#Scottish Safehouse fic

[grahamfolgersdeliciousnotebooks]

A quick little Scottish Safehouse fic for you. Check it out on AO3, or read below. Reblogs, replies, etc are always extremely appreciated.

They didn’t talk about it, at the safehouse. They talked about everything but – the weather, the dishes, the neighbors’ cows. They talked about Daisy, but only to comment about her decor, or her taste in books and music made evident by the small collection of vinyl and battered paperbacks scattered across the house. They didn’t talk about what she might be doing now. They didn’t speculate about whether Basira had made good on her promise yet.

Jon didn’t ask Martin about anything he’d said in the Lonely, though the words I really loved you, you know burned a constant hum in the back of his mind. Martin didn’t ask about any of the things he’d Seen. He wouldn’t know what to ask, even if he wanted to. Was it real? Do you love me? He wasn’t sure he needed to ask. What does it mean? Where do we go from here? That was closer to the mark, but terrifying. Everything felt so fragile at the moment. He didn’t want to push. It was easier, safer, to keep things light. Was the tea in Daisy’s cupboards still good? Had Jon seen that grey heron in the stream outside the window? Should they stop by the library the next time they went into town for groceries?

They barely spoke at all when they went to bed. The nerve-wracking reality of sharing a bed, just inches apart, overpowered any instinct to chat. So they said nothing, falling asleep to the sound of the other’s breathing until it was time for one or both of them to be woken by a nightmare.

***

The first night, it was Martin. He tossed and turned in his sleep, badly enough to shake Jon from his own bad dreams, so Jon could hear the second he woke with a hitched, choked breath. 

“It’s alright,” he whispered. “You’re alright, it was just a dream.”

“Jon?”

“I’m here.”

Jon reached across and slipped his hand into Martin’s, and Martin squeezed it like a lifeline. They didn’t say anything else, after that, but when they finally fell asleep nearly an hour later, their hands were still clasped together.

***

In the morning, they talked about the crossword.

“How do you spell obstinate?” Martin asked across the breakfast table.

“O-B-S-T-I-N-A-T-E.”

“Hmm. Too many letters, then.”

“What’s the clue?”

“Stubborn, 8 letters.” Martin told him. “First two letters are O and B.”

“What about ‘obdurate?’”

Martin pencilled it in. “It fits.” He frowned down at the puzzle with a contemplative hum. “And if that’s an R, then that means I was right about 4 down from the beginning…” He filled in a few more clues, then looked up from the puzzle and scoffed. “Obdurate,” he repeated, incredulous. “Who uses the word obdurate?”

***

Jon was woken after midnight by Martin’s harsh, shuddering breaths – crying or on the verge of tears; Jon couldn’t tell. He reached out, and Martin breathed out a shaky sigh.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“I was on the beach again,” Martin whispered. “I was alone.”

“You’re not alone anymore.”

“I know.” Another sigh as he struggled to calm his breathing. “I know.”

***

The next day, they talked about the laundry.

“We forgot to buy detergent,” Jon informed him after spending the morning inspecting Daisy’s laundry room and its ancient washer-dryer.

“Daisy didn’t leave any behind?”

“You can look for yourself if you want, but I didn’t see any.”

“I trust you.”

Jon settled on the couch and spread the throw blanket across his lap. “How much did you pack? Do you think we can put off doing laundry until after we go to the shops?”

“Sure,” Martin told him, though in truth he hadn’t packed much. “We’ll be fine.”

***

When Jon woke, he didn’t move. He didn’t make a sound. He lay on his back, letting his tears slide down his cheeks in total silence, certain that he hadn’t woken Martin. But when he finally had to breathe – the tell-tale hiccuping inhale of someone who had just been crying – Martin rolled over to face him.

“Jon?”

“It’s nothing. Just a bad dream,” he whispered. “Go back to sleep.”

Martin watched him. Jon’s chest rose and fell unsteadily, and in the light of the nearly-full moon outside their window, Martin could see the tear tracks glisten, incriminating, on his face.

Jon finally turned to face him, and they lay face to face for a long, silent moment. A strand of long, grey-streaked hair had fallen into Jon’s face with the movement, and Martin reached out to tuck it behind his ear.

“Oh, Jon…”

He let his hand linger, cupping his jaw, then moved it an inch to brush aside the tears from Jon’s cheeks. His hand was warm, and Jon’s skin was cold, and Jon turned his face to press into that point of warm, gentle contact. 

Jon waited for Martin to pull his hand away. Martin waited for Jon to turn away again. Neither of them moved. 

Finally, Jon closed the space between them to tuck his face into the crook of Martin’s neck. Martin held his breath for a moment before bringing his arms up to pull Jon even closer.

They woke up that morning entwined in each other’s arms, but they didn’t talk about it.

***

“We’re almost out of eggs.”

“Already?”

“It’s probably my fault,” Martin admitted. “I used a lot of them for my omelet yesterday.”

“Well, we needed to go shopping anyway.”

Martin hmm’ ed thoughtfully. “There was something else we needed. Wasn’t there?”

“There was,” Jon agreed. “God, what was it?”

“We should start writing these things down.”

***

That night, Jon had another nightmare. Martin could hear him trying to stifle his crying once again, and reached out. 

Jon froze at the contact, caught like a deer in the headlights. Then he turned to press himself against Martin’s chest and let himself be held.

“Nightmare?” Martin asked, and Jon nodded.

“I couldn’t look away,” he murmured. “I tried to, but– I just stood there and watched.”

Martin pressed Jon to him. “It’s alright,” he said, though it wasn’t exactly true. Then he whispered, “I’m here,” which was.

***

The next day, they went into town for groceries. They chatted a bit on the walk there.

“God, breathe that air,” Martin exclaimed, sucking in a good lungful for himself.

“I’m breathing it…” Jon said. “Is there… something I’m supposed to notice?”

“It’s fresh!” Martin told him. “It’s good, country air! I don’t miss London right now, I’ll tell you that.”

“No.” Jon glanced at Martin, bundled in his worn peacoat against the highland chill. “I can’t say I miss London either.”

They chatted more in the grocery store.

“Where are you going?”

“I just want to look at the tea selection…”

“We already have so much back at the house.”

“I’m just looking!”

And more, on the walk back.

“Ooh, look there! Is that a falcon? Or a hawk?”

“A hawk.”

“You sure?”

“Yes, it’s a Eurasian sparrowhawk.”

“Know-it-all.”

“Yes, Martin, that’s sort of the idea.”

And more, when they got back to the safehouse.

“Geez,” Martin said as they walked through the front door, “it’s getting a bit nippy, isn’t it? Should we have a fire tonight?”

“Yes, that’s probably–”

Martin dropped the tote bag he was holding with an abrupt clunk.

“Laundry detergent!”

Jon didn’t have to ask what he meant; he just swore under his breath.

“Damnit!”

“We forgot laundry detergent.”

“Look, Martin, you finish putting the groceries away and I’ll run back to the shop.”

“I’ll come with you.”

“You don’t have to. It’s a long way–”

“I want to.”

“Alright.” Jon bit his lip around the urge to smile. “If you’re sure.”

***

It was Martin’s turn for a nightmare that night. It was too much to ask, it seemed, that just once they both sleep soundly.

He was crying. Quietly, but not so quietly that it didn’t stand out starkly against the silence of the house. He had his back to Jon, and Jon watched his shoulders shake for a single hesitant moment before he wrapped his arms around Martin’s waist.

“Was it the same dream?” he asked in a barely-there whisper, and Martin shook his head.

“You were there this time,” he said. “In the Lonely. But you… you hated me. You didn’t say it, but I could tell– I knew– you wanted me to go.”

“I’m sorry.”

Martin sniffled. “It was just a dream,” he said, as much to himself as to Jon.

“I… I don’t want you to go.”

“I know. You don’t have to… It was just a dream,” Martin repeated.

They let the silence hang in the air for a time, Jon holding Martin in a wordless embrace, Martin letting the tears come without trying to fight them this time. Jon broke the silence to murmur,

“I was prepared to stay.”

“What?”

“When I went into the Lonely, I didn’t know if I’d be able to pull you out – I didn’t know if I’d be able to pull myself out. I just knew…” he took a steadying breath, and pressed his ear to Martin’s back to hear the quiet beating of his heart. “I’d rather be there with you than leave you there alone.”

“Oh.” 

Martin took Jon’s hand in his, pressing it to his chest like a talisman, like it could ward off the Lonely. Maybe it could.

“Thanks, Jon. I…” Another sentence he couldn’t finish. “Thank you.”

Jon turned his head and pressed a kiss to the back of Martin’s neck. In that moment, it felt natural. It felt simple. It felt right.

Martin sighed. The sound was warm, and gentle, and content, and it felt so loud against the silence of the room.

They didn’t talk about it.

***

The next day, they did laundry.

The washer seemed up to the task, but the dryer, which Jon had been dubious of since the moment he set eyes on it, gave out halfway through the first spin cycle. In the end, they had to hang it up to dry.

They worked as a team, Jon handing Martin clothes and pegs and Martin hanging them on the laundry line that stood in the yard behind the safehouse.

They chatted while they worked.

“I’ve never seen you wear this in my life,” Martin remarked as he hung up one of Jon’s old tee shirts from uni.

“Yes, well, I was in a bit of a hurry when I packed…”

Martin read the text printed in too-small serif across the front of the shirt, and his face split into a grin.

“Wait, am-dram? You did am-dram in uni?”

“Very briefly.”

“This explains so much about you.”

“Shut up, Martin,” Jon muttered without any real venom.

“Well, let’s hear something! You must have a bit of Shakespeare memorized.”

He did, but he wasn’t going to say as much while Martin was mocking him.

“I’m not a performing monkey.”

“Oh, come on, just one quick monologue! Just a little, ‘But soft, what light through yonder window breaks…’”

“It is the east, and Juliet is the sun,” Jon finished rotely and without intonation. “Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon, who is already sick and pale with grief, that thou her maid art far more fair than she – and that’s as much as you’ll get out of me.”

Jon bent over to grab more laundry and did his best to hide his face.

“Are you happy?” he asked.

Martin grinned. “Very.”

“Well… that’s good,” he said stiffly. “I’m glad.”

Martin looked at Jon – desperately embarrassed, surrounded by sodden tee shirts, windswept silver-black hair gleaming in the late September sun – and felt more fond than he ever had of anyone in his life.

“I love you.”

The words slipped out before he realized what he was saying. Jon’s head swung around to stare.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t– I mean– I know it’s–”

“You do?” Jon’s words were quiet and utterly serious.

Martin gave an anxious little nod. “Yeah.” His voice came out smaller than he expected. “I do. I really, really do.”

Jon let the pair of trousers he was holding fall to the ground as he surged forward to kiss him.

***

Another nightmare. Another round of whispered reassurances.

“It’s alright, you’re alright, I’m here.”

When the shock wore off and they were able to shake the residual dread from their respective bad dreams, they turned to face each other on the mattress. The light from the barely-waning moon painted everything in shades of dusky silver. 

For a long time, they didn’t speak; they simply studied each other’s faces. Eventually, Jon brought his forehead up to rest against Martin’s.

“I love you.”

Martin swallowed. He still wasn’t used to hearing it. Jon wasn’t used to saying it.

“I love you, too.”

Their lips met in one soft, slow kiss, and then they pulled away just enough to gaze at each other as they fell back into sleep.

[haveyoureadthisfanfic]

Summary: Jonathan Sims, The Archivist, teaches a year 13 elective class on Paranormal Sciences, because the school board took one look at his resume, saw The Magnus Institute listed as a previous workplace, and went 'we have a better idea' for his History teacher application. His first batch of students are not what he expected in the slightest, featuring: Kyōryokuna ‘Ko’ James, the Collector; Dian Cooper, hypersomniac goth; Christopher 'Kit' Wilson, tired barista; Alex Pierce, amateur paranormal investigator; Zuri Jelani, local sceptic; and Duke Murdock, Slaughter avatar in the making. There are also mugs. A lot of mugs.

Author: @surrealsupernaturalist

[cult-of-the-eye]

Martin had always had many voices in his head. The downside to this was that which one was his, was sometimes unclear. He was getting more used to taking one of those voices by the arm and twisting, wielding it like a knife to an apple. It worked sometimes, but other times the arm wrenched itself out of his grip. This voice in particular mimicked his mother, appearing already in full sentences in his brain. Usually his thoughts formed a cloud, that he picked at, like the nail polish on his fingers (a new tactic to stop his bad habit of nail-biting). So that's why it was particularly hard to reach out his arm to grab it. It was something tangible. Something whispering about how much he still needed her, how weak he is without her, how she hated the colour of his nails. But he didn't hate the colour of his nails. He picked out the colour himself, at a corner shop in Nowhere, Scotland. He turned to Jon, grabbing at his own voice and refusing to let go, and told him he wanted to get it. And he did. He did.

[magnetarmadda]

for @tmaappreciationweek Day 6, I've a little Scottish Safehouse moment for our boys, featuring tea as Martin's love language

Martin always thought of Jon as the epitome of British, with his polished clothes, posh accent, and jawline that could cut glass. Tim once joked that Jon seemed as British as beans on toast (which of course Jon had overheard—that was the first time Martin had seen Jon go beet red). 

So it always surprised Martin how averse Jon seemed to be to drinking tea. Well, not averse exactly, as he would sip at a cup for a few hours (Christ, cold tea). But he would make the most unpleasant expressions at it, as though it were giving him a live statement that sounded about as real as elephants on the moon. 

Martin wasn't a tea connoisseur by any means, but he'd learned how to make a comforting cuppa during the years he cared for his mother, and he felt proud of his ability to figure out how his coworkers took their tea. Tim liked his steeped an extra minute, with a decent measure of milk and no sugar. Sasha (he thinks) preferred hers weaker, milk and a good spoonful of sugar. 

It took Martin quite a bit of time to find out what Jon liked, though. 

First time he'd offered to make a round of tea for the office, Jon had first insisted he didn't need to, it wasn't in his job description after all. Martin had stood his ground, no matter how his fingers trembled in his fists, and Jon relented with a small sigh. "Well, if you're sure."

"And how do you take your tea?" Martin had asked, trembling now in victory (no matter how small the victory). 

"Oh, a bit of milk," was all Jon had said. 

Martin thought it was a waste of perfectly good tea (and milk!) for Jon to drink from it gingerly for a while before leaving it to cool on the corner of his desk. 

