Aspec Martin Blackwood Week

[ID: A fully coloured drawing of Martin from TMA. He’s a fat freckled white man with dirty blond hair and blue eyes. He’s wearing a brown hoodie, grey sweater, and brown pants that are ripped on the left knee, folding above doc martens. One hand is in his pocket while the other holds the strap of a dark earthy green backpack. On the other strap are gay and ace pride pins. There’s a trans pride flag patch on his right shoulder. Behind him in the background is a rectangle of actual (not drawn) sunflowers. End ID]

🖤🤎❤️🧡💛💚💙💜

[ID: a flat-colour drawing of Martin from TMA. He’s a fat white man with grown out short dirty blond hair, freckles, and glasses. He’s lounging on a pillow and green striped towel. He’s wearing swim trunks coloured like the trans pride blag and a bracelet with gay pride colours. In his right hand, which is raised to his head, he has a glass of orange juice with an ace pride flag sticking out of the top. He has top surgery scars and is smiling warmly at the viewer. The background is a stylistic cartoony sky. End ID]

To make up for that angst I drew earlier, have some pride stuff!!

EDIT: Original pencil sketch under the cut!

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: The Magnus Archives (Podcast) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan “Jon” Sims | The Archivist Characters: Martin Blackwood, Jonathan “Jon” Sims | The Archivist Additional Tags: First Dates, Romantic Fluff, Canon Asexual Character, Asexual Martin Blackwood, Sex Neutral Martin, Sex Averse Jon, Brief discussion of sexual boundaries, Romantic Cliches, So many cliches Summary:

Jon brings him flowers, on their first official date.

*

“Jon’s gaze shifts back to Martin from where it’s drifted off into the middle distance, the intense look on his face replaced with something else. Wonder, Martin thinks. Definitely wonder.”

- Spectrums in Common by Gwyn_Paige

I happened across this really brilliant fic a while ago, and it was just so striking I couldn’t help but draw for it. The fic is about nail polish and solidarity and it’s honestly just completely wonderful. :D Check out their work!!

Bonus because this scene was just so cute:

conversations about love, intimacy and expectations after the end of the world. features kiss semi-averse martin, kiss-neutral jon, and a little bit of anxiety stemming from internalized normative ideas about intimacy and romantic love and a lack of communication. (set between 162 and 163!)

–

The night before they leave Jon nestles close enough that some of his curls get into Martin’s mouth.

“Are you scared?” he asks softly.

“No,” Martin says, and tries to discreetly spit out the stray hairs without making too much noise or otherwise making it too obvious that he’s doing it. 

Jon, seemingly not noticing, is quiet for a bit. “Me neither.”

He feels warm under the blanket, and with Jon partially in his lap he feels even warmer. He thinks it should probably be uncomfortable, to some extent at least, but as it is all he feels is affection. He feels warm on the inside, even more so than on the outside. 

“You don’t have to lie,” Martin says. It radiates off of him. He’s been saying it, for God’s sake, for weeks now, how he’s scared and worried and afraid and whatever other synonyms he has in store – vexed and haunted, whatever. Scared. Afraid. Martin had gathered supplies and waited patiently for him to no longer feel immobilized by that fear. 

Jon’s head moves a little bit. The top of it knocks against Martin’s chin, and Martin tilts his chin up to make room. “I’m not,” he says, and then he sighs. “It’s complicated. I suppose you could say that, technically, if you want to mince words, but it’s more that I’m –” he hesitates, “ I feel uncertain. I don’t know if this is a good idea, and the possibility of us leaving making things worse is… Suboptimal, and I don’t want to cause any more harm. But staying here – I think that’d be worse. Does that make sense?”

“Yes,” Martin says. His arms move without his input to wrap tighter around Jon’s shoulders. He sighs heavily, cheek rubbing against Martin’s chest. Like a cat, Martin thinks, he’s like a cat. He thinks about moving one hand up to scratch behind his ears, gentle and tender and soft and light.  

“You don’t have to lie, either,” Jon says. There’s a smile in his voice. Martin smiles as well. It’s good. It’s nice. He thinks about the way his smile pulls his cheeks up. He thinks about his dimples. He thinks about the way he smiles with just the barest hint of teeth. 

“What? You can just tell if I’m lying now?” Martin asks, not too serious about it. 

“Can you?” Jon asks back. 

“No,” Martin lies. 

Written for the prompts: AU and Touch for AspecMartinWeek

Ace Jon / Ace Martin, AU – Daemons, post 159.

They are lying dozy and lazing on the settee when Jon clears his throat and apologises.

Martin’s thoughts have been like the unheeded tumbling of water through a brook. He hasn’t spoken, he’s sure, for a long while, not confident that he’s fully awake. Jon’s tucked neatly against Martin’s graceless outstretch of limbs, mumbling whatever comes to mind against his throat. His breath is hot, mildly damp, condensing Martin’s skin like he’s fogging up a window.

