What about a Magpod time travel AU where Sasha somehow travels back after being Not!’ed and then has to try to survive her original demise.
Which she does!
…but then she gets merc’d by another fear power and wakes up back in S1 of the Magnus Archives again.
Basically Sasha pulling a Groundhog Day and gradually getting further and further with each run before getting bumped off by a different power every time.
And she eventually does it! It took over fourteen goes, but she’s got Jon and Tim and Martin all safe and sound up in the safehouse in Scotland with her. She did it. She won!
And then a letter from the Institute addressed to her arrives…
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.
Tma fic writers I love you so much, but pretty please, for me, look up camping cot probably vintage camping cot. Just please please 2 fully grown men will not fit on a single camping cot it is smaller than an single bed and has less load bearing capacity. This is coming from someone who used a camping cot long term.
Also you are not going to sit at the end of one it. will. tip. over. Maybe you would sit in the middle but the edge is higher than the centre and digs into your thighs so not for significant lengths of time. They have metal legs and frame and are collapsible so they are loud when you move on them.
It's much more likely to be used with a sleeping bag than sheets but that's fine more of a personal preference, a little inconvenient but makes it feel more bed like but also the sheets don't have a mattress to connect to. If you've had sheets slightly too short for your mattress it's like than but all corners.
For reference purposes comfort of horizontal sleeping options from worst to best: stone floor, wood floor, bed that is broken so the slats holding the mattress fall through the gap in the middle if you move too much, carpeted floor, camping cot, air mattress, sofa, mattress on the floor, bed
tragic art of mag 200??? sorry i only know archives polycule and corsets (click for better quality)
[I.D. five images of pencil drawings of the season one archive crew from the magnus archives. the first image is of tim stoker in only an underbust corset fom the waist up. he has wrist bands, a bow choker, and giving a coy smile as he pulls the corset tighter. the words “no one wants a waist over 9 inches” has been written next to him. the second image shows sasha james in a typical sweetheart neckline corset in a choker and long gloves. she is resting a hand to her chest and calmly smiling. the third image is of martin blackwood, also only in an underbust corset, looking down at himself with a flustered smile and copious blush. to the side of martin, tim, jon, and sasha’s heads have all been drawn reacting to this. tim surprised and delighted, jon incredibly flustered, and sasha making a facial expression that essentially translates to “nice.”. the the fourth image features jonathan sims in a loose button-up shirt and a corset belt. he’s giving a nervous smile and a thumb’s up. the fifth and final image is the archival assistants reacting to jon. sasha’s hands are pressed together as the smiles, tim is whooping with his arms raised above his head, and martin is in awe with a hand held up to his face. end I.D.]
Sasha is aware of the rising tensions in the archives after Martin was stalked by Prentiss and after she had her own encounter with Michael. In an attempt to boost morale and bring them closer together, Tim suggests that they all visit the beach to unwind and get their minds off of all things paranormal. Sasha takes it upon herself to make sure that everyone has fun and relaxes, but she forgets to give herself that luxury.
Here’s my fic for the TMA Big Bang 2020!
This fic includes (but is not limited to): Sasha POV, everyone is trans and neurodivergent, fluff, humor, light angst, and jonmartimsasha propaganda all over the place.
-> Link to the fic on ao3 <-
Thank you to everyone who helped make this fic possible, you’re all wonderful people and I’m so glad that you chose to work with me on this project!
Artists:
@desert-lily
@antiv3nom
@happyfunballxd
You can read a preview of the fic under the cut:
When Sasha first met Tim, she found them in the break room with an architectural book in one hand and takeout food on the other. She hadn't formally met Tim yet, so she thought she'd strike up some light conversation using the book that they were reading as an ice breaker. What she hadn't expected was to hear Tim ramble about the architectural design of Robert Smirke well past their lunch break. She hadn't had the heart to stop them. It always made her happy when people would listen to her talk about her special interests, so she'd let them ramble about their hyperfixation until they noticed the time.
What stuck with her was how they'd talk about architecture from a philosophical standpoint. They spoke about balance within structures, and how that balance belonged in all aspects of nature and eventually humanity. The structure of the world was the same as the structure of any building. It needed a strong foundation or else it would be unstable and crumble under any pressure.
And much like that, people had to have balance in every aspect of life, internally and externally.
It's what gave her comfort and purpose in the Magnus Institute. For all that Sasha could see, the structure of the institute was built on a foundation that gave it the odd energy it exuded. Tim told Sasha that they joined the Institute to restore balance in their own life. There could be a possibility that she started working here for a greater purpose. If Sasha was so quick to notice that something was wrong with the Institute, she might be able to fix it and make a positive difference.
Sasha took that to heart. She pushed herself every day. Gertrude Robinson, herself, even suggested that she was the most capable worker in the entire institute. But after all of her hard work to restore the balance, she found that she was pushing herself too far. While working in the offices, she infiltrated databases for information. That was a job in itself that she should be paid double for. But her most recent major task for her job included shaking hands with a male-presenting figure with a headache laugh, and a victim of a worm-infested terror that tried to attack her.
She needed a vacation.
They all needed a vacation.
Sasha's experience with Michael and a walking corpse of worms, the Prentiss-enforced house arrest that Martin had to endure, and Jon's growing stress over trying to find the one piece of information to counter this threat — there was too much stress on everyone's shoulders. She knew that they would all be too focused on their work to make an effort to take a break. If Tim hadn't pointed out Sasha's own exhaustion during her lunch break, she might not have noticed herself.
Originally, she just planned a beach vacation for herself. But after thinking about her co-workers, she hatched a plan. And then she did some research, and then she decided on a date, and then she sent an email.
Subject: Let's Get Out- Archives Beach Trip This Weekend!
Hello fellow archive workers,
I am emailing you all today to invite you to The Archives Beach Trip next weekend! I’ve been paying careful attention to everyone’s schedules to find the best time to conduct this event, and it seems that the 23rd will work the best for everyone. I also hope that you caught on to the subtle hints that I have been giving you all about what might be in store for us on this trip. Tim and I have discussed beach locations that we could go to and we have concluded that the best spot would be the Old Hunstanton beach! It isn’t too crowded and there are even a few rock pools that we can explore during low tide. By the main Hunstanton beach, there is a boardwalk that we can go to in case we get a bit peckish. Not only that, but there are also a few very interesting gift shops that I would like to go to. We would park in the big field just outside the main beach area. To get to Old Hunstanton, we would walk down the beach away from the boardwalk. What I have in mind is this: we’d meet up at the beach around 10 am and then stay until 6 pm, but we can be flexible with times to suit the needs of everyone that will be coming.
So, are you all interested? I know that I’m very excited about this beach trip! Reply to this email to let us know if you’re up for this outing, and if you would need a ride there.
Have a good week, and I look forward to hearing from you soon.
Best,
Sasha
Sasha James
She/her/hers
Archival Assistant at the Magnus Institute, London.
