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backofthebookshelf · 4 years ago

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Letters (jonpeterweek day one)

Just a little something for today; I’m going to try to do one every day this week, for my idiot boys. These will all very likely take place in my Lonely Eyes OT4 (Jon/Peter/Elias/Martin) AU.

The letters that Jon receives from Peter bear very little resemblance to letters in the usual sense. There's no greeting, no signature – nothing to address the recipient directly in any way. They read, in fact, like pages torn directly out of a diary and stuffed in an envelope with no context or explanation. For all he knows, they might be. He never mentions them, and the baffling anonymity of them keeps Jon from asking about them either.

He knows that Elias also gets letters; he has no idea if they're the same. He hasn't asked, or tried to Know. If it were only Elias's privacy he were invading he wouldn't have hesitated, but Peter is a different matter.

Jon had ventured the suggestion, once, that Peter sends these inexplicable pages because he wants them to miss him. Elias had laughed somewhat cynically and said that the last thing Peter wanted was for anyone to think about him at all, but Jon isn't entirely convinced. Peter complains, of course, about all the attention – but he does keep coming back.

It doesn't seem right to write back, even if there were a way for letters to reach him (Jon has no doubt that the Tundra has never accepted mail once in her career), but after a couple of long conversations with Martin on the topic, Jon starts leaving things in the pockets of Peter's greatcoat. Small, innocuous things – things it would be entirely plausible for Peter to have picked up from Jon's desk or held for him and then pocketed without thinking about it.

He's careful to make sure not to leave anything personal. Stray pens, notes in his scribbly handwriting that he knows Peter can't decipher, hair ties. There's something, Martin had told him, about finding a reminder of the person you love simply existing, with no thought for you at all.

It's very likely that the tokens Jon leaves are a little too frequent for plausible deniability; he can't claim to be that absent-minded. But they're no more frequent than the letters, at least; and Peter never mentions them, either.

#jonpeterweek2021 #the magnus archives #jonpeter #peterjon #help i'm soft

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voiceless-terror · 4 years ago

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ooh in honor of jonpeter week you could post a little jonpeter snippet. (if u want)

fkdsjfl i can share a small snippet of what I’m working on, a (very) rough draft that should be done in time for one of the days! it’ll be set precanon, when jon’s a researcher.

“Archivist giving you trouble?”

Elias’s fingers are at his temple, his eyes closed in what could be called contemplation but is more likely irritation. Peter’s not fond of the woman, quite the opposite, but her ability to rile the man is unparalleled. He can respect that.

“Should’ve offed her long ago, I say. Getting on in years, isn’t she?”

“And aging me right along with her,” Elias grouses, letting out a much aggrieved sigh. “It’ll be a while yet, but I do have plans for her.”

“And someone else, I see.” Peter’s eyes scan over the files on his desk- personnel files, each with an attached photo. He snatches one from the stack before Elias can protest and makes a show of squinting at the page. “Jonathan Sims. Bit young for you.”

The photo shows a young man barely out of college and desperate to be taken seriously, judging by his haircut and ill-fitting blazer. The flash must have caught him by surprise- he’s disgruntled and confused, eyes wide with bewilderment. It would almost be endearing to anyone who wasn’t Peter. “Well, he’s more to your tastes than Gertrude ever was. Best of luck.”

#asks #jonpeter #i said it was ROUGH #and i gave you a snippet with no jon im sorry #this will hopefully be out by the end of the week #Anonymous #jonpeterweek2021

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jonpeterweek2021 · 5 years ago

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Welcome!

In the grand tradition of our forefathers @joneliasweek2020, @petermartinweek, and @martineliasweek, we humbly present to you JonPeter Week 2021 from February 1st to February 7th!

These accounts will be more active in the new year, but we are setting up now, so please follow and friend us! :D

AO3 collection

Twitter #JonPeterWeek2021

Use the tag #JonPeter Week 2021 on Tumblr!

See you in the fog! 🌫️

#the magnus archives #jonpeter week 2021 #first post

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backofthebookshelf · 4 years ago

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a quiet sunday afternoon (jonpeter week day two)

"Are you sure they're going to be okay?" Martin asks Elias, eyeing the couch where Jon and Peter sit, perched on opposite sides. Elias raises an eyebrow, and Martin says, "I mean, they don't even like each other."

"Don't they?" Elias says mildly, in that tone that means he's not judging Martin for having failed to notice something, he's just surprised. So Martin sighs, and resigns himself to keeping an eye on them for the rest of the day, just in case.

