#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....

[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.

[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

[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..."

[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.

[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.

[klm-zoflorr]

What about "secret" ?

👀👀 Wanna learn about some secret things uh

I do have a fun one. It's from a fully cracky Jon Pov fic:

Before he can get too sappy, another woman grabs his arm, unceremoniously smacking the little white worm off of it and shoving the bright flash of a camera into his eyes. It takes a while, before his eyes stop throbbing painfully and he can focus them again on the older woman scrolling through her camera reel and deleting any of the pictures she just took that aren't up to standard. Indeed, it is Gertrude, her likeness identical to the strict-faced portrait of her they keep in the Archives. Only, golden sunglasses and pink leotard-wearing Gertrude. And... Are those grillz? Wow, he didn't expect her to have quite as many gang tattoos underneath those grandmotherly clothes.

He almost can't believe it. "Gertrude?"

She smacks his lower back (okay, no. She smacks his ass) with spirit. "Supp my G! Heard you came into the job after me! Everything going well?" She pulls her sunglasses to the tip of her nose, leaning in secretively, her breath stinking of bubblegum: "Elias not being too much of a pain in the ass? Cut him some slack, it's his only joy in life, but if he bothers you too much come tell granny Gertry, okay?"

Ask Game

[soscarlett1twas]

I'm currently working on two big AU fanfics, both labors-of-love for the Sakuverse... but I'm stuck on which to prioritize. So please, help me decide:

Option 1, "WYSG": Would be a collection of stories about both sets of parents, as well as Asirel and Vic. Covers the legacy of both families, how they live on through their children (Isaac and Elias), and secrets aplenty about Stockton. Also shenanigans.

Option 2, "TMAIKM": I'll admit, describing this as "Andrew finds his brother" is a tad misleading, but it's all I got without spoilers. Heavy focus on Andrew and his brother, their relationship with Christianity, grief, and... Luca! Oh, and Darling and Isaac are there too. Formatted like a short novel.

Both will eventually be written! (Hopefully, at least...) I just need to focus on one so, y'know, they actually get done.

[waterfallofspace]

What A Way To Start A Year

T/im learns a little something about karma, friends, and care. Seems even J/on isn't quite as cold as he seems.

A M/agnus A/rchives fic, set somewhere pre-season 1. Shouldn't have any spoilers, but proceed with caution just incase~ (nothing late game, just character dynamic things)

Welcome to "I meant for this to be a little drabble and I wrote 3k words"~ Having a bit of hyperfixation and burn out as I started this new year, soooo I decided to make T/im suffer <3 Not promising quality seeing as I wrote this all in the span of tonight, but consider it a lil 'too long' drabble, and happy new years!

Best way to start off the new year, giving one of your lil guys a lil snz <3

Characters: T/im, M/artin, S/asha, and J/on. Word Count: 3.9k

(CW: There is some swearing, and light descriptions of high fevers)

Christmas had been good this year, maybe the best it had in a long time. Life of the party as always, Tim had enjoyed getting to spend it with his old, and new, colleagues. On top of that, Jon had been laid up with a pretty awful cold for a couple days leading up to it, so he wasn’t around to crush any brilliant ideas Tim came up with. 

This led to the budget receiving a fairly substantial hit, though many researchers donated to the cause when they learned this borrowing wasn’t exactly approved. Hell, even Elias had pitched in, claiming something or other about ‘archivists fit for the job not exactly growing on trees’, and wanting to ‘save some of Jon’s sanity’. 

“Tim? Are you even listening to me?”  

Pulled back to the conversation at hand, Tim lifts his gaze to the taller man fidgeting nervously in front of him. Martin was never one for confrontations, and usually the first ‘no’ would have been more than enough to lead to a string of apologies for even asking. Today however, he seems to have grown a spine. At the worst possible moment. 

“Oh come on,” Martin continues, missing the groan slipping from Tim’s throat. “Even Jon agreed to it!” 

“I’m not really in the party mood,” Tim retorts, leaning back in his chair. “Besides, Jon didn’t agree to celebrate, he agreed not to stop the celebration. Not the same thing.” 

