[ ID: A drawing of two people sitting in an office. On the left is Martin Blackwood, a large British man with red hair, hazel eyes, fair skin, and freckles. On the right is Jonathan Sims, a short, thin, British-Indian person with long black hair streaked with grey, dark brown eyes, brown skin dotted with small scars, and a short beard. Jon is sitting on a stool and is wearing a plain white t-shirt and blue jeans. The shirt and jeans are covered with mud, with a patch of blood along the collar. Jon's neck seems to have been freshly bandaged. Martin is kneeling in front of Jon, wearing a red sweater and blue jeans, and wrapping Jon's right hand in fresh gauze. Martin is focused on Jon's hand, a look of concern on his face. Jon is staring at Martin, a soft look of awe and admiration on his face. In the background is a desk with an office chair behind it. To the left is a filing cabinet and a small bookshelf, and to the right is a corkboard with numerous papers pinned to it. The room is dimly lit, the only source of light being the desk lamp sitting on the right side of the desk. End ID ]
Hoo boy I'm a few hours late😅, but here's my Valentines gift to @cinnamoniic for @seasons-in-the-archives Valentine's Day event! Takes place immediately post-MAG 92. Featuring a banged-up and exhausted Jon thankfully receiving some sorely needed comfort from the only person in the Archives who can make him feel safe♥️💚
If it’s okay, how about “You always do that. You always warm me up.” and/or “You’ve got a fever. Of course I’m not going anywhere.” with jontim for the soft sentence prompts? your writing is some of my favourite of all time and your jontim especially is just *chefs kiss* mwah. Incredible.
Some soft JonTim for one of my favorite artists! Always happy to have another friend to spread the good word of this pairing, a particular favorite of mine. Hope you enjoy!
“Jon, you look wrecked.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” replied said wreck. “I’ve just got a cold, that’s all.”
Tim fixed him with an incredulous look. Jon stumbled through the doors of the library this morning looking for all the world like the equivalent of ‘hammered shit’ (Sasha’s words). Jon’s usual vibe was tired and harried on a good day, but this was pushing it. He only managed to get about half of his hair into a bun, the rest hanging limply around his face. He’d thrown a chunky cardigan over his clothes to hide that they were the same ones from yesterday. It did not work. Complete with red cheeks and bleary eyes, the man was not fit to be in a workplace.
Jon begged to differ. “I’m fine,” he said, burying a cough in his elbow. “I took medicine. Look.” With that, he dug a crushed box of liquid capsules out of his bag and threw it haphazardly in the direction of Tim, who caught it in startled hands.
“This is expired,” he replied after one look at the box. “It’s also not meant for daytime. When did you take this again?” Jon frowned uncomprehendingly as he attempted to parse out the words and Tim would’ve gathered him up in his arms right then if it wouldn’t embarrass him.
“Hmm.” The question should not be difficult. “‘Bout an hour ago, maybe?” Jon listed dangerously to the side, grabbing at his desk to keep steady and in the process knocking an overflowing cup of pencils to the ground. “Oops.” Jon was occasionally a man of few words, but ‘oops’ was not one of them. Tim immediately got to his feet, rushing over to steady him.
“‘Oops’ is right.” He gently managed to get Jon to his feet, leaning most of his body weight against Tim’s side. “You’re going home.” Jon just slumped further into his arms, barely managing a nod. His sudden compliance worried Tim; usually, Jon would put up way more of a fuss, getting snippy and slapping his hands away. This easy submission, while appreciated, made him more nervous than reassured.
“G’bye, Sasha,” Jon attempted a wave on the way out that looked more like a vague swatting of the air. “Tim’s takin’ me home.” She smiled indulgently, giving the two of them a wave in return.
“Take care of your man, Tim! And that’s an order.”
Tim would’ve saluted if he didn’t have an armful of Jon. “Aye aye, Captain.”
“Your man?” Jon mumbled as they made their way down the hallway, sinking further into his side. He said it as if the words were foreign, confusing. Tim couldn’t help his laughter.
