#elia writes

[lesbianjackies]

Rhetorical Question

NOT MY GIF

Remus Lupin x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 394

Warnings: Bimbo!Reader, James and Sirius make fun of you

Summary: Remus won’t let anyone say anything bad about you.

Taglist: @gg-is-a-loser @yesshewrites1 @regulusblackswhorecrux @dragon-master-kai @katsukis1wife @omgitsd0lly @actuallydarling (ty for reading over it lily!!)

You clung to Remus’s arm, hiding behind him as he talked and laughed with his friends. You didn’t know James and Sirius very well, and you had no idea what the boys were talking about, but you liked being close to Remus so you just smiled and nodded as if you understood.

“All right, here’s a good one,” said Sirius, who was reciting a few of his favorite jokes. “What do you get when you cross a joke with a rhetorical question?”

“I don’t know, what?” you asked, remembering the proper etiquette for joke-telling.

The boys burst out laughing, and you frowned.

“I don’t get it,” you said, pouting.

“That’s all right, darling.” Remus kissed your head. “Do you know what a rhetorical question is?”

You shook your head shamefully.

“It’s a question that’s not meant to be answered. The joke is that he’s asking a question as if it has an answer, but because the joke is crossed with a rhetorical question there is no answer. D’ya get it now, pup?”

Your mouth opened in a small round “O” shape before breaking into a giggly grin. “Yeah, that’s funny!”

James and Sirius snickered a bit and you hid further behind Remus.

“Hey, stop that,” Remus snapped. “She can’t help it if she doesn’t understand everything, don’t make her feel bad ‘bout it.”

The other two boys gave each other a look, but sighed and apologized to you anyway.

“It’s all right,” you said timidly.

“D’ya wanna go back to my dorm, bunny?” Remus asked, lips close to your ear so only you could hear him.

You nodded and he threaded his fingers through yours. He let James and Sirius know where he was going before taking you through the Gryffindor common room, hands clasped all the way.

“‘M sorry about them, sweetheart,” he said softly into your hair.

“You don’t need to be,” you told him, wrapping your arms round his waist. “I know I’m not bright, you don’t need to defend me.”

“Yes, I do,” he replied firmly. “You’re my girlfriend and I don’t want anyone saying a bad word about you. You may not be smart but you’re so many other things, you’re my amazing sweet girl.”

You smiled and buried your head in his chest. “Love you, Remmie.”

He kissed the top of your head. “Love you too, my darling.”

#elia writes #remus lupin x reader #remus lupin x you #remus lupin x y/n #remus lupin x fem!reader #remus lupin x f!reader #remus lupin fluff #remus lupin imagine #remus lupin oneshot #remus lupin blurb #remus lupin drabble #remus lupin fanfiction #remus lupin fanfic #remus lupin fic #remus lupin

[nerice]

writing server "find the word" snippet roundup !! uwaa

joy (amasa callout on mainnn fml)

reina tracks the scratch marks on his chest. new paths of pain crossing old scars, the puckered edges rimmed with dried blood that her touch disturbs. his hand cups hers through the motions, a tremble to his fingertips—a tell like the momentary twitch in his eyes—the hidden places in which his metered persona cracks and gives way to something less deliberate, more honest. "what are you then?" she asks. gray laughs without any joy or sound in it, a rough intake of breath that is filled with an arrogance ill befitting his current state. "soulless, sweetness, that's what i am. nothing more and nothing less."

challenge (surprise actual main novel opening scene!)

the more time caitlin spends up here, looking out at the endless horizons, the more the idea tempts her: to descend into the city. one wrong move and she'd plummet, a fall from this height fatal no doubt. and even if she succeeds, if she doesn't slip, doesn't lose her nerve halfway, even then... she would lose herself in this labyrinth and never find the way back. caitlin knows all this, but the temptation remains—the challenge, the allure, the haunting gravity of this place.

pity (posted by itself over here. linn behavior moments <3)

sacred (shina hates being the entire war's healbot)

she can keep it in her mind as sacred—life should be preserved—without negating the disdain that eats away at her day in day out. none of these people deserve to live.

medicine (serpent girlprince propaganda!!)

avery is not asleep. slouched against the peeling wall, the empty medicine bottle discarded on the blanket, her arm slung around her bruised stomach, it looks for all the world as if she is sleeping. but the fingers of her other hand rest at the scar on her thigh, and so lucie knows she is awake; knows the truth now—about her secret communion with the god she harbors—and it still stings, to not have known anything about her best friend at all, it seems. she pulls a chair to the cot, scraping its legs over the wooden floor, but avery's eyes stay closed. the shadow she casts along the wall is serpentine, inhuman.

aaaand that's a wrap!!!! extremely fun game i look forward to doing this every week now ww

#LOVE that it forces me to translate novel content im getting better at it <33 #also in general getting to polish little bits n pieces of older content to post is rly fun this is was the best idea ever #elia writes #man am i finally gonna get some mileage out of this tag? wild

[alliseaisfandom]

this will probably be disproven across episodes but I have the Gwen brainrot so indulge me.

I know a lot of people hope that Elias is out walking around happy and high, but see the Magnus institute burned down in 1999. Jonah took Elias in 1996.

So don't imagine Gwendolyn coming 'home' after a few years studying on daddy's money, daddy's name and daddy's contempt that his youngest daughter seems perfectly fine with ignoring what is expected from a Bouchard.

Don't imagine Gwen running into her brother one night after he himself hasn't been in their family house for weeks. And realising the thing in front of her isn't Elias.

The stone cold sober, easy smiling man with impeccable posture is not the man who taught her how to play their parents to secure a peaceful life and a place in the will at the same time.

The eyes looking back at her never winked at her from across the dinner table, never shed tears of rage at the golden chains around both of them, never looked at her at her lowest and told her everything would be okay one day. Because those eyes do not belong to Elias.

'A promotion' it tells her, with the same pride Elias used to talk about a student strike that would absolutely wreck their name if it were printed on papers, but this thing wouldn't do that because this thing is. Not. Her. Brother. But she's almost as good at acting as it is, so she plays along. 'Head of the Magnus Institute'.

And Gwen knows very little of the Magnus institute. But she knows enough about Elias Bouchard. She knows about Allan and the eyeless thing that got to him, tale whispered in a panic on the night she first saw her brother as a child instead of a role model. She knows about the letter that arrived unprompted. She knows the stories of what goes on inside the too old building.

And she knows how easy it is to get her hands on gasoline for the bits of it that aren't already flammable.

When she's called in as his emergency contact, she feigns shock at the fire, throws the bone that 'the idiot couldn't even keep his fucking lighter straight' between tears.

