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rusty_kink2018-06-02 12:37 pm
gertrude_robinson) wrote in rusty_kink2018-06-02 12:37 pm
Prompt Post: The Magnus Archives #1
Rules
1. All comments to the meme must be anonymous. Linking to fills on AO3/Tumblr/website of your choice is allowed, but comments here must still be posted anon.
2. Concrit is welcome if the author requests it, but character bashing, kink shaming, and hijacking threads by derailing prompts with contrary comments or asking for additions to the prompt are not allowed.
3. Warning for spoilers and subjects such as non-con, incest, underage, character death and worms is highly recommended, but not mandatory.
4. Crossover prompts between Rusty Quill Gaming and The Magnus Archives may be posted to both posts.
5. Please link all fills to the fill post.
6. Don't be an asshole. Mods reserve the right to freeze, screen or delete at their discretion.
7. While it should go without saying (kink meme and all) please be advised that much of the content here may not be appropriate for individuals under 18.
8. Update: All prompts can be filled by more than one person. Two cakes (or three, or four) are always appreciated.
While spoiler warnings are not required, if you would like to spoiler cut anything, you can use the following code:
Prompting Guidelines
1. The prompt should begin with "Prompt:"
2. The fill should begin with "Fill:". Otherwise there should be no change to the title.
2. Include the names of the character(s) or pairing(s) in the title, followed by the kink or trope if applicable. Pairings should be formatted A/B(/C/D).
3. If you would like to provide warnings, please put them in the first line of the comment to prevent the titles from getting too long.
And example title: Prompt: Jon/Plant monster, sex pollen
Links
Ask a Mod
Fills Post
Chat and Off-Topic Discussion
AO3 Collection
1. All comments to the meme must be anonymous. Linking to fills on AO3/Tumblr/website of your choice is allowed, but comments here must still be posted anon.
2. Concrit is welcome if the author requests it, but character bashing, kink shaming, and hijacking threads by derailing prompts with contrary comments or asking for additions to the prompt are not allowed.
3. Warning for spoilers and subjects such as non-con, incest, underage, character death and worms is highly recommended, but not mandatory.
4. Crossover prompts between Rusty Quill Gaming and The Magnus Archives may be posted to both posts.
5. Please link all fills to the fill post.
6. Don't be an asshole. Mods reserve the right to freeze, screen or delete at their discretion.
7. While it should go without saying (kink meme and all) please be advised that much of the content here may not be appropriate for individuals under 18.
8. Update: All prompts can be filled by more than one person. Two cakes (or three, or four) are always appreciated.
While spoiler warnings are not required, if you would like to spoiler cut anything, you can use the following code:
<div tabindex="-1"><b>spoiler title</b><div>Some spoilery content.</div></div>
Prompting Guidelines
1. The prompt should begin with "Prompt:"
2. The fill should begin with "Fill:". Otherwise there should be no change to the title.
2. Include the names of the character(s) or pairing(s) in the title, followed by the kink or trope if applicable. Pairings should be formatted A/B(/C/D).
3. If you would like to provide warnings, please put them in the first line of the comment to prevent the titles from getting too long.
And example title: Prompt: Jon/Plant monster, sex pollen
Links
Ask a Mod
Fills Post
Chat and Off-Topic Discussion
AO3 Collection
Prompt: Martin/Jon, hurt/comfort after injury
(Anonymous) 2018-06-11 12:32 am (UTC)(link)Re: Fill: Martin/Jon, hurt/comfort after injury 1/2
(Anonymous) 2019-11-04 01:04 am (UTC)(link)Tim left immediately after Elias dismissed them, hands in his hair. Basira and Daisy followed, Daisy suppressing a raw, shocked anger Basira seemed patiently tolerant of. Martin supposed they were looking for a place to shout out Basira's decision to sign the contract. Melanie had lingered longer, until the silence between she and Martin got awkward enough, she nudged his ribs with an elbow, told him to holler if he heard any gunshots, and left with his glare on her back.
So Martin was the only one there to see the mess left of Jon.
