” Martin said intelligently. 

“Any day now,” Jon said frostily. 

Martin quickly got up and let Jon slide in. Jon, who had been sitting pressed up against Martin’s side, took care to slide much further away so he was more hovering at the edges of the group -  not enough that it was awkward, but definitely a bit to the right of Sasha directly ahead of him. He avoided eye contact with everybody, picking up his drink and sniffing it suspiciously. The accent was the easiest part of it, the only wrinkle carefully making it almost perceivably fake. 

“Holy shit,” Tim said loudly, voice rising in incredulity, “you actually did it?”

“Did what?” Jon asked. He carefully took a sip of the drink, before grimacing in distaste. “Absolutely vile…” 

“You did the thing,” Sasha said, so excited she was almost bouncing up and down. “You’re doing the thing, holy shit! That was such a Jon face!”

“Er. If you say so.” Jon busied himself with the drink again, obviously pantomiming sipping as he fiddled with the arm of the blazer. Under his breath, yet very audibly, he muttered, “What a waste of time…”

“Man, this is like, what, LARPing?” Tim batted at Sasha’s arm, looking excited. “I’ll play along. Remember we used to do this together?” 

They had. Jon had to pretend that he was unbearably awkward about the whole thing, yet secretly excited to be invited. In reality, pubs were such a cornerstone of Jon’s existence he found them dull as bricks, but it had been fun to channel someone terrified of too many people in a room. 

Sasha’s chin was propped on her hand, giggling. “What’s your organization system for the files, huh, Jon? What’s your organization system? How are you sorting the documents?”

“Tim told me that you don’t talk about work at pubs,” Jon said defensively. “He said you talk about - what was it -” He looked at Tim planatively, obviously lost. “Hobbies? You talk about hobbies?”

“How do you organize the files, Jonathan?”

“Yes, Boss, hobbies,” Tim said faux-sympathetically. He put a hand on his heart, pulling a face. “You gotta have hobbies, right? Shopping, haircare, stealing money, getting fake married?”

“That’s all for his job,” Martin muttered. 

“I have hobbies,” Jon said defensively. He adopted an expression of panicked thought, groping for something. “I like...television.” 

“What television, Jonathan,” Sasha said flatly. 

Jon pretended to sweat. “Television shows?”

“Unrealistic!” Tim slapped the table. “Everyone at least knows a telly show, no matter how much of a nerd they are. Fakey Jon Sims.”

“I do!” Jon protested. “I - well, not recently, but - documentaries count. I watch documentaries. I was watching this fascinating one about the Jonestown Massacre, and the intriguing series of events the lead into the mass death -”

Then he was off, shifting into his confidence when infodumping. Confidence because he was so wrapped up in the joy of sharing information he forgot that it kind of included dominating the conversation, and he watched with satisfaction as everybody’s eyes started glazing over. Everybody except Martin, who was scrolling through his phone looking disinterested. 

Looking. His cheeks were a little flushed. Jon patted himself on the back. 

“I’m sorry,” Jon said, cutting himself off, “am I boring you, Martin?”

But Martin didn’t even look up. “I’m not participating in this.”

“Aw, come on,” Tim wheedled. “Look, he’s even doing the Mah-tin thing. You always started fanning yourself whenever he did that.”

Sasha was, very drunkenly, taking notes. “It’s uncanny. Like a dead person brought back to life and annoying you.”

“Are we really making this entire outing about Martin?” Jon asked, pretending irritation. Play into it. Bloke wouldn’t admit it, but there was a reason he had liked Jon back then. It wasn’t for his sparkling personality, beyond the little flashes of something more tender underneath. Have your cake and eat it too. “You said that this would be fun, Tim.”

Tim just laughed. “Aw, Martin’s not fun?”

“I never said that,” Jon said stiffly. He glanced at Martin out of the corner of his eye, clearly working himself up to say something. When he spoke, the words were almost forced out. “What..are you playing?”

“Sincerely buzz off,” Martin said flatly.

Jon couldn’t help it - his cheeks genuinely burned. He looked away, careful to keep an expression on his face as if he was examining the molding because Martin had said something socially awkward, but hot shame flared in his chest. 

He made it seem as if he downed his drink. “Excuse me, I’m...getting us more drinks.”

Jon made a show of slightly stumbling as he made his way to the bar. Martin had given him the permission to extort drinks out of people through flirting and judicious eye-batting - guy was very strictly monogamous but also practical - and in barely a few minutes he had enough collected for their table. He carefully walked them all back, settling them on the table, and waited for both Tim and Sasha to grab their drinks and start enthusiastically downing them. 

He wanted to drop it, ask Martin if he made him uncomfortable, reassure him. But that would ruin the momentum of this, the steam train picking up speed, and it was impossible for Jon to miss the dual things that Martin was feeling.

Super turned on. Also very uncomfortable. Jon decided that he was uncomfortable because he found it attractive, and he was dealing with some guilt over that. 

It would be fun to reassure him, but Jon had the sense that he wouldn’t like him to do it in public. 

Soon afterwards, with a little more friendly yet understated performance from Jon and uproarious laughter from Tim and Sasha, Sasha’s head had begun dropping onto the table more frequently than not and Tim decided that it was time to take her home. More accurately, Jon knew, to Tim’s place, as it was closer. He’d drop her on the couch, he’d slide into his own bed, and he’d think about a different situation. She’d wake up in the morning, eyes squinting against the harsh sun, and hope for a moment - but no, the couch again. Neither were willing to bridge the gap. 

Jon and Martin stumbled out too. Jon had been intending on spending the night at Martin’s place - Jon loved cuddling, it was his favorite thing - and Jon made a show of acting slightly drunker than he was as Martin thoughtfully kept a hand on his back. He stumbled out the door, gripping Martin’s coat and giggling. He had strategically returned the blazer back to the guy, and Martin had his other clothing draped over his arm. 

“And, in my opinion,” Jon stated decisively as he swayed, “as part of our anti-colonialist efforts we should give Ireland back to the Irish -”

“You can drop it,” Martin said, gently guiding him towards the tube station. They still had an hour before the last trains ran. “Seriously.”

Jon giggled, before slightly bending down to whisper in Jon’s ear. He kept the accent, the inflections, everything. “But you really find it hot.”

Martin sputtered as Jon laughed uproariously - not his laugh, the Archivist’s laugh - and they teetered towards home. 

On the tube Jon kept a hand on Martin’s thigh, and Martin kept glancing and glancing towards him, and Jon would shoot him a prissy look as his hand wandered up his thigh, and Martin would get redder and redder. 

