Apologies for the delay! I had a bad case of writer’s block.
Also I need to start putting it on ao3 because tumblr is a nightmare to navigate sometimes, but that would require coming up with a title. So. Here we are!
He tells himself it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t, not really. A momentarily lapse of reason. No more than that.
Yet he can’t stop thinking about Elias, all the way through the rest of the weekend, on his way to work on Monday morning, through his lunch break. He supposes it’s better than reliving other people’s nightmares, but not by much.
Sasha knocks on his door around two p.m. She’s carrying a stack of papers – academic records of one of their latest statement givers, he can see as much.
“Do you have a minute?” she asks.
“Sure,” Jon says. “I’m going to assume it isn’t work-related?”
Sasha laughs in response. “What isn’t, these days?” she asks, with a degree of bitterness and resignation Jon knows all too well. “It looks like we’re stuck here for good, aren’t we?”
Jon feels the first tendrils of panic gripping his chest.
“Sasha. I meant what I said, I’ll try to get you out—”
“I don’t want to quit,” Sasha interrupts him. “Do you?”
She’s looking at him with that calm, measured, reasonable expression he’s always admired about her. It’s enough to calm Jon’s racing heart.
“No,” he says.
He waits for the wave of guilt and nausea that should follow the simple confession. It doesn’t come. Sasha won’t judge him for its absence; he can see the familiar sense of relief in her face, followed by fierce determination. And, all around them, he senses the Eye’s presence. It approves of their willing submission; it secures its hold on them both. He wonders if Sasha can feel it too.
“Tim and Martin won’t understand,” Sasha says. “So—perhaps—if we asked Elias…”
“Do you think he might let them go?”
“Do you?” Sasha raises an eyebrow. “You know him better than I do.”
“I don’t—” Jon begins, then stops. His face is flush with embarrassment, he knows as much. But what can he say, at this point, without digging himself in deeper? “I don’t know what he’s planning,” he says. “I doubt he’d ever tell me.”
“Do you trust him?”
“No,” Jon says. “Contrary to popular opinion, I am not that stupid. But I—” he bites his lip.
“You like him,” Sasha says. There’s pity in her voice; he supposes pity’s better than outright disgust.
“I—” Jon pauses. He doesn’t like Elias. He’s not some teenager with a crush; he’s an adult man, capable of recognizing that Elias is dangerous, unpredictable, cruel, selfish, manipulative… that he loves power most of all and that, whatever his agenda is, he’d sacrifice anyone and anything to achieve it.
So, no. Jon doesn’t like Elias. He just finds him endlessly fascinating, he enjoys being in his company, he wants to know everything there is to know about him; he could blame this fascination on the Beholding, but it doesn’t seem entirely fair. It’s most likely a product of Jon’s own deranged mind.
Sasha shakes her head sadly. “Well, I suppose I can’t judge you, since I’m willing to continue working for him.” She’s lost in thought, her gaze unfocused. “That’s just it, isn’t it? You spend so long searching for answers, it’d be a waste to back away the moment you start finding them.”
“I know,” Jon says. “Unfortunately, I think that’s how the Eye gets you.”
“In that case, neither of us ever stood a chance,” Sasha says.
Jon smiles. His mood sours quickly, however.
“This job should have been yours,” he says. “We all know that. I shouldn’t have accepted it.”
“This job isn’t what any of us thought it would be, so it’s pointless to frame it that way,” Sasha says firmly. He recognizes it for the peace offering she possibly meant it as, and breathes a sigh of relief.
“So how do you want to proceed, then?” he asks.
“We know there are several organizations serving the Entities,” Sasha says. “I’d quite like to know who they are, how they operate, and suchlike. We have enough background to begin investigating them.”
“They may not take too kindly to being scrutinized,” Jon says. “Elias may not approve, either. He is allied with a number of them, so if we do anything to jeopardize that alliance…”
“That’s on Elias for not telling us anything,” Sasha says firmly. “I’m sorry, Jon, but I do not know what I’m dealing with, and I hate not knowing. If Elias won’t tell us, we’ll have to find out for ourselves. How’s that sound?”
“Reckless and dangerous,” Jon says. “Where do we begin?”
