Prompt Post: The Magnus Archives #1

[gertrude_robinson]

Rules

1. All comments to the meme must be anonymous. Linking to fills on AO3/Tumblr/website of your choice is allowed, but comments here must still be posted anon.
2. Concrit is welcome if the author requests it, but character bashing, kink shaming, and hijacking threads by derailing prompts with contrary comments or asking for additions to the prompt are not allowed.
3. Warning for spoilers and subjects such as non-con, incest, underage, character death and worms is highly recommended, but not mandatory.
4. Crossover prompts between Rusty Quill Gaming and The Magnus Archives may be posted to both posts.
5. Please link all fills to the fill post.
6. Don't be an asshole. Mods reserve the right to freeze, screen or delete at their discretion.
7. While it should go without saying (kink meme and all) please be advised that much of the content here may not be appropriate for individuals under 18.
8. Update: All prompts can be filled by more than one person. Two cakes (or three, or four) are always appreciated.

While spoiler warnings are not required, if you would like to spoiler cut anything, you can use the following code:

<div tabindex="-1"><b>spoiler title</b><div>Some spoilery content.</div></div>

Prompting Guidelines

1. The prompt should begin with "Prompt:"
2. The fill should begin with "Fill:". Otherwise there should be no change to the title.
2. Include the names of the character(s) or pairing(s) in the title, followed by the kink or trope if applicable. Pairings should be formatted A/B(/C/D).
3. If you would like to provide warnings, please put them in the first line of the comment to prevent the titles from getting too long.

And example title: Prompt: Jon/Plant monster, sex pollen

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Comments

Fill: Gen, Pupil!Jon transformation (2/2)

[(Anonymous)]

"Yes, I… I think I'm finished." The light returns to the room, although trying to look at the edges of the space still makes Martin's head hurt. And there's Jon, in the same clothes he'd been wearing, with the same shaggy, almost-due-for-a-trim hair. His hands and body are covered in nearly dried blood, but Martin is pretty sure it isn't his. He looks fine, he looks normal, and Martin bites down on a sob, throwing his arms around Jon and holding him tight.

"Martin—"

"What the hell, Jon, I thought you were—I thought you killed Elias so you could take his place as the stupid pupil or whatever even though—"

"Martin," Jon tries again with a little more urgency, although he's brought his arms up to hug Martin back now so everything is fine.

"—you promised you wouldn't, you said we'd go together, but I was so worried because you were just gone this morning, why didn't you tell me, I would have—" Martin stops abruptly. Not because of Jon's protests, but because something just… moved. Under Jon's shirt, right where the palm of Martin's left hand rests.

"Martin, please listen." Jon is gripping Martin's shirt very tightly, trying to keep him from pulling away, and he's talking fast. "I did take his place. I'm sorry, I just… I couldn't go through with it, I won't let the Web have its way. The fears stay here. We stay here, we stop this."

"No… no, Jon, you didn't. You didn't! Let go!" Martin starts to struggle, trying to push Jon away, but his grip on Martin is unnaturally strong. On top of that, Martin isn't getting much leverage because every time he puts his hands on Jon he feels that horrible shifting under his clothes again, and instinctively jerks away.

"Martin please, I'm trying to warn you, I'm… I'm different." Martin thinks Jon is trying to sound apologetic, but it's coming off as euphoric. "I can See your fear, yours and Rosie's and… everyone's. And the Eye wants you to know. It wants me to reflect your fear back at you. It wants to make the very act of interacting with me an act of worship."

Martin has gone very still as Jon speaks. It's wrong, Jon is wrong, but at the same time he isn't, he's just… he's just Jon. Martin swallows down his terror, squeezes his eyes shut, and hides his face in Jon's neck. "That's insane, Jon. You're saying you were… a giant butterfly or something for Rosie?"

"Or something," Jon replies, and Martin feels sick with how smug he sounds.

"And now you're… what? What are you for me? What does your precious Eye think is so scary to me?"

