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An incomplete list of TMA fics I adore

-beacuse of this ask

(If you liked the fics I previously recommended/made fanart for, I think you'll gonna like these as well, but you know, read the tags, know what you are going into)

Yesterday is Here by CirrusGrey @cirrus-grey

Time Travel Fix-it! Slow burn! So good! So much sass from future!Jon- I doubt I have to introduce anyone this amazing author, but if you somehow missed them till now, this is your time! I highly recommend all of their other fics as well, for example one of a more recent one, The Stranger I Know Best is also a lovely read.

enthralling by Prim_the_Amazing

Vampire!Martin!! I have no words of how much I love this concept, this story, everything about this. I think I'm going to repeat myself through this list, but I also recommend everything else they've written!

to fill... my heart with music? by godshaper @godshaper so their Martin and Jon design are different from mine, also they made a way better art for this- but still, I wanted to include this really good fic in this list.

Do It All Anew by inkfingers_mcgee or @crit20art

You know the feeling when you read a book that makes you cry, and after that you recommend it to your friend? Well- there is no reason I mentioned this, I'm just so normal about this fic. Or any other fic from inkfingers_mcgee... like Strange Manner of what I made another fanart way back. Also, check out their art!

Anyway, here is Aamal- she is not going to cause emotional damage.

And they were sidekicks (oh my god, they were sidekicks) by arthureameslove

A lighthearted series where Jon and Martin are sidekicks of supervillains- it's just a really fun fic, also recommend everyting from this author - I previously draw fanart here for an other fic of theirs Like a Lighthouse, Call Me Home

neither sad, nor sick, nor merry, nor well by saintbleeding @saintbleeding

To quote the aurthour: "Post-divorce Jon and Martin in a wedding-based romcom" It's such a comfort read, also has a Tim/Sasha wedding, and lots of cameos! I realised most of these authors I made fanarts for before- like this one for some kind of miraculous bind, this one is oneshot and a bit more serious in tone.

Give Me the Words by rakel @rakel-on-ao3

"Jon and Martin try to make the most of a bad situation in the Scottish Highlands. The situation is worse than they realised." You know that one post about wanting to write PWP, but it keeps turning into character study? Well, this one comes to my mind each time I see that.

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

So what would have happened if instead of the cot (tm), Jon offered Martin his own flat to stay? There is no way it's going to change their relationship, right? Such a good read, if you want some fluff, I highly recommend it!

Lucky Stars by magnetarmadda

Martin has a lovely family (except his mother) but still, he needs a fake boyfriend, and Jon comes to the rescue. It's one of the first fics I remember reading after I finished the series. It is such a comfort read of mine~

(+enjoy a rare tall Jon from me)

There are so many more fics that also deserve the spotlight, these are just the ones I read multiple times and/or didn't made fanarts for before. If you find something here you like, give them some love! Kudos and comments! They deserve it. (Also, just an extra disclamier some of these are PWP or rated T- just mind the tags)

I tried to link and tag everything, I hope it works.

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Collapse Ch1

Jon didn't expect to make it, but he did, and now he's Somewhere Else and has to figure out how to live again. Martin helps. But what does this mean for him and his connection to the Eye?

-

Jon could feel so much, too much, and it was all agony. He could feel the Fears getting dragged down the path Annabelle had created. He could feel the tower as if it were his own body, shattering and burning, and he could feel the knife in his side, in his actual body, as his consciousness began to slip. 

He was dying. 

But, through the pain and the thunder of the tower as it fell, he could feel Martin, holding him tightly, the sound of his sobs hurting so much more than anything else ever could. It brought Jon back to himself, and he knew he couldn’t die yet. He needed to protect Martin. That was all that mattered. 

He wrapped them in whatever power he had left, trying to shield him from the fire and the falling glass. He knew he wouldn’t last long, that his powers would die out as he did, but he needed to hang on just long enough for them to end up somewhere else. 

He was distantly aware of Martin holding him, trying to protect him as well, shield him with his own body, and his heart wrenched painfully. Apparently they both were going to try to protect the other until the very end. 

Jon cried out involuntarily as a piece of the tower shattered directly above them, against the barrier he was trying to maintain, and he felt Martin flinch at the sound, holding him even more tightly. And, with a horrendous crash, suddenly they were falling. When they should have hit the ground, buried in rubble, instead they were swepped away along with the other Powers, drawn inexorably forward like the current of a rushing river. And like a river, it felt like they were drowning, suffocating. 

Jon felt like he was being shaken apart, a little less left of him with every moment, sure that once it all stopped, there would be nothing left of him at all. That was fine, as long as Martin made it. He wouldn’t lose him. He couldn’t. 

And then, just like that, they were out of that horrible in-between, and they were falling again. He noted it as if it were a curiosity, with a detached sort of confusion through his hazy mind. He felt hollow and exhausted and he wasn’t sure what any of it meant. He just wanted the oblivion of sleep, of unconsciousness, of death. Anything to end the pain.

Instead, what he got was an impact, his entire world exploding into pain once more. As he lay there, something hit him in the face, something small and hard and plastic and thankfully light. A tape? He heard a few more land nearby and realized that the sharp edges that dug into his back under him were likely more tapes. He’d landed on a pile of them. 

Arms wrapped around him again and he found himself being dragged, scraping along the pile uncomfortably. Everything was coming in and out of focus, his consciousness wavering, and when the darkness next cleared, he felt cool grass under him instead. 

“Jon? Jon, can you hear me?”

He wasn’t sure how long he lay there, stunned, but the voice and the hand on his cheek brought him back to himself and he couldn’t help but groan as he was reminded of the pain. 

“Oh, thank god,” Martin sighed, his voice shaking as he slumped over him in his relief. The hand on Jon’s cheek was shaking too. 

Jon wanted to reach out, to hold him. Had they made it? Was Martin really okay? But his body felt so heavy, and any movement caused that pain to flair through him again from his side, his head, his back. 

“Hang on, okay? Just hang on.”

And then Martin was pulling away and everything went dark again. He was brought back to himself by that stabbing pain in his side.

“Jon? Stay with me, okay?”

Opening his eyes, he found Martin leaning over him again, staunching the blood flow. Right, he had been stabbed. It felt like an inconsequential thought, too distracted by the orange flames silhouetting Martin. What was burning? Was it the tower? 

He didn’t know what was happening and it was so hard to think, to understand anything. And then he saw the blood on Martin’s face, the burns; he was hurt after all. 

Panicked, afraid it wasn’t over yet, that the threat was still there, Jon tried to reach out, tried to wrap them in whatever power the Eye might lend him once again, but he was too weak. And then he felt like he was falling again. Falling into himself this time, the world blurring.

“Jon, no,” Martin said urgently, and Jon could hear the fear creeping into his voice again. “You have to stay awake, okay? You have to stay with me, you promised.”

That was all Jon wanted as well. The rest of the world could fall away, but not Martin. But he was just so tired. 

“Martin, I—“

“No, don’t you dare—“

And then everything was darkness once again. 

-

When Jon woke to pain, it felt right. He couldn’t think, his mind felt sluggish and hazy, but he knew he deserved the pain, and so much worse. He wasn’t sure he wanted to remember anything else. 

As he settled into the pain, he realized he could feel something else as well. There was a hand in his, holding him tightly, and the quiet sound of someone sniffing, speaking quietly, voice unsteady. 

He recognized that voice. He didn’t know how, but he knew it meant everything to him. He wanted to reach out, to latch onto it and never let it go, but he couldn’t focus enough to make out any of the words, not really. 

“—which hurt like hell, so you’d better hurry up and wake up, because I do not appreciate being kept waiting after ever—“

The voice stopped and he very much wished it hadn’t. He tried to turn towards the sound, working out what was his body and how it could move despite the pain. 

“Jon?” There was a harsh scraping sound that sent a sharp pain through his head and he felt someone touching— was it his face? “Jon, can you hear me?”

He remembered to open his eyes, then, and it took him a slow, sluggish moment to even piece together what he was seeing. There was recognition there, of course, but it took him a painfully long time to drudge up the name that went along with that fondness that gripped his chest painfully. 

“Martin.” His voice was weak and hoarse, but it was loud enough to be heard. 

“Oh thank god,” Martin sighed, voice wavering dangerously as he rested his forehead against his shoulder for a moment. “Don’t you dare scare me like that again.”

“You’re hurt,” Jon tried to raise his hand, to touch the bandage on Martin’s forehead, his neck. 

“And you have literally been unconscious for a day and a half,” Martin sighed in exasperation, taking his other hand, stopping his searching touches. “I was worried it might be months again. You can worry about me when I end up in a coma, okay?”

“What happened— Where—?” Jon tried, but his voice gave out and he just didn’t have the energy to continue. 

“I’m not really sure,” Martin said, leaning close, voice low. “The tower was falling apart, and you were—were dying, and then we landed near Hilltop Road on a pile of tapes. I burned them, just in case, but I guess this means we made it through.”

“Oh.”

Jon felt tears stinging his eyes and it was all he could do to close them, to try to stop the grief and horror and guilt that threatened to crush him. He wanted to turn away so Martin didn’t have to see, but it wouldn’t have helped. 

“Hey, hey, it’s okay, we’re alive” Martin said, wiping away a tear as it escaped and rolled down his cheek. “We might even actually be safe, for once.”

“I’m sorry I put you through this,” Jon said, sure he would never be able to erase the sound of Martin sobbing after he’d had to stab him. 

It had been such a cruel thing to ask of him, something that never should have happened, if he hadn’t tried to take it all on himself, if he hadn’t tried to make a decision for the world. He still didn’t think this was the right choice, but he was selfish and, in the end, he could never do anything that meant losing Martin. 