God, he wished he could write a poem that felt the way Jon had looked charging down the hall and up the stairs. It'd be called "Furie" and contain the phrase "his razor-licked multitudes of mouth and eye" and maybe the phrase "livid fingers turned to tear." (But not the phrase "tongue of flame that lashes my flesh." Martin and his flesh should be left out of this poem.)
If Jon had been a fire, this was the ash. His skin was nearly grey, even. Something that had gone on in that office had snuffed him out, leaving nothing but an empty kind of sadness. He seemd startled to see Martin.
Martin had never really had a strong feeling about Elias (except confusion when he'd confessed to Gertrude's murder,) but he suddenly wanted the man dead with an insistence he'd never managed in his life.
But he wasn't really made for wrath, and Jon was standing there with a gash across his neck and a hand wrapped in dirty, twisted bandage that had unraveled half of the way to the floor, and, while both of those wounds had existed earlier, they hadn't seemed like wounds at all. They'd seemed like paint and armor and power.
Now they were wounds.
"Jon," Martin said, clambering to his feet, "Let's get that cleaned off and see what we can do for your hand. Come on."
It spoke to how bad a state Jon was in that he followed Martin to the elevators without argument--without seeming even to have heard.
When the door dinged and rumbled open, Jon startled out of his trance.
"If you can find me the first aid kit, I can take care of it myself."
Bullshit. The injured hand was his dominant hand, and, now that Martin got a good look, there was blood spotting through the dressing, as well as the dirt, and what appeared to be a yellowish drainage around the edges. But he wasn't going to argue the point. He was afraid, with Jon in this state, he'd win.
"I'll grab it for you," Martin promised.
Jon nodded and followed him into the elevator, where he leaned against the back wall next to Martin.
"What happened to your hand?" Martin asked, hitting the button.
"I was polite to someone I shouldn't have been." Jon's head went back against the wall, eyes sliding shut. He laughed at himself.
"Guess you should have been ruder," Martin replied. "Lesson learned?"
"Ha. I suppose. That just got me flung through the sky. No injuries."
"Riiight."
Jon opened his eyes, looking cross. Martin was relieved he was coming back to himself. He resolved to keep him talking instead of brooding. "To answer your question, it was a burn. I spent the afternoon digging a grave, though, and now I'll be lucky if it's not a flesh slurry." He shuddered. "On the positive side, I felt an especially stubborn blister finally pop."
Martin gave him two thumbs up and an unconvincing smile. "Um. Yay?"
The elevator arrived in the basement. Martin just barely stopped himself offering his hand as Jon pushed off the wall a little unsteadily.
"So, I don't know if you know this," Martin said, leading a confused-seeming Jon toward the opposite end of the hall from the Archives, "but Artefact Storage has an incredible first aid setup. Seems someone's always in danger of getting burnt by something. Or bitten by something, or infected--well, you get the picture."
Martin led Jon past the emergency eye wash and sink to the first aid station. There were a couple kits. Better to attack the less serious issue first, Martin thought, eyeing Jon's throat. Imagine having your throat cut be the least of your injuries.
"So Detective Tonner did that?"
"How'd you--" Jon's eyes widened.
"Lucky guess." Oh, Martin did have a little space left inside him for hate. "How'd it happen?"
Jon explained briefly what he'd been up to since his disappearance as Martin prepared his supplies. Martin had spent too many hours of the past several months speculating about what Jon was doing, but he never would have guessed he'd been baiting monsters.
"You remember back in Research when I climbed over the garden fence of the wrong house and that old man pulled a shotgun on me?" Martin asked, wetting a paper towel in the sink.
Jon managed half a laugh. "I remember you showing off the picture."
"He wasn't that bad! He gave me most of the information in that file. I remember you saying something at the time about me treating my life like cheap toilet paper."
Jon looked at him narrowly, "I did? Well, I stand by it. You always had some ridiculous story like that."