She throws the ashes off a foggy cliff onto the sea and attends the empty casket funeral with the same expression she learns to carry from that day on. And after years of clipped conversation, she does what she promised Elias to never do.

'Get me in.' She tells her father. And his smile of relief at 'still having a worthy heir' on the day of his son's funeral sickens her. But she keeps the same expression.

Because she may have killed the thing that took Elias. But the OIAR is the place that can tell her what she killed exactly.

And she won't make her brother's mistakes.

#Guys get it? Because she is making his mistakes? All of them one by one #tma #tmagp #gwendolyn bouchard #elias bouchard #the magnus archives #the magnus protocol #my writing

[thirteenth-fangirl]

"Average gay person gets 1,7 divorces" is just a statistical error. Average gay person gets 0 divorces, divorce Elias and Peter that have had 68 divorces are outliers and should not have been counted

#the magnus archives #tma #elias bouchard #peter lucas #peter lukas #I don't know how to write it #lonely eyes #lonelyeyes

[wildgeese98]

It's kind of unfortunate that the only bit of characterization for original! Elias that's widely talked about is him being a stoner. It's true that for a long time that's literally the only thing we got. One funny throwaway line. But we do learn a bit more in mag 193 (one of my favorite s5 episodes incidentally) and it makes him a much more interesting and tragic character.

Elias was an aimless rich kid trying and failing to live up to his father's high expectations for him. He was raised to believe that he deserved success and power simply because of the family he was born into. It's implied that this alienated him from his peers leaving him incredibly isolated. It probably also meant he didn't have a lot of control over his own life, following the path he was expected to rather than what he acctually wanted. Even before being marked by the Eye he probably felt like was constantly watched and judged, and found wanting.

The statement draw heavy parallels between original! Elias and Jon. In fact the line between them gets very blurred as Jon "plays" Elias in the statement and Elias's VA plays Jonah in the body of James Wright. Jon and Elias are both parallels and opposites. They were both marked and drawn to the Institute by that mark.

Elias had the conviction that he was destined to be important and he was right the most perverse, twisted way possible. He was only ever there to be used and used completely. To the point were he ceased to be, leaving only his body to puppeted by Jonah.

Jon had no such conviction, and yet he became literally the most import person in the world. But that was only after being moulded and completely reshaped by Jonah. He in a way lost almost as much autonomy and control of his body as Elias did. Though he at least got to keep his mind, for the most part.

This has gotten away from me a bit, but the point remains. Elias, like a lot of TMA characters, is a fascinating person who we only get to see brief snatches of. I think about him a lot. I especially think about how horrifying it must have been to realize, for the briefest moment, that his mind and body were being completely taken over, right before his consciousness was snuffed out.

#tma #elias bouchard #original elias bouchard #jonah magnus #the magnus archives #tma spoilers #i did acctually write a fic about Elias getting bodysnatched by Jonah but im so very self conscious about my writing #im not gonna link it but my ao3 name is similar to my username so u could probably dig it up of u really wanted to

[venfaaniik]

thank @turtlemurmurs for sponsoring this coffee

#my art #artists on tumblr #sketches #ko-fi sketch #tma #the magnus archives #elias bouchard #the brainrot is still here btw l just have a thesis to write #once i graduate i can show how jonathan sims saved my career

[thepunkmuppet]

the reason why transfem elias is my favourite theory for gwendolyn is because think about the implications.

so let’s say this alternate universe reveals that elias is actually transgender, and would present/identify as female if they had the opportunity to figure themself out and transition (elias was reportedly very young when jonah possessed them)

then the idea that in the tma universe they not only didn’t live long enough to do that, but THEIR BODY WAS TAKEN OVER BY SOMEONE ELSE WHO THEN PRESENTED IN A MASCULINE WAY AND LIVED AS A MAN USING THEIR FACE AND BODY FOR OVER TWENTY YEARS?!? FUCKING TERRIFYING

as a trans person myself, even though the real elias was dead the dysphoria that idea gives me is absolutely unreal, and really creeps into serious body/existential horror territory which i think would be really interesting and very in-character for a writer like jonny to explore.

#idk how they would explain her not being voiced by ben meredith but honestly it’s whatever i like this idea too much to think abt semantics #it’s just so horrible #the freaky friday trope was never something i could even entertain happening to myself #because someone else looking at my body!! and having control over it!! and potentially wearing feminine clothes and makeup and aaahhhhhh #i hate it #it’s a very interesting and nasty horror concept to me #transfem elias is real if this doesn’t turn out to be canon i will probably write it #the magnus archives #tma #the magnus protocol #tmagp #elias bouchard #gwendolyn bouchard #jonah magnus

[this-cult-of-dionysus]

Nikola Orsinov || The Piper || Mikaele Salesa || Jonah’s Deception || Spider Lighter

#tma fanart #tma #the magnus archives #nikola orsinov #the Piper #mikaele salesa #jonah magnus #FUCK Jonah Magnus fr #writing that out was viscerally painful #i love him #he’s the worst #elias bouchard #elias bitchard #spider lighter #the web #annabelle cane #jonathan sims #love me a good Themed Sketchbook Page

[mlmshark]

“Omg, I don’t get why people get so mad at a canonically asexual character being sexualized! Just don’t read it if you don’t like it!” Are you fucking stupid? Repeat that back to yourself

#yes this is about the Jon post #and yes Jon’s asexuality is a bit ambiguous #but asexual people can be uncomfortable when you write literally eighty fucking pages of smut about him #and it’s just him #there’s barely any Tim or Elias or Martin or literally anyone else smut #but you could make a fucking book with how much their is of Jon #and screaming at asexual people who point it out is just crazy #acespec #aroace #ace problems #ace #asexual

[fandom-trash-goblin]

IN DEFENSE OF ELIA MARTELL

carlyle’s house and other sketches, virginia woolf // There Comes Papa, Raja Ravi Varma // Two Swords, fourth season, Game of Thrones.

for @spearsndragons

lyanna stark || elia martell || sansa stark || arya stark || alicent hightower || jaehaera targaryen || cersei lannister || myrcella baratheon || joanna lannister || aemma arryn || catelyn stark || sansa stark (2) || margaery tyrell || rhaena targaryen, daughter of aenys i || arianne martell

#forever suprised that elia martell needs a defense #elia martell #pro elia martell #dorne #elia of dorne #elia deserves better #also go check our spearsndragons please they write so beautifully #asoiaf #a song of ice and fire #web weave #webweaving #webweave #game of thrones #webweaves: asoiaf #yes the painting name is deliberate

[angelyuji]

smart, genius yanderes making their obsession feel stupid and dumb so they rely on them for everything???? bimbo reader is one of my fav tropes becuz... i am stupid :)

tw // yandere content, emotional abuse, just being mean, yandere stuff u guys know the deal

constantly belittling you, demeaning you, as a way of lowering your self-esteem. making you second-guess everything you do as a way of making you depend on them for the simplest of tasks. snapping at you and immediately turning around and comforting you.