”Don’t think I’m letting you off the hook for lying to me, I’m still angry, but that isn’t important right now. How are you feeling? Do you still— Know everything?”

“No,” Jon said. “It’s like the tunnels, or Salesa’s, maybe. I— can hardly think.” 

“That’s okay, take it slow,” Martin said. He settled back into his chair, keeping a tight grip on Jon’s hand, reaching up to brush his fingers through Jon’s hair. 

”I’m just so tired,” Jon said, leaning into the touch. 

“I know. Get some rest, I’ll be here when you wake up.”

-

The next time Jon woke, it was dark. He tried to remember where he was, what was happening. When his mind supplied him with memories of the collapsing tower, he sat up, ignoring the pain that flared in his side, his back, his head. He needed to find Martin, that was all that mattered. 

He gritted his teeth through a wave of nausea and tried to get up, only to collapse, hitting the ground hard, the world spinning violently. He cursed the Eye and everything else that had ever put Martin in danger, but mostly he cursed himself, for bringing this all about, for not being stronger. He’d crawl across the floor until he found him, if necessary. 

“Jon!”

Looking up, he saw Martin rushing into the room, a styrofoam cup of tea in hand. He nearly spilled it in his haste to get to him. 

“Martin,” Jon sighed in relief, suddenly whatever strength he had mustered was gone, and he sagged to the ground. “You’re okay.”

“And you’re not, stop trying to move!”

Martin carefully supported him and Jon took advantage of the closeness to pull him into a hug, hanging onto him weakly. He was vaguely aware of the tears running down his cheeks, but he couldn’t be embarrassed, not right now, not when Martin was here and alive despite everything.  

Martin’s hands ghosted over Jon like he wanted to touch him, check his injuries, make sure he was okay, but they hovered over his abdomen where they both knew the knife wound was and withdrew like he was afraid of getting burned, wrapping him in a hug instead. 

Jon held onto Martin like a lifeline. He was okay. They’d made it. He repeated that over and over again in his mind. Whatever else he had done, at least Martin was okay. That was all that mattered right now. 

“Are you though?” Jon said eventually, when everything had stopped spinning. “Actually okay, I mean.”

“A few scrapes, a few burns, but I’m fine,” Martin said with a weak smile. “You, on the other hand— they weren’t sure you were going to pull though.”

“Sorry,” was all Jon could think to say.  

“You know what? You’re not allowed to get hurt anymore. For a while at the very least. I think you’ve put me through more than enough stress, thank you very much.”

“I’m afraid that isn’t really up to me,” Jon said into Martin’s sweater. 

“It is, though! Just stop running into danger at every opportunity.”

They stayed like that for a long moment, wrapped in each other’s arms, until Jon’s silent tears finally stopped. Feeling Martin’s fingers combing through his hair certainly helped. It was soothing. 

“Can I get you back up onto the bed?” Martin asked eventually. 

Jon just nodded. It was comforting how easily Martin was able to lift him. It meant he really hadn’t been seriously hurt. With the relief, though, the fear made room for the guilt again, overwhelming his hazy mind, and the tears started again. 

“Jon?” Martin made a distressed noise and brushed his hair out of his face, holding his hand tightly, clearly at a loss for what to do. 

I did it again, didn’t I?“Jon whispered. “Doomed another world.”

“But you saved a world, too,” Martin said, with more certainty and determination than Jon had ever felt about anything. 

“I’m pretty sure it doesn’t count as saving if it was all my fault to begin with.”

“It wasn’t your fault, and I’ll keep reminding you until you believe it.”

Jon didn’t deserve this. He didn’t deserve Martin. He didn’t know what he was supposed to do to atone, he didn’t think he ever could, not really. But at least Martin was okay. He could focus on that for now, change the subject away from his self loathing. 

“I’m glad you’re here,” Jon said. “I was afraid you hadn’t made it.”

“Can’t get rid of me that easily,” Martin said with a smile, but there were tears in his eyes threatening to spill over as well. He brought Jon’s hand up to his lips, holding it there for a long moment. “Do you need anything?” 

Jon shook his head. “Just you.”

“That’s sweet, but you really should drink some more water. Maybe eat something.”

“Tea would be nice,” Jon admitted with a small smile. 

“Right!” Martin exclaimed, turning to get the styrofoam cup of tea that was already growing cold where he’d left it on the floor behind him. “Best I can do right now, I’m afraid.”

He helped support Jon so he could drink and, while it didn’t fix anything, not really, it was still a kind of comfort he hadn’t had in so long. Finally, it was something that wasn’t ruined by the apocalypse. Martin leaned forward and placed a kiss to his forehead once he’d taken a drink, and that felt wonderful too. 

He didn’t know what he was supposed to do, now. He didn’t know anything, except that he loved Martin. So he held onto that. 

“I love you.”

“I love you too,” Martin replied, his voice unsteady. “We’ll get through this. Together.”

Jon nodded even though he wasn’t entirely sure he believed him. 

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Hey hi hello

I am asking desperately for fic recs! Please! Especially if YOU write fics, I'd love to support!

Tma, specifically Jmart. No nsfw, but kissing is good, I like the kisses!

Anything that will make me cry, or silly fluff, or Jon being pathetic after almost dying are my favorites 👍

Thank you!

[q-is-attempting-to-write-stuff]

Reblog this and say one nice thing about prev

Trying to inject some positivity

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Definitely my favorite fic writer 🫶

Currently crying! This is so good and I love this series!! Keep writing, your stuff always makes my day :))

There were a lot of instances, really, that could be considered their "first kiss." A look at some moments that might, depending on your perspective, count as Jon and Martin's first kiss. For the Jonmartin week day 1 prompt "First Kiss" - Updates one chapter a day, every day of Jonmartin Week.

A few people said they'd be interested in two more chapters of this so here's Chapter 10 (out of what will now be 11)!

Content Warnings for this chapter:

blood

explosions

stabbing

canonical character death (?)

Jon had a thousand eyes, pockmarking his skin, encircling his head in grotesque haloes, swivelling and searching and drinking in every last drop of terror in the ruined world.

And all he could look at was Martin. 

Martin’s face, furious and terrified and determined beyond words. Martin’s hands, white-knuckled with effort as he tried to wrench Jon free from the web of black magnetic tape that spooled over his arms, across his chest, around his throat. The blood trickling from Martin’s forehead where he’d been struck by a chunk of fallen masonry. If he made it out of this, he’d have a scar on his forehead to match Jon’s, but he wouldn’t, he couldn’t if he didn’t leave right now.

“I can’t protect you from this,” Jon told him desperately. “Go!”

“I’m not leaving you trapped here killing the world while I watch!”

“If you stay, you’ll die.”

And Martin did not hesitate for even a moment before he said, “Then I’ll die!”

Jon’s answering, “No!” was all but drowned out as another explosion rocked the panopticon. The floor was collapsing under their feet, and the walls were crumbling, and half of Jon’s eyes were blinded by a shower of ash and rubble raining down from what remained of the ceiling. He couldn’t see what happened – and, God, what use was the Eye if he couldn’t even see this – but he heard a high, whimpering noise of pain as something hard and heavy collided with Martin, and then Martin collapsed onto Jon’s chest. Jon did his best to hold him steady.

“Martin, please,” he murmured. Even with all the noise around them, he didn’t have to shout when they were this close. “I can’t lose you. Not like this.”

“Tough! Okay?” Martin set his jaw and held Jon’s gaze. The floor shook again, but he didn’t flinch. “Where you go, I go!”

Jon heard himself murmur back, “That’s the deal.”

The fate of untold thousands of universes hung in the balance. If Jon lived through this, he would hate himself forever for how easy it was to make the choice.

“Okay,” he said. His voice was steady, now. A wave of calm had washed over him when he’d come to his decision. All he had to do now was ride it to the end.

Martin hadn’t yet caught on. “What?”

“Do it.The knife’s just there. Let them go.”

Martin gaped at him in horror. “I’m not going to kill you!”

“Cut the tether,” Jon insisted. “Send them away.”

Martin stared back. His face was painted an eerie white from all the ash and powdered masonry that clung to his skin, making the bright arterial red of his forehead wound stand out like a brushstroke on a fresh canvas. 

“Maybe we both die. Probably. But maybe…” Jon’s voice wobbled, then broke. “Maybe everything works out, and we end up somewhere else.”

“Together?”

“One way or another. Together.”

Martin stooped to pick up the knife. His hands were shaking so badly he could hardly keep his grip.

“I don’t think I can…”

“It has to be you. The Eye won’t let me do it.”

“Are you sure about this?” Martin’s eyes were wide and fixed on Jon’s, and Jon couldn’t bring himself to lie.

“No,” he said. “But I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

They kissed.

It was a farewell, and they both knew it, whatever Jon might say about Somewhere Else. Martin’s lips were warm and desperate, pressing into Jon’s skin like he was the last real thing in the universe, and Jon could feel him shaking and sobbing in his arms. It lasted just a second longer than Jon was expecting, and he was beginning to wonder if he would need to pull away, to remind Martin that they didn’t have time, when he felt the searing pain of a knife in his chest.

Martin’s hands were firm. Even while he shuddered with pain and disgust for the task at hand, in this one, most important moment, he was steady and unflinching. He dealt a single hard blow to the convenient gap in Jon’s ribcage, and the knife met no resistance on its way to Jon’s heart.

Jon gasped as if he’d been punched, all the air leaving his lungs with a sickening pop. He tried to say Thank you, tried to say I love you, tried to say I’m sorry, but he couldn’t get a breath. All he could do was clutch at Martin with clumsy, weakening limbs, and hope he knew how much it meant.

A ragged sob tore from Martin’s throat as the world collapsed around them. Jon felt a tug from the tapes, pulling him toward the rip in the fabric of reality. The last thing Jon felt before everything went dark was Martin tightening his grip, holding fast to him as the web pulled them both into that vast unknown, and he contented himself that wherever they were going, they would go there together.

