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iwikpines · 16 days

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JonMartin Week: Day 3

Nightmare

Third day of @jonmartinweek !!

also my bestie @ethanwitht wrote a fic based on my drawing ,,,,,,, you can read it under the cut (give them lots of loves he's the best <3)

Martin woke up startled by the rapid movements and the little whimpers by his side. Jon wasn't facing him, and yet, he could see the way his brow was furrowed and his eyes wide open; it wasn't the first time Jon had a nightmare.

The room was lit only by a light green glow entering through the window upon their bed. After a few days living in an apocaliptic world, he'd gotten used to the night being no longer dark but that peculiar color that matched his lover's eyes.

He sighed getting closer to his body and his eyes stung with tears because of his partner's cries; he hated seeing him like this. Jon's movements were erratic and it seemed like if he was trying to get someone, or something, off of him. He caressed his back with soft circular motions, he made sure to leave him space so as not to upset him further and started to call him in a low voice. Martin bit his lower lip when he heard Jon calling out to him with the same despair as when he went to save him from the Lonely, and he decided to get closer and to slip his hand under his shirt to touch his skin without any barrier. His fingers traveled through all his back feeling the little circular scars spread all over his skin.

“I'm here, Jon…” he said in a low voice before kissing the top of his head.

He began to despair when Jon's screaming and callings were getting more insisting with time. He moved away to turn him around so Jon would be facing him and tried to wake him up by shaking him while still talking to him.

“Jon, wake up, please” he pleaded. “I'm here, you're safe, it's just a nightmare” the anguish took over him and he screamed Jon's name, finally waking him up.

“Martin!" Jon screamed looking at his boyfriend breathing rapidly.

Martin enveloped Jon's body in an embrace, pulling their bodies as close together as possible while allowing the other to catch his breath. “I'm here, it was just a bad dream…” He whispered in his ear and started to stroke his back, starting from the bottom and going all the way up to his nape, where he stopped to massage his hair.

He noticed Jon's hands holding onto his body, crumpling his shirt into his fists, and felt him shaking. He continued to whisper to him without stopping his pets, he closed his eyes and hid the other one between his arms, trying to protect Jon from his own mind.

Jon cried. He cried and sobbed and kept calling out to him, so much so that Martin wondered for a moment if perhaps he was still asleep; but he knew that wasn't the case because the way he was saying his name was almost with ease. He didn't pressure Jon to tell him anything, he simply kept holding his boyfriend close and whispering soothing words to calm him down.

“You weren't with me” Jon said in a broken voice, “you went back to the Lonely… And it was my fault.”

Jon hid his face in Martin's chest, who felt his own heart breaking at the sight of his boyfriend in that state. “I'm not going anywhere, Jon. I'm here thanks to you and I'm not going back again…” He stroked his cheek trying to get him to raise his head to look into his eyes. “It was a bad dream, it's okay.”

“I'm just so tired, Martin… I can't sleep, I can't find any peace of mind, I'm forced to know every single thing that's happening and I can't stop it and all of this is *my* fault” he clung to him tightly, wetting Martin's hand with his tears as he cradled his face.

“None of this is your fault. Listen to me, you couldn't have kept it from happening…” his thumb gave gentle strokes to his cheek. “Jon, we'll get out of this, we're going to fix it together” he promised kissing his forehead.

Jon just nodded without saying anything, he simply answered with a sigh and got closer to Martin, not leaving any space left between them. One could still notice how Jon was trembling, Martin could even feel the violent way his heart was beating in his chest. Martin's hands were still caressing his partner while he was whispering comforting words and peppering kisses wherever he could.

“I love you so much, Jon” he said, removing two strands of hair off his forehead. He saw how Jon's gaze was lost, “are you sleeping?” He asked, chuckling a bit; it was sometimes hard to tell the difference between when Jon was sleeping or just staring into the void. He got his answer when Jon shook his head. “You can go back to sleep if you want to, I'm staying here with you. No one is going to hurt us, Jon”

#tma #gem art #jonathan sims #the magnus archives #jonmartin #martin blackwood #jmart #tma season 5 #tma spoilers #jonmartin week #my tma art #tma fanfic

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jonahfagnus · 5 months

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Every few centuries or so, each Dread Power selects a Messiah. Not at the same time - they’re often staggered over decades, and a Messiah will frustratingly frequently die of mundane causes long before anyone notices them. Worse yet, Messiahs can go their entire life unnoticed, odd enough to off-put their peers but not enough for their kin to take notice.