"don't be stupid. you should know better than that." he snaps, snatching the pen from your hands.

"what? what did i-" you feel your face heat from embarassment.

"(y/n), this is a job application." he snatches that paper from your hands.

"i know what it is..." you try to reach for it, but he holds it away. "i just want to help you."

"help me? i don't need your help, (y/n)." he grabs at your hair, pulling you off your chair to the ground. you yelp in pain as his fingers tangle in your hair and yank at your scalp. "why would they hire you? what qualities do you have that they would want? you're an idiot, a fucking idiot. you can barely cook a decent meal without my help." his voice was laced with venom. you feel tears slip down your face.

"i'm sorry." you meekly whisper. "you're right, i'm too stupid." you choke out a sob. he smiles before shushing you, letting go of your hair. he sits down next to you and pulls you into a hug. you melt into his touch.

"it's okay, that's why i'm here. to take care of you."

definitely: spencer reid (post-prison), bruce wayne, tony stark, 707, elias bouchard, gojo satoru

maybe: dick grayson, sam winchester, charles xavier, jason todd

#like and reblog <3 #yandere #x reader #yandere x reader #gender neutral reader #yandere headcanons #gaslighting #bimbo reader #manipulation #yandere spencer reid x reader #yandere bruce wayne #yandere 707 x reader #spencer reid x reader #bruce wayne x reader #tony stark x reader #elias bouchard x reader #gojo x reader #yandere gojo #post prison spencer reid #i wrote this instead of writing my lab report that is due in an hr..... so yk #mental and emotional abuse

[lesbianjackies]

I’ll Always Be Here

Remus Lupin x GN!Reader

Word Count: 515

Warnings: Injury, medical care

Summary: You take care of Remus after a full moon.

Taglist: @gg-is-a-loser @yesshewrites1 @dragon-master-kai @shyposttree @actuallydarling

You stood outside Remus’s dorm with a bag of full moon aftercare supplies weighing on your arm. The other Marauders would be at classes, giving you till the afternoon to take care of your boyfriend, who skipped a few days after every transformation to avoid questions about the inevitable fresh wounds.

You knocked softly. “Hey, Remmie,” you called. “It’s (Y/N), can I come in, please, honey?”

The door creaked open and a disheveled, sleep-deprived, and slightly injured Remus opened the door. You followed him over to his bed and sat down beside him.

“Can you show me the scratches, love?” you asked gently.

He nodded and removed his shirt, wincing a bit from the effort. You frowned as you examined the cuts; they were red-rimmed and deeper than usual.

“Have you put anything on them, baby?”

Remus shook his head, looking down guiltily. “‘M sorry,” he mumbled.

“No, no, honey, don’t be sorry.” You cupped his chin gently in your hand and kissed his jaw lightly. “Jus’ don’t want them to get infected is all. It’s all right, though, we’ll treat ‘em now, sound good?”

He nodded and let you get to work, watching your crinkled, focused brow as you rubbed healing salve over the cuts and wrapped them up in gauze that was just tight enough.

“Feels better already, huh?”

He nodded again.

“Chocolate?”

He smiled, the first one you’d seen today, and you grinned back, reaching into your bag to pull out a candy bar. You broke it in half and he accepted his piece eagerly.

“Last night harder than usual?” you ventured, wanting him to open up to you but loathe to push to hard.

“Yeah,” he replied. “I don’t know why, it just…” He shook his head. “I think what’s different is I have you now. And I’m just so, so scared of hurting you, in any way, shape, or form.” He looked at you, and you saw the tears welling up in his eyes. “And I’m terrified of scaring you away.”

“Oh, Remus…” You brought him into your arms and he buried his face in your neck, muffling the sobs that had started to break free. “Sweetheart, you could never scare me away. You’re my Remmie, my perfect, perfect boy, who’s always there to cheer me up or let me cry when I’m sad. Could never be scared of you, darling. Never ever.”

Remus only sobbed again, holding tightly to you as you stroked his hair. You stayed like that until his whimpers quieted and his grip loosened, placing a kiss on his head and rubbing his back gently.

“All right, honey. Need some sleep, all right? Can see your dark circles from a mile away, my love; let’s take a nap.”

Remus nodded, pulling away to swipe at his tears before collapsing beside you under the covers. He was asleep in minutes, clearly exhausted from the night before, and you held him close as you drifted off to sleep yourself.

“I’ll be here when you wake up,” you whispered, even though he couldn’t hear you. “I’ll always be here.”

#elia writes #remus lupin x reader #remus lupin x you #remus lupin x y/n #remus lupin x gn!reader #remus lupin imagine #remus lupin fluff #remus lupin angst #remus lupin oneshot #remus lupin blurb #remus lupin drabble #remus lupin fanfiction #remus lupin fanfic #remus lupin fic #remus lupin

[nerice]

"find the word" snippets round 2!! wahoo!!!

reasonable (eligray banter ft. whatever this implies abt worst man's idea of a fun pastime)

eliada stirs more sugar into a tea he no longer has any desire to drink. his story is much too reasonable to dismiss outright, but that does not mean he has to like it. an existence manifested in the cradle of creation, an existence come face to face with the elusive observer... that would make gray a true ruler. but he cannot be, he isn't, eliada would know. eliada is the only person in this thrice forsaken universe able to say so with certainty. the gold stitched into his spine shudders whenever reina and him have the misfortune of sharing the same physical space, but gray, as aggravating as he is, leaves that part of him cold. he has the sudden suspicion that he is being scammed. "you are certain of your immortality?" he asks. gray dismisses the idea with a wave of his scarred arm. "plenty."

extinct + threaten (this will not end badly, don't worry abt it :)!)

hunting shadows is meant to be more of a patrol situation; keep them out of the palace, keep them from wandering into the surrounding settlements, but cait hunts them with a ferocity. she hunts them for sport. venturing out erratically, drawing circles far and farther still until she finds a nest, or until one is dumb enough to mistake her for prey. her kills are always vicious, her chase relentless, as if she could actually drive them to extinction. all to draw out their leader, the scorpion that took her sister from her—unaware that maheloas is not a shadow at all, but a god—so it's no wonder sky tries to dissuade her from the path of revenge. maheloas may be less threatening than garvith or noah, as far as true ruler power levels go, but even with all her natural talent for swordsmanship, if cait were to ever track him down, she'd only get herself killed.

