#FOCUS ON THE ONE FIC ELIAS

[eli-is-an-idiot]

oh god ive been listening to nothing but sea shanties for the last three days and now I want to write a lost in your eyes fic

[possumsquat]

a redraw of the fanart i made for @writevale's fic Strings between the stars

[magpod-confessions]

Okay let me be clear about one thing first, I’m not mad at people for writing what makes them happy. People are allowed to engage with fandom in whatever way they want. If that means writing ship fics and making ship content, then go right ahead! Hell, I genuinely enjoy ship content as well. Don’t stop making it just because some internet stranger said some words.

Having said that, I think this fandom (and to be fair, almost every fandom) severely undervalues platonic relationships. Let’s take for example Jon and Tim, which if you ask me, was one of the most interesting relationships in the show.

Out of 28,943 works on Ao3, 741 have them in a purely platonic relationship. This number drops down to 438 once you exclude Jmart. Granted, some of the ones that included Jmart might’ve just had it as a side thing rather than the main focus, but still.

For just a bit of perspective, that’s fewer works than Peter/Elias, fewer than Sasha/Tim, and fewer than even Elias/Jon. Don’t get me wrong all of these relationships are fascinating in their own right and deserve to be explored, but platonic relationships can be interesting too! And I think they deserve to be appreciated just as much as romantic/sexual ones.

Let me extra clear one last time that this is not me going “ship content bad!! >:[“ This is me saying that we should appreciate non-ship works as well, and that they can be just as interesting.

Yea no agree. I like shipping and all 100% but Im also a massive fan of platonic relationships and their explorations - rosette

[ivystoryweaver]

The Only One

Episode 7

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Summary: The last time you saw Poe was right before he blew up Starkliller Base - a huge victory for the Resistance. Things go to hell after that and you are separated from Poe, needing to rely on your instincts...and the Force. A huge secret starts to be revealed.

a/n: This Episode glosses over the events in the film The Last Jedi. You don't have to be knowledgeable about the sequel films to continue the story - everything that relates to Elia is summarized here. She is a bit separate from Poe during film events, so this is not a re-telling.

Pairing: Poe Dameron x female original character. Fic is written in second person, but the female "you" has a name (It reads basically the same as any other xreader)

Word Count: 1.6k

Content: violence, action, little angst (no more than in the films), not beta'd

PREVIOUSLY on "The Only One"...

He turned around one more time, granting you another sweet smile. “Wait for me, Ells. I’ll be right back.”

Somehow his humor and good nature gave you hope. Poe always gave you hope.

“May the Force be with you,” you whispered to no one really. Or, to all of them.

The next week was hell.

Which was, perhaps, what a demon like yourself deserved.

At first, the Resistance buzzed with the thrill of victory. Poe and his team destroyed Starkiller Base after Rebel legends Han Solo and Chewbacca worked together with the stormtrooper who defected and a young woman named Rey.

But before you could celebrate or have much of a reunion with Poe, the stormtrooper, who you learned was named Finn, was sent to medical in critical condition, while Rey supposedly flew away to find Luke Skywlaker.

Kylo Ren had murdered Han Solo.

You thought taking out Starkiller Base would give the Resistance a huge advantage in the uphill battle against the First Order, but the New Republic had suffered tremendous losses, crippling, if not obliterating support for the Resistance.

Your assignment kept you apart from Poe for days, so you hadn’t seen him since that fateful moment directly before the Starkiller Base battle.

...where he kissed you and asked you to wait for him.

So many had been lost since then - the chaos, nonstop. After the most recent attack took out most of Resistance command, someone named Holdo took over.

You were dying to see Poe, desperate to see for yourself that he was okay. Every time something else exploded, you felt sure you’d receive a report of his death. The stress piled up as you worked separately from Poe, thinking he might die, or you might die.

To make a desperate situation worse, the attack on the ship's bridge left Leia seriously wounded. And directly before Holdo took command, Poe was demoted, which infuriated you.

And, aside from the fact that you were (thankfully) able to focus, or hyper focus, as it were, on computer programming and other computer tech needs, the news of Commander Dameron's demotion was all you could think about...

...or talk about.

Thankfully, Perrha was with you for the past few days and was a wonderful grounding force for you.

Now, the Resistance was trying to safely land transports on the planet Crait.

Everyone watched in horror as one after the other, the First Order blew them out of the sky. You kept yourself busy working, tears streaming down your face at the thought of Poe being on one of those obliterated ships.

Poe felt the same way.

After maybe the worst week of his life (aside from when his mom died), Poe woke up from the little nap Leia's stun gun gave him. He listened patiently as Leia explained Holdo's plan, then watched in horror as transport after transport was obliterated.

"Where's Elia?" He asked Leia, as if she might somehow know. He had lost too many today, not only on the bridge, but when some of his closest friends died in the hangar explosion.

Leia shook her head, unsure.

Poe stared out into space. "Which one is she on?" He murmured, thankful that his new friend Finn was at least safe for the moment. Hopefully.

The planet's surface was so close. You and Perrha might make it through this. But who could be sure what awaited you on Crait, with the First Order bearing down hard?

As you entered the planet's atmosphere, the transport closest to yours exploded - near enough to your own that the blast and debris wreaked havoc. You were taking serious damage - hit hard enough to crash, just not to explode instantly like the neighboring transport.

Everyone around you was astoundingly calm, focused and professional, but a crash landing would not be avoidable.

Perrha's eyes met yours frantically as fire, debris and smoke filled the transport.

"We're not gonna make it," they gasped, coughing from all the smoke.

Panic gripped your heart. You didn't want to die. For once in your life, you really wanted to live and not just in terms of survival. You wanted to help the Resistance. You wanted them to win. You needed to learn about the Force, and ascertain from Leia if you were truly doomed to be a servant of the darkness.

Perrha was your friend and so was Poe. Your very best friend. Your heart broke as you thought of never seeing him again. It couldn't end this way.

So instead of giving in to despair, you opened yourself up to the flow of energy - no. The Force. A wall of fire swept through the transport.

"No." Your voice could barely be heard over the commotion. It wasn't a plea but a command.

Perrha cried out your name as you stretched out your hands and literally pushed the fire backward.

Your breathing steadied, your countenance - a mask of serenity. Your eyes fluttered closed as the Force surrounded you, flowed through you.

The fire would not touch you. Nor Perrha.

The remaining Resistance fighters watched from their transports, in awe, as a transport-on-fire gently touched down on the planet's surface.

You heard nothing. You only felt.

Calm.

Finally, you heard Perrha screaming your name. "This thing is gonna blow, come on!" They quite literally jerked you away - your boots thumping on the planet's surface as you ran for your life.

The ship exploded, knocking the survivors to the ground with a concussive force - dangerous, but not fatal.

Your ears rang, dusty salt filled your lungs, but Perrha hauled you up. You ran again, as fast as you had ever in your life.

The First Order had entered the planet's atmosphere and took up position at the mine entrance - the old Rebel base. Unfortunately, your transport's crash left you quite far away on foot. But thankfully, the First Order would assume your exploded crash site would leave no survivors - giving you time to run.

A battle raged overhead and in the distance. Blaster and cannon fire, and boot prints turned the ashy, salty surface blood red.

Your group finally made it to the mine, but there was no getting in the front entrance. The huge blaster door was sealed, but under heavy attack.

"Is there another way in?" You wondered aloud.

"Is there another way out?" Perrha countered, panicked. "Are they trapped in there?"

Your ragtag team rallied, determined to find a way to either get in to the safety of the mine, or help the remaining Resistance fighters escape, if they were trapped.

Suddenly you saw an old rust bucket ship zoom overhead and land at the edge of a shallow cliff.

Your team arrived just in time to see a young woman...making dozens of piles of rocks...float. This action served to clear a blocked path, allowing the Resistance fighters to escape the mine.

You saw the stormtrooper, Finn. The young woman must be Rey. You were so distracted by her dazzling display of the Force, that you almost didn't notice that just beside Finn...

was Poe.

Finn raced into Rey's arms for a hug, but it was Poe who noticed your ash-covered, singed, rag-tag crew, confused, for a moment, as to why you would have appeared with Rey.

"Elia," he breathed, pushing his way past anyone and everything in his path, including the huge boulders Rey had lifted moments before.

You were an adorable mess, most of your hair had tumbled out of your twin buns. Soot tarnished your cheeks and clothes. By some miracle your unlaced boots stayed in place while you ran for your life.

As Poe clambered toward you, your hands anxiously grabbed for your backpack straps…only to come up empty.

“M-my backpack,” you gasped, frantically touching your arms and chest.

Okay, people were dead.

Your transport crashed and exploded.

You only survived because you wielded the Force and ran for your life.

The First Order was bearing down.

Poe was alive!

But your brain?

“My backpack,” you repeated, desperately, craving the familiar soothing touchstone of its frayed straps.

“Here, sweetheart,” Poe gently offered, reaching for the fallen strap, to pull it back onto your shoulder. “Looks like the other one got burned.”

Which meant…

You grabbed for the other strap urgently, realizing the little pack might have been destroyed, leaving your wings out in the open.

Poe, so relieved to see you alive, wishing with all his heart that the could throw his arms around you, tried to understand…

“No, no no …” You shook your head, eyes wide with horror.

“Ells?” He asked, confused, holding up his hands in a supplicating manner, trying to show you he wouldn’t touch you if you didn’t want him to. “Baby, are you hurt?”

“I can’t…my backpack,” you gasped, short of breath. “I can’t…” Shaking your head rapidly, you backed away, running into Perrha…who got a look at your exposed back.

“Oh, Elia. A-are you - w-what happened…” they trailed off, glancing at Poe, confused at the sight of your tightly furled, dark wings. Perrha wasn’t sure if you were burned, or what was going on.

“What is it?” He demanded. “Is she hurt?” He reached for your arm to turn you around, but before his hand made contact, you clenched your fists and cried out.

“No!”

…sending tiny bits of rock flying outward from you body in every direction.

This got Rey’s attention.

As far as the young Jedi trainee knew, she and Leia were the only ones capable of this sort of thing.

Poe backed away, stunned, brushing bits of gravel from his face and hair, exchanging worried glances with Perrha, but determined to make sure you were all right.

He thought to approach you, but stopped short at a miraculous sight.

Your hair had tumbled down, beautiful and wild, your eyes closed in concentration.

Hands clenched by your sides, you held yourself still as bits of rock and earth circled you slowly.

And behind you, dark, slick wings unfurled.

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[penelopesbaby]

2 person house party

Being disgusting at karaoke with Elias

It was one of those things that you're not really sure how it happened. At first Elias just recommended that they put on music while cleaning the safe house, which then quickly turned into a single along.

At some point it switched to full karaoke, and after ditching the brooms and the dusters for remote controls and wooden spoons, barista and Elias both found themselves belting every song that popped up on the TV. Every voice crack was ignored, every wrong pitch was left unnoticed. The two could hardly hear each other over the sound of their own screaming.

After a while and after the screaming died down, the two of them looked around to see the living room a complete utter mess again. And you would think the whole point of putting on music to clean would be to help you focus, right? Instead, all of the singing turned into dancing performances and jumping on the couch, causing ANOTHER big mess that Elias and barista needed to clean.

"Wasn't the purpose of the music to help us get this done faster..?" Elias questions while picking back up the discarded broom off the floor.

Barista picks up their wash cloth before responding, "Uhm.. Maybe? I feel like we kinda just made a bigger mess..."

"Well..." He starts, "Since there's still a mess, and since we both know I killed it at karaoke, maybe we should just wait to clean up the mess after a round of karaoke battle?"

Barista stops and looks up at him, a smug look coating his face while he crosses him arms.

"You want to battle me at karaoke? Do you know how hard this is gonna hit your ego?" The smug look Elias wore now displayed on barista face, as they discarded the wash cloth to the floor and moved back over to the TV.

"Oh, trust me. You couldn't bruise my ego if you tried." He smirks.

It seems he was wrong though, because the thousand more points barista gained from singing song after song was, at the least, humbling.

"There's no way.." Elias whines looking at the scoreboard after the last song, and obviously, barista had won by a long shot.

"See I told you! I knew you were gonna sulk in your loss, you crybaby!" They laugh out. "Ughhh yeah yeah get your laughs in, but later when I load up the play station you're not gonna be laughing."

"Well maybe I’m laughing because after that attempt at a high note somehow you lost points."

"The game is rigged!" He throws his hands up before covering his laugh. "Are you sure it's rigged or are you just really bad at?" "It's rigged."

"Yeah okay, sure." Barista jokes before looking around at the new now bigger mess in the living room.

"So... should we clean this now orr..." They ask.

"Yeah.. Yeah we should.." Elias answers while picking up his discarded broom.

"Try not to trip over the coffee table this time." Barista responds, walking back over to where they were cleaning before.

"That was your fault! You were distracting me!" "Whatever your'e such a liar!"

------------------------------------------------

me when I don't know how to end a fic

ik it was rly short I'm like just getting back into writinggg...sigh....

