Your Dead Husband Suddenly Shows Up At Your Door. He Looks The Same, Speaks The Same, Holding Him Feels

When Jon rests his weary head on Martin's lap, it feels like the clearest of revelations. The greatest of miracles. The ravaged world stands still – asleep or dead, doesn't matter, nothing matters except for the warmth of the cheek pressed to Martin's knee and the tingling of his stubble through the fabric of his jeans. Jon tosses and turns for a bit, looking for a comfortable position, and finally closes his eyes with a content sigh. The eye bags are growing darker with every passing day, just as the lines on his forehead are growing deeper. The world is at its closest to the end, and still Martin has never felt so in love before.

It seems that everything has been leading them to this moment – Jon in Martin's arms, tired but trusting and dear to him, so dear that his heart aches longingly. Martin reproaches himself for such thoughts and still can't help but thinks that he would let the apocalypse happen again, and again, and again, only to see Jon like this, to hold his hand, their fingers intertwined, to kiss the corner of his lips, to cradle him in his arms at night, hiding from the nightmares.

(They're both broken and crushed by fate, wrong and full of mistakes. Martin doesn't know whether they're going against what is destined, or right where they are supposed to be, whether they're going towards their death or a new life. He has no idea. Or better put it this way: he just follows Jon, no matter where he is heading, the way apostles followed Jesus. He believes him and in him without any doubt and is ready to die for him or with him, if it's necessary. This is how sick and twisted they are. At least, in this universe.

Maybe in another universe they weren't such idiots and found each other earlier. Maybe there Martin can kiss Jon every day and not fear lest this kiss should be their last. Maybe there they can just live – happily ever after, like in those fairytales. Maybe. Martin doesn't know. What he knows is that in this universe, in their universe, the sky is constantly watching them, the earth is soaked with sticky fear and blood, and they are the ones to fix all of this.

In this universe they are a tragedy, but Martin wouldn't change a thing in them for the world.)

“Your thoughts are too loud,” Jon grumbles, a quick green flash in his narrowed eyes. Martin bites his lip. He still forgets that his boyfriend knows and hears absolutely everything, and it is both exciting and unnerving.

“Sorry,” he says. That I think so much, that it seems to me that we have no future, that I believe in you like in God.

Jon finds his hand and presses his cheek against the palm. Martin chokes on his breath, as this act is so simple and yet so gentle that he suddenly wants to cry. (He never considered tears to be a sign of weakness, but he needs to be strong for Jon, so he just sniffles and squeezes his eyes, choking a sob rising in his throat.)

“Martin,” Jon calls out quietly, stretching the vowels in an oh-so-familliar way, and kisses the centre of Martin's palm as if kissing holy relics. No one has ever touched Martin like this. “It's alright, love.”

And just as saints on the icons cry with blood and myrrh, Martin is crying as well, soundlessly and ugly. Jon sits beside him and hugs his shoulders worriedly, kissing him on his temple.

“Martin,” he whispers softly, “my sweet, my dear, I'm here. It's alright, for now it's alright.”

Martin knows that nothing is alright actually, and that they can die tomorrow and no one will remember them. But right now Jon is right beside him, warm, soft and loved, and only this truly matters.

“Oh, Jon,” Martin exhales, his voice trembling, and it sounds more like a prayer.

Maybe, he is praying.

At least, his god will stay with him till the very end and will not leave him to die alone.

i was a part of the 3D Art Museum collaborative canvas drawing !! lots of shenanigans occurred. here is my contribution! please please go check out the museum Here, wru worked so hard on it 🧡

(quality is poor due to them being screenshots. welp)

@jonmartinweek day nine: "au day"

had to combine the boys with my otp of course

First post! I'm relistening to this podcast for the fourth time and I still can't get enough of it. Couldn't help myself and drew them

(if colours seem off blame my terrible laptop screen)

(I'm also on insta as @/no.noah.for.lunch)

ohhh i hate it so much i need to strap it to a rocket and launch it into the stratosphere.

somewhere, there exists a memory of that fateful day

//

i somehow managed to delete the entire thing during the lineart phase, but worry not because i redrew him in his shining glory from scratch

jonmartin week day one: "feelings realized" i imagine this scene taking place sometime early on in the scottish safehouse.. they had a good talk methinks. @jonmartinweek

‘You were my new dream’ or however the fuck that scene went

My illustration of @evadne01 's fic, It's all yours for Thorin's Spring Forge 2025! this story is so so cute and i had a wonderful time. You can find more of her work here ☆

@jonmartinweek day seven: "ace day" very simple thing i whipped up in an hour because i am Busy. but fear not, more jmart is on the horizon

Folks let me talk about Crowley and sunglasses, because I have a lot of emotions about when he wears them and when he doesn’t, and Hiding versus Being Seen.