value (more early eligray content! just rail him on the couch its ok)

surely, if gray clothed himself in better suits than rags, he'd make a fine man. even a man someone such as eliada could fancy. but all of that is tangential, a temptation for when they share too deep a drink. now eliada only has eyes for his true interest: the conspicuous bracelet slipped from under gray's sleeve. it rises and falls with his sleeping breath, the shifting opalescence within the marbles following a stranger rhythm. he'd only seen it twice before; both times gray had quickly pushed it back under his sleeve. both times eliada's attention had been drawn, and both times this interest had set gray in a bad mood. it could be ornamental. it could but that's as unlikely as ever seeing this man in anything that could even loosely be termed an "outfit." no, gray does not value fashion and it follows that he does not wear this bracelet for vanity, either. which means there is a story. and any fragment of an existence as impossible as his is bound to be worth a little risk.

cunning (that one canon jumie/gray dance long before 🐇. :)))

"you two are close?" gray asks to divert her attention. "i pledged my life to her," jumeira says, using his moment of genuine surprise to overtake the dance, clasping his hand and locking him into her own interpretation of the rhythm. all faux seduction gone, she is clean, businesslike composure now as she measures him up, step by step by step. he recognizes a cunning in her that, for the first time this night, worries him. forget the soul-bound pup figuring him out, this woman is worse; a single exchange enough for her to glean the murderous impulses he has kept concealed all night, though she wouldn't know him as soulless even if she cracked him open with her bare hands.

priority (queen of (fucking up) everything 💔)

"i abandoned them. i was at the peak of my power, veiled, i did not feel pain—but i fled. because i could not bear the dead, thousands torn apart in a blink..." nerice was different. reina can barely stand to think its name. it was a different world, a different war. how tired she is of war. she was the beginning of this universe and she has yet to know peace, but now, as the last remnant of her world, she is azra's priority. now she can become a shield; do for these worlds what she couldn't do for her own: face azra, and fight.

relate (like f*ther like d**ghter moments <3. + throwback 2 their talk in lhnh)

gray's daughter has changed since the last time they met, in more ways than one. the bandaged sleeves replaced by long gloves over hard muscle, her once-pale hair now kept in tight braids pulled back and dyed a rusty black that absorbs the dim light of his study. "you associate with soulless, we both know that well enough," sky says, trailing the long edge of his drafting table with two fingers. eliada folds his hands in lieu of a smile. her threat has a familiar flavor of indifferent dominance. "they seem drawn to me," he muses. "a position you can surely relate to, rabbit." the mahogany beneath her fingers cracks. last time her birthname had sent her scrambling for the door, but that, too, has changed. she leans onto the table, the splintering around her fingers deliberate, controlled. annoyance flickers through eliada at the thought of having to patch those cracks after she leaves. "that dark hair can't mask the resemblance." "good," she snarls. "i'm not trying to." (((((a lie))))

adventure (the girls are not ok but once upon a time they were)

lucie remembers the attic with crystal clarity: derelict as the rest of the house, a simple mattress in the corner waiting for her whenever she escaped from the orphanage. avery in her hammock. avery with a foot flexed against the ground to keep herself steady while she aimed rubber bands at the rats infesting the woodwork. avery, head tilted back at the sound of her hasty ascent on the rusty ladder; brimming with excitement for the tales from lucie's latest dream, the next adventure they could replay.

&&& bonus 白花 adventure snippet under the cut due to #tw linn

linnea restrains her with a tight fist in her hair, pouring the liquid down faye's throat until she sputters and chokes, spits some of it back up at her. "vulgar," linnea remarks and shoves her back into the blankets. faye begins to stir beneath her, coming awake, aware as their skin contact draws on. as soon as linnea withdraws her touch, she curls back in on herself, panting and gasping. "not long now. soon you will forget everything, forget the pain," linnea hums as she lays out an assortment of pills in a neat line. pressed herbs, polychrome powders, dried fragments of mushroom. last, right by faye's twitching fingers, a small vial of fluorescent liquid, a syringe, and a tourniquet. "we are going to have an adventure."

CHEERS >:3c

#elia writes #long post / #love the trajectory of eliada / soulless content only to round out with worst girls lol #once again these have been insanely fun at this rate i will have cleaned up a good chunk of my content by the end of this year ww

[glorysbox]

hi it’s me elias 🙏🙏 i had an idea for a bot I wanted to make but I thought it would be way better if you wrote it ‼️ because I read the one where you’re in the jeep and… well. ANYWAYS

my idea is basically you and Leon are long distance and you barely see each other except for a few times a year, you barely even get to call because you’re both really busy with work. it’s Valentine’s Day and you’re alone (obviously) but you really miss him. he’s not responding to your calls and it’s worrying you, maybe he’s found someone else?? then you hear knocking at your door and there he is!!!! he’s flown to see you for Valentine’s Day to finally spend time with you again. his intentions aren’t entirely sexual at first, he also just really misses you and wants to make sure you’re okay. but then he quickly realizes what he wants (and what you want.) it’s been SO long since the two of you have had sex. like years and he’s been thinking about it so much like all the damn time

you really don’t have to include all the stuff at the beginning but I just wanted to give you like the backstory ig for my idea so you can write it like. so that it makes sense. i’m really not good at explaining things so I hope this makes sense and also i love your writing

this ended up being so long... i'm sorry. right after i said i would only do 1-2k fics

leon x gn!reader (i wasn't sure if you wanted anything specific so i made it as neutral as possible!) wc: 4.6k... warnings: explicitly 18+, cumming inside, hurt + comfort, Leon's a little bit of a jerk unintentionally, make-up sex

You knew what you were getting into when you started dating Leon.

You knew that you'd be alone. That he'd go on missions in foreign countries—dangerous missions—and that you'd be left wondering if he was okay or if he was even alive. But you still started dating him.

Because you love him.

Which is why today of all days is especially difficult for you. It's like the world is taunting you—everywhere you turn, there's an advertisement for Valentine's Day specials or a couple making out on the damn corner or a guy beaming as he walks down the street holding a box of chocolates and flowers in both hands.

You love Leon... but god do you hate Valentine's Day. It's one thing to only see your boyfriend a few times in a year, and it's another to be constantly reminded about just how lonely you are without him. Which is why you're currently sat on your couch, lights off, snuggled under the blanket that he bought you some odd few years ago. It still smells like him.