When Martin unlocked his flat door it took several times, with his hand shaking slightly, and Jon hid a smirk behind a hand. On some level, he was always roleplaying when he did these kinds of things, but with Martin it was usually so authentic that this was positively novel. Jon’s mind was already furiously churning as he set up the scene - yes, that would be exactly right, this would be fun -

Jon stumbled inside after Martin, who was already taking off his coat and hanging it on the peg. He put Jon’s coat up too, glancing at Jon out of the corner of his eye. 

The Archivist wouldn’t really notice something like that, so he didn’t either. “Lord, Martin, your flat’s as messy as your desk.”

Martin still looked a little pained, even as his cheeks were quite red. “Yeah, ha ha. My desk wasn’t that bad, you were just being picky.”

“Yes, I suppose I must apologize for that.” Jon drew himself up to his full height, stepping close to Martin - closer than the Archivist ever had. “Martin, I’m afraid - well, I have a confession.”

“Oh, boy,” Martin said. 

“Don’t get snippy with me,” Jon said prissily. But he leaned in, keeping his expression just on the faintest edge of innocently scared. “I never wanted to admit this. It was just so inappropriate, what with me being your boss and all. I always - well, I always knew how you felt about me. It was...charming.”

Obviously involuntarily, Martin squeaked a bit. Adorable. 

Jon reached out and put a hand on the back of his neck, leaning in. “Truth be told, I was looking at you too. I was just embarrassed. I didn’t like admitting it. But I couldn’t help thinking about it.” That was, obviously, how Martin’s fantasies had always worked. Not realistic, but realism wasn’t the point of your absent daydreams during a boring workday. “But I’m tired of hiding it. I really want you, Martin. I always have. I want you to bend me over my desk and -”

“Shut it off, Jon!”

Jon shut it off. They had agreed on the phrase ages ago, the very solid cue to drop all of Jon’s shit. Jon regularly kept up the shit just because he found it entertaining, and oftentimes comforting, but Martin sometimes found it unbelievably obtrusive when he was trying to have a serious conversation. It was difficult - Jon got panicked during serious conversations, so he usually defensively threw his shit back up again, and it was a self-perpetuating cycle that had frustrated and upset the both of them until they had sat down and talked about it. If Jon couldn’t keep up the conversation without lying, then they both walked away and came back to it later. It was work. But it was good work, the kind that allowed for the good stuff to flourish. Uncomfortable, messy, and real - but maybe that was what Jon liked about it. 

“Sorry,” Jon said. He straightened, letting every expression drop away until he was back at his favored neutral. He knew that Martin found it unsettlingly blank, but he rarely complained. “Did I go too far with the desk thing?”

Martin just stood there, carefully controlling his breathing. Jon waited, letting Martin pick through his thoughts and try to shape them. It was probably more difficult than usual, considering how well Jon had been striking the right notes, so he gave him some time.

Finally, Martin said, “I get having fun with Sasha and Tim. I get us doing roleplay, privately, together. I get you doing a role for your job. But the Archivist gig has a lot of baggage with it, for all of us. Do you understand why I feel weird about you pulling that into bedroom stuff?”

“We watch TV in your bedroom,” Jon pointed out. At Martin’s flat, unamused look, Jon had to fight the urge to shuffle his feet. “I sincerely don’t understand your reaction. I’ve seen your search history -”

“Jon!”

“Research for before we got together, don’t think anything of it,” Jon said quickly. “But doesn’t that make it better? It’s not often somebody gets everything they want from somebody unattainable. Or, you know, not real, but…”

“Jon, for a mind reader you can be terrible at picking up cues sometimes,” Martin said, exasperated. “I know your reasons for doing stuff like this -”

“I’m fantastic at picking up cues,” Jon corrected, oddly huffy. “Because I always know what people want. Their desires, even if they don’t like admitting it to themselves. Do you have any idea how many people on this Earth are bisexual but won’t admit it?”

But, somehow, that just made Martin’s eyes widen a little, as if a realization had cracked. “It cannot be comfortable knowing how many people are attracted to you when you’re sex-repulsed.”

“It’s fine,” Jon lied. “I like it.”

“Jon.”

“Whatever. I got used to it.” Jon shrugged. “I like it when you like me. You’re my boyfriend. I want to make you happy because I like seeing you happy. That’s my ulterior motive.”

Martin sighed again, but thankfully he didn’t look as stressed anymore. Win. He broke away from Jon, instead dropping heavily onto the couch, and Jon hesitantly sat down next to him. His costume abruptly felt stifling, and when he saw Martin’s eyes linger on the bun he undid it and untucked his shirt. God, his hair was a wreck. 

“The Archivist has baggage for me,” Martin said quietly. “I know how I feel, and I try not to be embarrassed over stuff that most people go through and feel. Had enough of that internalized homophobia for a lifetime. I...can’t avoid you knowing how I feel, or what I’m thinking. I know you can try not to look, but you can’t completely control it either. I understand all of this. But you knowing what I want isn’t the same as me asking for it. Do you understand that difference?”

Jon shrugged uncomfortably. 

“Jon. Do you get that I felt uncomfortable because what you did was unnegotiated and you didn’t ask my permission?”

The feeling of embarrassment and guilt spiked higher, and Jon looked away and stared fixedly at some admittedly quite pretty art on the wall. “You’re making it sound bad.”

“I should have shut that down earlier. That’s my bad. You should have stopped to ask. Your bad. We’re both at fault, so we shouldn’t be mad at each other. Are we all good on that?”

Jon stayed silent for a little bit, staring at the wall, trying his best to assemble his own thoughts in his brain. He wasn’t smart. He had problems assembling the words for the complex and large and overwhelming feelings he felt so often. How was Martin so good at breaking this down and putting it into words, when Jon could barely even express how he felt?

Well, Martin probably had more practice…

“You’re so frustrating,” Jon whispered. “You don’t like asking for what you want. You do make me guess. You’re embarrassed to say any of it - the things you want me to do, or the things you like. You do want me to read your mind, because everybody wants a mind reader in their relationship. Especially when it comes to sexual things. But what I can’t read is the...choices you make. Just what you want. And you always make a choice that’s contrary to what you want, and I can never guess. So I do what you want, which is always the exact opposite of what you want me to actually do, and…”

After a second of silence, Martin said, “I need to work on that. I have to be more vocal too. But, Jon, nowhere in that did you mention what you want.”

Jon turned back to look at him, and saw that Martin’s expression was creased. With a mix of - sadness, frustration, conviction, dedication. Imagine being that dedicated, about anything. “Nothing about me minded this time,” Jon said, flabbergasted. “I liked it. I like playing, I like making you feel good, I like winning.” Martin opened his mouth, and Jon quickly said, “Don’t pretend that socialization isn’t a game that everyone is always trying to win, you liar.”

Martin shut his mouth. He could not deny it. Finally, he said, “I hate how you have to say this time.”

He couldn’t help it - he cringed, very hard. Terrible memory. Terrible, terrible, terrible - “I don’t want you to touch me the rest of tonight,” he said, in one rushed breath. Georgie told him to say it. Georgie, Melanie, and Martin. He was supposed to say this. 