“Well, yeah.” He nodded in thanks to Rosie, who held the door open on the way out with a pitying look at Jon. The air outside was cold, bracing- Jon’s ridiculously chunky cardigan still wasn’t enough against the wind. “What kind of boyfriend would I be if I didn’t help you in your hour of need?” In a stroke of luck, he managed to snag a cab as soon as someone exited at the building next door. The less time outside, the better. “In you go!” He managed to gently extract Jon from his side and maneuver him into the back of the car. He rattled off his own address to the cabbie- if all Jon had at home was an expired packet of night-time medicine, he didn’t have much faith in the rest of his medical supplies.
He shut the car door and turned to find Jon staring at him in a sort of wide-eyed, loopy wonder. It would have been amusing if it wasn’t so concerning. “What is it?” he asked, running a comforting hand over his arm. “Are you okay?”
“We’re...boyfriends?” Shit. Tim realized they hadn’t used the term before and here he was, just casually slipping it out. It was not unlike him; Sasha always teased him at how easily he fell in love. But he was trying to take it slowly with Jon, do things right. Jon deserved that.
“I mean...yes?” It came out more nervously than he’d like, Jon was really doing him in with those giant, hopeful eyes. Damn him. He tried for familiar, easy ground. “I’ve been wining and dining you all around town. Do my forehead kisses mean nothing to you?” He put a hand to his chest, dramatic and exaggerated. “I’m wounded.”
“No!” Jon exclaimed, grabbing at the hand on Tim’s chest with an unexpected strength. “I like those. Please don’t stop.” His face was a blazing fever-red and filled with concern, not unlike when he was drunk and oblivious to teasing. “You won’t stop, w-will you?”
Tim’s heart melted without his permission. “Course not.” He took the small hand and squeezed it with his own. Jon sunk into a similarly sappy expression; he had no right being this adorable on expired cold medication. God, he loved him.
Shit.
Jon continued to talk, his brow furrowing in contemplation. “Iz’zat why you got me those Valentine’s chocolates?”
Shit.
“And the bear?”
Love? The big ol’ ‘L’ word? What if he’d sprung that on Jon like this, in the back of a cab when he wouldn’t remember it?
“And the balloon?”
How embarrassing for him. Truly.
“And the card?” Tim had forgotten Jon was still talking.
“Yes!” He choked out against Jon’s interrogation. “God, I didn’t realize how much of a sap I was.” Jon giggled in response, a high, happy sound incongruous with his usual sarcastic snorts.
“Yeah, you are.” He snuggled into Tim’s side; he could feel the heat radiating from the man, even through his jacket. “You gotta tell me these things. Else I won’t know.”
“Yeah, yeah. I’m sorry.” Jon was a literal man, Tim knew this. But he hadn’t exactly been subtle in his overtures.
“Boyfriends,” Jon sighed dreamily. “I like that.”
Hopefully he would remember this conversation.
__________
“This is not my flat.”
“Got it in one, Sherlock.”
He shuffled Jon through the door, depositing him as gently as possible on the couch and wrapping a fluffy blanket around his shoulders. He looked ridiculous, eyes at half-mast and a confused look on his face. “Gonna wait on the paracetamol, at least until the shit you’re on wears off.”
“Hnnh.” Jon leaned back on the couch, closing his eyes in contentment like a particularly lazy cat. “Kay.” Tim puttered about in the kitchen, getting a glass of water and wetting a rag; he should at least attempt to get the fever under control, Jon’s insistence on layers wasn’t helping. But he couldn’t say no to him, shaking and shivering as he was. Jon deserved a blanket burrito if he wanted one.
Tim pushed the glass of water into Jon’s hands, urging him to take a couple of sips before he set it back down. He plopped himself down on the couch, maneuvering Jon so that he was laying against his chest and placing the damp rag on his forehead, despite his protests. “We’re going to watch some crap telly and you’re going to take a nap. Sound good?” He should’ve probably gotten the remote before he laid down, but now that Jon was snuggled against his chest he was pretty much immovable.