***
It feels good to talk to Sasha. Partially because her little project takes Jon’s mind off Elias, but mostly because it’s just—nice. Jon never had many friends to begin with, and while he’s aware that he has no one to blame but himself, the solitude was starting to wear him down.
There is still a wall between himself and Tim though. Jon desperately wants to make things right, but Martin warns him to back off for the time being. And Jon complies, because he doesn’t think he could handle it if Martin hated him too.
On Friday, shortly before five, Sasha clears her throat.
“Right,” she says. “It’s been a long week. We’re going to a pub.”
They all pause – Martin, who is scribbling in a notebook, Tim, who seems to be chatting with someone on his phone, and Jon, who is unpacking the new shipment of office supplies. All pretence of doing meaningful work has been unceremoniously dropped after lunch and now they are counting the time until five o’clock.
“What?” Sasha puts her hands on her hips and glares at them. “You can’t weasel your way out of this one, boys. And don’t pretend you have plans, I know for a fact none of us have a life outside of the Institute.”
“I resent that,” Tim says.
“Need I remind you what happened the last time we went out, Sasha?” Jon asks drily.
“Exactly,” Sasha says. “We need to put it behind us. Right, Martin?”
“Um,” Martin says.
“See? Martin agrees.”
“Sasha,” Jon says. “Be reasonable.”
“I am being reasonable,” Sasha says. “We’re supposed to be working together, aren’t we?”
“That’s the whole fucking point,” Tim says. “We already spend way too much time with one another.”
He’s looking at Jon as he says this. Jon stares right back.
“I am inclined to agree with Tim,” he says.
“One round,” Sasha says. “That’s all I ask. Then we can go back to sulking in peace.”
“What are the odds of you dropping this idea?” Tim asks.
“Zero.”
“Okay. Fine. One round.” He glares at Jon. “But if he tries anything—”
“You punched him, Tim,” Martin says. “I really don’t think you have the moral high ground here.”
“I suggest we prepare a list of conversation topics to avoid,” Jon says. “In the interest of keeping things pleasant.”
“All right,” Sasha says brightly. “Come on, then.”
***
Despite Sasha and Martin’s heroic efforts, the first round of drinks passes by in near-silence. Tim ditches them afterwards to flirt with someone at the bar, and Jon tries, unsuccessfully, to conceal his relief.
Wordlessly, Martin fetches them another round. He is toying with his glass, eyes darting between the surface of the table and Tim’s back.
“So, uh,” he asks after a while. “Did you ever hear him talk about his brother?”
Jon feels like he’s going to be sick. “Don’t bring this up, please. Tim clearly doesn’t want to discuss him.”
“I know,” Martin hurries to say. “But—it sounded pretty bad. I’m worried.”
Sasha bites her lip, her expression sombre.
“He told me bits and pieces,” she says. “Nothing substantial. But it’s the reason he first started working at the Institute, I think.”
“So whatever happened was paranormal in nature,” Jon says quietly.
“I’m not sure,” Sasha said. “But it’d explain a lot, wouldn’t it?”
Is there a file, somewhere in the depth of the Archives, that deals with Tim’s past? If not, then there ought to be; Jon should collect it. He can feel the Eye now, its hunger, its searching gaze. It needs to know, and Jon can feed it that knowledge. All he has to do is ask. All he ever had to do was ask—
His mouth is buzzing with static now. He takes a sip of his drink, but it doesn’t taste like anything, washing blandly down his throat. It offers no relief.
“I shouldn’t be here,” he says. He longs for the safety of his Archives.
“Why?” Martin asks.
“I—” Jon swallows. “Tim has a statement, doesn’t he? I—I’m going to force it out of him, aren’t I?”
“What are you talking about? Why would you do that?”
They both stare at him, uncomprehending. Do they not understand? Do they not feel the Eye’s presence? It seems almost laughable. It’s everywhere, all around them, the ever-present gaze of the Watcher. And it’s a dreadful thing when it chooses to focus on a specific human. When it uses Jon to acquire what it wants. How weak Jon can be when resisting it.
“Jon?”
“Sorry,” he says. “The stress of the job is getting to me, isn’t it? More than it already has.” He laughs, awkwardly. “Please stop me if I start asking any invasive questions, okay?”
“Okay,” Sasha says carefully. “But you can control it, right? This—compulsion?”