"Look at yourself, though." Martin leaned in a bit, dabbing at the rusty scunge of blood that had been rubbed across the front of Jon's neck. "If you had to talk to people you knew were monsters, you shouldn't have gone alone."
"It'd hardly be fair or safe to drag Georgie into it." Jon's adam's apple bobbed beside Martin's gentle fingers.
"You could have got in touch."
"Well, I am now," Jon said, looking down at Martin, head tilted back to let him work. And Martin suddenly thought about the fact they were touching. The fingers of Martin's left hand were actually resting on Jon's neck, holding the skin taut while the other cleaned it.
It's not something he would have been able to do if he'd actually thought about it, and now that he had, he could feel a shiver wanting to push its way out of him to the surface of his skin. Breaking eye contact helped.
"So does this mean you're back?"
"I'm not sure yet. I'm--" Jon swallowed and his throat moved beneath Martin's fingers. "I'm not sure how much I actually left."
Jon ended on an even weaker laugh. More of a sigh. Martin wondered whether he was thinking back on his and Elias's talk.
Martin didn't say how much he missed him. How much time he spent speculating on Jon's location. His safety. There was some amount of that behavior that would be normal for a subordinate with a somewhat friendly relationship with his boss, but he wasn't sure how much. He knew, wherever the line was, he'd left it miles behind.
Plus, it'd sound like a guilt trip.
"You might be able to salvage this shirt, if you get it soaking right away," he offered instead, turning aside to discard the bloody paper towel.
"Oh. Um. Yes. I'll--I'll be sure to do that once I get home." Jon's hands came up in front of his chest, fingers of his good hand feeling at the stiffened rim of blood at his collar. Puzzlingly, he seemed a little flustered.
Oh. He'd thought Martin was trying to get his shirt off. Martin turned to the counter, concentrating much harder than he needed to on soaking a cotton ball with rubbing alcohol. How fucking obvious was his crush? Tim, of course, knew. But Martin had pegged Jon as blessedly unobservant of others' feelings.
He offered the soaked cotton ball to Jon, standing carefully back. "Did you want to do it?"
"I'm afraid I wouldn't be able to see what I'm doing, so if you could, I'd -- um, I'd appreciate it."
"Sure." Martin felt his left hand trying to come up to touch the side of Jon's neck as he stepped closer and stopped himself. Jon threw his head back again, opening the edges of the score slightly, showing the pink grain of the flesh. Thankfully, it had been shallow and was bleeding no further. "This is going to sting."
Jon handled whatever pain there was well. It wasn't until Martin got to the widest part of the cut--in the center of Jon's throat--that Jon hissed and his lip came up to reveal the shrarp white edges of his teeth. Martin's hand came up instinctively, fingers beneath Jon's jaw.
"There," he said softly. "You're fine." Martin fought his nerves down. Jon had asked him. It was alright to touch.
"Sorry." Jon tried to smile. "You can keep going."
Martin finished, washed his hands, and easily dressed the wound with pads of gauze and surgical tape. Jon's hand came up to feel it afterwards.
"Thank you, Martin. Does this look as conspicuous as it feels?"
"Well, yes. Even if it weren't for the bandage, the blood on your collar--" Jon was trying to do up his top shirt button one-handed. Oh well, Martin thought recklessly, and did it for him.
"Actually, it looked less conspicuous unbuttoned," Martin said when he'd finished. "It doesn't come up high enough."
Jon sighed. "I don't know what I'll tell Georgie."
"You cut yourself making a sandwich?"
Jon's look of reproach made Martin laugh and, after a moment, one side of Jon's mouth quirked up as well. "I'd have thought I'd been abused enough today," he muttered.
"What'd you tell her about the hand?"
"That I grabbed a pan from the oven barehanded."
Martin sighed. "Honestly, Jon, what's wrong with the truth?"
"Besides the fact it makes me sound like a maniac?" Jon winced. "I feel like knowing will put her in danger."
Martin made a noise of acknowledgement. He didn't want to point out, if there was danger, Jon was already exposing his friend to it by going to her. Jon might do something reckless that would leave him totally alone.