There is the curiously new, near-dazed feeling that Martin is basking in like the shallow waters of some island beach. Every tension unhooked from him like an unburdened yoke, of having said everything that he has always wanted to say. Digging out the gristle of small deceits from his stumbling mouth was a stop-judder-start of a conversation, and it’s been a painful, physical release to bring them up. Martin’s held his hands over his mouth and the words have spilled out anyway, scraping his throat on the way up, and Jon had rubbed his back and listened as every emotion he forced down came back in nauseous waves.

It’s been exhausting, feeling so much all at once. Martin’s snapped and snarled and sobbed and slept a lot. And now he has the blessed relief to lie, feeling like he’s dug up all the weeds of his fears, the soil of him loosened enough to allow something better to bloom.

Jon knows Martin loves him. Vast-welled, bone-down-deep. Jon knows that love will never be physical, and had still cradled him and declared him beloved, confessed that it was a form of expression he’d never sought either. Jon reframed question after question so they barely resembled enquiries at all, and Martin laid down all the cards of himself with a trustfulness he is having to practise again.

“Hm?” Martin questions sluggish. He opens a squinting, disgruntled eye, discomforted by the radiance of the room, and sees Jon gnawing on his bottom lip. He is managing to give off the impression of both staring intensely at Martin and attempting to avoid his gaze entirely.

“I’m sorry,” Jon repeats. His words are steady enough, but Emer is fluttering hither-and-thither over his head like an anxious coronet. Landing on his shoulder, antennae bobbing, crawling flustered over to his other shoulder before returning airborne in an overactive bluster of motion.

Martin has always liked watching Emer. The flash of gossamer-white wings circling Jon’s head or sat on his wrist like an overly-extravagant watch while he read statements.

“Stop looking,” he used to hiss at the moving lump under his shirt, poking many orb-like eyes over his collar to stare even when Martin stopped. “It’s rude.”

“What’re you sorry for?” Martin asks. The question comes out squashed, half-sighed. His arm encircling Jon’s shoulder, he strokes the skin of his upper arm in a light reassurance.

Jon’s forehead is establishing trenches as he deepens the lines on his brow. Emer lands and whispers harsh, insistent words into his ear, but he shakes his head like shedding water, and she goes back to hovering.

“I should have asked,” Jon says finally. “I’d never…. you were always so private about him, so I mean, at first I wasn’t sure he was even yours, but then – when you, when you went with Peter, and I – he was so small, and I thought he was h-half-dead and Emer wouldn’t leave him. S-so I picked him up and I carried him. And I’m sorry.”

*

Jon brings him flowers, on their first official date. They meet at a little park not far from the Institute, and Martin’s been waiting there almost ten minutes when Jon appears, walking hurriedly towards him with one arm tucked oddly behind his back. 

“About time,” Martin is about to say, when Jon’s hand sweeps forward, and the words are lost in his throat. 

The flowers are bold white daisies, their heads nodding gracefully, with sprays of small yellow blossoms peeking out in between. Jon presents it to him with near schoolboy awkwardness, his cheeks red and scarcely able to meet Martin’s eyes. 

“They reminded me of you,” he says, obstinately, as if daring Martin to deny it. 

Martin doesn’t know what to say. Nobody’s ever brought him flowers before. In fact, he’s not sure he’s ever had flowers. There are a few succulents in his flat, and an aspidistra that he bought ironically during his Orwell phase and has been stubbornly keeping alive since, but he’s never had the knack for blooming plants. And he’s always been too embarrassed to buy cut flowers, as if the salesperson might know he was buying them for himself and judge him accordingly.  

There’s something charming and old fashioned and utterly Jon about the gesture, and Martin scolds himself as he feels tears start to sting his eyes. 

“What are they?” he asks as a distraction, lifting them to his nose. The blooms smell sweet, like honey, with an earthy hint.   

“Oxeye daisies,” says Jon, “And goldenrod. I—you don’t mind, do you? I know it’s a bit of a cliché. We can get rid of them—”

“No!” Martin is surprised by his own vehemence. “No, they’re lovely. Thank you. At least now I know why you didn’t want to leave work together—I thought you were trying to keep it off the Institute gossip vine.”

“Why would I want to do that?” Jon frowns, genuinely confused, and a tender warmth swells in Martin’s chest.  

Miracle of miracles, I managed to finish my fic for @aspecmartinweek on time! I’m so glad I was able to get this in just under the wire, because I love this celebration of ace and aro folks getting to have some fun with this character and I’m so happy to be a part of it :)

Summary: One day, Jon comes into work with his nails painted a particularly specific set of colors, and Martin takes notice.

It’s been a week, and they haven’t kissed.

It makes sense, Martin insists to tell himself, eager to find excuses for that one little discordant note in his otherwise perfect fairytale. What they shared in the Lonely had been – much more powerful than that, for starters. And afterwards, there’d been the rush of getting somewhere safe, first to Martin’s flat, then to Scotland. They’d gone from stuttering at each other, exhausted and soft, blatantly trying to get over months of separation, to falling back in each other’s orbit with an easiness that made Martin light-headed when he thought about it too long.

So they hadn’t kissed. It just hadn’t – came up yet. They’d gone so fast, so suddenly, it was nice to have that little thrill of anticipation. They were building towards something. They were building something, right now. There was no rush, was there?