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Hey, sorry this took so long! I did the inevitable project mistake of starting on something, then immediately losing all motivation for it. But hey, I finished chapter two (finally)!

This Isn't Our First Time Around

(A tma post-200 au)

Chapter Two -- A Strange Meeting

The weather was surprisingly pleasant. It was the perfect temperature to wear a sweater, but there were no rain clouds in sight. And, seeing that it was a Sunday and he had nothing else to do, Jon decided to walk down to a nearby café.

He had ordered himself a plain black coffee and took a seat at a small table in the corner of the café. He pulled out a large book, flipping to his book mark, and dove in, quickly getting so wrapped up in the words that he'd forgotten where he was and his coffee sat untouched.

"'Scuse me?" A voice startled him, causing him to jump a bit.

"Yes?" Jon replied, voice filled with irritation for the interruption before he looked up to see the curly, red-ish haired man in front of him. He immediately recognized the man as the familiar man on the tube, and staring up into his eyes caused another flash of an image to appear.

This time, rather than worms, the image was of the man sitting opposite Jon at a large, wooden desk. The man was upset, nearly in tears, apologizing and saying that "it was an accident," and that he hadn't meant to leave them behind. Jon was resting a bandaged hand on top of the man's.

"It's fine. Everyone's... everything's fine," Jon was saying.

Then, the image vanished once again, and Jon was back in the café, once again staring at the man in front of him who, apparently, had been speaking.

His arm was extended out to Jon. "... uh, yeah. Again, I'm sorry for the interruption, but ah- my name's Martin, what's yours?" He smiled awkwardly down at Jon, who was, admittedly, taking far too long to respond.

"Oh! Ah - I'm, I'm Jonathan. Uh, Jon's fine," he said, forcing himself to respond and shake Martin's hand.

"R-really?" Martin asked, seemingly surprised and a bit startled.

"Uh... yes?"

"Right, yeah, sorry," Martin sputtered, "so, may I sit with you?" He asked sheepishly.

"Oh, uh, sure," Jon closed the book in front of his, forgetting to mark which page he was on.

"Thanks," Martin shuffled into the chair across from Jon, then paused to choose how to begin the conversation before speaking again. "You work for the Magnus Institute, yeah?"

"Yes, I do," Jon answered slowly and with suspicion. He was certain he didn't know this man, and him knowing where Jon worked suggested that he'd likely followed Jon after seeing him on the tube the other day. Jon had to admit that this Martin fellow didn't appear very threatening. He actually looked rather kind. He looked soft and friendly. But the mention of Jon's place of work raised some concern.

"I work down in the library of the Institute. I've seen you a few times before. I wasn't sure you'd recognize me, though," Martin continued, seemingly not noticing Jon's worry. "I just wanted to say hi, and, um, I had a bit of a weird question..."

Jon relaxed slightly at the knowledge that Martin's following him was simply because they had the same destination and was not because of some sort of malicious intentions.

"Alright," he said, "what can I help you with?"

"Okay," Martin rung his hands nervously, "this is going to sound... strange, and I completely understand if you can't help me here, but..." He sighed and continued to fidget, "... I've been having... dreams. Really, really odd dreams?"

"...okay?" Jon answered rather dumbly.

"I-I know how that sounds, but - it's just - You're always in them and they've been getting... strange. The first time it happened, I'd dreamt that I'd been transferred down to the Institute's Archive, and you were the head archavist. I had - " he cut with a small laugh, " - I had let a dog in, and you were really upset about it. You threatened to fire me!"

Jon stared at the man completely frozen. An anxious pit began to form in his stomach.

"I've had that dream as well," he whispered, and Martin's eyes widened.

"Really?" He asked, nearly as quiet as Jon had been.

"Yes," Jon said, "I've had dreams where I've been transferred from research to the Archives. I'm always the head archavist, and I'd dreamt that someone let a dog in..." He trailed off.

Martin stayed in shocked silence for a moment before asking in a whisper; "Have you had any dreams about worms?"

They talked for a while, discussing the dreams and how they seemed to connect. They'd both dreamt about worms on multiple occasions. Martin dreamt of finding a lady in a red dress in the basement of a building, then the next several nights dreamt of being stuck in his flat, desperately trying to cover every crack that the worms were managing to wriggle their way through.

Jon had dreamt of one of his assistants being oddly absent, then had to explain the image he'd seen of Martin slamming a jar of worms onto his desk.

"It happened when I'd seen you on the tube the other day," he said, "I just saw it. Like, it flashed before my eyes for only a moment, but I saw every detail of it as if it was real."

Martin said he'd never experienced anything like that.

"It happened today as well," Jon continued, "When you walked up to me, it happened again."

After more discussion, Martin eventually asked, "You don't happen to know anyone named Tim or Sasha, do you?"

"Yes, Tim works with me in research. I've met Sasha a handful of times."

"I wasn't sure if they were real," Martin muttered, mostly to himself.

"You saw them in the dreams, too?" Jon asked.

"Yes. Do you know if they've had the dreams as well?"

"I've mentioned the dreams to then before -" Jon went to take a sip of his coffee only to find it was empty. How long had they been talking? " - but they never mentioned any odd dreams of their own."

Martin hummed. He checked the time on his phone and let out a sigh. Then, he grabbed a napkin from the dispenser on the table and pen from his pocket. He scribbled something onto the napkin and slid it to Jon.

"Here," he said as Jon traced over the numbers written on the napkin with his eyes, "Let me know if you have any more dreams. I want to figure out what this means."

Then Martin stood. "Thank you for talking with, even if it was a bit strange," he said with a smile, then walked out of the café, leaving Jon alone at the table.

[q-is-attempting-to-write-stuff]

It's my turn with the time travel trope! Except, I have no clue how to explain how the time travel happened, and this will likely remain a one-shot, but still, I wanted to write one!

It takes place after episode 200, Jon and Martin somehow appear back in season one while Martin is living in the Archives.

~

Tim was an early bird, so, like most mornings, he was the first into the archives. He greeted Rosie as he passed her desk and traveled down the stairs to the basement, walking through the narrow hallway and into the door at the very end.

He was humming as he walked in but stopped silent, dead in his tracks, when he saw the heap of what seemed to be two people huddled together on the carpet.

One layed, completely limp, in the lap of the other, who was leaning over the first with his arms wrapped around him.

The first figure blinked open his eyes, slowly waking up, seeming dazed and groaning in pain. Tim recognized him instantly.

"M- Martin?" He sputtered in complete shock. His hair was duller, with a few white streaks running through it, and he seemed smaller, somehow, than the Martin Tim knew, but it was still unmistakably him.

Martin's head whipped around to look at Tim. Yep, it was definitely Martin. Like his hair, his eyes were a slightly duller blue, and his glasses were slightly cracked, and he had tear stains running down his cheeks.

"Tim?" Martin all but shouted, sounding just as surprised. "What are - I mean - how are you even -?" He turned his gazed down at the man in his arms and gasped.

The man was still unconscious, with a large blood stain on the chest of his shirt and, seemingly, more blood on his hands.

Tim almost recognized him as well - his hair, though longer and more gray; his face, though covered in small circular scars, along with what seemed to be a burn scar on one cheek; and he was covered head to toe in eyes - but, he looked shockingly similar to Jon.

Martin was now crying and whispering something that sounded desperate and pleading, something along the lines of "Please wake up" - though, Tim couldn't quite make out what he was saying - over and over as he cupped the man's face in his hand, that was also stained with blood. Martin seemed to notice the stain on the man's shirt and quickly un-buttoned it to see the wound.

To both his and Tim's surprise, there was no wound. Then, the man's eyes fluttered open.

"Jon," Martin breathed, voice filled with relief, as he brought his hand back up to the man's face. "You're alive!"

"Y-yes," the man - Jon - 's voice was hoarse, "and you're here, too." He, too, began to cry, reaching his own hand up to hold Martin's face.

Martin leaned down and pulled Jon into a hug, and they sobbed in one another's arms.

Martin pulled back, "I - I thought -"

"Yeah," Jon cut him off, then a sad smile spread across his face, and his voice broke a little, "but we're okay."

"Yeah," Martin said, smiling down at him as well. He pulled Jon into a kiss, and they sat, smiling fondly at one another for quite a while.

Then, Jon's smile faded, and he asked, "Where - where are we?"

Martin looked up and gazed at the room. "The Archives?" He said, a bit surprised. Then he locked eyes with Tim, once again.

"Oh!" Martin stammered as if he'd forgotten he was there, "Tim, right! You're - You're here? You're alive!"

Tim stared down at the two of them, at Martin's smiling face and Jon look of complete confusion, and eventually managed to push the words, "Who are you?" from his mouth.

"Tim, it's us, Martin a- and Jon," Martin said, still smiling.

"No," Tim was shaking now, "No. Nope. You are not. You are not Jon, and you are not Martin. Who are you?"

Martin's smile dropped.

"Tim, it's alright, i-it's us," Jon said, beginning to sit up more, but remaining in Martin's lap.

"Jon doesn't look like that," Tim said hesitantly.

"I know it's been a while, but it is us."

"No, I saw the real Jon yesterday. So, who are you?" Tim demanded again.

"What? No. We haven't seen you in at least a year. I mean - not since the unknowing, and we thought you were dead!"

Tim began to laugh nervously and took a few steps back.

"Alright," he said, his voice beginning to shake, "I don't know what this is - or who you are - but you need to get out, or I'm going to call the police."

"Wha- I mean, are they even going to come?" Martin asked nervously.

"Is everything back to normal?" Jon's voice was filled with hope and anxiety.

"'Back to normal'? " Tim repeated, clearly confused.