“Of course, no problem,” Martin said, quickly yet calmly. “Was there anything in that I shouldn’t bring up again?”

“That never happened,” Jon said, his heart jackrabbiting in his chest. “Stop bringing it up, it’s over, I’m fine - I’m going to bed!”

Hilariously, it was Martin’s flat, but Jon needed to dramatically retreat, so he ended up claiming Martin’s bed for his own. He was very aware that Martin would grab the couch for tonight, because Jon had asked him to. So he was left shoving himself into the pyjamas that he left at Martin’s, wrapping his hair, and sliding under the covers. 

But he wasn’t really tired. Jon’s mind kept churning and churning, trying desperately to tease out his own feelings, before realizing that he really didn’t want to know.

It was a really good conversation. Jon was glad that they had it - that Martin hadn’t gone along with it if he wasn’t comfortable, that he had actually pointed out where Jon crossed a line. Nothing about it was bad. Everything was a work in progress - Jon and Martin most of all. 

So much of them clashed. So much of them cared about each other more than the clashing. They ran up against these things incessantly, and Jon felt as if they worked it out every time. 

He would definitely make Martin breakfast tomorrow. Lots of bacon, although Jon never ate the stuff. He would have to clarify that the way this ended - it wasn’t Martin’s fault, not really. He would probably also have to clarify that his random terror wasn’t something that was any of Martin’s business. He was the one person Jon didn’t want to talk it over with, actually. 

Martin respected Jon a lot. More than Jon thought was rational, considering...himself. He never vocalized what exactly he wanted, because he respected that it was never in consideration. Jon had even seen him want it less and less - it barely even came up anymore. Except, of course, when Jon teased on purpose…

When Jon teased on purpose and didn’t tell Martin that he didn’t want something so then he made himself -

It was a good conversation, except Jon ruined it because something stupid that didn’t mean anything at all sent him into abject shame and terror.

This was so hard. Jon hated thinking this much. He decided to fall asleep instead. Much simpler.

In dreams, where everything was an illusion and nothing meant anything at all, nobody minded that none of it was real. 

*

Tim: omfg im so fucking hungoverrrr I hate being 34

Tim: good time last night tho

Tim: also like it WAS funny but you know we like you best as you, rite? U normally dont so Ill validate: liking you best as you, always

*

Sasha: THE DOCUMENTS, JON!!! 

Sasha: Tim says you might have gotten the wrong impression from last night so I’ll also validate: all of you is good. Even the bad parts are good. Does that make sense?

Sasha: Tim said that that sounded ‘backhanded’ but you know what I mean

Sasha: Man why is it so hard to just say what I mean!!! 

Sasha: Life’s stupid. Tell Martin I said hi. 

#my writing #tma #the magnus archives #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #jonmartin #tim stoker #sasha james #tma fanfic #the magnus archives fanfiction #jon in sb: i will pretend to be the man who was your friend if it'll make you like me #jon here: HAHA KNOW WHAT'D BE HOT?

[beauvibaby]

46. “The babies crying, the foods burning, the dogs are fighting and your calling me to see what time my family’s coming at?” with tyler seguin?

46 “The babies crying, the foods burning, the dogs are fighting and your calling me to see what time my family’s coming at?”

You rushed into the living room with your son on your hip, shocked to hear the dogs barking at each other, the baby giggling at your rushed movements, “Gerry, Marshall! Stop it!” You scolded the dogs as they were quite literally fighting over a toy, your phone rang just as you heard the sound of food boiling over on the stove, you swiped to answer and put it on speaker as Tyler’s voice came over the line. “Hey babe!” He spoke cheerily, you’d sent him to the store, it was Christmas Eve, and you realized you definitely didn’t have enough stuffing for your whole family that was coming over tonight. “Yes, what is it?” You answered a little harsher than you intended as you scrambled to push the pot of Lima beans off the burner, a request by your father, a couple of beans had fallen on the stovetop and instantly started burning to the hot surface, “no!” You gasped, trying to push them off with a fork. Then Nick started crying on your hip, thinking you were yelling at him. “Uh, I was just calling to see what time your family will be there? The checkout line is insanely long.” Tyler spoke hesitantly into the phone.

You gave up on the beans, bouncing the baby in your arms, just as Gerry and Marshall went running after each other through the kitchen. “The baby’s crying, the foods burning, the dogs are fighting and you’re calling to ask what time my family’s coming at?” You groaned into the phone, Tyler let out a sigh, “sorry, I’m not a mind reader.” He mumbled, “don’t be a smart ass on Christmas.” You retorted, earring a chuckle from him. “Just hurry home.” You added, hanging up after you exchanged your I love you’s.

Finally when Tyler had returned home, you had everything back under control, he was expecting to walk into a disaster zone, but everything was tidied, the dogs were all laid around peacefully, Nick was asleep in his room, and the food was no longer burning to the stovetop. “Baby? I’m home.” He called softly, you came around the corner, ah, there was the mess he was waiting for. Granted, he thought you were a cute mess, your hair still tied up in a messy bun from when you woke this morning, still rushing around in your pajamas. “Finally!” You sighed, flinging your arms around him, relief filling you as he hugged you back, lips brushing over your forehead. “Mhm, missed you too.” He teased, “everything’s under control, why don’t you go get ready?” He mumbled, not letting you go before kissing your lips gently but lightly slapping your butt as you turned to walk off. “The definition of a hot mama!” He joked, laughing when you flipped him off, but giving your butt a little shake for him.

#Tyler seguin #Tyler seguin blurb #Tyler seguin imagine #Tyler seguin x reader #blurb

[tmabutlesbian]

I posted 324 times in 2021

70 posts created (22%)

254 posts reblogged (78%)

For every post I created, I reblogged 3.6 posts.

I added 707 tags in 2021

#tma - 252 posts

#the magnus archives - 248 posts

#tmalesbeen talks - 64 posts

#not tma - 38 posts

#martin blackwood - 21 posts

#leblog - 19 posts

#tma fanart - 18 posts

#tma spoilers - 18 posts

#gerry keay - 15 posts

#the magnus archives fanart - 14 posts

Longest Tag: 135 characters

#just casually asked me 'so any girls to keep you company this christmas break?' and i went 'nope it was pretty boring' and she moved on

My Top Posts in 2021

#5

may i interest you in some... timgerry?? hmm??? (im still working on Tim ‘cause i did use references but somehow he doesn’t. look like he’s supposed to??? anyways i like his anatomy here it looks good)

also this is supposed to be in my magic au but you don’t need to see it as such dw.