After a few weeks, he'd tried to determine if it was tea in general or Martin's tea in particular Jon objected to. Jon didn't quite seem to get what Martin was driving at, stating blandly, "It's just tea, Martin."

Martin had begun his own personal crusade then. It was meaningless, in the scheme of things, but he was determined to figure out how Jon took his tea. And if it turned out he didn't actually like tea, what he preferred to drink instead and how Martin should prepare it. It was a point of pride at that point.

Martin quickly learned that Jon would drink coffee but hated the taste, even when doctored to hell and back. He did enjoy a hot chocolate, but it seemed to make him sleepy in the middle of the day, and then grumpy at Martin.

So Martin went back to his tea experiments, and he had an inkling Tim and Sasha were taking bets about the process on the sly.

Martin started by preparing Jon's tea the way Tim took it—6 minute steep, dollop of milk, no sugar. Jon finished more of that tea than he had before, but less than Martin would've liked.

So instead, he made it the way he liked his own—5 minute steep, milk until a nice tawny color, spoon of sugar. Jon drank most of it, but solid quarter of the tea remained in the bottom of the mug. 

When Martin eventually got up to adding two more spoonfuls of sugar to the mug, Jon not only drained his mug but seemed surprised to find it empty. It wasn't much, and Martin wouldn't have known about it at all if he hadn't been bringing in a report. But he was, and he saw.

Jon flipped open the file Martin handed him, reached for his mug, and then let out an, "Oh!" He looked down in disappointment, set the mug aside, and sighed. "I'll have to make another later."

Martin had just nodded and took the empty mug back to the sink, where he grinned to himself as he made a fresh round. 

Making tea for Jon became second nature, in the years they worked together, and it was the first thing to come back after the Lonely. He'd felt dazed when he woke up, confused and half-aware, vaguely remembering he was somewhere in the Scottish Highlands, but Jon was sleeping soundly beside him, and all Martin could think was, "He needs tea."

Martin doesn't know exactly what woke Jon, if it was Martin's absence or the smell of the tea and toast or something else entirely, but his heart feels full to bursting, a sharp pain of affection he'd forgotten about, when he takes in Jon's sleepy face framed by morning light.

"Morning," Jon says through a yawn, rubbing his eyes with the sleeve of Martin's jumper—Jon, ridiculous man, had brought nothing warmer than his trousers and a threadbare jacket. The sight of Jon drowning in yellow wool is enough to send heat right to Martin's face.

"Morning," he answers, smiling so hard it hurts. Is this what happiness is supposed to feel like? "I'm making breakfast, tea's almost up."

"Mm," Jon says, then, "Thanks." He takes a seat at the table, dropping his head on his hand as he watches Martin with a soft, fond look on his face.

Knowing the tea's almost steeped, Martin stands up on his toes to grab the sugar out of the cupboard and reaches for the milk he'd left on the counter. He tosses the tea bags and in goes the milk, followed by the sugar in his own. He starts to add sugar to the second mug when Jon says, "Wait, stop, please."

Martin stops, looking at Jon with a twinge of anxiety. Is he…is he doing something wrong?

"I don't take sugar in my tea," Jon reminds him, his voice still soft. 

Martin smiles, the anxiety rushing away. "You do," he tells Jon. "I've been putting sugar in for years."

"Have you really?" Jon asks, surprised now. Then he gives a self-deprecating smile. "That would explain why my tea has tasted awful for the last few months."

Martin adds the sugar to Jon's and stirs, letting the stab in his heart subside at the second sentence. "Took me a while to figure it out," he finally says, bringing the teas over to Jon at the table.

He turns to grab the toast from the counter and hears Jon's chair scrape behind him. Jon comes up next to him and grabs the butter and marmalade Martin had pulled out as well.

Martin admits, "It became a bit of a pride thing, really. I didn't like that I could make tea for Tim and Sasha but not for you."

Jon smiles at him, warm and fond and just for him. "Well, thank you," he says, leaning down to press a kiss to Martin's forehead. His face flushes at the casual intimacy of it, a fantasy he never thought he'd get to live. 

They sit down to their simple breakfast, and as Jon spreads a truly obscene amount of orange marmalade on a poor piece of unsuspecting toast, Jon says, "My grandmother wouldn’t let me have sugar in my tea as a child, because I was so a restless child. So, I never thought of trying it that way."

Martin stares pointedly at the monstrosity Jon is stuffing into his mouth at the moment. "But she let you consume double the amount on your toast?" he teases.

Jon coughs, turning pink around the ears. "Ah," he says after swallowing the bread down. "No, that I learned on my own—I didn't have much money in uni, and this was filling and easy, and the sugar could keep me going until dinner, since I'd forget lunch most of the time."

Martin rolls his eyes. "Some things never change," he jokes, and takes a bite of his own toast.

[late-to-the-magnus-archives]

TMA Appreciation Week, August 11: Scottish Safehouse

Spoilers up to MAG 160.

The first morning was odd.

They'd fallen asleep in the single bed with barely a protest. Someone had mumbled something about the worn-out sofa in the other room, but Jon couldn't even recall which of them had.

They'd lain down in the manky clothes they'd worn in the Lonely and on the train and trekking through the Highlands at fuck-o-clock in the morning, too.

Jon could smell himself. He was ripe. Quietly as he could, he slid out of bed.

He didn't look at Martin more than once.

At Martin's sleeping face, freckles bright in the morning light.

At the most beautiful person he'd ever seen that made him want to cry or thank whatever gods there were or maybe just grab him like a blanket and lie beneath him for the duration.

Jon made himself go shower.

When he got out, it was to the smell of burnt toast.

#

"Hey," said Martin, looking nervous and uncomfortable and hopeful and wrinkled, his clothes stained from sweat and walking, his feet bare. He swallowed. "I... there isn't much to eat here, but I thought we could start with a little good old-fashioned carbs."

"Sure," said Jon, sitting at the small table as if he weighed eight thousand pounds. "Are you all right?"

Martin turned away. But a moment before Jon could panic, he turned back around and brought tea and burnt toast to the table.

Martin sat. "Not even a little."

Jon started to touch Martin's hand and hesitated.

Martin took his instead. "But we're going to be okay."

"You're... you're a lot better this morning than you were last night," said Jon.

"I kept thinking of you. Remembering you. Every time I woke up, you were there. Every time I got scared, I could lean in and hear your breath. You're here, Jon. And because you are, so am I. And because we are... we're going to be all right."

Jon smiled and held Martin's hand. He didn't let go as he bit into burnt toast, getting dark flecks all over the table.

PART TWO HERE

@tmaappreciationweek

[just-an-enby-lemon]

He hated a lot of things about himself.

He specially hated how trust come absurdly hard for him and never naturally. Always a concious choice at first. And even then it was hard to move it into a complete feeling. But he trusted Martin and it had to be worth something.

"I think..."

It was hard to talk about himself. About all the small things that made him he was, about how he was just completly wrong from the start.

"I think my grandmother caused some actual permanent damage in me as person."

It's ridiculous of course. It sounds ungratefull even now, more so after so many days listening to Martin talk about his mother, having to watch him accept that she never loved him, "she was my mum and she didn't love me", "she was the one person that was suppose to just do" and "i think I'm unlovable", of not knowing what to do and going into rants about how the idea of an inherent love associated to motherhood is not an actual determination as more than all good parents have a child out of love, how is not any personal failing and how even the Eye agress Martin's mother is just a prick and how Jon loves him very much. How Martin is made to be loved. How once day when things are better he will be surrounded by people who love him as well (how he will realize that Jon is not actually good at love or at being a person and leave, "you have to love yourself, Jon, cause people don't stay for people that are different").

Martin was the one with real problems, Martin was the one quite literally abused by his guardian and in comparisson what? Jon's grandmother couldn't always watch him? Or would make him spend the whole day sitting in a chair rewriting the same words again and again until she deemed acceptable? Everyone said his caligraphy was pretty. She was doing her best.

"You think?" Martin teases and it's surprisingly rude but not in a mean way, in way that makes it sound obvious and so so real.

"I... She did try her best."

He remembers the good as well as the bad, how one day in desperated frustration she told him that she "just couldn't understand what is wrong with you" but also how she throwed them out of the house and stopped inviting his uncle and his family over for christmas (or even talking to them) after he suggested that Jon should be institucionalized "or whatever they do with the loony kids now days" instead of "being a burden to you, mum". How she never believed he was really sick and not just lying to skip school (even if he never did) until he was so bad that the teacher would call to send him home pretty much the moment he got there but also how she would make his favorite recipes and actually look at the huge collection of books and read them for him even making the voices. How she would try to make him wear unconfortable clothes and eat horrible foods and say the right words and understand the right things but also how on the day he was leaving from Uni she sitted with him and sayed she was sorry, that she had not realized how hard he was actually trying to be better and that she had never realized he just couldn't and that she was afraid for him, how she told him to always be proud of himself cause the world wasn't fair and he had to be the one person on his team. How they never talked about it again. How she seemed to be humoring him everytime he talked about someone that would actually accept him and stay. How after a group of mean kids throwed actual spides at him in 5th grade to see his reaction and he had one of the worst panic attacks of his life only to hear the teacher agree with the parents of said kids that he should just "man up" his grandma raised absolute hell and how he got to have a whole fun week outside school, how next year he was in a better (more expensive) school (how some of her mother jewels she wore/kept with the biggest care suddently disapeared). And he sees himself saying all that. Just throwing his memories at Martin unable to stop them from getting away into the world. "She loved me."

He says and it is the crux of the question. Martin's mother never loved him. She hurted him because of misplaced anger and bitterness. And it was hard for Martin to aknowledge the damage because it is a hard reality to accept. Because it shouldn't be a reallity to any kid.

But Jon's grandmma loved him, he knows that, has always known that. She did the best she could with the resources she had. And still she hurted him. Helped turn him in the messed up barely a person shape he is now. And it seems so contraditory. How can you hurt someone you love?

"She did." Martin says. "And she hurted you anyway and it is okay to feel that, to be hurt and sad and even angry over it."

He hugs Martin. Wants to hide in him, be held until nothing else exists anymore.

"I used to not understand it. " He says. "How does one hurt the ones they love?"

Martin hugs him tigther.

"I get it now." After Sasha and Tim and Georgie (twice) and Melanie and Daisy and Basira. After Martin. "I don't think I can do much else nowdays."

"We had a shitty deck." Martin says. "But you saved me and you keep saving me. You make me really happy. And maybe one day we will hurt each other and be something else, we got a monster deck in a real life game" A part of him wants to point Monster is at best a type of Yu-Gi-Oh cardsand at worst not a real thing. Instead he lets himself cry into Martin's sweater. "but you're still here and I'm still here. And you have not hurted me yet... well... not since you actually started loving me and not thinking I was a murderer."

He wants to thank Martin. He wants to beg Martin to leave while this is still true. He wants to be held forever. He wants to ask Martin to stay. Instead all he says is:

"In my defense you would be a good murderer."

Martin laughts.

Things are good.

[aiiidoneus]

tooth for tooth, eye for eye, fracture for fracture

summary:

After escaping to Daisy’s safehouse, Jon fields off statement hunger by minimizing his use of the Eye’s abilities. However, the Eye is just as eager for the world to end as Jonah Magnus, so with Jon and Martin doing everything in their power to prevent the former's influence, it takes a bit of tag-teaming from the Fears to bring about the apocalypse.

rated mature for language and (eventual) violence

archive warnings for (eventual) graphic depictions of violence

|| link ||

excerpt:

Jon hadn't been entirely comfortable with the idea of stealing a car at first. It was ironic really: that he could tear someone's trauma from their lips but flinch away from the prospect of theft. 

Basira had thought so, too. She hadn't said it, and he hadn't Known. But a look must have passed over his face then because the instructions that hadn't ceased since Jon had pulled Martin from the Lonely and into the Institute's tunnels came to an abrupt halt. She had pursed her lips, eyes narrowing in an apparent attempt to gauge whether or not whatever damning expression Jon had made was worth addressing. Jon had averted his gaze then and become jarringly aware that Martin's hand—which felt concerningly less than substantial—was still held in his own. He had realized, guiltily, then that he had forgotten the other man was there entirely. Before Jon could chase the nagging—yet still very real—possibility of Martin's presence bleeding back into the dimension they had so recently escaped from due to Jon's careless, belated realization of his presence, Basira's instructions barreled on. 

They had left shortly after, briefly stopping by Martin and Jon's offices to retrieve what few clothes they had left in the archives. Both had relinquished their flats, it seemed, and had been living out of their respective offices. Martin still hadn't spoken; the knowledge had come to Jon unbidden. Nonetheless, an ache had bloomed beneath Jon's sternum upon the realization that the same person who would bully him into leaving the Archives before it became too terribly late had been resigned to the same fate.

They had boarded the tube afterward, their meager belongings tucked easily into a decrepit duffel bag Jon nicked from lost and found, taking a train toward Scotland—or rather, getting as close as they dared. There were too many eyes on a train. Too many people who—willingly or not—could betray their whereabouts to Elias—Jonah. 

Then came the stealing bit. It had been fairly easy, with the Eye supplying Jon with enough helpful input about the exact angles of security cameras and such that he wondered if an avatar of the Eye had ever been a professional thief. It wasn't a fancy vehicle by any means, and the owner had not only left the doors unlocked but kept the keys into the console. Jon had felt bad for the poor idiot before the Eye had informed him that the rich, pompous asshole it belonged to wouldn't be coming home for several months at the very least and even then likely wouldn't consider the theft worthy of pursuing. He decided to take solstice in that particular knowledge as he slid into the driver's seat. 

The drive, like Martin's eventual detachment from Jon's hand and settling into the passenger side, was wordless. Jon had turned the radio on to fill the silence but grew tired of fiddling with the channels once they lapsed into static—an unwelcome reminder of the tape recorders he had decidedly left behind—and resolved to exist in the prickling silence. Other than frantic glances in Jon's periphery, he didn't try to engage Martin. He seemed content—not content, but rather something carefully blank and possibly (hopefully?) thoughtful, or perhaps reflective—to stare out at the endless fields unfurling past the tinted windows. Several hundred miles had been spent like that. Then the car had been ditched off the road a little ways, obscured enough by foliage that no one would unwittingly stumble across it. 

Which brought them to the present: crunching wordlessly along a gravel road that cut through the pale, mist covered fields like a river.

(read the rest on ao3.)