"More danger, anyway. I don't like Elias knowing where she lives…."
"So! How about that hand?"
"I have the stuff for it at home."
"Tell me what you use on it."
Jon explained the care routine, Martin hunting up each item as he named it. They had everything they needed.
"This is too much of an imposition." Jon looked outright ashamed.
"It's really not." Martin said firmly. "I don't want you walking around the city like that."
Jon nodded. "Alright. If we're really doing this, we'll need one more thing."
"Toby! Hey!" Martin flagged down one of the practical researchers on his way out the door. "Sorry to keep you. Just wanted to check that chair against the wall's not haunted."
"Naw, that one's ours."
"Actually," Martin tried, "Have you guys got anything stronger for pain than what's in the first aid kit?"
When Martin returned with a pill and a chair, Jon had already begun. His sleeves were rolled to the elbow and he was soaking his remaining dressings under the tap. Martin could see the livid edges of the burns where Jon had managed to pull the old dressings loose.
"Jon," Martin chided. "I got you a pain pill. You should have waited."
"I wanted to do this part myself," Jon explained over the splash of the water, "it's not that painful, but it is disgusting."
"Well, fine," Martin said, a bit exasperated, "but you should have it now. It'll take a few minutes to kick in."
Jon wavered, hands still under the water, then turned to Martin and put his tongue out for the pill. It was a miracle Martin didn't drop the thing. He wasn't able to stop himself watching Jon's throat move as he swallowed.
"Haaa! Alright!" Martin looked at Jon's hand to distract himself, and wow, was that a potent dick-shriveler. Jon gently tugged a piece of the gauze loose from where it had crusted to the edge of his palm, and when it came away, the water ran temporarily brownish pink.
"Can I see?" Martin managed.
"You want to?"
"I want to know what we're getting into."
Jon brought his hand out of the water, turning it over for Martin to examine. Martin took it all in with much more composure than he'd have thought himself capable. Some of the wet dressings still hung from the other edge of Jon's palm. Martin could see the weight of it pulling at the flesh. The fingers and back of the hand, which weren't as burnt, were puffy with fluid. The palm, in contrast, was leaking freely from around the ragged edges of soggy flesh. Without the water's continuous washing, a dozen little spots of crimson were starting to blossom among the mottled pink, yellow, and red. Oh, Martin noticed, There's where the blister had burst, on the thumb between the knuckle and palm.
"That's.…colorful." Martin hissed in sympathy as the hand moved, fingers flexing inward. "Jon! Should you--"
"I've got to move it. I can't lose mobility as it heals. Let me just…" Jon turned his hand palm down and began peeling the rest of the dressing carefully away. He was breathing hard around his gritted teeth and his face had gone greyish again. Martin pulled the chair closer in case he needed to fall into it, but Jon finished and got the tap off before letting himself sit.
And Jon finally told Martin about the conversation with Jurgen Leitner that had precipitated his death while they waited for Jon's painkiller to kick in. Martin himself felt numbed by the magnitude of the revelation.
"….I like the metaphor," he said at last. "The anthill being pulled apart."
"Ha. Maybe you would have liked Leitner," Jon said, flexing the fingers of his burnt hand. He'd continued to every couple minutes, despite the pain it so clearly caused him. Despite the clear, yellowish fluid beading on the surface of his ruined flesh where it twisted and pulled with his motions.
"No, I don't think I would've. So in the scheme of that giant creature, we--the Institute--we're--"
"The Eye, yes." Jon had turned his palm over and was looking at it distantly. "Elias said.…Elias said I've some special responsibility."
Before Martin could do anything to prevent him, Jon had driven the index finger of his good hand into the base of the opposite thumb. He let out a thin, quiet scream, and curled up like a pillbug.
"Jon!"
Jon straightened up almost immediately, regaining his composure, though his eyes had a worrying febrile brightness.
"Testing! Just testing!" He exclaimed as though that was supposed to reassure Martin.
