#jonmartinweek2022

[wallyb0t]

woah? a post?? from tumblr user mewalmartbag? unheard of.

@jonmartinweek 2022 day 1: good cows :]

[grahamfolgersdeliciousnotebooks]

For @jonmartinweek Day 7 - Forehead Kisses

(View this work on AO3)

Jon was good at denial. He liked to think it was one of his most valuable skills. If he wasn’t able to ignore all of his screaming fears and doubts, all of the dread that the future and even the present consistently inspired in him, he never would have been able to survive the past two years.

Now, though, his powers of denial were failing him, and he didn't know if “survival” was even an option.

He couldn’t think about tomorrow. He couldn’t think about the fact that he, Tim, Daisy and Basira would be leaving for Great Yarmouth in less than 12 hours, and he couldn’t think about what they’d be doing there.

Better to focus on the present. Find a statement, read it, forget about the rest for now. Document Storage seemed like the place to go - it housed all their oldest statements, perhaps it held more information about the ritual from 1787. Perhaps one of the Slaughter avatars who’d interrupted it had given a statement of their own. Perhaps, if he just looked, he’d find a very simple, easy strategy for disrupting a Stranger ritual that didn’t involve travelling to Great Yarmouth and blowing up a building and possibly (probably?) dying, and-

Focus.

He didn’t realize his hands were shaking until he grabbed the handle of the door to Document Storage. He didn’t realize his legs were shaking until he stepped inside. He wasn’t sure if it was nerves, or hunger, or exhaustion, or some combination of the three, but he quickly realized he wasn’t going to get very far. He half-sat half-fell onto the rough carpeted floor and leaned against the wall. Perhaps taking a rest wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world. If only he could get his mind to rest, too.

Jon sat, hugging his knees, and waited for the dizziness to pass.

Eventually, there was a knock on the door, and Jon tried to sit up. “C-Come in,” he said.

“There you are,” Martin said as he stepped into the room, “I’ve been looking for…” Then his eyes caught on Jon, sat on the floor with his knees pulled up to his chest, and his face crumpled in concern. “Jon? Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” he lied, “J-Just… tired.”

Martin looked at him, eyes full of anxiety and distress and care, and here was another place Jon’s denial was beginning to slip. For months, every time Martin had said his name, or smiled, or texted to check that he hadn’t gotten kidnapped again, and Jon’s heart had skipped a beat, he’d always shoved the feeling aside and told himself he could deal with all that later.

He wasn’t sure if there was going to be a later, now.

“You should really go home,” Martin said, “You’ve got a… a big day, tomorrow.”

As do you, Jon thought, but he couldn’t discount the possibility that Elias was watching them right now, so he said nothing. Instead he just sat and willed his heartrate to slow.

Martin couldn’t be here. He didn’t know what he’d do if Martin stayed. Cry, probably. Maybe not. Maybe something worse, like telling him all the things he’d been too scared and too stubborn to say before, now that it was too late for the words to be of any use to anyone, now that they couldn’t possibly bring Martin anything but pain.

He couldn’t ask Martin to leave, though. The world might end, and he was selfish, and all he wanted was to spend as much time as he possibly could with him before it all came crashing down.

Martin didn’t leave. He hesitated, then walked over and took a seat on the floor beside Jon. For a while, neither of them spoke. Eventually, Martin asked,

“Are you nervous?” Jon just stared at him, and he gave a half-hearted laugh. “Right, yeah, stupid question.” After a moment, he added, “I-I’m nervous, too.”

Jon knew that. He’d listened to the tape Martin had recorded. He wanted to say something, or do something, to offer some tiny scrap of reassurance, but all he could think of was Martin’s voice on the tape. Just don’t die, Jon, he’d said, and Jon couldn’t shake the feeling that he was going to disappoint Martin yet again.

“If the world were really ending…” Martin mused after a bit, “I mean, if we knew for certain it was going to, and there was nothing we could do to stop it… What would you be doing, right now?”

“I don’t know… I never really had a- a bucket list, or anything…” Jon sighed, thought it over. “I’d like to make things right with Tim,” he said eventually. “I- I tried, earlier, but he- he doesn’t want to speak to me.” If the world were really ending, he supposed, he could try again, but Tim had gone home for the night, and Jon showing up at his house unannounced would likely do nothing but bring back bad memories. He didn’t think this was a thing that could be fixed in under a day. He wasn’t sure it was a thing that could be fixed at all. “What about you?” he asked.

“I don’t know either, really. I called my mum earlier, but she didn’t want to speak to me. I asked the people at the care home to give her a message, told her I loved her and all that. If the world doesn’t end, she’s going to be really confused.” He laughed weakly. “She’ll probably think I’m, I dunno, trying to guilt her for not answering the phone, but, well. It seemed like the thing to do.”

Yes, Jon thought. Telling people that you love them did seem like the thing to do, the night before the end of the world.

“Other than that, though…” Martin went on, “I mean, there was a restaurant I never got the chance to try, but I think they’re closed, this time of night.”

“If that’s your biggest regret, I suppose that’s not so bad,” Jon said. Martin gave another quiet laugh, and they lapsed into silence again. Jon glanced down at Martin’s hand where it rested on the floor between them. It would be so easy to reach out and grab it, to intertwine their fingers, perhaps even to lift it off the floor and press a kiss to his knuckles. If the world were really ending, and there was nothing we could do to stop it, what would you do?

But there was something he could do to stop it, and he had to try. If the dread pooling in his stomach was any indication, he had to die trying, and Martin… he couldn’t do that to Martin.

“You don’t have to stay, Martin,” he said. “I’m sure there’s something more interesting you could be doing with your last night before the apocalypse.”

Martin made a small, noncommittal noise, and Jon thought that would be the end of it. But after a moment Martin spoke, choosing his words slowly, cautiously. “Honestly, if the world really does end tomorrow… I just want to spend this time with you.” Jon turned to look at him, and Martin turned away. “Sorry,” he whispered softly, “But if I can’t be honest now, when can I?”

“Martin…” Jon reached out a hand to cup Martin’s cheek. Gently, carefully, he turned Martin’s head back to face him.

His eyes were wide and full of uncertainty. Jon moved to drop his hand from Martin’s cheek, but Martin brought his own hand up to hold it in place. For a moment Jon hardly dared to breathe. Then Martin spoke.

“Just promise me you’ll come back.”

“I can’t. Martin, you know I can’t-”

“Jon, please.” Martin’s voice broke, and something anguished and pleading and desperate spilled out. “Please.”

Jon brought his other hand up to Martin’s cheek, cradling his face gently, like he might break. “I’ll try,” he whispered. “I promise I’ll try. ”

Martin nodded sadly, and tried to put on a brave face, but Jon could hear the wetness of unshed tears in his voice. “I guess that’ll have to do,” he said.

Jon swiped his thumb across Martin’s cheek, and Martin melted into the contact. He sucked in an unsteady breath and closed his eyes, a few tears finally beginning to spill. Jon brushed them aside.

Martin kept his eyes closed as he readjusted his grip on Jon’s hand. Carefully, he pulled it to his lips and pressed a kiss into Jon’s palm. It sent a shiver through Jon’s whole body, and before he knew it he was shaking again, everything he’d been trying not to feel for the past hour and the past week and the past year threatening to spill out all at once.

He wasn’t sure who moved first, whether Martin pulled him close or he just collapsed into his arms, but either way he found himself pressed tightly to Martin’s chest. Martin’s arms curled around him, firm and protective as a shield, and Jon never wanted to move from that spot.

“I wish we had more time,” he murmured into the fabric of Martin’s sweater, and Martin pulled back to look at him. His eyes were still glistening, but he looked steadier than before. He looked a lot braver than Jon felt.

“Just come back,” he whispered, and leaned down slowly to kiss Jon’s forehead. His lips were soft and warm, and they only brushed Jon’s skin for a second, but he could still feel their warmth even when Martin drew away. Jon had never been a religious man, but he thought it felt like benediction. “Just come back, then we’ll have all the time in the world.”

Jon nodded, unable to speak. There was so much more to say, and so little time left to say it, but as he fell back into Martin’s arms and Martin ran a gentle, soothing hand down his spine, he thought the most important part didn’t need to be said.