"Yes. Did the world turn back?"

"'Back'?" Tim repeated again.

"Yes," Jon seemed to be growing impatient. "Is it fixed? The fears - are they gone?"

"I don't know what you're on about, but you need to leave," Tim, by this point, had almost made it to the door.

Just then, Jon - another Jon, one who seemed much more put together and didn't have any scars across his face - walked in the room, staring intently at something on his phone. He stopped when he nearly ran into Tim, then looked to the Jon and Martin sitting on the floor.

"Martin? What's going on? And who is that?" He asked, refering to the Jon in Martin's arms. Then, his eyes grew wide as he looked at the blood on each of them and the eyes covering the other Jon.

Martin looked to his Jon, "Jon, what's going on?"

Jon just stared in confusion at all the people in front of him, then seemed to gather his thoughts.

"Just, hold on a second," grumbled, then closed his eyes (well, the two on his face - the rest that covered him remained open) and static began to buzz throughout the room.

"Right," Jon said, opening the two eyes on his face and turning to Martin, "It's April twenty-second... 2016."

"What?" Martin sputtered, then laughed nervously, "No, this all started - or, the world ended, or whatever - eighteenth of October in 2018, Jon!"

"I know, Martin," Jon's voice now seemed to be getting a bit frustrated, "we must've traveled with the fears and gotten pulled into some weird time travel nonsense." Jon brought his hand up and rubbed his eyes, wincing a bit.

Martin wrapped an arm around him. "Are you alright?" He asked softly.

"Fine," Jon grumbled. He brought his hand down, but his eyes remained shut. "Goodness, I've got a splitting headache."

Martin hummed in concern.

"Sorry -" Tim interrupted ,"- The world ended?"

Jon sighed.

"Yes," he said flatly, "And we'll explain everything. Just give me a moment."

Jon once again shut his eyes, presumably to Know something again, but the static was interrupted by another person entering the room.

Dressed in his PJs, gripping a small bag and a bundle of clothes in his hands, and rubbing sleep from his eyes, another Martin was walking from the direction of document storage.

This Martin was brighter. His hair had no white, and his eyes were a deep blue. He, even though he'd just woken up, seemed significantly less tired than the Martin on the floor.

He froze about two feet away from the others in the room. His mouth hung slightly open as he looked from a standing Jon to a much more disheveled Jon, who was also sitting in the lap of a man who looked a lot like himself.

He looked a moment longer between the four people in front of him before snapping his mouth shut and muttering a disbelieving "Right, yeah... sure" and walking out of the room.

[q-is-attempting-to-write-stuff]

Hey, sorry this took so long! I did the inevitable project mistake of starting on something, then immediately losing all motivation for it. But hey, I finished chapter two (finally)!

This Isn't Our First Time Around

(A tma post-200 au)

Chapter Two -- A Strange Meeting

The weather was surprisingly pleasant. It was the perfect temperature to wear a sweater, but there were no rain clouds in sight. And, seeing that it was a Sunday and he had nothing else to do, Jon decided to walk down to a nearby café.

He had ordered himself a plain black coffee and took a seat at a small table in the corner of the café. He pulled out a large book, flipping to his book mark, and dove in, quickly getting so wrapped up in the words that he'd forgotten where he was and his coffee sat untouched.

"'Scuse me?" A voice startled him, causing him to jump a bit.

"Yes?" Jon replied, voice filled with irritation for the interruption before he looked up to see the curly, red-ish haired man in front of him. He immediately recognized the man as the familiar man on the tube, and staring up into his eyes caused another flash of an image to appear.

This time, rather than worms, the image was of the man sitting opposite Jon at a large, wooden desk. The man was upset, nearly in tears, apologizing and saying that "it was an accident," and that he hadn't meant to leave them behind. Jon was resting a bandaged hand on top of the man's.

"It's fine. Everyone's... everything's fine," Jon was saying.

Then, the image vanished once again, and Jon was back in the café, once again staring at the man in front of him who, apparently, had been speaking.

His arm was extended out to Jon. "... uh, yeah. Again, I'm sorry for the interruption, but ah- my name's Martin, what's yours?" He smiled awkwardly down at Jon, who was, admittedly, taking far too long to respond.

"Oh! Ah - I'm, I'm Jonathan. Uh, Jon's fine," he said, forcing himself to respond and shake Martin's hand.

"R-really?" Martin asked, seemingly surprised and a bit startled.

"Uh... yes?"

"Right, yeah, sorry," Martin sputtered, "so, may I sit with you?" He asked sheepishly.

"Oh, uh, sure," Jon closed the book in front of his, forgetting to mark which page he was on.

"Thanks," Martin shuffled into the chair across from Jon, then paused to choose how to begin the conversation before speaking again. "You work for the Magnus Institute, yeah?"

"Yes, I do," Jon answered slowly and with suspicion. He was certain he didn't know this man, and him knowing where Jon worked suggested that he'd likely followed Jon after seeing him on the tube the other day. Jon had to admit that this Martin fellow didn't appear very threatening. He actually looked rather kind. He looked soft and friendly. But the mention of Jon's place of work raised some concern.

"I work down in the library of the Institute. I've seen you a few times before. I wasn't sure you'd recognize me, though," Martin continued, seemingly not noticing Jon's worry. "I just wanted to say hi, and, um, I had a bit of a weird question..."

Jon relaxed slightly at the knowledge that Martin's following him was simply because they had the same destination and was not because of some sort of malicious intentions.

"Alright," he said, "what can I help you with?"

"Okay," Martin rung his hands nervously, "this is going to sound... strange, and I completely understand if you can't help me here, but..." He sighed and continued to fidget, "... I've been having... dreams. Really, really odd dreams?"

"...okay?" Jon answered rather dumbly.

"I-I know how that sounds, but - it's just - You're always in them and they've been getting... strange. The first time it happened, I'd dreamt that I'd been transferred down to the Institute's Archive, and you were the head archavist. I had - " he cut with a small laugh, " - I had let a dog in, and you were really upset about it. You threatened to fire me!"

Jon stared at the man completely frozen. An anxious pit began to form in his stomach.

"I've had that dream as well," he whispered, and Martin's eyes widened.

"Really?" He asked, nearly as quiet as Jon had been.

"Yes," Jon said, "I've had dreams where I've been transferred from research to the Archives. I'm always the head archavist, and I'd dreamt that someone let a dog in..." He trailed off.

Martin stayed in shocked silence for a moment before asking in a whisper; "Have you had any dreams about worms?"

They talked for a while, discussing the dreams and how they seemed to connect. They'd both dreamt about worms on multiple occasions. Martin dreamt of finding a lady in a red dress in the basement of a building, then the next several nights dreamt of being stuck in his flat, desperately trying to cover every crack that the worms were managing to wriggle their way through.

Jon had dreamt of one of his assistants being oddly absent, then had to explain the image he'd seen of Martin slamming a jar of worms onto his desk.

"It happened when I'd seen you on the tube the other day," he said, "I just saw it. Like, it flashed before my eyes for only a moment, but I saw every detail of it as if it was real."

Martin said he'd never experienced anything like that.

"It happened today as well," Jon continued, "When you walked up to me, it happened again."

After more discussion, Martin eventually asked, "You don't happen to know anyone named Tim or Sasha, do you?"

"Yes, Tim works with me in research. I've met Sasha a handful of times."

"I wasn't sure if they were real," Martin muttered, mostly to himself.

"You saw them in the dreams, too?" Jon asked.

"Yes. Do you know if they've had the dreams as well?"

"I've mentioned the dreams to then before -" Jon went to take a sip of his coffee only to find it was empty. How long had they been talking? " - but they never mentioned any odd dreams of their own."

Martin hummed. He checked the time on his phone and let out a sigh. Then, he grabbed a napkin from the dispenser on the table and pen from his pocket. He scribbled something onto the napkin and slid it to Jon.

"Here," he said as Jon traced over the numbers written on the napkin with his eyes, "Let me know if you have any more dreams. I want to figure out what this means."

Then Martin stood. "Thank you for talking with, even if it was a bit strange," he said with a smile, then walked out of the café, leaving Jon alone at the table.

[q-is-attempting-to-write-stuff]

I'm just reblogging another idea that I really wanna write

oh god jmart theater kids AU where somehow Jon has been cast as the lead, which Sasha should have gotten but Tim's more mad about it than she is, Martin does the lighting and is secretly smitten with Jon who commands the stage with an almost eerie confidence, like he himself doesn't know the impact of his power

[q-is-attempting-to-write-stuff]

Hey, sorry this took so long! I did the inevitable project mistake of starting on something, then immediately losing all motivation for it. But hey, I finished chapter two (finally)!

This Isn't Our First Time Around

(A tma post-200 au)

Chapter Two -- A Strange Meeting

The weather was surprisingly pleasant. It was the perfect temperature to wear a sweater, but there were no rain clouds in sight. And, seeing that it was a Sunday and he had nothing else to do, Jon decided to walk down to a nearby café.

He had ordered himself a plain black coffee and took a seat at a small table in the corner of the café. He pulled out a large book, flipping to his book mark, and dove in, quickly getting so wrapped up in the words that he'd forgotten where he was and his coffee sat untouched.

"'Scuse me?" A voice startled him, causing him to jump a bit.

"Yes?" Jon replied, voice filled with irritation for the interruption before he looked up to see the curly, red-ish haired man in front of him. He immediately recognized the man as the familiar man on the tube, and staring up into his eyes caused another flash of an image to appear.

This time, rather than worms, the image was of the man sitting opposite Jon at a large, wooden desk. The man was upset, nearly in tears, apologizing and saying that "it was an accident," and that he hadn't meant to leave them behind. Jon was resting a bandaged hand on top of the man's.

"It's fine. Everyone's... everything's fine," Jon was saying.