“You’re not going back to work?” Jon asked the question as if Tim staying home was uncalled for and strange. He snorted in response. Typical Jon.
“You’ve got a fever. Of course I’m not going anywhere.”
Jon managed to lift his head a few precious centimeters, though he was straining with the effort. He looked as if he were going to say something very important, but he instead just collapsed back against his chest and buried his face in Tim’s jumper with a lazy purr of contentment. I can’t believe I’m dating a literal cat.
“God, you’re really burning up,” Tim rearranged the towel so it was back on his forehead, having fallen off during Jon’s attempt at conversation.
His next words were muffled against Tim’s chest. “You always do that. You always warm me up.”
Tim almost audibly cooed at the sentiment before seeing an opportunity for a joke and taking it. Let it never be said that Tim Stoker missed an opening.
“Why Jon,” his voice took on an unbearable, teasing tone as his smile grew. “Are you saying I’m so hot I made you sick?” Jon groaned at the words, as expected.
“No.”
“How does that song go, again? You’re givin’ me fev-aah-”
“Shut up, Tim!” He let out a quiet chuckle, giving Jon a light squeeze in apology.
“Alright, alright. I’ll let you rest.” Jon sighed, curling up in his arms. They stayed like that for some time; Tim rubbing a gentle hand up and down his back. Just when he thought Jon had been lulled to sleep, he spoke up in a quiet tone.
“You...you actually have a nice voice.” The words were slurred and Tim tried not to take offense at the ‘actually’ addendum. “But maybe just a bit quieter. And just a hum. Thanks.”
He snickered. “Will do.”
“Love you.” Tim froze, his hand stilling in its movements. He doesn’t mean it, he told himself firmly. He’s just tired and loopy. He won’t remember this when he wakes up. Still, he responded and the intensity behind the words was surprising even to him.
“Love you, too.”
Jon slept and Tim ran his fingers through his hair, listening to his soft snores. In an hour or two, he’d make him soup and insist on a dose of real meds. And that night, when Jon was curled around him in bed, with clear eyes and a lucid voice he’d repeat the words he mumbled earlier. And he would mean them.
For the soft sentence prompts, how about “You wrote me a song?”... the perfect culmination of Martin’s love of poetry and everyone’s favourite Jon-was-in-the-mechanisms-in-uni headcanon..
“Holy shit,” Martin says. He’s sitting at the kitchen table, too stunned to take a sip of the tea he’s holding halfway to his mouth, as Jon takes a seat across from him. There’s sheet music laid out in front of Jon’s chair, though Martin can’t quite make any of it out, and Jon is examining it with narrowed eyes, as though he’s trying to discern its every flaw. He starts tuning the guitar he’s just brought into the room.
“I know I already got you the sweater,” Jon says, eyes still on the music, “but first anniversaries are special, so.” He plucks a string and adjusts a peg. “I wanted to do something special. For you.”
“So you . . .” Martin finally puts the mug down. “You wrote me a song?”
Jon looks up at him and smiles. “Yeah.” Then he does back to staring daggers at the music. “We’ll see if it’s turned out any good.”
“I mean . . . I’m sure I’ll like it,” Martin says. Nobody’s written so much as a haiku for him before, let alone a song. And it’s Jon, after all; he can’t imagine disliking it.
Jon looks at him doubtfully. “You’re the poet here. I’m more used to writing instrumentals.” He makes one final peg adjustment, and nods, satisfied. “Alright. Um . . . is--are you ready?”
Martin has to laugh. “Are you?”
Jon grins sheepishly. “Ha. Well--here goes nothing, then.”
It’s a soft, slow song. A love song, of course. Jon doesn’t play chords; he plucks individual strings, making the guitar sound more like a harp, but the sound is rich and full, filling the kitchen, filling their whole house. It starts off melancholy, a bit mournful, even, and Martin is concerned for a brief moment, before the lyrics start. He’s heard Jon sing before, but not like this, quiet and vulnerable, and even though Jon’s gaze is firmly fixed on the sheet music, Martin feels utterly pinned by the words. They’re about him, of course, he knows that, but they’re so . . . about him, and it’s been years since Jon has even tried to Know him, but these words make it clear that he knows Martin, understands him, sees him, adores him. The poetry itself is a bit clunky, a bit obvious, but it’s so Jon, and it’s so Martin, all at once, and Martin loves it.