From across her desk, Sasha gives a low chuckle. “He’s got you there, Martin.”

“Can you at least give it a little thought before turning it down?” Martin insists, completely out of character for someone usually so eager to please. 

What the hell has gotten into him today? He didn’t even seem to enjoy himself that much at the Christmas party. Sure, he had a few drinks and mingled with the staff, but he’d left as soon as it was over, not waiting around for chatting like Tim and Sasha.

Clearing his throat with a grimace, Tim casts Sasha a dark look as she chuckles again. Knowing far too much, as usual. Especially when it came to him. If it was anyone else, Tim would hate it with all his being, but given that it’s Sasha… well it’s a welcome invasion. 

Still, it would be nice if she didn’t rat him out. And to Martin of all people, well let’s just say he saw what happened when Jon was sick. Yeah, passing on that one. Attention is great, Tim lives for it, but the coddling? Not really his style. 

“hiEH– guh…”

Damn, that had been a close one. Thankfully Martin seems oblivious, though Sasha sits up in her chair, reaching down into a drawer to fish something out. 

Turning his focus back to Martin, Tim provides an offer, desperate to just have the interaction come to an end. 

“Fine, I’ll show up, but I don’t want any part in planning it.” 

“Oh of course, I’ll handle all the details, I mean it’s just a new years party, how much can there really be to do? I mean food, timing, gotta make sure we have keys to the building– oh but if Jon’s there, that shouldn’t be a problem…” Martin says, rambling beginning to fade into the background as Tim finds himself unable to- 

“hH– ek’CHhiew!” 

“-Oh, bless you!” Martin says, his own thoughts long forgotten. 

Unable to get a word out, Tim merely waves a hand, ducking into his shoulder for another, “eTChhew!” 

“Bles-” 

And another, “iTSChh’ew!” 

“Oh ble-” 

And another, “ehh– kTChh’iew!” 

Silently Sasha stands, handing Tim a pack of tissues. Must have been what she was looking for in the desk. Once again, knowing more than she should, of course she picked up on his patterns. 

Accepting them gratefully, Tim pulls a few out and roughly rubs at his nose, pointedly avoiding Martin’s worried gaze. Gripping his still trembling nose through the tissue, Tim sucks in a tight breath through his teeth, holding for a beat, before finally spinning around in his chair for a final- 

“hH’ETCSHh-ieuw! Whew, bless me.” 

Martin’s hands are fidgeting again, seemingly unsure of what to do with himself as Tim gives his nose a light massage through the tissue. He’s aware enough not to point it out, but is nearly shaking with the effort of suppressing his concerns. 

With a sigh, Tim meets his eyes. “I’m fine, Martin. I always sneeze like that.” He leaves out ‘when I’m sick’. It also happens if he’s suffering allergies, though he doubts that would be a point in his defense given it’s the middle of winter. 

“Yeah he’s not kidding,” Sasha pipes up, throwing Tim a wink as he glares. “You should hear him in spring, once it starts he can be going for hours.” 

“I wouldn’t say hours, Sash-” 

“Remember the cherry blossom incident?” Sasha interrupts, sending a sugary smile over to Martin. “He was wrecked for the rest of the day, I was almost certain he was never gonna stop. Even considered giving a statement here, that reaction was almost supernatural.” 

Tim winces, an audible moan slipping from his lips. “We swore to never speak of it again.” 

Sasha laughs, Tim giving her another playful glare from behind his tissues. “You swore that, I did no such thing.” 

Thankfully Martin doesn’t pry, having enough common sense to offer a polite chuckle, and offer some excuse about ‘planning’. Still, he can’t help himself from shooting a meek “I hope you feel better soon” over his shoulder, Tim giving him finger guns in return. 

“This is karma, you know,” Sasha calls after Martin’s outside earshot. “You took pleasure in Jon’s suffering, so now it’s your turn to suffer the same fate.” 