“For the most part,” Jon says. She tenses, and Martin shifts in his seat, uneasy; Jon can almost taste their fear, infinitely more flavourful than the drink in front of him… “Yes,” he adds, more firmly. “I wasn’t aware of it before, until I used it on Tim. But I know how it feels now, and I can stop it from happening.”
He takes another sip, just to give himself something to do. They have more questions, always more questions. But every answer brings them further into the service of the Eye, and Jon refuses to be responsible for that.
“Stop what from happening?” Tim asks.
They all jump. Tim is back from the bar, looking none the worse for wear; smiling, his hair artistically tousled, first few buttons of his shirt undone. More than one person checks him out as he stands there.
His smile fades, however, as they all look away; an obvious admission of guilt.
“Not this again,” Tim snarls. “Jon, I told you—”
“Jon didn’t bring it up,” Martin says quickly. “I did. Sorry.”
“Always so happy to defend him, aren’t you?”
“Tim,” Sasha says. “Sit down? Please?”
Tim sags into the seat beside her and buries his face in his hands.
“You’re not going to drop it, are you,” he groans. “Nosey bastards.”
“We didn’t mean to pry—”
“Yes, you did! It’s what you do!” Tim hesitates. “What we do, that is. I’m not much better.”
“You don’t have to share anything you don’t feel like sharing,” Jon says.
“That’s rich, coming from you,” Tim snarls.
“I mean that. I’m trying—”
Jon pauses. There it always is, the persistent feeling of being watched; but now there is a different quality to it, something less encompassing, more human. More familiar.
He looks around for the tell-tale flash of grey in someone’s eyes, but the bar is too dimly-lit for that. He wishes, suddenly, that they had chosen a more secluded booth.
“Jon?”
“You really should sleep more,” Sasha says, disapproving. “You spaced out again.”
“Sorry,” Jon says. “I think Elias is watching us.”
“What?!”
“Where is he?”
Both Tim and Martin rise to their feet, poised to fight. Jon shakes his head.
“He’s not physically here,” Jon says. “…probably.”
“Then how do you know he’s watching?” Sasha cocks her head.
“I don’t know,” Jon answers honestly. “Just a feeling, I suppose. I could be wrong.”
It takes time for Tim and Martin to drop their guard and return to their seats. They are still scanning the room, as if half-expecting Elias to pop out from under a table. The rest of the time, they are staring at Jon. There’s fear and distrust in that stare, but Jon is so used to it he barely even notices anymore. He checks his phone, just in case, and then, finding it blank, texts Elias himself.
Can I help you?
The reply arrives quickly: You never leave work on time. I was concerned you got yourself kidnapped again.
Ah. So they aren’t even pretending that Elias wasn’t spying, that Jon didn’t notice, that Elias didn’t notice Jon noticing. It allows them to skip several steps in the conversation.
And if I have? Jon texts. You told me yourself you wouldn’t have rescued me.
Well, no, but I’d still rather know where you were being kept, Elias writes back. Do give your assistants my regards, Archivist.
“Elias says hi,” Jon says.
“What the fuck is even going on with you two?” Tim asks. “No, you know what? Don’t tell me. I’m probably happier that way.”
Jon says nothing as he pockets his phone. Not like he can offer them an answer they’d accept. Not like he himself knows the answer. Instead he excuses himself, to procure another round of drinks for everybody. That gives his assistants ample time to discuss him, if they so wish.
They barely even look at him once he sets the glasses down on the table. Jon slides into his seat and silently chides himself for ever saying anything.
“Is he still watching?” Sasha asks, sipping on her gin and tonic.
Jon takes a moment to think about it, and then settles on: “If he does, I can’t tell.”
“Lovely,” Sasha says grimly.
“Yeah. Fucking great,” Tim jabs at the clinking ice-cubes in his glass with a soggy paper straw. “Just what I signed up for. One boss is a telepathic murderer, and the other—” he glares at Jon, clearly struggling to verbalise his feelings on the subject.
“What did you sign up for, then?” Jon asks, before he can bite his tongue. Then he amends, hastily: “You don’t have to answer, I only meant—”
“Oh, shut up,” Tim sighs. “Might as well tell you. But I am not giving you a fucking statement, Jon, and if you try to record me—”
“I won’t,” Jon says, icily.