It's not something you've ever bothered to bring up to him. Just how lonely you are and how you miss him so often—he already has so much on his plate, why add more? That's what you tell yourself. Still, the feelings are starting to bubble over into... uncharted territory. Each time your phone buzzes, you find yourself excitedly grabbing it to see if maybe, for once... he'd call you on Valentine's Day. Or call you at all for that matter.

But he doesn't.

He never has.

He probably never will.

You really don't mean to be so upset about it... you knew what you were getting into. But still... at least one call a week, right? That's what he's promised you.

It's been two.

And it's far from the first time that he's skipped calling you. As much as it pains you to admit, there are more important things that he has to deal with—and as much as you want to be, you're unfortunately low on his priority list.

But again, you deal with it.

Because you love him.

Even if he doesn't always get the chance to call you on your birthday because he's so busy with work. Valentine's Day always goes the same. You're alone. Your boyfriend doesn't call you. You're left to watch the stupid, cheesy romance movies that you wish you could force Leon to watch and cuddle up with him on the couch like a normal couple would.

But... you're not a normal couple. You've long since accepted that... or, tried to. You've tried. Here you are, just as you have been for the past however many years, crying on your sofa as you imagine what could have been. What your relationship could be if Leon didn't have such an intensive job. It's not long before the tears start to flow freely down your cheeks.

The guilt eats you alive. You feel bad for wanting to demand some of Leon's attention. You feel bad for even feeling bad, for crying out loud. Even though, if Leon were here right now, you know that he'd comfort you and tell you just how appreciative he is of you for even sticking around for someone like him—a government agent with too much baggage.

"Damn it..." The frustration is evident as you speak to no one in particular—the noise coming out of your mouth more of a pathetic mutter than anything as you struggle to keep your emotions in check. Grabbing the remote, you very quickly turn off the scene in the movie where the two leads were about to confess their love for each other and share a kiss. God, you could use one of those right now. Being without Leon kills you. Not being able to feel his biceps around your body, squeezing the life out of you, kills you. Not being able to wake up next to him and see the way that he smiles when you're the first thing he sees opening his eyes.

It kills you so much, in fact, that as you trudge towards the front door after hearing a few short knocks, that you're not even bothering to mask your sniffles or the fact that you're feeling less than hot right now.

You hate Valentine's Day.

Opening the door with a sigh, you wipe your tears away with the back of your hand—again, not being exactly too mindful of the person who's at your front door. Cluelessness and a lack of situational awareness has always, truly, been your downfall. Of course. It's Leon. Now you're just feeling guilty again—having spent the whole day cursing him out in your mind only for him to show up at your door to surprise you.

"Are you..." You feel a familiar hand cup your face, the warmth of his calloused palm pressing and squishing against your cheek as Leon's fingers press into the soft skin. The sound of plastic wrap crinkling fills your ears; if you were to look up from your feet, you would be able to see the bouquet of flowers. Flowers. For you. From Leon. On Valentine's Day.

A part of you wants to jump into his arms. To plant kisses all over his face. To thank him for even thinking of you, even if what he's done is just the bare minimum. Another part of you just can't help but feel frustrated. Knowing that after this, after the one day that you stay together, he'll be called in to another other-worldly mission that leaves you up at night with knots in your stomach anticipating his next call to know if he's okay.

Leon's touch leaves goosebumps in it's wake. His thumb wipes the tears pooling at the corners of your eyes, and then trails down to feel the skin of your neck. He can practically feel the heat radiating off of you.

"You're crying." A statement, more than a question. Your eyes are red, your pretty lips turned into a frown, and your red nose is enough of an indication of the truth. How are you going to get yourself out of this one? You really, really don't want to burden him with your feelings. You're happy, really. He doesn't need anything more on his plate.

"I...'m fine. Really, I'm just..." A sigh escapes your lips. An involuntary one. Looking up finally, you meet his gaze. Leon's icy blue eyes bore into your own, his brows drawn in and a taut frown visible on his lips. "Just was watching a sad movie." He hates to see you upset. Leon knows it's wrong of him to neglect you like this. But to see the effects of what he's done... to say that he feels horribly guilty and responsible would be an understatement. And he is responsible.

"A sad movie on Valentine's Day?" He questions, his tone slightly teasing as you step aside to let him inside of your apartment. Leon takes a deep breath—the scent of your apartment and warmth enveloping him, finally, after months. He always preferred your apartment over his... it feels like home, in his words. "I got you these."

You don't respond as he walks in your apartment like he owns it. You follow him as he makes his way into your kitchen, the silence thick and unbearable and equal parts uncomfortable. You missed him. Badly. And yet, still... you're finding it hard to open up to him right now. Maybe it's the years of bitterness of this specific damn day that are catching up to you. Leon opens your cabinet, taking out one of your mason jars to fill with water and put your hydrangeas in. As much as you want to appreciate them... and his presence, you find it hard.

"Leon, I—"

"I'm sorry." His voice cuts you off before you can continue; his tone low and just as apologetic. The mason jar full of baby blue hydrangeas is cast off to the side of your countertop as he makes his way towards you. The scent of his favorite aftershave (that he only uses to impress you) fills your nostrils as he breaches the distance between the both of you.

"You don't have to—"

"I want to. I want to apologize. I need to..." His hands reach, gripping the skin of your forearms as he speaks. Leon sighs after a few moments, one of his hands reaching to run through his dirty blonde hair in a rare display of uncertainty from him. He's not good in these situations. "I haven't been the best." That's... certainly an understatement. And he knows it, too, judging from the look of guilt on his features.

Silence fills the kitchen for a few moments. Leon struggles to find the words that he wants to say—and he does have so many things to tell you. He wants you to know just how much he's missed you. He wants you to know how thankful he is for you always sticking around. He wants you to know how sorry he is for not being the boyfriend he thinks you deserve.

But... Leon was never really that good at expressing himself. Communication is one of his weakest points—he's closed off. Hard to read. But he's trying. Very hard, right now, just for you.

Because Leon loves you.

"I haven't called you. I'm sorry. I've been..." Leon swallows, shaking his head for a moment, as he then lets out a sigh. "There's no excuse. I'm sorry."

Eye contact with Leon is something that you've always savored. He's the kind of man that makes you weak in the knees just from the looks that he gives you. Of course, yes—that extends to this very moment. His eyes are full of so much... love, is it? Appreciation for you? Whatever it is, it's making your face turn redder and your heart beat faster and your hands clammier than they have ever been for the past year.

"I know you're busy, Leon... you don't have to apologize to me." The feeling of his hands running along your arms has you breathing a little quicker than before. "I'm not upset at you for it." You are, though. And he knows it. And he knows that you're just refusing to admit it because you don't want to stress him out any more than he already is, considering the state of his job.