[purpletyrant]

au chises that have been bumping around in my brain like my own personal multiverse of madness. they needed to be exorcised. i recognize and respect the adage that your au may as well be an oc at a certain point, and i think these two cross the threshold, but consider this: i like to play with chise like a paper doll and see how she reacts to situations. so there

for their faces i sorta referenced off of haruka kudo, who played chise in the stage play

attack dog chise is the "living weapon" trope. i imagine that the witch bought her just as elias did, but chise is under the impression that she was taken in out of the goodness of her heart. her master has taught her very little in the means of practical magic, instead focusing all of her training into inflicting as much damage as possible. the witch has no expectation that chise will live very long, so has no intention of raising her up to be an equal. so, this chise has only been taught the power of incredible violence. if she isnt using her fists, shes using low-level curses and other magic considered to be kind of a dick move

design wise, all the o-rings are meant to evoke arc 1 chises adder necklace. she was probably inspired by the knife-wielding punk chise with attitude from the merkmal. since this chise has no ruth, you could say that she sort of embodies both of them

i imagine the dynamic between her and her master as sort of a ~*twisted and dark*~ version of kimihiro and yuko from xxxholic... which ive never read, but still. i dont have a design in mind for the witch shes beholden to, but she isnt dissimilar to hiroe ando from the she who travels au. maybe she IS hiroe. hm

soothsayer's daughter chise is the golden child of her family and has lived a life of relative comfort since being taken from her mother. still, her bleeding heart causes her guilt when she thinks back on the mother she can barely remember. in the last couple years, this chise has tracked her down and set up the means to meet in secret with the intention of apologizing to her and gaining closure. her family does not take kindly to this, and when chise meets chika in the tiny, filthy apartment shes living in, magic is used to force chises mother to commit suicide in front of her. chise is left shaken to the core by this event, especially by chikas words that she "should have never come back." she attempts to maintain a brave and serene exterior, believing that no one else knows of chikas death

since yuuki is still considered a traitor to the family, this chise has a polite if distant relationship with him, having been mainly raised by uncles and aunts. fumiki is supremely annoyed by her. shes very protective and patronizing

her silhouette is based off of a shrine maidens, but i didnt want to dress her exactly like one, since thats... kind of on the nose, isnt it? regardless, the focus of her magic is in purification and exorcism - her soothsaying skills are not quite so refined

she who travels chise is she who travels chise, she comes with her own fic series, read it or dont. i do have thoughts about her older offshoot, though. this chise is in her 30s. she picked up smoking from master onishi - HE TRIED NOT TO INFLUENCE HER, REALLY - and took over the theater when he died. even though she owns it and its a good source of income, shes moved on and is trying to be a more respectable mage beyond the sideshow reputation of her early career. shes essentially cosplaying a put-together businesswoman, and is kind hearted but comically serious. she probably has a niece or nephew and is constantly giving them enchanted gifts. her elias received an untraceable check for five million pounds - adjusted for inflation - several years ago and has not been able to track her down. her anger has cooled, but its now been so long that she feels too awkward to contact him. she still maintains contact with angelica and simon, though - maybe one day shell show up in his yard in a shiny black car

i think it would be soooo fun to throw them all in a room together with canon chise and watch them fight. or maybe they would just cry it out? soothsayers daughter thinks shes above all of this and will condescendingly preach about how attack dog has a "wounded heart"... until attack dog roundhouse kicks her in the head

[gunnrblze]

Mischaracterizations are prevalent in fandoms. I'm curious, which ones of the CoD:Ghosts franchise bug you the most, and make you want to pull out your hair once you see them in fics/other materials?

This question created several additional thoughts, so I’m putting all my yapping below the cut lmfao.

Tbh it doesn’t bother me a whole lot except when it’s a large part of said character, or one of their only canon descriptions/facts/etc. I think it’s great for ppl to create what they want, esp when a lot of the ghosts have little/no info so we quite literally have to make shit up and fill in the likely blanks, but if you’re straying so far from who a character is…😟

Like, Keegan is described and shown throughout the game as being a very quiet man…so it does make me side eye when people portray him as this talkative guy, or someone with a really big personality lol cause that’s just not the vibe. That’s why I rb’d that thing, because I was thinking about how he’s the most popular ghost by far, and I think a lot of those fans aren’t necessarily into the rest of the ghosts game (and they don’t have to be, just an observation). I think that’s why so much of the content made about him outside of the actual ghosts fandom seems out of left field, bc people just kinda take a hot character and do whatever with him (which again, is fine, free will in fandom is good and necessary). I also think that’s why so many people get him confused as being part of other CoD games, because they aren’t aware of where his character even comes from in the first place.

Now this may be a bit of an unpopular opinion bc I know a lot of ppl hate some of the smut aspect that’s written about these characters, because they include themes that are/seem ooc, but I’m gonna be honest…that part doesn’t bother me so much because at the end of the day, people just want to put their fantasies and ideas onto hot masked man…and I get it lmao. Not to say im necessarily gonna read it, esp stuff with hard kink type shit, but it’s more so bothersome when people mischaracterize them because they don’t pay attention to the actual canon character in other fics/materials.

That’s why I kinda separate smut fic from everything else a bit, because a lot of smut I’ve noticed, especially with Keegan specifically, is written ooc, because making it canon/character correct isn’t the point, the sexy time shit is. Now I still prefer reading smut that seems largely in character lol, but I do have to defend the larger idea here that it’s not a crime to write an ooc smut fic because half the time…the smut is the main focus, not the canon/implied personality of the character.

I completely understand the shock of seeing certain smut in the first place (talking about the more fucked up shit here…), especially when it’s then placed on a character you know and love, but it honestly doesn’t bother me that much-and maybe it’s because I’ve been on the internet for too long💀- but that’s kinda the point of fandom I think…doing whatever pleases you, having an outlet. That’s the type of smut I think is very obviously written with the idea in mind, and not necessarily ‘would the character do/behave like this?’. Because yea, these ghost boys would most likely not do all these fucked up things, but I think people still deserve the freedom to write it, and they’re going to anyways lmfao (IF you’re tagging disturbing content correctly, you owe people that much!)

I’ve been having those thoughts for a while now so I had to yap them out of my head lol, but to answer the actual question, aside from Keegan, I hateeee seeing the Walker fam mischaracterized. I think because (it seems) they have more info available on them compared to the other ghosts, so when I see people just giving their personalities a 180 I’m like…Hesh would NOT act like that😩. Especially with Elias because he’s my husband obviously…so people missing larger parts of his character or stuff that’s implied about him makes my eye twitch a little lol.

Also, I don’t typically see a whole lot of ooc stuff for the ghosts in the first place tbh (minus Keegan, bc he has reached the CoD masses of course). Because we’re a smaller fandom, and I think people tend to stay in character more in smaller fandoms (at least from what I’ve seen) because there’s so little content available on characters, and it’s like we’re all clinging to what we DO know about them lmfao.

Thanks for attending my ted talk 💋

[aestheticpearl]

— 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞

✧·˚ elias having a soft and sweet moment with his favorite barista

“you don’t have to sit here with me elias.”

“i know, but i want too.”

you sniffle and wipe away a stray tear from your face. you’ve never been strong when yelled at, even with nasty customers the faucet behind your eyes always seems to run no matter what. it’s the tone that’s the real killer, you just don’t want to disappoint anyone.

“i’m sorry, i probably look a mess. i’m not sad i just—” you take a breath as you feel your eyes fill with tears once more. “i just have trouble saying how i feel without crying and i-i don’t know why.” you voice waivers and you hate how pathetic you sound.

“i’m sorry.” you look down at your hands trying to focus on something to get yourself to stop crying. elias places his hand over yours and feels a tear drop fall on the back of his hand.

“don’t be sorry, emotions can be hard to process sometimes.” he intertwines your fingers with his and gives your hand a light, reassuring squeeze. you look up to connect your eyes with his and he gives you a comforting smile. “i’m hear to listen baby, take your time.”

“thank you.” you move closer and lean your head on his shoulder. no one had ever in your life cared about you like this, it felt so refreshing and unreal. deep down a part of you was scared that this was a fleeting moment and that it was real, just a façade that elias put on to comfort you, but he seemed so genuine.

“you know… you’re the only person that has seen me cry, which is shocking cause i feel like i cry all the time but i’ve always hidden it from everyone each time. what i’m trying to say is thank you for not making fun of me.”

“i could never make fun of you…well, i could never make fun of you when it’s a serious matter.” you smile and shove him gently while laughing softly. he returns the laughter and kisses your head.

“thank you for being here for me.”

“i always will be.”

“you’re so sweet to me elias.” you cups his cheek and kiss him gently, only pulling away when his phone suddenly buzzes.

“sorry.” he declines it and kisses you again.

“mm don’t you need to get that?” you ask pulling away.

“it can wait, you’re more important.”

“i am not elias, answer the phone.” you reach over to his phone and answer it before giving it to him. elias sighs and takes the phone.

“hello?” he leans in planting another kiss on your lips as he listens to the other person on the line. you quietly laugh at the romantic action.

“oh yes we’re being very careful warden.” he leans in for another kiss before you smack his shoulder lightly after realizing who is on the other line.

“it’s your father!” you whisper shout.

elias can’t help but smile at your shocked face while still holding your wrist to prevent you from landing another hit on him. your embarrassed face is just too cute to not look at.

“yes, thank you warden.” he finally ends the call and drinks in your embarrassed state. “you’re adorable when your embarrassed you know.”

you shake your head and lean against him as he hangs up and you look back up at the stars. they almost seem bright now that elias is here next to you.

“you know, i really wish we met under different circumstances.”

elias takes your hand and squeezes it.

“me too, but i’m just glad we met even if the circumstances weren’t ideal.”

“thank you elias, for protecting me from all this chaos. sometimes i don’t think i deserve it; deserve you.”

“don’t be ridiculous, you deserve it.” he says as he brings your hand up to his lips and place a light kiss on the back of it. “let’s stay together after all of this is over okay? i think it’s best if we both stay.”

“okay.”

now that elias is with you, you can’t even remember why you were crying in the first place.

this was supposed to be a valentine day fic but i didn’t finish in time i apologize

.love always <3 pearl

.masterlist

[waterfallofspace]

omg tma!! I started re listening it a few weeks ago and obsessed again. I would love to see some more Elias from you🫣 Your previous fic with him is still one of my favourites

Thank you so much, I'm so glad you enjoyed it!!~

So I uh... meant for this to be a drabble, but it... got a little out of hand... and it's not very snz heavy, more plot/general sickness heavy, so I apologize if that's not what you had in mind, just kinda went the way it went~

A Betting Man

The one in which Peter bets Elias he won't last the day with the terrible head cold he's 'hiding'. (Definite HUGE spoilers for the M/agnus Archives, so please be aware of that!)

Characters: Elias, Peter, Tim, Rosie ( ft. lonelyeyes + mentions of Jon + Sasha) Word Count: 4.3k

It’s been a long week, even for Elias. Dealing with a new archivist is always a bit of a headache, but especially now with all that’s at stake. Near constant surveillance has left a strain on… what perhaps one could refer to as his ‘eyes’. Jon has required a fair amount of supervision to make sure he stays on the right path- or, shall we say, at the right pace. 

Leaning forward in his chair, Elias allows his face to rest against his hands. Jon’s in the middle of another statement, still adamant to deny his way through the horrors. He’ll be occupied for at least another fifteen minutes. More than enough time for a brief rest. Not a nap, just… a couple minutes to rest his eyes…

“Mr. Bouchard?” Rosie’s voice over the intercom jolts him awake from the waves of fatigue that had been pulling him in. 

Elias hits the button to respond. He barely manages to get the “yes-” out before his voice breaks. He releases the button, ducking into his fist with a harsh cough, before trying again. 

“Yes, Rosie, what is it?” His voice still sounds rough, and he silently curses the nasal quality it possesses. 

“Uh, sorry to disturb you, Tim just has a few questions about some follow up to a statement, but I can tell him you’re busy… or…” Rosie trails off, the hesitation evident in her voice. 

“Well,” a voice sounds out, ringing out like a gunshot in the silent office. “Better not keep him waiting.” 

Familiar as it may be, the sudden nature of the intrusion comes as quite the shock. Elias maintains a white-knuckled grip on his neutral expression as he turns to face the captain, heart pounding in his throat. “Peter, I believe I’ve asked you to announce yourself.” 

“Ah, you did, seems I’ve forgotten again, ever so sorry Elias,” Peter smirks, unfolding himself from the corner he’d been watching from. “Wouldn’t want to step on your toes, what with the watching and all. More your thing than mine, isn’t that right?” 

Elias simply rolls his eyes in response, glancing back to the intercom. Peter follows his gaze, chuckling lightly.

“Peter,” Elias cautions, scanning back over to Jon in his mind. Still caught up in the statement, going on about some form of… meat. Not something Elias needs playing in the back of his mind while dealing with Peter. 

“Rosie’s waiting,” Peter interrupts, pulling Elias’s full focus back onto him. “Shame to leave her hanging, sweet girl and all, just trying to do her job.” 

“If you’d really like me to answer her, you’d leave me alone so I cahh… can do just that.” 

Elias trails off for only a second, feeling the itch that he’d believed quelled earlier this morning start to bubble back to the surface. The cold medicine should have had another few hours left. Seems burning the candle at all ends has its downfalls. 

He still manages to finish strong, fighting off the sensation with a single brush of his finger. It did not, however, go unnoticed. Elias fights back a sigh as the sparkle he’s come to know all too well begins to appear in the sea captain’s eyes. The eager glisten of someone with a bet to propose. 

“We both know you’re perfectly capable of answering her with me in the room. It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve had to be… subtle,” Peter offers, still watching Elias carefully. 

With a deep resignation, Elias hits the button again, informing Rosie to tell Tim he’ll stop by later. She answers with thanks, interrupted by Tim shouting something about ‘right-o double boss!’ in the background. A slightly mortified Rosie repeats her thanks, the intercom cutting off her apologies for the intrusion. 

Elias simply ignores it, turning his attention instead to Peter, still lingering in the office. Not undivided this time though, as Elias feels his nose twitch again. Eager to get this over with, he simply awaits Peter’s proposition. He could attempt to Know it, but with the current state of his head, and the dangerous buzzing in his sinuses, the risk seems to outweigh simply waiting.