“No, thi- eTChhew! Scuse me,” Tim says, rubbing his nose with the tissue one last time before depositing it in his nearly overflowing trash can. Another tissue is plucked as his eyes begin to water, nostrils flaring with reckless abandon. Never just one. 

“kTChh’uew! hh’iTChh –uew! Tihhckles… eTCHh! etchh’uh! hiehh–” 

The last one toys with him, tracing the rims of his nostrils, back up his sinuses, a gentle itch that seems to burn against every inch of his nose. Finally, with a desperate gasp, Tim ducks into his wrist for the last, “heh’ATChhh –iew!” 

“Many blessings. Sounds like you need them,” Sasha offers with a wince, tossing another pack of tissues over, which Tim catches with a single hand, the other still gripping his nose. 

After taking a moment to clean himself up, Tim shoots her his signature smile, ignoring the eye roll she shoots back. “Where was I?” 

“Admitting this is karma?” 

“It’s not karma, it’s lack of common sense. Going to a party where a coworker is sick, and still drinking and eating the same meals” Tim says, aiming a rough cough into his sleeve. 

Sasha winces once more at the quality of the cough, hands rummaging through her drawers once more as she tosses a reply back. “And yet you’re the only one who caught it. Seems like karma to me.” 

Closing the distance between them in a single stride, Sasha places a hand on Tim’s shoulder, voice softening. “It’s two days till new years, why don’t you go home and try to get some rest? I doubt Martin will object, and I’ll cover for you with Jon.” 

Before Tim can form his rebuttal, Sasha places a box of paracetamol and a jar of vapor rub in front of him. Nodding his thanks, Tim lets out another harsh cough into his arm, leaning as far away from Sasha as he can manage. 

With a light rub to his shoulder, Sasha walks to the door, holding it open with a pointed look. “Go home, you sound awful.” 

“Alright, alright. I got the message. hH’ETchhiew!” Tim says, gathering his care package and beginning his walk down the hallway. 

“If I hear the rest of that fit happening in this building, I’m telling Martin how ill you really are,” Sasha calls after him, a smile flashing over her face as Tim holds up his hands in mock surrender, before ducking back into his arm with another muffled burst. 

— 

“You look horrible.” 

Tim manages a weary smile from behind the tightly wound scarf. “Thagk you.” 

Martin winces, standing in the doorframe, seemingly oblivious to the winter chill soaking into Tim’s bones. Even just the walk from the train station was hell on earth, standing out here is doing him no favours. 

Turning away with a throat scraping cough, Tim manages to clear the congestion enough to finish the sentence somewhat understandably. A great feat, given how fast his voice is retreating. “May I remind you that I’m only here because you insisted.” 

“Right, well I… I didn’t know how bad-” Martin begins, realizing spreading across his face like a wildfire as a chill leaves Tim breathless. “Oh god, I’m making you freeze to death while you’re already this sick, I’m so sorry, come in, I’ll go make you a tea.” 

Tim nods his thanks as he piles inside the warm institute, cursing his aching lungs as each breath of warm air seems to burn them from the inside out. Martin rushes away, nearly crashing into a few researchers as he makes his frantic dash for the kitchen. 

The scarf is reluctantly removed, a shudder running through Tim’s back as the warm air does nothing to soothe what he’s now certain is a growing fever. A few researchers wave to him, offering some idle chit-chat as he makes his way inside.

For the most part, people give him a wide berth, apparently he looks as bad as he feels. Tissues in hand, gripping them like a lifeline, Tim finds his way to a couch and lets himself sink into it. The party buzzes around him, fading into background noise. 

Martin returns soon after, the mug vibrating slightly as he attempts to steady his hand. “I wasn’t sure what kind you’d want, we have a pretty limited amount, but I have a few extras in my desk– oh I could have probably found one for colds and flus, I’m not sure which this is, I thought cold before but you look-” 

“Martin,” Tim interrupts, voice cutting uncomfortably through his raw throat. “Can I have the cup?” 

“Oh, right, sorry!” Martin says, a sheepish grin crossing his face, nerves more than anything else, as he hands Tim the mug. Tim gives another appreciative nod, taking a cautious sip. 

