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2025-06-28
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2025-08-16
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Only Ever You

Summary:

Martin didn’t really want to be a god’s soulmate.

Oh, he supposed it wouldn’t be so bad if he was the soulmate of a New God, a god of innovation or art or parties. But no. Martin didn’t get a normal soulmate, or, better yet, get to be one of the millions of people who don’t have a soulmark at all. Instead, in addition to all the undue attention and reverence that he received once people realized he was an Amatus, Martin also had to worry about his soulmate accidentally shattering his mind. Because of course, of course, his soulmate was a Dread Power.

Notes:

HI! This fic is part of the pitchpine pride month gift exchange on Discord! Unfortunately, this month was a little crazy for me, so this is going to have to be a two-parter. Enjoy!

Chapter 1

Chapter Text

Martin didn’t really want to be a god’s soulmate.

 

Oh, he supposed it wouldn’t be so bad if he was the soulmate of a New God, a god of innovation or art or parties. He still wasn’t much suited to a life of being pampered and spoiled by an immortal, a life of strangers stealing worshipful glances at his soulmark, but he would have made do. He would have fallen in love with whoever he was promised to, and found the patience to cope with all that came with the life of an Amatus.

 

But no. Martin didn’t get a normal soulmate, or, better yet, get to be one of the millions of people who don’t have a soulmark at all. Instead, in addition to all the undue attention and reverence that he received once people realized he was an Amatus, Martin also had to worry about his soulmate accidentally shattering his mind. Because of course, of course, his soulmate was a Dread Power.

 

The difference between the New Gods and the Dread Powers was staggering. New Gods were a lot like people. Very rich people who had soulmates and couldn’t die, but still, people. They had sex, they held conversations, they could pretend to be human if it suited them. They were powerful, but their power was confined to a very narrow domain. They were old, but only as old as civilization.

 

The Dread Powers, on the other hand, were unknowable. Their minds were so extremely different from those of mortals that they were near impossible to understand. They were older than civilization, older than life, and their abilities were as vast and all-encompassing as their domains. They were the sentient manifestations of broad concepts: war, sickness, death. And one of them was Martin’s soulmate.

 

There were only fifteen Dread Powers. Of that number, eight had found soulmates. The Amati of the Dread Powers all had one of two fates: vanished (Gerard Keay, Jane Prentiss, Jared Hopworth, Oliver Banks), or subsumed into a cult (Annabelle Cane, Simon Fairchild, Peter Lukas, Agnes Montague). Neither option sounded good to Martin.

 

The fact was, Martin didn’t want to meet his soulmate. He didn’t want to be an Amatus. It was a secret he’d only ever told his mother, because to not want to be an Amatus was unthinkable. Amati were universally regarded as lucky; if people found out that Martin hated being one, he would be deemed ungrateful. Even his Mum had snubbed him when he told her that he didn’t want the life set out for him.

 

Martin understood why people might think he was ungrateful. To most, the life of an Amati was one of endless love and luxury. Nobody thought about the undue attention, the thinly-veiled jealousy, the way one’s choice of who to love was ripped away from them. And, of course, no one spared a thought for those fifteen souls that were bound to the Dread Powers. So, yes. Martin understood why people might think he was ungrateful. But that wouldn’t stop him from hiding and running and clawing his way out of his destiny.

 

—

 

Martin stared at his soulmark. His soulmark stared back. Literally.

 

The cluster of ink-drawn eyes spanning up his left forearm marked him as belonging to the Dread Power of knowledge: the Ceaseless Watcher, the Eye, Beholding, the Living Archive, It Knows You, et cetera. Which was why, if Martin didn’t want to alert his soulmate to his existence (and he very much didn’t), it would be a decidedly stupid idea to accept a job at the Eye’s cult.

 

Martin turned to his computer and stared at the Magnus Institute’s email. The email stared back. Figuratively.