(image description: black and white drawing of Timothy Stoker and Gerard Keay. Tim’s afro-brazilian and thai man with mid toned skin, cropped short dark hair, a slight beard, circular earrings and a white tank top. He’s turned to the right and he’s kissing Gerry’s jaw, which is out of view from the viewer so Tim’s nose and mouth do not appear. His right hand is lightly gripping Gerry’s jaw + neck, and his blushing. Gerry is a white man with long pale hair at the roots and the rest is dyed black. He has prominent eye bags, two thin scars on his nose bridge and across his right cheek, which is slightly out of view because he’s head is turned a bit to the left. He has multiple piercings: a septum piercing, a bottom lip ring, a vertical labret, a smiley piercing, a nose bridge piercing, a ring piercing on his right eyebrow, and a curved barbell on his left eyebrow. Gerry is smiling wide and he’s blushing. His neck tattoo that looks like an eye is partly obscured by Tim’s hand, and Gerry’s wearing a black t-shirt.) end description

97 notes • Posted 2021-01-23 17:09:43 GMT

#4

have a page full of gerrys for your soul!! needed to get his face to. exist, i guess. needed to train it. i rly like that happy gerry in the corner (i drew him having good hair days cause its what he deserves)

(id: a black and white watercolor page of 4 drawings of Gerard Keay from The Magnus Archives. Gerard is a white man with long black messy hair, light colored eyes, a slightly crooked nose, and with 2 scars, on across his right cheek and another on the bridge of his nose. He has a piercing on each eyebrow, a bridge piercing, a septum piercing, 2 lip piercings, and another on the inside of his upper lip; he also has several earrings. He has a neck tattoo of a stylized eye. In the top left corner, Gerry is disgruntled and he's wearing a black sweater, black coat, and a necklace. Top right corner, it's his side profile, his hair is up in a messy bun, he's smoking, his face is neutral and he's wearing a black turtleneck. Bottom left corner, he's smiling very wide, he's wearing a white sweater, he has a cigarette between his teeth, and his hand is slightly visible. Bottom right corner, he looks confused/not amused by something off camera, and he's wearing a v-neck black shirt with a fishnet shirt underneath. end id)

100 notes • Posted 2021-03-22 11:02:47 GMT

#3

he is pocket sized canonically and so I’m gonna abuse the FUCK outta that information

mike crew everybody

(if my design is somehow offensive in ANY WAY, please do tell me, I am not joking, last thing i want is to offend anyone with my art, thank you anyways!)

139 notes • Posted 2021-01-08 00:08:38 GMT

#2

ok. so.

GERRY???????

368 notes • Posted 2021-02-15 23:17:24 GMT

#1

i have this lil hc that. in those statements where gerry makes an appearence all ended up being bad hair days. he'd be so frustrated. can you imagine gertrude's like:

'oh hey there's a statement here with you on it. Tall goth with badly dyed hair-'

'FUCKING HELL! i ran out of dye that day okay! fuck. what- you think it's easy to dye all of this hair? It's not! It's really not! 'badly dyed hair' i'd like to see them dye this hair without enough hair dye! fucking-'

'gerard please-'

'NO. the other statement with me on it they said the same thing! not my fault that the nearest dye shop didn't have my usual one! i had 2 very different blacks on my hair. It was infuriating to look at. Fuck!'

'and there's still some spots you missed, you can clearly see them when you put your hair up-'

'OH FOR FUCK'S SAKE-'

i just think id be hilarious.

466 notes • Posted 2021-04-09 21:44:00 GMT

Get your Tumblr 2021 Year in Review →

#BRO- gerry my beloved #tmalesbeen shitpost #this is so funny my longest tag without context makes no sense

[beholdme]

All the Many Shades of Gerry - Chapter 6

Chapters: 6/19

Fandom: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Gerard Keay/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Martin Blackwood/Gerard Keay, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Gerard Keay/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist

Characters: Martin Blackwood, Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Gerard Keay, Tim Stoker (The Magnus Archives), Sasha James, Gertrude Robinson, Elias Bouchard

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe, Library AU, Librarian Jon, Artist Gerry, Trans Male Character, Trans Martin Blackwood, Canon Asexual Character, Asexual Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Ace Subtype - Sex Positive, Polyamory, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Romantic Fluff, Falling In Love, Boys in Skirts, Kissing, Demisexual Gerard Keay, Minor Character Death, Past Character Death, Canon-Typical Child Neglect, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Flirting, Minor Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist/Tim Stoker, Adventures in Hair Dying, Happy Ending, Banter, Gerry has a lot of sass, Gerard Keay is Morticia Adams, Jon is a very grumpy Librarian, Martin adores them anyway.

Summary: In which Gerry is a kaleidoscope and Jon and Martin can't help falling in love with him.

He happens to love them back.

Find it on Ao3

[1] [2] [3] [4] [5]

"Do you really hate Keats that much?" Martin asks Jon, sounding faintly betrayed. They're sitting on a pile of cushions in front of Gerry's big window, while the man himself stands painting nearby.

There has been no previous mention of Keats since they arrived several hours ago, nor in the entire course of Gerry knowing them together.

Granted, he had barely been awake when they had arrived, having rolled out of bed just seconds before the knock came, but Gerry thought he had been keeping fairly decent track of the overall conversation.

He had thought Sunday brunch was a great idea when Jon suggested it during the week. Only remembering half-way through his shift the previous night that he was normally dead asleep during that time on a Sunday. But needs must, and after coffee and food, he was feeling downright perky at having two cute boys in his apartment.

Jon and Martin had settled into the pillow pile to occupy themselves while Gerry wandered off to paint, and they had spent several hours each engaged in their own artistic endeavors, simply enjoying the energy of one another's company.

Jon had started out reading but kept getting distracted by the way the light in the studio catches in Gerry's dark red hair, tied up in a chaotic messy bun, and had idly been strumming Gerry's old acoustic guitar for a while instead. Martin had been writing in a notebook, tongue often caught between his teeth in contemplation, glasses pushed up onto the top of his hair.

Jon stops playing abruptly and Gerry winces at the discordant note the guitar lets out in protest.

"I think Keats is pretty cool," offers Gerry cheerfully.

"Thank you, Gerard, very helpful," grouses Jon in return, glaring at him. Gerry blows him a kiss and returns to his canvas.

"I don't hate Keats, Martin." Jon's voice is slow and soft in the way that indicates that he's actually trying to be sensitive, "I just think he's overrated. After spending so much time in uni pouring over his boring symbolism, I'm just sick of him."

Jon's English literature degree, which Gerry remembers with some humour does not qualify him for a job at a library, had been a pain to get, and he doesn't always remember that part of his life with any great fondness.

"I know, but-" Martin cuts off abruptly and there's unexpected silence for a moment.

"Gerry, do you have a cat?" Jon's voice is incredulous and somewhat delighted at the new development.