[somanyfuckedupiftruebooks]

Chapter 1: The Kettle in the Kitchen

@jonmartinweek Day 1: First Days at the Safehouse

Daisy’s safehouse was not a comfortable place to stay. Everything from the one bed to the total lack of any kind of decoration told the story of a living space that catered to function above all else. Which was fine, honestly. Not ideal, but fine. Martin and Jon had certainly stayed in worse places. Notably they’d both done long stints living in the Archives, which involved sleeping on the cot in document storage, bathing in the sink in the employee bathroom and eating whatever they could make in the staticky old microwave that had probably been in the breakroom since before Gertrude became Archivist.

So the safehouse was fine. It was good even. Martin certainly wasn’t about to complain.

The first night they arrived he was just grateful to be somewhere that was far enough away from Peter and Elias and everything that had happened at the Institute that it was possible to pretend that they’d left it all behind them. He and Jon had dumped their bags on the floor and collapsed on the couch, sitting close enough that they were practically in each other’s laps. They sat there for hours, not talking, just breathing and … resting, until the sun started setting and the room grew dark around them.

They’d shared the bed, and slept curled around each other. The heat from Jon’s body had helped to ward away the Lonely’s lingering grip on Martin. It was good. They were good.

~

The next morning was the first time Martin set foot in the kitchen and also the first time he encountered a problem in the safehouse. The kitchen cabinets were all locked. Locked from the outside, with latches that had been screwed into place and secured with padlocks.

Martin frowned. He reached out and hooked a finger through one of the padlocks, tugging at it absently. The metal was cold and, unsurprisingly, did not yield.

Read the rest on Ao3!

[semiaquaticcat]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: The Magnus Archives (Podcast) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist Characters: Martin Blackwood, Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist Additional Tags: Post-lonely fic, Cuddling, Idiots in Love, Jon isn't the smartest, but i love him so its okay, Miscommunication, (a bit), Getting Together, Sharing a Bed, Literal Sleeping Together, Set in Episodes 159-160 | Scottish Safehouse Period (The Magnus Archives), I cant believe I finally got to write a safehouse fic????, its like a TMA fanfic right of initiation, not mentioned but T4T, its important to me, Trans Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Trans Martin Blackwood Summary:

"I don’t want to take advantage…”

“Advantage? Take advantage of what?”

“My-” Jon grunts in frustration, “My Feelings  for you! I-It’s not fair of me to–to just…” He flings his hands up, “–I don’t want to use your trauma as an excuse to get what I want!”

For JonMartin week, day 5: Cuddles and Naps!!!

@jonmartinweek

[fizzseed]

the sudden hatred i’ve developed for my job should be studied by psychologists

[grahamfolgersdeliciousnotebooks]

I’ve had this little oneshot in my drafts for ages, and I’ve been going back and forth about posting it, thinking “Oh, I’m not sure if this is complete enough for AO3 but maybe I could post it just to tumblr...” Anyway, now seems like a pretty good time to post a tumblr-only fic, so here you go: 

(CW: references to suicidal ideation)

Nights at the safehouse were the hardest. During the day, Jon and Martin had settled into an unspoken routine of simply not talking about it. They kept their conversations light,  traded jokes and kisses and good-natured arguments over whose turn it was to do the washing up, acted for all the world like a normal couple. But in the dark and silence of the safehouse’s sole bedroom, the facade of easy, uncomplicated domestic bliss fell away, and they were reminded of all that had brought them there.

That is to say, Jon had gotten used to their late-night conversations tending toward the weighty. Still, he wasn’t prepared for Martin to break a silence so long that Jon had half assumed he’d fallen asleep with,

“I’m glad you’re alive.”

Jon laughed and curled closer to Martin. “Thanks, I think.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know it’s kind of a given, I just - I realized I never got the chance to tell you. After you woke up.” That froze Jon in place, hand stilled halfway up Martin’s chest. He knew how much he’d needed to hear those words six months ago, and he tried to savor them, let them soothe that old ache, but it was like putting a band-aid on a wound that had already healed and left a scar. “You don’t know how much I wanted to see you, when I found out you were awake. It took all my restraint not to sprint down to the hospital as soon as I heard.”

“Why didn’t you?” Jon didn’t mean it to be accusatory, but he couldn’t help it. Waking up to find that six months had passed, his friend was dead, and not a single person seemed to care that he wasn’t… it had hurt. It still hurt. 

He also didn’t mean to let the slightest thread of compulsion into his words, but he felt it as they left his lips. When Martin answered, his voice was not fully his own.

“Peter was the one who told me, you know. He was obviously testing my loyalty, waiting to see what I would do, I knew that, but I didn’t care. I didn’t say a word to him, I just grabbed my coat and walked out. I was going to go to the hospital, and I was going to see you, and talk to you, and you were going to respond, because you were awake! Honestly, I think I was going to tell you that I loved you right then and there, because fuck it! I got halfway out the building before I started thinking about what Peter would do.

“When I made the deal with Peter, I didn’t care about his end of the bargain. I didn’t care about anything, really. Tim was dead, and my mother was dead, and I didn’t think you were ever going to wake up, and I just couldn’t care about anything left in my life. I wanted to keep the others safe, I did, but I think mostly I just wanted an escape from it all. I figured either the Lonely would take me, or Peter’s plan would get me killed, and either way, I wouldn’t have to deal with all of that grief.

“And then suddenly, you were awake, and I cared so much, and I needed you to be safe. Peter had already vanished two people, I didn’t want to know what he would do if you ruined his plans. And to be honest? I didn't think you’d care. I mean, I knew you cared about me, at least a little bit, but I also knew you didn’t feel the way I did - or I thought you didn’t, at any rate - and it’s not like being apart was going to be as hard on you as it was for me. And if keeping my distance kept you safe? Then I’d do it. I just didn’t expect you to keep tracking me down.”

Like a string being cut, the compulsion that had held them both in place snapped, and the two of them set to frantic, overlapping apologies.

“I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have thrown all that at it you, it’s not like it was your fault-”

“No, I’m sorry, I shouldn't have- I shouldn’t have Asked, I didn’t mean to-”

“It’s alright, it’s not like it was anything I was trying to hide, I just… I might not have gone into so much detail-”

“I’m glad you did,” Jon said, then corrected himself quickly, “No, I’m not glad I violated your privacy, I’m so sorry - And I’m sorry that you went through all that alone, I’m sorry I couldn’t be there for you.”

Martin huffed a wet, quiet laugh. Jon reached out instinctively and cupped Martin’s cheek in his hand, finding it damp with a few stray tears. “You apologize too much,” Martin laughed.

“I- What? No, I don’t.”

“I’m pretty sure you just apologized for being in a coma.”

“Well.” Jon didn’t have a good answer to that, so he just snuggled closer, burying his face in Martin’s chest as though he could communicate everything he wanted to say through sheer proximity. “I am sorry,” he whispered against the fabric of Martin’s shirt.

Martin pulled away just enough to press a kiss to Jon’s forehead. “I’m sorry, too.” Martin pulled Jon back into the embrace, holding his head against his chest. They lay in silence for a while, the steady, soothing rush of Martin’s breathing the only sound in Jon’s ears.

“For what it’s worth,” Martin said eventually, “I forgive you for everything.”

“Everything?” Jon whispered, “That’s… that’s quite a long list.”

“I know,” Martin replied, and that was that.

In the morning, they would fall back into their routine. They would talk about cows, and chores, and the weather, and whether or not it was time to return their library books, and neither of them would bring up the previous night’s conversation. Instead, they let their forgiveness hang in the air, another thing left unspoken.

[pillowspace]

The Magnus Archives Fic Rec List

Press the read more for recommended fanfiction of The Magnus Archives! Never heard The Magnus Archives and are interested?

Current number of fics: 85

last updated March 18th, 2024

These are all works that I have personally read at least a couple thousand words of and enjoyed myself, so this list will reflect my own reading habits

If you are the author of a fic, you can request your work be removed from the list. Everyone should be comfortable

Table of Contents - 1. England Jonmartin-centric, 2. Scottish Safehouse Period, 3. Gen or Background Pairings, 4. Time Travel, 5. Highly Alternate, 6. Gerrymichael, 7. Other, 8. Updates (note: some categories tend to overlap. Only one will be prioritized)

England Jonmartin-Centric

∘₊✧───────────────────────────✧₊∘

Full, Riotous Bloom by BigTed

Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist

“Statement of Martin Blackwood, regarding…” Jon looks at him. Looks at him. The look of a boss whose employee was late three times last week, the look of a man who was just busy doing something really important and now he’s here, doing this instead. “...why he stole a grieving family’s oven gloves.”

-

Martin has a run in with a deadly Leitner, leaving him choking on his unrequited love.

M | Words: 66,962 | Chapters: 13/13

∘₊🌟───────────────────────────🌟₊∘

fell in your opinion when i fell in love with you by Athina_Blaine

No Archive Warnings Apply, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist

“This is the Magnus Institute, not a creative writing course at university. If that doesn’t agree with him, he can leave.” There was a thud and the sound of rifling tapes. “He can take his bloody tea with him.”

Martin’s fingers tightened on the saucer. Oh.

-

Martin knows better than to talk about it. It's fine. He's fine.

Part 1 of it's only when i hit the ground it causes all the grief

M | Words: 18,987 | Chapters: 2/2

∘₊🌟───────────────────────────🌟₊∘

Just a Little Bit Pet-tea by arthureameslove

No Archive Warnings Apply, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist

Martin makes Jon tea for the first time about a week into his transfer. It’s horrible. Gag-reflex inducing. Somehow sporting all the wrong flavors.

For some reason, he does not have the heart to break this to Martin.

Little does Jon know that Martin actually makes wonderful tea. Just not for him.

G | Words: 13,335 | Chapters: 3/3

∘₊🌟───────────────────────────🌟₊∘

Misshapes, Mistakes, Monsters by ZaliaChimera

No Archive Warnings Apply, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims

The Archives are his and stepping away from them, even for a night… it’s strange. Like he’s pretending to be someone else.

Like he’s pretending to be human.

Jon and Martin attend Jon's Oxford University Reunion.

T | Words: 7,969 | Chapters: 1/1

∘₊🌟───────────────────────────🌟₊∘

Say You Love Me (Learn to Lie) by iamcringebutiamfree

No Archive Warnings Apply, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Martin Blackwood & Sasha James & Tim Stoker, Martin Blackwood & Sasha James & Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist & Tim Stoker

It shouldn’t have been surprising to learn that Martin hated him. He had been, he knew, a truly terrible boss - he’d treated Martin horribly, caused him to lose his home, nearly gotten him killed. Really, it had been ridiculous to ever think that Martin wouldn’t hate him.

Still, Jon had been trying, in his own way, to make it up to him. There wasn’t exactly a card at the drugstore that said, “I’m sorry I berated you for six months and caused you to nearly be eaten by a swarm of worms of potentially supernatural origin,” but he’d been trying. He brought Martin breakfast every morning, made sure the breakroom cabinets were stocked with his favorite blends of tea, and had tried to work some genuine praise into his feedback of Martin’s work. None of it was the direct apology that his conscience told him he really ought to give, but Martin had appreciated it. Or seemed to, anyway.

Jon wasn’t certain what motivated the decision he made next - whether it was guilt or spite or something else. He could, he knew, be quite petty when the situation called for it. Either way, he made up his mind then and there to prove Martin wrong. He was going to be the best fake boyfriend he could be.

A Fake Dating AU!

T | Words: 37,889 | Chapters: 10/10

∘₊🌟───────────────────────────🌟₊∘

a consideration of tropes by gruhukens

No Archive Warnings Apply, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist

“Do you know much about cataloguing?” Jon asks, a little out of breath from the stairs.

Martin, mid-trolley, rolls his eyes. The gesture he makes at the shelves around him is only emphasised by the book he’s holding.

“What exactly do you think I do here, other than sit around and wait for angry patrons to yell at me?”

“Think of what you’re going to yell back?” Jon says, and Martin’s mouth twitches into a smile.

-

Asking the very important question: what if Jon and Martin had a gentle archives/library romance, and kept running into tropes? What if there was mutual pining involved? Only one bed? Fake dating? Hurt/comfort? Or perhaps, a soft and happy ending?

T | Words: 40,966 | Chapters: 8/8

∘₊🌟───────────────────────────🌟₊∘

It Serenely Disdains to Destroy Us by trill_gutterbug

No Archive Warnings Apply, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims

Martin gnaws his lower lip. “Do you think he’ll - I mean, do you think it’ll be…”

Melanie's smile becomes a little less of a grimace. She claps his shoulder. “Martin. It’ll be fine. It’s only temporary. He’s not moving in.”

Martin chuckles. “Yes. Of course.”

-

Jon's flat is being fumigated. He is not impressed. Martin offers his spare bedroom.

T | Words: 13,048 | Chapters: 1/1

∘₊🌟───────────────────────────🌟₊∘

terror management theory by prismatical

Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Melanie King & Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist & Tim Stoker, Basira Hussain & Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Georgie Barker/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist (briefly)

“It’s a preexisting condition,” Jon explains, sipping more bitter tea. “I sort of got—hm. You know Spiderman?”

Tim raises an eyebrow.

“Heard of him, yeah.”

Jon nods, studying his tea.

“It’s sort of like that,” he says. “A spider killed and ate me when I was a child, and now I can’t stay dead.”

-

Resurrection isn't all it's cracked up to be.

T | Words: 36,587 | Chapters: 1/1

∘₊🌟───────────────────────────🌟₊∘

Clutching Daffodils by Gemi

Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims

Martin has always liked the idea of love at first sight.

It’s such a romantic idea, the whole thing of it. Seeing someone and instantly feeling that strange, twisting feeling deep inside that every single media likes to obsess over. Of knowing you are in love within the day, petals falling from your mouth and warmth filling your chest as love burrows deep, vines twisting through your lungs.

He always liked the idea of it.

And then Jonathan Sims starts working at the Magnus Institute.

NR | Words: 7,624 | Chapters: 1/1

∘₊🌟───────────────────────────🌟₊∘

a little love, a little sympathy by Did

No Archive Warnings Apply, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist

And then Jon is snarling into his face, demanding what are you hiding with a strange, bright-eyed intensity Martin has never seen from him before, and Martin thinks god, maybe he should just come clean about his CV, Jon thinking he's a fraud can't be any worse than Jon thinking he's a murderer-

Martin opens his mouth to speak. To his absolute horror, what actually comes out is: "I used to pretend to cry because I liked how nice you were to me when you thought I was upset!"