Another long, tense silence fills the room as the both of you struggle to find the words to say. This isn't how he wanted your meeting after God knows how long to go—even though, realistically, after being neglected by him for so long... this was the only possible outcome. Still, he savors the feeling of your skin under his fingertips. He savors the pretty color of your eyes and the way you look at him so intensely that it makes his knees weak. Not that he would ever admit that last part.

"I love you. More than you know... I'm sorry." Another apology slips from his lips as he continues to feel the skin of your arms. The way his thumb rubs circles on your shoulder makes you want to explode and melt into putty right then and there. "I want to do better. To show you how much you really mean to me."

"How do you plan to do that?" The question comes out softly; the tone of your voice unconsciously sweet as you find the anger and bitterness seeping out of you by the second. It feels good. He's only touching your arm, and yet, it feels too good. You needed this. He needed this more than you did.

Leon, once more, is not a man very adept at communication. He keeps his feelings bottled up. A defense mechanism—he has to, in the line of work that he's in. What is good at, though, is showing you. You barely register it at first, the feeling of his lips on yours. It's so familiar yet alien at the same time. It's been so, so long.

His lips are soft as they're on your own. Leon's hands gently wrap around your body: one clinging to your upper arm, the other perched right on your waist. His favorite place to touch when you're kissing like this—something you'd nearly forgotten. You respond nearly immediately, almost instinctively, as your lips match his own. The tears that were just falling from your face ten minutes ago are long since forgotten now. He pulls away, much to your dismay.

"I missed you." Leon's lips are back on your own before you can respond; his touch and kiss sweet and soft and loving and essentially everything you've ever wanted for the past however long. He pulls away again, hovering over your lips. "I love you."

"I missed you more." You respond, gripping to pull him closer. He leans in again, the ghost of a smile on his lips at the way you quip back at him. These are the moments that he truly relishes in. Being inside of your warm apartment, feeling your lips on him, being able to touch you all over without having to worry about the constraint of time. Just being with you. If he had his way, it would be like this every day. He'd wake up next to you. Tell you how much you mean to him. Feel you. Every day.

"The thought of you is the only thing that kept me going." Leon says softly, his hands riding up your arms to cup your face in both of his palms. He places one sweet, soft kiss on your lips. Then another. "Knowing that I'd be able to come back to you one day."

The admission has you speechless—you think, at least. It might just be the way he's kissing you, the way he's guiding you closer to him and the way his lips are beginning to move with just the slightest bit more passion. You’re putty in his hands, and he's equally putty in yours.

It's not long before his hands start to... travel. He can't help it. Leon is a disciplined man. His job requires it of him; self control is an aspect of his personality that's saved he and many, many of the other people that he's come to work with. When it comes to you, though, he finds it... particularly hard to keep himself in check. It's evident in his restrained motions against you.

The way his hands flutter to your waist, squeezing the flesh slightly—not enough to hurt, but enough for you to not be able to ignore it's presence. His breath quickens, the warmth fanning over your face as you swear his pupils are blown further than you've ever seen them. He doesn't want you getting the wrong idea, though. He really did just come to give you some flowers and apologize... but it's you.

How can he not want to lose control?

Leon is a very selfless man... times like this, however, he finds himself to become increasingly selfish. "I love you," he repeats, his fingers running along the hem of your shirt. Cold fingers press against the warmth of your skin, sending a shiver down your spine as they travel further up your torso. "Let me show you how much I love you."

"In the kitchen?" The question comes out more teasing than angry, the breathlessness of your tone making Leon's grip on your skin tighten. There's no response for a few moments—not because he's ignoring you, but because he's focusing on placing wet, hot kisses on your neck and lining them just below your ear. He knows you're sensitive there. He breaks away from your neck for a few moments.

The way his eyes are trained on your own have your heartbeat quickening even faster; the lack of a response making you shift your weight from one foot to the other. You're not even naked, and still he manages to make you feel so exposed under his gaze. One of his hands begin to bunch up your shirt, not enough to fully reveal your body.

You try not to focus on his arms too much—try not to focus on the way the veins line the muscles that he's built over the years. You try not to focus on the protrusion in his pants. His labored breathing. The way that he looks at you.

"In the bed." he uses the hand gripping your shirt to begin to guide you down the hallway. Towards the bedroom.

Leon makes good on his promise of showing his love for you.

It's been too long since you've been with him like this. Back flush against the bed, shirt pulled up just under your chin, his hands roaming all over the soft skin of your body, squeezing on the sensitive flesh of your thighs. His fingers ghost over the fabric of your underwear for a few moments, eyes trained on your reaction as he relishes in the way that you squirm under him.

"Just as sensitive as I remember," he muses, his knuckle applying pressure slightly—a smile on his face as he anticipates your reaction. "It's been too long."

"Mm," You can only hum in response, the sound of your own pulse thrumming in your ears as your body unconsciously reacts to his touch. "Yeah. I missed you."

The two of you have said the phrase at least a dozen times by now—and yet, still, the meaning of it isn't diminished in even the slightest. You missed this. And he missed this more than you could ever even know. So many nights of him staying up late, imagining you pressed up against him. Imagining himself between your thighs.. hands pressed under his pants, eyes screwed shut as he reminisced on the sounds that you'd make.

Leon can't wait anymore.

He's toyed with you enough. Propping himself on his knees, slotted between your legs, he begins to pull at his belt buckle. Your breath is shallow, paused even as you watch him unzip his pants. He uses one hand, tugging on the button as the other reaches for you. Leon's fingertips ghost along the curve of your body, feeling along the swell of your hip, reaching to the indent of your waist. His hand presses into your chest, feeling the flesh below him—his fingertips pinching your nipple and eliciting a whine from your lips.

"Leon—" The sound of his belt and pants crumpling to the floor cut you off. You tremble beneath him, body taut and awaiting his touch. The tips of Leon's ears are pink as he wraps his hand around his shaft, breathing labored as his thumb swipes over the slit of his head—collecting the precum that very freely seeps in need for you.

It's big. Like the rest of him. Big enough that each time you two have sex, he has to press inside you slowly, slow enough so that you could adjust to the size. Still, despite this, he splits you open each time.

He lines himself up. Your thighs wrap around Leon's hips, hands perched on his arm that rests on your own. The blunt tip of his cock presses against you, smearing his precum as your back instinctively arches again upon feeling his touch. Leon's breath is very, very audibly labored.

