#sorry guys ill be fine in the morning this fandom is just annoying me slightly rn

[bi-chimneyy]

this could blow up in my face but as a bi man (also aspec for transparency but not rly relevant to the point), I'm starting to get really fucking pissed off with a very small subset of b*ddie fans who are usually straight women, telling anyone who ships bucktommy that we're the ones fetishising bi and gay men... obviously there aren't many of these people but there's enough for it to be a genuinely grating part of the fandom. people like this are not fucking activists and they sure as hell don't give a fuck about actual queer men if this is the way they choose to behave. like your ship, fine, play w/ your fictional characters and and make them kiss like barbie dolls, whatever but don't pretend to have a moral high ground because you support the most popular fanon ship.

[ethereousdelirious]

I’m baaack from my writing hiatus :P I come bearing gifts:

Fandom: The M.agnus A.rchives

Characters: M.artin, J.on (+S1 crew)

Pairings: Jo.nMar.tin

Tropes: standard “stubborn sick character, persistent caretaker”

Summary: standard “J.on gets sick at work and is stubborn about it; Martin is equally as stubborn about taking care of him”

Warnings/Notes: JM isn’t exactly my (wait for it) cup of tea (ba dum tsh) and I kinda lost the thread of where the story was going, so it’s a bit slice-of-lifey and kinda ends in a weird spot? It’s not Hurt No Comfort, though, I didn’t leave it hanging that much ;) I honestly wasn’t gonna post this but then I remembered the whole cake thing and thought you Jon Enjoyers might like it :)

In a half-daze, Martin watched the water in the electric kettle dance as it started to boil. He had bent at the waist so he could rest his chin on the counter, and it was starting to hurt a bit, but he made no effort to stand. He liked working in the Archives but sometimes the peace and quiet made him sleepy. 

"What are you doing?" Jonathan's voice came flat and annoyed from the doorway to the breakroom.

Martin straightened up, unable to stifle an exclamation of surprise. "Oh! Hi, Jon."

Jonathan only raised an eyebrow. He had been grumpier than usual today. Tim and Sasha had been grumbling about it all morning.

Remembering the question, Martin gestured to the kettle. "I was just gonna make some tea. I'm on my break, so. Thought I might make some for everyone." He gestured at the mismatched line of cups and mugs on the countertop, teabags already in place.

Jonathan's expression seemed to soften at the edges, though he didn't smile. "That's why I came in here, actually. My throat's a little…" He sighed. "It doesn't matter."

"Maybe you ought to take a break from reading statements?" Martin suggested as gently as he could. He knew how Jon got about his statements, snappish and possessive like a stray dog with a bone.

Sure enough, Jon scowled. He looked like he was going to say something, probably a pointed remark about Martin's work ethic, but instead he only swallowed thickly and placed two fingers to the base of his throat, like he could soothe the pain from the outside. He coughed experimentally.

Martin reached for one of the cupboards and started moving things aside. "I'll put some honey in yours. Did you know that honey actually has mild antibacterial properties?"

"Er, no," Jonathan said, but he didn't appear to be listening all that closely. He had moved out of the doorway and was poking through drawers and cabinets, their contents clattering as he examined them.

"What are you looking for?" Martin asked.

Jonathan sighed, like Martin's continued presence was such a cause for annoyance that he couldn't not express his irritation. "Painkillers. I've got a bit of a headache."

"Same drawer as the first aid kit." Martin went back to looking for the honey.

"That makes sense, I suppose."

They were silent for a moment, as Martin poured the water and carefully stirred honey into the mug he had chosen for Jonathan, while Jonathan took more than the recommended dose of painkillers and washed out his water glass in the sink.

"Hope you're not coming down with something," Martin said offhandedly, passing Jon his tea.

"Thank you," Jonathan said with barely-concealed venom. "I'm going back to work now. I suggest you do the same."

Martin tried to ignore the sting of Jon's words.

When he was feeling bored and restless yet again, Martin got up to collect everyone's empty mugs. Tim and Sasha were nearby, but Jon… He was sequestered away in his new office. Martin left the empty mugs on his desk and marched right up to the door. No time for anxiety, no time to brace for whatever barb Jonathan was going to hurl at him this time.

Upon getting close enough to look in the tiny window on the door, Martin stopped dead. Through the glass, he could see Jonathan, slumped over at his desk with his head resting in his hand. His eyes were just barely open, and even from that distance Martin could see Jon's irises moving, tracking his place on the statement he was reading.