 

Here’s the thing, though. Martin really, really needed a job. As things were right now, he didn’t have enough money to pay for rent and groceries and his mother’s care home. And the Magnus Institute payed their Archival Assistants insanely well. And he hadn’t gotten a response from anywhere else, not with his fudged CV. And it wasn’t like he had to tell them he was an Amatus; he could just…keep that information to himself. And he didn’t even need to do an interview, which was good, because Martin was a good liar but not good enough to bald-facedly lie about his CV in front of an acolyte of the Eye.

 

In his heart of hearts, Martin knew it was a bad idea. While there were research institutions pledged to the Eye all over the world, the Magnus Institute was oldest, the most powerful, home to Jonah Magnus himself. It was the site of the original Watcher’s Crown, for gods’ sakes! If the Eye payed attention to any of Its temples, it would be that one. And Martin knew that his usual strategy of blending in with the crowd wouldn’t be enough to hide from the Ceaseless Watcher.

 

Martin’s acceptance email with all relevant information attached sat in front of him. His finger wavered over the Send button. It was a bad idea. He would be fine. He’d get caught. He wouldn’t get caught. Martin hemmed and hawed, teetered and tottered, but in the end, his decision was made by the same force that has driven humans for millennia: desperation.

 

He sent the email.

 

—

 

The Archives weren’t the most welcoming place in the world. They were grey from floor to ceiling, lit only by buzzing fluorescents. There was a bullpen, which had three desks. There was a winding maze of rooms and shelves called Document Storage. And, most interestingly, there was a door with the words HEAD ARCHIVIST embossed into the wood.

 

Martin tried the door. It was locked.

 

“Nothing in there, mate.”

 

Martin yelped at the sudden voice, twisting around frantically.

 

“Woah! Easy there.”

 

Leaning against the entrance to the Archives was a rather handsome man sporting mismatched socks, bubblegum-pink hair, and a Hawaiian shirt. Martin was fairly impressed with how many dress code violations the man had fit into one outfit.

 

The stranger held out his hand with an easy grin. “Tim Stoker. You must be Archival Assistant number three. Sasha and I have been dying to meet you.”

 

“Um, Martin Blackwood. Is the- is the Head Archivist in yet?”

 

Tim tipped his head back and laughed. “Oh, you’re new, aren’t you? To the Institute, I mean.”

 

Martin felt somewhat frazzled at being singled out so quickly. “And what makes you say that?”

 

“Everyone who works at the Institute knows that there hasn’t been an Archivist for over fifty years.”

 

What? The position Martin had been hired for was Archival Assistant, which he had taken to mean “assistant to the Head Archivist”. If there wasn’t an Archivist, then what was Martin here for?

 

“Why not?”

 

Tim shrugged. “The last one, Gertrude Robinson, was batshit insane. She messed up the filing system big time. It’s impossible to find anything now. So Magnus stopped hiring Archivists, statements stopped being processed, and that was that.”

 

“Okay…so what do we actually do, without an Archivist to take statements?”

 

“We,” said a new voice, “have the dubious honor of organizing the Archives. Everything Gertrude did to this place, we have to undo it.”

 

A tall woman emerged from the depths of Document Storage with a box in her arms and round spectacles perched on her nose.

 

As the new arrival placed the box on her desk, Martin extended a hand in greeting. “You must be Sasha.”

 

“That I am. You’re the new hire, right? Martin?”

 

Martin nodded.

 

“Lovely. Now…,” Sasha turned to the gaping maw of Document Storage. “Let’s get started.”

 

—

 

For six glorious months, nothing went wrong. Nobody found out about Martin’s CV, no one found out about his soulmark. He was miserable at his job, owing to the fact that he had none of the formal training listed on his CV, but Sasha was a good teacher. He got drinks with his coworkers every Friday, visited his mum every Sunday, and had worked out a good routine for himself overall.

 

Then Jonathan Sims showed up.

