Agggtm and Chucky crossover headcanons:
Stanley Forbes x reader (Romantic) Jake, Devon, Cara x reader (Platonic) Detective Hawkins x reader (Hatred😂)
Spoilers for both Agggtm and Chucky, and in this Jake and Devon are aged up and I'm in the place of Lexy and I've had to tweak some stuff to make it fit
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Ok so as we know Chucky fucks up lives (Jake, Devon, and Lexy know that the best) he fucks everything up and there's nothing you can do about it unless you wanna end up in a mental hospital
#FuckChuck2024 none of this Chucky in the whitehouse bullshit
So of course he's gonna fuck up relationships, specifically my relationship with Stanley
I feel like with all the suspicious activity and secrecy he'd only be able to think either cheating or something like what happened with his last romantic interest, Becca Bell
And I feel like Detective Hawkins would get in his head about it too, being suspicious of me himself and warning Stanley
I'd be on their watch list for suspicious activity AND for being around Jake and Devon so often
The relationship issues would probably end up a big topic of conversation between Pip and the others, Cara most likely to make jokes about how awkward it would be when Pip goes to interrogate us and Pip just exasperated at the thought of having to hear about it all or potentially be involved
I feel like me and Stanley would either take "breaks" or just fully break up all the time, it would be a constant on again off again relationship
Constant fights, side comments and interruptions during interactions with eachother or others, lots of emotional nights avoiding eachother in the apartment, a lot of the time ending up in failing to hide our emotions and comforting eachother, still angry but needing eachother
I actually ordered a letter about this all from a wonderful seller on Etsy who always indulged my strange orders (LetterWriteTreasures)
I feel like this letter I got from her depicts it all so well I had to include it here
My irl friend can't go to the eras tour movie for awhile so pretending she couldn't go and I feel like I'd end up really close to Cara and take her instead and anytime any song specifically about relationship issues she'd look over at me and be like "Does this remind you of you and Stanley?😌"
When I first meet Cara her looking over at Stanley all like "Damn, now I understand why you can't stay away"
I've officially decided mine and Stanley's Taylor swift song is Our Song 1000% and me and him would sing and dance to it all the time AND do the Our Song car trend and I feel like that fits these headcanons perfectly
Stanley would fucking hate Jake and Devon, he'd relate them to the cheating possibility, especially with how much if be around them constantly, the reason being chucky unbeknownst to Stanley
There would be so many fucking fights about them
I can also fully picture one of those scenes where you have to decide to go with them and help out with Chucky or stay with Stanley and there's kinda an unspoken ultimatum until he has to watch me leave watching me go pissed and upset
I can also fully picture one of those scenes either direction like Detective Hawkins having to restrain me, Jake, and Devon, like that scene of them in the police car in season 1 or the opposite of us having to get away from them to go after Chucky
I can ALSO fully picture Detective Hawkins and Stanley having a heart to heart and Stanley being like "Well she was out until 4 AM with them" and Detective Hawkins just giving him a look
When it DOES get revealed the reasons for all the secrecy and suspicious activity you bet your ass I'm giving those two hell (Stanley not as much but still mf isn't getting off that easy, it's gonna take a lot of flowers and shit to fix this)
I can totally picture them just watching everything unravel
"Yeah, some psycho told a little ginger doll to murder me"
Stanley finding out Jake and Devon are litterally gay so casually too
"Relax Jake, I'm sure your boyfriend will grace us with his presense"
"😳👀"
I can totally picture me and Stanley just being so in love with eachother after everything settles down after they find out like all the problems are just gone and Stanley realizes how much I love him and how much he loves me
"Yeah I love you you fucking idiot and your weird fucking name"
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Lil extra thing, I already posted this but I wanted to include it in here also because👀👉👈💖
Idk if there's something wrong with me but I LOVE thinking about me and Stanley's relationship issues in the Chucky au like before everything with Chucky is revealed and Stanley doesn't know what's going on and thinks I'm being shady or potentially cheating and we're just bitching at eachother 24/7 in a constant back and forth making eachother jealous acting like we hate eachother but it's actually tearing us apart because we love eachother more than anything and there's tears and fire and passion and I- AWNRKWKFKWKFKAK
Like I could talk about this FOREVER like I have so much lore behind this it's like my favorite thing to think about it's basically all I can think about and like Cara, Pip, and the others all seeing the tension between us and sometimes making jokes about our relationship issues or rolling their eyes at it and Detective Hawkins getting involved and getting in Stanley's head and making it worse and the fact that Stanley's ex that he went on two dates with ended up being the one who killed her sister and I just sit here and listen to Taylor Swift songs about toxic relationships and then the ones about true love and tear my heart apart just like me and Stanley are being torn apart by Chucky AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH
I could go on forever like I will die on this hill idk why it brings me so much joy to think about all the angst and passion and desperate kisses pouring all of our emotions into them and I just realized I'm wearing a shirt that kinda matches one Stanley is wearing in a pic so now I'm thinking about still wearing his clothes even when we're having relationship issues because it makes me still feel close to him and maybe others pointing it out and us hurting eachother and loving eachother at the same timeeeeeeeeee
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Idk why idk what's wrong with me but this is like my favorite lore of the au I-😭👉👈💖 I could talk about this forever💖
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Do you think you might ever follow up that forking paths fic chapter where the two jons talk? Like after our jon leaves, id love to hear your take on how younger jon reacts when martin gets back from (what he now knows, thanks to our jon explaining) that trip to visit his mom. How do you think that jon goes about approaching martin, bc its def clear that our jons words really stick with him
Anon, I loved your prompt, and I’ve thought about it often.