“Fine.” Tim is quiet for several minutes. No one dares to interrupt the silence; not until he steels himself, and starts speaking in a low monotone, “I had a brother, Danny. He was murdered by—by an evil fucking clown, of all things. Right before my eyes…” He takes another moment to compose himself, act like he isn’t on the verge of tears. “It wasn’t a normal clown and a normal circus. It couldn’t have been. So I did some digging around, and eventually joined the Institute to find out more about it. And that’s pretty much it.”
“Tim…” Martin reaches out, hesitantly. He doesn’t touch Tim, but his hand is there, on the table, next to Tim’s; an offer of comfort. “I’m so sorry.”
Jon is once again grateful that Martin is here, because he himself has no idea how to act. A quick glance at Sasha confirms that she feels the same, awkward and out-of-place, aching to help but not knowing how.
“Thanks,” Tim mumbles. He takes Martin’s hand and squeezes it quickly, before withdrawing back into his seat and clearing his throat. “Well. There you have it. Does that satisfy your curiosity?” His tone is biting, the jab obviously aimed at Jon.
“The circus – was it the Other Circus, by any chance? The Circus of the Other?” Jon asks.
“Probably,” Tim says. “I guess. What of it?”
“We could find them,” Sasha says, exchanging a quick glance with Jon. “We have enough data to go by, we know where to ask around…”
Jon nods. He’s already going over the relevant statements, aching to get his hands on the catalogue, and the files deep within the Archives.
“What for?” Martin asks, alarmed.
Jon blinks at him. “I figured Tim might want a sense of closure. Or vengeance, perhaps.”
“Are you—are you actually insane?” Martin asks. “You want to attack them? They’re dangerous!”
“Unlike most people, we wouldn’t be going in blind,” Jon points out.
“And it’s better than Tim doing it by himself,” Sasha adds. “If that’s what he was planning, that is.”
Tim is stunned. He looks between Sasha and Jon, with wide eyes and slack jaw.
“I—I thought about it, but—why do you want to help?”
“We’re your friends, aren’t we?” Sasha asks.
It’s a bit of a stretch – Jon wouldn’t describe himself as Tim’s friend, exactly, but he is his direct supervisor, and would be remiss if he let Tim and Sasha run off into danger unprepared. There has been quite enough of that already.
“So you’re just… just going to help Tim murder someone? Because of friendship?” Martin asks, incredulous.
“It’s way too early to make concrete plans, isn’t it?” Jon asks in lieu of an actual answer. “We have some preliminary research to get through before we can even begin to decide how to proceed.”
“Jesus,” Tim says. And then he starts laughing, a touch hysterically. “Yeah, sure. Yeah. Let’s do that. It’s a great idea. What could possibly go wrong?”
Come Monday, there is a noticeable improvement in the atmosphere down in the Archives. Maybe it’s the illusion of a common goal to work towards, or just an after-effect of a moderately pleasant evening at the pub. Either way, it probably says something worrying about each and every one of them, but Jon can’t bring himself to care.
On a different note, his copy of House of Leaves is already lying on the desk in his office, with a short note written in Elias’s elegant handwriting.
You were right, the note says. I did like it.
Jon re-reads it obsessively before he finally caves and shoves it somewhere into the depths of his desk, along with the book. What does it mean? Did Elias mean it sincerely, or was he being sarcastic? Is he toying with Jon again? Why didn’t he hand it over in person, and share some of his thoughts? Is Jon severely misinterpreting the nature of their relationship? Because it’s not all that strange to exchange book recommendations with your professional acquaintances, isn’t it? And then discuss them?
The most probable answer is that Elias is avoiding him. Which shouldn’t hurt, because Jon has been avoiding Elias, but it still does. A bit.
That is, until they can avoid each other no longer. One of the dreaded interdepartmental meetings is coming up, and Jon doesn’t think he can weasel his way out of it, unless he gets himself sick or injured. And Elias will of course be there, given that he is organizing the damn thing.
Jon gets up earlier on Thursday and puts a bit more effort into his appearance, even going so far as to hanging his mirror back on the bathroom wall. He really needs a haircut at this point, but as he doesn’t trust himself with scissors, he tries to pin back his hair into a somewhat-professional looking bun. It does make him look too much like a hipster, unfortunately, but it’s better than letting it hang loose in front of his face, or pilling it up into a messy ponytail he usually ends up with.
