rusty_kink | Prompt Post: The Magnus Archives #1

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From: (Anonymous)

“Why do you keep kissing me?” Jon asked.

“I need a motive?” Martin asked incredulously. “Maybe I just want to.”

“It’s not that simple,” Jon said. “It’s never that simple with things like us.” He took a deep breath and tapped into powers that were a little unhappy with him for not providing for them as well as he could. “Why do you keep kissing me?”

Martin smiled, almost the same way Elias had smiled when Jon had compelled him. “I like you. You’re good to have around, when you’re not miserable. When you decided not to call the wrath of Beholding down upon me, I knew you liked me too. And you kept your word and stayed, and you… you’re going to remember me. If I’m good, maybe you’ll even miss me. I’ll miss you. I’m going to miss you so much, Jon.”

The longing in Martin’s voice was undeniable. Jon knew the sound of that craving, that desperation for something to feed his master. “So that’s what this is about? Being a better servant for The Lonely?”

“Yes,” Martin said. “But it has to be you. You’re the only one I’ve wanted, the only one I’ve cared about since… since my mother died. You’ll remember me, you promised to remember me, and I’ll think about you all the time when you’re not around. I’ll watch you, sometimes, aching to touch you, to talk to you, but I won’t. I’ll write poems about you, and they’ll never come out right. Peter will mock me, and I’ll be miserable with it. And then, when I break and visit you, maybe you’ll be happy to see me, maybe you’ll be cruel. Maybe you’ll even be cold, pretend not to remember me. But I’ll take whatever you give me and miss you again when you’re gone.”

Jon stared at him. “That is… horrifying, Martin.”

Martin laughed, and there was a hysterical edge to it. “You watch people’s worst fears over and over again. You pry into people’s minds, and take truths that they try to hide, even from themselves. You should be dead, and you live and breathe and are just so bloody judgemental, aren’t you? We’re the same, Jon. You and me and Peter and Mr. Bouchard, we’re all the same. The rest of us have just stopped fighting and accepted it.”

“…stopped fighting?” Jon asked softly. Martin froze. “You didn’t want this either, did you? You were desperate and already primed to accept, just like I was. Peter Lukas had your mother killed to break off your ties to the real world, and you frame it as owing him everything.”

“I do. I do owe him everything,” Martin said. “You don’t understand, I’m worthless. No one wants me, no one has ever wanted me. Peter didn’t have to kill my mother, she didn’t want me either. He was just annoyed that I kept trying. I was a kid, I didn’t know any better! And, yeah, it hurt at first. It was cold and I was scared and I didn’t think it would ever end, but once I accepted it, I could see that it was peaceful too. He gave me that, that peace. And this flat and these clothes and everything I own is paid for by the Lukas family. What am I supposed to do, take my non-existent resume and work history and find out who wants to hire a thirty-one-year-old dropout?”

“Isn’t that better than killing people to survive?”

“I don’t kill anyone! It’s… killing isn’t efficient. Anyone who finds their way into The Lonely once can find their way again. I’ve caught a few people five or six times. And yeah, they’re scared for the few weeks or months they go missing, but they’re not hurt. They’d be scared anyway. They’re always scared, people are always scared, Jon. It doesn’t matter what we do, they’re always scared. Might as well use it.”

Jon looked away. “I see.”

“You’re a hypocrite,” Martin said after a long moment. His voice was soft now, tired almost. “You and Gertrude Robinson, both. I wonder if it’s an Archivist thing, if you think that distance is the same thing as non-culpability.”

Jon gave a bitter laugh. “I don’t. Not anymore, at least. I truly think Gertrude thought she was doing the best she could, working with monsters, even becoming one to try to stop them. But I know I’ve surpassed her. I know that because Elias murdered her by shooting her in the chest three times, and I know that wouldn’t kill me now. I know what kind of monster I am, and I’m trying not to be, but…”

“You’re tormenting yourself and helping no one,” Martin said. “All those people you think you’ve hurt? They were scared before and they’re scared now, only now they have someone to blame. It’s not a vague fear of the dark, or of spiders, or of being alone. It’s you. It’s someone they can point a finger at and blame. Humans love blaming things. If anything, you’re giving them an outlet for it.”

“It’s not about them,” Jon said. “I wish it were. If it was about helping them, I might be able to consider myself at least a decent person. But it’s about me. Because I’m not decent.”