"Testing what?! Jesus, Jon, were you trying to make yourself bleed again?" Martin didn't realize he was angry until he heard the edge in his voice.
"Of course not. That spot.…it was numb. It had been numb since Jude. I thought it was nerve damage."
"So, it wasn't?"
Jon tried for a smile, and shouldn't have. It looked ghoulish on a face still sharp with pain. "Oh no, I'm fairly certain it was. The nerves must have grown back in!"
"Oh." Martin thought it best not to contest him. "Are you alright?"
"Yes. A little longer on the pain medication, I think."
Martin bit his lip against the desire to call Jon a goddamned idiot and say that wasn't how pain medication worked--you couldn't just willingly reinjure yourself.
"Jon, you were going to say--what's your responsibility? Your "special" responsibility?"
"To experience and chronicle.…terror, I suppose."
"Oh. Huh." He leaned against the sink, watching Jon stare dully into space, and thought about it. The connection came to him suddenly--to experience terror fully, it'd be helpful to have the full sensory apparatus in good working order. He wasn't sure why that one tiny detail--the patch of skin that should have been dead, but wasn't--was what finally brought his hair to an end. Perhaps exactly because it was such a small detail. "We're really fucked now, aren't we?"
"Martin!" Jon said sternly.
"What is it? The language?"
Jon scowled. "We're not. I am. I'm going to do what I can to deal with this without involving you and Tim and the others in any more danger than is necessary."
Re: Fill: Martin/Jon, hurt/comfort after injury 2/2
(Anonymous) 2019-11-04 01:14 am (UTC)(link)Jon's scowl grew deeper. "I wasn't aware I was." His tone was so starchily reminiscent of who he'd been back in Research, Martin had to suppress a smile.
"I guess you think you're being noble or something, but we're already involved, Jon. Even if Tim and Melanie and I aren't out there going head to head with monsters, we're still stuck here doing the bidding of a literal murderer. And that's without accounting for whatever monsters manage to...to sneak in."
"When you put it that way." Jon looked up at him, a little at a loss.
"Well, um," Martin regetted his vehemence. He wasn't used to getting the last word with Jon, and it was a bit uncomfortable. "Just let us know what you're going through. Maybe we can help with some of it."
"I have," Jon said defensively. "Melanie and I have been in communication. She's been digging up research for me. Keeping me caught up on the situation here."
"M-Melanie?!" Martin heard himself exclaim, "but she's--how did you even know--? Did you know each other from somewhere? You're not…" dating?
Was Melanie cute? Martin hadn't thought about it, but on reflection, realized she probably was. All gamine with her arty haircut and big eyes. And a woman. That part probably mattered quite a bit.
Jon was, predictably, looking at him oddly. He felt himself starting to blush, but couldn't shut up.
"But, I mean, that's fine, of course. Good choice. She's a great researcher. For someone who's been here a month." He'd managed to mutter the last part, but Jon was still eyeing him curiously. "Are you ready for me to wrap your hand up?"
Jon remained seated throughout, which was good, because once Martin started it became clear Jon wouldn't have been able to remain standing until the end. Martin applied the ointment with a cotton ball and the softest touch he was capable of, but Jon alternately held his breath like he was trying to pass out and, when Martin would pull back for a new cotton ball, collapse back in his seat, chest swelling with each breath.
Martin bit back the constant impulse to apologize--to relent--and worked through it. Partway through, he removed his jumper, balled it up, and gave it to Jon to squeeze, and that seemed to help him suppress his shivering. Martin applied the absorbent strips he'd cut to each finger and wrapped it, before moving onto the palm.
As he secured the last piece with tape, he murmured "All done now." Martin finally dared to look at Jon. He was clearly exausted, cheeks looking hollow with the strain. There was a smudge of light high on one cheekbone, reflected on his sweat. His hair was damp with it as well. He blinked dazedly at Martin, thin tears glistened under his eyes.
"You alright?" Martin crouched to look more closely at Jon, who groaned and shifted, making an effort to pull himself together. "Ten scale, how much do you hate me right now?" he joked.