"Yes," Gerry replies, very casually. He looks around to find that the cat has indeed wandered in and is sitting in a shaft of sunlight, black fur shining. "Jon, Martin, meet Saturn. Saturn, this is Jon and Martin."

Saturn blinks at them, before abruptly standing, showing them his butt, and then walking over to twine between Gerry's legs. Gerry deposits his painting supplies nearby and reaches down to scoop Saturn up, before carrying him over to sit with the others.

"He's not always great with new people, but hopefully he'll warm up to you. He can be a great cuddler when he wants to be." Saturn eyes them all speculatively before sitting on his own cushion and curling up in a fluffy ball.

"So he's like the Jon cat?" Martin asks, sneaking out a finger to scratch Saturn's fluffy little ears. He purrs lightly and Gerry grins to see them getting along.

"Well-" Jon splutters indignantly, face warming beneath his tan.

They both laugh and Gerry leans towards Martin to whisper conspiratorially, "He's not even embarrassed about being bad with new people. He's shy that we know how good of a cuddler he is."

Jon presses his lips together with a long-suffering expression, also reaching out a hand to pet the purring feline. Saturn rolls over towards him and gets a belly rub for his efforts.

"There we go," Gerry mutters happily. "All my favorite boys, getting along so well."

There's more sputtering from both Jon and Martin at that, but Gerry only laughs and leans over to kiss the tops of their heads.

***

Jon sighs and rubs the back of his neck, trying to release the burning tension sitting in all the joints of his spine.

It's 1 A.M. and the library is long, long closed, doors locked and lights turned out. He doesn't know how he gets here sometimes. Elias has certainly never overtly demanded he work overtime, and yet Jon always feels the need to push a little harder, do more than anyone would consider even remotely reasonable.

He accepted a while ago, that his irrational drive for perfection in this job stems from his self-doubt and fear of inadequacy.

And yet, that understanding does nothing to get him home at a reasonable hour, even when he remembers the two men who always seem to be around when he needs them.

It's unfathomable to Jon how he managed to find himself in a relationship with not one but two incredibly understanding and supportive men who love him. He considers it a downright miracle that they also seemed to be finding their way towards loving one another. Although, who wouldn't love Martin and Gerry?

He checks his watch again. Martin is definitely asleep, and even just stumbling in to lie in bed with him would disturb him. He knows the sweet man would say he doesn't mind, but he feels like if he can't get back at a reasonable hour, he doesn't deserve to sleep next to him at all.

Gerry, on the other hand, is mostly nocturnal. A quick check of his phone shows that it's actually Friday, and he is working at the bar for another hour or so.

While Jon has his phone in his hand, he opens up their text chain.

Gerry: Don't work too late. Martin and I want you functional so that we can drag you out to that street market this weekend.

Jon: I won't.

Gerry: Yes, you will. But try to keep it pre-midnight ;)

'He's awake,' Jon tells himself firmly. 'He'll be happy to see you, even if you did work even later than he predicted.'

So Jon packs up his stuff and leaves the library. He considers a cab, but it's only a few blocks and he thinks the fresh air and exercise will unlock the tension in his poor abused spine.

He arrives at the bar just before closing. Gerry is busy charming a few drunk regulars out the door with promises of undying love and that the bar will be back tomorrow afternoon. After they stumble off, he turns to find Jon walking slowly towards him. Gerry is wearing combat boots, dark jeans, and a loose leather tank top, over a lace undershirt. He has his favorite hoop in his nose, and the light glints off the many piercings in his ears.

"Why, Gerry Delano, aren't you a sight for sore eyes." Gerry grins at Jon's teasing tone and echoed words, no sign of recrimination about him.

"I always am." Jon reaches Gerry at that, and they draw together, pressing tired lips against each other gently.

Gerry's hair has faded out a bit from the moody red, and Jon slips his hands into his hair to hold him close for a moment longer. They rock together on the street for a long, frozen moment.

"To what do I owe the pleasure?" Gerry asks, pulling away and sliding his hands down Jon's arms to connect their fingers.

"I missed you," Jon confesses shakily, emotion spilling out of his voice.

"Good, I missed you too." Gerry drags him into the bar and fills the air with stories from his shift while he and his colleagues clean for the evening, closing up the bar.

They walk home arm in arm, Gerry flirting with him mercilessly. Jon sheds the day's tension as they go, and by the time they arrive at Gerry's loft, he's warm and relaxed.

He supposes he should probably go back to his own flat, but it's not a place he spends the night very often anymore, and he fears the creeping insomnia that will take him without Martin and Gerry around to soothe him into sleep. Besides, Gerry is right here with him, and he seems so pleased to have him around.

"Are you going to paint now?" Jon asks as they shed their work clothes. Jon is sorry to see the lace shirt go, but Gerry makes up for it by simply throwing a kimono over his bare chest. He throws him a T-shirt, so Jon wears that and his boxers as they settle on the couch. Gerry is still wearing his jeans, but both their feet are bare as they tangle on the coffee table.

"I'm not sure, do you want to?" Gerry asks as he lights a cigarette and offers Jon one.

"What? Do I want to paint?" Jon's voice is taken aback. He takes the cigarette and lights it.

Gerry shrugs as if it's obvious. "Sure, you used to draw with me when we were younger."

"Yes, but…"

"But what, Jonathon? You're too old to paint now? Too proper and straight-laced to get charcoal under your nails? No more piercings, no more creativity?" Gerry sways into his shoulder, drawing smoke into his lungs and letting it out as he speaks.

"No, it's not that." Jon grouses back. Gerry hums derisively in return. "I just don't see the point of wasting your drawing paper when you can do that." Jon gestures wildly towards Gerry's most recently completed painting.

Gerry eyes it critically. It's the commission that he's been slogging over petulantly. It's large and impressively done, he can accept that, but he doesn't like it very much. He hates the subject and composition Peter Lukas has demanded and compensated by pouring all his best technique into it. It makes him sad and sullen to look at, and Gerry will be relieved when it's finally gone.

"For every painting like that I've ever done, Jon," Gerry spills all his affection into the name, and Jon can feel it, "I've done a thousand ridiculous sketches and colour studies. Art is time, and diligence and joy as much as it ever is masterpieces. You don't sit down one day and magically just know how to be a maestro."

Jon looks over and up at him with big green eyes. Gerry can't help but lean over and slide his hand into Jon's hair, pressing their lips together for a moment. "So Mr. Sims. Can I tempt you to make some art with me?"

***

What they create in those soft early morning hours can only generously be called art, even Gerry's efforts. But they laugh and kiss and somehow get covered in charcoal and acrylic paint. Gerry even allows Jon to choose the Spotify playlist. Slow piano music with nature sounds play softly in the background of their impromptu art party, reminding Gerry of nothing so much as Jon himself.

The dawn is just breaking through Gerry's massive bank of windows when he allows Jon to drag him off to bed, and they collapse together in the soft morning light.