Then, the image vanished once again, and Jon was back in the café, once again staring at the man in front of him who, apparently, had been speaking.

His arm was extended out to Jon. "... uh, yeah. Again, I'm sorry for the interruption, but ah- my name's Martin, what's yours?" He smiled awkwardly down at Jon, who was, admittedly, taking far too long to respond.

"Oh! Ah - I'm, I'm Jonathan. Uh, Jon's fine," he said, forcing himself to respond and shake Martin's hand.

"R-really?" Martin asked, seemingly surprised and a bit startled.

"Uh... yes?"

"Right, yeah, sorry," Martin sputtered, "so, may I sit with you?" He asked sheepishly.

"Oh, uh, sure," Jon closed the book in front of his, forgetting to mark which page he was on.

"Thanks," Martin shuffled into the chair across from Jon, then paused to choose how to begin the conversation before speaking again. "You work for the Magnus Institute, yeah?"

"Yes, I do," Jon answered slowly and with suspicion. He was certain he didn't know this man, and him knowing where Jon worked suggested that he'd likely followed Jon after seeing him on the tube the other day. Jon had to admit that this Martin fellow didn't appear very threatening. He actually looked rather kind. He looked soft and friendly. But the mention of Jon's place of work raised some concern.

"I work down in the library of the Institute. I've seen you a few times before. I wasn't sure you'd recognize me, though," Martin continued, seemingly not noticing Jon's worry. "I just wanted to say hi, and, um, I had a bit of a weird question..."

Jon relaxed slightly at the knowledge that Martin's following him was simply because they had the same destination and was not because of some sort of malicious intentions.

"Alright," he said, "what can I help you with?"

"Okay," Martin rung his hands nervously, "this is going to sound... strange, and I completely understand if you can't help me here, but..." He sighed and continued to fidget, "... I've been having... dreams. Really, really odd dreams?"

"...okay?" Jon answered rather dumbly.

"I-I know how that sounds, but - it's just - You're always in them and they've been getting... strange. The first time it happened, I'd dreamt that I'd been transferred down to the Institute's Archive, and you were the head archavist. I had - " he cut with a small laugh, " - I had let a dog in, and you were really upset about it. You threatened to fire me!"

Jon stared at the man completely frozen. An anxious pit began to form in his stomach.

"I've had that dream as well," he whispered, and Martin's eyes widened.

"Really?" He asked, nearly as quiet as Jon had been.

"Yes," Jon said, "I've had dreams where I've been transferred from research to the Archives. I'm always the head archavist, and I'd dreamt that someone let a dog in..." He trailed off.

Martin stayed in shocked silence for a moment before asking in a whisper; "Have you had any dreams about worms?"

They talked for a while, discussing the dreams and how they seemed to connect. They'd both dreamt about worms on multiple occasions. Martin dreamt of finding a lady in a red dress in the basement of a building, then the next several nights dreamt of being stuck in his flat, desperately trying to cover every crack that the worms were managing to wriggle their way through.

Jon had dreamt of one of his assistants being oddly absent, then had to explain the image he'd seen of Martin slamming a jar of worms onto his desk.

"It happened when I'd seen you on the tube the other day," he said, "I just saw it. Like, it flashed before my eyes for only a moment, but I saw every detail of it as if it was real."

Martin said he'd never experienced anything like that.

"It happened today as well," Jon continued, "When you walked up to me, it happened again."

After more discussion, Martin eventually asked, "You don't happen to know anyone named Tim or Sasha, do you?"

"Yes, Tim works with me in research. I've met Sasha a handful of times."

"I wasn't sure if they were real," Martin muttered, mostly to himself.

"You saw them in the dreams, too?" Jon asked.

"Yes. Do you know if they've had the dreams as well?"

"I've mentioned the dreams to then before -" Jon went to take a sip of his coffee only to find it was empty. How long had they been talking? " - but they never mentioned any odd dreams of their own."

Martin hummed. He checked the time on his phone and let out a sigh. Then, he grabbed a napkin from the dispenser on the table and pen from his pocket. He scribbled something onto the napkin and slid it to Jon.

"Here," he said as Jon traced over the numbers written on the napkin with his eyes, "Let me know if you have any more dreams. I want to figure out what this means."

Then Martin stood. "Thank you for talking with, even if it was a bit strange," he said with a smile, then walked out of the café, leaving Jon alone at the table.

[q-is-attempting-to-write-stuff]

:0

I wanna steal this idea to write

consider: colorblind jon

colorblind jon who doesn’t know much about his father, but he knows his father was colorblind too, and it’s something that links them, a family trait remaining long after his father is gone

colorblind jon who has grown accustomed to giving strangers lectures that are probably far longer than needed about deuteranopia and x-linked genes and how there’s a difference between being colorblind and not seeing any color, he can tell that’s blue just fine, thanks

colorblind jon who gets teased by tim in research the day he comes in wearing lime green trousers because “how could you think those go together, honestly? where did you even get those? is there a market for lime green work clothes i didn’t know about?” and then the next week tim comes in wearing an outfit that’s entirely lime green and jon only knows because sasha comments on it

colorblind jon who could swear he sees flashes of something when he reads the statements, and he doesn’t know what it is but it’s wrong, he knows it’s wrong, this whole job is wrong somehow and denial will only take him so far

colorblind jon who comes across (not-)sasha leaving notes in green text on red paper and he shouldn’t be able to read them, he knows that, but if he squints and strains his eyes enough he can make out what they say, and somehow that’s even worse than them being entirely illegible

colorblind jon who stares at the admiral’s eyes for minutes on end while trying to work up the courage to ask georgie if they’ve always been that color (and deep down inside he already knows the answer, knows that the only thing that has changed is his own perception)

colorblind jon having a breakdown in georgie’s place because colorblindness isn’t supposed to work like that, you don’t just get over it one day, except that jon did

colorblind jon who asks casually for that green pen you’ve got right there and feels tim staring at him as he hands it over, doesn’t realize what’s set him off until the argument starts in earnest

colorblind jon who gains a color and loses a piece of his humanity and would much rather have it be the other way around, really

[q-is-attempting-to-write-stuff]

Hello! I've decided I wanted to give writting a fic with multiple chapters a try, so here's chapter one! This one is a post episode 200 fix-it (sorta), but instead of time travel it's just spooky dream stuff.

Summary: Martin's been having strange dreams recently, usually involving the man he's seen in the Institute's library.

This Isn't Our First Time Around

Chapter One -- Dreams and a Rough Morning

The mug was hot in his hand. He fidgeting nervously with the handle while staring at the closed door. He could feel eyes on the back of his head.

He knew Tim and Sasha were watching him. He could feel their judgmental gazes every time he went to bring Jon a mug of tea, or tried to get him to go home at a reasonable hour, or simply tried to talk to the man.

"What is it, Marto?" Tim called from his desk in a slightly mocking tone, "scared he'll yell at you 'bout being a murderer again - ow - hey!"

Tim's annoyance was cut off by Sasha swiftly kicking him in the shin under their desks and giving him a glare.

Deciding that he'd rather speak to Jon than listen to Tim's angry rambling about Martin daring to show any sympathy towards the 'spooky boss 2.0', Martin grabbed and twisted the door handle.

Jon's office was a mess. It often was, but now the stacks of papers and tossed-aside tape recorders felt somehow threatening.

"Hey, knock-knock," Martin called, not yet daring to step fully into the cramped office.

Jon startled at the noise and glared at Martin for the interruption. His hair was a mess, and he looked absolutely exhausted, but he was still dressed in a button-up shirt and a sweater vest, as he almost always was. His face was still dotted with scars and a few scabs from the stubborn wounds refusing to fully heal.

"Ah, Martin," he said, seeming to try and hide the folder he'd been rummaging through under his arms.

Martin lifted the mug in his hands and explained uselessly, "Brought you some tea."

He slid into the room, shutting the door behind him, and took a few steps forward to place the mug on the desk. Jon eyed the mug suspiciously.

Martin honestly wasn't there to snoop at whatever work Jon was doing, but he couldn't help seeing the CCTV footage that was pulled up on Jon's laptop and his frantic notes covering the page his notebook was open to.

Jon's gaze had shifted from the mug to Martin. He was eyeing him, now.

"Did you need anything else?" Jon's voice was sharp, but it was tired. It was sad and regretful, yet still full of fear.

"I just - I... no, I guess not," Martin gave up on his words.

Martin turned and left the room, preparing to have to face Tim once again.

***

Martin's eyes opened slowly and heavily. He felt a strange guilt bubbling in his chest, though he did not know what he was guilty for.

It was another one of those dreams. He'd been having them recently. Dreams where he worked down in the archives of the Magnus Institute rather than the library.

Those dreams always felt oddly real, but they were getting stranger and stranger recently. They often included Tim and Sasha (two people he was sure he'd never met before), and that rather pretty man he'd see every now and then in the library (Jon, his dreams apparently named him).

He promptly tried to forget the dream and the uncomfortable feeling it gave him, and he went about getting ready for the day.

Unfortunately, he'd somehow managed to oversleep again, and by the time he reached the station, he missed his usual tube.

It was no big deal. He'd still get to work on time. This just meant he'd have to skip his routine of stopping at that cute café near the Institute for tea before heading into work.

Except, once he stepped onto the tube, a familiar person caught his eye.

It was him! The man he'd see in the library! The man from his dreams! Though, seeing him in reality, he was much more put together than his dream-self.

His hair was neatly brushed (it was long for what one would call short hair, but it only barely passed his ears), and he wore a nice, dark-green, patterned button-up, but it was not nearly as formal as 'dream-Jon's'.

He was pretty. Very pretty. Martin was only slightly embarrassed that him being pretty was part of the reason he'd been staring. But, mostly, he was staring because of how closely he resembled dream-Jon.