No CWs apply. Set in an alternative series 2, pre JonMartin
This is related to a time-travel AU where both the ‘original universe’ Jon and Martin have visited alternative versions of the archives. There’s no major spoilers for that story, although if you’d like to have a read, it’s here. :)
Coat slumped onto its hanger by the front door. Keys jangling in a lumpen heap. He checks, then double checks the bolt lock, the latch, the door chain, and then toes a door wedge harshly in place for good measure.
Martin puts down his overnight bag, fat with clothes that need going in the wash.
A signal failure at Yeovil Junction, stretching a three-and-a-half-hour journey back from Devon by over an hour. There had been a motley gaggle of the rowdy and the drunk on the Victoria line, and they’d squawked and cheered at the inanity of nothing, their laughing getting louder. He had avoided eye contact, felt his headache building.
Back in his flat, he takes two paracetamol and sits down, feeling like the final pieces of a cliff-face, falling seaward.
A breath out. A breath in.
Sleep is slow to come, and he wakes more than once. Eventually, he just waits for his alarm to go off.
He can’t find an ironed shirt, so he wears a jacket to cover up the worst of the crinkles. He’s on time, but he still frets as he stands, compressed by strangers on the Tube.
The main office area is quiet when he comes in. Martin clicks on the light switch, with a heavy feeling of experiencing the entire weight of the upcoming week at once, then goes into the small staff room to make himself a tea.
Jon’s there when he gets back. Stood by his desk.
“Oh! Hi,” Martin says. The tea sloshes ominously as he jumps, but it doesn’t spill. “Didn’t - didn’t see you there.”
“Martin!” Jon says. Looking and sounding, rather unusually, like he’s slept more than his rationing of three or four hours nightly. “You’re – you’re back. Good. That’s. That’s good.”
“Oh. Er. Yeah.” Martin puts his tea down on a coaster. Jon skitters back to give him space but he’s still close. The bags under his eyes lighter. “Back to the old, er, grindstone, I guess.”
Martin trails off weakly. It’s not that he doesn’t enjoy Jon’s company, but it’s early, and Martin hasn’t stored up reserves to be his friendliest just yet, nor to navigate whatever mood Jon might have been stewing in. He’s half waiting for Jon to just tell him what work he wants him to be getting on with.
He wonders where Tim and Sasha are.
Jon, no better word for it, lingers. Weight shifted from one foot to another. He looks over Martin intently, and Martin’s face heats to think of what he probably sees; un-ironed shirt, scruffy shoes. He shaved this morning in a rush, and he’s likely missed a few bristles under his throat, down his jawline.
“How… How was your trip?”
“Um. Yeah. Ok,” Martin lies. “You know. Nice to get a few days away.”
Jon hums, opens his mouth to say something, and then shuts it. Then:
“I’m… I’m going to Costas.”
“Oh. Ok. That’s fine.”
“Would you like anything?”
Martin’s small smile bursts onto his face like breaking the surface of a wave, and he’s surprised, by how touched he feels at Jon’s gesture.
Jon reflects his expression for a moment with a similar smile, before it’s quickly schooled into blankness.
“No. But thanks, Jon.”
“Ok.”
Jon makes no move to leave.
“Come with me?” he asks. He’s fiddling with his shirt cuffs, the ring on his finger. “It’s not far, and… I would like you to. If you, er. If you want to.”
Martin nods, and doesn’t understand the relief on Jon’s face.
-
Jon’s pace is clipped, brisk with speed, and Martin hurries after him, feeling a little bit like a satellite orbiting a force of gravity. By the time they get to the café, it’s the dregs of the morning rush in a small queue that trails limply from the counter around past the coolers stocking juices and sandwiches. Martin offers to get them a table, but Jon makes some flat-footed excuse about needing help to carry the tray while he pretends to peer at the overhead menus with far greater attention than they necessarily deserve. So, Martin waits with him. Listening to the whistling rush of the steamer and the juddering grind of the large silver coffee machine behind the counter. One of the baristas shouts to get the attention of a customer wearing headphones.
Jon won’t hear a word for Martin paying, waving him off impatiently in a distracted, short way that is followed up by a pause, and then a deliberately politer comment about how Martin can get the next one. It’s such a seesaw of tones that Martin’s left a little at sea by it all. Mumbling a thank you, jumbled and lost with the way this morning is going, the buoy lines and anchor points shifted since he went away.
Jon’s face reads similar.