Jonathan had never had the greatest posture to begin with, but this was abnormal, even for him. He looked like he was having trouble keeping himself upright and, Martin noticed with a pang of worry, the hand not supporting his head was clenched in the fabric of his shirt over his stomach.

For a moment, Martin was frozen, utterly unsure of what to do. He didn't want to just barge in while Jon was in the middle of a statement. He waited a moment longer. Luckily, Jonathan seemed to be finishing up. He sat up a little straighter and set the statement aside, speaking a few more words before finally turning off the tape recorder.

Martin didn't waste any time, practically throwing himself through the door before Jon could even think about picking up another statement from the impressive stack on his desk.

"What is it?" Jonathan snapped, not even bothering to try to hide the naked animosity on his face, the raw irritation at having his work interrupted. He didn't lift his head from where it was cradled his right hand, his thumb pressed firmly to his temple.

"I, um--" Martin faltered. "Well, I, I was just walking by your office and I happened to glance in and see you and I just thought--" Pause. Breathe. "You look really ill, Jon. Are you feeling okay?"

"Not really," Jonathan said, softening up a little. "But I have work to do, so." He looked pointedly at the door.

"You can take a day off, you know," Martin said back. He checked his watch. "More like a half day, now."

"I don't need to take a day off," Jon said, his voice flat and annoyed.

"A break, then," Martin insisted.

"I just had a break. So did you." As much as he was arguing, Jon was making no effort to hide the wince that distorted his features every time he swallowed or the way his ragged nails dug into the skin of his forehead. He shifted slightly when he saw Martin looking him over, uncomfortable under the analytic gaze."I'm fine," he said, a touch petulantly, and that was when Martin knew he had won the argument.

"You can barely even sit up. Come on." Martin offered Jon his hand, and Jon looked at it with ill-disguised contempt before standing up on his own. He was pale under the fluorescent lights except for the unmistakable flush of a fever on his cheeks. That was something. Though it wouldn't win him any points with Jon, Martin could always threaten to tell on him to Elias. If Jon was going to despise him no matter what, the least Martin could do was keep him safe.

But that was for later. For now, Martin would walk Jon to the break room and look after him.

Tim and Sasha were both standing, Tim standing with his lower back pressed against the counter and Sasha with her hand against the table. They were talking animatedly about something, but both jumped guiltily and went silent when they saw Jon.

The impression of guilt melted away when Jon barely even looked at them and collapsed heavily onto the small sofa, pale and sweating.

"You okay, boss?" Tim asked.

Martin refilled the kettle and turned it on. "He's a little sick."

"Looks a lot sick to me," Tim remarked with a quick glance at Jon. He had tilted forward so he could rest his elbows on his knees and was breathing heavily.

"Really," Sasha added. Jon obviously wasn't in any shape to be answering questions, so she looked to Martin. "Is he okay?"

Martin shrugged, trying to hide his worry for the sake of not embarrassing Jon. "I'm sure it's nothing a little rest can't fix."

"And tea," Tim said with a good-natured roll of his eyes.

"Obviously," Martin and Sasha said at the same time, and then they laughed.

This ended abruptly when Jon made a muffled noise and shot out of the room, nearly knocking into Sasha on his way out.

"Shit." Martin said.

For a split second, they stood in silence.

"Are you going to go get him?" Tim asked.

"I…" Martin blinked. "I'm not like his keeper or anything, I just work here!"

"Someone should make Elias send him home," Sasha said.

"You're Jon's favorite," Martin said with just a trace of bitterness. "Why don't you go check on him?"

"Because he's probably passed out in the men's room," Sasha said back. "You go get him. I'll tell Elias he needs to go home."

"I'll disinfect the couch," Tim said, fighting a smile.

Martin sighed. "I'll go get him. And talk to Elias if I have to. You guys… Enjoy your long break, I guess."

Tim patted him on the back as he left. "Good luck."

"You'll need it!" Sasha said cheerfully.

By the time Martin made it to the bathroom, Jon had made some effort to clean himself up and then collapsed by the sinks. At least he was sitting up and appeared to be conscious. His face was wet, dripping water. Martin wasn't sure if he had been sick or just been overtaken by the need for quiet, and he was equally unsure that Jon would tell him if he asked.

