#that when i say this? i absolutely want to learn where in scotland you think your fave would live.
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sometimes i am seized with the hyperspecific urge to think about my faves if they lived in england for like no reason. i dont mean historic england or some shit i mean what if they just went to some normal fucking secondary school in buttfuck nowhere sussex. what if they went for kebabs sometimes. what if they just hung out at a pub. what if they went up the high street and bought a shitty 50p chocolate bar. what if they talked about the shit weather all the time. does anyone else understand this. british oomfs im begging you please draw your faves like doing mundane but very stereotypically british shit that you do. i want to see my blorbo-in-laws at the chip shop. Please
#cheeky nandos is too much for me to take seriously but rest assured. im thinking about that too#i love a cheeky nandos </3 miss having a nandos near me#also. I MISS BEING ABLE TO BUY A 50P CHOCOLATE BAR DUDE#in the us it's at least $1.25 for something half the size. PLUS TAX#also also. Sorry to the irish and the scots and the welsh i was mostly thinking about england when i wrote this#cause thats where ive lived and visited the most LOL#but if anyone does actually want to draw their sillies in the uk first of all obviously it doesnt have to just be england#LIKE YOU DONT NEED MY PERMISSION DUH BUT I WANTED TO LIKE MAKE IT CLEAR#that when i say this? i absolutely want to learn where in scotland you think your fave would live.#like does your fave speak welsh? gaelic? i GOTTA know#anyway my other point here was if you draw this shit or find someone else who does. PLEASE TAGME I LOVE THAT SHIT#muffin mumbles
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I think the proportion of dumb Americans is just higher due to statistics - if there are more people from the US on a website in absolute numbers the probability you run into a stupid person who also happens to be from the US is higher.
Also Tumblr is a US-based website so there's probably some bias there that if you're not from the US and also on Tumblr you are probably more intelligent. Especially for countries that aren't the UK or other native English speaking ones. A person from Japan or Brazil who speaks English as a second language well enough to function on English-speaking tumblr probably knows more about the world around them than the average US-born native english speaker.
No, not really, and this is where you're gonna have to unlearn some things.
There are not more people from the US on this website. People tend to think this because:
a) a lot of people speak English as a second, third or even fourth language, and so use it primarily on this site, and because of this
b) the number of times I have seen people assume people are automatically from the US is pretty high at this point.
People to this day still think I'm from the US, even though I make it very clear in my bio and when writing here that I'm from the UK. I've had an Irish friend living in Scotland be told her followers thought she was from various parts of the US after one person thought she was from Louisiana. I've seen so many non US users get weird anons telling them 'hey you can't do that in the US' and they're like 'hey not everyone is from the US y'know?'
It's literally no excuse to be like 'well there's more of us here' because the only time I expect that to happen is when I am physically standing on US soil, not on an international website. And it is an international website. It doesn't matter that the servers are in the US or that it's base is in the US. It has an international userbase who use it daily. You simply cannot assume that just because a website has it's base of operations in the US that it is not frequented by users from other nations. That's like saying 'Whatsapp is an American company ergo there will be more Americans using it' because that's just simply not true. There are far more people from outside the US than there are in the US. On the internet you are massively outnumbered, and it's only down to the fact that most of them converse in English for the sake of being able to operate on an Anglocentric site (linguistically) that you don't notice them. If you dig below the surface on tumblr, you can find plenty of people conversing in different languages. The part where Tumblr asks you what language you want Tumblr to be in is there for a reason.
As for the 'well people who know more than one language are smarter' is such a dumb argument. Many people in the US speak more than one language. They speak Spanish, German, Korean, Mandarin, Navajo etc. You cannot write this off as 'well we're dumb, we only speak one language compared to everyone else' because that's simply not true. Speaking more than one language doesn't automatically make you more intelligent either. It helps you in many ways, but it's not an automatic sign of higher intelligence. If this was a problem for people who only speak English, I would expect to see more stupid comments from people in the UK, Australia, New Zealand etc, but I don't. In fact, the Aussies on my political posts yesterday were like 'hell yeah BoJo got ScoMo'd!!' and all they'd done was get up and see the news. I didn't have to explain anything to them.
Even if a website was in an entirely different language, google translate exists. It's not perfect, but you can get the general gist of something. I've been reading news from other countries all day, including on the assassination of the former prime minister in Japan. I don't need another language, or to be 'more intelligent' to do this. All I do is click the 'World' news button on the BBC news' front page and off I go to learn about what's happening. If I need more in depth I'll visit that country's news sites and select the 'English' option (because news sites do display in other languages) or I let my browser translate it.
The reason ESL speakers (and others) know more about the world than USians do is because they actively seek it. The problem here is that USians are incurious about the world, and usually unwilling to learn more unless directly given the information by someone else. Then, when confronted with the problem of that incuriosity they make excuses like this rather than taking accountability for their own self improvement.
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2023 was actually a pretty good year? And in the last quarter of it, when people ask how I'm doing, I say "actually, pretty good?" As if I don't entirely believe it. But it's true.
After a couple of very hard years, including the most devastating loss of my life in early 2022, I decided to focus on cultivating my own joy and allowing myself to indulge in my own pleasure in 2023. And I did it!
The spouse and I took our first trip together outside of North America to the UK. We managed England, Scotland, and Wales in 8 days on the ground because we are collectively insane. Scotland, I need so much more of you. I will be back. I verified that I am absolutely a Scotch person, learned what I like, and have started to grow a collection of Good Stuff. I got to hear gorgeous voices singing in a 700 year old church and cried while singing the hymns and service music because I was getting to add my voice to that long, long history. I walked among the stones at Avebury and had a Moment of walking in an exponentially deeper history. I saw things I'd heard so much about, and things I was delighted to discover. (Nothing GO related because I hadn't developed the brainrot yet and didn't even think about it.) It was an absolutely amazing trip.
I also spent much more time in the kink community, attending two weekend-long events, trying some new things and leveling up some others, meeting people, and making connections. It's been an investment in fulfilling my own wants and desires, and of trying not to be afraid of expressing them.
And then there's the brain explosion that was Good Omens S2 that took "beloved book/comfort show" into full blown obsession. I've written 62,000 words of fiction in the last four months, which is likely more than all the fiction I'd written previously combined. That's a whole novel's worth of words! And I've put most of that out into the world where people can see it. That's been an exercise in being OK with being just OK. Some of it's good! Some of it's... fine. But I've had fun doing it, and I've learned some things through the process and that's what I've wanted to do.
And I made my way to this space, where under a cloak of reasonable anonymity I can share thoughts and ideas I would never share otherwise. I'm also learning from all of you and challenging my thinking in a bunch of ways. Meta writers, fic writers, gif makers, artists, you all make my life more enjoyable (even when you make me cry). Thank you all for sharing your ineffable humanity!
🥂To the World!🥂
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hiii i got tagged by @oceanfossil to do 15 questions ^_^
are you named after anyone? i named myself after cody from paranatural :3
when was the last time you cried? ummm like 2 days ago i watched haikyuu s4 and teared up over the kiyoko scene .... last serious cry was maybe a week and a half ago
do you have kids? noooo not even a little kitty cat or nothin
do you use sarcasm a lot? yea lol i think its the dry british humour gene
what sports do you play? i USED to play badminton and do gymnastics and also tap dance but now i just crank 90s in my living room or whatever
what’s the first thing you notice about people? generally how much/little they talk but only because i have bad social skills and i am trying to machine learning my way out of autism . otherwise what theyre wearing and their general vibes hehe
what’s your eye color? regular degular blue i fink
scary movies or happy endings? i love horrorrrr i love being scared and getting scared but i like happy endings too just not as much.... my top 2 movies have really bittersweet/ambiguous endings and i feel like the type of ending doesnt matter as much as a narratively satisfying one. horror is also a really cool and diverse genre and i like how committed a lot of horror movies are to getting you to feel some type of thing whatever that may be
any special talents? nooot really i can play the violin and crochet but nothing special. but one thing about me is i will remember. i love collecting people trivia
where were you born? a town in south scotland. the town my parents came from didnt have a lot of births per year and the hospital was not very big and didnt do c-sections (how i was born :3)
what are your hobbies? crochet, art, i love gameingg, i listen to a lot of music and watch a lot of video essays, ive been big into baking and have been trying to get back into reading recently too
do you have pets? no!!!! 😭 i live in a flat there is not a lot of options for pets .... would love a cat though ....
how tall are you? 5'4? whatever 166cm is
favorite subject in school? im no longer in school but my absolute favourite university class was behavioural ecology. in secondary school i loved maths though hehe
dream job? veterinarian i wanna go back to school for it sooooo badddd
i taggg @wormgumz and anyone else who wants to do this can just say i tagged them. teeheehee
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Hello! Where can I start with witchcraft? I am a very new pagan so I thought I could as you for help.
Hi! That's a very good question. First of all, before I dive into details, it's important that you know there's no right place to start when it comes to witchcraft, just like when it comes to paganism.
However, it could be very useful for you to learn about different paths, or different types of practices before starting your journey! You'll discover very quickly that witches tend to specify what type of witchcraft they practice most when introducing themselves. Of course, one doesn't need to be confined to a particular practice! A witch could very well be as comfortable doing hedge work as doing storm witchcraft, or kitchen witchcraft. Still, there are loads of very different practices within witchcraft, and it could be super interesting for you to learn about them. You might immediately feel drawn to one, or a few in particular, simply because of your pre-existing personnal preferences. For example, you might know right away that you'd like to work with the sun, or with the sea! Before diving into the craft, I suggest that in this manner, you determine right away which kind of path you want to tread. Of course, you're always free to change, to practice many vastly different paths at once, and to altogether leave this or that practice in the past if it doesn't feel right anymore.
When that is done, there is one key-word to keep in mind: learn, learn, learn. You may want to purchase, or rent books on witchcraft, wildlife, omens, nature in general, folklore, and/or open traditional practices! Explore the many many websites that post articles about witchcraft (A few of my favorites: Round the Cauldron, Tea & Rosemary, Witch of Lupine Hollow, Flying the Hedge, Cailleach's Herbarium because I'm simply obsessed with Scotland, Otherworldly Oracle...). Look thoroughly into anything that piques your curiosity, really! Be open to taking new knowledge in, even on topics that might not have interested you at first. From star maps, to folk recipes, to seasonal holidays, to dream interpretation, to full-scale spells, to element work, to herbalism... There are so many topics to explore that's it's downright dizzying. And all of them are fascinating!
Now, there are also a few forms of practice to steer away from. These are closed practices, meaning that to practice them is to appropriate them, as they belong to groups who still traditionally practice them to this day. White sage smudging, working with deities from closed traditions, and hoodoo are all examples of practices you absolutely cannot engage in, unless you have been properly initiated into them.
With that having been said, I'll jump right into my personal tips. If we're talking concrete, hands-on practice, I do have a few suggestions as to where you can start! To me, cleansing is a very fun and simple way to practice witchcraft on the day-to-day. I usually start my cleaning up the space I mean to cleanse, for example, the kitchen. I simply put away what I can (dirty dishes, groceries and the like), and once that's done, I proceed to the spiritual cleansing. I often burn incense in the room, or I will sometimes "sound cleanse" using a little bell. This helps to keep unwanted spirits away, and to protect the home (I very much value hearth work). Brewing a tea and charging it with intent, working with sigils, and learning simple spells to say out loud are also extremely simple ways to start becoming familiar with witchcraft.