To find the Messiah of one’s god is a grand achievement. Finding Agnes Montague had brought the Lightless Flame great power; new strength, new devotees, new rituals. It had been so much that Gertrude had felt the need to temper Agnes with her own soul. The Desolation won’t get over that for a very long while.

Jonah has spent his entire life seeking the Eye’s Messiah. It has to be soon - it’s been two centuries, and he’s certain that there was no Messiah when he was alive. The timeframe is perfect, and yet he cannot find anyone. He checks for incidents related to the Eye, keeps note of artefacts trading hands, but nothing. Whether his god’s Messiah simply died as a child, or was swallowed by another power, the search is endless, and yields no results.

This is why it’s so surprising when Jonathan Sims walks into his office for an interview, and makes eye contact with him - ordinarily this would make people uncomfortable, but Jonathan is mostly content in the Eye’s stronghold. Jonah knows, immediately, that this is the one. This is who he has been searching for his whole life.

Jonathan’s Gaze is rather weak, and wielded bluntly. He wouldn’t be able to force any measure of knowledge out of Jonah right now, but it’s surprising he has any Gaze at all. Just more proof that he was made for their god.

Jonathan has found that people become uncomfortable when he makes eye contact with them, and that discomfort can be used to get things he wants; he’s used it to convince teachers to give him better grades or an extension on his work, to convince his peers to leave him be, to convince well-meaning adults to turn a blind eye to his breaking and entering, his trespassing, all the little crimes to satisfy his endless curiosity. There’s no need to intimidate now, of course. The moment he decided to come in for the interview his fate was sealed. He is meant to be here, and always has been.

Jonah reaches a hand over the table and does not break eye contact.

“Elias Bouchard,” he says, voice confident and smooth. On the inside, he’s a bundle of nerves. If he isn’t careful, he could drive Jonathan away from the Eye, perhaps forever. Such a failure would not be forgiven.

“Jon Sims,” Jon returns, seeming equally calm. Jonah’s still debating whether or not to look inside his head. It would be exceedingly useful, but if Jon notices it could be disastrous. He has no idea how Jon would react. The Lonely almost drove away their most recent Messiah by trying to bring him in too quickly, and Jonah cannot afford the same to happen with Jon. There is the chance Jon would notice, and realise that Jonah is like him, and decide to stay. Too risky, perhaps.

Jonah doesn’t pay much attention as they go through the typical rigamarole. None of these questions are necessary. Instead, he does his own research on Jon, the sort that doesn’t require reading his mind.

He Knows that all of Jon’s peers had warned him away from the Institute when he had brought it up, and that Jon had lied to his flatmate about the interview. He has no other job prospects lined up, and still can’t justify the decision to himself. It simply feels right. He Knows that, despite his machinations, Jon’s grades are less than perfect. Like much else in his life, Jon is worried about it, partially because he is innately anxious and partially because he’s worried that he won’t get the job.

He Knows that Jon (much like Jonah in his youth) prefers to find what isn’t already known. He finds education too boring, too easy - he can find what his teachers have told him in textbooks, or online courses; quite often he finds he already knows it, although he can't say from where. What he wants is the sort of knowledge that is coveted, hidden, and he has a particular taste for any knowledge of the supernatural.

He Knows that Jon has uncanny senses - having been able to detect teachers long before their footsteps began echoing down the halls - and some of his peers used him as a watchman when getting high or drunk, or breaking into offices to find answer sheets. He Knows that Jon enjoyed being the watchman, for reasons he can’t quite place.

Their god's influence has already spread deep into Jon, into the furthest reaches of his soul. Jon has the ability to compel (although this, like his Sight, is weak and wielded bluntly - Jonah will have to teach him better), and he craves knowledge like he craves blood in his veins. His memory is uncanny, his eyes uncannier. He couldn’t be a better Archivist.