 

One cool day in October, a man with long, greying hair and a deceptively young face stumbled into the Archives, acting very much as though he wasn’t fully in tune with his legs. The man was small on every axis, and he dressed like a librarian. The thing that really caught Martin’s attention, though, was his eyes. They were a bright, luminous green, standing out against his dark skin.

 

Martin glanced at the others, unsure of what to do. People didn’t just wander into the Archives; people didn’t go into the Archives at all. 99% of the time, the Assistants were left to their own devices, and every once in a blue moon Sam from Research popped down to retrieve a statement. (Sam was the only Researcher that visited them, mainly on account of the fact that he was the only one not convinced that the Archives were either haunted or cursed.) They had never had a stranger in the Archives before, and Martin wasn’t quite sure how to proceed.

 

One look at Tim and Sasha revealed that they weren’t quite sure either.

 

Tim stared at Martin and not-so-subtly jerked his head towards the stranger. Martin cringed. Looks like the others were expecting him to deal with the newcomer.

 

“Um…hello? Are you lost?” That was the best explanation he could come up with. A new employee, or maybe just a random person, lost on the way to the Library.

 

The man’s head swiveled in an almost inhuman fashion, eyes locking onto Martin’s. In that moment, Martin felt Seen. Most people completely overlooked him, and the few that actually bothered to look at him couldn’t see past his veneer of awkward friendliness. But now, Martin felt like this strange man saw down to his core. It was weirdly comforting. Not being seen gets lonely after a while, and this man was inadvertently soothing the ache.

 

Martin shook himself. What the hell? Who has those kinds of thoughts about a stranger?

 

The man blinked, once, and the spell was broken. “Is this…the Archives?”

 

“Um, yes. But, uh, we don’t take statements anymore, so-”

 

“I’m not here to make a statement,” the man interrupted. “I’m the new Head Archivist.”

 

Martin balked. “I beg your pardon? We haven’t had a Head Archivist in years.”

 

“Yes, well, Jonah decided it was time for the Institute to start taking statements again, so he hired me. I hope that’s not a problem. I assure you I’m quite qualified.”

 

There were several things wrong with this. Firstly, no one called Jonah Magnus by his first name. It would be disrespectful. Yet this man spoke of Magnus with a bizarre degree of familiarity. Secondly, there was no reason for Magnus to suddenly require an Archivist after going so many years without. Thirdly, being Head Archivist wasn’t just a job, but a position of high religious importance. If this man was as qualified as he claimed, he would have had to be part of the Institute for years, yet somehow Martin had never met or heard of him, and from the looks on their faces, neither had Tim or Sasha.

 

But, despite all of this, Martin didn’t think the stranger was lying. He emitted sincerity, seeming genuinely confused at Martin’s confusion. If this man said he was Martin’s new boss, who was Martin to argue?

 

He extended a hand. “Martin Blackwood. Pleasure to meet you.”

 

“Likewise. My name is…” and here the man paused for a long moment, “Jon. Jon…Sims.”

 

Tim piped up. “Nice to meet you, boss! I’m Tim, that’s Sasha. Welcome to the Archives.”

Chapter 2

Notes:

So, you may have noticed the chapter count jumped up a bit. Just...just ignore that.

Anyways, JON POV!!! I loved writing this chapter so so much. Special shoutout to martinkeatsblackwood for coming up with a theory/headcanon that I incorperated into this chapter, and to Red_Rabit for pretty much nailing this chapter's whole vibe.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

As soon as Martin K. Blackwood stepped into the embrace of the Eye’s temple, it Knew: this is the one.

 

It Knew of the soulmark that Martin hid under soft jumpers. It Knew of the string tying their souls together. And once it Knew, it wasted no time delving into Martin’s brain and laying his life out like a book for the Eye to peruse.

 

Perhaps it was fortunate that the first piece of information that the Eye gleaned was that Martin had a romantic streak. He was infatuated with the process, the dancing around one another, the slow uncovering of each other’s souls. As a result, this was the only piece of information that the Eye gleaned about Martin before it tore its gaze away. Beholding got the sense that Martin would not appreciate his lover already Knowing him completely before they even formally met. No, Martin wanted to be wooed .