Martin bit his lower lip. “I think… I don’t think it’s about you being decent or not. It’s about you being human or not. And you aren’t. That’s what you need to accept.”

“I think you might be right.” Jon put the movie back. “But I’m not ready to accept that. Not yet.”

“Fine. In the meantime, enjoy judging the rest of us.”

“Martin.” Jon grabbed Martin’s wrist before he could walk away. “I’m not… it’s not you I’m judging. It’s Peter Lukas. You’re doing the best you can with what you’ve been given and there’s something admirable about that. You’re not worthless. But Peter Lukas is a sad piece of garbage who preys on children and puts his subordinates at risk to spare himself an inconvenience and he’s worthless. I just wish I could help you in some way.”

“If you could be normal again, divorced from The Eye and all its knowledge and power, would you?”

“Yes,” Jon said emphatically. “In a heartbeat.”

“At any cost?”

“No, I know enough to know I wouldn’t be willing to pay anycost,” Jon said. “But I would be willing to give up a lot.”

Martin nodded. “I wouldn’t. I wouldn’t give up the peace of The Lonely. We’re different, Jon.”

“I know.” At some point, the grip Jon had had on Martin’s wrist had turned into hand holding, their fingers lacing together. “I like different.”

Martin leaned his forehead against Jon’s. “You’re sending me some mixed signals, here.”

“Good. Then I’m not the only one confused and unsure.” Jon smiled as Martin huffed a laugh against his face and moved away, keeping their fingers laced together as long as he could. He chose one of the nature documentaries and settled on the couch as it started. Jon sat on the other side and wondered when and how this had changed from a hostage situation to a slice of domestic life to an existential argument to an awkward date.

Also, he wouldn’t have picked this documentary. The deep, pleasant voice of the narrator did little to mitigate the fact that the focus was clearly spiders.

Jon shot Martin a look, and Martin’s shoulders hunched almost imperceptivity. “What? I like spiders. It’s not a Web thing, I just think they’re cute. Especially the peacock spiders.” Jon snorted and looked away, but he could feel Martin’s eyes still on him. “The Web… touched you, didn’t it? That’s what Peter said, he called you ‘Elias’s Web-marked Archivist’ when you were chosen.” Jon shuddered. “I can change it if you want.”

“…please.”

Martin switched to a travel documentary. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Do you?” Jon asked, just a little nastily.

Martin shrugged. “Sure. I told you I’d give you a statement if you wanted.”

Yes, something thrummed within Jon. Let him, get it, take it, make it ours.

The thing about the dreams was that Jon was as helpless in them as his victims were. He couldn’t help, even if he wanted to. All he could do was watch and let them know their suffering was seen and make it worse.

He imagined watching Martin suffering, and doing nothing about it.

“No. Thank you.”

They watched the documentary for a few minutes before Martin spoke again.

“It wasn’t just The Web, was it?”

“No, it was just The Web,” Jon said. “Mr. Spider.”

“No, I mean… you’ve been touched by a lot of them. The Corruption, The Stranger, The Desolation, The Hunt, The End… The Spiral claimed she’d got you as Michael.”

“…not untrue.”

“Wasn’t sure. She lies for fun.”

“Do you have meetings? Tea parties for monsters only? When do I get my invite?”

Martin laughed. “No, Peter just… has a lot of connections and takes me along sometimes. Gertrude Robinson was a hot topic when she was alive. There was a lot of speculation when Mr. Bouchard chose you as her replacement. Have you been marked by The Lonely?”

“No. Not yet.” Jon thought about it, actually thought about it for a long moment. “Actually, The Lonely is the only one that hasn’t marked me. Yet.”

“Don’t look at me,” Martin said. “I have strict orders to keep you out of The Lonely. Peter was very clear on that.”

“It would have made things much simpler for you.”

“Yeah.” Martin grinned. “You probably wouldn’t have broken my nose.”

“It’s not broken, you big baby,” Jon said, feeling unaccountably guilty. “And you kept me tied to a chair for two days. I’d say you earned it.”

“No argument,” Martin said easily. “It was kind of impressive, getting off a hit like that while being tied up.” He blushed a little and looked away.

Jon stared at him. “Martin Blackwood, were you turned on by my physical assault of you?”

“No! Maybe. A little.” Jon laughed at the ridiculousness and Martin gazed at him adoringly. “You have a nice laugh.”

Jon’s laugher died down into a small smile. “You’re going to miss it when I’m gone, aren’t you?”