***

Late the next morning, Martin lets himself into the flat and bounces down onto the bed between them, sending Saturn flying off in a huff.

"So, I heard there was a slumber party. I brought breakfast."

"Fuck off," Gerry slurs, but rather undermines his own point when he pulls Martin down and tucks himself around him. Jon does the same from the other side, and Martin finds himself in the middle of a very sleepy man sandwich.

Gerry seems to instantly fall back asleep, but Jon eventually drags himself to consciousness, even buried in Martin's neck. "What's time?"

"Almost ten," he responds, very cheerfully.

"WHAT-" Jon flies out of bed in a blind panic, desperately looking for his phone, which is dead when he finds it anyway. "I'm already so fucking late!"

Gerry groans.

"Relax Jon." Martin tries to soothe him but is hindered by the fact that Gerry is still clinging to him in a very enjoyable way. "Gerry, love, let me go. Jon is having a meltdown."

"How unusual," Gerry mutters very unsupportively, Jon manages to notice. He flops over onto his other side and attempts to bury himself in pillows instead of Martin.

"Jon, breathe." Swinging up to sit on the edge of the bed, Martin uses his best man-disaster steadying tone. Gerry has come to realize what that tone is, but he doesn't mention it to anyone. "It's Saturday."

Jon slumps and drops the pants he was desperately trying to wrangle himself into.

"It's Saturday?" He asks.

"It's Saturday," Gerry confirms from the pillow fort.

Jon glares at Martin in a very put upon way. Martin smiles at him brightly.

He turns and wanders off to the bathroom in an effort to collect himself. Martin resumes his spot in the middle of the bed, and drags Gerry towards him, tucking himself into his back.

"Hmmm. So much noise on a weekend." The goth mutters as he attempts to resettle himself in Martin's arms.

"I'll make it up to you later," Martin promises, pressing a kiss behind his ear.

"You let that happen on purpose, didn't you." It's not a question. "Just to see that look on his face."

"Yes," Martin says, chuckling into Gerry's pillow.

"Very good, sir."

#the magnus archives #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #gerry keay #jongerrymartin #gerard keay #also on ao3 #fic

[hypnoshatesme]

"Excuse me?” The voice was too close and Gerry tensed, searched for its source. Somebody was standing next to him, tall and wearing a sweater that looked too warm for the stuffy bar, blond hair in a messy bun with loose curls falling into his face. He gave Gerry a polite smile, one that made it undeniable that Gerry was being addressed when he spoke again. “May I?" he asked, nodding at the empty stool.

Gerry took too long to answer, but he didn’t know how. People, if anything, avoided getting anywhere close to him. They didn’t talk to him and neither did they ask to sit beside him.

"Sure, go ahead,” Gerry heard himself say, voice surprisingly steady considering his mind was already trying to find the catch in the question, to figure out how that friendly smile was a trap.

#gerrymichael

[bananonbinary]

What if Jon has long hair that he usually keeps in a bun but one day during work, he felt like it was getting messy so he decides to redo it. Cue Jon’s hair falling down like he’s in a shampoo commercial. Gerry and Martin: we are Looking Respectfully 😳😳.

long hair skirt jon is best jon and thats that on that

#archivist!gerry au #adjacent at least lmao #Anonymous

[lizwontcry]

roman/gerri - logan walking in on a kiss

Thank you for this! I got a lot of good prompts but this is the one that inspired me the most this evening, plus I watched the elevator scene on the Good Wife and decided to plagiarize it. 

AO3 Link - 

"Roman? Are you paying attention? This is actually important to, you know, the company continuing to exist for the next couple of years."

"No, Frank. I'm not paying attention. It's Friday afternoon. Nobody wants to be here. But please do continue, we're all fucking riveted by your lilting, passionate, sexy voice."

Frank sighs. He continues the meeting to talk about whatever the fuck, but Roman can't concentrate, since, as usual, Gerri is sitting next to him.

It's unbearable, actually.

Sitting next to Gerri practically all day, every day, in meetings, in their office, in the car, on the plane--wherever they go, they go together. It's easier that way, for the CEO and COO to travel with each other, especially since Gerri is basically Roman's business tutor. He is definitely making progress; he needs less and less instruction with each passing day. But that does not mean he needs Gerri less. No--it's the opposite.

Like, take this boring as fuck meeting, for instance. Frank is droning on and on about facts and figures and how important it is that they drum up numbers in Parks since Cruises is, obviously, a complete fiasco at the moment. Roman knows he should pay attention to Frank, but... Gerri is not listening to Frank, either. She's doodling on a yellow note pad. Little swirls and lines, Roman notes with interest. Everything Gerri does is interesting to Roman. Like, her hair is in a bun today. Kind of a messy bun. She seems a little more disheveled than normal. With her glasses on and her obligatory matronly attire, she looks like the usual kindergarten teacher that Roman has come to know and love, but with the messy hair... it's just, like, hot.

He scoots his chair a little closer to Gerri, and she looks up from her doodle and gives him a small smile, and he wonders how he ever got so completely fucked up from a woman that this tiny gesture makes his whole fucking day. Did she cast a spell on him or something? It sure feels that way sometimes.

Their "thing" has more or less been put on hold for the time being, since they are both too busy to engage in anything other than gluing the pieces of Waystar Royco back together. However, there's all these unsaid conversations that linger between Roman and Gerri. He sees the way she looks at him when she thinks he's not paying attention--she feels it, too. It's not just the longing glances--Roman can't really explain it. There's this... heaviness to their interactions, like something is missing, but neither of them know what to do about it. So what the fuck? Is he just always going to have a massive case of blue balls whenever they're in the same room together now? Because he's certainly not getting over this crap any time soon.

For just a second, Roman can't take it any longer and he touches Gerri's hand, the one that is doodling a straight line across the yellow note pad. Gerri stops her drawing and looks at him in surprise. Their eyes meet, and they acknowledge something. Something to be determined, but it's definitely... something.

Roman doesn't take his hand away immediately. Nobody else in the room is looking at them, anyway. They're checking their email or writing notes; some are actually even paying attention to Frank. So he runs his pinkie across the soft skin of Gerri's hand, and she allows it, as though she wants it, or even willed it to happen. He stops touching her when he notices, with extreme pleasure, that she has goosebumps on her arm. And then he starts to wonder, if just touching her hand produces goosebumps, what would happen if...

"So that's what we need to work on next week. I'm serious, people--this is a priority. Now get the hell out of here," Frank says, and nobody has to be told twice--everyone scatters out of the room and Frank is not far behind.

Gerri and Roman linger after the room empties. She puts the notepad and her laptop in her briefcase. Roman shoves all his stuff into the backpack he's been carrying around lately out of necessity. Maybe he should get something a bit more professional, but, like, who has the fucking time?