The warm liquid feels like heaven against his throat, and he barely manages to choke back a whimper. The flavour is still a mystery, Martin never actually got to that part. Given how little he can taste at the moment, seems it’s gonna remain that way. Still, the heat beginning to warm his chest is a welcome relief, and Tim has to fight to keep his eyes from drifting shut…

“Watch out!” 

The voice rouses him, his eyes snapping open just in time to witness Jon dropping to his knees in front of the couch. The realization doesn’t sink in for another minute, Tim blinking the tired from his eyes and trying to figure out why people are staring… and why there’s a hand on his finge– 

Oh, the tea. Thankfully Jon’s reflexes seemed to kick in just in time, his hands guiding Tim’s cup to the table next to him. Judgement clouds the boss's eyes as he turns back, fully ready to chastise Tim, no doubt. Jon opens his mouth, one hand beginning to point, but as his eyes scan Tim’s form, his demeanor changes instantly. 

“You don’t seem well.” Jon’s voice is still firm, but with a hint of something Tim can’t quite place. On anyone else, he’d call it concern. On Jon… perhaps concern isn’t far off, though the underlying criticism of the statement irritates him. 

“I wonder why that could be? It’s almost as if someone came to the Christmas party sick enough to fall asleep standing. Twice.” Tim says, sarcasm lining his words, alongside the congestion he can’t seem to fully shake. 

“Well in that case,” Sasha chimes in, cheerful voice a natural antithesis to the misery coursing through Tim’s system. “Seems you’re halfway there!” 

“Hey, I was lying down, that’s hardly the sahh… same thing– hH’ETchh!” 

“Here we go,” Sasha says, already turning on her heel to find a tissue box as Tim’s hitches increase in desperation. 

“aHTChh’ew! gn’tchhew!” 

“Bless,” Jon offers, a brief confusion crossing his face as Sasha laughs, shaking her head. 

“He’s not done,” She says, handing over the tissue box. 

Tim grabs for it blindly, too caught up in the fit to even attempt dignity. Still, the eyes on him do leave him with a hint of embarrassment, and the onslaught is muffled as best he can manage. “hH’MMpshhew! eMPFShh’ieh! hh’MFSHhueh!” 

Blessings sound out from the room, Tim managing to wave a hand towards the ones offering them, eyes still watering. As the fit seems to stall, he lowers his tissues, red nose now visibly twitching. 

“Are you alright?” Jon asks, the hint of concern from before now plainly evident. That’s frankly more alarming than it should be, and Tim finds himself wanting to… reassure the boss. 

“I’m okay, it’s juhh… j-just… huhh–” But it seems his nose has other plans, a tissue being raised once more as Tim paws at the appendage. “‘Scuhhse me, I still have… hahhve to… to… hiHh– eTCHh’ew! hk’ASCHh–oo!” 

This time the tickle fades with the final pitchy sneeze, Tim letting out a low groan as he mashes his nose into the ever growing collection of tissues he’s clutching. A few people call out final blessings, Sasha laughing out hers as Tim’s face goes red once more. 

Martin picks this time to enter the room with drinks, Tim letting his eyes flutter shut as the focus shifts off his misery. A gentle touch keeps him from drifting off to sleep, prying open an eye to find Sasha settling onto his left. 

“Careful, don’t want to catch this,” Tim manages, leaning against his right shoulder to muffle another stream of chesty coughs. Sasha winces as it goes on past the realm of comfort, her hand finding his back. 

“Don’t worry about me, I haven’t earned this cold, I didn’t make use of Jon’s or your suffering,” She says, the playful tone not masking the growing worry in her posture. 

While she can read him like a book, she’s no mystery to him either. The tension in her fingers, absentmindedly stroking patterns on his back. The way she subconsciously tries to support his body weight, despite them both sitting. The look in her eyes when he manages to stall the coughing long enough to meet them. 

