Oooooooh drawing requests!!! What if, and hear me out because I know this is going to be radical /j, what if: Jmart, and they’re happy? There’s tea, there’s cat(s), there’s a rainbow and green fields and good cows. Eh????
[ID: A digital painting of Jon and Martin from TMA. They are shown from the waist up, from the back. Martin is fat, with long, tied-up ginger hair, white skin, and glasses. He wears a mustard cardigan, blue jeans, and a green scarf. Jon is taller and thin with brown skin, short, salt-and-pepper hair, and glasses. He wears a grey overcoat and muted red scarf. They are walking hand-in-hand through the countryside, along a gravel path, towards a house on a hill. On the patio of the house is a white cat and there is a brown highland cow some distance beyond. The sun is setting, and the sky’s orange and purple light is thrown onto Jon and Martin in the foreground. End ID.]
ok TECHNICALLY no rainbow but COLOURS and martin is definitely 100% holding a shopping bag with tea in it. he told me because i was the tape recorder
✨ Give you and your writing a compliment. Go on now. You know you deserve it. 😉
💖 What made you start writing?
😬 Which of your fics would you be most horrified for friends, family, or coworkers to stumble upon?
💔 Is there a fic of yours that broke your heart?
fanfic writer emoji ask
✨ Give you and your writing a compliment. Go on now. You know you deserve it. 😉
i think i do a good job of encapsulating heavier emotions in my writing, especially grief, hurt, pain, and hopelessness. i really enjoy creating prose that both cuts to the core of those feelings and packages them in such a way that it affects the reader and strikes them in the chest, and i think as i've grown stronger as a writer, i've gotten better and better at doing that. i hesitate to call it my specialty because i like to write a variety of things, but i think it's one of my strengths!
💖 What made you start writing?
so my father writes professionally (copywriter, not fiction), and i picked up a lot of things from him at a young age, one of which was a love for writing. i used it as a way to work through things i was struggling with and to create worlds and lives that were better than the one i had, and escapist fiction has always been a big soft spot for me because of that. i've since sort of branched out into exploring the complexities of the life i do live, as well as the complexities of life in general, but i still love writing fiction (fantasy, etc.) that takes me and readers to places that we can never reach in real life.
😬 Which of your fics would you be most horrified for friends, family, or coworkers to stumble upon?
oh god there are. too many to choose from. i actually started posting stuff under a different username because my parents sort of know my main username via my bookbinding (they know my bindery is blue skies books, they've seen bound books of some of the stuff i've written, ergo, if they wanted to, they could find my ao3). any of the fics i've written that aren't associated with bluejayblueskies are at the very top of that list (especially the erotic vivisection one. god. i would simply melt into a puddle and never come back)
in terms of fics that are associated with bluejayblueskies, i would have to say--surprisingly--closing circles, shutting doors, my collection of 2020 whumptober fics. nothing is sexual or erotic, but there's a lot of kinda heavy and explicit torture in there, and idk--i guess there's something in me that would rather my coworkers discover that i've written church confessional sex than discover that i've written a character getting cassette tape pulled slowly out of his organs with excruciating detail.
💔 Is there a fic of yours that broke your heart?
in terms of 'writing this made me sad'? there's a chapter of closing circles, shutting doors--i can't recall which one--where jon slowly loses his memory and fades away that i still think is one of the saddest things i've written. in terms of 'i had expectations for this fic that weren't met and now thinking of it makes me sad'? i still wish cicatrix (malevolent daemon au) had done better because i was really excited to post it, though i'm mostly over the sting of it by now. it is what it is, and i still like it, which is all that matters.
[ID: A line art sketch of, from left to right, Tim, Sasha, s5-Martin, s1-Martin, and Jon. Tim is leaning over to Sasha and asking “Is that…” and s1-Martin finishes the sentence with “An origami banana?” S5-Martin says “YEP!” in all capitals. He is holding up the origami banana triumphantly in his left hand and pointing at it with his right hand. Sasha and Jon look interested but confused, and s1-Martin appears annoyed. Tim’s face is partially obscured by his hand. At the bottom of the Image, there is the text I’m A Sucker For A Kind Word. In the top right corner, an artist credit for captaincravatthecapricious is visible. End ID]
I'm A Sucker For A Kind Word
Podcast: The Magnus Archives
Rating: M
Pairings: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims (x2 because time travel), Martin Blackwood & Sasha James & Tim Stoker & Jonathan Sims
Martin Blackwood wakes up alone in the Panopticon after the end of the world. He stabbed Jon, sent the Fears Somewhere Else, and now he's...in 2016? In this time travel AU, Martin arrives in the past before Jon and has to learn to accept what happened in the apocalypse, figure out how to live without his Jon (and with himself) for a time, and somehow stop the world from ending all over again...all without Elias figuring out he's there.