When Martin goes to make lunch they've finally relaxed a little bit; they no longer look like they're trying to sit as far apart as possible. He tells himself that it's fine, they're all adult monsters here, and besides Jon isn't usually quiet about smiting people. By the time he comes back they're almost sitting in the middle of the couch cushions like normal people. (Well, as close as they can manage; Peter lounges wherever he is, and Jon insists on sitting in ways that make him complain about his knees later, but they both seem to have relaxed their personal space requirements a little.)

When he looks up from his book in the middle of the afternoon, Jon is...decidedly closer to the middle of the couch than the end of it. Maybe even on the other side. Martin frowns in his general direction but Jon is too engrossed in whatever he's reading to notice.

Half an hour later, when Elias pauses behind Martin's chair to make a small amused noise before fixing himself another drink, Martin looks up to find that Jon is now reading with his head propped up on Peter's thigh. Rather than objecting, or simply disappearing into the Lonely, Peter has shifted his arm to rest against Jon's back - not around him, exactly, but making room without pulling away. They both look...entirely content, actually.

On his return Elias hands him a glass of whiskey, and although Martin usually doesn't drink the stuff, right now it honestly doesn't sound like a bad idea.

#jonpeterweek2021 #jonpeter #peterjon #tma #the magnus archives #my fic #they're so domestic i'm dying #jon is a cat and peter is every dad who swears he hates the cat

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voiceless-terror · 4 years ago

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All Too Familiar

For @jonpeterweek2021

Characters: Jonathan Sims/Peter Lukas, Elias Bouchard

Rating: Teen, SFW

Summary: In which Elias and Peter make a bet and Jonathan Sims is courted by both the Eye and the Lonely.

“Archivist giving you trouble?”

“Should’ve offed her long ago, I say. Getting on in years, isn’t she?”

“And aging me right along with her,” Elias grouses, letting out a much aggrieved sigh. “It’ll be a while yet, but I do have plans for her.”

The photo shows a young man barely out of college and desperate to be taken seriously, judging by his haircut and ill-fitting blazer. The flash must have caught him by surprise- he looks disgruntled and confused, eyes squinting ahead. It would almost be endearing to anyone who wasn’t Peter. “Well, he’s more to your tastes than Gertrude ever was. Best of luck.”

“Enough!” Elias hisses as he grabs the folder from his hands with surprising intensity, those cold, strange eyes narrowed in contempt. His gaze lingers on the file for a moment, staring down at the attached photo as if it reveals something Peter can’t see. Oh, this is a serious contender. Peter wonders what makes him so special. It’s an idle, curious thought; Elias rarely displays such cageyness, preferring instead to keep his cards close to his chest with a knowing smirk. It’s insufferable.

“Tetchy about this one,” he comments, watching as Elias carefully slots the file underneath the others, as if to guard it from Peter. “Any particular reason?”

Elias tenses for one brief, almost imperceptible moment, shoulders encased in a crisp, tailored suit rising at most a centimeter but Peter sees it. Elias has his eyes but for all his lonely solitude Peter can read people. He can find weak spots and exploit them, tiny insecurities laid bare and magnified. And then Elias relaxes, leaning back slightly in his chair as his eyes flicker to Peter’s with a contemplative smugness. There he is. “He’s afraid of spiders.”

That’ll do it.

“Special indeed.” Peter whistles lowly. The Mother’s not to be taken lightly. He can see the draw; few are marked by the web, and even fewer escape with their life. He wonders why she let this one go; from the one photo he’d seen, Jonathan Sims looked utterly unremarkable, which makes him all the more intriguing. Perhaps he should pay him a visit. Recent college graduate, taciturn countenance. Knowing Elias’s predilection for orphans and loners, the boy has little to no social connections. The Institute has always attracted these types, though he risks the ire of its head if he claims it as a hunting ground.

His face must reveal his musings, for Elias’s own hardens. “Whatever you’re thinking of doing,” he says, each word with a clipped precision. “Don’t.”

“You think so little of me,” Peter laughs, raising his hands in a conciliatory gesture. Always suspicious, that man. Rightly so. “I would never interfere with any of your plans.”

He can feel the Watcher’s gaze as he strolls through the halls, taking his time to peer in doorways and flash a pleasant smile at the confused staff. He does not run into Jonathan Sims, nor did he expect to. Elias’s irritation is a satisfaction all its own.

For now.

__________

There is a man in the courtyard.

Objectively, this courtyard is open to anyone, be it staff or guests of the Institute. Objectively, it’s a rare, beautiful day and people should take advantage of it. Objectively, Jon doesn’t have a ‘spot’ he can claim for smoking and insist on being alone. But Jon’s scowl and the wafting scent of cigarette smoke is usually enough to drive people away.

But this time, there is a man in his spot. Jon is not pleased with this development.

He’s tall, stocky in the way a middle-aged man usually is, though there seems to be some muscle lurking underneath his baggy coat. Is he some sort of vagrant? He’s pale, unhealthy so, and it puts Jon on edge.