After all, they’d hold hands, a few times. In the train to Scotland, fingers loosely intertwined, when Martin was still shivering from a coldness that had nothing to do with the rain pouring outside, and everything with the pervasive attraction of the sea that was still trying to drown out the beating of his own heart. They’d hold hands and it was warm and good and – and well, sweaty, sometimes, when they kept at it for too long, but Martin had daydreamed of holding Jon’s hand for so long he could never make himself let go (and if there was an odd drop of relief wherever Jon let go first, at last, well, that was – that was –)

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: The Magnus Archives (Podcast) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims, Martin Blackwood/Tim Stoker, Martin Blackwood & Tim Stoker, Jonathan Sims & Tim Stoker, Martin Blackwood & Martin Blackwood’s Mother Characters: Martin Blackwood, Martin Blackwood’s Mother, Jonathan Sims, Tim Stoker (The Magnus Archives) Additional Tags: Sasha and Danny are mentioned, Tim Stoker has a Dog named after Danny, Polyamory, Queerplatonic Relationships, Asexual Character, Nonbinary Character, Trans Male Character, aromantic spectrum character, Implied/Referenced Child Neglect, Cuddling, Getting Together, Implied Neurodiversity, Because that is kept in mind here but not focused on, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Alternate Universe - No Avatars or Entities Summary:

JonMartin, featuring touch-adverse Martin. Written for Aspec Martin Blackwood Week, for the prompt… you guessed it! Touch.

Summary: "Even before walking the path of the Lonely, he had never been an overly touchy person. He had always shied away from any overt signs of affection from friends. He always supposed, though, in a relationship, he’d be more touchy-feely, making sure his love was known through all those little touches that always seemed to mean so much to others.“

Martin comes to terms with how he feels about touch in a relationship, a difficult task fresh out of the Lonely with an expectant Jon.

You can read it on AO3, or under the cut!

(The following story contains HIGH LEVELS of internalized arophobia that are not washed away by the end of the story.  Please read responsibly)

***

Martin decides to wait a few days after getting to the safe house before he confronts Jon.  They’ve been through so much.  Jon has done so much for him.  He deserves to be happy for a little while.  Martin can ignore his discomfort for Jon’s sake, because Jon deserves everything.  Jon deserves the man he loves, and if (for some impossible to understand reason) he’s decided that is Martin, then Jon deserves Martin.

So Martin waits.  He’s good at waiting.  He’s been waiting his entire life for something he knows only by name.

Martin waits while Jon stumbles his way through their conversations.  He waits as Jon flusters at the sight of there being only one bed in Daisy’s cabin.  He waits while Jon hesitantly takes his hand while they sit in front of the fire, waits while Jon starts pressing his cheek against Martin’s shoulder when he passes by him, waits while Jon repeats his name again and again, softer and softer, with a depth of feeling Martin watches from afar like a diver submerged in murky water.

“Are we going to talk about it?”  Martin asks finally, holding the bunch of daffodils Jon picked especially for him.

Jon looks up at him with those eyes, so dark, so wide and trusting, and Martin feels like a black cloud.  He feels like a dagger.  He is the villain of his own story.

“Talk about what?”  Jon says, and there is a moment where Martin could turn back.  Be better than he is.  Live as the man Jon wants him to be.

But he isn’t the man Jon wants.  He’s a cardboard cutout with the face removed, for someone else to take a picture with.

“About you,” Martin says.  “About what you showed me in the lonely.  About what I saw.” 

“We don’t have to,” Jon says, too quickly, and Martin’s stomach drops.  He already knew.  He could already tell.

“It’s not fair,” Martin says, and Jon says, “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable,” and Martin says, “no I mean it’s not fair to you,” and Jon says, “but it’s my fault,” and Martin says, “I don’t love you.”

“What?”  Jon’s voice is quiet enough that Martin can hear the moment Jon’s happy ending shatters like sugar glass.

“I don’t love you,” Martin whispers because he knows Jon heard him.  He sees it in his eyes.  “I don’t love you back.”

you rant about the latest statement aren’t they terrible? and I listen your hands dance and your voice increases in tempo and volume in a way I see no where else I wish I could see you this passionate about anything all the time

I wish I knew what you meant when you asked me to get a coffee with you I wish I knew what I meant when I said yes

(I want to reach out over the table clasp your hand and say I love you but I can’t tell if that’s because it’s true or if I just want it to be)

Chapters: ½ Fandom: The Magnus Archives (Podcast) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims Characters: Martin Blackwood, Jonathan Sims Additional Tags: Character Study, Grey-romantic Martin, Asexual Martin Blackwood, Internalised Arophobia, just a bit maybe, Overthinking, Scottish Highlands Summary:

Martin had held several iterations of his own feelings in his head for the better part of three years. Martin was in love. Martin had a crush. Martin had a weird complex that made him want to make everyone like him, even just a little bit. Martin had tricked himself into believing he liked someone. Martin liked the idea of being in love, and had chosen the least likely person to care about it.

On looking from afar, and seeing up close.

–