We’re introduced to the concept of Crowley wearing glasses even before we’re introduced to Crowley, by Hastur: “If you ask me he’s been up here too long. Gone native. Enjoying himself too much. Wearing sunglasses even when he doesn’t need them.”

Honestly Crowley’s whole introduction is a fantastic; we learn so much about his character in a tiny amount of time. The fact that he’s late, the Queen playing as the Bentley approaches, the “Hi, guys” in response to Hastur and Ligur’s “Hail Satan”. I like this intro much better than the one originally scripted with the rats at the phone company, but I digress.

Crowley wears sunglasses when he doesn’t need them. Specifically, he still wears them around the demons, and when he’s in hell.

You know where Crowley doesn’t wear glasses? At home.

We never once see him wearing glasses in his flat, except for when he knows Hastur and Ligur are coming. That’s an emotional kick to the gut for me. Here’s one of the only places Crowley’s comfortable enough to be sans glasses, and when he knows it’s going to be invaded he prepares not just physically with the holy water, but by putting up that emotional barrier in a place where he wasn’t supposed to need it.

An argument could be made that Crowley actually never needs glasses. We’re shown that it’s well within the angels’ and demons’ powers to pass unnoticed by humans. Crowley and Aziraphale waltz out of the manor in the middle of a police raid, and going unnoticed by the police takes so little effort that they can keep up a conversation while they stroll through. Even an unimaginative demon like Hastur apparently doesn’t have trouble with the humans losing it over his demonic eyes. The humans in the scene at Megiddo are acting like “this guy is a little weird” and not “holy shit his entire eyeballs are black jelly”

That means that Crowley’s glasses are a choice, just like Aziraphale’s softness. Sure, he could arrange matters so that nobody ever noticed his eyes, but he doesn’t want to. Crowley wants acceptance, and he wants to belong, and he’s never, ever had that. He didn’t fit in before the Fall in Heaven, he doesn’t fit in with the demons in Hell. With the glasses, and with the Bentley and his plants and with the barely-bad-enough-to-be-evil nuisance temptations, he’s choosing Earth. This is where he wants to fit in, perhaps not with the humans, but amongst them.

Even after Crowley is at his absolute lowest, when he thinks Aziraphale’s dead and he’s on his way to drink until the world ends, he takes the time to put a new pair on when the old ones are damaged. He needs that emotional crutch right now, even with everything about to turn into a pile of puddling goo he’s not ready for the world to see his eyes.

Which is why I swore out loud when Hastur forcibly takes them off.

It’s about the worst thing that Hastur could have done. Rather than leading with a physical threat, his first act is to strip away Crowley’s emotional defences. It’s a great writing choice because god it made me hate Hastur, even more than all the physical violence we see him do.

It’s also the moment that Crowley really truly gets his shit together, and focuses all of his considerable imagination on getting to Tadfield and Aziraphale to help save the world. He’s wielding the terrifyingly unimaginable power of someone who’s hit rock bottom and realised it literally could not get any worse than this. He doesn’t put another pair of glasses on after discorporating Hastur, and he spends the majority of the airbase sequence without them.

He puts them back on again, I think, at the moment that he really lets himself hope. When he thinks ‘shit, there may be a real chance that we get through this to a future that I don’t want to lose’.

The vulnerability is back, and he needs Adam to trust him. In Crowley’s mind being accepted by a human means he needs to have his eyes hidden. Someone give the demon a hug, please.

Interestingly, there’s only one time in the whole series that we see Crowley willingly choose to take his glasses off around another person. Only one person he’ll take down that barrier for, and even then he’s drunk before he does it.

Dear God/Satan/Someone that makes my heart ache. Crowley’s chosen Earth, but he’s also chosen Aziraphale. He’s been looking for somewhere to belong his entire existence, and it’s with the angel that he finally feels it.

When the dust settles and the world is saved and they finally have space to be themselves unguarded, I like to imagine Crowley takes off the glasses when it’s just the two of them; the idea of being known doesn’t scare him quite so much anymore.