G | Words: 3,308 | Chapters: 1/1

∘₊🌟───────────────────────────🌟₊∘

all resistance wearing thin by DivineProjectZero

No Archive Warnings Apply, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims

Martin Blackwood would do anything for Jonathan Sims. The Web made him that way, after all.

T | Words: 4,799 | Chapters: 1/1

∘₊🌟───────────────────────────🌟₊∘

Sam nie pojmuję, jak w twe zajd�� progi by Mad_Maudlin

No Archive Warnings Apply, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims

Martin's been acting odd since Jon came back. Well, odder than usual.

T | Words: 3,118 | Chapters: 1/1

∘₊🌟───────────────────────────🌟₊∘

Mundanity by CirrusGrey

No Archive Warnings Apply, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims

Inspired by @ themlet's post on Tumblr: Jon has to deal with normal human interactions. Martin helps (sort of). Featuring high school reunions, knitted sweaters, and conversations on the bus ride home.

T | Words: 3,097 | Chapters: 1/1

∘₊🌟───────────────────────────🌟₊∘

Musical Mechanism by Darblesify

Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist

Martin has always used music to cope. One day he's playing music music out loud in the archive and Tim and Sasha realize the main singer's voice sounds familiar.

AKA Martin's favorite band might happen to be the one Jon was secretly a part of in college.

T | Words: 21,411 | Chapters: 8/8

∘₊🌟───────────────────────────🌟₊∘

Misfiled and Misinformed by CirrusGrey

No Archive Warnings Apply, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Martin Blackwood & Sasha James & Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist & Tim Stoker

Jon and Martin are married. Tim and Sasha know this. What they don't know is that it's to each other.

T | Words: 2,507 | Chapters: 1/1

∘₊🌟───────────────────────────🌟₊∘

look no further by inkyindigo

No Archive Warnings Apply, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims

Martin just wants to keep Jon safe. Sometimes the easiest way to do that is to bodily remove him from harm's way.

or, a collection of times Martin picks Jon up.

T | Words: 15,145 | Chapters: 8/8

∘₊🌟───────────────────────────🌟₊∘

Touch Me, Even if it Hurts by AuralQueer

Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims, Jonathan Sims & Tim Stoker, Jonathan Sims & Alice "Daisy" Tonner

People don't really touch Jonathan Sims unless they want to hurt him. That's mostly fine. Jon has never been a tactile person, and he doesn't need anyone but himself.

Except the world is falling down around him, and loneliness aches, and sometimes he'll take anything - even cruelty - just to feel human again.

*A story set between s1 and s4, looking at Jon's relationship with touch, friendship, and his own humanity.

T | Words: 6,540 | Chapters: 1/1

∘₊🌟───────────────────────────🌟₊∘

I'll bring the motion by callmearcturus

Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims

A long series of kidnappings and international flights leaves its own special mark on someone. Before the Unknowing, Jon is a mess.

Martin helps.

(based on this amazing art by linecrosser)

T | Words: 3,127 | Chapters: 1/1

∘₊🌟───────────────────────────🌟₊∘

thanks for the company by lukeskqwalker

No Archive Warnings Apply, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims

Martin had been baffled by how easily he spilled his guts out to this odd stranger. Now, Martin is more baffled by the baggy My Chemical Romance t-shirt he's wearing, paired with tasteful plaid pajama bottoms.

Or, Martin gets a visitor in his dreams. Reliving the same 14 days of loneliness every night isn't as bad when you have company.

T | Words: 4,314 | Chapters: 1/1

∘₊🌟───────────────────────────🌟₊∘

stranger, stranger by blueskiddoo

No Archive Warnings Apply, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims

“Sure,” Georgie says, still laughing at him. At least someone is having fun. “Don’t you have assistants for that kind of thing?”

“Yes, but…” He huffs, scratching the back of his neck. “I wasn’t going to ask one of them to download an app called...Lover? Lov-rrr? I don’t know how you say it.” He flaps his hands dismissively. “There are--unions and such. It wouldn’t be appropriate.”

*

jon makes a fake account on a dating app to investigate a statement. tim sets martin up with fake account on a dating app to boost his self-confidence. it goes exactly how you might expect.

G | Words: 36,771 | Chapters: 11/11

∘₊🌟───────────────────────────🌟₊∘

i wanna find a home (i wanna share it with you) by heartshapedguy

No Archive Warnings Apply, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist

“Have you got anywhere to stay?” Jon asks him, briskly. “Friends, acquaintances, maybe, who you could stay with…?”

Martin flushes, deeply. “I, I mean— n-no, not really,” he stammers, and then goes even redder. “Or, just, y’know not that I’d want to, to. Put in the middle of this. Put in danger of, of worms.”

“Ah,” Jon says, “No, of course, that makes sense.” Why drag anyone else into this mess? Seven people died during Prentiss’s initial hospitalization; the collateral damage of roping someone from outside the Institute into her orbit doesn’t bare thinking about. “In that case…” Jon feels like there’s some alternative solution, one he’s just not thinking of at the moment, but it evades him, and Martin needs somewhere safe to stay. “My couch is quite comfortable. You’re welcome to come and stay with me until you figure something else out.”

Martin is held hostage by Jane Prentiss for two weeks, and can't go back to his flat. Jon offers him a place to stay until Prentiss and her worms can be dealt with, and they can be sure he's safe.

T | Words: 65,951 | Chapters: 19/19

∘₊🌟───────────────────────────🌟₊∘

true kinda love by Did

No Archive Warnings Apply, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist

So. Martin isn't expecting anything to happen. But then, one day, something...does happen. It happens when Martin is passing Jon in the hall, and stops to ask how he’s doing, because Jon always looks a little bit like hell these days, and it makes Martin feel like he has to do something, and useless small talk is pretty much all he can do, so that’s what he does. And instead of grunting or shrugging or mumbling something dismissive, Jon replies, with perfect, involuntary clarity, "Every part of me aches, and I would just about kill to have someone rub my shoulders right now."

There's a positively deafening silence as they both come to grips with this unprecedented turn of events. Then they both start talking at once.

"Ah," says Jon.

"Wow," says Martin, at the same time.

G | Words: 5,053 | Chapters: 1/1

∘₊🌟───────────────────────────🌟₊∘

hey stranger by ennuijpg

No Archive Warnings Apply, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Martin Blackwood & Sasha James & Tim Stoker

It’s a late night Tesco run, how eventful could it be? It’s not like Martin is going to run into his boss who’s wearing something absurdly different from usual and get the most acute form of whiplash possible from seeing him, right?

(Based on this post about alt jon on tumblr because it's all I've been thinking about of late.)

T | Words: 2,701 | Chapters: 1/1

∘₊🌟───────────────────────────🌟₊∘

Sun-kissed by Rauchendes_GNU

No Archive Warnings Apply, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist & Alice "Daisy" Tonner

Martin doesn’t have any freckles. Jon has watched him and the others for a while now, and he knows that everyone has freckles. Tim is absolutely covered in them, and he seems to get more and more every day as Sasha seems very determined to kiss every part of Tim that is not yet covered in tiny dark spots.

Everyone has been loved by someone at some point. Everyone has been kissed, no matter if a platonic peck on the cheek or a heated kiss on the mouth. Everyone but Martin, it seems.

Or: Jon realises Martin has never been kissed. He rectifies that right away.

T | Words: 3,407 | Chapters: 1/1

∘₊🌟───────────────────────────🌟₊∘

skin deep by isthepartyover

Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims, Georgie Barker & Jonathan Sims

“Hello, Martin Blackwood speaking.”

“Oh thank god-” a woman’s voice answered, rushed and panicked, and Martin immediately closes the folder he was leafing through absent-mindedly and snaps his head towards the door. “Sorry, oh god, I’m Georgie, I’m Jon’s friend, I don’t know what to do-”

(au where georgie calls martin post burn)

M | Words: 3,125 | Chapters: 1/1

∘₊🌟───────────────────────────🌟₊∘

Take Care of You (And I'll Take Care of Me) by Mad_Maudlin

No Archive Warnings Apply, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims

When Martin Blackwood met the new research assistant, his heart skipped a beat. Too bad Jonathan Sims seems to hate him.

(A soulmates AU)

M | Words: 20,386 | Chapters: 6/6

∘₊🌟───────────────────────────🌟₊∘

Somebody That I Used to Know by CirrusGrey

No Archive Warnings Apply, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims, Sasha James/Tim Stoker, Basira Hussain/Alice "Daisy" Tonner (background), Martin Blackwood & Sasha James & Jonathan Sims & Tim Stoker

(Minor) SPOILERS FOR MAG 161!!!

Jon gets replaced by the Not!Them. Life goes on.

T | Words: 6,358 | Chapters: 1/1

∘₊🌟───────────────────────────🌟₊∘

a six-step process by bluejayblueskies

No Archive Warnings Apply, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist

Martin stands next to him on the train. His hand rests just beneath Jon’s where it grips one of the metal poles, and Martin takes care not to brush against him despite how crowded the car is. Jon considered telling Martin, when they first got on the tube, that it was okay—that his touch would be… well, it wouldn’t be bad. Not like Nikola's. But he’d stayed silent, allowing Martin to cultivate a careful space between them. They’ve been silent for the past twenty minutes as they’ve passed by station after station on their way to Martin’s flat in Brixton.

Jon adds 24 hours onto his mental countdown of the time he has left until he’s allowed to break down and tells himself that he can manage. It’s… important to have goals, he thinks. He splits this one into steps.

Step one: get to Martin’s flat without crying.

Part 2 of touch prompts

T | Words: 2,138 | Chapters: 1/1

∘₊🌟───────────────────────────🌟₊∘

who's there? by bubonickitten

No Archive Warnings Apply, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist

Jon has a panic attack after Elias shows him exactly what happened behind the door after Mr. Spider took its victim.

Martin helps him calm down, and Jon tells him the story of his first Leitner.

Part 2 of thresholds

T | Words: 6,139 | Chapters: 1/1

∘₊🌟───────────────────────────🌟₊∘

Clothes Have No Gender by kristsune

No Archive Warnings Apply, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims

Jon wears a skirt to the Institute for the first time, and gets reactions he hadn't expected.

NR | Words: 1,846 | Chapters: 1/1

∘₊🌟───────────────────────────🌟₊∘

northwest 6 to gale 8. rain. poor, occasionally good. by chewsdaychillin

Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist

A voicemail made up of a female robot and Jon’s professional work tone tells him to leave a message, but Martin hangs up before the beep. He’s not even sure he can speak, let alone put this into words.

‘Hi Jon, sorry to call at four fifty-two AM. My mum just died and I don’t know what to do or how to feel. Call me back when you can! Love you, bye!’

AUish where Jon is alive when Martin's mum passes away, helps him grieve and heal (and they maybe admit to being in love)

Part 1 of northwest 6 to gale 8

M | Words: 35,828 | Chapters: 9/9

Scottish Safehouse Period

∘₊✧────────────────────────────✧₊∘

Resigned, Though Not to Fate by inkfingers_mcgee

Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist

“You’re really suggesting this,” Martin says, voice pulled thin.

“Yes.” No hesitation.

“You would- actually do it?”

“I would.”

“With me.”

“Yes, Martin.”

“Why?” Because love is blind, says something cliché and cruel in the pit of his gut. Christ, he never was much of a poet, was he?

Or,

When Jon asks Martin to Quit the Archives with him, Martin says yes. Things don't go as planned. In the Scottish Highlands, they hurt, and they heal.

(Re-written as of 22-12-27; see chapter 9 for more info.)

T | Words: 145,748 | Chapters: 9/9

∘₊🌟───────────────────────────🌟₊∘

nor any more youth or age than there is now by Ravenesta

No Archive Warnings Apply, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims

The local Primary school has a new teacher. He is, to say the very least, odd.

A series of statements regarding the interactions of the townsfolk with one Jonathan Sims, never formally given.

T | Words: 6,512 | Chapters: 1/1

∘₊🌟───────────────────────────🌟₊∘

There's a 15th Fear, and it's Teenagers by captloverboy

No Archive Warnings Apply, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Georgie Barker/Melanie King, Georgie Barker & Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Melanie King & Jonathan Sims, Basira Hussain/Alice "Daisy" Tonner, Martin Blackwood & Basira Hussain, Basira Hussain & Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Helen | The Distortion & Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Helen | The Distortion & Basira Hussain, Helen | The Distortion & Martin Blackwood

What if Jonah didn't ruin everything? Didn't send the end of everything statement? What do Jon and Martin do now? Get a job, I guess. A teaching job, for Jon, though it was hardly his first pick. But sometimes your boyfriend looks *really* excited when he suggests it, and I mean, you know literally everything. It can't be that bad, right? Right?

T | Words: 26,140 | Chapters: 14/14

∘₊🌟───────────────────────────🌟₊∘

the Teacher from the Magnus Archives by Athina_Blaine

No Archive Warnings Apply, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist

“Hey, everyone, welcome back to my channel. My name is Maggie Abernathy and today we will be continuing our investigation of the, uh, eldritch monster slash English teacher who calls itself Jonathan Sims.”

-

Maggie is determined to catch Mr. Sims via her channel, and then everyone would see how cool and smart she was, right?

T | Words: 5,993 | Chapters: 1/1

∘₊🌟───────────────────────────🌟₊∘

Please Don't Tease Me Like You Did Before by bazemayonnaise

No Archive Warnings Apply, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims

Martin is grinning at his phone when Jon comes home. This is not an unusual occurrence, but Jon can sense that the particularly smug smile being levelled at him means that whatever is entertaining the man has something to do with Jon.

“Yes?” he asks once he has dumped the day at the door. “What have I done now?”

Part 1 of Jon and Martin teach at a Scottish Catholic School

G | Words: 5,380 | Chapters: 1/1

∘₊🌟───────────────────────────🌟₊∘

beloved of jon by gruhukens

No Archive Warnings Apply, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims

“Oh,” says Jon, numbly. “You don’t. Remember? Um. It’s complicated. What… what do you remember?”

Martin seems to shrink in on himself a little. It hurts to watch, especially after how Jon’s seen him so painstakingly grow back into his openness over the past few weeks.

“I don’t know,” he says. “I don’t – I don’t.”

“But you remember me?” says Jon, and he tries to keep as much feeling out of that question as he can.

---

For no reason that Jon can tell, Martin forgets.