(View this work on AO3)

[organchordsandlightning]

Chapters: 1/6 Fandom: The Magnus Archives (Podcast) Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Jonathan Sims/Martin Blackwood Characters: Jonathan Sims, Martin Blackwood Additional Tags: jon pov, Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Road Trip, CW for Relative Death/Guardian Death/Parental Death, Pre-Slash, University AU, jonmartin week 2022, First Meetings Summary:

Tragic circumstances cause a very alone Jonathan Sims to carpool with a stranger from Yorkshire to Bournemouth. As the ride continues, Jon comes to suspect that Martin Blackwood is not as he seems. This suspicion grows into a theory: that Martin Blackwood is not only a liar, but a murderer as well.

//

@jonmartinweek

For Day 3 - Road Trips!

[marlasomething]

Jonmartin Week 2022 Masterlist

Hi there, Marla here!

Since I have just finished the @jonmartinweek challenge I decided to make a teeny-tiny masterpost so you can access all of them quickier!

Allons-y!

Day 1 (Good Cows/First Date): Canon Compliant, Post-Season 4/Begining Season 5

Day 2 (I'll Carry You/Chronic Pain): AU (Archivist!Sasha), Post-Alternative Season 3, Web Avatars Jmart

Day 3 (Roomates/Roadtrip): AU (adopted by major players Jmart), College AU, enemies to lovers

Day 4 (Divinity/Red String Fate): Canon compliant, Post-Canon, Monster!Jmart

Day 5 (Poetry/Blind Date): AU (Everyone's an Avatar), mutual pining, cofee date, minor Melanie/Georgie

Day 6 (Lost&Found/Found Family): AU (everybody lives), morally grey territory, adopted avatar child, Jon against a door

Day 7 (Forehead Kiss/Growing Old Together): Canon compliant, Post-Cann, Somewhere else, Alternate-Everybody lives

Day 8 (Free/AU Day): Pirate AU, ofmd references

Also a Series in AO3

[wallyb0t]

they are going on a roadtrip wish them luck

day 3 of @jonmartinweek :]

[wallyb0t]

day 2- ill carry you

@jonmartinweek

[grahamfolgersdeliciousnotebooks]

For @jonmartinweek Day 5 - Poetry

(view this work on AO3)

Jon had always thought he was rather good with words. He had a degree in literature from Oxford, after all; he could write an essay with the best of them. Verbal communication had, admittedly, never been his strong suit, but he managed. Even if he wasn’t eloquent, he could always get the point across.

Lately, though, he felt completely tongue-tied. He’d spent the better part of a year just trying to get Martin to speak to him, and now he had his ear near-constantly - from the moment he woke up beside Martin each morning, to the moment they fell asleep in each other’s arms each night - and he couldn’t begin to put everything he felt into words.

He knew he had the most important part covered. He said I love you freely, almost thoughtlessly - the words were never far from his mind, and sometimes he didn’t even realize he’d said them until Martin said them back. But he wanted Martin to know precisely how he felt - all the love, all the joy, all the agony he’d felt before, when he thought he’d missed his chance, all the relief he’d felt upon realizing he hadn’t. He wanted Martin to know that he felt safer here with him - on the run from the police and about a dozen supernatural threats but together - than he ever had before. He wanted Martin to know that he thought about him, always, even when they were apart.

Most of what he said, though, was completely mundane. It was all comments about the weather, debates about whose turn it was to do the dishes, reminders that they were running out of eggs.

And, occasionally, arguments about poetry.

“You really don’t like any poetry?” Martin asked one night as they lay curled on the couch together, a fire roaring in the hearth beside them.

“I didn’t say that!” Jon protested, “I said I don’t like most poetry. I just- I just don’t really see the point.”

Martin sputtered, voice going high-pitched with indignation. “The point? It’s art, Jon, the point is to make you feel things!”

“I know, I just think prose does that a lot more… cleanly.” Jon couldn’t exactly make out exactly what Martin muttered in response to that, but he thought he sensed the gist of it. “I’m sorry!” he said, though he was laughing.

“No, no, you can’t help it,” Martin conceded. “A poem either affects you or it doesn’t, it’s not something you can control. I’m going to find a poem that affects you, though!”

“I’ll save you some time and tell you that I’ve never liked Keats.”

Martin sighed. “I can’t believe I love you.”

Jon snuggled closer until he was more or less in Martin’s lap, and Martin instinctively wrapped his arms around him. “I love you, too,” Jon said, choosing to ignore the first half of the statement.

“Ooh, wait!” Martin said, pulling away briefly and sitting up to grab his phone from his pocket. “I have an E. E. Cummings poem saved to my phone!” Jon raised an eyebrow, and Martin explained, “The title’s really long and I can never remember it. I got tired of googling, like, ‘e. e. cummings tree hands fingers’ every time I wanted to read it, so I just took a screenshot.” He scrolled through the photos saved to his phone, brow furrowed in concentration, until he came to the correct one. “Here!” he said, passing the phone to Jon, “What do you think of this?”

Jon read it. He wanted to like it, he really did - if Martin liked it enough to save it to his phone, he wanted to love it, but in truth it felt like a tidy encapsulation of all of his frustrations about poetry. Why couldn’t poets ever just say what they meant? Why did they have to construct sentences that were blatantly incomprehensible and then pat themselves on the back for their own cleverness?

“It’s… nice,” he lied, rather unconvincingly.

“You hate it.”

“I don’t… I just don’t get it! If you love it, then I’m sure there’s something there, but h-honestly, I don’t even know what it means! A-And I know poetry doesn’t have to obey the rules of grammar and syntax, but this isn’t poetic, it’s just wrong!”

“That’s the point!” Martin insisted. “All the syntax is just off enough that it trips you up and makes you stop and think - A-And you can’t exactly make sense of it with your logical brain, but you can feel it-” he cut himself off suddenly, losing momentum mid-monologue and seeming to curl in on himself. “O-Or that’s how I see it, anyway. I never actually studied poetry, so-”

“No, no, go on!” Jon said. Even if he didn’t agree with his interpretation, it was mesmerizing to watch him talk about something he was passionate about. “What else do you like about it?”

“Well, the parentheticals, for one. They feel like - not afterthoughts, exactly, but like they’re so obvious that he doesn’t need to say them out loud, but he does anyway, and- and I don’t know, there’s something so romantic about that. And the second stanza! Did it really not make you feel anything?”

“Not really,” Jon admitted, almost ashamed.

“Maybe you just need to hear it out loud,” Martin said, “Sometimes that helps.” He sat up. With the hand that wasn’t holding his phone, he grabbed Jon’s hand, and Jon listened with rapt attention as he read.

now all the fingers of this tree(darling)have

hands, and all the hands have people; and

more each particular person is(my love)

alive than every world can understand

.

and now you are and i am now and we're

a mystery which will never happen again,

a miracle which has never happened before–

and shining this our now must come to then

.

our then shall be some darkness during which

fingers are without hands; and i have no

you: and all trees are(any more than each

leafless)its silent in forevering snow

.

—but never fear(my own, my beautiful

my blossoming)for also then's until

And Jon still couldn’t say he understood it, really, but he thought he could almost see the appeal. There was something there, but it might just have been the sound of his boyfriend whispering the words my own, my beautiful, my blossoming, into the quiet of their cabin.

***

They had developed a routine, since they came to Scotland. Every Tuesday, they would gather up all the books they’d read in the past week and head to the library. Martin would go in first, return the books, pick out a few for himself, and make sure that the regular weekday librarian was in, and had not switched shifts with the weekend librarian who’d had an encounter with the Dark when she was a child. (They’d discovered this one unfortunate Saturday when Martin had had to all but drag Jon out of the library to make sure he didn’t Compel her.) If the coast was clear, Jon would spend the day in the library while Martin ran errands. He’d pick out a week’s worth of books for himself, read in the back room on the second floor that was always completely unoccupied, and print out recipes he wanted to make in the week ahead on the library’s ancient computers.

This particular Tuesday, Jon found himself unconsciously gravitating toward the library’s scant poetry section. He hadn’t forgotten his conversation with Martin, and he wanted to understand. He pulled an anthology off the shelf more or less at random and flipped through the table of contents to find that it contained several love poems by E. E. Cummings. That seemed as good a place as any to start.

He read one, and he thought he understood.