"So where are you headed?" Roman asks her as they leave the conference room.

"Are you kidding? Back to my office. There's still so much left to do."

"Ah, come on, Ger. It's Friday. Let's go have a drink."

"Roman, really--"

"One drink won't kill you. Across the street. It's happy hour; we can make fun of all the coked out Wall Street fucknuts."

Gerri exhales, and then nods hestitantly.

"I suppose one drink won't hurt, but then I have to get back here, and let me remind you, Roman, so do you."

This is unfortunately true. The role of COO never fucking stops, even on a Friday night. He can't help but think of what he'd usually do on a Friday night in the past; it always had something to do with tall blondes, snorting things, and passing out in some East Side shithole and waking up feeling like he'd been run over by a 747. Oh, the days of yore.

At the bar, a shitty dive that thankfully is bereft of the Wall Street fucknuts, they have more than one drink. They have three or four or seven or something--they lose count. Roman knows he's a bad influence on Gerri but he can't help it. He loves to see her let her hair down, which she literally does after her third shot of tequila that he encourages her to order. He watches lustfully as she takes it down and shakes it out, letting the soft blonde waves settle over her shoulders.

"Dammit, Rome, why do I let you get me into these situations?" Gerri slurs after she slams the shot glass down on the table. "You are bad."

"Yeah. But you like it when I'm bad."

Gerri laughs, and doesn't deny it.

"Come on, let's get back to the office. I have all those briefs I need to finish by Monday."

"I have some briefs you can finish," Roman blurts out.

"Uh-huh. Well... that's something we can discuss later--"

"Gerri Kellman! What's a girl like you doing in a bar like this?" Some asshole who looks like he lives inside a plastic surgery appointment sidles up to the table and interrupts this very important thought that Roman desperately wants to follow up on--typical.

"Oh, hello, Will. Will, this is Roman--"

"Roman Roy, of course! The new COO of his dad's company. Congrats, by the way."

"Gee, fucking thank you, Will. Lovely to meet you and your fake fucking lips," Roman says. He does not like Will, or his weirdly constructed face.

"What was that?" Will asks, clearly confused.

"Oh, Roman was just complimenting your... shoes," Gerri says, trying to keep herself together. "Please excuse us, Will. We have to get back to the office."

"Of course. Why don't you call me later, Gerri? We never finished discussing that trip to the Vineyard we were planning..."

Gerri just chuckles and nods, and pushes Roman out of the bar. They walk back to the office, arm in arm, so they don't tip over and die in the remnants of rush hour Manhattan traffic.

"Who was that douchebag? You were going on a fucking trip with him? He looks like a Ken doll that was left in the washing machine for 60 years."

Gerri laughs. Roman loves to make her laugh.

"Just someone I went on a date with once. Why? You jealous?"

"Of course I'm fucking jealous, Gerri. Like, haven't you figured that out yet?"

They're back in the lobby of the Waystar Royco building. It's nearly 8:00 PM and it's almost empty.

"Roman..." He can see that she doesn't know how to finish that sentence. She looks kind of wobbly, actually. "We should--but we never have time..."

Roman, who is rather unsteady himself, tries to think of the right thing to say.

"We've always had bad timing, haven't we?"

"We have..." Gerri admits.

"What if we were to suddenly have good timing? Just for... an hour. What would that look like?"

"I think that... would look like an exceptional moment," Gerri says softly.

Roman can't help it--he grins. He grabs her arm and they walk unsteadily to the elevator. While they wait for it to open, they share all kinds of longing, drunken, and weird sexual looks. Roman wonders if everything that has occurred in the last couple of months--going to management training at Gerri's suggestion, their odd phone sex arrangement, the way she so easily gets him off by the sound of her voice, even being taken as a hostage--has all led up to this moment. If so, it was all fucking worth it.

When the elevator arrives, an eight-year-old kid and his mother, who looks to be at about her wit's end with him and his entire existence, step off it.

"Kevin! What have I told you about not pressing all the buttons?"

"Sorry, Mom," the little boy says, sounding not sorry at all.

Roman doesn't advocate child abuse, obviously, but like, he just really wants to slap this kid.

Indeed, when Gerri and Roman get on the elevator, it looks like every fucking button has been pushed. And they're going to the 49th floor.

"Jesus fucking Christ," Roman mutters, shaking his head. All he wants to do is get Gerri alone in his office and see what she's wearing underneath that prim and proper white blouse she has on, but fate does not seem to have the same plan.

Instead of maybe getting off on the next floor or something that would make more sense than waiting as the door opened on every level, Gerri moves closer to Roman. Their backs are against the wall of the elevator and they are standing almost too close together now. Roman can smell the sweet scent of her perfume that he has come to know as Gerri's signature. The tension is absolutely fucking ridiculous at this point.

On floor three, Roman touches her hand with his pinkie again. On floor five, Gerri grabs his hand, and holds it until floor seven. On floor eight, Roman turns to regard her closely. She's looking at him like she's ready to make a drunken mistake. The doors continue to open and close, with no one there to get on or off--not that they'd even notice if an entire fifth grade class and/or a mariachi band joined them in the elevator. They continue to stare at each other, weighing the pros and cons of just fucking going for it, until floor thirteen. That's when Roman says, "fuck it," and he leans in to kiss her. He just fucking kisses her. He grabs her and kisses her fiercely, and sort of to his surprise, she kisses him back just as fiercely. On floor 22, there's even tongue involved. A lot of tongue.

The doors are still opening and closing and they aren't even paying attention. By floor 28, his hands are roaming freely, and she's moaning a little. By floor 31, Gerri bites Roman's lip and now he's the one moaning. Roman has never even enjoyed kissing all that much--like what's the fucking point? But this singular experience is giving him a brand new appreciation for it.

Or maybe it's because Gerri is the one he's kissing.

By floor 40, the kissing has tapered off a little, so they can stare deep into each other's eyes. However, on floor 44, the kissing resumes. Roman wraps his hand around Gerri's neck and brings her closer to him, and she puts a warm hand under his coat, and then under his shirt, on his back. If he wasn't hard before, now he could launch a fucking space shuttle from his pants.

Finally, on floor 49, the door opens for the last time. They are still holding on to each other for dear life, expecting to haul ass directly to Roman's office, where his newly purchased sleeper sofa is waiting for the next act of this satisfying play they're trying to direct. However...

"What the fuck is this?" The last person on fucking Planet Earth that Roman expects to see is standing there staring at them. Logan. His dad. "Romulus? Gerri fucking Kellman? Well, don't just stand there looking like deaf fucking mutes. Explain yourselves!"

And they are stunned speechless... but at least now they're able to stop kissing.