With this brief respite from the attack, Sasha takes the chance to bring Tim’s tea back, his fingers wrapping around the warm mug. The first few sips burn, his lungs protesting, begging to return to their efforts to expel all the irritation. By the third, however, the warmth is spreading once more, easing the spasms. 

“Alright?” Sasha asks, beginning to stand from the couch. Tim nods his reply, taking another slow sip. “Think you’ll make it till midnight? We’ve still got a few hours to go.” 

He nods his approval again, not yet trusting his voice enough to make an attempt. Sasha simply smiles, easing back into the party that– Tim had almost forgotten existed. That fever must be worse than he thought, given how loud it is. A fact that’s now pounding against his head in harmony with his heartbeat. 

The party continues on, Sasha and Martin taking turns checking in on Tim as he slips rapidly in and out of consciousness. Seconds turn to hours, and before he knows it, it’s two minutes to midnight. 

As Tim blinks against the harsh fluorescent lighting, it’s Jon that stands before him, hand hovering near his side. Tim begins to speak, breaking off into a cough as his voice comes out rough with sleep and congestion. 

“What’s up boss?” He manages with the second attempt, not missing Jon’s wince at the nasal quality. 

“You simply look… well, the festivities are nearly over, I was just inquiring as to…” Jon seems to get stuck, eyes wandering down to the couch as he finishes. “I know you took the train here, I was seeing if you needed an escort home.” 

“How kind, I’d be delighted to have your accompaniment,” Tim responds, the wit clouding the fact he… hadn’t actually considered needing to go home. Jon seems to take this answer as satisfactory, ignoring all the sarcasm as he gives a tight nod and an out of practice smile. 

From across the room Martin calls out, something about a countdown. Tim attempts to pull himself to a stand, finding Sasha’s arm around his waist, guiding him to the wall. Leaning against it, he lets his rough voice join the chorus as they count into the new year. 

Despite how the lights and noise had pounded into his skull, everyone chanting in unison helps Tim realize that… there actually aren’t that many people here. Aside from his coworkers, there’s only a few researchers, and Elias is not in attendance.

Honestly, thank whatever cosmic being may exist for that one, he had been none too fond of Jon’s arriving sick. Tim shudders to think what he would have said about this state. He shouldn’t have come, but… something about how insistent Martin was… well he just couldn’t disappoint that loveable idiot. 

Somehow Tim finds he’s managed to keep up with the counting, despite being worlds away in his thoughts. As they approach the final numbers, a feathery sensation begins to spread through his nostrils- no. 

Absolutely not, this is not the time. It’s never just one, there’s not enough people here, someone’s gonna notice. And I mean, it’s not like he’s hiding the fact he feels like death, but… drawing that much attention is also not the goal. 

“Five! Four!”

“hiehh- h’ngTchh!” He manages to stifle the first, the congestion pounding in his head as the tickle seems to only get worse. 

“Three! Two!” 

“I cad’t– nNDtch! nGTCh’uh!” 

“One–” 

As the cheers begin to erupt, Tim ducks into the tissues with a scraping, “ehg’TCHhiew!” 

“Happy new years!” 

“yiEShh’iew! etchh’uh! hH’AESHH –oo!” Tim dips into his hands again, managing to sink down against the wall as he lets out a congested blow, ending the fit.

“What a way to ring in the new year,” Comes Sasha’s voice, her form blocking the light from Tim’s eyes as he looks up, fever blurring his vision.

“Shud ub.” 

“Christ Tim, you sound awful,” Jon adds, his form appearing behind Sasha’s. 

“Thagks boss,” Tim retorts, groaning as he notices a third form, Martin’s nervous fidgeting easy to spot even from this angle. Martin remains silent, though his eyes seem to hold more concern than any of them, and… guilt? Or maybe that’s just the delirium. 

Glancing up to meet Sasha’s gaze, Tim offers a weary, “Tibe to go hobe?” 

She nods softly, kneeling to help him to his feet, Martin wordlessly taking his other arm. Jon stands off to the side, hesitating. What for, who knows. All Tim can focus on is one step after the other, just gotta make it home, then he can sleep. For the rest of forever, at this rate. 