Finally, there are also a few questions I suggest you try answering as you begin your journey in witchcraft: "What do I believe in when it comes to magic? How do I think it works?", "What type of change do I want to create using magic?", "What local/family traditions am I attached to? How can I integrate them into my craft?", "Can I believe this or that piece of information?". In general, it's important to keep asking yourself these types of questions! Never mindlessly accept information you receive, and find your own answers with time and experience.
#witchcraft#paganism#ask#asks#spirituality#witchy tips#mabon#heathenry#mabon 2023#wheel of the year#pagan witch#green witch#kitchen witch
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what do you think would their types be? like, what would they look in an s/o, what the wouldn't like, etc? be honest as possible bc i have this thing were i fall in love with a character then i go "wait they wouldn't like _____ and i'm so _____ oh wow even a fictional person wouldn't like me" destroy my feelings lmao
well, first of all i hope you find peace with yourself.
when you find peace with yourself honestly, this kind of situation rarely happen.
obviously we all feel bad once in a while and i understand + hear what you're saying right here.
In my writings i try to be inclusive whilst not giving too much information about the reader.
not in my house i'm telling you all.
i hope whoever is reading my stuff gets the comfort, love, attention they deserve. i started this blog because i couldn't find what i wanted.
i bring it now, and i don't want my few readers to feel bad about themselves for whatever reason.
sending everyone hearts because you deserve it.
i used to think the same because of my nationality, completely destructive. so i kinda understand where you're coming from with your ask.
real life or fictional, if someone doesn't understand or like you, don't blame yourself, it's their own problem. being someone's problem has nothing to do with how you are or look.
lets start :)
uk brothers II headcannons II what they would/wouldn't look in for a s/o
Wales
someone embittered
he would struggle quite a lot with that,
would try to help if he ever ends up with someone like this
you cannot change people but you can learn from them
he wants comfort in someone
he would tend to go towards people who share and treasure their loved ones
dylan reflects a lot what he recieves probably why that last point is important
he wants the best for his s/o so he deserves the best s/o too
Ireland
condescending people
no-no for him
he is the kind to fold himself so he is flexible to situations
people who mistake that "folding" from him tend to be condescending
he likes a lot people who are smart,
not smart like good grades- he doesn't care about that tbh
he wants someone he can have long talks with, debates and learn things
teach him something about your favorite subject and you won
England
malignant narcissist, mixed with grandiosity
really big struggle for arthur, malignant narcissists are helpless to him
you cannot change them and that's the worse
he would lean towards someone decisive, someone who knows what they want
by this, i mean personality wise. if you don't know how to dress today it doesn't matter.
be clear about your tastes, what you want in life.
and if not, it's absolutely fine, you'll grow this kind of confidence with him
Scotland
insolent people
respect yourself and others with him
passing remarks as insults will get you nowhere (i am not lying)
but, he tends to like people with witty comebacks, high verbal ability or skills
why ? he likes to discuss or joke with his s/o
while still being respectful, insolent people are different
high verbal abilities such as witty comebacks means you can listen to people correctly and also pay attention to your feelings
brings the best characteristics of someone in his opinion
N.ireland
men and women who show themselves as "pick me" people
any symbolic elimination act doesn't go well with him
shutting down, putting down someone for attention is violence
he leans towards people who are attentionate.
by this i mean, someone who will cherish their loved ones, each at a time
someone who makes time for their loved ones separately and makes them feel unique
someone who sees relationships and friendships as a meticulous works of art
#uk brothers#aph wales#aph ireland#aph scotland#aph northern ireland#aph england#hws wales#hws scotland#hws ireland#hws northern ireland#hws england#hetalia headcanons#hetalia x reader#hetalia#hetalia world stars
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hi hi! you said in your intro post that you're celtic pagan, and sadly i don't know what that is ;( could you explain it to me plz?? i absolutely adore witchy aesthetic and would rly appreciate it if you could tell me what you know, you seem smart :3
sending nuzzles!!
hi, anon! thanks for the ask.
as with all religious beliefs, celtic paganism will mean different things to different people, so I can only share my experiences.
firstly, paganism is defined as a religion other than one of the world religions (think Christianity, Hinduism, Islam, Judaism, Buddhism), specifically a 'pre-christian' religion. this basically means is that its a religion that was replaced by christianity. think of the ancient greek, roman and norse pantheons.
when I say celtic paganism, I mean celtic neopaganism. famous examples of celtic neopagans include the wicca. I'm not wicca, however. (the celts refer to gaelic speaking peoples. think druids)
lots of celtic pagans try to replicate celtic festivs like imbolc and samhain. the main touch points of celtic belief and worship stem from the acknowledgement of the power of nature. there's a lot of gods and goddesses and different customs to observe. (Wikipedia link about celtic neopaganism below)
personally, I don't follow any modern celtic religious practises, mostly because they're not historically accurate. I'm a celtic reconstructionist, meaning that I try to replicate genuine celtic worship. i can't speak gaelic, although my family have lived in Scotland and Ireland for generations, and while I'm attempting to learn more about my culture and heritage, I'm always cautious of the cultural appropriation present in most forms of celtic neopaganism.
most celtic pagans have lots of festivals. I don't go to festivals, as I prefer to worship privately. most of the time I don't actively worship at all. it's just nice to have something to believe in and fall back on. I only converted a couple of months ago, so I'm hardly an expert. I know there will be lots of excellent celtic paganism blogs on tumblr if you want to learn more, but I'm yet to discover them :(
i love the witchy aesthetic too. I used to be a witch myself, but I don't practise it as much as I used to :( I just don't really have the motivation any more. I have a naturecore/slightly witchy aesthetic blog where I'll post more about witchcraft and paganism, which I'll tag below
thanks for the ask, sundorwine! I hope this makes sense! (Sending nuzzles back :3)
My sideblog (:3): @suairceagsionadh
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hii!! ❄️ i’m so sorry i’m not being more regular with my asks, i know i want to get back to you as soon as possible but i just keep procrastinating it 😭 ooo since you’re an indian living in the uk, how hard was the adjustments for you? like culture wise, food wise etc? only if you wanna answer of course! tired tired sea is an absolute masterpiece, i’ve got such fond memories attached to it, and it’s really made me wanna visit scotland one day 🤍 maybe it’s time to reread it 👀 i’m so happy that you got to see hl!!! oh my god that must have been so amazing, i’d kill to have that chance, manifesting louis india tour 2023 🕯️🕯️ i’ve literally already started saving up 💀 as for my bucket list, i had always wanted a dog and we adopted one last year!! do you like dogs? do you have a pet/want one? funny thing about hot chocolate - my city has a tradition every winter that whenever it gets cold, everyone steps out to get ice cream and then hot chocolate in that order 😭 we’re just built different sorry 😌✨ does your hometown have any such winter traditions? qotd - what is your favourite lyric off walls and fitf? like one that hits you hard every time you hear it?
i won’t freak out about louis again but i’ll just say - THE WAY HIS EYES CHANGE COLOUR!! HE IS UNREAL!! THESE SIGNINGS ARE A GODSEND!! i hope you have a good day darling 💕
i feel you so much bby about not being able to get back soon because life is just getting really hectic 😭 i barely get time for myself these days i need to have some free days where i can just sleep 😭
so, i did my undergrad away from too, but still in india and i sort of had that experience of living by myself which helped me a lot when i moved here. i made some really good friends at my accomodation on day one of moving that helped a lot. as for the culture, it's such a big contrast to the lifestyle that i'm used to and i had to learn a lot of things about stuff that happened on a day to day basis, but it wasn't very hard. as for food, i think that's what i miss most about home because the food culture here is so different. especially i'm uses to eating extremely spicy food and the food here is always so bland. luckily we have a couple stores that sell indian spices and stuff like that which helps a lot (they even have parle g 💀)
god i am manifesting louis coming to india so bad honestly he deserves to feel the love that desis have for him and vice versa. it'll be such an amazing feeling to see him perform there 🥹 bonus if he says namaste 😂
oh my god that is so cute!! what did you name your dog 👀👀 ooh about that tradition, i do that with my family too! every winter, we drive up to india gate and take a walk there while having ice cream because ice cream in winters means it doesn't melt and you can actually enjoy it longer!
i've always moved around a lot that at this point i don't even know what my hometown is 😭 but i suppose that family traditions counts in this case 🫣
favourite lyric from walls is definitely without a doubt - i hope that i'm not asking too much, just wanna be loved by you; i'm too tired to be tough just wanna be loved by you
faith in the future (as of now) - the friends we make, the love it takes, it's worth, it's worth, it's worth the pain, the friends we make, the love it takes, it's worth, it's worth, it's worth it all this time 🫶
what about you? 👀 also, absolutely freaking about louis and how beautiful he is, is always welcome 🤍
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Am curious as to specifics re: your hatred of outlander, but at the same time do not wish to make you think about unpleasant things. Elaborate if you want to I guess? I love a good rant XD
right putting this under read more bc i have lots to say
prefacing this by saying in no way am i condemning the show for being about scotland or the impact it has on things like gàdhlig language learning and appreciation of culture but there is also a lot of things that piss me off .
starting with the Outlander effect . now glasgow caledonian university published a study a few years back that highlights how negatively outlander as a show popular in the united states specifically has impact scottish tourism and tourist locations.
on one hand tourism has increased which is a benefit for the economy, on the other hand
and it makes my blood fuckinf boil the absolute lack of respect that these people have for integral pieces of scottish hisotry . this shit exists outside of the show claire doesn’t fuckinf exist neither does jamie you’re not getting any of them but doing this to our history
speaking of history it’s not accurate but it was written by an american woman as a sexualisation of scottish men in a romance novel so that’s expected it’s not a historical series it’s just a romance set in that time . however. it’s not fuckifn hard to do some research ie where are the Calanais stones?? i’ll give you a hint it’s not skye, they’re on lewis. an episode to do with witch burning? an incredibly sore spot of scottish politics and hisotry with people still campaigning for the pardoning of these confirmed innocent women today, anyway it was made illegal several DECADES before the series was set which would’ve been known with a quick google search. being american she would’ve known that america as it was portrayed in the series didn’t EXIST in the period the series is set although the point about WHERE they moved to did represent an accuracy about scottish immigration to america bc ywah we did go there. even the historical advisor is like fuckin defending himself talking about how the jacobite rebellion is much more complex that portrayed in the show but hey ho it’s a romantic drama that’s what you get they’re not here for hisotry
also jamie’s tartan is wrong it’s boring and a braveheart effect tartan where they made us out to be drab dirty and boring the highland fraser tartan is fuckinf bright red and green
last thing i’m gonna say i talked about the other day . the skye boat song. now the lyrics they used are an adaption of the adaption by robert louis stevenson . so it’s not the original folk song lyrics which depict the story of bonnie prince charlie’s journey to skye after the battle of culloden which is fitting since it’s a huge part of the first season from what i remember . but that’s not what you see when you google skye boat song . you see this
which is a modernised adaption that was only used because it was fitting to the character. again a misleading edge to scottish legend and history . i was gonna put the lyrics side by side so you could see how vague the robert louis stevenson and outlander lyrics as a reference to scottish hisotry but i cant add any more photos
basically if you’re gonna write about a country and it’s history have a bit of fuckinf respect for us
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The Strength of a High and Noble Hill (Outlander)
Chapter 21: Fathers
Masterlist
October 1769
"I should warn you, I was never good at this."
Jamie glances over his shoulder at his son. It still amazes him, even if it's been weeks since they'd reunited, to see how much he's grown since he last saw him. Jamie might've seen it in the photographs Claire had shown him but to see Brian as a grown man in the flesh is different.