***

Jon ran the words over in his mind. He’d read the poem a dozen times - it wasn’t very long - and done his best to memorize it, but he worried the words would flee as soon as he tried to say them out loud. He should have followed Martin’s lead and taken a picture.

After dinner, as Martin set their plates in the sink and put the kettle on for tea, Jon broached the subject.

“Martin, love, there’s something I wanted to say.”

“Oh?” Martin turned around, and when Jon saw the spike of anxiety in his eyes, he hastened to say,

“Nothing bad!”

“Alright, then,” Martin said, “What is it?”

Martin watched him expectantly, and he looked so beautiful in the dim yellow light of their kitchen that for a moment, Jon couldn’t speak. “R-Right. Um…” It occurred to him then just how odd what he was about to do was. It had seemed, earlier, like a good idea, but now it just felt awkward, and embarrassing. But he couldn’t back out now, and, anyway, he had wanted to find a way to tell Martin how he felt, so he cleared his throat and tried to remember all the words.

He could feel the Knowledge of the correct words buzzing at the back of his skull, but he ignored it. He wouldn’t take the Eye’s help in this. He’d do it properly.

“What I wanted to say, was. Well, i-it was. Ahem.

i carry your heart with me(i carry it in

my heart)i am never without it(anywhere

i go you go,my dear;and whatever is done

by only me is your doing,my darling)

                                                     i fear

no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)i want

no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true)

and it’s you are whatever a moon has always meant

and whatever a sun will always sing is you

.

here is the deepest secret nobody knows

(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud

and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows

higher than soul can hope or mind can hide)

and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart

.

i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)”

For a moment, Martin simply stared. “Jon, did you… Did you memorize an E. E. Cummings poem?”

Jon squirmed under his gaze, cheeks on fire. “I, erm. I did.” he said. He opened his mouth to explain further, but before he could, Martin had crossed the short distance between them and was pulling him into a kiss. Jon startled, but didn’t pull away. Instead, he leaned into the contact, bringing his hands up to cradle Martin’s face, embarrassment forgotten.

“Any, uh. A-Any particular occasion?” Martin asked when they broke apart. Jon shook his head.

“No, I just- I love you so much, Martin, and I don’t do enough to show it-”

“What?” Martin exclaimed. “Jon, you pulled me out of the Lonely! I think you’re pretty much covered on grand romantic gestures.”

“That doesn’t count,” Jon said, “that wasn’t romantic!”  

“Agree to disagree on that,” Martin scoffed.

Jon started to protest, but Martin cut him off with another kiss.

“You don’t have anything to prove,” he said softly, and Jon nodded, and the moment passed. The kettle started whistling, and Martin pulled it from the hob as Jon turned his attention to the dishes. He ran Martin’s words over in his mind as he rinsed their plates from dinner. You don’t have anything to prove. Trust wasn’t always something that came naturally to him, but he trusted Martin. Which meant that, somehow, that must be true.

When the dishes were clean and Jon had set them on the rack to dry, Martin handed him a cup of tea, and eyed him thoughtfully as he took a sip from his own mug.

“I wonder if you’d like Mary Oliver,” he mused.

“Hmm?” Jon asked around a mouthful of tea.

“I still need to find a poem that makes you feel things.”

“I, uh. I rather thought I’d found one.”

“Well, yeah, you found one. But I promised that I’d find one.”

After that, as they finished their tea and rinsed out their mugs, and wandered into the living room, Martin kept speculating about what kind of poetry Jon might enjoy.

“Honestly, I bet you’d like Richard Siken,” he said as Jon finished lighting a fire in the grate and came to join him on the couch. “I should see if they have a copy of Crush at the library.”

Jon hummed his agreement as though he knew what he was talking about, and rested his head on Martin’s shoulder.

“I love you, too, you know,” Martin said after a moment. “You’re my- my world, and my fate, and ‘whatever the moon will sing’ and all of that.”

“The sun,” Jon corrected softly, “Whatever the sun will always sing.”

“Know-it-all,” Martin whispered.

“Yes,” Jon agreed, “Quite literally.”

Martin laughed, and turned to press a kiss to Jon’s temple, and Jon supposed he couldn’t be so bad with words after all.

(View this work on AO3)

[marlasomething]

Jonmartin Week 2022 Day 2: I’ll Be Your Shelter

Hello there!

As said in previous one-shots of this week, I cannot see a "challenge" and let it go so...#Jonmartinweek2022 here we are! The idea is "forcing myself" to write piece of under 1K in different universes, hope @jonmartinweek enjoy my teeny tiny contributions!

This was written for the prompt of day 2: I'll Carry You/Chronic Pain and it is set in an AU universe in which Sasha is The Archivist (and, if anyone is interested, poor Rosie is the one taken by the Not-Them), at some point in between S3 and S4; so...after The whole Circus deal.

Also: I will try to end all one-shots with the line of the  finale "One way or another. Together", let's see how that goes (this once it hadn't been that precise, sorry).

As usual, do please forgive my quick tipper and non-native speaker mistakes, Marla

Allons-y!

AO3 edition!

Here more fics in this universe!

Whole week Masterlist!

They hadn’t burnt alive, not exactly. They had been torn into pieces, killed by the implosion, by the poisonous air filled with carbon monoxide, the fire itself and every single object that had stuck inside of them, making themselves a home in their body as if they had been a puzzle with malleable free spaces.

There was no way of sugar coding it, it had hurt like hell and it had been far more brutal that they could have ever envisioned.

However, it had been their only choice, or that was what they had decided to bet on. When the moment to end the Circus had come…they had known, whomever was at the centre of it was going to die, and Sasha needed a human anchor, if they didn’t want her to become like one of those things of the Alexandria statement; at least, that what they believed.

Tim was the closest to her; he was extremely mad at her at the moment, yes. And his reasons were more than legitimate (if only, taken a bit too far; Martin reckoned, as he touched his previously white freckled skin, now a rosy mess barely human covered by a grey thread he’d rather not think about too much -or at all, if possible-), but he was still the one she would rely  better on.  Therefore, he could not die and, when push came to shove, Jon and him…they…they could just not let the other go.

And, now, both suffered the consequences of having been far more appreciated than they were comfortable with by The Mother of Puppets; brought back, but not entirely themselves.

However, they were not letting go of what make them them so easily, their decision being turned into the punishment of still being completely human for certain things.

Among them, the need of sleep.

And pain memory.

 That was why, in the middle of the night, either one or both of them woke up, sweating, as they felt skin and muscle being stretched until the point of fracture due to heat, kinetic energy pushed towards them and pure pressure; as they desperately wanted to want to reach for the other, but it just hurt too much to even properly worry, to care about anything but pain.

And wishing not to die; they had many things they weren’t proud of in order of surviving before; lied, cheated (even themselves); all in order to get where they wanted. Even when it hadn’t been a selfish wish, they had known, deep down, that it hadn’t been right, not properly. But this had been the biggest of their regrets, this inability to actually care the very least for the other one.

Still…at the very end, seconds ago from a last yet not at all reassuring breath, they had chosen to embrace each other tighter.

I’ll be your shelter.  

Martin is not certain who had said so, but he didn’t truly mind, it had been enough to part in peace; or it would have been; if they hadn’t become part of a pact they hadn’t asked for.

Or, perhaps, they actually had, with their actions, without realising it. Had they already been puppeteering on their own particular mundane way or had they already lost all Free Will before the Web had even properly decided to make them hers?  

Had they ever had it?

The man wasn’t going to think about it know, though; as he was being awakened by Jon’s moans, as he tried to scratch the side of his face that had lost all recognisable features.

Martin wouldn’t lie to himself: he had thought the finger Jude Perry had been able to get hold of before Sasha could completely move away her hand after refusing a final handshake with The Desolation Avatar looked nasty.

His partner’s face…it made said finger seem more pleasant to stare at than Velazquez’s La Fragua de Vulcano.  Not that he was any better himself, though.

But, at least, he didn’t felt his heart breaking, filled with gilt, every time he laid eyes on a mirror.

Perhaps, if he hadn’t tried to approach a man that had always been quite hostile to him, if he hadn’t asked for help on that case, if they hadn’t got trapped together back then, when everything had been just creepy statements, a workmate pinning on the boss and a Superior Boss that was very good at pretending being the most mundane creature in History of Humankind…

…and yet, he would never regret having the other man next to him right now He could never.