T | Words: 12,739 | Chapters: 1/1

∘₊🌟───────────────────────────🌟₊∘

every good intention (is interpretation) by gruhukens

No Archive Warnings Apply, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims

They’re standing entirely too close to each other in front of the hotel desk when the clerk asks them whether they’d like a double, twin, or two singles, and Martin absolutely bottles it.

‘Uh,’ he says, at exactly the same time as Jon says, ‘Oh.’

———

There’s a conversation that Martin and Jon need to have after the Lonely. Unfortunately, they are - historically - fairly terrible at putting stuff into words.

G | Words: 11,227 | Chapters: 1/1

∘₊🌟───────────────────────────🌟₊∘

These words that make a home in my chest by arthureameslove

No Archive Warnings Apply, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist

The moment Martin leaves the Lonely is the moment he realizes that it has taken something from him. He is left with the realization that the Lonely fog had been the only thing keeping him whole, keeping him from feeling the aching hollows of his own sorrow.

Speaking makes it worse, so he doesn't. He almost expects Jon to leave, to grow tired of him, incomplete as he is. But Jon doesn't.

Or, Martin is mute after leaving the Lonely, and he and Jon learn how to be people again, together, in the comfort of the Scottish Highlands.

T | Words: 16,060 | Chapters: 7/7

∘₊🌟───────────────────────────🌟₊∘

hello my old heart by firebirdsuite

No Archive Warnings Apply, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims

Peter’s wrong, of course. When it’s all over, Martin does still want to tell Jon everything. It’s just—well, there’s a few things they need to work through first before they can get there.

Martin and Jon find each other again in Scotland.

T | Words: 15,864 | Chapters: 1/1

∘₊🌟───────────────────────────🌟₊∘

i’m almost me again, you’re almost you by gruhukens

No Archive Warnings Apply, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims

After a second Jon steps in towards him, close enough that Martin flinches, but all Jon does is put two fingers under his chin with his free hand and raise it until Martin can’t duck away. Jon has never touched him so casually before – at least, not until today, and it raises a lot of thoughts and feelings that Martin is trying very hard not to process.

Much like a lot of other things that have happened, he thinks. Not that it’s horrible or terrifying or numbing like everything else has been: it’s just another thing on the list of things he doesn’t have the capacity to deal with.

---

In the wake of the Lonely, there's a lot that Martin doesn't really want to think about.

G | Words: 12,928 | Chapters: 1/1

∘₊🌟───────────────────────────🌟₊∘

Prenons-nous la main by luftballons99

No Archive Warnings Apply, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims

They still haven't talked about it, any of it, not even to pass the time on the long train ride to Scotland. Instead, Martin fell asleep in the seat next to him, pressed into his side from shoulder to knee, and Jon thought about love confessions and verb tense and how the two fit together when you think you're dying.

or: Good cows, mediocre poetry, and other crucial topics of discussion.

T | Words: 6,027 | Chapters: 1/1

∘₊🌟───────────────────────────🌟₊∘

Diary by luftballons99

No Archive Warnings Apply, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims

Not for the first time since they ran away together, a camera reel of all the things they don't know about one another whirs behind Martin's eyes, and he can't help but look at all the sprawling magnetic tape and wonder if they’re going to wind up a romance or a tragedy.

or: Office parties, garage bands, and the joy of being known.

Part 1 of showing your hand

T | Words: 5,178 | Chapters: 1/1

∘₊🌟───────────────────────────🌟₊∘

the umbrella by Wildehack (tyleet)

Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims

"And to think—all of Jonah Magnus’ carefully laid plans, the centuries of scheming, the murders, the sacrifices, all of that work could have been completely undone if Martin Blackwood had gone back for an umbrella" - holdthosebees

M | Words: 4,662 | Chapters: 1/1

∘₊🌟───────────────────────────🌟₊∘

ready to call this love by yewgrove

No Archive Warnings Apply, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims

How is Martin supposed to tell Jon that he panicked, stupidly, when the lovely old lady down the village asked him what they were doing in this part of the world? Got the shopping! Oh, by the way, we're married now! Whole village thinks we're on our honeymoon, hope you don't mind!

Part 1 of it is what you have.

G | Words: 5,650 | Chapters: 1/1

∘₊🌟───────────────────────────🌟₊∘

Guess Who's Coming to Dinner? by pantsoflobster

No Archive Warnings Apply, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims

“Jon,” Martin said. “I have made a grave mistake.”

Jon whipped his head up, nearly tossing the elastic from his messy bun. “What? What’s wrong? What--what did you do?”

“I... might have invited guests for dinner.”

Jon stared blankly. “What, here?”

“Seeing as this is where we live at the moment, yes.”

---

In which a week in the safehouse turns into a fake-married sitcom, because they deserve to worry about social ineptitude instead of the apocalypse for a minute

Part 1 of this is not the house that pain built

T | Words: 5,391 | Chapters: 1/1

∘₊🌟───────────────────────────🌟₊∘

Bergamot, Buckskin, and Lace by Qpenguin98

Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims

Jon's never been a touchy person.

T | Words: 3,061 | Chapters: 1/1

∘₊🌟───────────────────────────🌟₊∘

be kind, i beg you by gauras

No Archive Warnings Apply, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims

“Fine,” Jon says, and he tries to ignore the sulky tone of his voice, “fine. What do you suggest?”

Martin pauses, like he’d not expected Jon to give in so easily. Jon’s never been particularly agreeable, but he still feels vaguely offended by the blatant surprise. “W-we,” Martin stammers, clears his throat, continues on much more confidently, “we go in together.”

Or: it takes close quarters and a full 24 hours to finally get them on the same page.

∘₊🌟───────────────────────────🌟₊∘

T | Words: 14,946 | Chapters: 1/1

∘₊🌟───────────────────────────🌟₊∘

tides turning by gauras

No Archive Warnings Apply, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist

There's more than one way to say I love you.

T | Words: 20,858 | Chapters: 1/1

Other Scottish Safehouse Period fics: see unassigned supplementals by bibliocratic in Other

Gen or Background Pairings

∘₊✧────────────────────────────✧₊∘

a deeply annoying child by ajkal2

No Archive Warnings Apply, Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist & Tim Stoker, blink-and-you-miss-it Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims, BUT NO SLASH WHILE ANYONE IS A CHILD

Jon is hiding under the desk.

----

There's a child in the Archives, who shouldn't be there.

G | Words: 9,631 | Chapters: 1/1

∘₊🌟───────────────────────────🌟₊∘

Head in the Lion's Mouth by renwhit

Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Danny Stoker & Tim Stoker, Danny Stoker & Jonathan Sims, Basira Hussain & Alice "Daisy" Tonner, Martin Blackwood & Tim Stoker, Martin Blackwood & Danny Stoker, Jonathan Sims & Tim Stoker, Past Tim Stoker/Sasha James, Danny Stoker & Helen Richardson, Danny Stoker & Alice "Daisy" Tonner, Danny Stoker & Melanie King, Basira Hussain & Tim Stoker, Basira Hussain & Danny Stoker

He fell into a deep bow, smiling the whole while. “I’m the ringmaster, of course.”

“Is that skin— Is it yours?” Old wood groaned as the Archivist shifted his weight. “Originally.”

“It is!” the ringmaster said as he swooped back upright. “Nikola decided I wore it well, so she let me keep it. Why do you ask?”

The Archivist gave him another once-over. “You just… you look familiar. Like someone I know.”

On relearning, reconnecting, and redefining.

Part 1 of Come What May

M | Words: 157,202 | Chapters: 17/17

∘₊🌟───────────────────────────🌟₊∘

reach inside (to find your heart is beating) by ivelostmyspectacles

No Archive Warnings Apply, Jonathan Sims & Tim Stoker

This is Tim, opening the door enough for his tired, careworn face to peer through the crack; Jon sees the genuine horror on his face as he takes in his boss, bloody on his doorstep, and he thinks– maybe– he thinks he might be safe here.

“Christ.”

Chapter two added January 17th!

T | Words: 5,774 | Chapters: 2/2

∘₊🌟───────────────────────────🌟₊∘

Fractals Upon Fractals by cedarbranch

No Archive Warnings Apply, Michael & Helen Richardson

“There was never meant to be two of us,” said Helen.

Or: Michael and Helen play a game of chess, and work out what it means exist in duplicate.

G | Words: 1,652 | Chapters: 1/1

∘₊🌟───────────────────────────🌟₊∘

Other gen fics: see Time is Hard by Serazimei in Time Travel

Time Travel

∘₊✧────────────────────────────✧₊∘

Yesterday is Here by CirrusGrey

No Archive Warnings Apply, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims, x2!, Martin Blackwood & Sasha James & Jonathan Sims & Tim Stoker, Minor or Background Relationship(s)

"Who the hell are you?" Jon could feel his hands shaking.

The man laughed, taking a step forward and raising a hand to point at him.

"I'm you, from the future!" he said, then swayed, eyes going unfocused, and collapsed to the floor in a dead faint.

--------

Post-season-four Jon and Martin time travel back to the season one Archives.

T | Words: 53,319 | Chapters: 12/12

∘₊🌟───────────────────────────🌟₊∘

Déjà Vu by CirrusGrey

No Archive Warnings Apply, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Sasha James & Tim Stoker, Martin Blackwood & Sasha James & Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist & Tim Stoker

Sasha remembers being unmade.

Tim remembers being Unknown.

Jon and Martin remember being unwound.

All of them think they're the only one.

--------

The S1 crew wakes up in the past with memories up till the moment they died.

T | Words: 37,652 | Chapters: 4/4

∘₊🌟───────────────────────────🌟₊∘

Reflection by LazuliQuetzal

No Archive Warnings Apply, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims, Sasha James/Emma

Jonathan Sims, researcher at the Magnus Institute, is seeing a ghost. Of himself.

Of course, it’s not really him, no matter what secrets it knows, or how many arguments it brings up. So if it tells him to do something?

Obviously, he’ll be doing the exact opposite.

(AKA: Jon is an idiot, past and future, but somewhere along the way it all cancels out.)

(Expect general spoilers for S4 and specifically, MAG 158.)

T | Words: 51,527 | Chapters: 10/10

∘₊🌟───────────────────────────🌟₊∘

Time is Hard by Serazimei

No Archive Warnings Apply, Michael | The Distortion & Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Elias Bouchard & Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Michael Shelley & Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Gerard Keay & Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Michael "Mike" Crew & Michael Shelley

The Eye isn't happy with how the end of the world turned out. Neither are Jonah and Jon. There is no other option but to rewind time and go down a different path. But time is hard for The Spiral and The Web likes to meddle.

This is how Jon finds himself back in his eight year old body with all his memories, some of his powers intact and a strange bracelet around his right wrist. Saving the world, Jon realizes soon enough, is much harder when no one takes you seriously.

Part 1 of Diverging Times

M | Words: 170,443 | Chapters: 60/60

∘₊🌟───────────────────────────🌟₊∘

The Cube Rule of Food Identification by bluejayblueskies

No Archive Warnings Apply, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist

Martin stands abruptly. His chair spins away from him, wheels squeaking on the cheap lino floor. The tension between him and Jon has reached never-before-seen levels. Tim could probably cut it with a knife. Or a particularly sharp spoon.

Then, Jon lurches forward and half-clambers atop the desk and kisses Martin, and Tim drops his sandwich.

.

Or, season one Jon and Martin receive memories from the future mid-argument, and Tim and Sasha receive emotional whiplash.

T | Words: 1,630 | Chapters: 1/1

∘₊🌟───────────────────────────🌟₊∘

a map of what matters most by gruhukens

No Archive Warnings Apply, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist

“Is that a body,” Tim blurts before he can stop himself, rising to his feet. Martin looks, if possible, even more scared.

“He’s alive!” he hisses, almost defensively. “It’s not - it’s not Gertrude again, I didn’t kill him, he just – I don’t know what happened to him, I just found him in the stacks like this.”

“And you dragged him up here?” Tim says, and then registers several things at once – the build, the hair texture; the little round scars peppering a pair of thin hands and an awfully familiar face. “Wait, is that Jon?”

----

Jon stumbles back into an earlier Archive, looking for a way to fix the world. (Or, mom says it's my turn for the obligatory time travel au)

T | Words: 20,604 | Chapters: 6/6

∘₊🌟───────────────────────────🌟₊∘

leaves too high to touch (roots too strong to fall) by OllieoftheBeholder

No Archive Warnings Apply, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist/Tim Stoker

“So...you’re from the future. In the past. Why?”

“You want the short answer or the long one?”

“Short,” Martin says after a moment’s deliberation. “Until I decide if I trust you.”

The other nods, as if he expected that answer—which, well, if he really is Martin from the future, he probably did. “To stop the world from ending.”

They have one last chance to fix this - one last chance to prevent the Eyepocalypse, to save the world - to save their world. It all hinges on which is the greater force: greed...or love.

Part 1 of leaves 'verse

T | Words: 299,536 | Chapters: 60/60

Highly Alternate

Alternate universes will remain in the other categories, but this category is for alterations that are especially notable in their severity. This will also include any fics where Jon has an important alignment with a different fear entity, whether that be instead of the Eye or in tandem

∘₊✧───────────────────────────✧₊∘

The Witch's Cat by Champagne

No Archive Warnings Apply, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist

“That’s the Witch’s cat,” Tim says, and grins at Martin. “Jonathan Sims, the town’s Witch, said that he’ll marry anyone that manages to get the key from the cat’s collar.”

G | Words: 12,584 | Chapters: 1/1

∘₊🌟───────────────────────────🌟₊∘

What Belongs to the Sea by TwoDrunkenCelestials, WhyNotFly

No Archive Warnings Apply, Elias Bouchard/Jonathan Sims, Elias Bouchard/Peter Lukas, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims

“My grandmother taught me about selkies,” said the tattooed man. “Said it’s good luck for them to grace your ship. To treat ‘em right, and they’ll guide you safe.”

It had seemed like a reasonable thing to believe.

M | Words: 126,367 | Chapters: 36/36

∘₊🌟───────────────────────────🌟₊∘

school's out for the summer by kiaronna

No Archive Warnings Apply, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims, Georgie Barker/Melanie King, Various Background Relationships, Elias Bouchard/Peter Lukas

The thing is, Jonathan Sims is someone you’d call the police on if you saw him hanging around a school, those frazzled clothes and bags under his eyes, the frantic muttering and thousand-year stare.

Yet there he sits, headteacher of The Magnus Institute for Gifted Young Minds.