“So,” Peter begins, eyes flicking up and down Elias, as if running final calculations. “I’ve got a wager to offer.” 

“I figured as much,” Elias replies, leaning back slightly in the chair and adjusting his suit jacket with feigned disinterest. “But I don’t believe you have anything to offer me that would entice me to accept it.” 

“I have a feeling you’ll take it anyways, Elias.” 

“And whhih.. why iihh- hehh!-” With a desperate sniff, Elias manages to pull back control, fighting back the burning creeping up his nose. 

“Because,” Peter cuts in, looking damn near gleeful at Elias’s struggle. “You’ve always been a betting man.” 

 “hiEh’mMPFfshh-uih!” Elias winces as the sneeze breaks through his control. He barely manages to catch it in the soft folds of his rapidly deployed handkerchief. Peter looks beyond thrilled at this, as if the sneeze itself was some form of acceptance. And– 

“hH’MPFSHh’uh! hiH’MFSHH–oo!” 

They both know it never stops at one. Managing to stall the onslaught with a rough massage of the handkerchief, Elias cautiously lowers it and meets Peter’s eye again. Peter, for his part, offers a blessing. Elias shrugs it off with a grimace. 

“Fine,” Elias says, internally cursing again as his voice scrapes painfully against his ever-worsening throat. “Will taking this bet get you to leave me alone?” 

“I suppose so, if that’s what you’d like,” Peter replies casually. They both know it’s not a hard sell, getting him to be alone. 

“Then get on with it, what’s the wager.” 

“A simple one,” Peter smiles, leaning forward and resting his arms on the desk. “If you manage to hide this terrible head cold you’ve picked up from the rest of your staff, then you win!” 

Of course Peter could tell. The medication had picked a lovely time to wear off, but… having this be the focus of such a wager was still… unpleasant. And besides, he had no time for such dramas. Jon was finishing up his statement by now. Elias found himself Knowing that Jon was in fact asking Sasha and Tim for the final reports on the follow up they managed to do. And for that, Tim was still waiting on him. 

With another sigh, this one hitting something on the edge of his lungs and leaving him coughing into his fist, Elias manages to gain enough composure to reply with a mild, “I’m quite the busy man, Peter.” 

“Oh I know you are,” Peter pushes the glass of the water on the desk closer, and Elias gives him a muted thanks. “However, all I’m asking you to do is- well, what we both know you were planning to do anyways. I’m just interested in making a little money on the whole ordeal.” 

“Fine, name your price and then leave me to my work,” Elias replies, managing to stall the coughing with a few sips of the water. 

“Fifty dollars says you get caught before you go home today.” 

“Noted. Now, if you’ll excuse me?” Elias stands from his desk, gesturing Peter towards the door. “I have an appointment with Tim.” 

Peter doesn’t fight this, simply offering a deeply unsettling smile as he folds back out through the door. Only a faint mist clouding the hallway and echoing in Elias’s mind lingers as any proof he was there at all. It soon fades from the doorway, though the fog covering Elias’s thoughts remains. Maybe that one is more from the fever than the visit. 

“mMFhsh’oo!” Elias groans softly into the handkerchief, already feeling the hitching start up again as his eyes begin to water. Never just the one. “mPFShh–eh’MFSHhh’oo!” 

He pulls his hands away, before ducking frantically into his shoulder for a final, “ah’tshhiew!”  that manages to slip through before he can catch it in the cloth. 

Mercifully Peter left before that particular outburst, the pitchy whine of the last burst sending a rush of heat to Elias’s ears. Peter’s never been one to shy away from a good bit of taunting when he gets the opportunity, and this would definitely have served as host to some mocking. 

Making his way down the hall, Elias gives Rosie a polite nod, wincing slightly when she calls out to him. 

“Mr. Bouchard! Sorry sir, just have a couple things to run past you, if you have a moment?” 

“Of course Rosie,” Elias replies, turning slowly to face her with a calculated smile. She means well, and he can’t find it in himself to be upset with her. It’s hardly her fault that he’s unwell, or that he had the misfortune to draw Peter’s attention. 

“I’ll try to make this fast, there’s just a few forms that need a signature, some follow up for you to review- oh! And I almost forgot, Jon was asking about a few different statements.” 

Absent-mindedly beginning to sign the papers, Elias turns his focus to finding Jon. It turns out he’s in artifact storage, looking at something related to a statement, perhaps. It’s not an inconvenient spot for him to be, should make the meeting with Tim go a lot smoother. 

“Sir?” Rosie says, hesitantly. Elias manages to pull himself back, finding it harder than it should be. This fever seems to be worsening by the minute. 

“My apologies, I’m a touch… preoccupied,” Elias pauses briefly, feeling the all too familiar sensation start buzzing in his nose once more. He manages to stall it with a quick rub. Rosie doesn’t seem to notice, too busy looking down at her stack of paperwork. 

“Oh, I’m sorry sir! There’s just the follow ups, and Jon’s questions-” 

“Please leave those follow ups on my desk, I’ll get to them after I go and see Tim. As for Jon, I’ll pop by his office and talk to him myself,” Elias cuts her off, keeping the smile on his face as gentle as he can manage. 

Rosie smiles back, nodding and jotting down a few notes on her pad. Elias nods his thanks, then making a few polite excuses, takes his leave. He barely makes it down the hall before the buzzing becomes all consuming. Handkerchief long forgotten at his desk, he settles for pressing his wrist to his nose, and attempting to stifle the onslaught. 

“ek’ngt-chh! eh’dngt! –nngdt’chh! hihh… hh’ngKT’chh–oo!” 

The last breaks through with a whiny exhale, spreading the fevered flush deeper into his cheeks. He’d always taken a sense of pride in his control, both of himself and those around him. Part of being alive, and in power, as long as he has, it comes with the territory. But this cold was determined to rob him of any decorum he had left, it seemed.

Mercifully it seems no one witnessed this outburst either, but his charade of health is rapidly deteriorating. Elias lets another internal curse slip, this time it nearly passes his lips. Discreetly wiping a thin sheen of sweat from his forehead, he continues down the hall towards Tim. 

Elias’s specific brand of Knowing has its advantages, not the least of which being the ability to find any employee whenever necessary. In this case it’s walking up behind Tim pouring himself a coffee in the kitchen. 

“I heard you wanted to speak to me, Tim?” Elias says, voice cutting through the silence. He admittedly revels a little in the shudder that runs through the (much) younger man’s spine. 

“Double boss,” Tim collects himself fast, giving one of his patented charming smiles. It’s no wonder the– well, everyone, falls for it so fast. “Uncanny how you can sneak up on someone like that! Have you thought about going into the surprise birthday planning business?” 

“I… don’t believe that’s a thing,” Elias replies patiently, offering a contained smile. It’s never a good idea to put off one’s subordinates so soon. Keep them in line? Of course. But this early on, respect and fear are both key weapons to wield. 

Tim chuckles, pouring a frankly outrageous amount of cream and sugar into the coffee before giving it a light stir. “Well if it isn’t, it should be!” 

“I think I’ll leave the party planning to you, though I’ll always find some time to stop by for a piece of cake.” 

“And you’ll always be welcome, you’re the big boss after all!” Tim smiles again, though Elias can see every ounce of sarcasm plastered throughout the grin. While he may not match Tim when it comes to charm, he far surpasses him in skills when lying is at play. He’s had much more practice, after all. 

Biting down the urge to cough again as his throat objects to the prolonged usage, Elias steadies himself with a firm, “I was told you wanted to see me? If you wouldn’t mind getting to the point, I do have other matters of which to attend…” 

“Oh, right!” Tim starts, setting down his coffee and reaching over to the table for a couple files. Elias takes this moment to duck into his wrist, managing a pair of completely silent stifles. Another trick his years have let him hone, though each new body seems to take a varying amount of time to reach perfection.

“hk’ndGT-uh!”  

This one, unfortunately, is deeply uncooperative, letting the final sneeze escape into a strangled noise. Tim doesn’t seem to have noticed, busy rustling through the files. He’s obviously looking for something. It would be much easier to simply Know, and just give Tim the answer before even hearing the question… but that draws too much attention. He’ll just have to wait it out. 

Since he’s standing here anyways, Elias takes the chance for a quick peek at Jon. He seems to have settled himself back into his office, clicking away at his computer as he translates a few statements over to the device. Hardly interesting work, they’re certainly not anything worthwhile, but they should give him something to do for the rest of the afternoon. 

“Boss?” Tim’s voice pulls him back, and Elias attempts to focus on the file being held out to him. Attempts, and fails. 

Instead, all he manages to do is offer a half strangled noise, and sway slightly on his feet. Tim, to his credit, is quick to react; pulling out a chair and leading Elias gently into it. 

“That’s quite alright,” Elias protests, attempting to stand before quickly thinking better of it. He plays off the attempt as merely changing position, crossing one leg over the other. “It was just a touch of dizziness, haven’t been sleeping enough lately, what with Jon in his new position and all. A lot of late nights, as I imagine the rest of you are pulling as well.” 

Tim’s face is nearly unreadable. Elias almost considers Knowing his feelings, but given how poorly checking in on Jon just went, he’s not eager for a repeat performance. 

Instead, he settles on raising carefully to his feet, and steadying Tim with a polite but firm look. “It’s nothing I can’t handle. Now, the files? I believe I mentioned it before, but I have quite a lot to do.” 

With a small nod, face still tightly guarded, Tim lets his gaze drop down to the files, collecting the papers he’d been holding out before. He hands them over to Elias, who recognizes quite quickly that they all feature connections to some rather big donors. This must be why Tim wanted his input before continuing. He had given Jon quite the talking to for digging in too far the other day. 

“The trails of these follow ups have led to some interesting places,” Tim begins, going on some rant about Jon’s persistence, Sasha’s lack of interest in hard work, and more meaningless drama. He’s just started on something about ‘needing a contact in the law office down the block’ when Elias feels the all too familiar tickle beginning to reemerge.

He isn’t going to be able to get away without making his departure all too obvious. No room for polite excuses or subtly in this moment, so with a slight grimace, he makes his move. 

“So sorry, please excuse me for a sehh- second.” 

Tim pauses, just beginning to ask if everything’s okay when Elias turns into his wrist, bending at the waist ever so slightly as he ducks away with a tightly contained “ih’gnDt!” 

“Oh- bless yo-” Tim starts, getting cut off by a wave from Elias, still hitching rapidly into his wrist. 

“N- nohhht… d- done… hk’nNgtchh! ih’mMFSShhh’uh! mMPFSHh! ih’MMPFShhh–oo!” 

“Christ, bless you boss! Quite the show there,” Tim laughs, clearly not too worried about mocking his superior. Normally Elias might chastise him a touch for that, but now doesn’t seem the time for such things. Instead, he merely offers thanks, grabbing a tissue from the counter and attempting a polite blow. 

There is a slight wince from Tim at this, Elias mimicking the action as his sinuses throb at the action. The dull ache spreads further throughout his head, and the world seems to spin as Elias pulls himself back to his full height. Tim’s still looking on, a touch concerned, and Elias offers a vague wave.

“Apologies, the dust down here still tends to get to me sometimes, even after these years.” 

There’s a brief pause, Tim seeming to consider this explanation, before the tension melts from his posture and it’s right back to the rambling. It’s much different from Martin’s brand. That seems to be more about nerves, his mouth moving faster than he can keep up with. Tim’s is more calculated, seemingly just enjoying the sound of his own voice. “Seems to happen to loads of people. They’re used to a much cleaner standard I think, the libraries seem to be cleaner at least, and it’s often a bit of a shock I think for people to see what disarray we’re in! I mean hell, I’ve succumbed to a few attacks of my own, and Jon– christ, you should have heard him when he first started emptying out those boxes. Nearly dragged him out by his collar a few times, just to make sure he didn’t stop breathing.” 

“And I thank you for that,” Elias interrupts with a polite smile. “Not eager to have to fill the role again quite so soon.” 

Tim chuckles a bit, but generally seems to be a bit lost in his own thoughts. Recalling memories of those first few weeks, Elias supposes. Or, shall we say, Knows. The knowledge leaves him a bit dizzy, but nothing nearly so bad to knock him off his feet this time. Tim snaps out of it quickly, returning to his line of questioning about donations, funding, and… things that sounded to be walking a fine line of legality. 

Elias gives the proper responses; a smile here, nod there, yes or nos when appropriate, some casual conversation when there’s nothing to comment on past a vague nicety. Eventually Tim finishes with his questions, Elias offering what knowledge he had– or rather, what knowledge he reasonably could have. 

“So if that’s all,” Elias says, relief beginning to spread through him as the end of this meeting draws tantalizingly close. “I’ll be getting back to my desk, and you should get back to work as well. There are still plenty of hours left in the day.” 

“Not much for me to do until Sasha gets back,” Tim starts, but Elias quickly cuts him off with a click of the tongue. 

“I’m sure Jon could always use a hand, perhaps you can go get a few more boxes to pack up the statements he’s already been through.” 

“Or,” Tim strings out the word, giving a tilted grin. “I could go help Sasha with some very important research.” 

This thinly veiled attempt at getting off work would, once again, normally deserve some form of response. The least Tim could do is pretend to be working, put a little effort into the charade. But between the chills beginning to work their way up his spine, and the consistent itch that won’t leave him be, Elias finds himself with bigger things to focus on. 

“Do what you will, just make sure you gehh– get your work done before you leave for the day.” 

The single hitch breaks through his focus, Elias fighting it off with the last of his resolve. Tim doesn’t let this one slide past though, reaching over and moving the tissues closer with a touch of a smirk on his face. Apparently eager for another display from the boss. Even as much as he despises the vulnerability, Elias can’t say the… voyeuristic side doesn’t hold its own appeal. 