"I'm just me," Jon says, sweet and gentle, running his fingers up and down Martin's back soothingly, the way he always used to. "As I was made to be."

Martin keeps his face buried in Jon's neck and opens his mouth, not sure what he's going to say. He feels something shift in the skin under his lips, and without the barrier of clothing it's horrifyingly obvious that the movement was that of an eyelid opening. Martin's lips brush something soft and moist. In that instant of realization Jon finally lets Martin go and steps back, which leaves Martin free to drop to his knees in the tacky pool of blood and vomit.

"It's sweet, really." Jon is speaking softly, but his voice still cuts through Martin's sobbing and retching. "I get to be myself around you. I don't know that anyone else would have such a clear image in their head of me. Thank you." Martin feels Jon's hand touch his hair and he flinches violently away, keeping his eyes screwed shut. He doesn't want to see Jon like this. There's blood all over Martin too now as he falls backwards over Elias's body, desperate to escape.

"Shh, love." Jon's arms are around his neck suddenly, Jon's slight, familiar body pressed against him, his weight settling in Martin's lap like he belongs there. "It's all right." Jon's hand is on his cheek, and Martin can feel at least five of those damp, slightly sticky orbs against his skin. He won't look.

"No, it's not," Martin sobs, turning his face away. It's all he can do… the rest of him feels frozen, paralyzed by fear or something else, he doesn't know. "You left me, Jon. You promised me, and you lied."

"Oh, Martin. My beautiful Martin." Jon's other hand comes up to hold Martin's head, gently but inexorably forcing his face back. "Together. That's what we said, isn't it? I would never leave you." Martin has the barest fraction of an instant to process the implications of that sentence before Jon presses a kiss to his forehead and he feels something in him shift.

Martin cries out, thrashing, but Jon stays planted on top of him, fingers digging into his face with painful force. "Shh," he soothes, like Martin is a fretful child. "Let me help you." The skin of Martin's face feels like it's bubbling under Jon's hands, slowly and painlessly boiling, except it isn't air rising to the surface. Martin squeezes his eyes even more tightly shut. Martin blinks into the palm of Jon's hand. Both of these things happen together.

By now Martin is incoherent with terror and denial, screaming and screaming until Jon silences him with a kiss that closes his throat, puts it to quieter use. Martin can see his own tongue behind his teeth and he wishes he could pass out from the pain, but the truth is that it doesn't even hurt.

"I promised you we would stay together," Jon is whispering, in between pressing kisses to every piece of exposed skin he can find. "I promised the Eye that you would feed it well enough to earn your place beside me. You're doing wonderfully, love." Everywhere Jon is touching him, Martin feels eyes opening, eyes that aren't his, eyes that see things no one should see. Desolation, corruption, madness, darkness. Martin can't control any of them, and every eye that opens brings a new torrent of fear pulsing through him.

It still doesn't hurt.

"Beautiful," Jon sighs, and Martin finally opens his own eyes to look at him. It hardly matters now. Jon has many more eyes than Martin, packed together so tightly in places that it reminds Martin of the honeycomb flesh of Jane Prentiss. A handful of Martin's new eyes helpfully flicker to corruption domains to provide a comparison. He whimpers, the only sound he can manage, and watches himself try to swallow from the inside.

"You're going to help so much. You'll be so good." Jon slides a possessive hand up Martin's shirt, raising a trail of staring eyes in Martin's skin as he does. "My Martin." Jon's hand comes to rest over Martin's heart, and he feels it skip a beat. Then it skips another, rhythmic pounding turning lopsided and irregular. Martin doesn't want to know what his insides would look like on an autopsy table. He stares at Jon, tears spilling out of the only eyes that are really his, and wishes he could ask why.

"A healthy human body has two eyes, Martin," Jon replies anyway, voice a parody of the dry academic tones he'd once used. "Two eyes mean two pupils."

Despite the blockage in his throat, Martin finds that he can still scream after all.