“When can you start?”

Jon blinks, in surprise.

“Oh- er, well, I- ah, next Monday, I suppose?”

“Fantastic,” Jonah says, giving him a grin. They shake hands again, and then Jon is leaving. Jonah Watches him, all the way home, to where he tells his flatmate that he got the job, where he begins to make preparations to move out. Jon casts glances over his shoulder when he thinks nobody can see him, although he can’t tell from where he’s being watched. Yet, despite the anxiety (and excitement) it causes, he makes no move to hide himself.

He’s going to be perfect. Jonah will ensure it.

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ego-sum-ex-altiora · 4 months

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The fact that the entirety of tma translated into french is only the second longest tma fic on ao3 is absolutely terrifying. The longest fic is 805,450 words. This shit is longer than War and Peace (587,287 words). Longer than the entire LOTR series + The Hobbit (576,459 words). MORE THAN THE BLOODY BIBLE (1611 King James Bible, 788,280 words).

Me and my 6000 word fic will just. move on from that

#tma #magpod #magnus pod #the magnus archives #the magnus institute #tma podcast #the magnus pod #ao3 stuff #ao3 writer #fanfic #fanfiction #archive of our own #tma fanfic

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lailas-in-space · 3 months

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someone please write a tma time travel fic scene in which Jon receives a message that starts with "Hello Jon," causing him to have 27 simultaneous panic attacks before realizing it's a normal text from Tim

#tma #the magnus archives #tma fanfic #i thought of this and giggled #hello jon apologies for the deception

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murderandcoffee · 6 months

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turns out that writing fake magnus archives statements is REALLY fun

anyway if anyone is interested in a flesh statement about a guy and his fashion designer wife, I'll probably be posting it either here or on ao3 within the next couple days

#tma #the magnus archives #magpod #tma fanfic #the flesh #bs.txt #I have like. 2k words of statement written so far. and it's probably 2/3 of the way through? I think?#it was a very fun way to hit word count for nano today

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the-magpie-archives · 2 years

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Don't imagine Martin visiting Jon in hospital and gently brushing Jon's hair whilst he talks about work, and what's going on in his personal life. Don't imagine Martin replacing wilted flowers, hanging fairy lights, and setting down two cups of tea (one of which he knows will remain untouched).

Don't think about Martin befriending all the nurses at the hospital and telling them all about Jon and what he's like when he's up and about. Don't imagine him doing an impression of Jon's idea of a hilarious joke (the joke never made anyone laugh, but the impression did).

Don't imagine Martin politely and subtly making sure Jon's being well looked after, and getting the best course of treatment. Don't think about the tenderness that comes from unconditional care and love with no expectations.

But most importantly, don't think about Jon's hair growing tangled, the nurses seeing less and less of Martin. Don't imagine how dull the hospital room became without Martin's thoughtful input. Don't think about the old cup of tea still sitting on the bedside table (it's behind a 'get well soon' card, only Martin would've noticed it).

It was Martin who succumbed to the lonely, but in a way it managed to take Jon too.

#As you might imagine I did think about it!#Wasn't a good idea!#If there's any inconsistencies or breaks to Canon or whatever you're welcome to fight my brain #I have no control over what I write :/#the magnus archives #tma #jonathan simms #martin blackwood #jonmartin #jmart #tma the eye #tma the lonely #tma season 4 #tma headcanons #tma fanfic

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daylight-boyy · 3 months

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This? Remember this?

Hah

Critter'd him >:)

It's stupid. Please read it.

#the magnus archives #tma fanfic #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #writing

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rhywhitefang · 3 days

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Art piece I did for @2ofswords 's fic 'Danny's Comedy of Terrors' - held on to this one for a while!

#the magnus archives #the magnus archives fanart #tma fanart #jonathan sims #jarchivist #tma fanfic #tma #lindoodle #yes the subtle trans flag is on purpose

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adamofingolstadt · 2 months

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TMA Coffee Shop AU

"God you'll never believe this." Tim leaned into the kitchen. "Actually, you will."