It’s hardly up to him though, he’s been denying the whims of this cold for far too long it seems, and luck has run out. With the last bit of control he has left, he manages to grab a handful of the tissues Tim had so kindly pushed within reach, ducking into them as the fit finally breaks through.

“hH’RRSHHhoo!”

“Woah, bless you boss, that wa-” 

Elias cuts him off with a shake of his head, still hitching desperately into the tissues. 

“N- never… nehh… never just… hK’TZSHHhoo! eh’RZSHhhoo! Christ, I cahh… can’t– eh’RSHHh’oo! hh’ETZSHhhiiew!” 

The last one comes out more whiny than the rest, Tim at least having the decency to look concerned at the change of pitch. Elias manages to watch him through watery eyes, finding it almost amusing how arguably the most charismatic of his employees seems absolutely lost as to what he should be doing. In his defense, at this stage, there isn’t much to do but ride it out. 

“ih’EZSSH–EZSHH’oo!” The pair stumbles over each other, but leaves Elias with a long enough gap to grab another handful of tissues. He manages to get off a quick blow, wincing synchronously with Tim at the noises it produces. Not like he has much ability to save any dignity now. 

Thankfully, it seems to have stopped the attack, and Elias sinks himself back into the chair Tim had pulled out for him earlier, exhausted. Really quite astounding, with how far the modern world has come, still a cure for the common cold remains out of reach. 

“Christ, boss, bless you,” Tim offers, Elias startling a bit as he comes to the sudden remembrance he’s not alone. 

“Thagk you,” Elias replies, once again leaving them both wincing at his rapidly deteriorating state. If he didn’t know better, Elias would think Peter somehow caused this illness to behave in this fashion. Alas, he does know better. And, for that matter, Know better. This state of rapid decline is par for the course in this body. It seems to have a quite poor immune system. Unfortunately not something he can blame Peter for. 

“I think you’re running a fever,” Tim pauses, seeming to, for the first time, truly take in Elias’s appearance. “A pretty bad one too, I’d guess.” 

Elias pauses, face calm as he weighs his options. It’s almost certain the bet’s lost now. The other symptoms he could probably have waved off as more dust related problems, but a fever… that’s hard to pin on a mere sensitivity, or even an allergy. 

Still, the bet’s not his main concern. Maintaining his careful balance of fear and respect requires a lot of maintenance. Being seen this unwell, this vulnerable, that certainly could tip the scales into unwanted territory. 

“I’b–” Clearing his throat, Elias attempts some semblance of normal sounding speech, though the edges of his words still hold that heavy congested tone. “I might be a touch under the weather, but it’s nothing I can’t handle. I appreciate your concern, but all I need is a good night's sleep, and I should be good as new.” 

It seems a mutual agreement that that statement was a lie, and that neither of them is going to be the one to point that out. Tim offers a vague shrug, mutters something sarcastic under his breath about ‘not being Martin’, followed by something about ‘spreading the plague to the whole office’, but generally leaves without much of a fuss. 

The fussing, no doubt, will come in the form of a salt-tinged sea captain waiting in his office. Elias doesn’t even have to Know, to know that one. 

As he makes his way upstairs, shrugging off Rosie’s concerns with a tight, yet friendly, dismissal, Elias finds himself hurrying to duck into his office before the–

“hh’atshhew! at’shhoo! Christ.”  

“Bless you, Elias.” 

Elias turns to face the voice, accepting the handkerchief it offers out to him. “You knew I’d lose, dihh… ah’tzshh’oo! atschhew! heh’RRSHh’oo! Bloody hell.” 

“And again,” Peter smirks. 

“Didn’t you?” Elias finishes, keeping an eye on the figure standing next to his chair.

“Of course I did,” Peter replies, nonchalant as ever. “Rosie had you clocked since this morning. You had lost before you even accepted. Surprised someone of your standing didn’t… Know that already. Still, it was quite entertaining, watching you attempt to hide it for so long.” 

Elias simply rolls his eyes, blowing his nose for what is almost the first real time today. It leaves him breathless, and he follows it with a second, then third. He takes more than a hint of enjoyment from the looks of concern that flash across Peter’s face.

Placing a fifty on the table, Elias sinks into his chair, finally beginning to let down his guard under Peter’s watchful gaze. He puts up little resistance when strong arms guide him up, and over to the small couch in the corner of his office. The lack of resistance continues as those same arms pull him down, laying him carefully across the couch, head resting lightly on Peter’s lap. 

No words are spoken between them, but then again, they never really needed such things.

[alishaaxo]

im so done w hotd rn…

the only thing keeping me going is aegon!!

but tbh i think im gonna go back to my love for got-era things… even tho 99 percent of the jon fics now crush me when they make one small note of elia like “oh she accepted ur father’s annulment and even advocated for his love for lyanna” 😭😭

icl i CANNOT keep rereading all the pro-elia fics on ao3, i think ive read EVERYTHING at least 5 times 💀

fic ideas??? if u cant find it, write it? and i cant fine enough elia-rhaegar-lyanna+kids fics lol

1) smth for jon being slightly disappointed w r+l… focus on his wall besties ??

2) jon+rhaenys+aegon beloved trio in kl while lyanna (who feels regret but is still queen) is striving for jon to be heir but he loves his children (dance style-au kinda)

3) day 1 for sundragons week! written a lil for a rhaenys lives but elia and aegon don’t. rhaegar want to please her so intensely and she hates lyanna and jon (sorry bro).

4) need day 2 for sundragons week! maybe aegon raised by rhaella and ashara in dragonstone goes to see rhaegar+lyanna+jon for a tourney for his coming of age???

[rosered2018]

TMA/TMAGP Crossover

I have been reading a fair amount of Magnus Archives and Magnus Protocol fics, and have noticed that most of the crossovers focus on the OIAR crew encountering Team Archive. I decided to take it the other direction.

Since my philosophy with crossovers is to choose the one character who would cause the most chaos for both groups and use them as the crossover point. In this case, I would choose Gwen.

I'm operating on the theory that the Fears are somewhat active in her home timeline, so it's possible she either goes through the wrong door or falls through a crack in the universe.

Her first sign that something is massively wrong is when she goes to the OIAR building and finds the Magnus Institute instead.

She remembers that her Uncle Elias had worked there when it burned down, and goes in to see if he's still there. Rosie greets her and tells her that, yes, Elias is still there and, as a matter of fact, he's been the head of the institute for about twenty years now.

Gwen hasn't seen her uncle in years, but she still wouldn't trust him to run a register in a shop much less the day-to-day operations of an academic institution. She goes into his office, and finds herself face-to-face with Jonah Magnus in an Elias suit. She has a minor panic attack, and flees before he can say a word to her.

She ends up in the lobby, trying to get a grip and figure out what the hell is going on, when she encounters Tim and Sasha on their way back from lunch. They assume she's there to give a statement and walk her down to the archive. Gwen listens to the two of them banter, and is struck by how much they remind her of Alice and Sam.

Not that she misses them.

When they get to the archive, they walk in on Jon and Martin having an arguement about spiders. Jon wants any and all spiders in the archive killed immediately and with extreme prejudice. Martin is arguing for a catch and release policy. When Gwen hears their voices, she has another breakdown.

Two cups of excellent tea and a few cookies later, she's well enough to give a statement. "My name is Gwendolyn Bouchard. I work for the Office of Incident Assessment and Response in the Chelsea neighborhood in London..."

[thomasschabot]

here comes your man

elias pettersson x director!fem!reader

great loves come around only once in a lifetime, and if you’re lucky enough they come back

word count: 3.6k

warnings: cursing, light allusion to sexual activity, alcohol consumption

a/n: this is my piece for @selfindulgentpoorlywritten in @antoineroussel’s winter fic exchange!! i hope you like it andi, i had a blast creating this angsty little world that eventually gets wrapped up with a hopeful little bow 🤍 as always, a million hugs and kisses go out to demi for organizing another majorly successful event!!!! props to @matthewtkachuk​ i guess for proofreading 0.5 seconds before i posted (love u b xx)

⭑⭒⭑

He’s impossible to forget, no matter how much you want to.

Elias Pettersson was the love of your life from the moment you laid eyes on him. It was a normal day, filled with redoing shots and redoing their blocking over and over because athletes are notoriously horrible listeners, until he came in and rocked your world as soon as he stepped in front of the camera to introduce herself. All kind eyes and confident smirks, Elias shook your hand and invited you to get drinks after finishing up so the pair of you could get to know each other better, seeing as you’ll also be following up north in a few weeks to shoot another promotional piece. The night had ended well into the morning, and you were inseparable from that moment on. Everyone around you was pleasantly surprised, knowing how much it took for you to let people in, but something about Elias just made you feel safe.

Things progressed quickly, but naturally, and eventually you moved in with him because his salary allowed for a much more prolific and comfortable lifestyle. You fit together naturally, like two sides of the same coin, and you loved him with every fibre of your being. Elias reciprocated, protecting you fiercely from overbearing Canucks fans and doing everything he could to show just how much he cared. Moments where hockey didn’t take precedence were rare, but he made them so special every single one was impossible to forget. Brock and Nils did their best to keep teasing from the team and other family members to a minimum but neither of you minded much — you were so in sync and had each other to get through whatever was going to get thrown at you.

Everything changed after the Canucks failed to make the playoffs for three consecutive years, though you understood why to a point. While the situation had been hard on you, watching him dissolve into a frustrated mess, it was excruciating on Elias — after all, he was the face of a rapidly sinking franchise. You did all you could to support him through the ups and down, taking time off work when he needed extra care and making sure he didn’t do anything that could cause too much stress and decrease the value of his sparse point production. Elias wasn’t shy about letting you know much he wanted to be back on top, picking fights when you would return from all-day shoots and giving you the cold shoulder for days when he returned from lost road trips. Despite his pain and hostility, you thought the pair of you were working through the issues, and you had been waiting for the perfect time to do the conventional and pop the question to your love.

The plan disintegrated after Elias left, crumbled like dust in the wind. You had been away on a promotional shoot with the rest of the team to hopefully quell discontented fans, with only him and a handful of Canucks staying in Vancouver to focus on recovering fully from their injuries before scattering to every corner of the world. No one had alerted you to his strange behavior, his recession into himself  — whether it had been intentional or not you’re still not sure. When you entered the condo upon your return to the city there was nothing but silence and darkness instead of Elias’s laughter and excitement bouncing off the walls. He didn’t leave a note — just packed a bag and left. You tried to call him, but the number was out of service, and no one in his family responded to your panicked messages in haphazard Swedish. Elias’s close friends in Vancouver provided no details, and you were forced to live in a paid-off unit that used to belong to the one solid person in your life but now belongs to you. You assume he came back to the city at the start of the season, but you begged for a transfer to another department and no longer work on the sports media side of the firm, so you’ve got no way to be sure since you vowed to never engage in hockey again.

Time certainly hasn’t made it easier, despite your friends endearing statistics to prove the common saying, and you spend hours every day reliving what you once had. He’s everywhere — travel mug in your office from when he used to slip away from training to eat lunch with you and the commercials you did with him over the years replaying on television so you can never escape him and the love you’ve lost. He’s still in the apartment you once shared, trinkets and books and clothes left for you to pack up and donate. Elias Pettersson made it difficult for you to move on, no matter how desperately you want to.

⭒⭑⭒

“I call dibs on the left side!” Elias shouts, pushing past you and running full speed into the hotel room. It’s All-Star Weekend, and you’ve joined your boyfriend in sunny Southern California, ready to soak up some rays when not inside the chilly arena. You needed a break from work after months of near constant shoots, and Elias was all too willing to enjoy more time by your side, even if he technically had a job to do.

You frown, upset with him for picking the side you always sleep on. “But I always sleep on the left,” you whine, before realizing you sound like a child. Instead, you square your shoulders and enter the room while doing the best you can do pretend like it doesn’t bother you.

Elias laughs when he sees you, bright and bubbly in stark contrast to your broodiness. “Oh baby,” he coos, closing the distance between your bodies and wrapping his toned arms around your waist, “I just want to be able to protect you, stay between you and the door. These young guys are like dogs and I don’t trust them.”

His concern is endearing, and you’ve never been great at staying angry with Elias. Any and all negative emotions vanish the moment he kisses you. It’s tender, loving, but with a gentle buzz of electricity humming underneath to let you know her his intentions. You’d risk your life a thousand times over if it meant you got to kiss Elias whenever you wanted.

“Okay,” you sigh breathily when he finally pulls away, breathless and moving to deadbolt the door, as if preparing for a night with no distractions whatsoever.

“Okay?”

You look at him confused, as if he couldn’t have possibly forgotten what made you upset in the first place. “You can sleep on the left side of the bed, but only if I get to be the big spoon while we watch our show.”

Elias smiles. “That’s my girl.”

⭑⭒⭑

You’d do anything to have him call dibs on part of the room right now.

Instead, you open your hotel room door to find two double beds placed a perfect distance apart. You’re bunking with Emily, your new assistant, and while she’s friendly enough and the two of you get along well, she’s not the one you want to be sharing a hotel room with in Wisconsin in the middle of January. She isn’t the one you want to brush your teeth with and make small talk about the upcoming shoot with.

There’s no real reason for you to slam your duffel on the floor beside the bed left to you, but you do. Elias isn’t here, isn’t coming back, and you need to get the fuck over yourself. Knowing doesn’t make it any easier, and when you face plant into the stiff mattress and let out a gravelly scream Emily gets incredibly concerned. She’s noticed you’ve been off since arriving at the hotel — it wouldn’t take anyone remotely close to you to realize something’s got you down in a major way.