Martin had never been great with visualizing or remembering people's faces. And, he'd never been nearly close enough to this man to see his face in great detail before now. But his dream had managed to be so accurate (minus the scars).

It was odd. But so was a lot of things, so Martin did his best to ignore it, even though he did continue to steal several glances of the man.

Eventually, the man's eyes darted in Martin's direction. Their eyes locked. Martin tried to look away, tried to break the awkward eye contact, but he couldn't.

It was as if nothing else was there. As if there was nothing to look at except the large brown eyes locked on his own.

Suddenly, the other man's gaze went slightly vacant, as if he was no longer looking at Martin, but rather, through him.

The vacant looked flashed to horror for only a second before he was once again looking at Martin. He scowled, though the scowl held a bit of confusion and fear, then huffed and pointedly stared at the floor.

Martin, suddenly embarrassed, having been caught staring, also decided that looking at the dirty floor of the tube was better than continuing to make the poor man uncomfortable.

***

Jon was not having a very good morning.

He might even go as far as to say that he was having a terrible morning.

Sleep had been... difficult lately. Trying to sleep was nearly impossible as he felt as though he was constantly being watched. And his dreams were strange.

Jon had always dreamed. His dreams were always very vivid. This, of course, meant he'd had his fair share of nightmares (especially involving spiders), but the dreams he'd been having recently were even stranger than the typical ones his brain managed to create.

They were short, often only lasting what felt like a few minutes. But they were awful. Either painful or terrifying, it seemed.

Once, he'd dreamt that he felt as though he were falling for an eternity, despite the fact that he was sitting perfectly still in a chair. Another dream involved grabbing a woman's hand, only for pain to shoot through his arm and body, heat melting into the nerves of his hand. He'd woken up screaming both those times.

Last night's dreams involved throbbing pain in his leg, dark tunnels, and too many worms. Tim was there, and he'd opened a trap door leading to a room filled with the terrible wriggling creatures and a woman covered in holes. And she screamed a horrible scream of a thousand voices as worms lunged at Jon and Tim.

And then he was back in his bed, sweating and shaking. His leg still faintly hurt, and he could feel the worms crawling over every inch of his skin, waiting to burrow into his flesh.

Usually he woke up at 5:30. It was 4 in the morning, according to his phone, and he was certain there was no way he was going to fall asleep again. So, begrudgingly, he pulled himself out of bed and turned on a cold shower to hopefully rinse the feeling of thousands of flesh-eating larva off of him.

***

On his commute to work, he saw a man on the tube. He felt oddly familiar, oddly important, though Jon wasn't sure why. He tried to ignore the feeling, but when he looked back over, the man was looking back at him.

They locked eyes, and as Jon studied the man's face, his stomach suddenly dropped, and his heart raced.

Worms. He could suddenly see a jar of worms being slammed onto a wooden desk by the man. He was very clearly distressed and shaking, and the worms wriggled and pulsed inside the jar.

Then, the image was gone. It had only flashed before him for a second, but it was so vivid.

Jon was back to staring at the man, who now seemed slightly concerned. Jon was shaking. He glared at nothing as he turned his head to look at anything but the man.

What was wrong with him? Was he hallucinating? What was up with all the worms?

Jon refused to look anywhere but at his shoes for the rest of the ride. Unfortunately, as he stepped off the tube, the man seemed to follow, though also seemed to be consciously staying a good distance away from Jon.

Jon's heart rate picked up again as he swiftly walked to the Institute, hoping the man wasn't following him.

He made it inside and climbed the stairs, opening the door to the research department. Tim sat at his desk and was chatting with Sasha, who sat perched on the corner of the desk holding a document, most liking on some new strange item that'd been transferred to Artifact Storage.

Jon was slowly getting closer to Tim over time, who'd introduced him to Sasha. They were close enough that Jon considered them his friends, going out for drinks every few weeks and chatting during the work day.

"Hey there, Jonny-boy!" Tim called when Jon came to sit at his desk opposite to Tim's.

"Morning, Tim," Jon mumbled, decided that he was not in the mood to entertain Tim by grumbling about being called 'Jonny-boy' again.

"You alright?" Sasha asked, sliding off the desk.

"Fine, fine," Jon waved his hand dismively, "just another odd dream, is all. You were in this one again, Tim."

Tim's face lit up, and he clapped his hands together while saying, "Ooo, what happened in this one? What did I do?"

"Opened a door," Jon stated flatly, then made a face while finishing, "and we got eaten by worms."

Sasha grimaced a bit at that, then asked, "What about me? Was I there?"

"I think you were meant to be?" Jon shrugged. "You and someone else. You were supposed to be there, but we'd lost you at some point. Probably in the tunnels."

"This one had spooky tunnels, too?" Tim interjected. "Wonder what all the dreams mean."

"They're probably just stress dreams," Jon sighed, then pulled some papers from his bag and placed them on his desk. "Lord knows I've had plenty of those," he muttered and turned on his computer.

[q-is-attempting-to-write-stuff]

Hello! I've decided I wanted to give writting a fic with multiple chapters a try, so here's chapter one! This one is a post episode 200 fix-it (sorta), but instead of time travel it's just spooky dream stuff.

Summary: Martin's been having strange dreams recently, usually involving the man he's seen in the Institute's library.

This Isn't Our First Time Around

Chapter One -- Dreams and a Rough Morning

The mug was hot in his hand. He fidgeting nervously with the handle while staring at the closed door. He could feel eyes on the back of his head.

He knew Tim and Sasha were watching him. He could feel their judgmental gazes every time he went to bring Jon a mug of tea, or tried to get him to go home at a reasonable hour, or simply tried to talk to the man.

"What is it, Marto?" Tim called from his desk in a slightly mocking tone, "scared he'll yell at you 'bout being a murderer again - ow - hey!"

Tim's annoyance was cut off by Sasha swiftly kicking him in the shin under their desks and giving him a glare.

Deciding that he'd rather speak to Jon than listen to Tim's angry rambling about Martin daring to show any sympathy towards the 'spooky boss 2.0', Martin grabbed and twisted the door handle.

Jon's office was a mess. It often was, but now the stacks of papers and tossed-aside tape recorders felt somehow threatening.

"Hey, knock-knock," Martin called, not yet daring to step fully into the cramped office.

Jon startled at the noise and glared at Martin for the interruption. His hair was a mess, and he looked absolutely exhausted, but he was still dressed in a button-up shirt and a sweater vest, as he almost always was. His face was still dotted with scars and a few scabs from the stubborn wounds refusing to fully heal.

"Ah, Martin," he said, seeming to try and hide the folder he'd been rummaging through under his arms.

Martin lifted the mug in his hands and explained uselessly, "Brought you some tea."

He slid into the room, shutting the door behind him, and took a few steps forward to place the mug on the desk. Jon eyed the mug suspiciously.

Martin honestly wasn't there to snoop at whatever work Jon was doing, but he couldn't help seeing the CCTV footage that was pulled up on Jon's laptop and his frantic notes covering the page his notebook was open to.

Jon's gaze had shifted from the mug to Martin. He was eyeing him, now.

"Did you need anything else?" Jon's voice was sharp, but it was tired. It was sad and regretful, yet still full of fear.

"I just - I... no, I guess not," Martin gave up on his words.

Martin turned and left the room, preparing to have to face Tim once again.

***

Martin's eyes opened slowly and heavily. He felt a strange guilt bubbling in his chest, though he did not know what he was guilty for.

It was another one of those dreams. He'd been having them recently. Dreams where he worked down in the archives of the Magnus Institute rather than the library.

Those dreams always felt oddly real, but they were getting stranger and stranger recently. They often included Tim and Sasha (two people he was sure he'd never met before), and that rather pretty man he'd see every now and then in the library (Jon, his dreams apparently named him).

He promptly tried to forget the dream and the uncomfortable feeling it gave him, and he went about getting ready for the day.

Unfortunately, he'd somehow managed to oversleep again, and by the time he reached the station, he missed his usual tube.

It was no big deal. He'd still get to work on time. This just meant he'd have to skip his routine of stopping at that cute café near the Institute for tea before heading into work.

Except, once he stepped onto the tube, a familiar person caught his eye.

It was him! The man he'd see in the library! The man from his dreams! Though, seeing him in reality, he was much more put together than his dream-self.

His hair was neatly brushed (it was long for what one would call short hair, but it only barely passed his ears), and he wore a nice, dark-green, patterned button-up, but it was not nearly as formal as 'dream-Jon's'.

He was pretty. Very pretty. Martin was only slightly embarrassed that him being pretty was part of the reason he'd been staring. But, mostly, he was staring because of how closely he resembled dream-Jon.

Martin had never been great with visualizing or remembering people's faces. And, he'd never been nearly close enough to this man to see his face in great detail before now. But his dream had managed to be so accurate (minus the scars).

It was odd. But so was a lot of things, so Martin did his best to ignore it, even though he did continue to steal several glances of the man.

Eventually, the man's eyes darted in Martin's direction. Their eyes locked. Martin tried to look away, tried to break the awkward eye contact, but he couldn't.

It was as if nothing else was there. As if there was nothing to look at except the large brown eyes locked on his own.

Suddenly, the other man's gaze went slightly vacant, as if he was no longer looking at Martin, but rather, through him.

The vacant looked flashed to horror for only a second before he was once again looking at Martin. He scowled, though the scowl held a bit of confusion and fear, then huffed and pointedly stared at the floor.

Martin, suddenly embarrassed, having been caught staring, also decided that looking at the dirty floor of the tube was better than continuing to make the poor man uncomfortable.

***

Jon was not having a very good morning.

He might even go as far as to say that he was having a terrible morning.