As they get to the door, Martin helps wrap the scarf around Tim’s neck, forcing him to lift it from its perch against Sasha’s shoulder. Sasha, for her part, supports his weight with ease, she was always stronger than she looked. 

Martin keeps casting glances towards Tim, obviously fretting over something. Too tired to manage his usual charm, Tim gives Martin the softest look he can manage. “Jusd say id, please. You’re makigg me nervous.”

“I’m so sorry I asked you to come, you’re obviously so unwell, and I know I didn’t really know that at the time, but I should have, or at least texted and checked in, I just… I wanted us all to get along so bad and I thought if you came it would mean more fun because you’re always so lively and good at talking to people and-” 

Tim holds up a hand, eyes glazing over as Martin stops short, breath coming almost as rapidly as Tim’s. After a minute goes by, Martin starts to open his mouth, seeming confused by the interruption, before nearly jumping out of his skin as Tim ducks into his fist. 

“eTCHh’ew! hH’YEAShh –iew! Sorry, I feld those cobigg… waid– hih’ETCHhew! heAYSHh’oo!” Tim ducks down again, Sasha grabbing him tighter to support the harsh shudders as he attempts to keep his balance. 

“Oh bless you,” Martin offers, voice coming out timid. Tim gives him, what he hopes is, a warm smile despite the fever taking hold of the last corners of his mind.

“If I didn’t wanna cobe, I would have stayed hobe. I dod’t blame you.” 

Martin nods silently, a relief seeming to flood his face. Taking his place once more supporting Tim, they move towards the exit. Opening the door, the first wave of cold floods the entryway, and a chill so violent runs through Tim that both Martin and Sasha take a step back to brace him. 

It’s now that Jon speaks up, voice strained with a type of worry Tim hadn’t heard before. “No, we’re absolutely not doing this, I refuse.” 

The trio turn towards him. Though perhaps a more accurate description is that Martin and Sasha turn, Tim simply goes along for the ride. Martin mumbles something about ‘no other choice’, but Sasha asks what Jon’s on about. 

“It’s too cold out there, it’s the middle of the damn night, there’s no way I’m letting him go home like this.” 

“And what do you suggest we do as an alternative? He can’t stay here-” Sasha begins, pausing as Jon turns towards her. 

“Why not? I’m the archivist, this is my archive,” Jon begins, pausing for a moment, before adding, “Well, Elias’s, but I hardly think he’d suggest we send an employee home in this weather while they’re this sick. That’s just bad management, he’ll freeze to death before even reaching the train.” 

As if to confirm this assumption, Tim shudders violently, ducking into his chest with a tired, “hh’eshhew! eTCHh’iew!” followed by a heavy sigh. Martin mumbles something about covering, but quickly silences himself as Tim begins to tremble again. 

Sasha gives Jon a look, seeming to read him for any hints of doubt, perhaps searching for an ulterior motive. After a brief pause, their eyes meeting, she gives a tight nod, approval of some kind. 

“Come on Martin, let’s get him back to that couch, he can sleep there for the night,” Sasha directs, Martin nodding his acceptance. 

Tim manages to catch snippets of the conversation as they get him settled. Jon fetching him a blanket he keeps in his office. Martin providing some more tea. Sasha grabbing tissues and medication for when he wakes up. Something about Jon sleeping in his office so he’s not alone, and Sasha coming in early to help him home. 

With his final bout of consciousness, Tim holds up a hand, the conversation immediately pausing. “Thagk you guys. And… esSHhh’ew! And, I’b sorry.” 

All three stare at him for a minute, before Sasha breaks first. Her laughter fills the silence, Martin joining in soon after, and even Jon letting a few chuckles slip out. When they’ve finally collected themselves, Sasha gives Tim a warm smile. 

“Sleep well, Tim. I’ll come fetch you in the morning.” 

With a content sigh, Tim lets his eyes drift shut again, his consciousness fading to the soft hum of his friends in the background. 

Alright, so maybe coddling isn’t quite so bad after all.