"What?" Martin asked, loading the dishwasher.

"That weird guy is back again." Tim said. "The one you fancy."

Martin, flustered, denied everything.

"Tim, you are such an HR nightmare." Their manager told him.

"Come on Sasha, you think that guy's weird too: He comes in every Saturday with a book, sits at that back table near the stock cupboards and reads for three hours!"

She smiled a little. "Actually, I just served him. Guess what he got?"

"Black coffee and a scone with no cream." The three parroted in unison.

"That's weird!" Tim pointed out. "It's like he wants the most joyless thing on the menu! Then he sits away from all the windows and people-- it's like he wants to be miserable."

She shook her head, amused. "Tim, go man the counter, I think I just heard someone enter."

EDIT: I made a fic

The Archival Department is a Powder Keg - Chapter 10 - Creecher - The Magnus Archives (Podcast) [Archive of Our Own]

#jonathan sims #martin blackwood #timothy stoker #sasha james #the magnus archives #coffee shop au #tma fanfic #polyarchives #tma s1 #s1 archives crew

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chicken-magnet · 2 months

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I'm really looking forward to future "tmagp gang meets pre-horrors or during-horrors tma characters after learning about the post-horrors stuff" fanfics

I want to see them interact with each other

I want the protocol characters' expectations be meeting horrible people and then see how human the archive characters really were

I want to read about what the protocol characters were thinking about their own situation and maybe see them realize some parallels between the two stories, take some mental notes for future reference

I want them to see the others' mistakes and gain hope about their own problems

I want them to try to do "better" than the archives crew, to be better

And I want them to fail

I want them to realize the inevitability of their situation

I want them to fall into hopelessness

I want to see the moment they break

#i want to see many types of interactions between the archives and the protocol gangs honestly #but mostly this #the magnus protocol #the magnus archives #magpod #tmagp #tma #tma fanfic #tmagp fanfic #mine

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oatmilksgf · 1 month

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i will wander in silence with you by romcommunisms (ongoing)

People keep disappearing from a little town up North. Obviously, the most rational way to approach this is to have Jon and Martin go up there and investigate what's causing these disappearances. Obviously, if they want to get any answers, they're going to have to pretend to be a couple. All while trying to avoid getting sucked into the Lonely. It's going to be fine.

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chrisis-averted · 5 months

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A little fanmade trailer for my TMA fic Rewind. Reset. Rewrite. with art by @fdevitart

No this won't go on youtube, it's a small thing I made for mostly myself, but I hope you enjoy it. Do you recognise all locations?

#tma #the magnus archives #tma fanfic #my fic #rewind reset rewrite #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #timothy stoker #sasha james #monster jon #monster everyone technically

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watchingyoufromthestars · 2 months

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Now that I'm caught up with both tma and tmagp, it's time to lose myself in the sea of fanfic. As there are over 26k fics on ao3 for magnus archives, there is no feasible way for me to go through every single one of them to see which ones I'd want to read. Because of that, I'm holding out a giant basket (this post) and asking y'all to drop your faves into it. Bonus points if it's a time travel rewrite fic, something from the scotland safehouse, or cool AUs.

#also if that au is Jon raised by Jonah like Agnes was as a messiah then double bonus points. triple even.#I have my own au of that rolling around in my head and I want to see anyone else who has written about it #dndads is just under 2k currently and I started going through the tag a long while ago so I've already read all the ones I've wanted to #tma #tma podcast #the magnus archives #tma fanfic

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risingflora · 9 months

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If you could see our future - Post MAG200

I think I finally finished editing this! Thanks to @the-lantern-lights for creating this art from my commission, for the fic 🌟 as a note, I headcannon Jon in skirts and nothing can ever take that away from me. Anyway, enjoy!!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Martin heard ringing in his ears as his vision settled around him. When he had opened his eyes, he was met with a familiar and far away memory of the sky as it had been so long ago, and he wondered if that could be the sun hanging in the sky overhead. As the voices continued to echo around him, he registered the heat on his face, and was certian it was sunlight. Sunlight! He blinked hard, his eyes watering, and the voices became more clear as his senses settled.