Sleep had been... difficult lately. Trying to sleep was nearly impossible as he felt as though he was constantly being watched. And his dreams were strange.

Jon had always dreamed. His dreams were always very vivid. This, of course, meant he'd had his fair share of nightmares (especially involving spiders), but the dreams he'd been having recently were even stranger than the typical ones his brain managed to create.

They were short, often only lasting what felt like a few minutes. But they were awful. Either painful or terrifying, it seemed.

Once, he'd dreamt that he felt as though he were falling for an eternity, despite the fact that he was sitting perfectly still in a chair. Another dream involved grabbing a woman's hand, only for pain to shoot through his arm and body, heat melting into the nerves of his hand. He'd woken up screaming both those times.

Last night's dreams involved throbbing pain in his leg, dark tunnels, and too many worms. Tim was there, and he'd opened a trap door leading to a room filled with the terrible wriggling creatures and a woman covered in holes. And she screamed a horrible scream of a thousand voices as worms lunged at Jon and Tim.

And then he was back in his bed, sweating and shaking. His leg still faintly hurt, and he could feel the worms crawling over every inch of his skin, waiting to burrow into his flesh.

Usually he woke up at 5:30. It was 4 in the morning, according to his phone, and he was certain there was no way he was going to fall asleep again. So, begrudgingly, he pulled himself out of bed and turned on a cold shower to hopefully rinse the feeling of thousands of flesh-eating larva off of him.

***

On his commute to work, he saw a man on the tube. He felt oddly familiar, oddly important, though Jon wasn't sure why. He tried to ignore the feeling, but when he looked back over, the man was looking back at him.

They locked eyes, and as Jon studied the man's face, his stomach suddenly dropped, and his heart raced.

Worms. He could suddenly see a jar of worms being slammed onto a wooden desk by the man. He was very clearly distressed and shaking, and the worms wriggled and pulsed inside the jar.

Then, the image was gone. It had only flashed before him for a second, but it was so vivid.

Jon was back to staring at the man, who now seemed slightly concerned. Jon was shaking. He glared at nothing as he turned his head to look at anything but the man.

What was wrong with him? Was he hallucinating? What was up with all the worms?

Jon refused to look anywhere but at his shoes for the rest of the ride. Unfortunately, as he stepped off the tube, the man seemed to follow, though also seemed to be consciously staying a good distance away from Jon.

Jon's heart rate picked up again as he swiftly walked to the Institute, hoping the man wasn't following him.

He made it inside and climbed the stairs, opening the door to the research department. Tim sat at his desk and was chatting with Sasha, who sat perched on the corner of the desk holding a document, most liking on some new strange item that'd been transferred to Artifact Storage.

Jon was slowly getting closer to Tim over time, who'd introduced him to Sasha. They were close enough that Jon considered them his friends, going out for drinks every few weeks and chatting during the work day.

"Hey there, Jonny-boy!" Tim called when Jon came to sit at his desk opposite to Tim's.

"Morning, Tim," Jon mumbled, decided that he was not in the mood to entertain Tim by grumbling about being called 'Jonny-boy' again.

"You alright?" Sasha asked, sliding off the desk.

"Fine, fine," Jon waved his hand dismively, "just another odd dream, is all. You were in this one again, Tim."

Tim's face lit up, and he clapped his hands together while saying, "Ooo, what happened in this one? What did I do?"

"Opened a door," Jon stated flatly, then made a face while finishing, "and we got eaten by worms."

Sasha grimaced a bit at that, then asked, "What about me? Was I there?"

"I think you were meant to be?" Jon shrugged. "You and someone else. You were supposed to be there, but we'd lost you at some point. Probably in the tunnels."

"This one had spooky tunnels, too?" Tim interjected. "Wonder what all the dreams mean."

"They're probably just stress dreams," Jon sighed, then pulled some papers from his bag and placed them on his desk. "Lord knows I've had plenty of those," he muttered and turned on his computer.

[q-is-attempting-to-write-stuff]

Hello! First post on this account :D

I am rather new to the world of fanfic, and the Magnus Archives is the first fandom I have ever read or written fanfics for. This is one of my first attempts at writing in general, and I'm really enjoying it so far! So, please enjoy this little angst-y thing I have created!

"I love you,"

It was a phrase Jon was rather unfamiliar with. He rarely said it, and when he did, he never really understood it.

He was sure his parents had said it to him, though his memories of them were faded and foggy. His grandmother had said it to him when he was young. She would say it when he was spending the night with friends, or when he was going on a trip, or as an apology after she had gotten annoyed with him and had raised her voice a bit more than necessary.

She had said it, but it never really meant much to Jon. It was just a thing people said. It didn't matter much.

When he became a teenager, he used the phrase to try and explain his feelings to another boy. He learned quickly that the words seemed too strong to use on someone he didn't know well. He had made the boy uncomfortable and was left to wonder if he'd used the phrase wrong somehow.

As a young adult, in uni, he seemed to learn how to use the phrase. He had said it to Georgie a few times, not often, but he had. He was almost certain he said it more to The Admiral than to Georgie herself.

She said it far more often than he did. She said it whenever they said goodbye, or when she hugged him from behind, or out of the blue when they were sitting quietly on the couch with one another. Sometimes, Jon would return the phrase, but his usual response was just a pleased hum.

After they split up, he once again felt as though he didn't know how to use the phrase properly. 'Love' itself felt like too strong of a word for him. It had always felt too intense. He liked things, he didn't love them.

He met Tim and Sasha when he got a job as a researcher at The Magnus Institute, and after growing rather close with them, he realized he would have to get used to hearing the phrase quite often.

Tim was the kind of friend who would say, 'I love you', to his friends at every chance he got.

As he left the building each night, he'd shout, "Bye guys! Love you!", before turning for the door.

This routine continued when they had been moved to the Archives, though it seemed to take a little getting used to for Martin as well.

Jon never "I love you" back, though. He always used some version of "Goodbye Tim" or "See you Monday, Tim," but he never acknowledged the "I love you", mostly because he wasn't sure how to.

At that point, Jon was pretty sure the only times he'd said, "I love you" within the past few years were when he found a stray cat that allowed him to pet it, or to character in a book who he'd grown particularly fond of.

And, when he woke up in that hospital bed, when he heard that Tim and Daisy were dead, when Melanie had done nothing but threathen him, and when he was sure Martin was completely avoiding him, he'd come to terms with the thought that he may never here the phrase directed at himself ever again. And that hurt him more than he thought it should have.

He was never really fond of the phrase. It always felt out of place when on his tongue. But the thought of never hearing it again scared him quite a bit.

Luckily, he found he was very wrong.

As he and Martin sat in his office, huddle close together as Jon tried desperately to rub the remaining coldness from Martin's hands and to shoo away the fog still sticking to him relentlessly, he'd said it, and it felt right.

"I love you," he had whispered into Martin's faded hair as he hugged him close. "I love you, Martin. I love you," he repeated as tears trickled down his cheeks, and Martin held him tighter and cried into his shoulder.

Saying it felt right, it felt good. And it only felt more right as time went on in the safe house, and he and Martin passed the phrase back and forth all day.

"I love you," Jon would mutter as Martin got up from the bed, taking his warmth with him.

"I love you," Martin would say as he pressed a kiss onto Jon's cheek and handed him a warm mug of tea.

"I love you," Jon would roll his eyes and try to hide his smile after a friendly banter.

"I love you," Martin would whisper against Jon's hair as Jon drifted into sleep while curled up in Martin's lap.

"I love you,"

"I love you too,"

The phrase finally felt right to Jon. It felt right to hear it, and it felt right to say it. It felt safe.

And, even as the world ended, filled with fear and constantly watching eyes, Jon could still say it. It was still safe.

It always would be.

"I love you," Martin said, wrapping his arms around Jon, "We're going to fix this."

"I love you," Martin said, again, before pulling his sleeping bag over his shoulders and shutting his eyes. "Goodnight, Jon."

And now, Jon said it. Wrapped, once again, in Martin's arms, one hand against Martin's cheek and the other wrapped around Martin's trembling hand holding a knife. He wiped a few of the tears from Martin's cheek and said in a voice that was no longer entirely his own, "I love you."

"I love you too," Martin's said despite his anger, and his fear, and his painful sadness. Over everything he felt, he meant what he said.

He felt love. Jon, too, felt love, and he felt loved. He wished he could feel it forever.

And as they kissed, Jon knew that this was the last time he was ever going to hear the words; "I love you."

[q-is-attempting-to-write-stuff]

It's my turn with the time travel trope! Except, I have no clue how to explain how the time travel happened, and this will likely remain a one-shot, but still, I wanted to write one!

It takes place after episode 200, Jon and Martin somehow appear back in season one while Martin is living in the Archives.

~

Tim was an early bird, so, like most mornings, he was the first into the archives. He greeted Rosie as he passed her desk and traveled down the stairs to the basement, walking through the narrow hallway and into the door at the very end.

He was humming as he walked in but stopped silent, dead in his tracks, when he saw the heap of what seemed to be two people huddled together on the carpet.

One layed, completely limp, in the lap of the other, who was leaning over the first with his arms wrapped around him.

The first figure blinked open his eyes, slowly waking up, seeming dazed and groaning in pain. Tim recognized him instantly.

"M- Martin?" He sputtered in complete shock. His hair was duller, with a few white streaks running through it, and he seemed smaller, somehow, than the Martin Tim knew, but it was still unmistakably him.

Martin's head whipped around to look at Tim. Yep, it was definitely Martin. Like his hair, his eyes were a slightly duller blue, and his glasses were slightly cracked, and he had tear stains running down his cheeks.

"Tim?" Martin all but shouted, sounding just as surprised. "What are - I mean - how are you even -?" He turned his gazed down at the man in his arms and gasped.