AUTHOR
@magnetarmadda
Mad (she/they), I'm a queer researcher doing queer research, and that spills over into my writing a lot whoops lol
BETAS
@bisexualoftheblade
hey there my name’s cai and i am such a sucker for time travel
@vanroesburg
hello i’m van and i am here to love martin blackwood so damn hard
ARTISTS
@captaincravatthecapricious
Jasper: An indecisive hobbyist who never lingers too long in any one fandom, style, or form of art.
Suggestions for jmart drabbles from that prompt list:
15. trembling hands
25. senseless
38. soak
49. nightfall
ASJHFksajh FINALLY DONE!! THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR THESE <3 I decided to do them all because YOU DESERVE THEM ALSO! Am I insane? Yes. Were they also fun to write? ALSO YES! So I see this as an absolute win! I HOPE YOU ENJOY ; w ; <3
[Prompts from here!]
15. trembling hands
Jon’s hands tremble so badly as he attempts to apply the third plaster to the still weeping gash across his throat, that he once again winds up with the sticky bit over raw flesh. He swears and shakily peels the ruined bandage off, tossing it in the bin of the men’s where he stands over a bloodied sink, glaring into his own reflection and willing himself to stop crying, get it together already…
He scrubs at his eyes with his sleeve and reaches for the box of plasters to try again, but broad fingers catch his wrist kindly and fold his shaking hand into solid, reassuring palms. Martin smiles sadly at him, and does not ask what happened.
“Here, let me. Those little things’ll never work for a cut like that. This’ll be needing a gauze pad and a little tape, I reckon. Hold still for me?” he says, his voice so soft, so gentle.
Jon nods, and Martin’s hands are steady and calm as they open the first aid kit he knew to bring and find the medical tape and pads. They are the hands of someone tragically accustomed to triage in all of its forms, used to being the one to remain calm in a maelstrom of emotion and strife, the hands that saved him from a swarm of worms with nothing but grit, resolve, and a corkscrew. The bandage is snug and clean and reassuring against his throat before he even knows what Martin is doing, and he looks up into his boundless, summer sky eyes and touches his boon with quivering fingers.
“There. All fixed, yeah?” Martin assures him, still with that mournful half-smile, and doesn’t even mind as Jon collapses against his shoulder, quaking apart, clinging to the solid monument of him in sobbing veneration.
Martin is still as he holds him, and lets the vibrations of terror wash off of Jon and into himself where they can die the unsung, unseen death they deserve.
UHH THIS IS LONG SO More under the cut!! Please clicky!
25. senseless
Senseless, Jon thinks, is a bit of a misnomer. In all of its contexts it almost universally refers to an overwhelming of the senses, an overabundance of them, rather than an absence of them. Senseless violence, making a senseless decision or choice, being knocked senseless, being kissed senseless… the latter of which he can now say with absolute certainty is an effulgence of celestial sense and sensation. Now that he has kissed Martin Blackwood.
It happens in a midnight Scottish rain on the moonlit mirrored pavers in the garden of Daisy’s safehouse. Jon wakes on their first night to find Martin absent from the bed they had wordlessly agreed to share and tears about the tiny, musty cabin until he spots him there, luminous and vaporous as he gazes up through the frigid mist at the patch of white haze that is the moon behind the clouds. Jon calls his name, and Martin turns with a smile so melancholy, so wrought with heartache and unrequited longing, all Jon can do is run barefoot to his side and gather the passing nimbus of him into his arms to make him whole again. His lips still taste of spearmint toothpaste, perfumed with chamomile and rainwater. Jon hears his tiny gasp of shock, hears the musical patter of the rain on their heads and on the primrose leaves. The feeling of Martin’s arms enveloping him, his fingers carding desperately into his hair, the tiniest hitch of hope in his thunderous chest, makes Jon freewheelingly dizzy and all he can think is Martin, he’s kissing Martin, everything is just Martin and rain and soft lips and warm breath and strong arms and nothing else matters.