“What’s the matter?” she asks tentatively, worried her words might set you off further. “The idiots we’re going to film over the next couple of days stressing you out?”

Emily doesn’t see you roll your eyes because they’re tucked so close to the blanket it’s suffocating, but you can’t help it. Of course she’d think your issue was the job you both came here to do — she didn’t know Elias besides him being a superstar athlete or the fact you once loved him so much it made it difficult to breathe when he was around. You remind yourself it isn’t her fault and manage to muster up a response.

“It’s nothing, I swear. Sorry for making you think there was an issue, especially about the shoot. I’m excited to do it.”

There’s no way she bought the lousy excuse, but Emily is also smart enough to leave well enough alone. If she hears you sobbing in the shower she doesn’t mention it. When you eventually step out of the bathroom and walk towards the left bed Emily gave you without a fight, you can’t help but notice she doesn’t watch television to unwind. Instead, she’s set up a puzzle on the small coffee table in the room and is working in complete silence. It was something you did with Elias as a sort of grounding exercise, to distract you both from the horrors of the real world, and you’re confused why it isn’t common practice.. The silence in the room suddenly makes your ears ring and you cover them in an attempt to block out the pain and loneliness the sound represents because Elias isn’t ever going to pressure you into watching some fishing show ever again.

She isn’t clueless and refuses to believe there isn’t something seriously wrong with you when you refuse to even look in her direction. “Okay, what the hell is going on? If you don’t want to room with me just say so. They’re other crew members I can stay with, and they’ll probably be much nicer than you.”

“No,” you sigh, so exhausted by the weight of your emotions, “I don’t have an issue with bunking with you. This is just the first time I’ve had to stay in a hotel since breaking up with my boyfriend, and we spent a lot of time together in rooms pretty much identical to this one over the years. I guess I’m struggling more than I thought.”

Emily nods like she understands, and while you don’t think she really gets the gravity of your confession, it’s nice to know someone is there for you. When she asks about him and what he was like you laugh — how do you encompass Elias Pettersson into a single sentence? The task seems impossible but Emily is patient, letting you talk as much as you want. Once the words run out and you’ve cried enough tears to fill a swimming pool the two of you turn out the lights and try to sleep. There’s still an Elias sized hole in your soul, but having someone not skirt around her in conversation because they’re afraid to see your face fall is refreshing.

⭒⭑⭒

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer.”

You close your mouth, open it, and close it again, but no sound comes out. Elias is standing on the doorstep in a sharp all-black suit, red pocket square contrasting the darkness and knocking the breath out of your lungs. He had insisted on getting ready for your firm’s yearly charity gala separately, to ‘keep the mystery alive’, and you’re glad he left early this afternoon to get ready at Brock’s. If he hadn’t, neither of you would have made it to the event

“Shut up,” you grumble, pulling him inside and kissing him with the fire of a thousand suns. “You look like a classical sculpture.”

Elias giggles, runs a hand through his hair to tousle it to perfection, and reconnects your lips. “Me? This old thing? You’re the real smokeshow here, baby.”

The deep green long-sleeve dress you found in the back of your closest pales in comparison to what he’s wearing, but the way Elias is eyeing you makes it seem as though you’re wearing a tiara gifted personally by the Queen. A warmth creeps up the back of your neck and wraps around to your cheeks, fueling the fire for Elias to continue to marvel at you.

“Come on, you,” you sigh, looping an arm around Elias’s waist and leading him out the door. “We were supposed to pick up my boss nearly fifteen minutes ago.”

He doesn’t speak, knows you’re right, and follows you willingly. Elas does the driving, always has, and when he opens up your door he steals another quick kiss. Your laughter bounces off the roof of the car the entire way to the next destination.

⭑⭒⭑

The knock doesn’t belong to Elias. There’s no plan for him to accompany you to the gala this year. Hell, you don’t even know if he’s in the country. The Canucks schedule no longer takes up space in your mind given the split, and you don’t really even know if it’s technically hockey season anymore. You know all that, and yet you can’t stop yourself from hoping Elias will be on the other side of the door when you open it. He isn’t — it’s your friend James, looking incredibly dapper in a tuxedo that must be from his high school prom but somehow still fits. A corsage rests gingerly in his hand, and you could cry at the sight of it. The small bouquet is made of lilies and baby’s breath, known by everyone as Elias’s favourite flowers because they remind him of home.

“I thought you might want a piece of him with you tonight, even though it hurts a lot,” he says tenderly, and slips it onto your wrist. Tears well in your eyes, but they’re mostly the happy kind. Of course you wanted Elias with you, in any capacity you could get though your romance has long since gone cold, and the fact James didn’t hesitate to make it happen makes you cherish him more. Before his hand can leave yours you raise them both towards your face, placing a chaste kiss to the back of his in thanks.

He’s patient as you lock up and opens the car door for you like a true gentleman. Though you adore James Taylor and would probably follow him to war if he asked, he isn’t the person you want beside you. Your heart and soul yearns for Elias in a way no one else will ever understand. It’s sort of ridiculous that you’re still hoping because there’s been no contact for nearly ten months, but you’re a hopeless romantic at heart and want him to come back so badly. James doesn’t pretend to share your pain, which you’re incredibly thankful for, and is the only person in your life who isn’t pressuring you to get past the monumental loss that was Elias leaving.

“I miss him so much,” you sigh when the car stops at a red light.

There’s a beat of silence before he responds, as if he’s letting you feel just how much you miss your long-lost love at this very moment. “I know, kiddo. I know.” When you turn to face him, James offers a smile and turns the radio up a little louder. It takes a moment for the sound to reach your ears, but when it does you begin to cry again.

Through the crackling speakers of the old truck is the song you and Elias shared your first kiss to. It had happened on the make-shift dance floor of the wrap party for the third shoot the pair of you collaborated on , in front of everyone, but it had been absolutely perfect. You still remember the cheering from Quinn and a couple other teammates he brought along, and your friends’ fond smiles because they were relieved you finally let your guard down enough to love somebody. Time eclipses you, and you’re thrown back to that night for the rest of the song. You’re a little shaken up when the car jerks into park at the event space, and James gives you a moment to compose yourself before he leads you inside and stays close the rest of the night, always there to cheer you up when the loneliness begins to hover a little too close.

⭒⭑⭒

The years pass, torturously slow at first but then at a rapid-fire pace, and the pain of losing Elias turns into a dull ache that only flares occasionally. A passion project that started in your living room turned you away from sports related content and into the world of the silver screen, relocating you to Los Angeles and into one of the most in-demand directors for action movies that manage to still pack a gut-wrenching punch. Rarely do you have a spare moment to think these days, and almost never do you let the thoughts drift to your ex-boyfriend. 

It’s been nearly five years since he walked out, smashed your life to smithereens without a second thought, and while you’ve healed from the trauma of it all there’s still the occasional moment where something reminds you of Elias and it makes it hard to breathe. Tonight, it’s the sight of a hockey game on the television of the dive bar you frequently haunt when you’re home for more than forty-eight hours. Shallow puff of air float through your mouth as you look for him on the screen, realizing that it’s a stupid idea because Vancouver isn’t even playing. You then remember how much fun you had watching Elias’s games, and you curse him for taking something joyous away from you. Another round of drinks is ordered, the bartender eyeing you wearily but complying, and you wallow in silence for longer than you’ll ever admit to anyone. 

Hours pass and midnight is rapidly approaching. While you don’t have an early morning, not having to be at a table read until the late afternoon, you know you can’t hold your liquor the way you could when you were younger and staying out much later is going to cause more hassle than it’s worth. 

“Could I trouble you for one more and the bill?”

It’s getting increasingly loud in the dive, and you have to yell to be heard. However, it still isn’t working, and the bar staff can’t seem to understand what it is you want. Damn them for making you spend more time here. You clear your throat, about to try again, when a voice you never thought you’d hear again speaks from behind.

“Combine her tab with mine and close it out, if that isn’t too much to ask?”

The hairs along the nape of your neck bristle. “I can pay for my own drinks, thank you very much.” You refuse to turn around, knowing that if you do your resolve will crumble. Anger is the primary emotion when you think about Elias, but you also miss him so goddamn much. Never getting any closure makes things tricky. 

A chuckle fans out behind you. “Never said you couldn’t. I do, however, think it’s the very least I could do for you.”

It’s true, and you let him know it. Still facing away from him, you don’t utter another word, even after the final drinks are brought around and everything is squared away. Elias doesn’t push you, knows your stony resolve still after all the time away. The silence is deafening as you wait for him to finish his beer before downing your cocktail. Not a word is uttered between the two of you, but the air is slowly losing its tension. 

Eventually you turn towards him, haphazard and full of spite, though it’s lowering considerably. You hate the way he destroyed your life when he left, and you hate the way looking at him in the dim makes your heart soften considerably. 

“I hate you.”

“You should.”

“Are you going to apologize?” you ask, unsure why it wasn’t the first thing out of his mouth. 

Elias cocks a brow. “Will it make anything better?”

“I suppose not.”

Silence. It isn’t uncomfortable, but it isn’t like it used to be either, and you aren’t exactly sure what to do next. Elias decides for you. “I’d like to maybe work towards being friends again,” he speaks cautiously, as if he’s terrified of your reaction. “I don’t know many people in the city, or in southern California for that matter, and seeing the occasional friendly face would help out a lot.”

He explains that he was traded to Los Angeles in the off-season, and that though he knew you were around sometimes he didn’t want to reach out after all the pain you experienced because of him. You like that he doesn’t try to apologize or make excuses, just acknowledges he did a horrible thing and is content to sit with the consequences for the rest of his life.

You consider his proposal, thoroughly mull it over in your head, but you can’t find any logical reason to turn Elias down. Your parents taught you to give everyone a second chance, and it seems like you’ll be in complete control of whatever happens. 

“We can do that. Just slowly.”

A nod of understanding comes from him, and with that he stands from the bar stool he’s occupied for the last little while. “I’ll see you around then. I kept my old number for convenience, so just give me a call when you’re ready.”

You nod, mimicking Elias’s previous action, and offer a short wave as he retreats into the busying street. Los Angeles is a city that comes alive in the night, and you can’t help but wonder if the universe sent Elias to you for a second chance because it knew just how much you still loved him. Maybe you find yourself hoping this proposed friendship drifts back to the way things were, but you’ll never tell a soul.

⭑⭒⭑

enjoy this fic? give it a reblog :) <3

[sparky-is-spiders]

tell me about the Jon Isolation AU!

This ask carried me through microeconomics homework, econometrics lab, microeconomics class, econometrics class, AND worries about Big Future Assignments! So thank you very much <3

This is a fun one cause I actually have the first draft of the first part written!! It's basically a version of one of my favorite personal Jon plotlines where he moves into the Archives and has no social support system. Desperately in need of a rewrite to sand away the rough edges tho lmao.

Alright I won't lie: this AU was born when I was thinking about creating an Archivist, and why it wouldn't work if you just stuck someone in a room, made them read a bunch of statements, and then dropped 14 marks on them (because that would be much easier, faster, and more efficient than what happened in the podcast, but that's not what Elias did). And then I (world's most normal Jon enjoyer) thought about Elias doing that to Jon. And then, I (and I cannot stress this enough: world's MOST NORMAL Jon enjoyer) started thinking about. The most reasonable. Effective. Low-effort. Jon kidnapping plot. And then I wrote about 5k words. And then I left those to languish in the WIP folder, just like Elias leaving Jon to languish in the basement Archives.

In hindsight, it's also a spiritual precursor to my vampire JE fics. Like. Same basic setup.

Huh.

(Believe it or not I'm actually even more of a freak about Jon NOW.)

Just to be clear, warning for:

Unhealthy relationships (I mean it's JE lmao)

Dubcon captivity?? I guess?? Like Jon agrees but Elias manipulates the scenario and Jon is. Not super happy about the situation.

Anyway the plotline is: Gertrude is missing (how mysterious and worrying!) and Elias needs himself a "temporary" Archivist to take care of the Archives until either she returns or until it becomes clear that he needs an official replacement. Jon is a very hardworking institute employee with a dedication to research and a knack for organization (autism requires everything be Sorted). Elias (who only wants to help Jon realize his full potential and has no ulterior motives whatsoever) decides that to promote him to the position. For career development reasons!

Jon:

Wants to prove that they are an asset to the institute and that they are up for the task.

Is hoping they can maybe be promoted to Head Archivist? Like Elias implied might happen if they did a good job?

Maybe. Possibly. Potentially. Fancies Elias a tiny bit.

Would appreciate the opportunity to do his own research on the statements there without their supervisor asking why they're so invested in statements involving Lietners and spiders.

Hypothetically wants Elias to praise them and validate them and respect them and profess his undying love for them make them employee of the month.

So. Obviously. They agree.

The thing is, it's only temporary, and Elias doesn't want to disrupt the other departments too much, you see, and surely Jon can handle a little tidying all by themselves? And obviously Jon can't say no to that! Haven't they always sort of wanted to not have to deal with annoying coworkers constantly chattering and bothering them and demanding their attention? Haven't they always wanted to work by themselves and be responsible for their own tasks? And Elias makes it sound like such an inconvenience to hire additional hands. Besides, Gerturde managed just fine without. Surely they can do this by themselves. Surely it will be fine.

It goes from there. The Archives are, obviously, a much bigger disaster than Elias had let on. But Elias expects Jon to handle it and handle it they shall. They just need to work harder. Come in early. Stay late. Miss lunch, sometimes. Work while they eat. It will be fine. What would Elias think if they asked for help? If they essentially admitted that they couldn't live up to his expectations? And other people would disrupt their ability to work. Might ask questions about any areas of interest they try to focus on.