“Terribly,” Martin said. He looked quite pleased at the prospect. “Will you miss me?”

“I’m not sure. Does it matter if I miss you?”

“No. But I think I’d like you to.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

The documentary ended and Martin put on another one. This one was about some kind of large African cats. They watched it in silence as the sun set, leaving the room eerily lit from the television and the streetlight that filtered thinly through the window. When that was done, Martin fished out an arthouse film, and Jon prepared to be thoroughly bored.

Martin’s nose was still swollen enough that when he fell asleep halfway through the movie, he started snoring. Jon got up and took the duvet off his bed and wrapped him up in it. Martin woke up as he was tucking him in and gave him the sweetest smile. “C’mere.” Jon regretted it before even slipping under the duvet with him, snuggling into his warmth. This was a bad idea.

“Hey,” Martin said, no longer asleep. He had his arm wrapped around Jon’s shoulders and Jon could hear his steady heartbeat. “Can I show you something?”

Jon nodded.

Martin pulled the duvet over their heads, blocking almost all the light, save for a flickering faint glow from the television. “Did you ever do this as a kid?”

“Do what?”

“Hide under your blanket and pretend you were in a different world.”

Jon shook his head, then realized that Martin probably couldn’t see him. “No.”

“Hmm. Maybe it’s not as universal as I thought.” Martin tugged Jon closer, until he was practically holding him in a one-armed hug. “This is a pale reflection of it, but it reminds me of The Lonely. I guess I was always looking for it, even as a child. My dad wasn’t abusive, exactly. My mother wouldn’t have stood for that. But he could be loud, and he was always angry at something. Work, his family, life in general. He left when I was eight. That was when mum started getting sick.”

Jon closed his eyes. He hadn’t asked. This wasn’t his fault.

“When Peter first brought me into The Lonely, he held my hand the entire time. Told me if I let go, I would just vanish into it. He was lying, of course, teasing me. But I believed him completely, and… and a part of me wanted to. To let go of his hand and just… disappear. He smiled at me and told me I did well, even though I just stood there, holding his hand. I think he knew what I wanted, and I think that was when he decided to keep me.”

“Did he hurt you?” Jon asked.

“Yes,” Martin said. “Not physically, he’s not… He’s a big guy, but he doesn’t use violence. It’s too much effort. He’s just cruel.”

Jon thought about Elias, about how he’d tormented Melanie with the truth. About how he’d toyed with Jon with half-truths and omissions. About how he’d trapped Daisy and Basira by offering them a choice that wasn’t a choice. “Most of us are cruel.”

“You’re not.”

“I assure you, I can be,” Jon said. “You’re not.”

Martin kissed the top of his head. “I can be, too.”

Jon believed him, not because Martin had showed him any cruelty, but because what he was stripped away the parts of humanity that prevented cruelty. And yet, as he felt Martin relax against him and drift back off to sleep, Jon felt only safety and security in his arms. A duvet couldn’t keep out The Eye, and yet it felt private, peaceful here. Until Jon closed his eyes and once again visited the nightmares of everyone he’d tormented.

From: (Anonymous)

Sometime during the night, the duvet had slipped down low enough for the morning sun to filter through the windows, just bright enough to wake Jon up. Martin placidly snored on, barely tightening his grip and giving a soft moan of protest as Jon wriggled out of his hold. He turned over the laundry, hoping it hadn’t mouldered overnight, and filled the kettle before plugging it in. He’d slept in an awkward position, and should have felt stiff, but he didn’t. He felt relaxed and…

…hungry.

It wouldn’t be long before he could return to the Archive and record a few statements. He could wait a few hours. In the meantime, he gathered up the teacups, making enough noise to wake Martin who joined him.

“Make yourself to home, I suppose,” Martin said with a good-natured yawn, stretching out his neck and shoulders. “How’d you sleep?”

“Apart from the never-ending parade of nightmares, quite well. You?”

Martin stood behind him and kissed the top of Jon’s head. He seemed to like doing that. “Just the one nightmare, as usual.” He settled his hands on Jon’s hips, slightly tentative, as if unsure of his welcome. Jon leaned into him just a little, enough to reassure him that it was okay. “Would you like me to talk about it?”