 

This presented a problem: an incomprehensible eldritch monstrosity that only partially existed on this plane of reality was not built for wooing. If the Ceaseless Watcher wanted to court Martin the way he deserved, it was going to have to play human.

 

A few of the Dread Powers preferred to take on human forms, though not many. The Hunt and the Extinction both lived fully fledged human lives alongside their Amati, and while the Spiral certainly didn’t behave like a human, it did take a human shape. Living alongside mortals was something the Eye had always been curious about. Now it had an excuse to act on that curiosity.

 

A fully functioning human body took a long time to make. Almost six months. The Eye tried perusing through Martin’s past partners to get a sense of his type, only to learn that the man had no ex-lovers to speak of. All the Eye Knew was that Martin preferred men. So, the Ceaseless Watcher did something unprecedented: it guessed.

 

The body was small, compact. It had deep brown skin and brown hair shot through with silver and two lovely green eyes (the eyes were, of course, the most important part). It was dressed in apparel that Beholding deemed fit for an office setting. And at 2:48 in the morning, in the center of the Millbank Panopticon, it was ready to be deployed.

 

When the Eye finally inhabited its mortal shell, it immediately fell over. Damn . It wasn’t used to being affected by such petty things as balance or gravity. Beholding shakily rose to all fours, and carefully, carefully got to its feet.

 

It fell over again.

 

The rest of the night was dedicated to stumbling around Millbank Prison. By the time the Eye felt it had a handle on bipedal movement, its human body was covered in bruises. Luckily, most were hidden under its clothes, but they still hurt . 

 

At 9:03, Martin K. Blackwood entered the Institute. At the same time, the Eye emerged from the tunnels into a nearby alley. 

 

At 9:05, the Eye walked through the doors of its temple for the first time.

 

It had intended to bypass the front desk and head straight for Martin, but Beholding only made it a few steps before a hand fell on its shoulder.

 

“Sir? Are you looking for the library?”

 

The Eye paused. Sir . In truth, despite the fact that it had purposefully designed this body to be male, it had forgotten that others would perceive it as masculine. The Living Archive had never had a gender before; it had always been so abstracted from humanity that it had no need for one. Now that it was “playing human” however, a gender would be expected of it. The Eye decided that “he/him/his/et cetera” should suit well enough. While Beholding knew that some individuals used “it/its” as it had done for so many years, the path of genderlessness was already Known to it. Masculinity was an experience yet to be Known.

 

The Eye turned to face his assailant.

 

He wound up facing Jonah’s secretary, Rosie. Beholding was quite fond of Rosie. She was a busybody and a gossip, both qualities of which the Eye deeply approved.

 

“Ah, no.” The Ceaseless Watcher said slowly, unused to the feel of words in his mouth. “I need to get to the Archives. I’m meeting with one of the Assistants. Informally. In a friendly capacity. For lunch?”

 

Beholding was vaguely aware that this was not how normal people spoke to one another.

 

Rosie did not seem fazed by his abnormal speech patterns. “Of course! Just go through that door and all the way down the stairs.”

 

The Eye nodded. He already Knew the path to the Archives, of course. Rosie’s helpful directions were meaningless to him. 

 

On his way down to the Archives, Beholding tried to come up with a cover story. He didn’t want to draw attention to his presence, because if Jonah (the damnable man) found out that the Watcher was here to court his Amatus, he would immediately organize an ostentatious bonding ritual, with no heed to Martin’s desires. Getting married immediately was not what Martin wanted, Beholding Knew. 

 

So for now, as far as anyone in the Magnus Institute was concerned, he was just a boring human with no supernatural leanings whatsoever.

