JONATHAN SIMS ── i have loved you for the last time
Sleep does not come easy to Jon anymore.
There is so much for the Archivist to consume and so little of what is actually him that is left. The hunger is a plague that takes on a non-linear narrative in the miserable plot of his life. It eats at the crevices of his mind from the inside out so he can think of nothing but everything and the absence in the space between all at once; then at his tongue, the flat of it dry and coarse (When was the last time he had drunk something to hydrate himself? Does he even still need it?), and his throat, so when he tries to speak, all that comes out is a weak croak. He thinks the hunger has taken root deep in his marrow as well── he feels it creeping in his bones, the rot spreading to his bloodstream slowly but surely.
You stir beside him, and Jon thinks: Alas, at least his heart is safe.
It had been a long time since his dreary heart was nestled in the weak cage of his ribs, beating feebly to sustain a body that, in truth, lives for very little. Jon does not know when or how, but somewhere along the lines since you'd slipped into his narrative through the margins of his hasty notes, he'd found that you had come into possession of his heart. The wicked thing was cradled in your hands like the most precious of treasures even as you slept by his side, squeezed into the little twin bed.
You inhabit the side closest to the wall, a fact which contents Jon── for all the horrors you have subjected yourself to by staying at his side, he will be there as the first line of defence. In a more mundane sense, you've crafted your home in a home within this little nook, curled up beside Jon's thin frame. He sees you now, illuminated by the painful white of his screen, and Jon feels sorry for potentially ruining your quality of sleep, but there is so much work── always work and no play for the Archivist son, damned as he is by whatever is going on in his institute. At the very least, he comforts himself, you will sleep better than he ever will.
Jon takes a deep breath, steeling himself; as if with a mere lift of his shoulders, he can resemble a man who, at the very least, seemed to have some idea of how he could get himself out of this hole he has found himself in, but if you had been awake, you could have easily seen the truth behind the facade, that of his discomfort and, and most damningly, the unsureness he held within himself, of himself. Despite this, he brushes his fingers over the curve of your cheekbone and leans close to press his dry lips against your temple, before going back to work── reminding himself every now and then of who he is doing this all for.
In spite of it all, his unsureness and his fondness for you, Jon does leave you in the end ── not for the lack of love, no; that love remains even when he changed, twisted into more than a simple avatar of the Eye instead of the man who had left you cold in your bed with his goodbyes written in ink on a parchment nearby. He understands, even in the end of all things, that he was selfish to have left you before things truly took a turn for the worst (though one could argue that it had already been set in motion the moment he picked up A Guest For Mister Spider)── there is selfishness even in the thought that he left while still human, that your final memory of him before he took an exit from your life was not the him that saved the world this version of you lived in, alone and betrayed and confused.
And when Jon begins to Know, he Knows that you never get rid of the belongings he'd left deserted about in your home, as though he has just recently left and is to certainly return any day now. He Knows that you never do stop waiting for him ── whether it is in the Fearscape you were trapped in or in the world thereafter, the world without your Jonathan Sims.
Life hereafter moves along, but for you, it feels as though it has paused in that singular moment that always passes, in another space and time, as though the clock in your living room will tick once again, and Jon will walk through your door as he always has. He Knows this, and he wishes he could tell you, but the last thing left of him in that world is the heart you don't realise you still possess, that you've never lost── Jon sits there and waits with you in that moment that will never come to pass, and you will never truly come to terms with the fact that the rest of him will never be able to come home to you again.
I finished the series last week (haven't started Protocol yet - I feel like I need a moment to wallow in grief process first), and I obviously have an itch to scratch. What are some best fanfics I should check out? My main ship is Teaholding, but I'm partial to Lonely Eyes, too. For now I'd rather focus on canon or canon divergent over AUs, and I'd definitely love to read something post-canon with jmart. Fluff, angst, hurt/comfort, both happy and unhappy endings (just please don't tell me - knowing ruins it for me). Any length. Any rating, as long as it's plot-centred. No PWPs please, unless they're very sweet and tender.