Jamie gives his son a shrug. "Dinna take te it like yer sister did?"
Brian shakes his head. "No, Ellen took to it better when dad, uh, Frank, taught us."
Jamie gives him a soft smile. "Dinna fash yerself. Ye can call him dad if yer want to. He was yer father fer twenty years."
"But you're my dad too." Brian argues. "I don't want to disregard either of you because both of you have been a father to me."
Jamie's eyes water at that statement, he swallows thickly and replies, "Ye can call me Da. Tha' good?"
Brian nods. "Yeah... Da."
Jamie lets out a watery chuckle and grips his son's shoulder. "Come, we hav' hunting te do."
——
January 1966
A 19-year-old Brian picks up the ringing phone. It's Joe. His voice is serious as he asks if he can speak with Brian's mom. Brian sighs, still shaky from the yelling he'd heard coming from the room that contained his parents and then the slamming of the door as his Dad leaves. He didn't hear much but accidentally heard accusations of infidelity when he wandered too close to the room. Brian has known for a while that his parents aren't happy but to hear those words had been a punch in the gut.
Brian says he will and goes to that room where his mother hasn't emerged since Dad walked out. Brian is glad Ellen isn't at home but at school, finishing high school soon. She doesn't have to hear the abuse their parents threw at each other nor does she have to see Mama's absolutely unrecognisable face with mascara-stained tears staining her cheeks.
Brian tells her Joe is on the phone and she sprints past him like a bat out of hell, reaching the phone in record time.
Brian lingers behind her. Waiting, listening, to hear what Joe has to say. Something in Brian's gut is telling him something is wrong.
——
Dad's dead.
That's what Mama said. A car crash killed him. It wasn't unfeeling the way she said it, far from it. But it wasn't sorrow either. Brian can see that his mother looks almost liberated.
Brian had the same feeling too. He'd loved his Dad as any child would love a parent but had always known it was never as much as his sister loved him. There had always been this weird chasm between the two. Brian would watch other sons with their fathers and wonder why he and Dad weren't as close.
Brian was never able to please him. The two of them were so different.
The day he'd come home from school after learning about these other countries in Geography, Brian had been particularly excited about Scotland, wanting to go there and was eager to tell his parents. He didn't know why he was so drawn to Scotland but it felt right. It felt right up until when he told his parents.
Dad had stared at him, his face a mixture of absolute fury and complete shock. Mama had stood frozen to the spot, not daring to move. Dad had stood abruptly, shoving past him, nearly running out of the house and slamming the front door hard enough to knock a painting off the wall.
Brian had looked at his mother with wide tearful eyes. She'd hurried over to him, wrapped him in a hug and promised that everything would be alright. She'd promised that they will go to Scotland one day. Brian had taken comfort in that, in his mother's arms.
But now... now things are different.
Brian can see that in his mother's eyes as they comfort Ellen, who's in tears over the news. Things are different.
——
A/N: Please leave comments on how you're enjoying this story and what you think.
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665.
What’s something you used to believe in that you don’t anymore?
Father Christmas.
What’s your favorite dinosaur?
Stegosaurus.
Do you believe in reincarnation? If so, what would you like to be reincarnated as?
No, but if it existed and I could pick, then probably a nice, pampered house cat lol.
What are three scents that you like?
Fresh coffee, bacon, cut grass.
Do you ever use the grounding technique 54321?
Yes. I learned it in therapy and have found it quite useful in the past.
Where would you relocate if you were forced to leave your place of residence?
Scotland or Australia.
What smells better... fresh baked bread or fresh brewed coffee?
I love both, honestly. They remind me of bakeries and being on holiday.
Have you ever met a president?
I actually went on holiday with the president of Ireland as a kid. Not intentionally, we did like, this group walking holiday and she was there with her husband, oldest daughter and bodyguard lol. She was super nice and very down to earth. I actually stayed in touch with her daughter (Emma) for a while but we lost touch at some point.
Has anyone ever given you a gag gift?
Yeah. I really don't find them funny, tbh.
Do you find smoking unattractive?
Yes. It stinks.
Do you think flirting is cheating?
No. But I guess it depends how you define flirting.
Have you ever liked someone who had a girl/boyfriend?
Yes.
Would you ever take someone back if they cheated on you?
I haven't but nobody can predict the future.
What's a word that starts with the third letter of your first name?
Cookie.
How many wives or husbands do you want?
One is enough, lol.
What's your favorite color gummy bear?
Red.
What's the last movie you saw in the theater?
Les Miserables - the concert.
What color is your iPod?
When I owned an iPod it was blue.
What’s a quality that your sister has that you absolutely can’t stand?
I don't have any sisters.
Have you ever dated a smoker? If not, would you?
Yes, but I wouldn't do it again.
Do you share a middle name with any of your siblings?
I don't have any siblings.
Name one of your psycho exes?
Ha, Chris.
Have you ever been drunk at work?
No. I wouldn't have the balls to do that.
Have you ever taken a pregnancy test?
Yes.
How many bananas have you ever eaten in a row?
I can do two if they're mashed or in a dessert or something, but generally one is my limit. I have one on toast with peanut butter pretty much every morning.
Do you have a protective father?
He was when I was growing up, but not so much nowadays.
Have you ever had to choose between two people?
I guess so.
The last thing you remember dreaming about:
Cats. But I don't remember anything more specific than that.
The last place you went:
To do two cat visits. One for Benny and one for Jess.
The last time you held a baby:
Uh, years ago. I don't really spend time with small children or babies.
What’s the scariest video game you’ve ever played?
I can't think of any scary ones.
If you had the chance to slip through a portal, despite being unaware of any of the effects and/or consequences, would you do it?
No. I'm too much of a worrier lol.
When someone copies you, are you more flattered or annoyed?
Depends on what they're copying. It pisses me off when people copy my business-related stuff - especially if it's almost a direct copy. But if someone copies my outfit or breakfast order then it's just whatever, really.
Which is worse: Stale chips or flat soda?
Flat soda.
What health problems do you have?
Sacroiliitis, generalised anxiety, depression.
Have you ever had an anaphylactic reaction to anything?
No, thankfully not.
Do you have sensitive skin?
Yeah, it's pretty sensitive.
What would you name a baby boy?
I have no desire to have a baby of either sex.
What would you name a baby girl?
...
Do people's rude comments bother you for a long time?
It depends who's saying it and why.
Name three things you find boring.
Fishing, the stock market, Bitcoin.
What excites you?
Animals, sunshine, having days off.
Would you send your kids to Sunday school?
No.
What is the most interesting biography you have read?
The only one that really stands out is John Lennon's.
Do you think your life story would make a good book someday?
Nope.
Do you buy art for your walls?
No.
Would you ever decorate a room with a travel theme?
No.
What insects do you think are pretty?
Ladybirds, butterflies, dragonflies.
Do you love God?
I don't believe in God.
Is there an ice cream flavor that you strongly dislike? Which one?
Pistachio.
Do you own any books with an image of a cat on the front cover?
I'm sure I do.
Does anything you own have an image of a bird on it?
Maybe.
Does anyone you know own a spaniel? How about an Irish setter?
Yeah, spaniels are a dime a dozen around here, lol. I know a couple of Irish setters too. Gorgeous dogs but utterly bonkers.
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"My earliest memories are split between London and the farm in Scotland. The excitement of city life versus absolute solitude. It was still exciting but in a different way: riding ponies, climbing trees, helping Mum in the kitchen. And the sound of Dad’s guitar. It makes me laugh now, but there were some afternoons when we’d be watching cartoons and Dad would wander over with his guitar. He’d sit down and start playing this beautiful music, messing around with melodies and songs. We’d all give him an evil stare. 'Dad, we’re watching telly. Go in the kitchen.' One time he said: 'Do you know how many people would love to be sitting here now, listening to me play guitar?' I just shrugged. 'But we can’t hear The Wombles.' Being a vegetarian family in the late 1970s marked you out as different. Everybody said it was all Mum’s idea and she’d forced Dad to stop eating meat, but they did it as a team. I remember them discussing recipes and Dad saying he still wanted something he could slice for his Sunday roast. Mum was always excited about cooking and she inspired me. Dad’s pretty good in the kitchen — he’d make a great sous-chef. If you ask him to sort out the mashed potato, it’ll be the best you’ve ever tasted. He’s meticulous, just like he is in the studio. Of course people made fun of Mum and Dad for being veggie. They made fun of Mum for a lot of things, saying she wasn’t a real musician, she wore odd socks and charity-shop jumpers. The real problem was that she didn’t fit the mould of the woman they wanted Paul McCartney to marry. They wanted someone who went to all the chichi parties, but Mum was more interested in feeding the animals on the farm. Mum and Dad insisted we went to the local comprehensive school, which made me feel a bit awkward at the time. I’d be in school for a term, then off on tour. When I came back, all my friends had made new friends. Now, when I look back, I realise what a smart move it was. It kept us grounded. Dad was almost too enthusiastic when it came to helping with homework. On my own I could knock it off in half an hour but Dad would get out the encyclopedia, he’d be cross-referencing and drawing graphs. The teachers must have got suspicious when I gave in these ridiculously detailed essays. Dad said education changed his life and he wanted to pass that love of learning on to us. I look at Dad and think, after all he’s been through, how has he managed to stay in one piece? He has found a way of keeping a level head, no matter what else is happening in his life. My own personal theory — I’ve not talked to Dad about this — is that he needs normality because that’s what inspires him. Real life and real people. That’s where all the music comes from. Every year that goes by I seem to find a new level of admiration for what Dad has achieved — and Mum too. My husband and I have this game where we try to get through a day without coming across a reference to Dad or the Beatles. What usually happens is that I get to around nine o’clock, then something comes on the radio or I see an ad for the new Beatles documentary. I do listen to the Beatles at home, but it’s the Wings stuff I play the most. Mum’s not around any more, but when she’s doing her backing vocals I can still hear her and Dad together. There’s a song called I Am Your Singer — that always gets me. 'When day is done, harmonies will linger on.'” -Mary McCartney (2021)
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‘Oldies are doing well’ Phyllis Logan hails older generations as Downton helps BritsDOWNTON Abbey star Phyllis Logan says it was “fabulous” to be reunited with the cast and production crew to shoot a second film due out early next year.
The sequel follows on from the events of the first film released two years ago, which was set in 1927 with Robert and Cora Crawley, the Earl and Countess of Grantham, receiving a visit from King George V and Queen Mary during a royal tour of Yorkshire. Filming of the second film, which sees Dominic West, Hugh Dancy and Laura Haddock join original stars including Dame Maggie Smith, Hugh Bonneville, Michelle Dockery and Elizabeth McGovern, started at Highclere Castle in Hampshire in April and finished in June. Phyllis, 65, who has portrayed Downton housekeeper Mrs Hughes in all six series of the original ITV drama and reprised the role for both films, said: “It was fabulous to be reunited with the cast again, we had such a lovely time, but it was over far too quickly.
“During the six seasons that we did (for TV) we usually started filming in the February and finished in the autumn, so we had a good six months of each other, and now it is curtailed into a matter of weeks, so it was done a bit too quickly but we had a great time.
“There is lots of nice, really fun stuff in it, I must say and some lovely star turns.”
Phyllis, who is also the narrator of fly-on-the-wall TV show The Highland Vets, which starts its fourth series on Channel 5 tomorrow (MON) night, believes period dramas like Bridgerton and Downton have provided much-needed escapism during the past 18 months of the Covid-19 pandemic.