 

The next issue was why he was at the Institute in the first place. Saying he was here to woo Martin would be far too forward; saying he was a statement giver wouldn’t give him an excuse to come back. Not that the Archival Assistants could take statements without an Archivist…

 

Of course! Jonah had neglected to appoint a new Archivist after the disaster that was Gertrude Robinson, meaning the (rather important) position had stood vacant for over fifty years. Beholding could present himself as the new Archivist, which would both give him an excuse to see Martin every day and allow him to directly oversee the organization of the Archives. It was perfect. Nothing could go wrong.

 

The Eye felt as though he were forgetting something, something important , but before he could grasp it, he reached the Archives.

 

The door was open, allowing him a glimpse of a grey bullpen, before his vision was overtaken by the most beautiful thing the Eye had ever seen in its eternity of a life.

 

Martin .

 

Martin was tall and broad, towering over the Eye's human body easily. His hair was a summery orange, and it matched the freckles on his cheeks. His jumper was soft and softly blue.

 

Beholding had known all of this on a cognitive level, of course, but it was different to actually see it through mortal eyes. He was glorious .

 

“Um…hello? Are you lost?” Martin ( perfect, beautiful Martin ) asked tentatively.

 

The question startled him a bit, so instead of introducing himself, he said, "Is this...the Archives?"

 

Stupid ! The Watcher knew this was the Archives, of course it was the Archives. He wished he hadn't spoken at all if this was to be Martin's first impression of him.

 

“Um, yes.” Martin hesitated. “But, uh, we don’t take statements anymore, so-”

 

The Eye decided to stop him there, before any further confusion arose. “I’m not here to make a statement. I’m the new Head Archivist.”

 

“I beg your pardon? We haven’t had a Head Archivist in years .”

 

“Yes, well, Jonah decided it was time for the Institute to start taking statements again, so he hired me. I hope that’s not a problem. I assure you I’m quite qualified.”

 

This was a lie. While Jonah certainly Knew by now that there was a strange man in his Archives, he had never approved of or even entertained the idea of a new Archivist. But that was alright. The Eye hardly needed permission from his own servant, after all.

 

Martin seemed confused, which was confusing. Beholding had provided him with a perfectly good explanation. The Eye Saw Martin’s furrowed brow and thought, please don’t send me away.

 

But eventually, Martin’s clouded expression broke into a sunny smile. He held out his hand. “Martin Blackwood. Pleasure to meet you.”

 

“Likewise. My name is…” Damn! Damn it all, he knew he had forgotten something. He needed a name, a proper human name. He started to say “John Doe”, but only got as far as “Jon-” before he realized how suspicious that sounded. “Jon…Sims.” There, that would do.

 

One of the other assistants spoke up, voice invading Jon and Martin’s private bubble. “Nice to meet you, boss! I’m Tim, that’s Sasha. Welcome to the Archives.” 

 

And so Jon’s stint in the Archives began.

 

—

 

The very next day, Jon was called into Jonah's office. Honestly, he was surprised it took so long.

 

Jonah (currently residing in the body of one Elias Bouchard) was looming behind his mahogany desk in a manner that Jon Knew he thought was intimidating. Jon was not intimidated.

 

"Mr. Sims! Please, have a seat." Jonah smiled thinly. As soon as Jon settled into the uncomfortable chair, Jonah's veneer of pleasantness dropped like a stone.

 

Jon Knew the compulsion was coming even before Jonah opened his mouth.

 

"Who are you?"

 

Jon blinked at him silently.

 

Jonah snarled. "Who are you?" he asked again.

 

Jon did not answer. Jonah's face was turning an interesting shade of red.

 

"WHO ARE Y-"

 

" That's enough, Jonah ." Jon brought the full force of his Gaze down upon Jonah Magnus, relishing the way the blood drained from his face. After all, Jon did feed on fear.

 

"If you want me to answer your questions, you'll have to not compel me, I'm afraid," Jon said primly.

 

Jonah looked quite shaken. "How...how did you resist?"

 

Jon smiled serenely. "The Eye likes me better than it likes you."

 

It was only sort of a lie.

Notes:

As always, please comment!! Comments fuel my fics!