They come in earlier and earlier. They stay later and later. Elias stops by occasionally to congratulate them on what a good job they're doing. To commend them on their dedication. So they have to keep it up. Can't slack off. They had friends before, sort of. Tim and Sasha were nice to talk to occasionally. But now Jon doesn't work near them, can't talk to them as much. Doesn't have time to get drinks with them after work, doesn't have the energy to answer their increasingly sporadic texts. Jon doesn't speak to much of anyone these days. It's fine though. It's fine it's fine it's fine.

There's something about the quiet stillness of the Archives. The echoing silence of the rest of the institute in those few moments Jon spends there in those long, lonely halls (not lifeless, per se, but lonely). There's some deep ache inside of them. It feels almost hollow, but it feels like home, too.

Elias is there, sometimes. To tell Jon how proud he is, how well they're doing. He likes to show up in the moments when Jon's thinking about leaving, maybe to eat in the cafeteria, maybe to stop by Sasha's desk... but that's probably paranoia. How would he know?

Every night, it feels so difficult to leave. Every night, Jon worries that Gertrude will come back and take the job from them, that Elias will find a replacement, that they'll lose their Archives. It's ridiculous, they know it, but it doesn't change the impulse to stay as long as possible. To prove to Elias that this is where they belong. It is an itch deep in their soul.

They think someone might be going through their desk. Something is watching them. It doesn't feel safe, leaving the Archives unattended over night.

(The Archives need an Archivist. The vacuum needs to be filled, and there is a perfect candidate right here, visiting them every day. Of course Jon is feeling the pull.)

And then it's been months, and Gertrude just hasn't been found, and Jon's done such a very good job, and it would be much easier if Jon would just... continue what they were doing? And if they think the work might be too much they can always ask for assistants, of course.

The itching in their soul soothes when they sign the contract. They try not to think about it.

Aaaaand that's about it as far as detailed plot goes. I do have some ideas for later on that are less well defined?

On the angstier side of things:

Things get easier when Jon is made Archivist officially. He feels more comfortable leaving at night, but he still spends a lot of time there. So many secrets, so little time.

He's paranoid. He knows something is up, that he might be in danger, that he's being watched... he can't involve anyone else. Not if he can't trust them, not if they might be in danger too.

Some of it is also the wearing effect of isolation. It's very easy to see other people as a threat or disturbance or unknown variable if you spend so much time alone.

He's looking into Gertrude's disappearance too. What did she know? What happened to her? Is he in danger too?

He can't trust Elias. He knows it. And it's so stupid that he's still maybe in love with him, just a bit.

Months pass. Relationships have surely withered and atrophied from Jon's absence. He still spends some time at his flat, but it's the Archives that feel like home.

And then, one night, the shadows in his flat come alive. Reaching ink-slick hands out to grasp him and pull him in.

It follows him. Shadows reaching with a dozen hungry hands as he races for the institute. Out of walls, street posts, parked cars. One catches on his side, and the flesh tears like paper.

It was midnight when he left. It was almost daybreak when he arrived at the Archives. He knows he's safe as soon as he crosses the threshold.

From there, I'm not sure what happens next. Tempted to say Elias was there waiting for him (I think the formatting maybe implies more continuity than there is there, how much Jon knows by the time he has to leave his flat behind is... debatable). Maybe Elias comes in to visit him and pretends to be shocked and worried about all the very unexpected blood. Maybe Jon has to phone him, begging for help because he can't go to the hospital (he knows it'll come back, the next time he's left alone in the dark), and really, who else does he have that will believe him?

Elias stays with him, tends to his injuries, spends his nights in the Archives with Jon. It's Jon who begs to stay in the Archives. Who needs the safety. The surety. Maybe Elias suggests that he stay there forever. Maybe he doesn't have to.

On the much goofier side of things: I do have an idea of them (once Jon is healed) going to Ikea to pick out some furniture. I'm thinking maybe Jon would know about the Eye, just for some fun bickering over picking out furniture or assembling a dresser or whatever. Idk, I just really like the idea of JE making the Archives into a cozy little home for Jon, somewhere he can comfortably live forever <3.

Jon has a lot of complicated feelings about the Archives and living in them and being the Archivist. Maybe he even tries to leave and go back to living a normal life. Maybe the reaching shadows break that idea for him forever. Either way, one way or another, he will learn that there is no point and there is no freedom in trying.

Despite this AU's beginnings, I don't know if Elias is working towards some big ritual. Maybe he just wants a perfect Archivist to keep in his basement forever.

And. I mean. Can you really blame him??

Not sure if JE ever become like. Official Romantic Partners. But Jon is Elias' Archivist and Elias is Jon's Watcher and that's kind of the same thing, really.

(Maybe they can have some sort of binding ritual ceremony at some point. As a Treat.)

Okay that's. God this has been a bit of a ramble, huh? Anyway I hoped you enjoyed hearing about this AU. I did get excited to take another crack at it while writing this! At the same time, however, I recently saw a post about Love that annoyed me a bit and which has made me think about the Subway Monster AU (and how those two concepts are connected is a WHOLE other story lmao) so we'll see which I end up doing (the answer might be neither for a while. I have. Big Graduation Responsibility due Oct. 1st). But yeah anyway thank you again for the ask! It was fun rambling, and actually really nice to sit down and Think about my AU lol.

[faccal]

Something that popped into my head before heading off to bed and I had to get it out.

From the Western Fic I've been thinking about. (Started playing RDR2 for the first time, that certainly hasn't helped lol.)

The leader of the gang, this Rorke, adjusts his black hat atop the fabric covering his bald head, that wicked smirk of his boiling Logan's blood. He makes a noise, akin to a scoff, before pulling at his pants as he bends down. “You've been awfully mouthy, boy.”

Logan scowls, hating the man's stupid ugly face and his even uglier scar carving across his left cheek. Nothing would please him more right now than to put this self righteous prick in his place. He lifts his head, mirroring the older man's smug smirk. “Yeah, and you have no idea who you're messing with, so I'd recommend you take. Me. Back!”

Rorke has the audacity to laugh, the older man looking to the man called Neptune on his right, and the other one called Merrick on his left. He shakes his head, pushing himself back into a standing position. “Alright, I'll indulge your little tantrums.” He laughs to himself, but the other two remain silent, staring blankly at Logan as if he's some wild creature they have to figure out if they should tame or kill. “Who am I messing with, kid?”

Logan releases a quick sigh, putting his head as high as he can, but he can see the silent laughter at the edges of Rorke's eyes. Oh how he wished that bullet had blown a hole through his head, and not the shoulder of one of the others. “You may have heard of him. He was a union soldier once, but for a time he was like you lot. He's a good man though, my father. That's who you're messing with!” He spits to the side, a renewed anger lighting a fire in his chest. “His name is Elias T. Walker, and he's gonna hunt you down, and kill every single one of—” there's a flash of movement before harsh, stinging, burning pain erupts on the right side of his face. It cracks through his teeth and rattles his skull, knocking everything into darkness for at least a solid minute or two. He blinks slowly, wincing as more pain carves through his head. Opening and closing his mouth, he chokes on copper, spitting out a few coughs that spatter the ground with blood. His eyes can hardly focus, and he fights so hard to regain himself, but the back of his head hit the tree he's tied to pretty hard.

“Damnit Rorke, you could've killed him with that punch!” Merrick shouts back at the man, the balding man kneeling beside him with one hand on his shoulder. Neptune has Rorke pulled back with another man Logan hadn't seen before.

When he manages to focus, he recognizes Keegan leaning by a tree further back. His mouth is still covered by that skull mask they all wear, but his eyes hold a faint hint of worry.

“Killed him? He woulda been fine!” Rorke snaps, glaring eyes snapping back to Logan. “Stupid brat!” He barks, ready to lunge at him again but Neptune and the strange man shove him back.

Logan wants to snarl, to scream and hiss and threaten their stupid leader. He knows his anger shows on his face by the evil smirk growing on Rorke's.

"Got soemthin to say, son?" He barks.

Logan scowls. "My brother is going to kill you for touching me you stupid son of a bit—" One of Merrick's hands clamp tightly onto his mouth, forcing his head back against the tree.

"Yeah, you best keep that boy silent, Thomas. I'm not feeling generous anymore." He brushes Neptune and the other man off, glaring heatedly at Logan before storming back into camp.

Merrick lets out a low sigh, dabbing one of his kerchiefs at his lips, a deep frown marking his bearded face. “You alright?” He asks, pulling his hand away.

Logan nods once, doing his best to keep his lips from quivering and eyes from watering. He hadn't ever been punched that hard before, it still burned.

Rorke manages to start an argument with a separate man, with Neptune hot on his heels trying to get him back to his tent.

“I'm gonna go help them with him and maybe get the kid some food, mind keeping an eye on him?” Merrick asks, dusting off his brown vest and pants as he stands to face Keegan.

Keegan looks between the two, expressionless blue eyes eery and contemplating. “Fine.” He mutters, eyeing the kid blankly.

Merrick nods once, eyeing Logan apprehensively before charging off towards the fire.

Keegan stays by the tree a little while longer before pushing off the tree and finally making his way over. Kneeling, he pulls out his canteen, unscrewing the top before pressing it to Logan's still bleeding lips. “Take a sip, swish, spit. Then you can drink properly.” His deep voice throws Logan off, but his calm tone puts him at ease, a weirdly balanced imbalance. He'd found Keegan strange since they'd first met, after Rorke had him snatch Logan and throw him on his horse. He'd managed to wound one of their other men when they'd ridden into town to cause trouble, but clearly Rorke wasn't the forgiving type. Something about "an eye for an eye".

“Thanks.” Logan mumbles, doing as Keegan says before quenching his parched throat.

Keegan watches blankly, those almost inhuman blue eyes of his taking in every single bit of movement Logan makes.

He pulls the canteen back, wiping Logan's lips and chin with the back of his gloved hand. He hadn't changed his attire since they met two days ago, the older man clearly having a thing for all black. From his spurred boots up to his hat with a feather stuck to it, Keegan wore all black. All day, everyday. “Get some rest.” He says, standing and looking behind him at the fire. “Try to get some rest, Merrick should bring food to you soon.”

Logan stares up at him with big brown eyes, and he can see the older man's left eye twitch as he stares at him.

“Stop it.” He mutters, looking back at the fire before walking off.

“Hey, wait!” He tries, but the one semblance of kindness he's seen since they'd taken him, abandons him to the quiet cool night, still tied to the stupid tree.

[jvngkook97]

So basically I’m thinking of one with like Jungkook and like it’s teacherxstudent and obv he’s the teacher and the reader and him are like enemies, but idfk 😭 😭 😭 smthing happens and theirs like a lot of angst bc I’m a angst lover 😍😍😍😍 You can choose what happens next and you can add smut if u’d like to ♥️

It could also be Namjoon because he just screams Sexy Teacher

~ K

Stain

synopsis; in which you meet the love of your life at the wrong time.

pairing; professor!Namjoon x student!reader ft. student!jungkook

genre; angst, fluff, humor, s2l, l2e, professor au, student au, college au

warnings; cursing, heavy angst, minor age gap but still within legal age (Namjoon is 28, reader is 23), student x teacher relationship (kind of you’ll see), implied smut but nothing graphic, some fluffy moments ~

rating; 21+ MINORS DNI

w/c; 4,366

a/n; let me just say…IT WAS SO HARD TO CHOOSE. And most importantly: I do not condone any type of student x teacher relationship and even though they’re both of legal age in this fic, it still doesn’t make it right (in my opinion, no hate pls) with that being said if this isn’t your cup of tea that’s ok!! pls skip this one and check out my masterlist of other fics you may be interested in!! just be sure to read the warnings before you continue! enough rambling, enjoy!!

When you first saw him, it was by chance. More of a fleeting moment, really. One that’s common between two strangers.

When he actually saw you, he saw art come to life in front of his eyes.

When your worlds finally collide, it brings nothing but chaos.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

That was the only word running through your mind as you pumped your legs, willing them to push through the ache and pain you currently felt as you dodged people left and right muttering a half-assed apology over your shoulder. The bus you were trying to catch was only a few yards ahead of you, hope filled your mind, air filled your lungs, and you made it just in the nick of time to stop the doors from closing with your hand.

The driver gives you the stink eye, but ultimately doesn’t have a say when you pay the bus fine for the day. All he does is grunt in greeting, jerking his head back towards the seats as a gesture for you to hurry it up and sit down.

You don’t have to be told twice.

Trying your best to keep your focus ahead of you, you let your peripheral scan the options of seats available. You see one near the back of the bus and make an instant beeline to it. On the way, the glare of the sun through the windows blinds you momentarily, enough for you to stop walking, hand falling on the corner of the seat next to you in order to keep yourself balanced when the bus starts moving.

A male sitting in the seat just behind is wearing a brown corduroy coat, heavily focused on the inky black words that adorn the tattered, worn book he’s reading. The way he holds it let’s you know it has to be one of his favorites, and when a ghost of a smile cracks on his closed lips, it breaks you out of your reverie, a slight tint appearing to your cheeks when you think you’ve been caught staring. When his eyes stay down as he flips another page, you allow yourself to hastily walk pass him and sit down in the vacant seat unnoticed.

*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*

You don’t see him again until a few days later, and this time, you’re not alone.

A slender, tattooed finger flicks you on the forehead and you blink harshly, flinching back from the sudden digit and glaring at the male who is bent over in front of you laughing to himself at your pain.

“You are such an arse, Jungkook.”

“It’s not my fault that you zone out so deeply every time you come across an artwork you like and it’s impossible to reel you back into reality!”

You blow a raspberry at him. He blows one back.