"Hate you?" Jon said, incredulous, voice still weak, "I love you. You're not going to believe me, but it's never gone that well. I usually have to bite something not to scream."
Martin barely heard the rest of it over the word love careening around inside his skull like a drunk bee. He could't tear himself away from Jon's eyes, large and dark and still moist, but if he didn't, Martin was afraid he'd never say another sensible word.
"Oh."
"Yes. I was using my belt for it." Jon looked down, pointing with his good hand. "The one I'm wearing, if you want to see the tooth marks. Sorry, I've dropped your jumper." He reached for it, and Martin steadied him and grabbed it himself.
"It must be the pain pill."
"It helped, but you've got a light touch."
"Thanks." Martin carefully avoided looking straight into Jon's eyes. "Didn't they write you a prescription for anything at hospital?"
Martin saw Jon's face freeze, looking to the side the way he did when he was preparing to lie. Oh, he'd not gone, had he? He'd been treating a second or third degree burn with over the counter supplies and webmd. Brilliant. "Never mind. I got that one from Toby, the redhaired guy. He knows about the burn, so if you…." Jon began nodding his head agreeably and Martin trailed off, realizing Jon would never come to Toby. He'd continue to suffer through this operation every time it had to be done with paracetamol or nothing at all.
Martin loved him so much suddenly, it felt a blade had been run down his throat to his heart.
Well, that was wrong--the love had been there a while. It hadn't been engendered with the realization of the extent of Jon's pointless masochism. But the pain Jon put himself through, and Martin's powerlessness to do anything to prevent that pain, was throwing it into stark relief.
Martin didn't have the right to demand to know Jon's plans. To tell him not to throw himself into danger. To take care of him. But he was glad he'd been allowed to this once, he thought, as he cleaned up the sink and counter. Jon insisted on helping, and Martin couldn't deny him, though he was very much in the way.
As they rode the elevator back up to the ground floor--five and six had come and gone while Martin had been working on Jon--Martin noticed Jon attempting to text one-handed on a flimsy-looking flip phone.
"Jon, is that a burner? Like drug dealers use?"
"I guess it is." Jon looked at him wryly. "Did you forget I was a fugitive?" He looked upward, wondering. "Am I still a fugitive? Hmm."
"Did you destroy your regular phone?"
"I dropped it in one of those electronics recyclers."
"Tell me your new number," Martin demanded, pulling out his own phone.
"I don't know it yet." Jon frowned at his screen. "Hush and let me do this. It takes ages on….there."
As they stepped off the elevator, Martin's phone got a message.
>Hello, this is Jonathan Sims' new phone.
"So you didn't lose my number," he joked at Jon's retreating back.
Jon turned back, holding the door for Martin. "Of course not. I know it."
Later, it would occur to Martin to be peeved Jon could have contacted him at any time in the past lonely, worried months and hadn't. But for the moment, he saw Jon, not burning, not ashen, but light and Martin could do nothing but let it wash through him.
Re: Fill: Martin/Jon, hurt/comfort after injury 2/2
(Anonymous) 2019-11-04 06:20 pm (UTC)(link)Re: Fill: Martin/Jon, hurt/comfort after injury 2/2
(Anonymous) 2019-11-04 06:48 pm (UTC)(link)I will probably get this up on ao3 eventually. (Did you know you can bookmark links to offsite fic on ao3, too? It's so helpful for meme fills and tumblr fic.)
Re: Fill: Martin/Jon, hurt/comfort after injury 2/2
(Anonymous) 2019-11-04 08:40 pm (UTC)(link)Re: Fill: Martin/Jon, hurt/comfort after injury 2/2
(Anonymous) 2019-11-04 11:54 pm (UTC)(link)Re: Fill: Martin/Jon, hurt/comfort after injury 2/2
(Anonymous) 2019-11-19 11:04 pm (UTC)(link)Re: Fill: Martin/Jon, hurt/comfort after injury 2/2
(Anonymous) 2019-11-21 04:37 pm (UTC)(link)