"Jon!" Martin rushed to his side and pressed a hand to his forehead without even thinking about it. "You're--"

"Burning," Jon said hoarsely.

Martin's hand travelled lower, to Jon's neck, and he pressed two fingers to the carotid artery. Jon's pulse was rapid and fluttery and he pulled away from the touch.

"Did that hurt?" Martin moved his fingers higher, to the lymph node.

"You're not a doctor," Jon said, pulling further back, seeming to shrink into himself.

"Sorry." Martin dropped his hand. "I really think you need to go home."

"It's fine," Jon said. "I have more statements to read."

There was an odd kind of desperation in his voice that Martin couldn't begin to understand. "Jon. I can tell you're in pain. If it hurts to talk, you shouldn't be reading statements. It's getting worse, isn't it?"

Jonathan said nothing, which was answer enough.

Martin stood. "Come on, I'll call you a taxi."

"Elias--" Jon started to protest, but cut himself off, one hand flying to the base of his neck.

"I'll tell him."

Unable or unwilling to talk, Jon nodded begrudgingly and forced himself to his feet.

The resentment in his eyes sent an ache through Martin's chest, but he only stood and held the door open for Jon.

"You're welcome," he said softly, watching Jon stalk down the hall without waiting for him. He sighed, and the door slammed shut behind him.

Martin wasted a moment staring at his shoes. He tried so hard and all he ever got back was vitriol from Jon and teasing from the others. After that brief wave of self-pity came the guilt for daring to feel so sorry for himself when Jon was seriously ill and seriously ill-inclined to take care of himself.

Martin sighed and shook his head. The sooner he found Elias, the sooner he could work on getting Jon to go to A&E instead of holing up in his flat or, god forbid, his office.

And then, as though Martin's thoughts had summoned him, Elias rounded the corner. He nodded in greeting and then paused, face darkening. "Everything alright, Martin? You look upset."

"Oh, uh." Even though Elias was always popping up like this, it was hard not to be startled. "Elias. I was just about to come find you, actually. It's Jon."

"Oh?"

"He's ill-- really ill; he needs to go home but I don't-- I'm going to call him a cab. Just wanted to let you know."

Elias nodded. "I appreciate you letting me know. And wish Jon well for me, would you? See to it that he gets well soon."

"Um, yeah." That certainly hadn't been what Martin was expecting. "O-of course. I'll just-- I'm gonna go." He turned away and attempted the impossible feat of rushing for Jon's office without seeming like he was trying to get away from Elias, which he very much was. He could swear he felt Elias' gaze on him even after he'd reached Jon's office and shut the door behind him. It was eerie.

"Martin." Jonathan looked like he regretted speaking even that one word. He made an abortive motion, reaching for his throat and then letting his hand drop. He had abandoned dignity alarmingly quickly and slumped over with his face on his desk. He had even undone the top few buttons of his shirt.

"Oh, Jon," was all Martin could say. "I can't let you go home like this."

Jon glowed at him but had evidently learned his lesson about trying to speak. He was breathing too fast, his shoulders rising and falling in unsteady cadence. Martin reached out to feel his forehead again and Jonathan jerked back so violently he nearly knocked his chair over.

"Sorry," Martin said. He really couldn't do anything right, could he? "I'm not gonna-- hurt you." Had someone hurt Jon before? Why was he so jumpy? He reached out again and Jon actually smacked his hand away. "Okay, sorry. No touching."

Jonathan nodded.

Martin sighed, unsure of quite what to say. He could waffle all he wanted about tenacity or dedication, but in the moment, there was no denying to himself that Jon was stubborn. He was stubborn to the point of being self-destructive and Martin would have to be careful.

"You really should go to A&E."

Jon shook his head no, then squeezed his eyes shut for a moment.

"Well, I can't just dump you in a taxi."

Jonathan nodded.

"No, Jon, I can't. Can you even stand up on your own? Don't--! There's no need to demonstrate. I get it."

Jonathan sat down and exhaled shakily through his mouth. It wasn't just his breathing, he was shaking all over and wincing every time he swallowed.

"Let me take you home."

Pause. Jon eyed him with suspicion and Martin felt compelled to elaborate, "Just to make sure you don't, you know, collapse on the pavement and end up in hospital anyway."

Jonathan, evidently having no other way to communicate his displeasure, stuck out his tongue. Martin couldn't help but laugh.

"Is that a yes?"

Jonathan nodded.