"Excuse me, hello?" The female voice sounded strained, breathy and anxious. A woman was hovering above Martin, her brows pushed together in concern as she called out to him. "Hello - are you alright? Do you need any help?"

Martin groaned finally, unable to muster a real response. He was grasping for words, but he could only form pictures. He was trying to sort out what was going on, replaying the last bits commited to his memory that he could recall. There was the panopticon, the explosion... Martin tried to sit up, but his muscles were so sore. When he opened his mouth to speak, he found collecting thoughts to turn into words nearly impossible.

"I'm alright," he mustered, shifting slightly. He squinted at the woman above him, who seemed to be speaking with another nearby. She looked by all means normal - compared to what Martin had gotten used to. Her face was slick with sweat, her eyes colored with confusion and concern. She was still trying to talk to him, but Martin was still struggling to recollect himself.

Martin planted his palms in the grass under him and pushed up, trying to rise. The stranger recognized this gesure and grabbed at his shoulders, helping Martin to a sitting position. Even with the slow motion of sitting up, Martin began to experience vertigo. He groaned again, wavering and holding his head in his hand.

"Please, are you going to be alright?" The woman repeated, leveling herself with Martin. His eyes were settling now, adjusting to the light, and he was now able to register the scene around him. There were around a dozen strangers, wandering what appeared to be a grassy field. Some appeared to be searching, while others simply... wandered. One man was looking up at the sky dreamily, searching the sky for eyes. A small group gathered and hugged and recollected. A young lady behind the woman speaking to Martin was at her feet, searching the scene in concern.

"London," Martin managed out of nowhere. "I was in London".

"Well, we're nowhere near there," the woman responded, and Martin only now realized she was speaking in a Scottish accent. Had the world never ended? Was it all a dream? Had he fallen asleep in... a field? Outside Daisy's safehouse?

"The sky- the world- what happened? Is everything- are we back to normal?"

The woman's gaze faltered and she looked away briefly, unsure how to answer.

"We... just came to ourselves, and we are just gathering who we find to see where we can help."

"I need some time," Martin stammered as he once again leaned his head into his hand. "I can't seem to gather myself."

She pushed herself to her feet. "We will be around, but please don't dally. We should get to the nearest town to figure out what is going to happen next... if anyone knows."

Martin muttered a thanks and she turned to her companion behind her. Martin was still staring into the distance, his memory dragging behind him as words were dropped into the forefront of thought.

End... end of the world. Panopticon. The eye... fear... Jon. Alias - Jonah. The beholding-

Jon. Jon?

"Jon!" Martin shouted, so suddenly that the vibration of the shout through his body shocked even himself. In a moment it all came pouring back to him. He felt the cold stale air of the Panopticon on his skin, the memory of Jon's warped face and green-glossy eyes dotting his body, the sound of everything echoing through the walls as he made the desicion to...

He looked down at his hands. No blood. Martin began furiously patting at the ground around him, looking for the knife that he used to - the thought kept pausing in his brain, the memory replaying and freezing at that point. His breath quickened as each replay got closer and closer to the moment where Jon tightened his hand around Martins, pointing the blade at himself. He remembered the cold words. He remembered tugging on Jon's olive sweater meekly, begging him for an alternative. The way his lips felt cold, the way Jon looked into Martins eyes with his many, terrible, beautiful eyes. Martin choked on air as tears began welling, and pouring down his cheeks. He kept calling to Jon, but his shouts became strained and choked. His sobs caught the name in his throat, stifing him as his head twisted every which way. Martin was so certain Jon was alive, he had to be. He couldn't leave Martin alone in the aftermath of it all. Martin whimpered Jons name over and over, trying to pull himself to his knees, then his feet, only to stagger and fall back to the grass in defeat.

Martin was weak, his body was shaking, and he could clearly see the moment in his memory when he sent a blade through his boyfriend. Jon was not alive, he couldn't be.