As Jon became completely conscious, though still clearly hurting; Martin took away the man’s own hands from his face as a spider starting trying to replace the now almost expected cobwebs where he had torn them apart.

“Ey, I’m here… just slip me on. I’ll be your blanket” those weren’t his words, but they were just perfect to ease Jon as the ghost pain start growing duller, staying just as a background noise in his head.

“Uh…Martin…” he muttered, words were an effort, as his tongue slip though the remains of his lips. “I woke you up…sorry.”

Martin cracked a soft laughter, more honest that he would have ever believed possible.

“It isn’t exactly as if we hadn’t change positions more than once, hadn’t we”? he leaned towards him, held his hands in a softer, more caring yet less worried manner and kissed him, tenderly. “Want to stay awake? I know you love to criticize Sky History documentaries.”

“And what about resting?”

“Our boss is on a coma. Our other boss is a Machiavellian villain and a regular ass too. Also, tea heals everything.”

“Of course you would say that” a smile started to attempt to make its appearance in Jon’s face.

“Any trouble with that?”

“Never. I’d never have any trouble with any of your… quirks.  I love you” and, as much as they had lied (and were going to continue doing so); in that moment Martin knew no one had ever being that honest with him.

Just as he was, bare seconds after.

“I love you too. One way or another, I will always love you.”

[marlasomething]

Jonmartin Week 2022 Day 6: Crazy Notions

Hello there!

As said in previous one-shots of this week, I cannot see a "challenge" and let it go so...Jonmartin week 2022 here we are! The idea is "forcing myself" to write piece of under 1K in different universes, let's see how it goes...and today it didn't go (sorry, wish @jonmartinweek don't mind me not holding myself accountable).

This was written for the prompt of day 6: Lost & Found/Found Family and it is set in my general Time-Travel Fix-It fic, but can be read without context (and, if you DO WANT CONTEXT...here it is the whole AU-verse.

Also: I will try to end all one-shots with the line of the finale "One way or another. Together". Only half this time...sorry.

As usual, do please forgive my quick tipper and non-native speaker mistakes,

Marla

Allons-y!

AO3 edition!

Whole week Masterlist!

There were many things Jon would have never thought could be included in the sentence “Jonathan Sims is…”

Eldritch (half) monster was absolutely one of them; but with a good argumentation, he believed he could have been convinced that was going to be his fate, sooner or later.

Father? That was one he had been certainly would never be after his name (and the proper verb in between, of course).

And yet, here he was.

Here they were.

Married man had also been one term he had refused to even consider a possibility. Even in the most honeymooned moments of his scarce prior relationships he had never seen the so-long-term relationship ever being an unlikely chance in his future.

He smiled to the pair at the other side of the window, as Ellie told something that was making Martin having to bit his lips not to laugh out-loud in the small café nearby the British Museum (though for lazier people it would already be way too far to be considered properly close to the famous edification) where he was to meet them after a not very pleasant evening trying to make a deal with Manuela, so she wouldn’t make the whole city go dark (streets included).

Just wait until next week and you can do that on the Royal Family vacation.

He had tried to sound conciliating, but both knew that, if she refused, the consequences for her people would be…rather unpleasant.

It wasn’t perfect for him either, though. As much as he couldn’t care less about whatever the future of the Royal Family held, he knew there would be innocent people just working for them in their retirement.

However, if he wanted to keep other factions from causing a major mayhem; sacrifices had to be made.

At least, these involved less people blown up that some of Gertrude’s had had.

Cruel; another word he would have never thought could be applied to him.

But not anymore for today; he thought, as he stared at his closest (though not only) family from the street right before entering the local.

Martin and him had definitively not been ready to take care of an infant when they had adopted Ellie, almost six years ago already, but…what else could have they done, when a baby not-so-accidentally marked by The Eye due to her biological parents’ doing had decided she liked them as her real parents?

And it wasn’t as if they hadn’t had more help than they could have ever dreamed of.

Part of an actual family. A small, broken family; but still good.

He opened the door, having to fight with the door for a minute (instead of healing before time, his patron could have allowed him a major strength than the one his tiny body was bound to have).

He saw his husband (fuck, he was; he really was his husband) muttering something to their little girl’s ear, she giggling afterwards.

He reminisced about a time in which Martin would have run to help him the moment he had started trying to force the door; even though he would have treated him afterwards as the most useless bothersome individual in the whole Creation.

He couldn’t be gladder of how things had changed since then.

He got to where his two spectators were sitting and took another chair, ruffling Ellie’s hair and giving a quick kiss to Martin, for the pure dread and horror of a woman behind him, who had just had her very own son come out to her and was doing her worst best to assimilate the news (after properly scolding the young man, of course).

The Archivist saw her and drank in all the little gesture had triggered in her (he could feed in more things beyond The Fear’s proper apparitions, he had learnt); with a coy smile only Martin noticed, giving him a half wink.

Being a monster sometimes had its perks.

As he sat, he complained about the door situation.

“Thanks for not helping, my love. I almost lost against a door.”

“Oh, come on! We both now that evil door was defeated before time, you are too bull-headed for it to go any other way. Also, perhaps previous-Jon would have lied defeated, but you are not like that anymore” he was right, he reckoned.

As much as he was still thin, he was now just constitutional thin, instead of someone-please-give-this-man-a-bloody-plate-of-beans thin, as he had been when they had first met (and worsen over time).

Taking care of yourself; what a concept.

“Were you really tinnier before, papa?”

“Ok, this is now bullying.”

“You don’t allow me to look into your past!”

In good sense; he thought, he didn’t want his daughter to see the things he had gone through…especially the scorned world he had helped creating…

He felt a hand over his.

Martin had learnt to recognise when he started spiralling.

“One day, when you are older” he said.

“I am technically older every day…” she pouted in a way that reminded him quite a lot…to, well, himself.

Nurture winning nature once again.

“You are a bad influence” Martin said, almost reading his thoughts. “So…the Manuela business…done?”

“Yeah, Melanie’s idea might have started as a joke, but, it has worked perfectly fine…”

“You’ll be telling her you had to make some changes, right?!” both men stared at Ellie, who was smirking as she shipped from her hot chocolate. “What? I’ve known Aunt Melanie my whole life! And that is already six years, you two really like each other and also really like to pretend you hate each other…grown-up stuff, I guess. Like when Sasha and Tim use the broomstick room at the Institute…” even Jon’s ears went notoriously red.

“No, not at all like that. Again, once you are old old I will tell you…better, your dad will” Martin gave him a squint look, but shrugged.

Yeah, it will be better for everyone if Martin did The Talk.

Good Lord, was he really planning of having to see himself in that situation?

Had this really all started with him complaining about the unprofessionalism of his predecessor?

“Gotta pee and the other thing!”

“Wash your hands well!” both men almost yelled as the not-so-tiny-already figure headed to the bathroom as if there was a price.

As they were left alone, they silently decided to pretend they hadn’t been together for quite a while (that, with the very fortunate events in their lives, should count as the triple of time), and just be on a very regular early date, soaking at each other eyes, exchanging small silly anecdotes and finally asking each other if they could get closer, almost holding each other.

The rest of world totally gone.

As Ellie came back, showing her hands to be perfectly humid to prove the point of her personal hygiene to be in complete check, Jon felt the smile in his face grow.

There was no other place he would rather be.

He stared as his phone, a text from Daisy shining on the screen, reminding him of the celebration Basira-should-not-know-nothing-about, directly answered with a sassy reply by Tim.

Found, that one maybe surprised him even more than father.

Once, he had been lost, far before the Institute.

Now, he was found and, as he began his conversation again with his partner and kid; he knew that, in any reality they existed, he would always eventually be found.

One way or another.

[marlasomething]

Jonmartin Week 2022 Day 1: A Weekend in the (Apocalypse) Country

Hello there!

As usual, I cannot see a "challenge" and let it go so...#Jonmartinweek2022 here we go! My idea is "forcing myself" to write piece of under 1K in different universes, hope @jonmartinweek enjoy my teeny tiny contributions!

This was written for the prompt of day 1: Good Cows/First Date and it is set in the canon universe, at some point in the begining of S5, right before they start their very jolly road to kill Jonah Fucking Magnus

Also: I will try to end all one-shots with the line of the finale "One way or another. Together", let's see how that goes.