It’s only when Jon plucks the last string and lets the note hang in the air that he looks up at Martin again. “Oh,” he says, surprised, “um, you’re--”
Martin brushes at his eyes. He sniffs through laughter. “Yeah, you arse. You made me cry.”
“I’m sorry,” Jon says, not looking sorry at all.
“C’mere,” Martin says, holding out his arms, and Jon sets the guitar carefully aside and goes to him, leaning over Martin to give him a kiss on the crown of his head as Martin wraps his arms around Jon’s waist.
“Happy anniversary, Martin,” Jon says, painfully softly.
top five hot drinks (or cold, if that’s more your style :])
peppermint herbal tea with honey
earl grey tea with honey and a splash of milk
coffee, heavy on cream and sugar bc i’m a baby
lavender chamomile tea with honey
hot chocolate (made with dark chocolate and milk!! not water, thank you very much lol) also!! pairs well w a candy cane during the holidays, but that’s really the only time i drink hot chocolate tbh
and not that you actually asked for both, but cold drinks??
iced mocha latte (or any iced coffee, really)
thai tea with boba
taro milk tea with boba
horchata (also good w boba)
pink drink from starbucks (reminds me of beach days for some reason)
Ohh this is difficult! My answers will also be incredibly boring because I have a very narrow taste in food LMAO
1. Plain potato chips
2. Vanilla or strawberry yogurt
3. Cinnamon danish cookies
4. Any type of chocolate really? As long as it isnt too bitter
5. Strawberries
trope rating time! consider: hanahaki disease, that weirdly Specific fandom au of dubious origin. thoughts?
trope rating game!
No | rather not | I dunno | I guess | Sure | Yes | FUCK yes | Oh god you don’t even know |
i do very much enjoy hanahaki fics!! my one caveat is that i don't like ones that get sad :( which means i tend to prefer the ones that are less 'unrequited love' (the traditional sort of hanahaki) and more 'feels love strongly and therefore grows flowers.'
(there are some EXCELLENT versions of this in the tma fandom. i really like Keep On Turning Pages and also The Hollow Space Where Dirt Should Pack)
i have a very strong memory of reading an unrequited love hanahaki fic in one of my previous fandoms where the person with hanahaki died because the other person didn't love them back, and i think that's really stuck with me in terms of my hesitance to do angsty unrequited love hanahaki ;__;
top five hot beverages! (Or cold, if that’s your jam) <3
1) Royal Milk Tea! It’s (as far as I know) a Japanese method of making dark teas (Black or Oolong) and it’s lighter and sweeter than a lot of European teas! I like to make it with Assam! Here’s a recipe video, because I think everyone should enjoy royal milk tea as much as I do: https://youtu.be/wPkaD8mheEU
2) Dark Roast Coffee with a lot of cream. I’m a coffee snob and have many opinions on how coffee should and should not be taken, but I drink this near-daily so I think it deserves to be number 2.
3) Jasmine Tea with honey. Jasmine tea is the finikiest and most bratty tea (if you mess up the temperature, it scalds bitter, if you mess up the timing by even a moment it tastes like ash); it’s also the one I get gifted the most. It has a big cultural reputation as a curative tea! Anyways, if you’re making it you have to pay a lot of attention to the details, but it comes out delicate and smells really nice!
4) Rose and Honey milk/latte. This is a weakness I developed in my freshman year- my best friend/soulmate and I used to go out to a cafe near campus- I’m a sucker for floral flavors and so this is my favorite sweet drink. It’s gotten me through some hard times.
5) Earl Grey. I have many memories of earl grey and good ones are really comforting for me! The steamed milk version with foam and vanilla or lavender syrup (London Fog) is really popular, but I also like it with a little lemon and honey!
