#FOCUS ON THE ONE FIC ELIAS

[eli-is-an-idiot]

oh god ive been listening to nothing but sea shanties for the last three days and now I want to write a lost in your eyes fic

[i-love-ptv]

Hand Prints and Good Grips…✱*.:｡✧

Elias ‘Stack’ Moore x Childhood Best friend!Reader

Trouble brews once Mary walks into the twins’ juke joint, and you just wanna be the girl Elias likes.

wc: 6,103

warnings: porn with lots of plot, jealous!dom!Elias, sub!reader, clit slapping, face-sitting, cunnilingus, unprotected p-in-v, dirty-talk, degradation (not tew much but it’s there), overstimulation (r receiving), rough sex, manhandling, slight tit sucking/licking, marking, creampie (gulp??), language, one klan mention, shitty southern writing

an: HEY GUYS!!! THIS IS MY LONGEST FIC EVER WOOHOO! (ignore how it took me a month to make it, i’ve been going thru it man) i’m literally obsessed w sinners so hopefully i did stack justice! do y’all even read these? anyways

feedback is always appreciated n welcomed <3

Your hair was starting to cling onto your forehead as if you were drenched in sticky molasses.

The air was humid and dry; of course, this was a Mississippi custom, but it doesn’t help that there’s dozens of bodies stomping and prancing around.

Though you can’t complain much, considering that you were right here with them—dancing as if you hadn’t in years.

In a way, you haven't. You haven’t felt a rush of autonomy and euphoria quite like this before.

With everyone being nothing but working busy-bodies, there’s been little to no time to plan big events such as tonight. The lack of excitement has been a major factor too.

Hence why as soon as the Moore twins came back into town with the intention to open up their very own juke joint, everyone was on board.

The pair hadn’t been seen here in seven years.

Seven long, cruel years without the twin you’ve grown to love.

Stack.

Well, he was Stack to everyone else. But to you? He was still Elias. Your ‘Lias.

Seven years without his lingering touches and pearly smiles.

You weren’t the only one that missed him, it seems.

Your sister told you that when she went down near the train station, she was right there waiting for your Elias.

Mary was waiting.

You don’t have a clue as to how she knew he was coming home before you did, considering that nobody from the Delta had heard from him except for you. And a letter from him was rather rare.

Mary had nearly thrown a fit once she saw him; it didn’t help that Elias had turned down her persistent advances.

The lack of contact obviously sent her over the edge.

Apparently she mentioned their former relations; their connection being a secret to none.

You were envious of this; never jealous, but overcome by a feeling of want.

Growing up with the twins meant that the three of you were as close as can be. That being said, though, they looked at you as if you were their little sister. It was fine when Elijah assumed the role of a family member, but Elias?

Just thinking about it makes your heart ache.

You longed for the flirtatious remarks that he’d give off to any and every woman, a night filled with intimacy plagued your mind constantly.

But you got over it.

You had to. Not only for the sake of your friendship with Elias, but also because of his prolonged absence from town.

That’s why tonight—right now, you had to pump the breaks and focus on celebrating the twins’ success.

Speaking of success?

You making your way over to the bar with your wobbly heeled-covered feet was a success. Surprisingly.

“Someone’s been dancin’ a lil too hard, huh?” Annie chortles, looking at you with nothing but sisterly-love, and a bit of amusement.

“Only dancin’ I was doing was during my cooking—nothin’ like this in a while,” you exclaim with bliss through a beaming smile. You huff as you sit down in front of the bar. “Y’got anythin’ good back here?” You motion to the bottles Annie has surrounding her.

“Better than good,” Annie replies before ducking down and searching below the counter.

You brace your hands on the counter and slightly peer over at the woman, but then she pops up quicker than you can plop back down onto your chair. She quirks a brow at you before placing a bottle down in front of you.

“What’s this?” You question; if Annie didn’t know any better, she would’ve thought that it was Christmas morning with the way you were looking at the bottle.

“Authentic Irish beer; straight from the north side of Chicago. Different from the rest they’re sellin’.” She replies. “Your man brought it specifically for you—made me promise I wouldn’t give it to nobody else, no matter how much they was payin’.”

You bite back a smile at her words; you knew exactly who she was talking about.

“He fixin’ to be Mary’s.” Your lips straighten, it’s bittersweet.

“That so? ‘Cause that ain’t what I heard,” Annie muses, making you pause. You savor Annie’s words as if they were your holy grail. Was there a chance that Elias looked at you the same as you did him?

You crane your neck and your gaze is set over your shoulder—over at him.

He catches your eye and he gives you a cheeky smile, to which you return rather eagerly.

You hadn’t had a single nonchalant bone in your body it seems.

Your shared staring was cut short as Mary forced Elias’ attention back onto her, but it wasn’t exactly a hard task for her.

Something about her was just so easy and simple, despite the ring shining on her hand that matched another man’s being anything but simple. The way that they connected even after all these years made you feel as if you swallowed a jar of mud.

After a few sips of beer, you can’t help but let a smile rest on your face. Elias knew you’d love it, and it makes your heart dance.

Speaking of dancing, your dearest friend Pearline struts up to you with a grin that soared for miles.