A shudder of pure desire rolled through Jon. Martin pulled him back against him, wrapping his arms around Jon’s waist in an embrace that was more confining than comforting. Jon bit his lip to stop himself from answering, or worse, from Asking. Martin slipped a hand under Jon’s oversized shirt and rubbed at the skin just above the waistband of Jon’s low-riding sweats. “I can give you what you want,” he whispered as Jon fought against the conflicting impulses to melt into his touch and pull away. “All you have to do is take it.”

No. With every instinct and impulse screaming at him to do just that, a part of Jon still resisted. It didn’t know why, but it knew that he shouldn’t. “I… I can’t. Not you, Martin.”

Martin froze and then pulled away all at once. Jon caught himself on the counter, panting and shivering as if he’d been plunged into icy water. His head swam and he felt faint. That was probably the hyperventilating. He carefully lowered himself to the floor before the choice was taken away from him.

The shriek of the kettle startled him, and he jumped. Above him, Martin just sighed. “I’ll get it.” The sounds of him preparing tea helped, and Jon closed his eyes and just let the domestic noises wash over him.

He wished his brain wasn’t so good at coming up with excuses, justifications for doing whatever he wanted. He’d lied before, when the others had confronted him, claiming he felt controlled, letting them believe that maybe it was The Web forcing him to do things. It wasn’t. It never had been. He hadn’t fooled anyone, but his attempt made him more aware of his own internal mental gymnastics whenever the question of feeding his hunger came up.

He imagined watching Martin huddled in fearful misery and being unable to do anything about it. It was bad enough when it was strangers. He couldn’t do that to a… friend?

“Here,” Martin said, passing Jon a cup of tea.

“Thanks.” Jon took it and just let it warm his hands.

Martin hesitated, then sat on the floor, opposite Jon. “I don’t get it,” he said. “Why do you do this to yourself?”

“You said you knew the consequences,” Jon said, staring into the tea. “I don’t think you do. You’re not powerful enough to keep me out if you change your mind.”

Martin huffed. “You don’t have to lie to me. You know enough about me to know that I’m used to rejection.”

Jon laughed. “You seriously think that’s what this is? Martin, if I didn’t care about you, I’d take what you’re offering without hesitation. I’d watch your suffering nightly and stand by, feeling nothing but satisfaction in your fear.”

“The fear is there anyway,” Martin said. “At least, if you were there…”

“What? If I was there, what? You wouldn’t be alone? Of course you would. My presence wouldn’t change that, it would just make it sharper, more real, because it’s being observed.”

“That wouldn’t matter,” Martin said sulkily. “At least you wouldn’t be suffering.”

Jon sighed. “My suffering is temporary. I’ll return to the Institute once you’ve released me and I’ll read some statements.” He finally looked up at Martin and tried for a reassuring smile. “It’ll be fine. Besides, how can you miss me properly if you see me in your dreams every night?”

“I’m pretty sure I still would,” Martin said, but he sounded resigned.

Jon took a sip of his tea and reached out and awkwardly patted Martin’s knee. “We only have a few more hours. What do you want to do?”

A wave of images filled Jon’s mind, and he startled at their intensity. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to think calming thoughts. “God, I wish I could control that.”

“What?” Martin sounded concerned. “What’s… oh. Um. Sorry?”

“No, it’s fine,” Jon said. “Shouldn’t have asked such an open-ended question. Stupid of me really.”

“N-no, I shouldn’t… I mean, I doubt you want to do any of that…”

“Not sure half of it is physically possible,” Jon muttered, and Martin curled up and groaned slightly in mortification. “Sorry. Can we just pretend…”

“That you don’t know I want to fuck you?” Martin said, his voice only slightly shaky. “No. I don’t think I can pretend that.” He gave an uncertain laugh. “I’m pretty sure this is the point where you tell me it’s not me, it’s you.”

Jon snorted. “Actually, yes.” He tried to draw himself up with some dignity. “I don’t put out on the first date, even if that first date spans three days and includes mild bondage.”

Martin laughed, and looked like the laugh surprised him. “So you’re saying, maybe after a second date…”

The images were seared into Jon’s mind and, despite Martin’s clear assumptions, not all of them were sexual in nature. The fuzzy, dreamlike quality of them was likely at least partially due to the fact that Martin had never seen him naked (with all his scars) and didn’t like visualizing his own body. Still, despite some of the more… athletic visions, there were enough images of them cuddling or sitting together or holding hands. Fantasies of closeness, intimacy. Anathema to The Lonely, Jon would have thought, but apparently Peter was a fan of contrasts.