The crowd within the museum is surprisingly thick, probably due to the latest still life exhibit by Elias Whitley, a promising up and coming artist and photographer. The only way you were able to see it, and be there, was to ditch school for a day. Something, your best friend didn’t mind doing at all.

However, if he knew it was going to be such a bore, he would’ve just stayed in class.

“I’m going to snack at the finger foods table until they tell me to stop, you good on your own?”

“I’m good, thank you. Just don’t get kicked out, please.”

“No promises.”

With a wink and finger guns, he’s lost within the throe of people around you. You sigh softly to yourself, and turn to walk further into the crowd. Your goal is to make it to one of his latest art pieces, one that you’ve come to personally vibe with yourself. Upon making it, you take your time with scanning each and every paint stroke you can see.

What originally drew you to it was the colors he used, much different than those he would normally utilize. This one was a multitude of purples, pinks, oranges, yellows, and blacks. It almost looked something akin to a sunset being mirrored by the ocean that you would see on the horizon. Tilting your head, you get a different angle, hip unknowingly jutting out a little too far and bumping another fellow art lover next to you.

You immediately straighten up with an apology on your lips that gets cut off midway when you see the male in front of you. Or, if you’re being more technical, you see his brown corduroy jacket first before slowly trailing your eyes up said jacket to meet his for the first time.

His smile is subtle, but friendly.

“Hey, it’s okay. You’re just trying to see the art in a different perspective, I can respect that. I take it you’re a fan of Mr. Whitley?”

You blink once, twice, before your mouth finally catches up with your brain.

“I–Yes! I only recently found him off of a blog I love to follow, they travel to different exhibits and give thoughtful critiques that I tend to agree with.”

“Oh?” His brows raise in intrigue. “Who is this person you follow?”

“Well, I’m not sure his actual name, but I can give you his name handle if you’d like?”

“That’s perfect.”

“Okay–just—“ you fumble in your clutch purse for the pen you always keep just incase, as well as a little notepad. You scrawl down the name of the blog and rip off the page it’s written on, handing it to him.

He gives a low hum of approval as he reads it, nodding his head. A sly smile slowly forms, before his eyes look up from the paper to once again link with yours.

“I also agree with this ‘rkives’ critiques.”

Your mouth forms an ‘o’, and you can feel the excitement build in you for having found someone to share your enthusiasm with.

“Wait, really? You’ve heard of them as well?”

“Him.”

A confused smile forms on your lips.

“How do you know it’s a guy?”

He’s silent for a moment, looking down at his phone as he types away at something. For a second, he scrolls, searching for something unknown to you. When he finds it, does he turn the front of his phone to face you. It’s an article about the blog you follow, but that’s not what catches your eye.

“No way.”

What you see is a blown up image of the person behind the blog at the bottom of the article and low and behold — he’s standing right in front of you.

He smiles, amused at your reaction, before stuffing his phone back in his jacket pocket.

“I am such a big fan of yours, holy shit.”

He chuckles, a dimple you didn’t notice before forming in the crease of his smile.

“Thank you. That means a lot. Would you like to possibly walk the rest of the exhibit together?”

“Yes!” He holds out his arm for you take, and just like that, the rest of the time at the exhibit passes by in a blur of deep talks, art styles, artist favorites, and detailed critiques from the mouth of your favorite blogger.

It’s not until the crowds begin to thin out, and the loudspeaker announces the end of the exhibit do you both make your way back to the entrance doors.

He holds the door open for you to walk through, both of you now outside in the chilly air of winter. Your breaths mingle together as you talk, and you try your best not to sound as sad as you feel for not wanting the night to end.

“I guess this is it. Thank you so much for humoring a fan, I can’t wait to see what else you post!”

A light hue blossoms on his cheeks, but whether it’s from the bitter, crisp air, or something else, you’re not sure. He clears his throat, then gives you an offer you can’t refuse.

“Would you maybe want to grab a cup of coffee with me? Or tea? Whichever you prefer, it’s on me.” His voice is hopeful, and when he sees the light in your eyes appear again, he feels his chest burst with a warmth.

“I would love too, really, but I just–,” he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t disappointed, and you can see it yourself as his body begins to deflate in front of you. It makes your soul hurt. But you need to figure out where Jungkook is before you just decide to ditch him.

Mustering up a vibrant smile, you explain.

“I came here with my friend, Jungkook, and I need to make sure he’s okay before I can agree to go with you, is all.”

Something akin to jealousy flashes across his eyes momentarily, his own smile still plastered on his face. He swallows it down with a look of understanding, which he does – understand your reasoning that is – it’s common decency of course. The thoughtful gesture you show only fuels the butterflies in his stomach as he stares at you.

“Right, yeah. Of course.”

“Just give me one second–,”

You go to your favorites in your phone, pressing down on Jungkook’s name, then put the phone to your ear as you hear it ring. It takes two rings, before his voice is blaring in your ear with a sense of urgency.

“Where have you been, you idiot?! I’ve been trying to get in touch with you all night!”

You purse your lips, feeling terrible for worrying him. Especially when you notice the flurry of texts and calls you failed to notice while with your new friend, forgetting that you set your phone to silent upon entering the exhibit due to not wanting to disturb those around you with unnecessary noise.

“I’m so sorry, Jungkook. Where are you at? I’m at the exhibit entrance–,”

“I’ll be right there.”

He hangs up. You gape at the phone in disbelief. He never hangs up on you.

“Is he okay?”

For a moment, you’re lost in your guilt, the male in front of you becoming invisible.

“He’s fine. He’s on his way here.”

“Y/N!”

A jog of light footsteps could be heard from behind you, and you turn just in time to get enveloped into a warm chest. His arms wrapping around your small frame easily. You let out an ‘oof’ upon contact, your own arms reflexively hugging his waist.

You can feel his body sag in relief, an exhale of a sigh from him makes the top of your hair warm for a split second within the cool, night air. Your words become mumbled against his chest as you speak.

“I’m sorry for worrying you, koo.”

“You’re such an idiot.”

You smack him lightly on the back in retaliation to his words. He chuckles into your hair before letting you go. Then, you watch as his face becomes stoic, body becoming rigid. His eyesight is no longer on you, and that’s when you remember that you’re not alone.

“Oh! This is–,” you flush, embarrassed you don’t know the mystery male’s name after all this time.

“Just call me Namjoon. It’s nice to meet you.”

He politely holds his hand out for Jungkook to shake, which he does, reluctantly, grip firm as well as eye contact. You watch them both with a hesitant smile.

“Jungkook.” His voice is tight. As soon as their hands disconnect, does he make a point of standing flush to your side.

“And you must be, y/n.” Namjoon’s eyes have a twinkle in them, you think. The way your name sounds coming from his mouth sends goosebumps across your skin. “It’s been a pleasure, truly, but now that you’re in safe hands–,” his eyes cut from yours to Jungkook’s with a knowing look between the males, one you’re uncertain of, before he finishes speaking. “I’ll bid you both goodnight.”

With a light bow, and warm smile, he turns to leave–

–until he’s stopped by a warm hand around his wrist.

“Wait!”

He stops, half turning to face you, one brow raised in question and a ghost of a smile on his lips.

“Yes?”

“That coffee, would you maybe want to meet up tomorrow morning?”

“Sure–,”

“Y/N, you have s–,” Jungkook attempts to chime in, but you throw a harsh glare his way that has him shutting up instantly.

Namjoon waits until you’re gaze is back on him before he continues, now fully facing you once again, handing his phone over to you that’s unlocked.

“If you type in your phone number I’ll text you later so we can discuss meeting up further.”

Typing in your phone number, you triple check it’s correct before handing it back to him, fingers touching for a fleeting moment that sends pleasant shockwaves through your body. The look in his eyes tells you that he felt the same thing.

Jungkook clears his throat harshly from behind you.

“We should go, y/n. It’s getting late.”

The two of you share one last goodbye, and then he’s gone, leaving you and Jungkook alone in front of the exhibit. When he’s no longer within eye sight, does Jungkook’s voice cut through the silence in warning.

“Y/N, are you sure about meeting that guy?”

You’re resolute with your answer, tone firm and confident as you continue to stare off in the direction of which you last saw Namjoon, a newfound sparkle in your eyes that makes Jungkook frown in worry at how hung up you are over a guy you just met.

“Yes.”

*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*

“Text me the code phrase if you want me to call and bail you out of your date. Do you remember it?”

“The Perilla leaf is stuck.”

“Good girl.”

You roll your eyes.

“I can feel you rolling your eyes. Don’t make me get into the Perilla leaf debate again.”

You groan.

“Please don’t. Look, I’m coming up to the coffee shop, I’ll call you when it’s over.”

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!”

You hang up the phone, stuffing it in your purse, and scoff at Jungkook. That guy would try anything once, so his words mean nothing in that regards.

The bell jingles overhead as you push open the door, signaling to workers that a new customer has arrived. The elderly woman at the cash register greets you warmly with a smile.

“Welcome in!”

“Thank you!”

Your eyes scan the tables near you, and your heart begins to drop when you don’t see your date in sight. He didn’t seem like the type to stand people up, but you just never know. Deciding to take a seat next to the floor to ceiling windows, so you could people watch in the meantime, you fold your hands in your lap and wait.

Five minutes turns into fifteen, fifteen turns into thirty. Your hands fidget in your lap, eyes darting everywhere outside in hopes of even catching a glimpse of Namjoon.

Nothing.

You fish your phone back out of your purse to confirm that you did, in fact, get the date and timing right to meet today. You did. While looking down at your phone, the bell jingles. Your eyes flicker up with hope, and you sigh in relief when the familiar male locks eyes with you.

His face is full of guilt as he waves in greeting, long legs bringing him to your table of choice in no time. He pulls out his chair to sit down across from you, hands folding on top of the table.

“I’m so sorry for being late, I had to catch another bus.”

In his defense, you can see the small beads of sweat on his forehead as well as see the rise and fall of his chest, him doing his best not to show you exactly how exhausted he is from running here. Even though a part of you is upset at the late arrival, you can’t bring yourself to be mad at something you’ve been guilty of plenty of times in the past.

“Busses? Am I right? Woe is the life of the weary greyhound traveler.”

He chuckles humorlessly, but nods his head, agreeing with you.

“I hope you weren’t waiting too long.”

“Nah.” You wave your hand dismissively. “Only about fifteen minutes. My bus was late too.” The lie came out so smoothly. You don’t know why you decided to lie. But when he gave you a dimpled grin, it made you feel pride in knowing you caused it.

*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*

Jungkook’s fingers tap on the top of your shared desk in your classroom for still life photography, his eyes borderline roll themselves into the back of his head with how harshly he’s doing it.

“You’re doing it again.”

“Doing what?” You answer, eyes glued to the phone in your hands, fingers flying over the keyboard with expertise. A lovesick grin is on your face, and he grimaces at it.

“Looking at your phone like you want to make out with it. It’s disgusting.”

“You’re just jealous I’m getting laid and you’re not.”

He snorts, offended.

“Excuse you? If I wanted to get laid, I could get laid. Like, right now.”

You pat his knee with false empathy.

“I’m sure you could, koo, I’m sure you could.”

“You’re damn right! Tell me, what does tall and admittedly handsome have that I don’t–,”

He pauses, eyes widening at something you’re unsure of off to the side of you, suspiciously towards the front of the classroom. You follow his line of sight and let out a small gasp yourself at what you see.

‘What was he doing here?’

Well, you were about to get your question answered.

Namjoon walks to the front of the classroom, and stands directly in the middle of the ridiculously large whiteboard that takes up a full wall of the classroom, picking up a dry erase marker and writes his name elegantly on the board. As he writes each letter, he speaks, voice loud and professional.

“Hello, everyone. I’ll be taking over for Mrs. Lee starting today while she’s on maternity leave. My name is Kim Namjoon, but just call me Mr. Kim. Are there any questions?”

With one final stroke, he pivots on his heel and scans the crowd of college students in front of him. His smile is still prominent, until he unfortunately locks eyes with you, smile immediately falling and eyes widening in realization at your current predicament.

You’re dating your professor. What the f–

Your head falls into your arms on top of the desk and Jungkook awkwardly rubs your back in solidarity with your hidden suffering, all the other classmates oblivious to the life altering moment that just occurred.

‘Now what?’

*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*

“So, you’re a college professor, huh?”

“And you’re a college student.”

“Quite the predicament you’re in.”

Both you and Namjoon turn to give Jungkook a look, he mimics zipping his lips and throwing away the key. The head he popped out of the kitchen slowly retreats back behind the wall, and he once again resumes his task of fetching everyone some herbal tea, knowing it’s your personal favorite.

You’re all off campus, the school day now over, and no longer needing to put up the facade of being strangers. Jungkook was oh so kind(not really you had to bribe him with doing his English lit homework for a month) enough to allow his small apartment to be the hideout of your now scandalous love affair.

“What exactly does this mean for us?”

He leans back against the couch, rubbing his hands down his face with disdain, a loud exhale escapes his parted lips as he dreads what he’s about to say to you. There’s only one solution to this conflict. And even though you know what he’s about to say yourself, it still doesn’t make it hurt any less.

These past seven months have been the happiest you’ve ever felt, being with Namjoon. Everyday he made a point to send you a picture of a new piece of art he’s found on his travels, especially when you’re not able to go with him. You used to always be more of a homebody, only going out when needed, like when Jungkook would force you. With Namjoon, however, he made you see the world differently.

It didn’t matter if you were just taking a stroll down a dark and dreary street in the rain, he always had some kind of poetic or insightful thought about the smallest details that always had you looking up at him in awe. The large crack on the sidewalk that now has a weed sprouting out of it? It’s just natures way of taking back what was rightfully theirs before man came and poured cement over the ground.