He finally opens his eyes to look up at him, at Martin, his Martin, in a halo of moonlight, to see him, droplets of it clinging to his lashes, dripping from his nose and chin, flushed and golden, warm, bright, alive… and there is no other sense in the world.
Jon finally remembers to breathe.
38. soak
As much as Martin would love to soak in the bath for eternity, Jon catnapping against his chest, their bare bodies intertwined chastely in the warm, sudsy water, the water had long become significantly less sudsy and far less warm. They had also worked through their relaxation playlist twice and the wine bottle had gone empty ages ago. The candles had burned down nearly to the bottoms of their glass pots, painting dancing orange shadows on the wall that perform their soporific ballet around the placid tub as Martin presses a nuzzle and an insistent kiss to Jon’s forehead.
“Jon. Love…”
“Hmm?” comes the sleepy acknowledgement against his shoulder.
“The candles are nearly out and there’s no more wine.”
“Ah… so they are and so there isn’t,” Jon snickers blandly, and Martin feels his velvet smirk against his skin.
“The bubbles are also gone, and the water’s gone right tepid,” Martin continues.
“Yeah? Well, who needs bubbles anyway?”
“Not to mention we’re both horribly pruney.”
“I fail to see how any of this is an issue when I am so terribly comfortable,” Jon chides lovingly, all the while scrunching up a little into the warmth and comfort of Martin’s full chest and shivering.
“Well… maybe a little more hot water wouldn’t hurt. If you must whine.”
Martin laughs and kisses him obligingly as he turns on the tap with his toe, content to prune just a while longer.
49. nightfall
There is something strange that happens to Jon every night as they sit out in the garden to have a cup of tea, watch the sun set, and talk about absolutely nothing important at all. Jon lights up. Not in the sense of a loving partner happy to see him as Martin brings out the steaming mugs and the blanket to cuddle under while Jon tells him more stories behind the constellations. Not even in the sense of someone comfortable in their element or eager to share their expertise with someone they love. Jon lights up literally. As dusk falls, he shifts into a crepuscular creature brought to life with the fading of the light in that liminal space between night and day, human and monster. Martin knows he should find it terrifying, but Martin also knows that it is ineffably beautiful. The ephemeral, emerald green eyes that twinkle, barely visible, in the air above his head make a crown of fireflies that sometimes alight in his hair or on his cheek or glitter in constellations down his neck and through his fingertips. Otherworldly luminescence runs through the silver streaks in his hair like a fiberoptic cable, drinking in the ambient information in the atmosphere greedily. Even his own eyes, naturally a deep, woody brown, glow with all the god-streaked colors of the aurora. He is a beacon, a blinking, distant satellite gliding atop their fragile ozone bubble, an abyssal creature greedily snatching up every bit of knowledge detritus that floats down, forgotten.
He is breathtaking.
Martin is also staring quite openly, and Jon reaches out from the warmth and safety of their blanket to poke the end of his nose.
“What’s with that dopey look on your face?” Jon teases lovingly.
“Nothing, just… you’re so beautiful. That’s all,” Martin laughs.
“Sap.”
“Prick.”
Martin is punished for his insult with a sound kiss, and the coy emerald fires of the eyes twinkle around them gleefully.
Rules: post the last line you wrote (from any WIP) and tag the same number of people as there are words.
Thank you @magnetarmadda for the tag! I'm also working on my cat fic, aka my enemies to lovers neighbor AU. We've just gotten past the enemies stage:
Martin doesn't really expect Jon to go back to his usual scowling after this. Still, he can't help but be surprised when, just a week later while he's sitting on a bench in the park to write, Jon suddenly sits down next to him and greets him with an uncertain smile. Buttercup jumps up on the bench between them, sporting a brand new harness and leash in a deep forest green.
Tagging @skyler10fic, @onthedriftinthetardis, @morning-softness and @thebloker, if you want to!