As usual, do please forgive my quick tipper and non-native speaker mistakes, Marla

Allons-y!

AO3 edition!

Whole week Masterlist!

The World had ended and, yet, they were still on it.

Everyone was still on the surveyed wasteland it had become, doomed to be eaten alive by their very own fears incarnated and, if they were lucky enough, eventually being completely consumed and/or reaching the level of pain when you just simply go numb.

They wouldn’t be that lucky, though. For one, they weren’t pray, but the creatures pray hided from, wishing to make themselves insignificant enough so they wouldn’t be hunted down.

As if that would help with anything but creating another agonising sensation to deal with until a domain finally claim each and every one of them.

It had been two days since they had actually left The Cabin, or whatever that place had become (Martin had heard enough of Jon’s monologues to know he didn’t want to actually know the detailed version), but they hadn’t truly begun their journey to return to a place that was no longer what they had always known and, yet, had all the potential to be just the closer to their previous World still standing.

Jon had said that the road hadn’t been exactly clear, therefore the misdirection, the wrong paths they had been taken, but his partner knew better; he was stalling.

He didn’t want to start trying because, the moment he did, failing would become an actual possibility, once again.

And he had too much blame on him already.

However, he knew the man (Martin didn’t care he wasn’t technically a human being anymore, he was still a person, no matter what The Archivist thought of himself), keep not doing anything would just be even worse.

It might even trigger the truly monstrous part of him, Jon completely gone after burying himself deep down in a defeat that hadn’t even happened yet.

Not for good.

Not completely.

They couldn’t afford to believe that to be the final outcome.

So, Martin got a plan.

A silly, teeny tiny plan.

He prayed to no God for it to work.

It ought to work.

 “We have never actually got a proper date” he told Jon, as he was getting the road wrong once again.

“Uh?” he stared at him from above his glasses. It was funny, he reckoned, quite adorable, how he insisted on keeping the glassed both knew he didn’t have any need of anymore.

“A date” he said, much more slowly. “Come on! The closer we ever had been being locked down when Prentiss attacked! And you hated me back then…”

The other man scoffed.

“I didn’t. We had been through this already; it was my mechanism for…”

“Yeah, yeah, I know, but my point remains” he stuttered. This had been far easier in the comfort of his messed up mind. “Want to put a remedy to it?”

He laughed, softly, effortlessly if only for an instance.

“Are you serious?”

“Perhaps the cows are still there” he pressed his already held hand a bit tighter, making sure it wasn’t enough to make the scars hurt.

Or worse, press enough so Jon realised it should hurt but it didn’t, making him go again in his own train of self-loathing for a transformation he hadn’t asked for.

“I definitely doubt they are, and, if they are…” he made a strange movement with his chin trying to point at himself.

“Want to bet? If I win, I am inviting you to whatever you want on our second date, once the world is back in place.”

“Once the world is back in place” he repeated, almost as a pray. “Fine then, lead the way.”

“Uh…I don’t really…with the new geography…”

“Oh, shit, sorry Martin.”

“You blushing was enough compensation.”

“Shut it Martin.”

 Miraculously enough, the cows were still… cows.

Well, they were eating people, but those particular humans were just regenerating so, not truly murder; and it was rather impossible not to notice certain supremacy tattoos in all of them.

Martin let a completely out of place triumph sound his lips.

“Told you! They are good cows!”

“Yes, yes. I guess, with a certain angle…”

“Oh, come on! You just hate being wrong”   his partner scoffed, offended.

“I wasn’t wrong, they are monster-cows. We shan’t forget that, even if they seem to only eat fascists for some ungodly reason.”

“Yeah, I guess you were right. They are just like you; still good, even after becoming something they never asked to be.”

“Why do you like me, Martin?”

“I don’t like you…I…” it was still hard, sometimes, after years in which the word had only being said to a woman who had never, once, told him the same in return. At least, not in a manner that made him feel any even remotely positive. “I love you.”

“A bit too much for a first date, uh?” Martin laughed; God, he loved the man.

“So, had the date finally begun?”

“You tell me.”

 It was the best first date Martin had ever had, even if the sky was literally watching them. And, afterwards, they parted, London as their destination.

Silently dreaming of their second date.

One way or another. Together.

[marlasomething]

Jonmartin Week 2022 Day 8: The Work of Three or Four

Hello there!

As said in previous one-shots of this week, I cannot see a "challenge" and let it go so...Jonmartin week 2022 here we are! The idea is "forcing myself" to write piece of under 1K in different universes, AND, ONCE AGAIN, AS WE FINISHED SAID WEEK WITH THE BONUS FREE DAY I DIDN'T MAKE IT UNDER 1K YAIH, MARLA, GOOD BAD JOB!

This was written for the prompt of day 8: Free/AU day. As I have already done quite a lot of AUs, I also took the concept of Free quite literaly to be included into the story (somehow) and, then, I just wrote a pirate AU set in the universe of Our Flags Means Death bcs I can (highly inspired by some of the ideas discurssed in the TMA Spanish-speaking discord, love you pals!)

Also: I will try to end all one-shots with the line of the finale "One way or another. Together". AND I DID (with an extra note by Tim, but I am not letting go not having a certain type of episode on the canon, NEVER)

I wanted to thank from the bottom of my heart to @jonmartinweek for arranging this week of promps, I love a good challenge (especially a writing one).

As usual, do please forgive my quick tipper and non-native speaker mistakes,

Marla

Allons-y!

AO3 version!

Whole week Masterlist!

Martin and Jon were being attacked.

At night.

At the bloody harbour, the only day they were the only the two of them of board. Because, of course, Gerry’s evil supposedly-dead mother had to choose that week to make her great comeback, and they had to be the designated members of the crew to keep an eye on The Sixteenth Fear (at least, it had been a great opportunity to stay together, being the ones that pulled the Jacks out of the deck -a very democratic fair system Tim had come up with after his brother Danny had been tormenting him for months in his letters with his later hiperfixiation: card games-).

And, to be honest; spending the night in their quite cosy pirate ship tied in a port city far quieter than Nassau had even sounded delightful.

However, as they hid behind the food and drink provisions, their visions of how this night was going to develop were changing rather quickly.

“I am starting to regret those knaves; I’d be far keener on facing Mary Keay…” Jon muttered, playing with the globe that covered his burnt hand.

He still recalled perfectly well when, after betraying the King (as if fucking George would have ever known who the bastard he had working as a quite efficient privateer had been), Jude Perry and her mercenaries had tried to catch him to reclaim the price over his head.

They had those two chaotic co-captains and their improbable crew to thank for that rescue. Another favour he owned Ed.

He just hoped this time wasn’t to be the entertaining distraction , singing shanties to a murderous crew of people drunk enough to get mad over the stupidest of things and yet sober enough to properly aim when shooting. Also becoming, later as the night had progressed, the physical incarnation of the infamous messengerof the renowned idiom (you know? The one that everyone eventually tries to kill) as the other pirate crew stole God knows what.

If he hadn’t been able to fit in a rather small wine barrel, he’d be dead by know (though he had wanted to be, in all those weeks of Tim mocking him while gently pushing him towards admitting his feelings, that he might have been muttering to himself when Blackbeard and The Gentleman’s crew had left the Jon-barrel right next to their shit…specially since now he was a bard).

He came back to the present to a Martin that, next to him, emitted a muttered sound that could, with the power of sheer imagination, pass as a laugh.

“Trust me, you don’t” his tone had gotten extremely severe all of the sudden.

Sometimes, with his nice smiles and soft appearance, Jon forgot that he had been a pirate for far longer than he had.

After all, his life had truly begun when he had been asked to retrieve him to his family…or something on that line; the details were to never be revealed.

The step of the intruders grew nearer, making both men shivered in place; there were at least seven of them (if not more), and they were only the two. They definitively needed a strategy.

In an ever lower tone, Jon communicated the beginning of the first step of the prologue of a very terrible disastrous plan.

“As we are well aware of, I am what could be easily called a light-weight and I am rather highly proficient at sneaking…”

“What you mean is, you are a scrawny bastard that has a special talent to backstab. Yeah, I know, and I am so not letting you risk your bloody stupid life on a suicide mission.”