The name’s a bit misleading, it is. They’re in a bad part of town. The parents are either terrible or absent, and the kids—

“They’re monsters,” his new and handsome coworker grins, when Martin’s signature on his contract is barely dry. “Absolute monsters. Get too close and you’ll lose some fingers. Or maybe your mind.”

“They’re babies,” is all Martin can feebly manage, in reply, and Tim’s eyes narrow at the fondness in his voice.

“You’ll learn.”

T | Words: 26,088 | Chapters: 2/2

∘₊🌟───────────────────────────🌟₊∘

See the Line where the Sky meets the Sea by The_Floating_World

No Archive Warnings Apply, Jonathan Sims & Simon Fairchild, Jonathan Sims & Michael "Mike" Crew, Jonathan Sims & Gerard Keay, Jonathan Sims/Martin Blackwood, Jonathan Sims/Oliver Banks

When Jon is a child he looks into the infinite abyss of space. The Vast looks back into him.

T | Words: 59,336 | Chapters: 7/7

∘₊🌟───────────────────────────🌟₊∘

rituals by doomcountry

No Archive Warnings Apply, Martin Blackwood/The Archivist, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims

Martin is the first person to knock on the Archivist's door since it arrived, fully, into its little waiting temple. The Archivist saw him coming from down the hall, but decides to feign interest when the knob turns, and Martin—still a little bit smaller, a little more translucent than before—stands uncertainly just outside the room.

T | Words: 8,492 | Chapters: 1/1

∘₊🌟───────────────────────────🌟₊∘

ships passing in the night by Zykaben

No Archive Warnings Apply, Martin Blackwood & Tim Stoker, Jonathan Sims & Tim Stoker, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims

Tim meets and befriends the new professor on the staff, Jonathan Sim. Tim has also been casual friends with Martin Blackwood for the past year.

It takes an embarrassing amount of time for Tim to realize that the two of them are married to each other.

T | Words: 5,027 | Chapters: 1/1

∘₊🌟───────────────────────────🌟₊∘

all the flowers of all the tomorrows by ivelostmyspectacles

No Archive Warnings Apply, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims, Georgie Barker & Martin Blackwood & Jonathan Sims

Martin owns a flower shop.

He starts crushing on the guy from the Magnus Institute, but why does Jon keep needing so many flowers for workplace deaths, anyway??

T | Words: 13,745 | Chapters: 1/1

∘₊🌟───────────────────────────🌟₊∘

The Good Ol' Days by SingingInTheRaiin

No Archive Warnings Apply, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims

When Jon moves in with his grandmother he becomes fast (if somewhat reluctant) friends with one of the neighborhood kids, a boy named Martin.

Years later, they find each other again at the Magnus Institute, and whatever mysteries they uncover there, they will solve them together.

T | Words: 107,489 | Chapters: 40/40

∘₊🌟───────────────────────────🌟₊∘

How Particular, My Fondness of You by cedarbranch

No Archive Warnings Apply, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist

Jon risks a glance over to Georgie, expecting sympathy, or perhaps a grave expression of solidarity. Instead, he’s met with a fond smile. “Oh, Jon,” she says patiently, reaching over to rub his back. “You poor thing. You’re lovesick.”

Jon recoils. “I am not,” he says accusingly.

-

A college AU in which the whole gang works at the library, Jon is emotionally repressed, and the anonymous Facebook page knows all.

Part 2 of Magnolia Verse

T | Words: 29,263 | Chapters: 1/1

∘₊🌟───────────────────────────🌟₊∘

because light reverses, because the dead return by 1248, Tiili97

No Archive Warnings Apply, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims

"Very well then, officer, take me away. And Martin?"

"Yes, Elias?"

Elias opened his mouth as if to say something, then closed it again with a shake of his head.

"Actually, never mind. I will see how it plays out."

Martin let out an annoyed sigh as Elias left. Always so goddamn cryptic.

Hopefully Jon and the others would be back soon to make sense of things.

-

Here's a hypothetical question: What would happen if no one noticed that Jonathan Sims survived the Unknowing?

What if they looked at his stopped heart and still lungs and decided he was dead?

What happens when you bury an Archivist?

T | Words: 9,491 | Chapters: 5/5

Gerrymichael

∘₊✧───────────────────────────✧₊∘

Echo Chamber by orphan_account

Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Gerard Keay/Michael, Gerard Keay/Michael Shelley

“Look, if you’re another, uh, avatar of a horrible eldritch demon god come to assassinate me in a spooky manner, could you get it over with quickly? I haven’t eaten all morning and I’m starving.”

The thing that calls itself Michael stares.

“And this sandwich cost most of my weekly salary,” Gerry adds after a belated moment.

Part 1 of Spirals and Eyes

T | Words: 21,439 | Chapters: 1/1

∘₊🌟───────────────────────────🌟₊∘

Break Me Like A Pattern by TheLibraryBat

Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Gerard Keay & Michael Shelley, Gerard Keay/Michael Shelley, Gerard Keay & Gertrude Robinson, Gertrude Robinson & Michael Shelley

The year is 2011. Michael Shelley is living his life in circles, blissfully unaware of the betrayal that awaits him in the summer. Gertrude Robinson has plans to enact and plans to destroy. Emma Harvey is hiding a book in the dark place at the back of a cupboard.

When Gerard Keay walks into the Magnus Institute - two years sooner than he was meant to - everything changes.

This is an (eventual) Archivist Michael AU, exploring how certain events might have played out, had one key player been in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Part 1 of Archivist Michael AU

M | Words: 215,290 | Chapters: 40/40

∘₊🌟───────────────────────────🌟₊∘

Choke Chain by dramatispersonae

Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Gerard Keay/Michael, Gerard Keay/The Distortion

Things Gertrude Robinson possesses: decades of experience killing, containing, and otherwise thwarting supernatural beings, an uncompromising drive to destroy the Rituals and the people who would see them completed, Gerry's loyalty. Things Gertrude Robinson apparently also possesses: a monster on a magic leash.

NR | Words: 14,814 | Chapters: 1/1

∘₊🌟───────────────────────────🌟₊∘

Make Me Feel Like I'm Lost by dramatispersonae

Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Gerard Keay/MichaelGerard Keay/The Distortion

Gerry meets a door that is not a door. And a person that is not a person. Remarkably, he does not get eaten. He would probably like to keep it that way. (Or, in the process of trying to avoid death by nightmare hallway, Gerard Keay accidentally charms the nightmare hallway)

Part 1 of As One Door Closes

NR | Words: 11,963 | Chapters: 1/1

∘₊🌟───────────────────────────🌟₊∘

Fill The Gap Between You And I by dramatispersonae

No Archive Warnings Apply, Gerard Keay/Michael | The Distortion

Michael, like a cat, expresses affection with gifts of dead things. Gerry's trying not to be in the business of collecting strays.

Part 2 of As One Door Closes

NR | Words: 7,377 | Chapters: 1/1

∘₊🌟───────────────────────────🌟₊∘

The Life Of Letting Go by dramatispersonae

No Archive Warnings Apply, Gerard Keay/Michael | The Distortion

Gerry suffers a workplace injury. Michael has concerns.

Part 3 of As One Door Closes

NR | Words: 3,235 | Chapters: 1/1

∘₊🌟───────────────────────────🌟₊∘

Fever Dreaming by dramatispersonae

Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Gerard Keay/Michael | The Distortion

Gerry encounters a plot by a nascent avatar of the Corruption. It should be straightforward enough to deal with, especially considering his apparently ongoing... "alliance" with Michael. But when have things in his life actually been as simple as they appear?

Part 4 of As One Door Closes

NR | Words: 42,284 | Chapters: 5/5

∘₊🌟───────────────────────────🌟₊∘

Please Don’t Eat the Flowers by Sloane

Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Gerard Keay/Michael Shelley, Gerard Keay/Michael | The Distortion, Razor/Wendy, Minor or Background Relationship(s)

Instead of retiring to open a book shop, Gerry ends up working at a flower shop run by American lesbians in London. This leads to a brush with the Distortion, who just wants to buy some lilies, the Magnus Institute finding out he’s still alive, and... well, a normal life was never really in the cards for the likes of Gerard Keay, was it?

Oh, and those lesbians who run the flower shop? There’s more to them than meets the eye—bad Beholding pun intended.

(No knowledge of Maniac Mansion required; I take lots of liberties to slot it into TMA’s universe. UNDER MAJOR REVISIONS. Please see last chapter if you’re a new/returning reader for details..)

M | Words: 77,314 | Chapters: 33/?

∘₊🌟───────────────────────────🌟₊∘

Ode to Joy: or, michael distortion's guide to naming yourself by fromthepinnacletothepit

No Archive Warnings Apply, Gerard Keay/Michael, Gerard Keay/Michael Shelley

Michael Shelley is sacrificed to the Spiral before he has the chance to come out, even to himself. Now, as an avatar of the Spiral, his identity is even MORE painful and confusing. Alone and filled with pain he doesn't even know how to name, he searches for acceptance in the one person who ever really knew him-Gerry Keay.

***

“What do you want to be called then,” Gerry says and wraps his arms around Michael’s back.

This conversation hurts. This question hurts. Everything hurts, so long as no one knows about his gender, so long as he has to go on being someone he’s not, someone he just can’t be anymore. He doesn’t know how much longer he can stand it.

“I dunnooooo,” he says, grinning, but inside he knows his name isn’t Michael. It’s just not. He doesn’t have a name. He never has. And it’s absence is like a hole in his chest.

The creature that might as well be called Michael, it supposes, if you have to call it anything, thinks about this conversation while it sits on the ceiling of its hallway and slowly digs grooves into the plaster with its fingers.

Gerry, it thinks desperately. I have to find Gerry.

G | Words: 14,513 | Chapters: 1/1

∘₊🌟───────────────────────────🌟₊∘

Save That Heart for Me by cedarbranch

Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Gerard Keay/Michael Shelley, Gerard Keay/Michael

Gerry has just filled up his mug with coffee when it hits him. It’s a faint but sharp pain, zinging through his left wrist. He exhales a puff of laughter. That’s the third time this week. Whoever his soulmate is, they’re having a rough time.

T | Words: 5,577 | Chapters: 1/1

∘₊🌟───────────────────────────🌟₊∘

call me your harbor by insertcleveracejoke

No Archive Warnings Apply, Gerard Keay/Michael Shelley, Gerard Keay/Michael

There was the matter of the owner. It could not be said that most people, when asked about their mental picture of what the owner of a bookstore should look like, would answer angry-looking goth covered in burn scars from the neck down.

He also had a terrible dye job.

Or: five times Michael went to Gerry's domain for help, and one time the opposite happened.

Part 1 of the bookstore AU

NR | Words: 4,488 | tChapters: 1/1

Other

Fic types I have not read enough of to lend it its own category. If I read more fics of its type, it'll be moved to a new category

∘₊✧───────────────────────────✧₊∘

unassigned supplementals by bibliocratic

Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims

Oneshot #54: home improvement: or: Jon and Martin vs. IKEA

Oneshot #55: united front: or: Martin helps Jon with his statement hunger . (Set 159/160)

Oneshot #56: evolution: or: There is an uneasy alliance at first, between Jon and the Archivist

(Short TMA JonMartin one-shots, individual warnings in chapter notes, now with a fully-functioning contents page)

G | Words: 73,687 | Chapters: 56/56

∘₊🌟───────────────────────────🌟₊∘

onto a vast plain by yewgrove

Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims

The world ends. They get married.

Part 2 of it is what you have.

T | Words: 10,313 | Chapters: 1/1

∘₊🌟───────────────────────────🌟₊∘

Out There, Somewhere by Artyphex

No Archive Warnings Apply, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist

"I'm sorry, you were found alone."

Jon survived the apocalypse and now will go to the end of this new, unfamiliar world to find Martin again.

T | Words: 54,080 | Chapters: 8/8

∘₊🌟───────────────────────────🌟₊∘

enemy of my enemy by beeclaws

Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist/Tim Stoker, Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist & Tim Stoker

Jon comes back from his time with the Circus a little worse for wear. Tim has some feelings about that.

M | Words: 6,263 | Chapters: 4/4

Updates

∘₊✧───────────────────────────✧₊∘

a map of what matters most by gruhukens added to Time Travel - Mar. 8, 2024

leaves too high to touch (roots too strong to fall) by OllieoftheBeholder added to Time Travel - Mar. 8, 2024

How Particular, My Fondness of You by cedarbranch added to Highly Alternate - Mar. 18, 2024

call me your harbor by insertcleveracejoke added to Gerrymichael - Mar. 18, 2024

tides turning by gauras added to Scottish Safehouse Period - Mar. 18, 2024

a six-step process by bluejayblueskies added to England Jonmartin-centric - Mar. 18, 2024

who's there? by bubonickitten added to England Jonmartin-centic - Mar. 18, 2024

because light reverses, because the dead return by 1248, Tiili97 added to Highly Alternate - Mar. 18, 2024

Clothes Have No Gender by kristsune added to England Jonmartin-centric - Mar. 18, 2024

northwest 6 to gale 8. rain. poor, occasionally good. by chewsdaychillin added to England Jonmartin-centric - Mar. 18, 2024

[cult-of-the-eye]

Anyone fancy an angsty jmart gardening fic set in Scottish Safehouse period?

P.S. love you @yourbodymyarchive :)

[lunarmothim]

gealladh - john mactavish x reader

part i: awkward first meetings gealladh- a promise, a pledge, a vow. one word to encompass all the various promises you made to johnny over the years, all the promises made to you. made, kept, broken. or, the life you could have had.

word count: 1.9k tags/warnings: canon typical violence, military inaccuracies, abduction/a bit of beating up, bad google translate russian probably, gaelic from learngaelic.net. established relationship, afab reader/female pronouns, no appearance descriptors given, reader of undeclared origin but implied scottish. if you see the little nod to makarov in the cover name yes you did lmao. additional tags tba!

@thatsamericasass24 here it is as promised lol. i'm starting to think my goal is to just shoot out a bunch of fics and see what sticks lmao. this one is 30+ planned chapters, the outline alone is 24k. it doesn't start the fluffiest but it will be i swear!! translations at the end but do yall want them in the actual text of the chapter?

Moscow goes smoothly.

Too smoothly, to the point it sets your teeth on edge. You'd never known a CIA op to go this well, especially not when Laswell's involved, but you tuck the flash drive into your pocket and move on with your day anyway, glancing both ways as you exit the alley and walk back onto the street. You don't drop your guard for a second- years of training have taught you better, keeping you on your toes.