Little things like that helped pave a new mindset in you about seeing people, places and things in a new light. It made you see that not everything has to be black and white, but rather it should be vibrant and demanding and beautiful.

So damn beautiful, he thought, as he let the silence linger around you in favor of watching the light of the tv that’s playing a cheesy rom-com requested by you in the background hit the side of your face, illuminating it perfectly. Your eyes are sad, though, and in turn it makes him sad. He knows you know.

A large hand encompasses your own that’s resting between you two on the couch, he gives it a gentle squeeze. You squeeze back.

Your voice is light, barely a whisper, and the lump in your throat makes it difficult to utter a coherent word. You know it’s no use asking, but still, you try.

“Maybe we can still make this work? Somehow?”

He pinches the bridge of his nose with his other hand in hopes of it deterring the water in his eyes from falling down his cheeks. He hates this, every part of this. When he looks at you again, you’re biting your bottom lip to stop it from trembling.

“I don’t want you to go.”

He swears his heart shattered right then and there with your small, desperate plea. He knows he needs to get it over with and leave before he becomes desperate enough to let his heart overpower his mind.

“You know I don’t want too–,”

“Then don’t!”

“But I need too.”

“Namjoon, please–,”

He leans forward to close the distance and give your forehead one last lingering kiss, before squeezing your hand just to let it go. He stands up from the couch you were both perched on stiffly, shrugging his brown, corduroy jacket that you’ve grown to love over his broad shoulders with his back towards you. It’s in this moment that you hate how tall he is, his long strides taking him to the front of Jungkook’s apartment in seconds.

Jungkook is just about to walk out of the kitchen with a tray of three steaming teas until he sees Namjoon briskly walk pass him and you following close behind with false hope in your eyes. Once again, he decides to fall back into the safety of the kitchen to let whatever is about to happen occur naturally, no matter how much his heart breaks at hearing your many attempts to get Namjoon to stay.

Namjoon’s hand twists the doorknob, and the door opens swiftly. He goes to step out into the hallway, until it gets slammed shut in front of him due to you throwing your body weight on top of it. The impact makes your shoulder ache, but you can’t bring yourself to care.

“Don’t you love me?”

His shoulders deflate, his strong persona beginning to crack.

“Y/N, you know that I do. But that’s not the issue.”

“I’ll drop out!” You spew out randomly, and at the time, it seems like the best idea you’ve ever had. Namjoon’s eyes widen in shock, his hands coming to rest on top of your shoulders as he lightly shakes you in an attempt to break you out of your stupor.

“Are you crazy? Do you hear yourself right now? You’ve put so much of your blood, sweat and tears into just making it into this college so you could fulfill your dream! I’m not going to let you throw that away over me!”

“But–,” his grip tightens, and any word you say gets silenced by his lips pressing hard against yours. You can feel his passion, his love. You sink into it, and he allows the moment to last longer than it needs too, but damn it all that he had to lose you after taking so long to finally find you.

It wasn’t fair. But, he thinks, life isn’t fair to begin with. Why would it be any different for him?

When he pulls away, his eyes stay closed. His forehead gently falls on yours, his hands sliding their way up to lightly cradle the junction between your neck and head. His thumbs brush over your jawline and you let out a broken sob that has him biting his lip harshly enough that he can taste a hint of metallic on his tongue.

“I love you, y/n. And, unfortunately, I love you enough to know when I need to let you go.”

This time, you don’t resist when he gently pulls your body away from the door enough to slip out of the crack and out of your life. And it’s not until you’re a sobbing mess on the floor of Jungkook’s entryway that he timidly peaks his head around the corner to see you and rush over to your fallen form. His arms encase your body against his tightly, one hand on your head, and the other on your back. You can vaguely hear the little ‘shhh’s’ and ‘I’m here’ and ‘you’re going to be okay’ as you let his voice along with Namjoon’s words of love ease you off to sleep where you can dream of a perfect world with you and Namjoon together, forever.

*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*

a/n dos; it is almost midnight and I’m sleepy. This is unedited and I personally think it’s shit but I still hope you enjoy it somehow. ha ha ha ok bye

[owls-and-bees]

My first TMA fic :D

Title: the inherent romanticism of sour candy

Words: 2,007

Set in season 1 but there are small references to later seasons (no major spoilers)

Jon walks in on Martin having a panic attack and deals with it very well and is not at all awkward about the whole thing because he’s sooo good at feelings

_____________________________________

Jon stared at the screen in front of him, scanning over the many, many, words in the excruciatingly long email Elias had sent him.

Something about a noise complaint from the non archive employees, or maybe a noise complaint about the non archive employees?

Truthfully, he didn’t process a single word of it.

His leg tapped rapidly against the concrete floor, in unison with his hand, clicking the pen that had run out of ink when he was still in college. He kept it around regardless, mostly to click mindlessly, and he had long since tuned out the sound it made.

To put it simply, Jon was far in over his head.

“Take the promotion” He’d thought

“It’ll be fun!” He’d thought

He thought wrong.

It was bad enough that Jane Prentiss decided to make her dramatic reappearance, but of course it had to be in the form of an attack on one of his employees.

Because obviously a new job he was entirely unprepared for wasn’t enough stress! Why not throw a whole pile of worms on top?

Jon had begun to think that this was all just some horribly elaborate hazing ritual for the new archivist. Did Gertrude have to deal with worms too?!

Of course not, Jon had only seen the woman a few times but he was rather sure a gust of wind would be enough to knock her down. She was short and frail, (not that Jon was any different)

and as Tim described her “more cardigan than woman”

Sure, she was stubborn. But there was nothing that could convince Jon that the nutty old bat had ever actually dealt with an entity firsthand!

It had all just become a bit much, and Jon found it harder and harder to focus.

With Martin living in the archives, Jane lurking around somewhere (and sending the occasional ominous text message from martins phone), parasitic worms infesting the building, and of course to top it all off, Jon had to keep his assistants’ living situation hidden from Elias! Who would almost certainly disapprove of the whole affair. Even Jon wasn’t sure it was the best idea, given it probably broke several institute codes.

Jon leaned back in his chair, finally straightening his god awful posture. He pinched the bridge of his nose and let out a sound that was somewhere between an exasperated sigh and a pained groan.

He turned his attention back to his computer, closing the half-read email.

‘It can wait until tomorrow’ he reasoned. ‘Not like I can focus on it in this state.’

He tried to ignore the weight that seemed to pull his eyes shut, and the almost silent clock on the wall that reminded him of how unreasonably late he had stayed.

That had always been a flaw of Jon’s, there would always be one or two more things left to finish before he went home, and those one or two things split into five or six. And the next thing he knew he was waking up at his desk in the middle of the night, with the imprint of a pen on the side of his face as evidence of his terrible self preservation skills.

He stood from his chair, decidedly ignoring the loud cracks that came of every joint in his body.

‘I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to check on Martin before I leave. Make sure he hasn’t burnt down my archive yet.’

He rolled his eyes at the thought of Martin scrambling to put out a fire, forgetting, in the panic, about the loads of Co2 extinguishers kept in the archive.

Not that it would be completely unreasonable, even Jon found himself forgetting that fire extinguishers can be used for more than killing worms. But he couldn’t help the slight chuckle that left him at the thought of Martin throwing his tea at a fire before thinking to use an extinguisher.

Jon placed a hand on the door to the archive room, but froze when he heard a noise from inside.

A gasp?

Oh god…

Jon’s amusement at the idea of a fire quickly turned to genuine dread. He pushed open the door, already prepared to reprimand Martin for having a flame in his archives. But was met with an… unexpected sight.

Martin was sat in the furthest corner from the door, his knees pulled to his chest and his arms wrapped around them. His face, previously buried in his knees, was now staring up at Jon in a mix of panic and embarrassment. His eyes were red and cheeks tear-stained.

He didn’t say a word, his breathing still ragged and uncontrolled. But that look on his face was enough for Jon to understand the situation, staring up at him like he’d seen a ghost.

Any words that came to mind were lost just as quickly.

“Oh-” Jon froze, staring at his assistant for what felt like far too long. Before slowly, uncomfortably, and without breaking eye contact, backed out of the room. “I um…I’m sorry.” He spoke, his usual bluntness prevalent even now, as he slowly closed the door in front of him.

Jon leaned his head against the now closed door, cringing at his own discomfort.

Martin just stared at the door, unsure what to do after… that.

It wasn’t like panic attacks were completely new to him, but until now he’d managed to keep them outside of work. Away from Jon, who already disliked him at the best of times.

God… of course it had to be Jon who walked in! At least if it had been Tim or Sasha he could have been saved the pure humiliation!

It wasn’t like Martin ever had a chance in hell with Jon anyways, but he would have at least liked to keep a shred of his dignity!

What would Jon think of him after this? Did he consider panic attacks a fireable offense? Of course not! Jon isn’t completely emotionless… right?

Martin found himself spiraling once again. Now due to the thought of what he would say next time he saw Jon, rather than his experience with Jane prentiss.

He bit down on his lower lip, one of the more painful anxious habits he’d picked up in his youth. Images flashed through his mind of any and every potential scenario that could arise when he saw Jon again.

But before he could properly freak out, the door to the archive creaked open again, and Jon stood in the doorway.

This time, however, he walked in. all the way over to Martin in fact, and sat down beside him.

“Jon, I- I um”

“It’s fine.” He cut Martin off “you don’t have to explain yourself, I understand.”

“Alright.”

Martins reply was soft, it made him feel even more pathetic than he already did.

“Here.” Jon placed two items between them.

One was a cup of tea, the other was a bag of… sour candy?

“Oh, uh thank… you?” Martin was a bit confused, but appreciated Jon’s strange attempt at comfort regardless.

Jon let out a sigh, he kept his eyes trained on the floor, trying to save Martin the embarrassment. Or maybe just to save himself the discomfort…

“sour candy helps with panic attacks. I read this article the other day. it’s quite interesting actually, I’ll send it to you. Sour candy shocks the senses and knocks you out of the fight, flight, or freeze state. Interestingly, mint has a similar effect. I would recommend reading up on it if you have the chance. It would probably be good to keep mints or gum on hand, just in case.”

Jon stopped speaking, realizing now that he was infodumping on his coworker In the middle of a breakdown.

“I uh, I thought they might help.”

Jon finally looked back to martin, who stared at him like a deer in headlights.

It took a moment for martin to process that Jon had finished speaking, but when he did he gave the man a small smile.

“Thank you, Jon. Really, I appreciate this.”

Martin's breathing had returned to normal now, and Jon’s presence had already served to ground him, but he took a candy anyways.

Then, a sip of the tea. The warmth seeped through the cup into his hands, further solidifying the feeling that he was safe here… with Jon.

He smiled fondly at the mug in his hands, he knew Jon probably just grabbed the closest to the front of the cabinet, but the thought of him picking out martin's favorite mug intentionally warmed him more than the drink.

Martin didn’t often go for floral teas, but this was from Jon, so for all he cared it could be oolong and he’d still treasure every sip.

“Lavender?” He mused

“Yes. Lavender helps to regulate the nervous system.”

Martin gave a soft chuckle at Jon’s usual bluntness “no, I know that. I just didn’t realize we had any.”

“Ah, we don’t. I keep some in my office.”

Martin gave a small hum in response, only now considering it a bit odd Jon had sour candy and lavender tea in his office. Or that he just had this knowledge of panic attacks on hand.

“Jon… do you-” he cut himself off, trying to find a way to phrase his question that wouldn’t be overly intrusive.

Jon was still his boss.

Though he had probably broken the boarders of boss/employee decorum when he started living in the workplace.

“Hm?”

“Have you… been having panic attacks?” Martin asked, his tone laced with concern.

Jon sighed softly, something that almost seemed like a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

“Do you never worry about yourself?”

Martin started to speak, but realized he had no defense against the accusation.

“Alright yes, point taken.”

He should probably drop it, but Martin didn’t like the idea of Jon suffering alone.

“Still though, have you?”

Jon let out a soft nose exhale, the closest thing to a laugh martin had ever heard from Jon. “Yes, from time to time. but that’s nothing you need to worry yourself over.”

“Fine, please take care of yourself though?”

“Only if you can promise the same.”

Jon smiled, it was small, but still there. And more importantly, it actually seemed genuine. And it was one of the most beautiful things Martin had ever seen. He could have sworn his heart skipped a beat, or five.

It wasn’t like the man never smiled, but more often than not it was the forced kind that never reached his eyes, the smile he used for group pictures and conversations with Elias.

But this? This smile was one of fondness, it seemed. But who knows, maybe Martin was just reading too far into things again, he did have that habit when it came to Jon.

He stared at the other man, ever-present infatuation knocking at his heart as he tried his best to memorize the sight, quickly as he could. assuming, rightfully, that Jon wouldn’t let a soft moment last long, because of course he couldn’t.

Jon placed a hand in front of his face and cleared his throat.

“It’s late, I should probably go home. Are you… going to be alright?”

Martin smiled at Jon, his eyes filled with pure adoration. “Of course, I’ll be fine. Get home safe, Jon.”

“Will do. I’ll see you tomorrow Martin.”

Jon stood from his place next to Martin, heading to the door.

“See you tomorrow.”

“Oh- Um… I’ll send you the article, i-it really is interesting, I promise.”

“Looking forward to it. Goodnight, Jon.”

“Goodnight, Martin.”

Martin had heard his name from the other man countless times, but he had never heard it spoken so softly. Like the words might break if said with any more force.

The sound of it was divine, ringing through martins mind like a melody.

The door clicked shut, and Martin raised the mug once more to his face, and hoped for the life of him that Jon hadn’t noticed the pink hue that dusted his cheeks.