She says: “With the likes of Downton Abbey it looks so magnificent, the costumes are magnificent and the mores of the time are different where you don’t air-kiss and have to be suited and booted, and straight-laced, well certainly outwardly.. who knows what they got up to behind closed doors.
“But we try to show some of this too and the public just can’t get enough of this type of costume drama.
“Everyone has been bingeing or re-bingeing on their favourite shows just to give them a sense of normality.
“If you can watch Bridgerton, if you can watch Downton Abbey, or your favourite comedy show, you think the world is ok now, or get a sense that life is continuing in a fashion.”
Downton has also led the way in using older actors in prominent roles at a time when TV and film has been criticised for being ageist.
Phyllis says: “It’s been fabulous and long may this continue. With Dame Maggie (Smith), Dame Penelope (Wilton), myself and Jim Carter, the oldies are doing well.”
Her husband Kevin McNally, who is also 65, is best known for portraying Joshamee Gibbs in all five Pirates of the Caribbean films but joined the cast of Downton for its second series on ITV as Horace Bryant.
Phyllis says: “It was nice to have my husband in Downton as well but it was very peculiar the way it happened.
“He was on set at one point and said I have just been offered this job and I said ‘oh, what is it?’ And he said Downton Abbey, and I said ‘very funny, what’s the job?’ And he said Downton Abbey and I said ‘oh come on, I haven’t got time, I’ve got to go back on set’. And he was being serious.
“They did not even tell me they were going to offer it to him and I thought they should have run it past me first, surely.”
She adds: “And it ended up with most of the scenes we were involved in being together, which was unusual.
“In normal circumstances as he was playing a posh person and I was playing the housekeeper as usual, I thought our paths would never cross but the way the storyline worked we were always together.
“So sometimes we got picked up in a car together to bring us to the castle and it felt like ‘bring your husband to work day’, so I thought ‘what is going on?’”
Phyllis, who also starred as Lady Jane Felsham in Lovejoy with Ian McShane for eight years, met Kevin, who portrayed Bernard Ingham in The Crown last year, when they co-starred in mini-series Love and Reason in 1994.
Since then they had only appeared together in short films and an episode of comedy show Rab C Nesbitt until their joint stint in Downton, but Phyllis says she would be happy to work together again in the future.
And Kevin’s help was vital when it came to recording the narration for The Highland Vets, which follows the vets, nurses and receptionists at DS McGregor & Partners veterinary practice in Thurso, Caithness, as they treat animals in the remote northern tip of the UK mainland.
After recording the first couple of episodes of series one in a studio in London’s Soho, Phyllis has been forced to do her narrations since the first lockdown in March last year from the study of her home in west London.
She says: “Kevin was my sound engineer for the Highland Vets. They sent all this equipment and I was so useless at using it that Kevin was thankfully around and on hand to be my sound engineer.”
The fourth series of the Highland Vets, which contains seven hour-long episodes, starts with the vets treating a young Common seal spotted struggling on a beach by a walker.
She adds: “I haven’t done many narrations. I enjoy this one because it is such a lovely programme, there is always something different cropping up, so it is a pleasure to do it.”
As a result of the repeated lockdowns for the pandemic she has yet to travel up to Caithness to meet the staff at the vets.
But Prince Charles did pay them a visit during a two-day tour of Scotland, where he is known as the Duke of Rothesay, at the end of last month (JULY).
Unfortunately the TV cameras were not there at the time but wearing a kilt, he was welcomed by senior vet and director Guy Gordon, who introduced him to his team, including Katie Reiss, 22, who had only started work a few days earlier.
Ms Reiss said: “It’s an unorthodox start to work! We spoke about my training at Edinburgh University and chatted about how the vets have been really helpful integrating me into work.
“He (Charles) said to stick at it and not lose hope because I have wanted to be a vet since I was a wee kid.”
Guy says: “We felt honoured that Prince Charles was keen to visit our veterinary practice to meet the staff and learn about what we do.
“He stayed with us for about 45 minutes chatting about aspects of our work with genuine interest and insight.
“The light drizzle didn’t dampen this special occasion nor cause him to hurry, he took time to engage with everyone.
“So they have the royal seal of approval.”
She adds she loves getting to see The Highland Vets before anyone else to do its narration.
“There are a few sad bits that do not go to plan but it is so heartfelt.. and the fact that they are in that location which is absolutely spectacular, that they all love it, they love their lives, their jobs, their workmates, their animals.
“It’s just beautiful and lovely and life-affirming stuff, even when things go wrong.”
Phyllis also stars in a film, The Last Bus, with Timothy Spall which they shot two years ago but has just been released.
It tells the story of an old man whose wife has just died using his free bus pass to travel to the other end of the UK, where they originally lived, with her ashes in a small suitcase.
She will also be seen in the second series of BBC drama Guilt, which is due to air later this year.
*The new series of The Highland Vet starts tomorrow at 9pm on 5Select.
Source: Sunday Express
#downton abbey phyllis logan#Phyllis Logan#downton abbey#elsie hughes#the hightland vet#guilt#lovejoy#the last bus#ladybaby
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where's the essay op
Okay so bayonets. I don't know why I ever pretend that I want to talk about anything but military history and battlefield medicine. I checked all my sources in the waiting room of a doctor's office so you're just going to have to trust me because they are Gone. I’m pretty sure this can all be found on a few Wiki dives, though.
First of all, to recap, let me clarify a common misconception. The triangular bayonet was NOT outlawed in the 1949 Geneva Convention, nor any future revisions—as it was originally a musket weapon, it was fading out of use by World War II and the subsequent Convention. However, you'll notice that I opted to use to word "violates" rather than "were banned by," which is a fine semantical hair to split and, I suppose, debatable. Most bayonets were not explicitly banned in the GC, in that there is not an article in the GC saying you can't use them. However there IS an article in the GC, adopted from the earlier 1899 Hague Regulations, stating that it is prohibited to "employ weapons...of a nature to cause superfluous injury or unnecessary suffering" (originally part of Article 23 of the HR, now Article 35 of the GC, expanded in 1977). Personally, as someone who knows a lot about how a lot of weapons impact the human body, I think that is a more expansive statement than most people would expect, and should be treated accordingly. Regrettably I do not work for the UN.
Point is, triangular blades specifically are known to cause wounds that are difficult to heal, highly prone to infection, and extremely likely to never fully recover, while also having a relatively low mortality rate. This is because the axes of a triangular wound, which is shaped sort of like a Y, make it very hard to stitch closed, and very easy for any "twisting" of the blade to create a large hole with ragged edges that's functionally impossible to stitch closed. As an added bonus, because of the way scar tissue forms, it's possible for one "line" of a triangular wound to pull open other parts of the puncture while the scar tissue forms and pulls on the skin. Even by standards in the 1700s, triangular bayonet wounds were phenomenally likely to infect and consistently difficult to repair, and modern medicine has made only limited improvements on that situation. As such, cases have been made that certain types of bayonet/triangular blades in general are therefore in violation of this article, despite not being explicitly banned.
(Side note: yes, the American military violates the GC on the regular. The American police violate the GC. I am excruciatingly aware. The GC is interesting reading generally, but especially if you're an American and you ever feel like being appalled for a few hours.)
Anyway, with that covered again, let's actually talk about the development of triangular bayonets, which might've been out of use by the time of the GC but DEFINITELY violated that article in a big way for a good two centuries prior and are also a fascinating insight into the fact that humanity, as a whole, is really determined to do things in the dumbest way possible.
The first thing you have to understand about bayonets is that they were originally invented as a way to integrate pikes with guns, not knives or even swords. When arquebuses and muskets were first invented, you were lucky to get a rate of fire around one round per minute, and you still had to protect your army while they were reloading their clunky black powder guns. Therefore, most infantries between like...the invention of the gun and the late 1600s were comprised of soldiers equipped with muskets, and also soldiers equipped with pikes (a type of spear). The idea of a bayonet was "what if we put a pike and a musket TOGETHER and then we could give everyone THAT and have way more guns in our army because we don't need pikemen anymore." Which makes sense when you think about it.
What makes less sense is that the initial effort at bayonets was something called a plug bayonet. You'll never fucking guess what these geniuses (first record is Chinese infantry around-abouts 1600, popular use of plug bayonets recorded in Europe around the 1630s) figured out for their first try at a bayonet. Here's a hint! There's not a lot of places on a gun where you can "plug in" a sword.
Obviously plug bayonets did not exactly catch on as a fantastic solution, because these guns were either a gun OR a short spear and neither was especially good at their jobs. A bunch of battles hinged on this problem. Which brings us to the end of the 1600s, when English forces in Scotland got absolutely obliterated by a bunch of Highlanders in 1689 because the English were so busy trying to fix their bayonets that the Highlanders literally just charged them, fired one volley, and cut them down with swords and axes. The English took that one very personally (which, you know what, fair, it was a humiliating defeat, especially since the Highlanders had been using that tactic very successfully for a while) and started developing better bayonets.
This is where we get to socket bayonets, AKA what you would probably recognize as a bayonet from a period TV series or a museum. Socket bayonets have a metal sleeve that gets attached around the barrel of a gun (in this case a musket), so that you can still theoretically use the damn gun while it's attached. There were problems with the development of socket bayonets (notably, it took a while to figure out how to keep them from falling off the gun during battle), but overall they worked much better and armies started getting rid of pikemen. This was also when bayonets were shortened to a little over a foot, which isn't really important but made them much easier to maneuver. Socket bayonets were the European order of the day by the early 1700s, and mostly came in three flavors: single edge (like a knife), double edge (like a sword), and spike (like a...spike). There were pros and cons to all of these (single edge wasn't great for stabbing, spike was ONLY good for stabbing, and double edge was kind of okay at stabbing and kind of okay at slashing), but most importantly, both single and double edged bayonets were fragile. The heads of polearms were shaped on patterns other than "sword on a stick" for a reason, and it's because "sword on a stick" is not very sturdy.
Triangular bayonets were the solution to this problem. Triangular bayonets are basically a single piece of metal creased long-ways, with both edges sharpened and the top fluted to form a third edge at the crease. This makes a much more resilient weapon than a flat blade, because a twisting motion doesn’t risk snapping the blade in the middle. It also means that now you have three edges, and human nature is to figure “more knife better.”
And don’t get me wrong, as a weapon of war, the triangular bayonet was a great one. It was introduced in the 1710s and then got used regularly to maim and terrify through the start of the 1900s. In fact, the triangular bayonet worked so well that it only began to get phased out of use when the style of war itself started to change dramatically during the World Wars. When warfare was focused on pitched battle (your old school “two armies enter, one army leaves” kind of warfare), the emphasis of a bayonet was on extending the reach of a gun. A bayonet lets a soldier have a weapon for closer range combat, where a gun—especially a long gun like a musket—is not as effective. So when you had two armies on the field and a bayonet was first and foremost a way to keep the enemy at least gun-length away, longer bayonets were better.
But World War I was the advent of trench warfare, which was a terrible idea and also meant that a long weapon, like a gun with an extra foot and a half of sword on top, was much, MUCH harder to work with. Either fighting took place in no man’s land, where you probably weren’t going to get close enough to use a bayonet anyway, or in a trench, where a weapon as long as you were tall was just impossible to work with.