It pays off when an arm drapes over your shoulders, something hard and metallic tucked against your ribs. You glance down instead of up at the person at your side- a man, hairy knuckles curled around the grip of a gun and wearing an old watch with a dirty olive green canvas band. Military, maybe, the watch picked for function over style.

"что ты делаешь? отпусти меня!" What are you doing? Let me go! With no idea who has you, you keep to your cover, spitting Russian as a bag is tugged over your head and you're unceremoniously shoved into the back of a vehicle. Cold metal beneath you- a van, perhaps.

"Shut the fuck up," a gruff voice barks back, decidedly British- Manchester, maybe, a boot digging into your ribs. You obey, running through a catalogue of possibilities in your mind. Mercs, maybe, though if they're British it could be SAS- but you're sure if that were the case, Laswell would have warned them to be careful where they were poking their noses. You're in deep for this one- dyed hair, CIA deep- so even if they are people you know, the chances of them recognizing you are slim.

You need to get out of this, find a way to reach out to Laswell before this goes any further south.

Rough hands haul you out of the vehicle when it comes to a sudden stop, dragging you up a short set of steps, across a threshold, up a longer set of stairs. Safehouse, two levels. You're forced into a chair, squeezing your eyes shut against the sudden influx of light when the bag is ripped off of your head.

"Elena Markova." A different British voice spits your cover's name, and you pair it to the older face of the man in front of you. A quick scan doesn't give you much- civvie clothes, close-set blue eyes shadowed under a boonie hat, a cigar in his mouth, a dirty wristwatch you recognize from when he'd grabbed you. He's the only one in the room currently, but you can see a hulking shadow leaning against the wall in the hallway behind him.

"What is this?" you demand, maintaining the accent, your cover. Stall. Figure out who they are, what they want. "Where am I?"

"Just had a few questions for you," he says, crouching down into your eyeline, holding up the flash drive he'd nicked from your pocket. "Wonderin' what a pretty girl like you is doin' with somethin' like this."

"School project." You lie as easily as you breathe, fixing him with a haughty stare.

"On nuclear warheads?" he asks, raising a brow, and that startles you- you hadn't known what was on the drive, what Laswell had sent you to retrieve, certainly hadn't expected him to verify the contents so quickly. Shit. "Gonna have to do better than that, Elena, while this is still a… friendly conversation." You still can't place his affiliation- if he's SAS you could out yourself and end this right now, deal with the consequences from Kate later. If he's a merc, though, or an expat working with a foreign entity… you can't risk it. You keep your mouth shut. He sighs, shoving up to his feet and tucking the drive back into his pocket. "Alright then, have it your way." He pulls his cigar from his mouth, turning to wave in the shadow in the hall.

You barely have time to catalogue his appearance- tall and broad, thick muscles, no identifiers and his face hidden behind a plain black balaclava- before your head snaps to the side and you taste blood in your mouth. You groan, spitting out a mouthful of blood and working your jaw. You're pretty sure a tooth goes, too, skittering across the floor. Fuck, he hits hard.

Still, you say nothing, even when he spends a solid twenty minutes working you over, demanding answers about the drive. By the time he steps out to report to his leader half of your face feels broken, blood in your eyes. It's hard to breathe through your crooked nose, your jaw feels loose. You've definitely lost at least two teeth, you can see them on the floor in a small puddle of blood. You force yourself to focus, to catalogue your injuries- he favors his right hand, your right side only barely throbs. That doesn't make it hurt less.

Through the ringing in your ears you can hear heavy footsteps coming back, multiple pairs. You try to steel yourself, raising your head from its position on your shoulder as the door creaks open.

Three figures walk in, and your hazy eyes zero in on the new one- taking in the bag in his hands, the confused furrow of his brow, blue eyes you know better than your own sweeping over you. You exhale slowly, letting yourself relax only marginally. You're not sure if you should be relieved or not, but you drop your accent and your facade anyway.

"Coulda told me your friends were in town, Suds," you mumble, and it's like the ringing silence after a bomb goes off, his eyes widening in recognition.

"Steamin' Jesus." He drops the bag, striding forward against his teammate's protests to drop to one knee in front of you, the knife he keeps strapped to the front of his vest cutting through your zipties in one fluid motion. You hiss when he cradles your face in his hands, pain lancing across your nerve endings. "The fuck are ye doin' here, lass?"

"Undercover job." Your gaze shifts past him to the men still standing in the doorway and you take a shallow breath, wincing. Your voice is thick, nasally- you need to set your nose. "Better introduce me to the lads 'fore they start interrogatin' you next."

"Dinnae dae tha', ya dafty," Johnny warns with a sharp slap to the back of your hand when you reach up toward your face, bracing a hand on your shoulder while the other grips your nose. He tells the others your name, interrupted by your sharp noise of pain when he sets the crooked cartilage. "Sergeant in the 22. Who's s'posed tae be in Glasgow at her mum's righ' now-"

"Fuck you, MacTavish," you grouse, smacking his hands away in turn. "Had to tell you somethin', didn't I? You know how it is, Laswell says 'jump' you ask 'how high'." You swipe your sleeve under your nose with a grimace, taking another shallow breath. "Got a med kit I could borrow? My gear's across town."

"Aye, c'mon." You groan when he pulls you up out of the chair, sagging against him. He's tense, every muscle drawn taut as he leads you past the other two. You don't miss the way he shoots a glare up at the taller one, arm curling protectively around you. The man you assume is Ghost based on everything Johnny's ever told you is also visibly tense, dark eyes raking over you, over the injuries he'd caused.

"Not mad about it," you tell him quietly, and Johnny pauses, glancing down at you before tracking your gaze up to his friend. Your good eye squints, one corner of your mouth tipping up in some semblance of a smile that probably looks more like a grimace. "Would've done the same thing in your shoes. It's fine."

"It's not," he rumbles, refusing to meet your eyes. "M'sorry-"

"Don't. I'm fine." You're lying and he knows it, but he doesn't argue it. His gaze meets yours finally, his eyes unreadable. "You didn't know. You did what you had to."

"Still-"

"What, you gonna ask everyone you meet if they know Johnny before you interrogate them now?" You grin at him, baring your bloody teeth. "I'm good. Johnny might take longer to forgive but I'm solid if you are."

"I'm solid." He gives you a small nod and you see his mouth twitch under his balaclava, the barest hint of a smile. It falls just as quick, and Johnny leads you out of the room.

The kitchen feels three sizes too small under the weight of Johnny's silence, the way he drops his med kit onto the counter and preps his supplies without looking at you.

"Mad at ye," he murmurs when he turns to you finally, perched on one of the rickety bar stools, stabilizing your jaw with one large hand and swiping saline-soaked gauze over the cut on your cheekbone. His frown when you wince at the sting turns down one corner of his mouth more than the other, brow furrowing. "Cannae believe ye did this without tellin' me."

"Did I need to?" you ask softly, reaching up to curl your hand around his wrist, stilling his hand. "You do stuff without tellin' me all the time-"

"Tha's different-"

"Is it?" Your hand shifts, grips his jaw and tilts his head back until he's forced to meet your eyes, your frown mirroring his. "You know I hate keeping things from you, but I couldn't have told you even I wanted to. Laswell barely told me anything, and I'm the one she asked to dye her hair and spend the better part of a week stalking a Russian arms dealer."

"Then jus' tell me wha' ye do know. Ye think I'm gonna run off an' blab about it to everyone who'll listen? C'mon, hen, ye know me better than that."

You stare up at him for a long minute, contemplating. Finally, you sigh, shaking your head. "Damn it, Johnny, fine. But if Laswell asks you didn't hear this from me. She intercepted Konni comms, heard they were making some kind of weapons deal here and sent me to stake out and intercept the sale. That's all I know, I swear."

"Bonnie." His fingers reflexively press into your cheeks, eyes darkening.

"Don't," you warn, squeezing his in return. Your fingers follow the track of your eyes up to the starburst scarring marring his temple, the curve of the craniotomy scar, the lasting reminder of how you'd nearly lost him. He closes his eyes at the brush of your fingers against his scalp. "I know what Konni's involvement means. Probably remember it better than you do. Just… let me do this. Let me help you this time."

"Fine," he relents, and there's a new chill in the air at the absence of his touch when he releases you, dropping the dirtied gauze on the counter and reaching for a tube of antibiotic ointment. "But ye do not take any unnecessary risks, ye hear me? I dinnae know what we'll be up to on our end but if somethin' happens I won't be able to get to ye. Bith sàbhailte."

"Gealladh, mo cridhe," you murmur, and he finally gives you that crooked smile you love, swiping the ointment across your cheek with one finger. "You better be safe, too. If Laswell comes to my door and tells me you've been shot again I'm gonna kill you myself."

"If my ma doesnae beat ye to it," Johnny chuckles, helping you down from the bar stool and tapping his knuckles gently against your chin. "C'mon, then. Should let Laswell know we met up with ye."

You don't miss the way he doesn't repeat the promise back to you, something heavy settling in your chest.

Bith sàbhailte - be safe (this one's mashed together from 2 different words in the dictionary on learngaelic so might not be 100% accurate) Gealladh - promise Mo cridhe - my heart

please like/reblog if you enjoyed! top divider by: @/saradika-graphics line divider by: @/gildui

[dramioneasks]

HP FESTS: Gothic Fantasy Fest

Gothic Fantasy Fest 2024:

Call of the Tempest by Nusilverwolf - M, WIP - After getting injured during battle in the ongoing war with Voldemort, Hermione is left to watch over one of the Order's safehouses. It's been nothing but her and the ghosts until one night, when Harry arrives in a hurry and leaves her with two unexpected stowaways: Theodore Nott and Draco Malfoy. Little did Harry know that he's brought trouble to the safehouse, and Hermione is left to face her former lover's new...ailment.

New Blood by RavenNiffler - M, WIP - Dramione & Twilight Mash-up but make it gothic. ___ Hogwarts' 8th-year student, Hermione Granger, has always felt like a bit of an outsider. When she transfers from the sun-drenched magic of Uagadou to the bleak, rain-soaked Scottish Highlands to complete her final year, she expects little more than a change in weather. But the Hogwarts she returns to is no longer the castle of her childhood—it looms darker and more menacing, its walls haunted by the war’s scars and shadows. The students, too, carry that weight, their spirits twisted like the corridors they now wander. Among them is Draco Malfoy, a striking yet brooding presence whose silver eyes seem to see straight through her. But Draco harbors his own secret: he's not just a wizard, but a vampire. Rather than flee from this revelation, Hermione is drawn deeper into a dangerous, otherworldly romance with her immortal soulmate, risking far more than just her heart in the process.

Thoughts of Endless Night by avaclava (PaperCraneAudiobooks), dittanyanddreams - E, 5 chapters - Draco Malfoy toils obsessively in his apothecary, harboring a deadly secret beneath the floorboards. Hermione Granger, lost between human consciousness and vampiric hunger, pleads for release, but can Draco really end her suffering? As concerns fill the air and old friends come searching, madness brews—alongside something far more dangerous. [WARNINGS: VIOLENCE, CHARACTER DEATH]

The Ghost in the Photographs by dittanyanddreams - M, 2 chapters - Hermione returns to Hogwarts a year after the war. The castle is in ruins but she is determined to find out what happened to the love of her life, Draco Malfoy, after he was killed at the battle but his body disappeared. She stumbles across some photographs of her and Draco that show their past together, but also a future that never happened. Will these photographs help her to save him, or is there something more sinister going on?

Night Terrors by novembermornings - M, one-shot - Draco is haunted by the events that have happened in Malfoy Manor. One-shot.

Marked for Death by byanca_black - M, one-shot - Draco Malfoy is dying. The magic of the Dark Mark is slowly corrupting his body, spreading through him until death inevitably claims him. And no matter how hard she tries, there’s nothing Hermione can do to stop it. *** *** *** Draco held her in his arms as she cried long, heaving sobs into his chest. "I know Hermione. I know, and it's okay." He stroked her hair and kissed the top of her head, his thumb gently wiping away each tear that fell. "Let's try to enjoy the time we do have." Hermione spent the rest of that night curled in his lap, her arms locked around his body as though holding him tightly enough could keep the darkness from consuming him. As if she could defy the inevitable and never let him go. [WARNINGS: CHARACTER DEATH]

Of Ghosts and Guilt by StrixXinXiang - M, WIP - Draco Malfoy lost everything. His parents, his wife, and his son. When he is offered a job to make a difference and fix his past by Harry Potter, he takes it. A Gothic Horror Twist on our usual post-war fic. [WARNINGS: VIOLENCE, CHARACTER DEATH]

We Must Be Killers by Drusillas_tales - M, one-shot - When in Azkaban, Draco dreamed of his wand after it had been taken from him. With the help of Granger, he finally had the opportunity of getting it back. But when his wand started acting in a very weird way, little did it know that the nightmare it would live was only beginning.

Someone Take These Dreams Away by galaxy_skies - E, WIP - There are wounds that never heal: werewolf bites and battle scars. There are breaks that never mend: tortured minds and shattered trust. There are nightmares that never fade. There are demons that can never be outrun. [WARNINGS: RAPE/NON-CON, VIOLENCE]

The Right One is Hard to Find by dagnywrites - M, WIP - Following the War, the Malfoy family are sentenced to house arrest for ten years, allowing magicks both ancestral and Dark to fester. What might have been a decade of blissful solitude quickly devolves into a unending paranoid nightmare. Driven nearly to madness, Narcissa plans tea away from the Manor, forcing Draco and Lucius to accompany her. As they leave their estate, the twilight zone swirls around them. Decay is everywhere. The mists descend. Society as they knew it is rotting away. A story of a carnivorous house, a little madness, the dissolution of civilized society and a total lack of manners.

There Stalked a Multitude of Dreams by galaxy_skies - E, WIP - After the war, Draco Malfoy haunts Hogwarts' once-hallowed hallways. After the war, Hermione Granger splinters and shatters apart. After the war, the world ends. [WARNINGS: VIOLENCE, CHARACTER DEATH]

Look At What You Made Me Do by EmmaLouiseFanfiction - E, one-shot - It was the sound of something breaking. His heart. His soul. His world. And he would tear it apart all over again. All to get his hands on hers. The monster that had been silent all these years. It was here. It had come. Draco was done ignoring it. And it wanted her. [WARNINGS: RAPE/NON-CON]

This fest is ongoing.

[8-rae-rae-8]

Running, Running, Captured, Safe.