Martin's sobs wracked through his body, vision became blurry once more as he stared blankly at the horizon. For the first time in- however long it had been, the real sun was hanging in the real sky, like a promise, shining down on a complete and cured world. The grass was not broken, nor was it incorrect. The distance gave way to a small village of sorts, and the field was still dotted with those strangers, some of which paid cautionary glances at Martin. Martin did not care, nor did he mind that his mouth was hung open, caught words struggling to escape, nor that snot ran down his nose and tears poured over his cheeks. He kept searching, stammering Jons name over and over, like a prayer.

What was I even to do, Martin thought? Where do I go? Who is left? How do I go on? All these questions flooded his mind as he began to settle into the reality that Jon forced him to recreate. All he ever wanted was to confess to Jon, and they spent God knows how long living through hell in love, and all he wanted now was to cozy up in that cottage and grow old with Jonathan Sims. Martin had dreamed of it during their cross country escapades through the hellscapes. He dreamed of Jon coming home from work, wherever work was, and kissing Martin on the forehead. He dreamed of making dinner together, burning the food and still enjoying it as the activity and not the product. Watching movies on the couch over whiskey and tea, under a warm blanket. Getting tangled in a bed together, losing the hours of a weekend to love and laziness, simply enjoying the sound of each others voices as they talked about nothing and everything all at once.

Martin had known it could only be a dream. Somewhere in his gut he knew this would happen. He knew Jon couldn't - wouldn't- survive. But he had imagined it so clearly. He memorized the smell of Jons clothes, and played it into his fantasy of cuddling. He remembered Jon's drink of choice and worked it into the images, he listened when Jon would rant about struggling to learn to cook. He memorized all these details about the man he loved, so that he could live in this fantasy forever, even after... even after Jon was gone.

Martin let out a small wail of heartache as he pulled his knees to his chest and hugged them tightly. He buried his head into his knees and cried, hard, until his head was pounding and his mouth was dry. Martin sat there in the heat of the growing morning and cried and cried and cried, until the memories were messy and confusing and incomprehensible. He hated Jon, and loved Jon, and wanted to see him so badly, and wanted to have never met him in the first place. He wanted to die, but also wanted to be able to thrive. Martin was lovelorn, conflicted, broken, and scared. There was nothing in his mind, body, or soul he could think of to make him feel corredt again.

Finally, he ran out of tears to cry, and he hung is head back. He leaned forward and rocked onto his knees, and weakly stood. There he hesitated, feeling his feet on the ground. Part of him never thought he would see the world like this again. He wondered if their love could only exist in the hellscapes. Martin's mind was so busy, so loud he could not focus on any one thing. He looked around at the figures that continued to stagger around him, many of which had put distance between themselves and Martin. He recognized the woman some distance away, and even noticed that strange man in an olive sweater gazing up at the sky, unmoved. Martin stared at him for a long time, wondering what he was looking for. As Martin's heart slowed to a steady pace, and his breathing settled, he squinted at the strange man. Martin leaned in his direction, and his foot clumsily came forward to catch him. His body was still weak, but Martin pulled himself forward. After a few steps, he saw long, dark hair riding on the wind, and settling on the olive sweater. A few more steps, and he saw a familiar skirt flowing from his hips. Martin abandoned the fatigue in his muscles and committed instead to adrenaline as he quickened his pace, wiping his face on his sleeve.

"Jon," he stammered, far too quiet for the man to hear. "Jon!"

His head did not pivot from its cursory stare upwards, and Martin now was briskly walking. Martin would break into a straight sprint if his body would allow it. His heart began pounding as he inched closer and closer to the mirage of his lover, begging whatever powers may exist that this was in fact his Jon.

"For the love of - Jonathan!" Martin shouted with a crack in his voice, as he got close enough to recognize circular scars on his face.

Martin managed a few feet from Jon, and stood there. He was half waiting for Jon to meet him in the middle, and half afraid to go on in case he was wrong and this was a stranger, or even trauma playing tricks on him. But now that we was so close, he was sure this was in fact Jon, staring up at the sky with his mouth slightly agape. His arms hung loosely at his sides, and he so slightly swayed as the wind caught him. After what felt like an eternity of waiting, Martin gave in and closed the distance between them.