“What’s got you cheesin’ all hard?” You raise your eyebrows at her, making her giggle.

“Y’know the Preacher’s boy? The one that was just singin’?” Pearline’s nearly jumping out of her skin with excitement.

“Lil’ Sammie Moore? Course I do, why? What’d you do Pearl?” You gape at her and hold her hands tightly in yours.

“Well…” She trails off. “Let’s just say, he showed me he ain’t a boy, but a real man.”

Your eyes nearly bulge out of the sockets as you exclaim a Pearline! that could probably be heard for miles.

Pearline gushes, “He made me feel things I ain’t never felt before.”

“Not even with your mister?” You gasp.

“Not even close. And that’s not all,” she pauses before looking around, then leaning in towards you.

“I wasn’t even able to freshen up. He didn’t want me to,” Pearline whispers.

You shout, then look around in embarrassment at your outburst; you shake Pearline vigorously by her shoulders and giggle some more.

You decide to look around the joint, and you coincidentally catch Sammie looking right at the back of Pearline’s frame in utter awe.

You nudge Pearline, and she looks over at him with you. The look that she throws his way is nothing short of flirtatious.

“He looked at ya like he wanted t’take a bite,” you snicker.

Pearline looks at you mischievously, “Funny, considerin’ he already did.” You can’t help but laugh.

“So, y’thinkin’ bout singin’ like he said?” You ask.

Pearline hums, “Maybe. ‘M thinkin’ you should too.”

“No, not happenin’. Not a chance,” You scoff playfully.

Pearline whines and grabs your wrists. “C’mon, sista! When’s the last time you got the chance to do this?” She pouts, and tries hardest to make puppy-dog eyes at you.

“Besides, this could be y’chance to make a move on Stack. Ain't that whatcha been waitin’ for?” She drags.

You falter at the question she poses.

“Tonight’s the night, sista.” Pearline murmurs softly.

It’s crazy how you always get in your head when it comes to him.

The thing is, you weren’t one to throw yourself out there just to entertain a man. No, that just wasn’t your style.

But God—tonight? His suit was fitting snug in all the right places, his grills glimmered dangerously in the dim lighting, and his eyes always found yours, recklessly.

You couldn’t resist Elias Moore.

And right now, you’re starting to wonder if you ever could.

“Y’better wrap that scarf on tight, Pearl,” you say as you grab her arm and start walking with her to the front. Pearline shrills and claps her hands with glee.

You saunter towards the stage with a pep in your step and your arm linked with a perky Pearline. Your heels clack on the wooden floors as you come face-to-face with the band and none other than Delta Slim, who’s now grinning at you.

“Been tryin’ to getcha to sing for years girl, what’s with the change o’ heart?” He questions with a smirk, as if he already knew the answer. You’re sure that he did with the way that his eyes looked past you and towards Elias.

“It’s a nice night, figured I’d try sum different,” you shrug, trying to mask your sudden embarrassment. Pearline intertwines her hand with yours and uses her other one to gesture to the band. You inhale deeply while looking at her; she gives you a look of reassurance.

The patrons of the juke joint grow silent at the sight of you two taking your stances and the band readying their instruments.

Pearline starts humming and you lightly stomp your feet on the stage, starting to form a beat as the band follows.

Elias feels as if his heart was being weighed down by a ton inside of him. He held his breath—scared that the rise and fall of his chest would make him miss the steady view of you: parading around as if everything outside the joint had come to a halt.

You looked completely, and utterly divine up there; moving swiftly and effortlessly, as if you owned the very ground you were stepping on.

You were absolutely ethereal in Elias’ eyes.

And he’d be lying if he said that he wasn’t falling even harder for his sugar as of right now. He was the only man that could get away with calling you sugar; he knows it, so does everyone else in the Delta—and Elias can’t help but let his pride swell every time he thinks about it.

Your body sways carelessly as if you were one with the words that escaped your lips, but your eyes are grounded—powerful, even. Speaking of them: your glittering orbs meet his, your gaze nothing short of a vixen’s.

Though, the interlocking of your sights is interrupted when Mary makes her presence known yet again at Elias’ side. He can’t help but sigh at the intrusion.

Luckily, Elias’ ever-growing agitation fades when the patrons of the juke let out their elation around him. The band’s playing picks up, as well as you and Pearline’s voices.

Don’t let it shine, shine, shine once more

Pale, pale moon, pale, pale moon

Everyone chants and stomps rhythmically.

“I wanna sing, like I hear the crickets do,” Pearline sings seductively while peering at Sammy as she struts.

Pale, pale moon, pale, pale moon

“I wanna hoo,” you and Pearline sing simultaneously, harmonizing beautifully as your backs meet and you both slide to a crouching position.

Pale, pale moon, pale, pale moon

“I wanna howl,” the two of you sound as if you were straight out of a folktale—like one of those myths of the sirens that Annie had explained to Elias once before. You and Pearline then reside in a crawl as you look at the crowd with a sense of hunger in your eyes.

Mary gets ahold of Elias’ tie, but he quickly removes her grip from him—without even breaking eye contact with you. He knows she’s interested in spending the rest of the night with him; maybe in hopes of rekindling an old flame.