The man was still unconscious, with a large blood stain on the chest of his shirt and, seemingly, more blood on his hands.

Tim almost recognized him as well - his hair, though longer and more gray; his face, though covered in small circular scars, along with what seemed to be a burn scar on one cheek; and he was covered head to toe in eyes - but, he looked shockingly similar to Jon.

Martin was now crying and whispering something that sounded desperate and pleading, something along the lines of "Please wake up" - though, Tim couldn't quite make out what he was saying - over and over as he cupped the man's face in his hand, that was also stained with blood. Martin seemed to notice the stain on the man's shirt and quickly un-buttoned it to see the wound.

To both his and Tim's surprise, there was no wound. Then, the man's eyes fluttered open.

"Jon," Martin breathed, voice filled with relief, as he brought his hand back up to the man's face. "You're alive!"

"Y-yes," the man - Jon - 's voice was hoarse, "and you're here, too." He, too, began to cry, reaching his own hand up to hold Martin's face.

Martin leaned down and pulled Jon into a hug, and they sobbed in one another's arms.

Martin pulled back, "I - I thought -"

"Yeah," Jon cut him off, then a sad smile spread across his face, and his voice broke a little, "but we're okay."

"Yeah," Martin said, smiling down at him as well. He pulled Jon into a kiss, and they sat, smiling fondly at one another for quite a while.

Then, Jon's smile faded, and he asked, "Where - where are we?"

Martin looked up and gazed at the room. "The Archives?" He said, a bit surprised. Then he locked eyes with Tim, once again.

"Oh!" Martin stammered as if he'd forgotten he was there, "Tim, right! You're - You're here? You're alive!"

Tim stared down at the two of them, at Martin's smiling face and Jon look of complete confusion, and eventually managed to push the words, "Who are you?" from his mouth.

"Tim, it's us, Martin a- and Jon," Martin said, still smiling.

"No," Tim was shaking now, "No. Nope. You are not. You are not Jon, and you are not Martin. Who are you?"

Martin's smile dropped.

"Tim, it's alright, i-it's us," Jon said, beginning to sit up more, but remaining in Martin's lap.

"Jon doesn't look like that," Tim said hesitantly.

"I know it's been a while, but it is us."

"No, I saw the real Jon yesterday. So, who are you?" Tim demanded again.

"What? No. We haven't seen you in at least a year. I mean - not since the unknowing, and we thought you were dead!"

Tim began to laugh nervously and took a few steps back.

"Alright," he said, his voice beginning to shake, "I don't know what this is - or who you are - but you need to get out, or I'm going to call the police."

"Wha- I mean, are they even going to come?" Martin asked nervously.

"Is everything back to normal?" Jon's voice was filled with hope and anxiety.

"'Back to normal'? " Tim repeated, clearly confused.

"Yes. Did the world turn back?"

"'Back'?" Tim repeated again.

"Yes," Jon seemed to be growing impatient. "Is it fixed? The fears - are they gone?"

"I don't know what you're on about, but you need to leave," Tim, by this point, had almost made it to the door.

Just then, Jon - another Jon, one who seemed much more put together and didn't have any scars across his face - walked in the room, staring intently at something on his phone. He stopped when he nearly ran into Tim, then looked to the Jon and Martin sitting on the floor.

"Martin? What's going on? And who is that?" He asked, refering to the Jon in Martin's arms. Then, his eyes grew wide as he looked at the blood on each of them and the eyes covering the other Jon.

Martin looked to his Jon, "Jon, what's going on?"

Jon just stared in confusion at all the people in front of him, then seemed to gather his thoughts.

"Just, hold on a second," grumbled, then closed his eyes (well, the two on his face - the rest that covered him remained open) and static began to buzz throughout the room.

"Right," Jon said, opening the two eyes on his face and turning to Martin, "It's April twenty-second... 2016."

"What?" Martin sputtered, then laughed nervously, "No, this all started - or, the world ended, or whatever - eighteenth of October in 2018, Jon!"

"I know, Martin," Jon's voice now seemed to be getting a bit frustrated, "we must've traveled with the fears and gotten pulled into some weird time travel nonsense." Jon brought his hand up and rubbed his eyes, wincing a bit.

Martin wrapped an arm around him. "Are you alright?" He asked softly.

"Fine," Jon grumbled. He brought his hand down, but his eyes remained shut. "Goodness, I've got a splitting headache."

Martin hummed in concern.

"Sorry -" Tim interrupted ,"- The world ended?"

Jon sighed.

"Yes," he said flatly, "And we'll explain everything. Just give me a moment."

Jon once again shut his eyes, presumably to Know something again, but the static was interrupted by another person entering the room.

Dressed in his PJs, gripping a small bag and a bundle of clothes in his hands, and rubbing sleep from his eyes, another Martin was walking from the direction of document storage.

This Martin was brighter. His hair had no white, and his eyes were a deep blue. He, even though he'd just woken up, seemed significantly less tired than the Martin on the floor.

He froze about two feet away from the others in the room. His mouth hung slightly open as he looked from a standing Jon to a much more disheveled Jon, who was also sitting in the lap of a man who looked a lot like himself.

He looked a moment longer between the four people in front of him before snapping his mouth shut and muttering a disbelieving "Right, yeah... sure" and walking out of the room.

[q-is-attempting-to-write-stuff]

Hello! First post on this account :D

I am rather new to the world of fanfic, and the Magnus Archives is the first fandom I have ever read or written fanfics for. This is one of my first attempts at writing in general, and I'm really enjoying it so far! So, please enjoy this little angst-y thing I have created!

"I love you,"

It was a phrase Jon was rather unfamiliar with. He rarely said it, and when he did, he never really understood it.

He was sure his parents had said it to him, though his memories of them were faded and foggy. His grandmother had said it to him when he was young. She would say it when he was spending the night with friends, or when he was going on a trip, or as an apology after she had gotten annoyed with him and had raised her voice a bit more than necessary.

She had said it, but it never really meant much to Jon. It was just a thing people said. It didn't matter much.

When he became a teenager, he used the phrase to try and explain his feelings to another boy. He learned quickly that the words seemed too strong to use on someone he didn't know well. He had made the boy uncomfortable and was left to wonder if he'd used the phrase wrong somehow.

As a young adult, in uni, he seemed to learn how to use the phrase. He had said it to Georgie a few times, not often, but he had. He was almost certain he said it more to The Admiral than to Georgie herself.

She said it far more often than he did. She said it whenever they said goodbye, or when she hugged him from behind, or out of the blue when they were sitting quietly on the couch with one another. Sometimes, Jon would return the phrase, but his usual response was just a pleased hum.

After they split up, he once again felt as though he didn't know how to use the phrase properly. 'Love' itself felt like too strong of a word for him. It had always felt too intense. He liked things, he didn't love them.

He met Tim and Sasha when he got a job as a researcher at The Magnus Institute, and after growing rather close with them, he realized he would have to get used to hearing the phrase quite often.

Tim was the kind of friend who would say, 'I love you', to his friends at every chance he got.

As he left the building each night, he'd shout, "Bye guys! Love you!", before turning for the door.

This routine continued when they had been moved to the Archives, though it seemed to take a little getting used to for Martin as well.

Jon never "I love you" back, though. He always used some version of "Goodbye Tim" or "See you Monday, Tim," but he never acknowledged the "I love you", mostly because he wasn't sure how to.

At that point, Jon was pretty sure the only times he'd said, "I love you" within the past few years were when he found a stray cat that allowed him to pet it, or to character in a book who he'd grown particularly fond of.

And, when he woke up in that hospital bed, when he heard that Tim and Daisy were dead, when Melanie had done nothing but threathen him, and when he was sure Martin was completely avoiding him, he'd come to terms with the thought that he may never here the phrase directed at himself ever again. And that hurt him more than he thought it should have.

He was never really fond of the phrase. It always felt out of place when on his tongue. But the thought of never hearing it again scared him quite a bit.

Luckily, he found he was very wrong.

As he and Martin sat in his office, huddle close together as Jon tried desperately to rub the remaining coldness from Martin's hands and to shoo away the fog still sticking to him relentlessly, he'd said it, and it felt right.

"I love you," he had whispered into Martin's faded hair as he hugged him close. "I love you, Martin. I love you," he repeated as tears trickled down his cheeks, and Martin held him tighter and cried into his shoulder.

Saying it felt right, it felt good. And it only felt more right as time went on in the safe house, and he and Martin passed the phrase back and forth all day.

"I love you," Jon would mutter as Martin got up from the bed, taking his warmth with him.

"I love you," Martin would say as he pressed a kiss onto Jon's cheek and handed him a warm mug of tea.

"I love you," Jon would roll his eyes and try to hide his smile after a friendly banter.

"I love you," Martin would whisper against Jon's hair as Jon drifted into sleep while curled up in Martin's lap.

"I love you,"

"I love you too,"

The phrase finally felt right to Jon. It felt right to hear it, and it felt right to say it. It felt safe.

And, even as the world ended, filled with fear and constantly watching eyes, Jon could still say it. It was still safe.

It always would be.

"I love you," Martin said, wrapping his arms around Jon, "We're going to fix this."

"I love you," Martin said, again, before pulling his sleeping bag over his shoulders and shutting his eyes. "Goodnight, Jon."

And now, Jon said it. Wrapped, once again, in Martin's arms, one hand against Martin's cheek and the other wrapped around Martin's trembling hand holding a knife. He wiped a few of the tears from Martin's cheek and said in a voice that was no longer entirely his own, "I love you."

"I love you too," Martin's said despite his anger, and his fear, and his painful sadness. Over everything he felt, he meant what he said.

He felt love. Jon, too, felt love, and he felt loved. He wished he could feel it forever.

And as they kissed, Jon knew that this was the last time he was ever going to hear the words; "I love you."