(If you know anything about WWI, you’re probably asking me about bayonet charges right now, specifically the concept of “going over the top.” Contrary to every media representation of WWI ever, “going over the top” of a trench faded out of use pretty quickly. It was a type of bayonet charge where the soldiers in ONE trench fixed their bayonets and tried to charge no man’s land in an effort to reach the OTHER trench, but it was basically never effective because no man’s land was often heavily trapped and strafed with gunfire and mortar shells. Also, it was the kind of battle tactic that military history books talk about with phrases like “total annihilation of whole attacking battalions,” so that’s the kind of mortality rate we’re talking about here. The Battle of the Somme featured a good number of bayonet charges by the British, for context, so people learned and started using other tactics.)
So, since bayonets were only useful in trenches, suddenly everyone was scrambling to shorten bayonets and guns so that their soldiers could get ANYTHING DONE. And THEN soldiers started admitting that they were literally taking their bayonets off their guns and using them as knives instead, because for trench fighting that was way more useful, and so everyone just decided fuck it, let’s just make bayonet-knives, which is why WWI weapons with bayonets usually look, very literally, like someone duct taped a short knife to the front of a gun. This was the start of the decline of the triangular bayonet, a full two hundred years after it hit the battlefield, which is a frankly spectacular run for any weapon since the invention of the gun. Triangular bayonets held on, here and there, through part of WWII, but they were almost entirely gone by the time of the Geneva Convention being ratified in 1949. However, spike or knife bayonets are still issued to many armies as a weapon of last resort to this day, although they aren’t often used in actual attacks. Now we have bigger, worse weapons for actual attacks.
TL;DR, the development of bayonets went like this:
“What if we put a pike ON a gun? …oh wait, you still want to use the gun? Sucks to be you, I guess.”
“What if we put a sword on the gun instead? Then we could put it somewhere where we can still use the gun! Good luck keeping it on there, though.”
“What if we actually made something designed to get put on a gun and stab people effectively? Like, what if we designed something with that purpose in mind? Perhaps?”
SMASH CUT TWO CENTURIES
“Well if you’re just gonna take your bayonet off and stab someone with it anyway, can we just go back to giving you knives, then?”
And now you’re caught up on all the dubiously successful ways we’ve tried to mutilate people with a knife-gun.
#military history#medical history#sort of...?#bayonets#honestly i have no idea what this would be classified as. i just had a really good time reading about bayonets in a waiting room.#Y'ALL WANTED TO KNOW SO HERE IS MY ESSAY#IT IS VERY LONG YOU BROUGHT THIS ON YOURSELVES I'M NOT SORRY#incidentally i HATE the fact that plug bayonets were a thing. what a terrible solution to a problem. what the hell.#'we went to all this trouble to make a gun that won't blow us up (much) so now we're gonna put a knife in the end'#i would love to talk to the guy who came up with that and ask politely what the hell decided them on this#as opposed to SAY FOR EXAMPLE A SOCKET BAYONET#WHICH IS NOT THAT MUCH MORE ADVANCED A CONCEPT#it does bear mentioning that bayonets weren't often major killers in war!#...because you were much more likely to be maimed and/or die later of infection than die outright on the field from a bayonet wound#so take from that what you will#a queue we will keep and our honor someday avenge#anonymous#asked and answered
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Hello! This is a project for @summer-in-the-archives-event that I worked on with @horizonindigo! We came up with the idea together and based our individual works around the poem I wrote, included in the fic. You can find their absolutely amazing art here!!
I freaking loved working on this one and I got more and more excited as we progressed. I also surprised myself with the poem itself a bit, definitely didn’t expect it to end up quite as cool, if I may say so myself. It was incredibly fun to write.
Big shoutout to @sunflowers-and-frogs for beta reading, I love you bestie <3
I would like to thank all the mods that made this event possible! It’s my first time taking part in anything like this and it was really, really fun, so THANK YOU <3 Love you guys :3
Anyways, enough of my rambling kdfjgkjsdfg
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply
Category: M/M
Fandom: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Relationship: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Characters: Martin Blackwood, Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Additional Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Canon-Typical The Lonely Content (The Magnus Archives), Kissing, Excessive Tea-Making, Set in Episodes 159-160 | Scottish Safehouse Period (The Magnus Archives), Poetry, Love Confessions
Warnings: self-esteem issues, typical Lonely content, discussions of free-will and determinism, graphic kiss
Summary: As Martin fights the remnants of the Lonely's influence on their ride to Daisy's safehouse in Scotland, he focuses on his feelings for Jon to keep him tethered to reality. He watches Jon be himself in the safety of the cottage, share these small intimacies of domesticity and the words come to him as a poem weaves itself into the pages of his notebook...
He feels the taste of salt in his mouth, as he looks out of the car window at the rapidly falling away landscape, covered in the darkness of the night. He feels Jon’s presence next to him, focused on driving but glancing every so often at him with concern. Martin feels like he should say something, somehow fill the silence that has befallen them, but no words ever find their way to his mouth. He stays quiet, watching the trees pass them by, trying to ignore the anxious churning in his stomach. He’s always been pretty good at filling awkward silences with chatter; at least before the Lonely. Now… he can’t help but feel bothered by Jon’s presence, even though he did all of this for him, even though this is what he’s wanted all this time; it’s like a splinter, prickling at his mind, almost causing him physical discomfort. He swallows and feels the salty taste on his tongue; he discards the thoughts and tries his best to breathe through the discomfort, instead focusing on the sensation of Jon’s warm hand on his.
Martin used to be the warm one; he’d always been generating heat and his mind goes back to the early days in the Archives when the basement was cold in the winter and both Tim and Sasha used to gravitate towards him with their respective cups of tea during breaks. Now his whole body is cold, the chill of the ocean breeze and fog having settled in his bones so deep he thinks he’ll never feel warm again. The thought isn’t sparking any emotions in him though. It’s just a thing that he’s learned to accept, just as the fact that he’ll always be alo—
“Do you want me to put on some music?” Jon asks with another one of his glances. Every time, he raises his eyebrows a bit, and tilts his head to the side; Martin expects the concern in his eyes, but he sees something else there as well. He’s been afraid to put a label to the expression for the fear he’s reading him wrong, but the bolder part of his mind tells him it’s fondness.
Jon’s hand is warm, and his thumb grazes the skin of his palm just a little, as if not sure he’s allowed to. Martin looks down at their hands and feels warmth spark in his stomach; he smiles.
“I’m sorry I’m—I’m not really good at the whole, uh… small talk thing,” Jon adds with a flush, turning his head back to the road. “I should probably be talking about something, though, to, uh… to keep you here. I suppose.” He visibly cringes at his words.
“It’s—It’s fine, Jon,” Martin chuckles, and Jon relaxes, fixing him with a quick smile of his own. “I’m just… you know.” He looks down at their hands again and has a brief feeling they belong to someone else. Not him. Never him. “I’m not quite… out of that. Yet.”
Another look of concern. Martin feels heat prickling at his cheeks and he’s a little bit glad, because at least it’s a feeling. He interlaces their fingers and looks out the front window.
They spend the ride in relative silence. Jon tries a couple more times to start small talk and fails; they stop at a gas station at one point and Martin takes out his notebook when Jon disappears inside the station to pay for gas. He flicks through it and his eyes stop at an unfinished draft; he started writing it shortly before Peter took him down to the Panopticon, but he’d only managed to get a few first lines down. Despite still feeling the cold in his bones and his mind being clouded by the remains of the fog, words come to him, and he starts scribbling. He continues to do so even when Jon comes back with tea and an assortment of snacks, blushing just a little bit when Jon shoots a curious look at the notebook. He doesn’t ask and Martin is thankful for it. He’s not the sort to show his drafts to anyone, especially to the subject he’s writing about.
It’s 1am when they arrive at the cottage; they’re both exhausted and they quickly take their bags inside and lock the door. The cottage is small and practical, just Daisy’s style; it’s also quite dusty from months of abandonment. Martin yawns as he opens one of the bags to get the essentials. They should leave unpacking and cleaning for the next day.
He hears Jon’s footsteps on the wooden floor coming back from the initial run of the house and he turns to tell him that, but the somewhat sheepish look on his face stops him in his tracks. Has he ever seen Jon look sheepish before?
“So, uh, obviously this was Daisy’s safehouse when she was, well… Avoiding people,” he says, not meeting Martin’s eyes.
“I hope ‘avoiding people’ doesn’t mean killing them in this context,” Martin snorts, not sure if he’s entirely joking. The humour is lost on Jon, however, as he looks at him confused for a moment before he processes Martin’s words.
“Oh, no, no, I-I don’t believe she, uh… She just slept here.” Jon shifts awkwardly. “And that means there’s uh, there’s only one bed.”
Martin’s eyes widen and his lips form a little “Oh”.
“Of course, if you’re not comfortable with sharing, I can just take the couch, you need some proper rest and I’m used to running on low sleep” —Jon averts his gaze as he speaks. He grabs his bag and walks over to the couch, and Martin wants to stop him talking and just say that they should share the bed, but his voice seems to have left him at this crucial moment. He just stares as Jon places the bag on the couch and looks back at him, aware of the silence. “Martin?”
Martin swallows, a familiar cold freezing his toes. He feels the damp sand underneath his bare feet and a chill runs down his spine. He blinks and tightens his grip on the bag he’s been holding. This is real, he is real, Jon is real.
“You need good rest too,” he finally manages to say, and he’s surprised by how clear and normal his voice sounds; it makes Jon relax a bit. “We should share the bed, if-if you are comfortable with that.”
A small smile appears on Jon’s lips and a warm feeling fills Martin’s stomach again; he knows the smile is for him.
“Okay,” he says softly and picks the bag up.
They manage to keep the awkwardness of it to the minimum; they’re both very tired and at one point it just doesn’t matter anymore. Jon hands Martin a separate blanket and he pushes the disappointment down into a void inside him where he keeps feelings to come back to when he’s alone. It would be foolish of him to hope for cuddling since they haven’t talked about anything yet.
He expects to fall asleep as soon as his head touches the pillow, but he finds himself awake in the darkness after goodnights are said (Jon’s voice sounds so soft and tender Martin has forgotten all about his earlier disappointment). He’s laying on his back, eyes closed, and he feels Jon’s presence on his right. His breathing is steady, not yet slow enough to indicate sleep, but calm and relaxed. Martin peeks out through half-lidded eyes – he hasn’t gotten used to the darkness as much yet, but he can see Jon laying on his side, facing him, his eyes closed and his hair loosely framing his face. One of his hands rests close to his head on the pillow. Martin blinks, fully opening his eyes now and smiling softly. As his vision clears, Martin notices Jon frowning ever so slightly, and he wonders if the faint lines between his eyebrows smoothen when he’s asleep.
“Is watching people sleep a usual activity for you?” Jon whispers with amusement as he opens his eyes and Martin gasps with surprise and looks away, feeling heat prickle at his cheeks.
“Wha—uh, no! No, of course no—Sorry, I—” He rambles, and he thinks he might just die from embarrassment when he hears Jon laugh quietly.
“It’s fine, Martin.” He shakes his head with a sigh. “Really. I-- Sorry, I thought a joke would, um… lighten the mood somewhat.”
Martin risks a look at him and wonders if the red on his cheeks is visible through the darkness. Jon looks at him with that expression again, something Martin would very much want to classify as fondness if it didn’t feel so impossible. But now that he thinks about it… Would it really be thatfar-fetched? Jon had gone into the Lonely just to get him out. Would he have done that for anyone else? Martin rolls his eyes at himself in his mind, of course he would. He did go into the Buried, and it was for Daisy, a person who has threatened him multiple times, kidnapped and almost killed him. If Jon was ready to lay down his life for her, out of all of them, it shouldn’t be surprising he would do the same for his assistant; it says nothing about his feelings on the matter.