The outcome is—honestly the best he could have hoped for. At least he ironed his shirt properly, and it almost fits him. He almost doesn’t look like an awkward teenager, dressing up for his first real date, or a job interview. Almost.
The meeting begins at 9 a.m. sharp. Jon already feels horribly underdressed – not to mention underqualified, as he is one of the youngest people here. And it’s not at all helped when Elias makes his entrance, looking perfectly stylish, from the subtle pattern on his tie, to the tips of his polished shoes. Jon doesn’t look up as Elias makes his way through the room, pretending to read the papers stacked before him on the table, and praying that no-one hears the frantic pounding of his heart.
“Good morning,” Elias says genially. The pleasant lilt of his voice does something utterly embarrassing to Jon’s insides. “I trust you are all having a productive week. Now, if you please—”
It’s just reports. Jon needs to deliver a report, assert that the Archives are operating without any problems, that he needs no additional funding, has no issues with the other departments. Nothing actually important. In truth, this entire meeting could have been an email, but Elias insists on bringing them all here. Possibly because the forced eye-contact enables him to read everyone’s mind in search of anything unorthodox.
Come to think of it, this is very probably the reason.
The Head Librarian is going through the usual: new acquisitions, outsiders requesting access to the Library, and an unpleasant incident involving a strange book that may or may not have been a Leitner. Jon spaces out, trying to rehearse what he’s about to say, and barely even notices when the man finishes speaking.
“Thank you, Salim,” Elias nods. “Jon?”
Good lord. He shouldn’t have been avoiding Elias. He shouldn’t have waited until now to face him, because his head is empty, his thoughts swirling in unhelpful patterns. Is Elias wearing the same cologne? There is the faintest trace of it in the air. And—and he’s waiting for Jon to speak, probably with that calm, expectant look on his face, distant and professional, while Jon sits frozen, unable to speak.
He looks up, and meets Elias’s eyes.
It’s—he’s seen them before, hundreds of times. There’s no reason for his pulse to speed up. He has seen Elias’s lips, the finely sculpted bones of his face, the delicate web of crow’s feet in the corners of his eyes. He has kissed those very same lips, the memory so strong it’s almost a tangible thing, so soft against his own mouth, gentle at first, and then more pressing, insistent, moving deeper, taking everything Jon didn’t even know he had to give—
Elias looks away and clears his throat.
“Jon? The report?”
Oh fuck. Elias can read his mind. And here Jon is, fantasizing about the man sitting three feet away from him, his boss, during a business meeting, surrounded by his co-workers—
“Right,” Jon hurries to say, nearly scattering the papers he had folded so carefully in front of him. “Excuse me. Right—”
He doesn’t look up again, pretending to check the notes he has already memorized, and lets his voice carry on while the rest of him curls in shame. Thank God no-one comments or asks him any questions.
“Thank you,” Elias says curtly. “Ingrid?”
It goes on like this. By the time Keith finishes arguing with Elias about the security measures and rapid personnel turnover in the Artefact Storage, Jon can almost breathe normally.
Of course he nearly misses his name being said again, this time by Ingrid, Head of Research, and his former boss.
“Jon?” she repeats, clear disapproval in her tone. “I was requesting access to the Archives.”
Access? To his Archives?
“What for?” Jon asks.
Too late, he notices the strange quality of his voice, a buzz of static; Ingrid frowns but she opens her mouth nonetheless, about to give him the answers he seeks. Compelled to.
“That is—” Jon hurries to say. “The Archives are still in a state of disarray. We are not nearly done cataloguing everything. If you let me know what exactly you’re looking for, I’ll be able to find it for you.”
Ingrid scowls. “Not done cataloguing? What, pray tell, have you been doing these past months then?”
It doesn’t seem like she noticed Jon’s question, or understood its significance. Does she even know what he is? Do any of them know? Do they also possess strange powers? Are they even aware of what it is they all serve? Is Jon being kept out of the loop, or is Elias keeping them all within their own little corners, feeding everyone bits of information, and then forcing them here, so that they can regard each other suspiciously above the unassuming conference table?
Because there is the faint undercurrent of fear in the air. He hasn’t noticed it before, too preoccupied with Elias, but it’s most definitely present. Every person has their own secrets to protect, and they sit here, afraid of those secrets being exposed in front of their co-workers, while the Eye already sees through them all and feasts on their fear.