“I love you too” the second man said, half mockingly.

“I am serious, Jon. You have to let go this carry-all-burdens constant attitude…I could be the first to attack them too, you know? I could get rid of, like, three or four? At least, before…”

“Who is talking suicidal now?” he had to use all his will power not to start yelling. It wasn’t much of a consolation but, with his initial terrible idea doom was only an extremely likely scenario for him. With Martin’s?

There was no way on Earth he was surviving a frontal encounter, as much as he was right about probably ending the life of at least five of the people entering their ship and…he couldn’t lose him.

Not like this.

Yes, they were pirates, and that doesn’t make you any closer to immortality, precisely; but one thing was to go away in a boarding, in plain daylight, hand in hand, you’ll never take us alive and all that experimental shanty and a very different one was to die alone, bleeding out in the arms of the other, as you can only feel betrayed because of how stupid their decision has been, even though you wish you could only feel love and grieve in that moment.

What’s more, he knew Jon would likely be already dead had he stayed in his former position; the jobs given to him by Jonah would have slowly but steadily turned him into the exact kind of avatar of his will he had always wanted.

He would have never left if it hadn’t been for Martin, even if he had just been an annoyance he hadn’t actually known anything real about. He had made him free, shown him he could be himself, no shame about it; no need to hide or constraint anything. Martin was the reason he met Gerry, and Sasha, and Tim, the Michaels (having three people named the same way in the same pirate ship could be a bit of a headache, but they handled it)…

“Hold on, Mikaele.”

“Yes, our art expert, what about him?”

“His annoying protégée: Cane. The thread system she installed…it is connected to the lower decks…we could just…pull the right strings and…” he let a knife (that he had gained after it had been positioned inside of him for being a bit of a known-it-all, quite the story) show for a moment from inside his vest and smiled a little bit too enthusiastically.

“You are not letting the backstabbing bit go away, are you? God, do you remember when you were this little too polite privateer that just wanted to be left alone with his books and laws.”

“I still want to be let alone with my books, I just rather have some people close to me while I read them. And stabbing people that are almost certainly going to kill you otherwise is an immensely entertaining activity.”

“Fine, ‘lright. I’ll admit your whole murderous bookworm energy is adorable.”

“I am not…” he breathed deeply, pretending to be annoyed as he opened the wooden piece beneath which the system of cords was. “Ready?”

“Let’s give them Hell.”

Next morning, the rest of the crew came to a pile of ten bodies of random sketchy looking men, only one of them alive (someone had to tell the tale -and also be followed to their employers, to know if there was something bigger to worry behind this attack-).

“What happened?” Joshua Gillespie asked; he had been their last acquisition and, in a very mundane way, he had the precise common sense of the common folk the rest had eventually lost.

Martin and Jon looked at each other, smiling mischievously.

Tim crossed his arms, he had a new scar in one cheek; the short he fancied collecting (and, in all honesty, it was a completely understandable decision; he really knew how to pull them off).

“You either tell us right now or I will make you sing, literally.”

Martin shrugged.

“Well, let’s just say, that we are not going down. We are getting through, whatever they threw at us. One way or another…”

“Together” Jon ended, entangling his burnt (and now covered in blood) hand with Martin’s.

“Ugh, alright. But you are not getting away without the song.”

[marlasomething]

Jonmartin Week 2022 Day 7: My Own With You Each Night

Hello there!

As said in previous one-shots of this week, I cannot see a "challenge" and let it go so...Jonmartin week 2022 here we are! The idea is "forcing myself" to write piece of under 1K in different universes, let's see how it goes...and today it didn't go (ALMOST). Hope @jonmartinweek like the penultimate stament (pun intended) of this collection.

This was written for the prompt of day 7: Growing Old Together/Forehead kisses and it's another alternative post Mag200, a bit less dark than my previous ones (if you don't count the fact that a Jon and a Martin's conciences had been murdered in the process of making this fic, that is).

Also: I will try to end all one-shots with the line of the finale "One way or another. Together". Only half this time...sorry

As usual, do please forgive my quick tipper and non-native speaker mistakes,

Marla

Allons-y!

AO3 version!

Whole week Masterlist!

Apparently, Jon’s body could still feel pain.

That was all his brain (if he still had a brain, that was) could think about as Martin’s knife carved his way through his body, ripping apart the few flesh that remained completely human, provoking a slow, absolutely vivid death to The Archivist.

He would have liked to say, even if only to himself, that in his last minutes the other man’s lips against his were still in his mind, but it just hurt too much.

Physical pain overcame his love for Martin the way he always believed it would never have.

The only thing he was able to process as life finally left him was the exact shape of the blade that was cutting his connection to that pantomime of lie he had entangled himself in.

As he died, he heard a scream from a voice that sounded almost like his, just…more at ease with existence (if that made any sense), pledging for dear life.

Then, he woke up.

He was so socked at the mere fact of being able to breath (he realised, he hadn’t actually properly breath real air in months) that he didn’t even manage to let a gasp scape his mouth.

The first thing he noticed were his hands, they weren’t as terribly bony as they had eventually become, and the swelling due to exposure to whatever Not-Even-The-Beholding-Knows-What had been in the ambiance after the world changed was gone; just regular bit too long fingers, as they had always been beforehand.

Without any remarkable scar on them; though there were so many paper cuts he couldn’t but recall his college years.

Then, he noticed another thing, underneath the hands, where the bed covers were…he couldn’t see the patterns correctly.

His lack of vision was back.

He had never been so glad of needing glasses (actually, never before had he been glad of this fact). Out of a mechanical instinct he didn’t even know where it came from (he DIDN’T KNOW IT; he could have screamed of pure glee, hadn’t he been so shocked), he reached the bed table and picked up his glasses (he guessed they were his, at least) and forced himself up with a pair of legs that weren’t really his (they looked like the legs of someone who run, not on a daily basis, but quite regularly; that just wasn’t him, he had sometimes lost a bus just because he hadn’t wanted to run, for Lord’s shake!).

It was Tim’s idea, to help me with some stuff I was going through, as a counter-measure, and it stuck. Plus, I finally got to spend time again with Gerry since work always keeps us so busy…

He froze in place.

That weren’t his memories and yet…

…Gerry, friend from childhood, raised by his father after his mother had turned out to be an abusive monster (to no one’s surprise).

…Tim, friend and co-worker at the bookshop/detective agency (because why have a normal life?!) with Sasha and…he turned.

“Martin” he couldn’t have chosen a better word to premiere his new vocal cords.

A figure grunted from underneath the bed sheets and finally turned.

He had forgotten how the other man had looked without an absolutely not-taken-care-of beard. Or without never ending eye bags, or consumed features.

Or, for instance, non-white hair.

Please, be my Martin; he praised in silence, as much as he knew it was selfish, almost cruel, to want this man to have been substituted by his partner.

But, for once, the Universe(s) smiled at him.

He would recognise that tone anywhere.

“Jon” he run towards him (more, he stumbled to the bed without any short of synchronization). “You are alive…I am just…I ki…”

“It didn’t stick, apparently” in a similar manner as he had done before, the other man put on his glasses (another bizarre thing to witness; him wearing glasses that were in perfect state) and smiled widely at him.

“That T-shirt looks more mine than yours” he grinned at him, feeling confident about his own not precisely impressive physiognomy for once in his existence (saying, even thinking in that sentence with the word live instead of existence felt almost like a joke at that point).

“Want it back?”

It had been hours until either of them lowered themselves to pick up the phone to an extremely upset Sasha.

“We were crazy worried! I know you two have the day off but…we’ve been calling. A lot” it was quite strange to actually recognise her voice at first sight.

Just as it was heart-warming.

“Yes, uh…sorry Sash; Jon had a weird day” he received a small punch on the side.

She sounded suddenly worried.

“Is he…again…you know…do you guys need help?” by Jon’s face, Martin deduced whatever Sasha was talking about (he hadn’t had a moment yet to look up his new memories, since he had spent a whole morning just holding tight the other man and speaking softly of nothing and everything at the same time) was something Jon had suffered too in their world and just, never spoke about.

A bit late to be surprised by this sort of revelation, as much as it saddened him.

“Um…no, just…you know, silly morning.”