Martin’s memories of the Lonely are hazy. He remembers the cold, the dampness, and the loneliness. He remembers his thoughts, the lonely ones, and how they felt both alien and familiar at the same time. He remembers the comfort, the feeling of fitting in, but also the pain and the fear, just before they were numbed by the cold and the fog that made him forget. And then suddenly, Jon was in front of him, looking at him with desperation on his face, tears in his eyes glowing with a green light. Was it Jon calling for him, or just the Beholding?
“What are you thinking about?” comes Jon’s voice and Martin realizes he’s been staring into the air for a while. He blinks and looks back at Jon.
“Uh…” He searches for words before he gives up on trying to come up with an excuse. His voice is quiet when he speaks. “Why did you do it?”
Jon blinks at him a couple times and rises to lean on his elbow, to better look at Martin.
“What do you mean?”
“The Lonely,” Martin says, not meeting his eyes. Jon is wearing a blue t-shirt with a logo of a band Martin doesn’t recognize; the shirt is loose and it uncovers one of Jon's shoulders which would probably be distracting if Martin’s mind wasn't chilled by the remnants of the fog. “Why did you come for me?”
Even without looking at him, Martin sees Jon’s forehead ripple. A while passes as Jon searches his face and the thought that he shouldn’t have asked starts creeping up to Martin’s head. Shouldn’t have brought any attention to the subject, he should just be glad, he should—
“I care about you, Martin,” Jon says in a very gentle and quiet voice, like he’s afraid anything louder would take away the meaning of his words. Martin looks up at Jon and the hint of that intense blush from before makes it back to his face. “You’re… You matter to me. You will always matter to me.”
Martin can’t stop a small smile appearing on his face and Jon mirrors it.
“Thank you,” Martin whispers, feeling a warmth settle in his chest, finally driving the cold away.
“Anytime.” Jon lays his head back down and settles back with the right hand near his face. “Sleep well, Martin.”
Martin closes his eyes contentedly and he curls up on his right side, facing Jon, as if trying to keep this warm feeling from escaping his chest too soon.
“You too, Jon.”
---
Martin wakes up alone in an unfamiliar bed, the smell of foreign covers filling his nostrils and for a second he panics. He opens his eyes and the memories come back to him; their late arrival at the safehouse and laying down to sleep next to Jon.
He sits up, looking at the space Jon had occupied. It’s vacant now, just the curled up covers he left behind, but it manages to bring a blush to Martin’s cheeks, nonetheless. It feels so… intimate to know that they slept next to each other. It makes him feel warm and cosy.
Martin gets up and goes to the bathroom before he finds Jon in the kitchen. He’s humming quietly as he finishes cleaning the table and he looks up when Martin enters.
“Good morning, Martin.” He smiles and Martin’s afraid he’s going to melt. He takes a quick look around and notices that their sparse kitchen supplies are mostly unpacked, and the kettle is already on the stove.
“How long have you been awake?” He asks; some of the shock must have made it to his voice because Jon looks amused.
“Two hours or so. I’ve always been a morning person.” He shrugs and finishes cleaning the table. “Tea?”
A smile lights up Martin’s face and he gets swept up by the familiarity of the activity, while Jon busies himself with fixing up some breakfast. As both of them work in the kitchen, Martin notices the casual brushes of their skin and touches of the shoulders. He doesn’t know if he’s doing it consciously or if it just happens naturally, but he knows that Jon’s open demeanour is drawing him closer than before. He wonders if he’s been like this ever since he woke up from the coma, and there was just no one to appreciate it.
The morning is relaxed, the casual conversation flowing a lot smoother than the day before, and after breakfast they set out to clean the whole cottage and go down to the village to buy some actual supplies. The village is small, but the local shop provides all the essentials they need; for a moment Martin forgets about everything outside of that village and shopping for groceries with Jon, as if this is their life now, in the Scottish Highlands, living together in a cottage. They talk about cooking dinner, and the cows they passed on the way, and Martin thinks he could get used to that.
The bubble bursts when they finish up and Jon decides to call Basira. She picks up after a while and updates them on the absence of both Jonah Magnus and Daisy. Basira says she’ll send some statements up to them when the Institute stops being an active crime scene, and a shadow passes over Jon’s face. Wrapped up in a conversation about their taste in dinner dishes, it was almost too easy for Martin to forget food isn’t the only sustenance Jon needs. He finds it easier to forget things ever since the Lonely. They walk back to their cottage in silence, Martin grabbing Jon’s hand as soon as he lets go of the phone.
When they get back, Jon declares he’s going to take care of unpacking and cooking, and even though Martin knows Jon to be stupidly stubborn, he’s surprised by the strictness with which Jon insists he sit back and relax. Martin doesn’t really complain; he’s spent his entire life caring for others and, to be honest, it does feel rather good to be on the receiving end for once. He watches Jon from the couch for a while, before he takes out his notebook and looks over the poem he wrote in the car.
Wisps of mist conceal my eyes
A lone indulgence to lose one's face
And soothing a part inside that cries
With chilling sadness and numbing grace
The steadfast rhythm of waves ashore
As ocean breeze leaves a taste of salt
The words forgotten, erase what I swore
Until I hear your voice once more
I wondered many times what it might be
That we finally took to calling "us"
What would be left if we broke free
Of dread and horror's eternal grasp
The Eye looms aloft, ever-present dread
Watching all, eternal lids apart
You made your choice unaware you were led
By strings of web, against your heart
Jon starts humming under his nose in the kitchen as he cuts something on the board; the water in the kettle boils slowly and fills the air with a quiet whistle. Martin smiles while shooting a subtle glance at Jon; he seems to notice his gaze and falls quiet, but a smile lights up his face when he sees the fondness on Martin’s face. For all this talk about Jon “losing himself” in the role of the Archivist, this seems as human as you can get. Martin never favoured the approach the other archival staff took to the knowledge of the significance of Jon’s position, and he often wondered how they could look at him and see a monster. Of course he made bad decisions, but so did everyone. They’ve seen or read about so many avatars giving into the powers that fed them and yes, maybe Martin is biased, but Jon was nothing like them. They’ve all been caught in this huge web of statements that turned real; the more they struggled to break free the more tangled up they became, and it wasn’t Jon’s fault that he ended up in the centre of it. He knows Jon tried to make right choices every step of the way. Can you really blame a human being for failing to completely resist something that’s beyond mortality and human reality? One way or another they ended up here, together, and yes, maybe the Eye and the Lonely are still looming as very tangible threats, and Jonah Magnus is nowhere near being stopped, but at least they’re together now. Martin remembers thinking the Unknowing was the endgame, the last chapter of this horror for them, and he remembers the hopelessness of their story getting a bad ending that essentially pushed him into the Lonely; now he feels a different kind of an end approaching – he dares to be hopeful. Maybe everything works out in the end? Maybe, if they were safe and happy, it wouldn’t actually be the end of the world.
Martin looks down at his notebook and starts writing, sticking the tip of his tongue out in concentration.
What is a monster? Where is the line
That would separate us from the world
All I know is our paths align
And we together can battle the cold
You cut through the curtains of mist and See
The green glow fades when our eyes meet
My lips form a soft and quiet plea
To be loved has never felt so sweet
To be loved is a new feeling for me
I only know how to love from one side
But with you I hope we can once be free
Maybe ignore the whims of the tide
Although I know we're not nearly through
I taste and savour your voice, your breath
If only for a moment, we can start anew
And I will follow you even to death
As he stares at the last word of the finished poem, his hand with the pen hovering over it, he registers that his eyes have watered a bit. He blinks the tears away quickly as Jon sits down on the couch next to him, looking at him with a gentle worry. Martin looks up at the two mugs of tea he’d placed on the table.
“Did you make tea?” He asks with mock bewilderment, and Jon scoffs at him.
“I know how to make tea, Martin.” He nudges him with amusement, that gentle worry not quite gone from his eyes. “What are you writing about?”
Martin falls quiet, pressing the notebook to his chest in a knee-jerk reaction.
“Thought you didn’t like poetry,” he huffs out a laugh that’s only a little bit self-conscious. Jon shrugs, reaching out for his mug and taking a sip.
“I don’t understand it. And yes, I have been known to dislike it at times, but… Maybe I could be swayed to give it another shot.” Jon rolls his eyes fondly and looks at Martin out of the corner of his eye, a look that says ‘for you’. Martin grins, heat pricking at his cheeks once again.
“You see, i-it’s all about emotion.” He places the notebook gently on his lap face down and reaches for his own mug. “You w-want to put all of your emotions into words in a-an artistic way, that has a rhythm and, uh, and feels alive. And you want your, uh, your readers to feel that, that emotion through your words.”
Jon listens attentively and his eyes aren’t leaving Martin’s face; at one point Martin gets distracted by it and forgets where his explanation was going. Jon’s gaze has always been intense, in different ways throughout the time they’ve known each other. At first it was judgemental, the gaze of his boss, full of unmet expectations; then it was piercing, watchful and suspicious; as time passed, it seemed to gain more and more weight of the Beholding, something Tim always complained about. After Martin had joined Peter Lukas, the rare glances he got from Jon were full of yearning that Martin didn’t understand at the time; didn’t want to understand. Now, it’s that gentle fondness, interweaved with something intangibly sad and Martin feels an urge to hug him, to bring him close to his chest and never let go; to bury his face in Jon’s hair and protect him.
They move to place their mugs at the table at the same time and snort, amusement quickly turning into a fit of laughter. Jon throws his head back a little with it and Martin wonders if he has ever seen him laugh so openly before. He didn’t think it was possible for him to fall in love with the man even more, but once again, his heart proves him wrong. He stares at him with a lovestruck expression and thinks they should really talk about it. Martin doesn’t know where to start though and Jon seems to be thinking in a similar direction because his expression shifts into gentle seriousness.
“Martin, I…” He starts and bites his lip. “I need to apologize.”
Martin straightens a little; it’s not exactly what he expects.
“I—The way I used to treat you…” Pain and guilt flash through Jon’s face as he looks away for a moment to gather his thoughts. “It was not okay. None of it was okay. And I’m—I’m really sorry for that. It doesn’t—I know it doesn’t change anything that happened, but I” —he sighs. “I really am sorry. I hope I can, somehow, uh… somehow make it up to you.”
Martin reaches for Jon’s hand, and he looks down in surprise; Martin sees his eyes start glistening.
“I’m sorry for everything that happened to you.” He continues in a whisper and his eyes are locked on their touching hands. “I’m so sorry about the Lonely. I’m sorry that you’re trapped in all of this with me, and I would understand if you decided to leave—”
“Jon.” Martin squeezes his hand and Jon’s eyes shoot up to look at him.
“I’m sorry, that’s not an apology,” he sighs again. “I just… I’m sorry, Martin. About everything.” His other hand grips Martin’s. “I’m glad you are still here. I’m—I’m so glad, you d-don’t even know,” he laughs.
“I think I do.” Martin smiles gently. “Thank you for saying that. I’ve—I've forgiven you for a lot of it a long time ago. A-And the rest just isn’t your fault.”
Jon frowns.
“The Lonely was always there,” Martin shrugs. “Peter Lukas was just… a catalyst, I think. But now I have you.” His finger grazes the outside of Jon’s palm and his heart flutters in his chest when he sees that small smile appear on Jon’s face. “And you can’t be blamed for Elia—Jonah’s games. We’re all just… a bunch of people who didn’t know what was going on until it was too late.”
Jon’s eyes fall as he nods slightly.
“He’s still up to something,” he says quietly.