He shakes away these thoughts and tries to compose himself.
“I believe I’ve already given my report on the state of the Archives,” he says. “I can repeat it, if you’d like.”
“That won’t be necessary,” Elias interjects. “Ingrid, if you require anything from the Archives, I’m sure Jon will be more than happy to assist you. I’m assuming you can sort it out between yourselves?”
“Yes,” says Jon.
“Of course,” says Ingrid.
The rest of the meeting is blissfully uneventful. Jon takes meticulous notes he isn’t planning on reading, just to keep his focus where it should be, and to hold his thoughts in check. Not an easy task once Elias leans back in his chair, his long, elegant fingers steepled together, observing the proceedings with rapt attention. There is a weight to his steely gaze that feels almost physical. Jon finds himself caught in it once Elias turns to him, and it takes conscious effort not to shudder. Good lord, if that’s what’s going to happen every time Elias looks at him…
He breathes a relieved sigh as soon as Elias dismisses them. That is, until Elias says:
“Jon. A word, please?”
Rosie gives him a warm, sympathetic smile as she picks up her laptop and a stack of reports. But she still leaves the room and closes the door behind her.
It’s just the two of them. Jon, half-standing, awkwardly trying to sort through his notes. Elias, sitting back in his swivel chair, perfectly poised and professional.
“Lock the door,” Elias says.
Jon swallows; his throat is dry as sawdust. But he moves, automatically, takes the several steps around the table, reaches the door, and the key in the lock. Turns it. Swallows again, with little success.
Elias is waiting, silent, his silhouette outlined against the windows behind his back. It’s a bright, sunny day. Almost too bright to look at.
Why isn’t he saying anything? Is he waiting for Jon to speak? To apologize? For what, his errant thoughts? The reckless use of his powers? His inability to concentrate? Or is he simply waiting for Jon to implode under the weight of his own anxieties? Because he’s fairly sure it wouldn’t take long.
What Elias says, however, is: “You look nice.”
Jon startles, then begins to laugh. “What?”
Elias tips his head to the side and frowns. “Although the suit is abysmal. I should introduce you to my tailor. We may then find something that will actually fit you.”
“I can’t afford your tailor, Elias,” Jon says, exasperated.
“Oh, I would be more than happy to pay for it,” Elias says. “Besides, you’ll need it for the next fundraiser.”
“What fundraiser?” Jon is starting to panic.
“I’m sure Rosie keeps you informed about upcoming events,” Elias says. “Have you checked your email?” At Jon’s blank expression, Elias sighs. “You do have assistants, do you not?”
“They’re not in charge of my schedule,” Jon protests. “Or sorting through my emails.”
The corner of Elias’s lip is twitching. He is enjoying this: flustered, wrong-footed Jon, fumbling through his answers.
“I assume you didn’t keep me here to insult my appearance?” Jon asks, trying to wrestle back some control over the flow of this bizarre conversation.
“I complimented your appearance,” Elias says. “It’s just your wardrobe I take issue with.”
“I see,” Jon says. “So, what is it? You want to dress me up in fancy clothes and have me dangle on your arm during the next posh event for all your rich friends?”
“Pretty much.”
It’s just a game, Jon thinks to himself, gritting his teeth. It’s Elias. Everything is a game to him. If Jon lets it get under his skin, he’s already lost.
Elias stands up, every move practiced, elegant. He reaches Jon in a few easy strides. Without the table separating them, Jon feels exposed and helpless. He’s sure Elias knows this.
“This is what I’m talking about,” Elias says, casually smoothing the creases of Jon’s damn suit. The touch of his hands is electric, even through the layers of fabric; it has Jon shivering, his breath catching in his throat. Worse, still, when Elias’s fingers slip upwards, to adjust the collar of his shirt, just shy of brushing the skin of his throat. “It’s too big on you. Or have you lost weight again?”
“My weight is none of your business.”
“Your health is very much my concern.”
“Why?”
“I told you. You’re my Archivist.” Elias’s voice drops into a whisper, warm and possessive. Jon’s indignation is feeble, melts away quickly, too quickly, with every frantic beat of his pulse against Elias’s fingers. “Do you know how damn hard it is to concentrate on my job with you there? When you look at me, when you think about me?”