Summary: Graves is on the run after betraying the 141. He's exhausted and can't run anymore. He gets caught, and regresses in fear. Price and Ghost help him out.

Fic below the cut, but here's a link for those who prefer AO3

3k words

https://archiveofourown.org/works/53263258/chapters/134787823

A safe house was supposed to be safe. Backup after backup safehouse, yet Phillip was anything but safe. Under normal circumstances, he would have been safe. Being searched for by the 141 meant he wasn’t safe at all. There was no security each time he jumped from safehouse to safehouse, it simply left a trail. Opened and empty food containers on counters, messy blankets on the beds, still damp bathtub from showers. It left signs that he didn’t think to clean up before he was onto the next place.

The 141 had their reasons, just like Graves had his for running. Every second of his time had been plagued with a strong headache, it made things fuzzy in a way that was far too familiar. He abandoned his shadows, knowing some were dead, lost, or hopefully somewhere actually safe. Maybe even with their families, though Phillip knew not to hope too strong for that. Men like them hardly got their happy ending. With the 141 and Los vaqueros searching for all of them, it was a death sentence. Searching for Graves like their lives depended on it. No rock left unturned.

It was only a matter of time before they found him. In a shitty little apartment next to a main road, it was the only place he could find on such sort notice. Somewhere that wouldn’t be expected of him. Graves was on his own, that’s all he had to worry about. But he worried, and the headache only grew. 

He should have ran further, as far as he could go without leaving a paper trail. It was dangerous. Fucking careless. His head was cloudy, almost a static to his vision as he moved. Sleep was restless, his appetite was gone. All he thought to do was run, but his weary body wouldn’t make it under those conditions. He needed to go, find anywhere else. It just wasn’t an option as his body begged him for sustenance, for sleep. 

The bed was so welcoming… If he just laid down for a few minutes, it would be okay. He’d just rest his eyes, he told himself that was all he would do. The longer he laid there, the less control he had. His eyes closed, and his body finally went lax into the mattress. A crappy old thing, but it felt heavenly to him.

Thirty minutes, and he swore he set an alarm. But in a dream like state, it was hard to tell what was real. He let himself drift, believing an alarm had been set that would keep him safe.

Dull voices flooded through his ears as he began to wake. 

He counted as he listened, british, british, british, scottish… 

Fuck, he was a dead man. His breathing slowed until he managed to force himself to hold his breath. Phil clutched at the pillow under his head, laid on his side, curled up just a bit. Pain sputtered like an engine as it engulfed his body in quick surges until it settled back in his head. Silent. Stay silent, he told himself, as if that would get him out of any of this. He didn’t even have a weapon on him. Foolish mistake. 

Terror set deep in his bones, along with the burning of his tense muscles/

“Grab him, we’re leaving.” John Price, Graves noted. He was torn between wanting to shove his fist in his face, and wanting to cower… His eyes shut so tight it dazed him, or maybe it was the lack of oxygen. But he’d held his breath for longer.

Orders changed quickly.

“Stop.” He heard as steps approached his bedside. The fucking scot talking. “He’s awake.” 

Silence followed, Phillip assuming they were watching him. He kept holding his breath, even though his lips were probably going blue at that rate. Dizziness settled in. 

“Open your bloody eyes.” Ghost. The one he was unreasonably scared of. Something in him felt like it died, perhaps his pride. It was so far from what he had wanted when he had met them all. To end up a dead man at their hands… they’d kill him once he lost his usefulness. And to think he had thought that maybe, just maybe, they could have been okay. His orders fucked it all up. 

As much as he wanted it all to be over, and to just be home again. A knot formed in his throat as his eyes flickered open. Blue eyes taking in the surroundings, specifically where each man stood. 

Price blocked the door. Ghost blocked the window, and the sargeants stood near the end of the bed. Chances of getting out with a pure adrenaline run plummeted to zero. He was completely fucked. If he hadn’t napped, he could have defended himself.

“Up, Graves.” The captain spoke harshly, arms crossed over his chest. 

By some miracle, Phil complied. There was no choice but to surrender. No shadows backed him, he was alone without a weapon on his hip. Fear forced him into agreeing with their wishes, he could only hope he’d be allowed out… All his things were in his car, they never made it to the apartment. He didn’t even need it all! Maybe just a blanket, his favorite one. He could cuddle up with it. A few minutes was all he needed. But he didn’t deserve it. He didn’t have to be told.

The men seemed equally surprised that Graves did as told. No bullshit, no snapping back. 

A big fist grabbed him by the back of his neck, as if he was scruffing him. A gloved hand, thinning on the trigger finger. Ghost. A breath forced it’s way into his lungs, and the dizziness slightly subsided. Gaz stood almost silent, glaring daggers his way. Hateful, like he should be. Yet it still hurt, buried deep into his chest, tightening the knot in his throat. 

His rigid arms were forced behind his back, held by another forceful hand. It promised quick injury if Phil even attempted to get away. 

There was a silent exchange between the four of them, before Ghost pushed Phil out of the apartment. Walking and walking. Every hall looked the same way, he hardly bothered to pay attention to the numbers on the wall. It all blurred together, like he was stuck in fog. Nothing was clear, just the end destination. Wherever the 141 wanted him, really. 

None of it was kind, he didn’t deserve kind. 

In a blink of an eye, Graves was put into the back of the 141’s transport. A black military transport van. Phil made no effort to buckle in, and just sat there instead, eyes glued to the floor. His blanket, he wanted his blanket. He ignored the orders spat at him from Ghost, something about buckling up and cooperating. Phil’s mind was elsewhere, if anywhere at all. He felt like fog was in his vision, in his head. Drowning things out, making it all fuzzy. This was the worst possible place to feel like that.

The others loaded up and the car began to move. Price took the seat closer to the front of the vehicle, Soap took a seat by Ghost, and Gaz took one closer to the rear view window. It all felt cramped, even though there was plenty of space. No one was touching him, but he could hear them talking, could feel them glaring. Or at least Soap and Gaz.

While Graves felt genuine fear and guilt. He’d hurt these men, but they hadn’t actually hurt him yet. The other shoe was bound to drop soon. Each glance around that he took, he tucked himself further and further back, resorting to staring out a window. 

Ghost watched him, hardly taking his eyes off. Phillip Graves being scared was a new thing completely. He was the fearless leader of the shadows, never taking no for an answer. Always fighting back. But there he was, trying to shrivel himself up like a depressed plant. Or shrinking back on himself like a scared kid. That’s how he felt. A scared kid. He had no defenses, just his neglected body that could only take a hit or two before it fell apart.

Phil’s lip was tugged into his mouth, teething working one spot till it was bare and bloody. His shoulders shook, but he had kept his hands at his sides. Once his legs were pulled up to his chest, he seemed to lose all the rest of his fight. His eyes wondered back to Ghost for just a moment, lingering on the mask then looking at his tac gear. The guns at his sides. 

“You scared of a Ghost, Graves?” The deeper voice spoke, boring a hole into the side of Graves’ head with his gaze.

His shoulders tensed before they shook harder, gaze immediately averted. The dim sky had his attention next, but just barely. Graves did what he could to square away, though half his face was still visible. Hot tears poured from his eyes within a few seconds. Yes, he was scared. Terrified. The mask only added to the fear. 

A small dribble of blood mixed with spit leaked down his chin. Phil gnawed at his lip, until something in it popped. He swallowed his own blood, while one hand covered his lips and chin. 

Graves attempted to shake his head. Weakness. They were only tolerating him now, the crying would only make it worse. But the tears kept falling, dampening his face. He was tired, hungry, sore, and scared. It was a mix that would make any little one sick. His legs worked quickly, forcing himself away from the group. Not buckled up, despite being told to minutes ago.

The tone in the van shifted as the others looked towards Price. It could all be a play to get them to lower their guard, they all were thinking the same thing.

But Price’s eyes were soft as he got up. A little one in distress, how could he not? With gentle steps, he came to Phil’s side, kneeling down next to him. 

“Graves,” The captain began, a hand resting on one of his knee, “I know you’re scared… But this is important.” He was firm, but still gentle. That mix of captain and father-like tones adding a bit of warmth to the air, but Graves only shivered.

His eyes squeezed closed after looking at Ghost one more time. Phil fearfully pushed his leg out in an effort to make more space between him and Price. A small nudge, he swore thats all it was. Then his leg was grabbed and put down forcefully, his cries only getting louder.

“We don’t kick, Phillip.” Price spoke in a much more stern tone, scolding him like he was a child. 

Graves whimpered at the tone. He’d been bad again. He didn’t mean to kick! His eyes opened, just to look apologetically at Price before he saw Ghost in the background and closed them again. The mask- he was terrified of it- Ghost’s mask scared him when he was already terrified enough. 

“Phil, we’re not going to hurt you, we just need to talk.. You’re in trouble right now, but we won’t hurt you. You have our word.” Price softened at that reaction, his hand resting back on Phil’s knees as he rubbed small circles. It didn’t work the way he wanted it to, the boy just wouldn’t even take a breath.

The reassurances felt like nothing more than empty promises. He was far too aware of the reasons he shouldn’t be allowed such comfort. He had been running so long while fully convinced they would hurt him, like he had done… Though not exactly willingly.

“N-no.. wanna go home!” Graves sniffled, his bloody lip poking out from his mouth as he spoke. Just more blood dripping down his cheek as he tried to pull himself away from all the contact.

“I know, kid. I know.” The captain stood, simply patting Graves on the back. He took a look around, silently checking in on his boys. The sobs grew louder when Price finally turned his back, as if he felt even worse now. 

The skeptical glances turned to ones that seemed genuinely concerned, confused even. The attempts Price made, no matter how half hearted it was, didn’t work enough to get Graves a single gasp of air. The tears fell harder, soaking the collar of his shirt as they fell down his face and neck. The bloody lip even making a mark as it dripped. 

The movement shifted, all fuzzy to Phil when he attempted to decipher the different people moving. He managed to figure that one was Ghost, but the others were lost on him. The heavy steps told him that Ghost was getting closer though. His own sobs drowned out a lot of it. 

Ghost saw himself in Graves as the sobbing continued. Though he had no idea how small the boy had regressed, he knew that he was small enough to not be able to rationalize this at all. Taken away from somewhere safe, just to be taunted or asked far too many questions, and maybe not even let go at all. He recognized the fear. 

With hesitation, the mask was removed. Ghost set it away from Phil, as it was what he believed Phil was scared of most. A small item was taken from his pocket as he knelt down where Price had been. Scars lined his face, however, he looked.. kind. 

“Phil?” Simon asked, not pushing for an answer, nor any contact. 

“This is scary, huh?” The man began. He kept a close eye on Graves’ every movement, like he was a ticking time bomb, but not treating him like such. Regressing wasn’t always pure… Sometimes it was screaming, crying, kicking, tantrums, and even self harm in some cases. Ghost was familiar with it all.

Just the change in tone, and the simple removal of the mask had Graves at least looking at Ghost. His eyes wandered to the scars, but always made it back to Ghost’s eyes. Deep brown, with gold-ish flecks in the light.

“That’s it, mate..” Ghost approvingly nodded to him. “Do you want something soft?” He offered, a hand already on something in his hand that he held in his pocket. 

Graves sniffled as he watched Ghost, blinking as the tears kept blurring his vision. He wasn’t as scary without the mask.. But was still big, towering over him with ease if he wanted to. Right now though, he remained kneeled down at Phil’s side. He slowly nodded.

“Okay, but you gotta be gentle, okay?” A little smile made an appearance on Simon’s face. He pulled out a small object. A very tiny blanket, with a lamb head on the top corner. It showed its age, old, a little rough around the ages. But it was soft, well maintained. Ghost gently set it Phil’s knee, but didn’t let his hand linger for more than a second.

Phil was careful. His hands shook as he reached for it, holding the small baby blanket in his hands. It was softer than he though it would be. His fingers traced along the smooth fabric at the edges, then he rubbed the soft, plush fabric at the center. The tears stopped flowing as hard, he hiccuped and finally took a deep breath. The little toy was nice, it even had a silly face stitched on. Clearly a hand done job.

“It’s okay… We won’t hurt you.” That time it sounded like a promise. Like Simon wasn’t going to even let the other’s hurt him. 

It coaxed a full breath into the little one’s lungs. 

“See? Deep breaths…” Ghost encouraged, taking a deep breath of his own as he began again, “It’s okay.. I get scared too. Price is my.. Baba… He takes good care of me… An’ if you let him, he’ll take good care of you too.” He remained just as encouraging as he shared his secret. 

Graves had to take a second to process. His bloodied lip back in his mouth as he visibly chewed it, not as hard as before, thankfully. He blinked at Ghost, then up at Price. He was a traitor, yet they were helping him like family. It was wrong, but he wanted it. Needed it. God knows he needs food, and actual sleep. Maybe he wasn’t as much of a prisoner as he thought.

“P’ice is scary…” Graves whispered, his eyes looking back to Simon, who chuckled a little at that.

“He’s just a big bear. They can be scary too, but you know what?” Simon waited until Phil made a curious sound. Ghost leaned in a tad to whisper, “Bears protect their young, and they help them. But, between you and me, he’s a big teddy bear.” 

It got Phil to giggle a little rather than sniffle. The tears still dripped, but they slowed to almost being gone. Graves actually grinned a little bit, holding the little blanket lamb closer to his chest.

“He’ll protect you, bub. Don’t sweat it, aye? We’ll let you fixed up, and comfy before anything. Couldn’t let a little one walk around with a busted lip, hm?” Ghost assured him, his hand, now ungloved, rested on Phil’s leg. There were no kicks, no sobs, no whimpers.

“Uh-huh.. Ghos’ fix me up?” Phil asked in the smallest voice, stumbling over his words easily. 

“‘course, bud. I’ll fix you up, and we might even be able to put on some cartoons for you while I do. How’s that sound?” Ghost responded, the smile reaching his eyes. Though he didn’t have much experience taking care of little ones, he’d do his best. 

Phil softly nodded. With that, they continued to a 141 safehouse without any more cries. He had Price on his left, and Ghost on his right. His mask stayed off, tucked into one pocket. Despite it all not being perfect, or near okay, he leaned his head onto Ghost’s shoulder. 

Sleep was inevitable. After his last few days of restlessness, it only made sense when Phil fell asleep on Simon's shoulder, the little lamb blanket never leaving his hands.

[debating on a chapter 2, thoughts?]

Agere tag list - @little-babybell