“Figures,” Martin laughs bitterly. “But we’re here now. And frankly, I don’t really want to think about him when we’re finally…” The word ‘together’ gets stuck in his throat, as if it would breach this fine line of ambiguity they’ve drawn between themselves. Jon seems to fill it in and his eyes land back on Martin.
He’s never wanted to kiss him more than he does right now. Jon's eyes are wide and glistening with something that looks suspiciously like hope, and his fingers gently graze the outside of Martin's palm. Warmth spreads in his chest and his eyes flutter a little, not breaking the eye contact. He wants to pull Jon close to his chest, to run his fingers through his hair and feel his breath on his own skin. To really feel like he's there, next to him, with him.
Before he can follow through with any of that, something sizzles in the kitchen, loud in the silence, startling them both.
“Food!” Jon chuckles slightly before he jumps to his feet and rushes to the kitchen, while Martin snorts and follows him. Jon stirs the pan with curry and sighs with relief when he sees it's not burned. He turns down the heat anyway and checks on the rice.
“Jon, this smells amazing,” Martin says, peeking into the pan with cheese and spinach. “I didn't know you could cook.”
“Well, contrary to the popular belief I was a functional human being. For a while,” Jon snorts and leans against the counter to look back at Martin. “It's Palak Paneer, my grandma taught me when I was a child.”
“It looks fantastic,” Martin grins, and Jon rolls his eyes in mock exasperation.
Even though the moment's lost, the remains of the feeling can be felt between them as they prepare the plates and take the food to the table. They easily fall back into usual chatter and, as soon as they’re finished, Martin jumps to wash the dishes. Jon relents after extensive affirmations from Martin that he's alright and he can definitely take care of a couple dishes in the sink, and he drops onto the couch with a content sigh instead.
Martin finishes up with the dishes and dries his hands on a towel.
“Do you want some tea?” He asks and hangs the towel back on the rack. When there's no response, he turns to the couch. “Jon?”
Something sinks in his stomach when he sees that the object that consumes Jon’s attention is the poem he’s finished; he scratches his neck, as his cheeks take on a pink tinge. “Oh…”
He walks up to the couch, unsure, trying to gauge Jon's reaction. His face seems tense, he squeezes the notebook in his hand so hard his knuckles go white, and his eyes are focused at one point on the page.
“Um... Jon?” Martin asks weakly, his heart drumming in his chest so loud he's sure both of them can hear it.
Jon jumps to his feet, startled, and looks up at him with eyes wide, like a deer in the headlights. Martin instinctively raises his hands in a placating gesture, as Jon registers his presence, looks down on the notebook in his hands, and quickly puts it on the table as if it stung him.
“Martin, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to look, it was just there and—”
“Hey, Jon, it’s alright!” It’s maybe a little not alright, since the poem is nothing short of a love confession and a wish Martin had no right to assume would ever be true, so Jon reading it is less than ideal. Martin rushes to gently place a hand on Jon’s shoulder but when he recoils from the touch, Martin withdraws his hand, cursing everything about himself.
“No, I, uh…” Jon runs his hand through his hair, eyes darting between Martin, his hand, and the notebook frantically. “I shouldn’t have— uh, it’s—it’s your private business, what you write about, so—”
Martin is sure he’s tomato red on the face by this point and hopes against hope that the afternoon light filtering through the curtains obscures it just a little. Jon, on the other hand, doesn’t have the embarrassed blush that usually darkens his cheeks; instead he breathes fast, his hands shaking ever so slightly. Martin sees him hunch just a little, making himself smaller.
“Um, yeah, I, uh—” He starts fidgeting with his fingers. Did the idea of—of love frighten Jon so much? He was stupid to leave it out in the open and now Jon knows, and it’s not how he feels, so he hates him… “I’m sorry.”
Jon’s eyes snap to him, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion.
“For what?”
Martin huffs out something like a pained laugh.
“Th-That’s not exactly how- how I wanted to tell you.” He wrings out his hands and shoots Jon a pleading look. What’s done is done and the only thing he can hope for is for Jon to let him down easy and never speak of this again.
“Tell me?” Jon looks down at the notebook again and there’s the worry again, stark on his face. He breathes out, slowly, and looks at the floor. “I don’t—I don’t even want to think this is a possibility…”
Martin doesn’t need to imagine what it would be like to be stabbed, if he wanted to - he’s pretty sure the acute pain of his heart shattering in his chest is close enough. His mind tries to catch up to the emotions, slow them down just a bit, because something seems off, and isn’t this a weird way to reject someone you must have known had a crush on you? But his throat tightens with the swell of pain and shame and Martin blinks away the tears welling up in his eyes.
Jon sighs and plops down on the couch, hiding his face in his hands and pushing his glasses up to his forehead.
“We d-don’t have to talk about it, if—if you don’t want to,” Martin says quietly. He sits down next to Jon, careful not to touch him in any way, and puts his hands between his knees.
Jon lets out a bitter laugh.
“Isn’t that what they—the Web would want? Just… mindlessly follow, go with the flow until something… irreversibly bad happens?”
Martin turns to Jon with a frown.
“Wh—What?”
Jon looks at him with something glistening in his eyes and Martin can see the lines of pain and misery written on his face like they belong there.
“The web,” he says faintly. “Strings of fate. I—” He lets out a breath. “Was I just being manipulated this whole time? Was I ever really—Did I ever have a choice?”
“Jon... what are you talking about?”
“You—You said I was...” He reaches for the notebook and points at a verse with his finger. “’Made your choice unaware you were led by strings of web against your heart.’ How—W-Why did you say this?”
Martin stares into Jon's green eyes with concern, yet parts of his heart start to weave themselves back together. However confused and worried Jon seems to be, none of it is directed at Martin; he looks at him with desperation, almost pleading, and he realizes they’ve been having two different conversations at the same time.
“Oh-Oh, God, Jon, I-I didn't mean—I just, it's a-a metaphor, just that, you know,” he takes a breath. “It does remind me of a web, the-the way we got caught up in Elias' plans.” He looks down, his cheeks burning as he remembers why Jon would get caught at this specific phrase. “I'm sorry for, uh, using that, it was just the first thing that came to my mind and—”
Jon exhales next to him and Martin risks a look up. The uneasiness isn't gone from his face but he relaxes just a little bit, enough to stabilize his breathing.
“I'm sorry for this… this whole thing, Martin.” He gestures at nothing in particular and it's his turn to look at the floor, as if it's all of a sudden the most interesting thing he's ever seen. He starts fidgeting with the notebook. “I'm just—What if it’s true?” His voice goes higher at the question and he closes his eyes. Martin squeezes his arm. “What if I am just... Just a puppet? An inhuman, helpless puppet in the hands of—Of some spider pulling the strings?”
A tear rolls down Jon's cheek and Martin grabs one of his hands. It’s small and still shakes a little; he tries to put all the protectiveness he feels into this small gesture. Jon doesn’t recoil this time, instead taking a moment to watch Martin’s hand clasp around his.
“Jon,” Martin starts softly. “You're still you. You're not some—Some spider puppet that can't make choices.”
“But what if—”
“You've made a choice to go into the Lonely for me.” Martin bumps their knees together lightly and Jon looks up at him. “I don't suspect any webs would need me alive to push you into it. It was You.”
Jon looks him in the eyes and Martin barely stops himself from reaching up to his face to wipe away his tears.
“Or it just makes us think that we have a choice but are ultimately helpless against fate and everything we do is determined by intricately crafted circumstances,” Jon whispers. “Maybe free will is a lie.”
Martin blinks.
“Jon...”
“Maybe I was never able to stop it. Any of it.” Jon’s voice grows more horrified and even though his eyes are directed at Martin's face, he seems to be looking somewhere past him. “Maybe nothing we try to do really matters.”
“Jon.” Martin’s voice gains a bit of force, even though he feels all but sure. “What do you see?”
Jon frowns. “What?”
“Look at me and tell me what you see?” The force is gone; the sentence sounds more like a feeble suggestion than a request, but Jon's eyes refocus on Martin's in a frown of confusion.
“What do you mean?”
“We're here now,” Martin says quietly. “And yeah, maybe our decisions are all predetermined or whatever. I still think it matters that we try. I think our experience matters. And you're not a-a monster without free will, Jon. You care about people, and you’ve sacrificed a lot for other people. You've made your own choices and, no matter if they were good or bad, they were still yours. And I think that matters.”
Jon blinks at him for a moment, then his shoulders slump with a sigh and he interlaces their fingers. Martin doesn’t miss it and he feels warmth in his chest.
“I've always been afraid of—of my will not being my own anymore,” he confesses quietly. “Of, uh... of not knowing the difference.”
“I get it,” Martin nods. “If it’s any consolation, I see a lot of Jon in you still.” Jon looks up at him with surprise and Martin gives him a half smile. “I see a very changed Jon but it's still Jon.” He strokes Jon's palm as his heart picks up the pace. “The same Jon I've first fallen in love with.”
Jon exhales softly, his face caught in a soft surprise, and Martin smiles around the dull ache in his chest.
“You don't have to say anything. I'm sure you've known for a while, but I just... I wanted to say it.”
With every second that passes in silence, however, Martin's cheeks grow hotter, and he concludes that this might have been a mistake.
“I-I'm sorry. M-Maybe I shouldn't have said that, I… I don't want things to get weird or anything, so, uh, we can, we can just forget—”
“Martin.” Jon says his name in a soft and kind of inquisitive way that makes his heart bounce around and transforms the ache in his chest into swirling butterflies again. Martin looks up and Jon’s head is tilted to the side, his face still wet with tears, but he notices something hopeful glitter in his eyes. “I love you too.”
Martin frowns, suddenly wondering if he isn't dreaming. Is Jon really saying what he thinks he is? Did he hear correctly? Maybe he misheard—
“I have for a while,” Jon's voice is still quiet and soft. “I didn't want to say anything because I thought it was too early after the Lonely and you might not feel this way anymore, but...”
Martin swallows, acutely aware of how loud his heartbeat is. He squeezes Jon’s hand and smiles slightly.
“I... I didn't know,” he whispers, not trusting his voice to cooperate.
“As soon as I woke up from the coma, I wanted to tell you,” Jon says. “I thought I was too late; that it took me too long to stop denying the feelings I had because I didn’t know how to deal with them, and I'd missed my chance.” He laughs bitterly.
“So that’s what it was about,” Martin whispers, as Jon's actions towards him throughout his time as Peter Lukas’ assistant start falling into place. Jon looks at him with a frown, so he adds, “The ‘let's gouge out our eyes and escape'.”
Jon scrunches up his nose and clears his throat.
“Yes, well. Yeah.”
Martin chuckles quietly.
“I don't think I would have lasted in the Lonely if I understood then. But then again. It didn't really matter in the end. It didn't help.”
“But it was your choice,” Jon echoes Martin's words from before and their eyes meet again.
“Yeah. It was my choice.”
They stare into each other's eyes for a moment, losing track of time, before Jon smiles slightly and looks back at the notebook.
“I really am sorry for not asking your permission, though,” he says. “I got so caught up in the metaphor I didn’t even finish it.”
Martin blinks, the warmth from his chest spreading to his cheeks again.
“D-Do you want to?”
Jon smiles softly, this new smile that Martin has only seen in the past couple of days, always directed at him.
“If you’d let me.”
Martin needs to look away, unable to handle the affection in Jon’s eyes. He mumbles an ‘okay’ with a smile that’s not entirely under his control and gets up.
“But I am making that tea whether you want it or not, waiting for someone to finish reading something is a torture.”
