#1. the frankly inevitable sickfic | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

tired-beholding-bitch · 2 years

Text

tma fics masterpost 🌺

hey there! 😊

this is a little index of my completed tma fics and WIPs to better keep track of everything and gather them all in a single place! here we go! ✨

WIPs / series

| i think i love you (oh, i love you) - Soup Sickfic AU masterpost

| love you, to love you, to love you well - safehouse period food-as-a-love-language series

| touches ask game - x

| there’s no need to be brave (i’ll be brave) [ao3] - ~7.9k-???k (1/5 chs), jonmartin, rated T, Scottish Safehouse Period, recovery fic, LOTS of cooking and a frankly ridiculous amount of fluff (part of the series yes)

He must have known how to do this, at some point. He's sure he must have.

There must have been a time when his hands weren't quite so graceless, when he knew touch for something other than to hurt and be hurt. He was never good at it, not in the effortless, calm way Martin seems to take to it, but there must have been a time in which it was easier. A lifetime ago, that is.

All he has left now are sharp edges and scars and a desperate, starving ache pulsing in the narrow spaces between his ribs, and fingers tipped with claws still reaching and reaching and taking, and yearning that tightens around his throat like a soft length of rope.

Maybe it'll be enough.

(He hopes it'll be enough.

It's everything he has.)

Jon cooks, worries, and remembers how to take care of someone (and of himself) along the way.

completed

| some one came, and kissed me there [ao3] - ~7k, rated T, 3+1 format Christmas fic, a character study of kiss-averse jon through the years

«You know, we’re— there’s mistletoe, up there,» she says. He looks up, frowning — he hadn’t noticed, but now he can make out the green and red of it, stark against the white wooden arch over the stairs. When he looks back down, she’s much closer than she was — closer even than they were on her bedroom floor, kneeling to see under the chair. He freezes where he stands, uncertain. She’s the same height as him, but she still goes up on her tiptoes, eyes fluttering closed as she presses her mouth to his. Her lips are a little cracked, and a little wet. It’s over in the blink of an eye. - or: Jonathan Sims and a life of mistletoe misadventures.

| fire exists the first in light [ao3] - ~1.5k, rated G, jackagnes fluff because they deserve to go on a date and hold hands about it actually

Her expression is wide open, thoughtful. His heart twinges sweetly at the sight of her lips, curled into a subdued version of her lopsided smile. Jack isn’t a poet. If he was, he’d be able to find better words to describe the way her hair burns against the slate-grey winter sky, dead branches threaded through it like dark, engorged veins. The subtle warmth of her body next to his, growing stronger every time their shoulders brush in passing. The white mist of her breath, thick and opaque like smoke. He wants to hold her hand. The next time their arms touch, he can feel the heat radiating from the back of her hands, curling around his wrist like a warning. He doesn’t reach out. It's too cold for a walk in the park. Jack doesn't actually mind.

| and you’re so steady, and you don’t tip over [ao3] - ~3k, rated T, MAG 155 Aftermath, wtgfs! have some lesbians!, they’re Very Soft and Very In Love and Very Traumatised

For the first week after she quits the Institute, Melanie doesn’t dream.

It’s been a long time since she last managed to sleep through a whole night without waking, terrified and gasping and snarling at shadows, her fingers curled tightly around the knife hidden under her pillow, the handle biting its carved indents into her skin. Holding it until it hurt – until she could barely tell the hilt apart from the aching flesh of her palm, her tongue thick with the taste of blood and bile.

It had felt safer that way.

Melanie has nightmares. It's inevitable, but she still wishes Georgie didn't have to deal with them.

| and never stray too far from home [tumblr / ao3] - ~3k, rated G, post-canon jmart, Domestic Fluff, Mandatory Kitten Fic for the soul with minimal mentions of stabbing and maximum softness

The kitten can't be more than four or five months old. She emerges from the folds of fabric, and her bright green eyes blink up at him from a very, very upset little face, her wet fur mussed and dirty with dust, or soil, or some other ungodly substance. She's a lovely calico, orange and black spots painted like brush strokes on her head and back, her nose a pretty shade of pink. One of the black marks is right over her left eye, giving her the look of a rather ruffled pirate.

Jon falls in love on the spot.

«Oh.» he says, this time out loud.

Martin finds a cat. She stays, naturally.

| i’ll say no more today [ao3] - ~1.6k, (pre-)jonmartin, rated G, s3/s4, Angst and Feels, canon-typical Pining and Yearning, Self-Worth Issues (this is a Martin character study after all)

Martin catches himself staring at his chest, begging it to raise with the rhythm of a breath, even just one, just once, just enough to put a stop to the frenzied gibberish of panic playing like static in his mind.

It deafens him, makes it hard to think and harder to sleep, as if the volume of his thoughts is stuck and he can't quite reach whatever handle turns it down. He's exhausted, and yet here he stays. Keeping vigil on an uncomfortable chair as late as the nurses will let him and as often as he can possibly manage.

Kindness, he has come to find out, has its own way of marking you.

Sometimes, visiting the hospital is something Martin does more for himself than for Jon.

| and if I were to forget you (my heart would forget me) [tumblr / ao3] - ~1k, (pre-)jonmartin, rated G, s4, MAG 149 coda, (more) canon-typical Pining and Yearning, yet another Martin character study, Light Angst, vague musings about losing oneself

Irritation closes like a vice around his throat, along with the usual, familiar weariness, his bones aching with it, the same dull soreness of a fever. For a second, he considers it – he's so tired he isn't sure he can stand, and the room feels much colder than it ought to.

However, that isn't what's making him uncomfortable. He's getting used to being cold, the Lonely settling over him quietly and surely, like a blanket of snow. Sometimes, it doesn't even feel like cold anymore, its touch so glacial it starts to burn in a strange parody of warmth.

It feels safe. Everything is droned out, diluted as if painted in watercolours. Peaceful.

Martin tries to forget Georgie's words. They keep coming back.

#tma #the magnus archives #tma fic #jonmartin #martin blackwood #jonathan sims #to add as necessary #writing masterpost #character study #ficlet #scottish safehouse period #fluff #!!!#domestic bliss #tired writes #tma spoilers #(to be safe)

70 notes · View notes