"You okay?" The worry in his tone is evident as his cock spreads you open, slowly but surely slipping into you. Inch by inch. One hand grips onto the skin of your hip, keeping you in place as his swollen cock splits you open. You can't respond, of course. The way that he bullies his way inside of you leaves you all but breathless, your nails leaving crescent-shaped indents in the skin of his forearm. All you can do is nod.

"Good," his eyes on you are full of nothing less than pure adoration, his voice raspy and low and full of desire. "You feel so good already."

You're caged between Leon and the bed. The scent of aftershave and his cologne engulfs you just as much as his body around you does, his lips hovering over yours ever so often as he whispers praises in your ear and tells you just how sweet you look under him and how well you take his cock. It's not long before he's fully sheathed inside of you, the imprint of his cock shaping your insides and filling you completely.

"You feel—" Leon sheathes the rest of his cock inside of you, the last couple inches pulling a drawn out whine from you as you take all of him. A groan escapes Leon's lips, his head hanging low for a few moments as he steadies himself and struggles to adjust to just how good and warm you feel wrapped around him. In the moment of respite, his hands roam up and down your body, dedicating the shape and the curve to his memory as he elicits whimpers from you by rolling the peaks of your nipples between his two fingers.

"Leon... please." He slides his length out of you slowly, a sigh to his voice that compliments the whine you let out at the overwhelming feeling of him slipping in and out of you slowly. He craves this; craves the feeling of you under him, the feeling of your warmth wrapped around him, the touch of your lips on his own. His obsession with you encompasses his thoughts every second.

"You're too good to me..." Rasp lines his voice as he looks at you underneath him. The way your hair is a mess, the expression of your face as he presses his cock back inside of you. The sight of your body, bare, for him. And only him. It's hard not to get lost in the feeling of you. The slow pace Leon sets only quickens with each passing moment, his hips snapping against your own as he makes a conscious effort to pull out all the way each time to slam his hips back and press inside of you.

The feeling is unrivaled; the sight of this handsome man—your boyfriend—sighing and groaning on top of you at the feeling of you around him. The way that he's splitting you open—his hips brutally pounding into you with all of the strength that he can muster.

Leon hungrily watches you. He watches the way your eyebrows are raised, the way your eyes roll towards the back of your skull with each particularly hard thrust inside of you. Watches the way your body ripples with each pounding of his cock into you. The way you look up at him, your expression so fucked out and pretty... it takes everything in him to not cum right then and there.

"C—can't—feels too good, Leon—" Your whines and moans come out in unintelligible babbles as the skin slapping sound reverberates in the small walls of your bedroom. Leon doesn't stop—he can't stop, even. The groans from his throat are low are raspy, each one sending a throb of need throughout your body.

"Fuck," His hands pull at your hips, lifting the bottom half of your body up slightly to better angle his cock as it slams into you. "Feel so fucking good. Needed this." The headboard slams against the wall with each thrust of his hips, the springs of your boxboard even creaking as he fucks you into the mattress. Leon is rough.

But you like it.

You like the underlying tender current in his movements, long for the way his hands pull as you and maneuver you as if you weigh nothing. You like the way you can hear the squelching sounds as he pounds into you. You're sure that he's going to leave little finger-pad shaped bruises on your hips by the time that he's done with you—not that you're actively thinking of it; too busy focusing on the mind-numbing pleasure that your boyfriend gives you as he fucks you harder than he ever has before. It'll be a reminder of the night you've shared together.

The pleasure is too much. It's all-encompassing, making your toes curl as Leon's eyes screw shut in response—head hanging low as he struggles to keep whatever semblance of control that he has left. It always seems to escape him when he's with you. Especially when he's with you like this: buried inside of you, making you remember who you belong to, and pulling those pretty noises out of your mouth that he touches himself to every night he's not with you.

Leon's memorized your body by now. He has to, to survive every night he spends away from you. Every crevice, curve, and every motion that you make. From the way your back is arching, the way that your hands claw at his own—leaving angry red marks—it's clear that you're close. The way that you squeeze around him, leak around him... it's obvious.

"Gonna cum in you," he states, doesn't say—doesn't ask, he tells. "And you're gonna take it all." There's nothing you can do but take it. He leaves wet, sloppy kisses all down your neck—drawing back for a moment to place another right on your lips. He swallows up your whines, the noises muffled by his lips spurring him onward. His hips twitch, and stutter—but he keeps the pace. Leon wants to show you how much he loves you, remember?

His hips drive into you, burying his shaft to the hilt inside of you every time. It's almost like a game to him—fucking you as hard as he can—the prize being the sounds you make each time he impales you with his cock. You grip at his hands, pulling on them—pulling on his arms, the sheets below you—anything. Anything to ground you.

He doesn't stop. Even as you're whining his name, babbling about how you're gonna cum, even as you're arching and shaking under him as you cum around him—hard. Your hands and fingers are nothing to the feeling of being filled by him. Leon fucks you through your orgasm, his own voice shaky as he talks you through it. Telling you how beautiful you are. How well you take him. Telling you to keep squeezing his cock like that, because he's so close.

Leon's hips sputter and twitch, his pace faltering as he groans—deep and raspy—his balls squeezing as he empties himself inside of you. He presses his hips into you still, buried to the hilt so that not even a modicum of space separates him from you. Thick, hot ropes of his cum spurt inside of you. You can even feel him shaking from the intensity of his orgasm.

Still buried inside of you, Leon leans down, pressing his body on top of yours as he seeks out your warmth and the comfort of your arms wrapped around him. He almost doesn't want to pull out—and in another act of selfishness, he decides to linger in you for just a few moments. You don't stop him.

A comfortable silence befalls the room. Save for the sounds of your breathing, the room is quiet. It takes a few moments of riding out the aftershocks and gaining your conscience back (since he did fuck it out of you) for you to speak.

"I don't want you to leave." Leon knows that you're always sappy after sex. It's why he spends extra time cuddling you. Reminding you that you're the only one for him. That only you make him feel so much love. Your hands hug him tighter, bringing him even closer down on to you.

"Not leaving." He mutters, voice slightly muffled as his face is buried in the crook of your neck.

That's all you needed to hear.

#EXTRA LONG JUST FOR U ELIAS. #leon kennedy #leon scott kennedy #resident evil #re #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy smut #leon scott kennedy smut #writing #nsydfw #resident evil smut #leon scott kennedy x reader

[its-your-mind]

*deep breath in*

the fears 👏 have always 👏 been (in one way or another) 👏 parallel 👏 to 👏 desire 👏

let me explain.

so many of the statements given by actual avatars center around some sort of need that was met by their entity. Lots of them even had a positive relationship with the fear that drove them.