“Ok, fine, right. Anyways, we were calling because we were going to have dinner to Gerry and Michael’s, if you wanted to…you know…”

“Oh, better not today, sorry. We really…well, you know.”

“I know, newly wed and all that jazz. See you tomorrow, then.”

“Bye Sasha!” Jon screamed, so he could be heard perfectly clear at the other side of the sound.

“Goodbye Sasha” as he hung up, he gave the tinier man a kiss in the forehead.

“I cannot believe we missed our own wedding.”

“Weddings are overrated, is the day to day that really counts…the…” he took a deep breath. Apparently, it was Jon’s new biggest hobby: tasting oxygen. “Getting old together, we are going to get old together. If we don’t kill each other in the process…ok, a bit too soon, sorry.”

He shut up and just went back to just bury his face on Martin’s shoulder and the other man smiled. He knew there was something they hadn’t brought up, how, if the two of them were here… they were too, likely closer and more powerful than they could actually imagine.

And yet…

…he looked at the man slowly falling asleep again against him.

They were ok, they had friends and a whole life to get old and grey and, eventually, die. Yes, it was true; perhaps, their own past would catch up, and they were end up again trapped by the horrible world they had just scape; but they would get through it.

One way or another.

Together.

[marlasomething]

Jonmartin Week 2022 Day 3: For My Roomate Is...

Hello there!

As said in previous one-shots of this week, I cannot see a "challenge" and let it go so...Jonmartin week 2022 here we are! The idea is "forcing myself" to write piece of under 1K (NOT THIS TIME, HAHA SORRY) in different universes, let's see how it goes.

This was written for the prompt of day 3: Roomates/Road Trips and it is set in the AU in which I set one montly story.

Also: I will try to end all one-shots with the line of the finale "One way or another. Together". Here there is a teeny tiny bit extra afterwards, but I did it!

As usual, do please forgive my quick tipper and non-native speaker mistakes, Marla

Allons-y!

AO3 Edition!

Rest of the AU!

Whole week Masterlist!

If there was one thing for which Jon had unlimited capacity, it was for scoffing.

He couldn’t for dear life understand why his parents had insisted he had to live in the residential part of college, instead of just…buy him a small flat in Oxford, or rent it; not that money was exactly a problem.

“You have to get used to other people, as much as they are most times rather unpleasant, they are a necessary …evil” his father had said, while Gerry gave him a sympathetic smile.

Yes, of course he would, because he totally got it, not as if he had moved within six months to the smallest apartment in history of humankind with his boyfriend, all payed by the bloody Fairchild family.

The worst part? He couldn’t actually share a room with Danny, the only person he knew that was also studying at Oxford because a), he was moving in with Nikola (who he couldn’t stand for dear life) and b), it was to his grandmother’s house and it would have been…just too bizarre and uncomfortable.

So, here he was, about to meet the person with whom he was likely to share a room for, he scoffed again, four years.

“You have to be kidding me” he muttered behind his breath. He knew the person in front of him, if only by word of mouth. “You are two years older than me” he said, accusatory.

This took his new roommate by surprised as he…blushed? What on Earth?!

“Uh, yeah, I guess. After I got adopted I re-did that school year (thought times) and then I took a gap year to make up my mind properly…” he stared at him from behind his, kind of nice looking, glasses. “You are the Magnus’ younger kid, right? Jon? I’m Martin” he tended a hand to him, which he didn’t pick.

He didn’t shake hands with anyone related to The Web; he had principles.

Kind of.

“Right, Cane” he removed uncomfortable his light curly hair at the once again accusatory tone.

“Well, I haven’t used it in a while, and my biological parents were… something else, but if you prefer Blackwood I guess I could work with that, since we are going to live together. Wouldn’t want to make things harder.”

“I’m not going to stand, nor trust, you more if I call you by birth name, spider.”

“Oh, ok, fine. Paranoid much, I guess it tracks…”

“I am not controlled by The Eye.”

“I’ve never said…”

“I know what I heard” after this outburst, he stormed to the bathroom.

These were going to be a very long four years (because he was far too proud to ask for a change of room; he’d rather die).

“I like you grey highlights!” he heard Martin said, in a calming manner, from outside.

“They are natural!” he replied, while hugging his own legs.

Definitively, very long years.

Had four years really passed already?

Jon climbed from behind the sofa, clinging to Martin’s neck, who scoffed in a fashion far too similar to the one the other young man had been cultivating since a very tender age.

“I have a final test tomorrow, and you know I am awful at Pharmacology…”

“You are dreadful at all memorising-based-exams subjects, just as you are great at passing them thanks to your other resources.”

“Is it that weird that I want to pass my last batch of tests in a more fair way?”

“As much as we had been sleeping in the same room for almost three years…yeah, it is. That things are not contagious, being a bookwormis my thing; and you had always thought exams were just badly made.”

“BECAUSE THEY ARE! I am almost certain The Spiral had something to with it, you could ask Michael, since he has that weird thing going on with your sister and your best friend’s brother” Jon rolled his eyes.

“Please, don’t talk about that. See, my dad (remember? Actual unapologetic murderer?) was traumatised when he first jumped into Mike and Gerry; but what I saw while believing Sasha was being murdered…just to find out if she was okay…I just hope it was a one-time thing.”

Martin, being merciful, dropped the topic and pointed at a place next to him in the couch they had totally paid for, big enough even if Jon had been bigger than Martin.

The Eye-aligned soon-to-be university graduate jumped there on the spot, and rested his head in Martin’s should, just making sure before not a single spider was to be seen.

“Did I really hate you?”

“Oh, you did. You even cooperated with Nikola just to make my first exams round a living hell.”

“Well, they had to be useful for something.”

“Terrorising your future husband?” if Jon’s skin had been paler, right now he would have been red as a danger signal.

“We haven’t…yet…”

“Oh my God, you are so adorable. No, for now, we’ll see how a trip together to Scotland goes; are you sure this Daisy person is okay with us being there? Don’t I have to make sure…?” Jon shrugged.

“Na’. She knows Basira and I are friends, and my father helped her to get a job after she left the Police Force, so she is kind of in debt. Also, she likes me, for some reason; because she hates my parents.”

“Wonder why” Martin mocked and, as much as Jon cared and loved Peter and Elias, he had to admit his partner had a point; they weren’t exactly pleasant people.

They kept talking about everything and nothing for a little while longer; just to eventually drop into a comfortable silence in which Jon started to nod off as Martin got back to his studies.

“Anyways…” half-asleep Jon muttered. “…one day…I am totally marrying you. Even if Eye and Web are supposed to hate each other and we have much more of an Orsinio-Viola dynamic rather than a Romeo-Juliet one…one way or another…”

“Together” Martin finished, as he covered with a blanket a now totally out-of-the-game Jon.

He was right.

They had rocked their Romeo + Juliet cosplay last Halloween, though.

[marlasomething]

Jonmartin Week 2022 Day 5: Is Anyone We Meet Really That New To Us?

Hello there!

As said in previous one-shots of this week, I cannot see a "challenge" and let it go so...Jonmartin week 2022 here we are! The idea is "forcing myself" to write piece of under 1K in different universes, let's see if @jonmartinweek enjoy my contribution of the day!

This was written for the prompt of day 5: Poetry/Blind Date and it is set in an AU in which Jon and Martin knew each other since high school and for different stuff they are already avatars back then (I have all the lore in this AU, if curious, let me know!)

Also: I will try to end all one-shots with the line of the finale "One way or another. Together". Thanks Georgie for this one's.

As usual, do please forgive my quick tipper and non-native speaker mistakes, Marla

Allons-y!

AO3 edition!

Whole week Masterlist!

Martin looked at Georgie with suspicion; she was usually someone to be trusted, and, yet, he couldn’t help but feeling as if there was some twisted plot going on. He had learnt to read her face pretty well.

After all, they had known each other for…how many years now? God, time really flew by, uh?

The End avatar changed ever so slightly her smile, just enough for turn it from mischievous to comforting.

“Come on, Martin! Since we met you haven’t been in one date that was not doomed to end in tragedy once, and you haven’t been in much, either way.”

“Things of being an avatar of the Lonely, you know, not a people’s person exactly” he joked.

That and that I have been in love with Jon since before he considered me anything but a useless high-school classmate.