Jon could do that. More that that, Jon found that he wanted to give Martin that closeness. He scooted around and settled next to Martin, hip-to-hip, nursing his tea. After a moment, Martin’s arm slid behind him, his hand coming to rest on his opposite hip. Jon leaned into him.

Martin sniggered. “You’re terrible at this. You’re so tense.”

“Shut up, Martin,” Jon said without any heat. Martin’s grip on his hip tightened slightly and he shifted into a more comfortable position and they drank their tea on the kitchen floor.

“When did you change your mind?” Martin asked out of nowhere.

“Hmm?

Martin shifted, turning slightly so he could look Jon in the eye. “When did you go from headbutting me to wanting to protect me from your militant friends?”

Jon had to admit that the description was accurate. “I’m not sure. I shouldn’t have headbutted you in the first place. Apart from the kidnapping, you’ve been admirably civil.” It irked him a little bit. Made him think that Martin had kept his cool, while Jon had lashed out. “I think it was probably some point around when you offered me a statement and started flirting. Badly.”

“I guess I didn’t have to. I just had to wait for Beholding to scoop all my fantasies out of my brain and plop them into yours,” Martin said ruefully.

Jon sighed. “Yes. It does that. I’m not sure why or how it chooses what to show me, but I honestly think it likes you.”

“What? Why?”

“Maybe because you keep offering to feed it,” Jon said. “Stop that, by the way. I can record a written statement and that will work just fine.”

Martin brightened suddenly. “Yeah. I can do that!” He grabbed Jon’s cup and dumped it in the sink with his, before grabbing his notebook and flipping to the back. “How do your statements start?”

“Uh… name, date, brief summary, and then the statement itself. Martin, are you seriously…”

Martin flashed a grin at him before hunkering down, putting pen to paper. “Martin Blackwood, August 11, 2018, statement regarding… indoctrination into The Lonely.”

“It rather defeats the purpose if you recite it out loud,” Jon said, inexplicably charmed.

“True.” Martin waved his hands in a shooing motion. “Grab a book or something and stop hovering. This’ll take a while.”

Jon got a book, but found himself unable to actually read. He watched Martin surreptitiously, but needn’t have bothered with the subterfuge. Martin was completely focused on the statement, only rarely pausing to rephrase something. It was much more intense than watching him write poetry. Perhaps because he didn’t have the same performance anxiety. Perhaps because he was writing this for Jon.

It was foolish. Jon knew this wasn’t how Martin wanted to spend their last few hours together, each in their own corner, isolated. Jon didn’t even need this. By the time it was done, it would almost be time for him to return to the Institute where there were dozens of statements he could read. It was complete foolishness and somehow unutterably sweet. Jon could barely believe that the same, or at least similar, forces that had moulded him and Elias and Peter Lukas had created this man as well. It was beyond belief.

“How accurate do the dates and times need to be?” Martin asked suddenly. “Just, it can be hard to keep track in The Lonely.”

“Make the most accurate guess you can, while stating your degree of uncertainty,” Jon said, and… was that his voice? So gentle, so fond? He hadn’t known he could sound like that.

No. Actually, he sounded like he was talking to the Admiral. Martin and cats, apparently, were Jon’s weak points. And the worst part was, he didn’t even mind.

Martin gave him a grateful smile and went back to writing.

Jon quietly stood up after a few more minutes and headed to the kitchen, putting together the same sandwich he’d seen Martin eat the day before. It didn’t look any less pitiful for being made by him, but he cut it into triangles so at least it was reasonably well-plated. He placed it on the table beside Martin’s notebook and smiled when Martin made a grateful noise, but didn’t look up from what he was writing. He took bites of the sandwich over the next hour or so, finishing it at around the same time he finished the statement. Jon retrieved his clothes from the laundry and changed, instantly missing the soft warmth of Martin’s borrowed clothes.

“There,” Martin said when Jon returned, tearing out four pages from his notebook and passing them to him. “Bon appétit. And thanks for the sandwich.”

What Martin was offering him was a feast compared to the sandwich. Jon carefully folded up the papers and placed it in his pocket. Martin’s hopeful smile faded into an expression of hurt disappointment and Jon took two steps forward and grabbed the back of his head and kissed him.

Martin made a lovely little surprised noise and kissed back, his hands touching Jon’s hips and sides and arms and never quite landing, as if they didn’t know what they were allowed to do. Jon pressed closer and deepened the kiss, threading his fingers through Martin’s hair and pulling lightly to expose Martin’s neck. “Martin,” he said softly, as he planted kisses against the fluttering pulse in Martin’s throat. He could feel Martin’s hyoid move under his lips as he swallowed.