But that’s not the most irritating thing about him. That honor goes to his whistling.

Jon takes his smoke break at precisely ten each morning. Ten. Who whistles this early? Certainly not any sane person. No, that’s an activity best left for mid-afternoon or dusk. Mornings are for silence and work, not playtime. This is obscene.

So why, pray tell, does he still go to his spot? He could easily sit on the bench in the center, there’s no one there this early, no one to bother with his little vice. But habits are hard to break, and Jon’s a man who likes routine. He doesn’t want people thinking he can be pushed around. So he walks over, trying to ignore the shiver he gets in the midmorning sun on a perfectly temperate day. Jon doesn’t meet the man’s eyes as he moves closer and despite his trepidation, something is starting to put him at ease. His scent is so familiar, cold and crisp like the foggy mornings of his childhood. His grandmother’s house, not so far from the sea. It brings a sharp pain to his chest as much as it soothes him; she passed months ago and despite their distant relationship, it’s still a sort of grief. Perhaps he didn’t visit her enough in the end. She didn’t deserve to die alone.

Breaking himself from his maudlin thoughts and taking his place at the wall, Jon fishes a cigarette from his pack and lights it in a smooth, practiced motion. The nicotine soothes his fried nerves and he can almost ignore the man in that old jacket whistling some jaunty tune and trespassing in his spot. There’s no greeting, no nod of acknowledgment. Jon smokes his cigarette to the stub until it's acrid odor all but wipes away that familiar scent, and he leaves.

He finds himself humming all afternoon.

__________

Jon’s an interesting fellow.

Peter can see the remnants of the Web clinging to his shoulders in an almost possessive shroud. The Mother is usually more subtle, but this one screams mine, mine. Elias will have his work cut out for him, that’s for sure. But his machinations have always bordered on unnecessarily complex- the man enjoys a challenge. Enough time under the Watcher’s gaze and you’ll start to think it home.

And yet the man still calls to him. There’s a vulnerability in the way he holds himself, how he stubbornly clings to his little spot and yet makes himself small. There’s Lonely in him, Peter can feel the itch of it in his skin. He could snap him up quite easily if he tried. But he’s always favored a longer game when he can find it; it brings so much satisfaction to see a soul slowly eaten away until it fades, unremembered and bereft. There’s a quiet dignity to it, and Jon would wane so beautifully.

On his third visit, Jon breaks his silence.

“Why are you here?”

He’s got a pleasant voice, if a bit posh. Jon thinks it probably makes him sound older, but he’s yet to land on a confident enough tone. He’ll get there one day. In any case, he’ll be perfect for reading statements. Another point to Elias.

“No idea what you mean,” he replies with a smile and he can see the boy is startled. He clearly wasn’t expecting a cheery answer, which Peter finds a bit insulting. He’s not that rude. “Just taking in the fresh morning air like yourself.”

“I’m smoking.” Jon waves his cigarette as if Peter had yet to see it. “In what world is that fresh?”

“Suppose I’m used to it,” he shrugs, leaning more casually against the wall and meeting Jon’s intense gaze. It’s heavy, though not so much as Elias’s is. You’ve got the Eye in you yet. He’s had practice with these types. “Sailors are fond of cigarettes, when they can get them.”

“Is that why you smell?” Jon blanches, as if realizing the rudeness of his question. Peter pauses, unsure of what he means. He’s showered, he’s not dirty. “I-I mean, it’s just- you remind me of the sea, is all.”

The words make him freeze. He shouldn’t be able to pick up on that, Peter’s been careful not to slip too far into the fog. He’s perceptive. Peter doesn’t usually like being seen, or in this case, smelled, but Jon’s an interesting case. He wonders how he’d fare on the Lonely’s shores.

“Smoking kills, you know.” He ignores Jon’s question, relishing the way his eyes narrow. “Nasty habit.”

“Hear secondhand’s just as bad,” he replies with a snarl, dropping his cigarette and stamping out the dying embers with a scuffed brown shoe “So maybe you should find another spot to loiter.”

“You’re right.” He abruptly turns to leave, not sparing a glance back in Jon’s direction. Best to keep him on his toes. It’s a cloudy day and Peter’s feeling quite hungry. For once he has business that keeps him in the city, why not have a little fun in the meantime?

His phone vibrates in his pocket. It’s a text he won’t answer. He never does, and to be quite honest, he doesn’t really know how.

Elias Bouchard: What are you playing at?

Peter chuckles to himself, slipping the phone back into his coat.

What indeed.

ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29266788/chapters/71869302

#my writing #jonpeter #jonpeter week 2021 #fanfic #sfw #cw smoking

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