#succession #roman roy #gerri kellman #roman x gerri

[pageburnt-a]

                                      BLACK  HAIR  IS  TIED  BACK  IN  A  MESSY  BUN,  blonde  roots  have  long  sense  grown  in  since  the  two  last  spoke  but  gerry  doesn’t  mention  it.  moving  to  wipe  paints  from  his  hands  and  onto  the  stained  black  fabric  of  his  jeans.  the  eyes  on  his  hands  are  hidden  beneath  layers  of  color,  he  has  never  been  neat  in  his  work,  but  there  is  a  softer  shine  in  his  eyes  when  he  paints,  a  focus  that  is  different  from  cold  persona  he  tries  so  hard  to  build.  if  he  were  honest,  he  rarely  paints  people,  rarely  paints  at  all  anymore,  but  that  does  not  mean  he  doesn’t  miss  it.  there’s  a  half  finished  portrait  of  mike  in  his  closet  and  he’s  sure  that  is  how  this  will  end  up.  but  it’s  nice  enough  for  oliver  to  sit  with  him  anyway.  tired  gaze  drags  over  the  other’s  features,  taking  them  before  humming.      “  we  can  take  a  break  you  know.  ”      he  offers,  setting  pallet  aside  to  stretch  his  legs.

*    ⟢   @auspicium​​​   ( ♡ )

#auspicium #hi oliver is handsome and gerry paints #this is the natural conclusion #⟢ ◞ 00 . 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚖𝚢 𝚎𝚢𝚎𝚜 𝚜𝚞𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚒𝚗 𝚖𝚎 ﹕ ❪ ic ❫

[radioways]

                                  HE SMELLS LIKE LIGHTER FLUID AND SAGE, there’s heavy contrast in it, the unnatural smell of something burning, the heavy smell of smoke. though that idea could be applied to gerry as a whole. browsing the small shop with what could be the imitation of feigned interest. ( he comes in every few weeks, browses and leaves, a little ritual he’s built for himself. )  he likes the idea of these kinds of things, kind gods and spirits you could call upon in times of need : he had an altar once, set up in his flat living room for awhile before his mum happened, before she reminded him what “true” entities lie beyond the veil. now the book of skin sits where his alter used to, his paints packed up and tucked away in his closet with the rest of the unimportant junk.   “ you alright there ? ”  he asks, eyebrow raising slightly.   “ you look like you need more sleep than i do. ”   gerard states flatly, though there’s the barest twitch of a smile, because really between the two of them that might just be a tight race. he hasn’t re-dyed his hair in about a month now, and the messy bun he’d wrangled it into is falling apart at the seams, though the jet lag might be the final nail in his coffin. 

*    ⟢  @auspicium​​   (  ♡  )

#( 👁️ ) 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘰𝘰𝘬 𝘣𝘶𝘳𝘯𝘦𝘳 ━━ ❝ g keay . ⟩ ic ! #auspicium #so if this doesn't work let me know ! #i will attempt to throw other ideas at you #:eyes:

[the-starsabove-you]

The Woman in the Window

Summary: Everything could change in a blink of an eye

A/N: My blog got accidentally deleted, so I’m reposting my stories. Enjoy!

It was raining outside.

His steps caused the water to go flying on the ground, he was in basketball shorts and a hoodie. He was listening to his workout music, observing the surroundings as he ran through the ran.

Tyler felt his legs aching a bit and his lungs wanting a bit of air from the power workout he was doing today but it felt so good. Being home for a while because of the home games were good, he loved Dallas so much. He honestly wanted to stay in Dallas forever.

Tyler loved the rain. It caused people to go inside, a lot of people weren’t outside because of not wanting to get wet in the rain but Tyler never cared. He loved having the streets to himself with only a few people outside, he was very focused with this workout. It was nice that people weren’t stopping him for pictures or talking to him.

Tyler remembered that he had a date tonight, nothing serious. It was another model messaging him on social media and she caught his attention. It would be one those dates where they would only see each other only once, her staying the night and then leaving the house in the morning, never seeing her again.

Tyler was so focused at one point as he started passing by a couple of stores and cafes. He was lost in thought until he looked inside the big window of a cafe that he ended up stopping, before backing up slowly before he saw the reason why he stopped and he felt his heart beating faster.

The woman in the window.

Tyler watched her closely, she had dark hair and it was in a messy bun. She had glasses on and she was looking at something on her laptop.. Tyler was guessing it was work related since she had two coffee cups near her.

You know in those moments where you see someone and in that moment you just know you felt like you found.. The one?

That one that would change your life and the one that you see yourself growing old with?

Tyler saw that now.

Tyler looked at her in complete awe, he knew that she had to be the one.. The one that would cause him not to be a player anymore. The girl that would make Tyler Seguin settle down. It was crazy that a complete stranger would change him right away.

Tyler also saw a whole life with her.

He saw their first date, he would try something fancy but she would instead take him to her favorite diner, they would enjoy it.

He would see her during a home game, wearing his jersey and cheering him and the boys on, he would stop for just a split second to look at her in awe.

He would see himself getting down on knee and getting her the most beautiful ring, she would have tears in her eyes and she would be nodding.

He saw themselves having their first dance as a married couple, his chin resting on her head as they were swaying to their song

He saw himself taking her to the lake house he owned. Cash, Marshall and Gerry running in front of them as they saw outside and watched them. Tyler would also have gotten her a Lab puppy.. A girl, so she wouldn’t be the only girl in the house.

He saw himself at the hospital, holding their baby and promising himself that he would love their child more than life.

He last saw himself finally retiring from hockey, she would be there with their children as the Stars were saying goodbye to him at his last game ever. Before he would skate towards his family and hugged his children, before kissing his wife.

Tyler never thought he wanted the fairytale life he just imagined but he saw her biting her lip before sipping on her coffee. He knew in that moment he had to walk into that coffee shop and get to know her. He didn’t know who she was but he was already in love with her, something he thought was rare of him to do.

Tyler saw she had looked up and had to biggest smile in his direction, he felt his heart racing and he started to smile back until he saw she was looking at something else.. Rather, someone else.

Tyler turned around and saw a guy with wet brown hair and hazel eyes smiling back at her, he rushed into the coffee shop and towards her, he felt sick to his to stomach when he saw they hugged and saw the diamond ring on her left hand.

He wanted to throw up, he felt so sick. It took him a couple of moments before he turned around, looking at her for one last time before walking back to the stadium so he could get to practice early.

Tyler Seguin felt tears coming down his eyes, he was grateful that there wasn’t anyone around and the rain was covering his tears. He couldn’t believe that he had done that, fall in love with someone and lost her that quickly. She wasn’t even his in the first place, he was just some stranger looking at her through the window.

That day Tyler closed himself off from actually falling in love, he kept a mindset that there was no one in the world for Tyler Seguin.

#tyler seguin #tyler seguin imagine #nhl #nhl imagines #hockey #hockey imagines