“Then stop reading my mind,” Jon says. Elias is so close; if he lowered his head, if Jon stood on his tip-toes…
“I can’t,” Elias says. “I need to know, Jon. I need to know everything about you. I’m sure I don’t have to explain what it feels like.”
He’s smiling as he says it, huffing out a breath of not-quite laughter. But there’s an edge of frustration to his tone that Jon doesn’t know how to cope with. And he’s looking at him this entire time, his grey eyes pinning Jon in place, not even searching for anything. As if the sight of him was enough to satisfy whatever urges coursed through Elias’s veins.
“It’s hard to imagine the Beholding cares about this,” Jon says.
Even so, he cannot resist pressing his fingers to Elias’s cheek, just to feel it again; to see Elias’s pupils widen, watch the curve of his mouth as he smiles with wry amusement.
“I assure you, it craves the fear of its servants’ as much as anyone else’s,” Elias says. “More, perhaps.”
Is the Eye watching them now? It’s hard to tell. It’s hard to think.
“What are you afraid of?” Jon asks.
The compulsion rolls of his tongue, easily, as easy as breathing. And Elias shivers when he feels the pull of it, closes his eyes, and leans down, to close the last few inches separating them. To kiss Jon, hungry, drinking in the power he had bestowed upon him. He struggles to resist it, his lips forming words he refuses to voice, in between the frantic kisses he presses to Jon’s mouth.
He loves the struggle. Jon knows this instinctively. He loves it, and it’s exhilarating.
They part, breathless. Jon smiles, Elias’s warm breath tickling his skin, and presses another quick kiss to the corner of his mouth before pulling away.
“You never answered my question,” Jon points out.
“Right now? I’m mostly afraid Rosie will figure out what happened and report me to HR,” Elias is joking, but only just.
“Yes, that would be dreadful,” Jon says.
“Get back to work,” Elias says.
“Yes,” Jon nods. “I should probably do that.”
He doesn’t fully process it until he’s back in his office, staring at the wall while the events of this morning play themselves out in his head, in full, loving detail. Everything he said and did. Everything Elias said and did. Everything it could potentially mean.
THEY KITHED!!!!! AND THEN THEY KITHED AGAIN!!!!!!!!!!!!!! AND TEAM ARCHIVES IS GONNA MURDER A CLOWN :D!!!! AND THEY'RE JONS ARCHIVES !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
god im OBSESSED w/ Jon calling the Archives his, it's so....... *chef's kiss* monster-y <3 nfnnsjs
ngl, Monster!Jon is everything to me. My boy deserves to go completely feral <3
I’m super happy you’re enjoying the fic! Both kisses were very fun to write, I hope they didn’t disappoint!
And, well. I really, really want the s1 team to have a bonding experience, and what’s better than clown murder?? :D
(just fyi, this part won’t happen within the fic, because I have no idea how to go about writing it. But it does go exceedingly wrong at some point, and Jon does get kidnapped. But then they rescue him, do the murder, and go home together. Yes ALL of them. Jon is just a little bit traumatized by the experience.)
i used to be a j/m girlie, but now that monster!jon has taken over my life the majority of j/m fics are either boring or just. rub me the wrong way with how they handle the whole 'jon has a physical dependency on statements, especially live ones'.
a lot of them tend to praise is martyrdom to the point of it feeling too close to encouraging EDs to me.
obviously, supernatural trauma dependency and real, actual EDs are entirely different things, but a good chunk of people with restrictive EDs also believe that starving themself is the morally correct thing to do.
i also dislike how many of them portray jon's insistence on martyrdom in general (a lot of those i read portray this as a Good™ characteristic, when i've always interpreted it as a quite obvious character flaw)
most of canon j/m i'm fine/neutral towards or find cute, except for end-of-season-5 j/m but that's a whole nother can of worms and this has already gotten so long NFNSNDNNA
j/m fans you're doing great sweeties!! /ref but it is just not for me lol
also SORRY THIS GOT SO RANTY/LONG HFHSJAJAJ 😭
Noooo, don’t apologize, I love rants! And this is a fascinating topic to rant about, so feel free to send them to me :3
(I’m putting this behind read more because of spoilers and whatnot)
Jon being physically dependant on statement is SUCH an excellent source of drama and conflict for his character, I love reading/writing about it. But tbh I never made a connection between this and ED despite literally writing about him intentionally starving himself and losing weight and suchlike… this is very strange in retrospect? It’s such an obvious correlation, and yet. And yes, I know it’s not the same thing as real-life ED, but there are definitely similarities.