“Jon,” Martin breathed out, in a gratifyingly unsteady voice. “You… you know… you’re supposed to ask first.”

Jon laughed into Martin’s skin. “Apologies. May I kiss you?”

Martin made an unmistakably affirmative noise, but pushed Jon back. “I… I don’t know what I can do.”

“What do you mean?” Jon asked, and Beholding, once again, decided to be helpful. “I… oh. You’ve… never?”

Martin blushed. “I mean, I was an unpopular gay kid and then I was a servant of The Lonely. Not a lot of opportunities.”

It was a crime. “You deserve better than for your first time to be a hasty fumble with a deadline hanging over your head.”

“No, I wouldn’t mind that,” Martin said quickly. “I just…” His eyes darted towards the clock on the bluray player. “Shit. We really don’t have a lot of time, do we?”

“I can be a bit late,” Jon offered. “I’ll just tell Elias I was tied up.”

Martin burst into far more laughter than the joke really deserved. “N-no, they’ll be really mad. Peter’ll be especially mad if you ruin the timing.”

“Screw Peter Lukas,” Jon said. “And Elias Bouchard. Better yet, make them screw each other.”

Martin chuckled again. “I’m about 70% sure they already are.”

“Ugh. Of all the things I wish I didn’t know, I wish I didn’t know that the most.”

Martin kissed him again, and Jon firmly placed his hands on Jon’s hips. They were large, warm hands, and they felt right there.

“I’m going to find you again,” Martin whispered against Jon’s lips between kisses. “Is… is that okay?”

“Yes, Martin,” Jon said, smiling into kiss after kiss. “I’ll be waiting.”

They moved to the couch for comfort’s sake, but didn’t get much further than that before Martin got a text. “It’s from Peter,” Martin said, thwaping Jon’s arm when he groaned. “He says to head over.”

Jon took the phone from Martin’s hand and read the text itself. I’m at the Institute, meeting with Elias. Untie the Archivist and send him on his merry way. “What a prick.”

Martin kissed him and smoothed his hair. “You heard him. You’re free.”

The hunger pressed on Jon like a physical presence, but he didn’t want to leave. The idea of facing Peter Lukas and Elias rather than staying with Martin made no sense.

But Daisy and Melanie and Basira were waiting for him, and Elias had never been reluctant to take his irritation out on them before.

“You’ll find me,” Jon said, not quite a question.

“You’ll remember me,” Martin said, not quite an answer.

Jon nodded and stood up. “Good bye, Martin Blackwood.”

“Farewell, Jonathan Sims.” Martin walked him to the door and held it open for him with a little smile. “I’ll miss you.”

Jon walked out. He felt the pull of the Institute almost as soon as his feet hit the pavement. It would have been about an hour’s walk, or twenty minutes by bus. It was a nice enough day. He headed east.

From: (Anonymous)

OP HERE, THANK YOU FOR THE WONDERFUL MEAL ANON!!! god this is literally like...exactly what I wanted...thank you for reaching into my brain and manifesting it into reality

From: (Anonymous)

I'm so glad it worked for you! Thanks for the lovely prompt.

From: (Anonymous)

(SCREECHING) I LOVE THIS I LOVE THIS I LOVE THIS

From: (Anonymous)

When I read the prompt I was afraid that if it got filled it was going to be by way of un-monstering them and this is such a good soft monster romance balance I’m so happy I’m going to cry

From: (Anonymous)

Aww, thanks! They really are sweet, in a way.

From: (Anonymous)

It’s so cute and they manage being so cute so well without it being proof of or requiring turning them human and that’s really important to me and you managed it so well and I keep rereading it and going ;;;v;;;

Also Martin offering Jon his nightmares like that is. hot

From: (Anonymous)

Same anon and rereading because I love this ~~and also because I’ve read it enough times that it’s the kinkmeme fill my phone fills in when I try to go here~~ and wanted to state for the record that this is the go-through that made me cry properly I just. I love this fic so much

From: (Anonymous)

Thank you so much! Your comment inspired me - I've been playing around with this for a while, and you pushed me over the edge to post it on AO3 (chapter 1/5). You're a lovely cheerleader.

It's over here:
https://archiveofourown.org/works/29796771

Thanks again for your comments. <3