Martin was inches away, and reached a hand out to touch him, but wavered. He reached for Jons arm, then his face, then his shoulders, but retracted as he felt the tears well up again. He sniffed, and mumbled his boyfriends name once more, stifled by a cry.

Finally, Jon lowered his chin with a jerk, and gasped. He turned his head, ever so slightly. He licked his lips, his mouth moving to form Martins name - but barely any sound came out.

It was now that Martin collected the features of Jon once more, breathing hard as he recognized Jonathan Sims. He drank in Jon's lithe figure, his long fingers and broad shoulders, his angular jawline and dark hair - with just enough gray. Jon's face was speckled with scars, and was collecting stubble that had ceased to grow during the end of the world. And his eyes were no longer a horrific, glossy green. Instead - why instead, they were -

"My god, Jon, your eyes-"

"Martin," Jon interrupted with a stammer, and what Martin could swear was a meek laugh. Jon moved his hands up, shaking, and searched for Martin, finding and resting on his forearm. Jon glided his fingers up, following the form of Martin until he made it to his neck, where his hands cupped Martin's face. "I'm... I'm blind."

Martin couldn't help but laugh at the irony. He immediately caught his breath, but before he could blurt out an apology, Jon laughed too, and it was a laugh indeed, a laugh like he had never heard from Jonathan Sims. His milky white eyes began to water as he laughed, and he brought his own hands to his face, feeling himself for the first time since the end of the world. Martin joined Jon, gently caressing Jon's face and reminding his fingertips of the feeling. They continued to laugh at nothing in particular, or maybe at everything, maybe even at each other - and Martin pulled Jon into his arms for a strong, needed hug.

"You're- thats my sweater," Martin cooed as Jon's laugh quieted. "You wore my sweater through all of that, you thief."

"It looks so much better on me, I think," Jon joked, then he paused and laughed once again at the irony. "I suppose I can only go on memory."

"I can assure you it fits me better, but I won't judge you as long as you wash it before giving it back."

Jon buried his face into Martin's chest, wiping his tears, and took a deep, long inhale through his nose. He paused, considering his next words carefully.

"You could just wash it, you know."

Martin stepped back, cocking his head and raising an eyebrow before remembering Jon's latest development. "And what do you suppose you mean by that?"

"We will be sharing a washer, I presume." Jon said in his very familiar, presumptuous voice, as he looked past Martin - but still cocked his own brow and smirked.

Martin's heart fluttered, his eyes lighting up as he, in an instant, dove into a domestic fantasy with Jon once again. He dreamed up the scenario of pulling the sweater off Jon to toss in the washer, and smiled big. Jon clumsily searched for Martin's face once again, tracing his form and holding his face. His fingers slid through Martin's hair slowly as he seemed to relish in the sensation, and he sighed in delight. His hands rested on the back of Martin's head, and he pulled Martin close, attempting to press their lips togeter and missing. Jon's kiss landed shy of Martin's lips by just a bit, and this caused them both to once again laugh.

"This is different, Jon." Martin said, listening to the song on Jon's laughter. "You are different."

Jon hesitated for a moment. "I'm not bound to anyone but myself anymore. I suppose I have freedom, finally." He sighed. "This is... I'm confused, and unsure of what I am without the Eye, or my own eyes."

"We can find out together, if you'd like."

Jon laughed out his nose, the corner of his lips curling. The way his eyes and eyelids moved, he appeared to be searching, but he was moreso considering- what Martin could not see, was Jon dreaming his own dreams in an instant. Dreams of holding hands, walking down cobbled streets, sitting on a patio listening to rain. Smelling spring and feeling winter. Feeling the warmth of Martin every night as they rest. The smile faded when he recalled his last sight, the last thing he will ever have committed to vision - a tear stricken Martin saying what he thought was goodbye. Then it returned when he realized the last person he saw, was the only one that mattered now.

"I think, I would very much like to see what our future holds, Martin." Jon said slowly, softly, and met his lips with Martin for a long, and eager, kiss.

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