As for the Jon/Martin thing: I get that. I love angst, so I admit I’m not terribly interested in the fluffy aspects of their relationship. For me, it works really well either as a happy ending to the Jon/Elias (which leans towards abusive and toxic in fics), or as a juxtaposition to one another (which is the way I’ve been trying to write it). Martin is clinging to the idealized, human version of Jon, while Elias is here for monster!Jon above everything else. And I love monster!Jon, so I’m unfortunately leaning more towards Elias’s side of the argument.
Jon’s martyr complex is also a compelling plot point. No, I don’t see it as good, per se, since I don’t think it comes from a particularly healthy mindset… but whatcha gonna do, two thousand years of Christianity means that European Culture boils down to martyrdom and self-sacrifice = good and morally right.
In conclusion: I now have a craving for a good corruption arch for Jon’s character. Let him BE a monster, come on. But also for fics that explore Martin’s inability (unwillingness?) to accept that Jon needs those statements. Both excellent premises!
I really like JonMartinElias. I tried for a good while to put my thoughts into coherency about all the ways in which it can make them grow as characters and confront flaws in their behavior and ideas. How it can help them accept themselves, and get over past slights. How it can be fluffy (Jon getting taken care of is everything to me) and angsty (Martin feeling inferior, Elias being a bastard [and also maybe getting just a bit attached and not acknowledging it cough], Jon having to war between humanity and comfort), and the tragedy of finally getting to love someone only for that love to not be strong enough to stop the brutal end. How hurt Jmart would be, and how they’d react- it’s just so interesting to me!!
Also it just brings out the worst in them and I love that in a ship.
You are so right, Anon. They should absolutely be madly in love and also become the worst possible versions of themselves :D
Except Elias. Elias already is the worst possible version of himself.
Might I suggest: Elias encouraging Martin’s jealousy and manipulative tendencies. Elias and Jon being judgmental and elitist. Martin feeling left out because he’s human, Jon feeling left out because he’s asexual, Elias feeling left out because they’re so much younger and more innocent than he is… The potential is endless.
And Elias betraying them in the end is just :(((((( Jmart having to fight and murder their lover ;-;
I know burning someone at the sake for witchcraft wasn’t a standard practice in the early 19th century England, but consider: Jon accidentally travels back in time, gets himself accused of witchcraft (for obvious reasons) and is about to be torched. Except he gets rescued at the last minute. By Jonah Magnus.
Jon comes back as a child and gets adopted by elias (keeping enemies closer)
they try to stop each other’s plan but end up distracted and forming some weird kind of family (jon gets to grow up with more people around him,, and elias / jonah’s biggest fear becomes losing jon to enemies ASLKDLSJF)
i know it’s a bit delusional but i have read three 100k+ word fanfics on this idea and they are all super angsty and unfinished im fucking dyinggggg i just had to let this out because i am Not Okay
oop lemme just add the fics in case anyone’s interested:
1.) Too much time by Hix (180k+ words) - angtsy as fuck,,, super slow burn when it comes to jon’s relationships with others,, my fave one so far. Jon has his memories intact but elias doesnt
2.) Time is Hard by Serazimei (130k+ words) - a bit more light hearted than the first fic,, friendships are formed faster and there are a lot of sweet moments. Elias is forced to remember what he did to jon but has no plans to end the world after
3.) The Timeline of Theseus by Applea (90k+ words) - Jon doesn’t remember anything at all but is still powerful. Elias keeps him around because of his abilities
these are all amazing and im coming up with my own endings to cope AJAASHKD
So follow up to previous ask, I’m putting the * of “as sweet as jonelias can get in canon” and also the * of “I didn’t read ch 6 yet” so. My opinion on the softness of the fic may vary wildly, especially if I’m reading these warning tags right-
they shouldnt even try to make pathetic little guys anymore. you will never be more drenched pathetic bedraggled murder kitten than jon sims. wet tissue of a man. the personification of a cold forgotten cup of tea if it could kill people with its eyes.