PS. I'm sorry about the commenting restrictions. I've been cyberbullied a while back :( Please feel free to reblog and/or slide into my DMs with recs!
Fandom/Characters/Ships: The Magnus Archives - Peter Lukas/Elias Bouchard
Rating: Mature
Word Count: 612
Warnings and Tags: gambling, bets, dates, established relationship, casually talking about feeding someone to a fear entity, lunch dates, uncomfortable peter lukas, flirting, oh so smug Elias, they are horrible, and I love them for it, Elias being an asshole, fear of being watched, beholding, the lonely
Summary: Peter loses a bet.
Author Notes: Inspired by a conversation had with @michaelmilligan that just would not leave my brain, especially once I remember this diner I went to as a kid and saw the @fanfictionlibrary01 drabble prompt: Lunch. Tentatively putting this as a one off, but I feel like I might add another chapter for some more... games. Happy Reading <3
Read, Games We Play, Part 1, Rated Mature, in full below or on my Ao3.
*note, this story (and all of my others) on Ao3 is locked for registered Ao3 users.
Games We Play: A Lunch Date with Elias
He should have known Elias would pick a place like this.
A place that wasn't too crowded or full that one could get lost in it, but one with just enough people that you could be observed.
However, perhaps what was worse about the restaurant was the mirrors and lack of windows. At least if there were windows it would give the other diners somewhere, anywhere, to look rather than each other.
Discomfort swam through him, like pin pricks under his pale skin, as he kept his eyes down at his half-eaten sandwich. It wasn't like if he ate faster, it would be over faster. No, no, Elias would only let their lunch date be done once he was finished, and the bastard seemed determined to drag it out.
Peter frowned, looking up, and of course those gray eyes were already watching him with that too wide smug grin that seemed to follow Elias from body to body.
"I hate you."
"Mm," Elias' grin was far too wide and pleased. "I hate you too, dear."
Peter felt a flush tint his pale cheeks, though was unsure if it was from his anger or the foot that was not so casually shifting up his calf. He shifted again, the lonely calling to him, begging to be concealed and unseen as he started to blur around the edges.
"Ah, now, now. I won." His grin shifted into a facetious pout, and Peter's bearded frown turned into a grimace. "No, disappearing on me."
"You never-"
"Oh, I'm sure I did." His knife and fork carefully and slowly sliced at his omelette as he cut him off. "Don't be a sore loser, Peter," he tutted.
For a moment, his eyes left his eating partner as someone else's gaze fell on them. His smile shifted, as the man caught Elias' always watching eyes in the mirror. His smug smile returned as the man who had been watching their reflections quickly looked away, his fear palpable.
A chuckle of amusement sounded around his next bite as he chewed, taking in all that he could about the man who was now struggling to eat, before slowly returning his eyes to his husband and their conversation.
"She may have been lonely, but she was far more paranoid, and we agreed that the winner would choose where we ate lunch. So…"
"So you didn't have to order dessert!"
"But I did, I really did," he said before taking a bite of his eggs and breaking his words with his slow chewing. "They're known for their lava cakes. How could I refuse?" His smile was unbreakable, eyes studying the man across from him before looking down at the other's plate as fear wafted through the small mirrored space. "Eat, darling."
Peter glared at him at the way the pet name curled around his tongue. "Smug bastard. You know it's not as appealing as you think it is," he spat, shifting in his seat as the foot returned to its happy wandering against his inner calf and towards his knee. "This is meant to be lunch. No one orders dessert at lunch, Elias."
Elias only chuckled and shrugged as he took another bite of his filled omelette, eyes never leaving Peter.
"If you choke, don't expect me to save you," Peter muttered with a final glare before he picked up his sandwich, eyes focused solely on his food and not the certainty of Elias' gaze and the prickling of more eyes studying them in the mirror that reflected and intensified the sensation.
"Wouldn't dream of it, dear," Elias responded, a pleased hum leaving him as he took his time slicing his next bite.