He hears Jon laugh as he heads back to the kitchen.
When he comes back with two steaming mugs, Jon is waiting for him with a smile and his nervousness dissipates with his next words.
“I like it,” Jon says. “Apart from the, uh, web metaphor, obviously. It's hopeful.”
“Y-You do?”
Martin swallows; the pleasant tingling in his stomach is back. He places their mugs on the table and reaches out to join their hands again. Jon intertwines their fingers immediately and caresses the outside of Martin’s palm with his thumb.
Jon looks down at the verses again and smiles softly, almost sheepishly, a familiar blush darkening his cheeks.
“I—I don't know if there would be anything for us outside of. You know. The fears and all that,” he grimaces. “At least, for me. But, uh…” He looks at Martin again with a hopeful expression that makes Martin melt a little, and he gently caresses Martin's cheek with his free hand. “I really like the thought of it.”
Martin's brain might be short-circuiting at this moment and all of his thoughts take form of fuzzy static.
“Me too,” he says, suddenly breathless. Jon's hand rests cupping his cheek and, are they a bit closer than they were a second ago? Jon's gaze slides down Martin's face to his lips and he feels he might faint right there and then. He doesn't, instead gathering up his courage to take a breath.
“Can I kiss you?” Jon asks first and Martin feels his lips form a grin.
“Please,” he breathes out; the next second their lips meet, soft but urgent, desperate and sick of waiting. Martin's hand dives into Jon's soft hair, fingers scraping the delicate skin of his head and earning him a low sound from Jon's throat. They pull each other closer and find a rhythm to lose themselves in for just a moment; the sensation of Jon's tongue swirling in his mouth, of his slender fingers on his cheek and his neck, the pressure of his body against his chest; all of it making Martin dizzy with happiness.
Martin pulls away when his lungs painfully remind him breathing is still a necessity and he opens his eyes to look at Jon – His soft lips, his nose, his pockmark scars, and his eyes, green yet with no trace of Beholding in them. He takes him in whole, with all of his flaws and all of his virtues, and he feels seen in return, seen by the man he loves and who loves him. The weight of it all hits Martin like a crashing wave and he pulls Jon in for a tight embrace.
“I love you,” he whispers against his shoulder, and he feels Jon's arms tightening around his torso.
“I love you too, Martin.”
#tma#the magnus archives#tma fic#summer in the archives event#niki.writes#jonathan sims#martin blackwood#jonmartin
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50 or 33 with jmart for the smooch prompt list :mimhonk.emoji:
#33 - An unexpected kiss that shocks the one receiving it, and #50 - A kiss, followed by more that trail down the jaw and neck. POR QUÉ NO LOS DOS!
thank you tem!!! :D I had a lot of fun with this one, and because of that it also got Long As Fuck so bear with me on that. Set in the safehouse also! Hope you enjoy ^_^
It’s been a very, very good day at the safehouse. The Lonely has been quiet, lurking almost entirely out of sight rather than clinging onto the both of them, and Martin’s been relaxed and open, happy in a way Jon hasn’t honestly seen him in months. The Eye has been quiet as well, and even Jon’s pain levels have been down today - no small miracle given the chilly weather - and it feels like a day for new beginnings, a day for truths.
So, “I missed you,” is what tumbles out over dinner, over beans and soup and tea.
Jon hears Martin’s breath catch before he sees it, before he looks up to see the stunned smile that takes over his face. “I missed you too,” he replies softly, and Jon pretends not to hear the crack in his voice where the unused muscle of emotion splits the air.
Jon holds his gaze for an admirable amount of time, but even he wavers. He’s never been a brave man, and he looks down at the table before speaking. “There were spiders, while you were gone,” Jon begins, tracing a finger along the grain of the table. “God, I really should have gotten more in the business of squishing them.”
“Yeah?” Martin offers, encouraging. The anecdote feels clumsy, foolish, but Martin is laying a hand across the table to show his patience, and Jon is grateful.
“I never quite could make myself do it though, I guess I just-” He trails off, starts a new thread of the story. “They always made me think of you, in a way. You always cared so much about all the little things. Always insisted on carrying them out. Dreadful things that still deserved kindness in your eyes.” Like me, he doesn’t add. “I always admired that about you. So I didn’t squish them as much.” He finishes clumsily, glancing up with a flash of his eyes before looking down at the table again to pick at the grain of the wood.
Martin blinks at him. Stares at him in silence for what Jon can only assume is an eternity, until he has to look up and make sure he’s still there. And then Martin stands, tea forgotten, maneuvers himself around the table, and darts in and presses his lips to Jon’s.
It only lasts for a moment - half a heartbeat of a touch - but it’s warm and vulnerable and a bit awkward and it sends Jon’s eyes flying wide open in shock.
Martin pulls back just as quickly as he had dived in, retreating so fast he bumps into the nearby counter, his eyes widening, and the first thing out of his mouth is “Oh, shit.”
Jon can’t blame him, he’s utterly dumbstruck himself. His head feels pleasantly fuzzy, but confusion swims up to trump every other emotion until the only thing he’s able to push out of his lungs is; “I- excuse me?”
Martin blinks, his panic floundering in confusion. “I- sorry, excuse you for what?”
Jon’s brows furrow together as he tries to piece his thoughts together. “You... don’t,” he says like it’s obvious, and then hesitates. “I-I mean, you- you said... you did, but not... so why-” Jon looks hopelessly out of his depth as he gestures, not making sense. “Why did you do that?”
Martin stares, the tips of his ears burning dark red. “I don’t what, Jon?”
Jon curls in on himself, shame bubbling to the surface. What has he gotten wrong? What has he missed? “I-in the Lonely. You said you loved me.”
Martin’s breath hitches at his own words repeated back at him - words he doesn’t even remember saying. The fog had been so intense, so much and yet so pointless all at once, it had been so hard to keep anything straight, to hold down any memory or emotion. He hardly remembers saying those words, but they draw a wobbly smile out of him anyways. He supposes it makes sense that he would say them, though. Not much could cut through the fog, but Jon did. Jon always did. He still does.
“Did I? I didn’t know I had it in me to share.”
Jon shakes his head, now looking frustrated. “But you didn’t.” He insists. “You don’t... that means you don’t anymore.” His expression stalls for a second, before something akin to horror blooms on his face, and he scrambles to his feet to face him. “Martin, if you think- God, if you think you somehow owe me this after all that, let me be abundantly cl-”
“No!! No, no.” Martin cuts in, sensing Jon’s building distress and moving away from the counter to rest a hand on his shoulder. “No,” he repeats, softer. He takes a deep breath and lets himself run his thumb over the fabric of Jon’s sweater. “I don’t think I owe you. Not in that way. Christ, of course not.”
Jon is silent for several long minutes, before his voice begins working again, and he stutters back into a sentence. “O-okay. Okay. Good.” He clears his throat. “Then why-? I-I-I thought-” He gathers up what brain power he has left to sort his thoughts. Something like hope tinges his voice, and Martin marvels at how deeply Jon seems to have resigned himself to this truth, while still being eager to save his life and run away with him all the way to Scotland. Love is a funny thing. When he speaks again, his voice is so, so quiet. “After the Unknowing, I thought I lost my chance. Thought you’d moved on. N-not that I would have blamed you, I just- but you-”
“Jon,” Martin says softly, ducking his head to catch his eyes. “I wasn’t quite myself in the Lonely. I didn’t mean that as an ending.” He breaks his gaze away, looks down at his own hand on Jon’s shoulder. “I was mourning something I thought I’d lost.”
“Oh,” The word escapes Jon’s lungs in a rush; several years worth of longing filling up his chest and squeezing his throat like smoke, making his eyes sting. “Oh, I’m sorry-”
“No, no,” Martin shakes his head. “That’s over now.”
Jon presses a hand to his eyes, breathing, letting everything settle in.
“Well. That certainly makes me feel foolish.”
Martin laughs, a free, wonderful sound that fills the air with electricity and warms Jon down to his bones. He realizes he’s staring at him, watching how his shoulders move with adoration, watching the joy radiate from him with nothing short of beauty. A moment of insane courage passes through Jon, and he moves his hand to cover the one Martin still has resting on his shoulder.
He steps closer. “Do you want this then? The way that I do?” His voice is eager, and he’s afraid to breathe.
Martin’s expression absolutely melts, and he sways closer. He Saw Jon in the Lonely, in all his hopeless lovestruck worry, so he knows what he means. “Yes,” he answers. “More than anything. I don’t-” he makes a pained face, and looks down, prepares himself for the undressing that comes before the acceptance of love. “I don’t know how okay I am. Don’t know how much of me is still me after everything with Lukas and- and well, everything, but...”
“I know what you mean,” Jon assures him, running his thumbs over his knuckles. “I’m not even human anymore.” He exhales, in the tone of a joke fallen flat.
Martin squeezes his shoulder. “Exactly,” he murmurs. “But I still want to try.”
“Martin,” Jon exhales, his voice thick and his eyes wet. “I’m so glad to hear that.”
Martin tugs Jon’s hand from where it’s resting atop his to press a kiss to his knuckles, and Jon laughs, a quiet little sound, and then he’s moving, leaning back into Martin’s space; his face growing blurry as he gets up close and presses their lips together again. He misses the mark just a bit, the kiss landing a little too high on his mouth, but Martin leans up into it, rearranging their positions, and just like that it’s perfect. Not earth-shattering, not magical, just perfect, in the way that only imperfection can be. Martin lets himself sink into it.
It’s gentle, sweet, and it makes Martin’s head buzz with disbelief. He breaks away to breathe, for a moment, just to wrap his head around what’s happening, and then Jon is tugging him back in, more intentionally this time.
Jon kisses very thoroughly, Martin soon learns with amusement. He furrows his brow and crowds himself into Martin’s space, curling his hands in his shirt, and he moves his mouth in time with Martin’s like he has a purpose to follow, like he’s devoting himself to studying him; focusing on each touch with crystal clarity. He has a single-minded doggedness about the whole thing, and Martin eventually relaxes and just lets himself be kissed, following along with gentle touches and barely held-back smiles.
He raises a hand experimentally to run through his hair, and Jon kisses him deeper in response; open mouthed and wanting, tasting what he can, allowing himself to bite his lip gently. That takes the breath straight out of Martin’s lungs, and the bitten-off sound he makes apparently encourages Jon even more, as he breaks away and kisses him down across his jaw, under his chin, and down the side of his throat.
It’s frantic at first, a desperate attempt to map out as much of Martin as he can in the time he has, but the sense of urgency starts to bleed out of him, and he ends up kissing gentler and gentler the longer he lingers, until eventually Jon’s just nuzzling his nose into his skin and wrapping his arms around him for a hug. The sigh that escapes him makes Martin’s heart clench.
“I love you,” he mumbles into Martin’s shoulder, and later the weight of this will settle on their shoulders. Later they will have to sit down and figure this out, this mess of personalities and supernatural entanglement, this terrible future of fear laid out before them, and the path forward they will choose to carve out together. But for now they can sink into this embrace and breathe.
Martin doesn’t say the words back, he’s not quite there yet, but he doesn’t need to. It’s enough, it’s more than enough to just be here, for Martin to press his nose into Jon’s hair, and smile until his face aches from it.
#HELLO GAY PEOPLE THIS IS SO LONG#i may be touch starved!#the magnus archives#jonmartin#tma fic#my writing#fic#kisses prompts#god they talk SO MUCH. i do NOT know how to write Tiny Snippets#mossy speaks#ANYWHO ENJOY
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