Jane Prentiss is an excellent example - the Corruption has always been about a form of toxic and possessive love, but she personally has a deep desire to be “fully consumed by what loves her,” and finds a perverse joy and relief at allowing herself to be a home

Jude Perry is another - she fucking loved watching people’s lives be utterly destroyed. The Desolation only offered her a power of destruction on a grander scale, and then gave her a more intense rush of joy as she did its work. When she tells Jon that he needs to feed the Eye before it feeds on him, it’s almost as an afterthought; she was happily feeding the Desolation long before it burned her into a new existence.

Simon Fairchild. Every time that old loose bag of bones wanders into the picture, he is having a fucking EXCELLENT time playing with the Vast. He loves showing people their own insignificance, and he loves luring them into situations where he can throw them into the void as he smiles and waves.

Peter Lukas (hell, the whole Lukas family (except Evan. RIP Evan.)) hated. people. all he wanted was for them all to go away, to leave him alone. The Lonely only fulfilled that desire.

Daisy, Trevor, and Julia, all devoted to hunting those things they deemed monstrous.

Melanie, holding tight to that bullet in her leg because on some level, she wanted it. It felt good, it felt right, it felt like it fit right alongside the anger and spite that drove her to success.

Annabelle Cane first encountered the Web when she was a child, running away from home in order to tug on her parents’ heartstrings in just the right way to have them wrapped around her little finger. Later on she volunteered to be the subject of an ESP study. Hell, she’s the one who dangled the “Is it really You that wants this?” question over Jon’s head in S4.

And that brings us to Jon, beloved Jarchivist, the Voice that Opened the Door. Ever since he was a child targeted by the Web, he was looking for answers. He joined the Magnus Institute’s Research Department looking for them, he stalked his coworkers in search for them, he broke into Gertrude’s flat and laptop out of desperation for them. And when he realized that all he had to do was Ask to get truthful answers to his questions? It was only natural for him to jump at that opportunity.

Elias told S3 Jon that he did want this, that he chose it, that at every crossroads he kept pushing onwards, and the inner turmoil that caused was one of the focal points for Jon’s character through the rest of the podcast.

There’s a certain line of thinking in many circles about the power of the Devil: he’s not able to create anything new. All he’s able to do is twist and warp that which was already present, making it something ugly and profane while still maintaining the facade of something desirable.

Jon didn’t choose the Eye. But he did wander into its realm of power, exhibiting exactly the qualities it was most capable of hijacking and warping to its own ends. Jon didn’t choose the Apocalypse. But Jonah picked at him little by little, pointing him towards each Fear individually. Jon didn’t want to release the Fears. But the Web tugged on his strings just so and laid a pretty trail for him to follow until he reached its desired conclusion.

Jon didn’t choose ultimate power, or omniscience, or even his own role as Head Archivist. But he said “yes” to the right (wrong?) orders and kept on pushing for the right (wrong?) answers. He wanted to succeed at the work he had been assigned. He wanted to protect his friends. He wanted to rescue them when they were lost. He wanted to prevent the apocalypse, to save the world. He wanted to know why he was still alive, when so many had died right in front of him.

The Great Wheel of Evil Color that is the Entities might not fit as neatly into categories in this universe - maybe there was no Robert Smirke trying to impose strict categories on emotional experiences, or maybe the ways they manifest in the world has turned on its head (goodness knows many of them have been showcased and blended in some very fun and new and horrifying ways so far) - but their fundamental foundations seem to be the same. Hell, in episode one we learned that there had been enough individual incidents to create a distinction between “dolls, watching” and “dolls, human skin.”

Smirke’s Fourteen isn’t going to be relevant as common parlance, RQ said that already, but I don’t think that means the Fears themselves (and their Dream Logic-based rules) are different - I think it means that the levels of understanding, language used, and personal connections among people “in the know” are going to be entirely unfamiliar

#tma #tmagp #the magnus protocol #tmagp meta #tmagp analysis #the entities #robert smirke #smirke's fourteen #mind write a meta post that doesn’t turn into a fucking essay challenge #I literally thought about citing my episode sources here but decided that would get too FUCKING long. #anyway I’m pulling mostly from Gerry’s statement (111) and #and the Big Elias Group Confrontation (92) #and Annabelle’s statement (147) #and then finale - 196 / 197 / 200 #there are other little lines that I grabbed - tbh feel free to ask about anything I’ve said bc I feel like I’m ready to defend a thesis #I’ve been thinking about this on and off for a few weeks since the desire thing started going around #I have an obsession with Themes as they relate to Worldbuilding and now I have subjected you all to it as well #I am serious tho if anyone wants me to pull the specific parts I’m talking about (whether cuz you have Questions or you wanna ref them too) #lmk #my hyperfocus on silly media brain might as well come in useful somehow #aight peace ✌️

[nephriteknight]

there is something just so damn compelling about Lonelyeyes as a deeply, deliberately harmful relationship, as a vessel for fear, for feeding.

every time they're together Elias knows Peter can barely stand his company, knows he'll be leaving both soon and abruptly, knows that Peter will never truly give himself away. he knows that his archives are full of letters from friends he left to die or killed himself, knows that his closest companion is an avatar of Forsaken, knows that he truly has no one left but himself.

every time they're together Peter knows Elias can see him, see all of him laid out and plain, all his most private thoughts, all his hopes and his fears. he knows there is always, always a chance that Elias is watching him whenever he is anywhere but the Lonely itself. even on the Tundra, tucked away in his private sanctum, he can never truly escape it, but that fear is so much worse here and now, with Elias' eyes (Jonah's eyes, really) on him. it is undeniable that he is seen, and known, and judged.

Elias knows that Peter understands exactly what he's thinking when they're together, that he knows all the sentimental weaknesses he's tried to cut away. Peter knows that Elias will never truly care for him, that at the end of the day he will always be another piece on Elias' chess board, practical and expendable.

they both know what this is for. they need fear, and they do, at the end of the day, want each other (in certain ways, in painful ways, always too much or too little), and they are under no illusions about what this means to the other (Elias knows what it means to Peter, of course, and while Peter doesn't have any supernatural insight he's no fool), and it hurts, and it's meant to hurt. it hurts, and it sustains them, and when they go their separate ways they can't help but wait for the next visit with longing and fear alike.

#writing this made me realize how “i will call him elias for that is how i have known him” #plays into peter's whole “the people you think you love do not exist” thing #to peter jonah IS elias because thats the version of him peter has constructed in his head #he'll never truly know the man so why call him jonah if the facade that peter knows is called elias? #calling him his real name won't make peter actually know him any better. it won't make the false image in his mind any more real #the magnus archives #tma #elias bouchard #peter lukas #lonelyeyes #jonah magnus