Perhaps he could tell her. Nonetheless, they weren’t a couple anymore; and it had been her whom had broken up with him…she had seem hurt, though. But, knowing Jon’s emotional intelligence…for someone so cosy with The Eye, he was the most oblivious person ever when it came to people’s feelings.

“So, you say, he liked my poetry?”

“He liked it just fine but, do trust me in this one, that is A LOT coming from him. Please, my love life might be none-existent right now, but you are our hope, Martin Blackwood” she pulled from his arm one more time and, scoffing, he finally surrendered and entered the café.

He froze.

He might be hidden behind a text book (of course he was), but would recognise that forehead anywhere.

Also, there was a black tea in front of him, just in case he needed any further confirmation.

“Georgina Barker” he muttered, but she was long gone.

He approached the desk, remembering when, after a couple of years of not seeing the man in front of him, he had randomly found him about to be completely consumed by The Forsaken and pulled him out; just because, it wasn’t even his business there, he was just escaping after having been too curious about something regarding the Lukas’ business.

It is terrible when you get confirmation you had a good reason to have a crush you think will never be reciprocated.

After that event, discovering both of them had found themselves as part of a horror back scene of the world, they have become friends and…

…that was just how they had kept things for years on.

Up to that very day, apparently.

“Jon?!”

“Martin?!” before any other words could be exchange (for the misfortune of everyone around them, who had suddenly found the pair of young men extremely fascinating), they both received a text.

From Georgie.

Martin, you cannot fool anyone, you’ve been in love with Jon since we met. And you still never antagonised me…I shouldn’t have to thank you for that, but, seeing how most romantic dynamics work the bar is the Burried’s idea of floor…thanks (terrible world we leave in, and they say we are the monsters!).

Oh! And Jon, yes, you also are deeply in love with this gentleman. Yes, that is why I broke up with you. It kind of hurts, a lot, you know? To be with someone so obviously pinning for a third party, who clearly doesn’t feel that way about you anymore and doesn’t even realise?

Good luck guys!

“Uh…Is this true?” Martin looked at Jon, as he asked him.

“Yes…I…But then…How could you ever…? Do you really like my poetry?”

“Wait, it was yours?! Then…please, tell me I am not the sad angel of those poems…”

“Uh…sorry?” all of the sudden, Jon started laughing.

“Look, I, uh…I don’t…feelings…It takes a lot for me to realise even my own but, even if it just for our mutual’s friend shake…Would you like to finish this date with me, Martin?” he felt himself blush; no one pronounced his name as Jon did.

“Yeah...I mean, YES, SURE, YES” before their undesired public could do one of those gestures of appreciation both of them would have loathed, Jon looked at all of them, and, with a shiver, return to their private affairs. “My hero” Martin muttered.

His not-so-blind date chuckled and the beginning of a long relationship began with tea and (not always nice) comments on a man’s poetry.

“I think I have been here before” Georgie complained, looking at the café.

“If you have, you will know who is inside, and why Jon is refusing to come with us inside” the shortest of the three of them scoffed.

“That is not…three is multitude, that is all” his partner smirked.

“Sure thing…you are scared of certain person; that is what is really going on.”

“She’s an avatar of the Slaughter!”

“Hold on, Melanie is in there?!”

“Please, Georgina, don’t pretend as if you didn’t know. Now, go and have a bloody date with someone that has a better use for you than a nice meal in a brand new rather questionable restaurant” the woman smiled, reluctantly thankful.

The two men held hands and shared a quick kiss before Martin got ready to guide her to the desk where her date awaited.

Right before they went inside, she stared at both of them, all seriousness and told them as if it was a matter of life or death:

“You know? You were always meant to end up together, in all worlds, actually. And, if you had refused to go on with my so perfectly planned blind date back then, I would have eventually succeeded on getting you two together. One way or another.”

And, even though none of them knew, she was deadly right.

[marlasomething]

Jonmartin Week 2022 Day 4: If All Was Lost

Hello there!

As said in previous one-shots of this week, I cannot see a "challenge" and let it go so...Jonmartin week 2022 here we are! The idea is "forcing myself" to write piece of under 1K in different universes, let's see if @jonmartinweek enjoy my contribution of the day!

This was written for the prompt of day 4: Dinivity/Red String Fate, and it is just a post-canon story that could potentially be canon (or not, as you wish).

Also: I will try to end all one-shots with the line of the finale "One way or another. Together". Here I DID IT YEAH!

As usual, do please forgive my quick tipper and non-native speaker mistakes, Marla

Allons-y!

AO3 edition!

Whole week Masterlist!

It was definitively a new world.

It was absolutely, without the shadow of a doubt, Somewhere Else.

None of those necessarily meant that it was a nice place, though.

And so it wasn’t.

Earth was just… Earth, the very same planet with the very same flawed individuals (no matter if their lives had been lived in completely different manners; at the end of the day, people were just people).

Mere humans, already nursing their very own version of Fear, now joined by what they had unleased.

Still, at the beginning, Jon tried to see the good; tried to keep hopes up. Even if he had lost Martin, even if his whole world was now a place he would never return.

Even if, in order to survive the journey, he had been stripped of all remains of humanity per se; turned into a God of all things The Beholding had always represented.

Still, he believed his soul remained, but only because he had always conceived it as a sum of parts, not something that can be simply removed (stupid silly notion…).

Because of that, and because he was hurting.

He hurt every day and night, visions of the man he loved stabbing him, crying so much he had felt salty water dropping into his open wound.

However, there is just so much suffering a person can withstand and, eventually, Jon gave up trying to be better, to be humane in any measure.

There were people worthy of the fear and harm he could inflict, he was hungry and all sense of moral had been long gone.

Until he reappeared.

The Archivist had been weak, he had left a woman go; no statement asked, and even attempted to comfort her at a certain point, before she could run away, scared in a much less deep level.

Now, there was a woman out there speaking of a God-like creature of green eyes and a sad cadence to his extremely British accent.

Weak enough for his Strength to come back to him.

“Jon? Is that truly you?” the man was half made of shadows, his towering figure without even an actual fixed face to it. Instead, his features blurry, coming and going, changing as minutes passed by.

His eyes remained, though. Those very eyes that The Archivist would recognise everywhere.

The rail thin figure, bright green eyes with no pupils staring without blinking, stood up clumsily, out of practice, and did his best to smile for the first time in…he didn’t want to know.

“Martin, you…”

“When we came, I had to survive, I guess? My body surrendered to The Lonely; bloody traitor, he didn’t even asked my opinion on the matter” he did something that could never passed as laughter, but still felt as the most delicious thing Jon had heard in many, many years.

Jon; he was Jon, not only The Archivist; there was more to him than his godly side.

“I thought I’ve lost you forever” there was hope, vague but, still, hope in that inside whatever Martin had become; a hope that had maintain a part of his humanity intact no matter what the world brought to him.

The Eye’s favourite felt something inside his stomach for the very first time in ages; a pinch of guilt.

“I am… Jon is lost. I…I surrendered, to what I was supposed to be. You can see, there isn’t much left of my vessel.”

Martin scoffed.

“That is bullshit and you know it. You know how I know it? Because you let her go. The last woman I consumed, that I will try to ever completely lose for The Forsaken; you were in her memories, you were crying as you let her go. Also, your body is consuming itself, meaning you are not as godly as you thing; stop making an ass of yourself and…” he grunted, clearly hurting, as he forced his own hand into a tangible object, that then he offered Jon. “…try to be a better monster with me.”

“You don’t know the things that I’ve done.”

“Neither do you. Fuck it, I’ve yout told you I have eaten the woman you saved. Not quite literally, but… Look; if I want to be something apart of a god of my own Fear… I need you. And, let’s be honest, you need me.”

He was still unable to form a proper smile, but his eyes did all the work for him, making Martin let his hand go and delicately caress his cheek.

This was the last straw; the person behind The Archivist took complete control, as Fate reunited him with the person he had loved more than anyone else in other place, other time, other World.

Jon muttered again the other person’s name. “Martin, Martin, Martin! I thought I would never see you again.”

But, a part of him, knew that had never been true. They were connected, far more than any law (even those of the supernatural) could ever explain.

Now, they couldn’t be the people they once were; but they would try their best to be these new monstrous versions of Jon and Martin.

One way or another.

Together.