They sit down at a four-seater table, Martin insisting on being allowed to carry the tray, if only to give himself something to do. Jon makes a protracted faff of adding sugar to his tea, drip-feeding it milk until it reaches an acceptable shade while Martin’s fingertips prickle with heat as his hands make flood barriers around his own cup.
“What’s this about, Jon?” he finds it within himself to eventually blurt out.
Jon looks up from his cup. Glances away almost as fast. He manages to balance a fine line between guilty and defiant with only the set of his jaw.
Ah. It’s going to be one of those talks then.
Some sheltered, tentatively uncrumpling part of Martin had hoped that they were past this.
He might as well jump straight to it.
“If this is your idea of some… I dunno, public place where you feel you can accuse me of being a murderer again – ”
“What?! It’s – ”
“ – I know you’re going through a lot, I get it, I do, a-a-and I am trying to understand – ”
“It’s not – ”
“ – I-I thought we were past this, I thought you trusted me, at least not to murder you in your sleep, for God’s sake – ”
“I… It’s not, Martin.” Jon’s hands are held up, palms outwards. “I promise. I. I trust you. It’s not about anything like that.”
Martin’s hands unclench slightly from around his teacup. Jon’s expression bares the singular marks of a man struggling between emotion and ingrained habit.
Finally, nearly glowering, he stares into his own tea, rather than at Martin.
“Tim and Sasha will be here soon. I’ve texted them, told them to come here, not into the Archives.”
“What, why…?”
“There is every chance we may be overheard there, and – ”
“Not this again – ”
“Martin.” There is nothing harsh in Jon’s rebuke, for all it is phrased as a curt interruption. He huffs an irritated breath and meets Martin’s eye almost defiantly. It loosens into regret. “I know that I have… have not exactly given you much reason to take me on faith. And my behaviour these past… I suspect I owe you my apologies for a multitude of minor indignities that you have neither warranted nor deserved, and I am sure that if we had more time, we could both sit here listening my faults and failings to our mutual satisfaction. But the fact is that we don’t have time, and at the moment, my request for your patience and attention is far more important than my desire for your forgiveness.”
Jon’s sincerity is straight-forward, clean-edged.
“Tell me then,” Martin replies.
“Something happened, while you were visiting your mum.”
“How did you know I was – ?” Martin starts, but Jon waves a restless hand as though eager to move on to other matters, to which Martin’s temper rises because oh no you don’t, and he snaps: “Have you been following me?”
It was clearly not what Jon was expecting him to say. His face, scrunched up with impatience, slackens into a mild panic.
“No!” he says. “No, I. I haven’t. I swear, Martin, I haven’t.”
“Then how do you know about my mum?”
“I can explain, a-and I will. But let me finish, please?”
Martin nods. It is not fear that is starting to itch under his jacket, but it bears a family resemblance.
“We had a visitor,” Jon says. From his coat pocket, he pulls out two cassette tapes, like the ones they use for the difficult statements. “Two, actually. While you were away. We can listen to them both, later… and you should. You have a right to. They’re about you, a-and me – um, us. Tim and Sasha were here when the – er, the statement givers delivered them, and I’ve already filled them in on the supplementary information that we didn’t get on tape. I haven’t… I’m not asking you to trust me, or even believe me straight away, but there’s… Martin, there’s something dangerous at the Institute. Something that means all of us harm, and these tapes – ” He taps on them with a nail. “ – they’re a warning. About what our future might entail. And I… I firmly believe that together, all of us, we can stop it.”
Jon winds down like an exhausted clock, and he slumps, his gaze dragged away from Martin’s as though he’s suddenly embarrassed by his outburst.
Martin lets out a long, billowing sigh.
“OK,” he says.
Jon looks up.
“Ok?”
“I don’t – I don’t even begin to understand what’s going on here. But I believe you. Though God knows why.”
Almost furtively, Jon’s face fractures into one of those small, surface-breaking smiles again.
“Thank you, Martin. I – I appreciate that.”
Martin’s blood vessels at that moment traitorously decide to flush his face with heat. He clears his throat.
“Right,” he says. “Right, so, these are the – the warnings, yeah?”
“I’ve brought headphones if you want to listen.”
“Which one should I…” Martin begins, but his voice sputters silent in his throat as he reads the labelling down the sides, printed in Jon’s aggressively neat hand.
Case #0160920: Statement of Martin Blackwood, for the attention of Jonathan Sims. Case #0160921: Statement of Jonathan Sims, for one Martin Blackwood.
“I didn’t record any – ”
“No. You didn’t.” Jon’s expression is steady if wary. “And neither did I.”
“S-so this statement here, that’s – that’s – and that means that your one there, that’s – ”
“Yes.”
“Fuck me.”
He meets Jon’s eyes. Lets out another, decidedly less steady breath.
Jon promised to explain. Jon promised answers.
And Martin can trust that right now. It’s easier, somehow, with Jon looking at him like he won’t let him get lost.
“This one first?” he says, pointing at the tape that another Martin Blackwood has made.
Jon nods, and passes Martin the headphones.
And in a coffee shop on the Southbank, Jon’s gaze not breaking from him, Martin listens to the story of how the world ends.
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