But how could Elias be interested in another woman when his woman—his sugar—was looking at him so deliciously.

You grin slyly at him, biting your bottom lip before licking your teeth.

Pale, pale moon, pale, pale moon

“I wanna scream,” Pearline sings, as you mouth the three words to Elias.

Three little words that have Elias fucking mesmerized, hypnotized even. You have him in a trance, right where you want him, and you both know it.

Elias wishfully thinks that the pick up in your breathing isn’t just from all the dancing you’ve been doing tonight. He bites his lip at the thoughts running through his mind.

Mary can’t even say that she recognizes the look that Elias gives you, for she has never been on the receiving end like you have been. Her frustration and jealousy boils over, and she eventually huffs before walking away from Elias, and out of the juke joint.

Elias doesn’t mind one bit, and he sure as hell doesn’t when the song finishes and you hug Pearline with excitement as the joint nearly turns upside down. You’re jumping up and down and Elias can’t help but smile til his cheeks hurt.

Elias feels a hand slap somewhat roughly on his shoulder. He knows good and well it’s his brother, with or without the wave of tobacco radiating.

“Came out here after the game finished, saw the way she was lookin’ at’cha, too.” Elijah grumbles.

“Breathtakin’, ain’t she?” Elias remarks breathily, not even turning to his brother—keeping his sights on you, as you hug Slim and the rest of the instrument players.

“Not ‘bout how I feel, ���s ‘bout how you feel,” Elijah sighs. This makes Elias turn towards his brother.

“Don’t know what’chu waitin’ on, already been years,” Elijah then pauses before continuing, “Don’t be surprised when somebody see what’chu see.” Elijah trails off, almost ominously, and nods his head in your direction.

Elias follows his twin’s trail of sight and spots you: talking to a man he ain’t even seen before. You were beaming, your hair a little frizzed up by the humidity, your lipgloss smudged a little onto your shimmering skin.

Speaking of your lipgloss—whoever you’re talking to decided to rub his finger below your lip to wipe it away. Right now, Elias’ demeanor resembles the snake him and his brother killed earlier: cold and unmoving.

You glance around the sea of bodies, and Elias takes this as a sign. He starts to walk up to you, but not before having to mumble several ‘excuse me’s while side-stepping quite a few people—who seem to not be able to hold their liquor.

He finally reaches you, and he gets a glimpse of you over the guy’s shoulder, who has no idea he’s even there.

“We got a problem?” Elias murmurs, making the stranger nearly jump out of his skin.

“N-nah man,” the man chuckles awkwardly as he faces Elias.

“I reckon we do, since y’talkin’ to my lady,” Elias replies, sizing him up as he takes a step closer to him. The man takes a step back in return.

“I ain’t know, I-I’m sorry, Stack,” the man trembles meekly. Elias only hums. The man glances between the two of you before making himself scarce.

Elias stays in the same spot for a beat, before turning and giving you a look that says let’s go, before walking towards one of the back rooms of the joint. You hesitate, before inching behind him.

“So I’m y’lady now?” You don’t bother to tone down the sass in your voice.

“‘S what I said, ain’t it?” he mumbles, not even looking at you.

You scoff, “Yeah, well, y’got a funny way a’ showin’ it.”

Elias pulls you into a dimly lit room and finally faces you as you stand before him. “What’s that s’possed to mean?”

You narrow your eyes at him before speaking. “Means I saw you messin’ with ole Mary.”

“She don’t mean nun to me,” Elias guaffs. “Why d’ya think she left already?”

You roll your eyes and begin to head out the door you just came from. You’re not sure where this attitude just came from, in all honesty. The moment your eyes met him while you were on stage, it felt as if everything else had faded away, and it was just the two of you.

Maybe it was the irritation caused by Mary that left you in a sour mood now, you’re not sure. You know it won’t be beneficial to you nor Elias in this moment, but you can’t help it.

Elias grabs your wrist before you can get too far away from him.

“She ain’t nun, y’hear?” If you didn’t know any better, you’d think he almost sounded desperate. You stay quiet.

“Asked you a question, sugar. ‘N with that attitude of yours, I ain’t fixin’ to repeat myself.” His lips ghost the shell of your ear as he speaks, and heat twinges through your stomach. Elias seems to take notice of the subtle switch in your demeanor; he smirks and his chocolate brown irises darken even further.

“I…I don’t believe you,” You almost whisper, but still meet his gaze.

Almost immediately, he responds with, “What I got to do to convince you, baby?” Elias matches your tone, but there’s still a hint of assertiveness conveyed through his words.

You don’t speak—it’s almost like you couldn’t, but you release your wrist from his grasp gently.

Elias’ jaw clenched slightly, but you still spot it. He looks as if he’s pondering his next words.

“‘S not makin’ sense, darlin’. I mean, you were acting like a whore on stage, now you don’t want me to touch you?” He cocks his head at you and your lips part—like it was reflex, and maybe it was. Elias clicks his tongue.

Your breath picks up, and if your mind weren’t turning fuzzy, you would’ve chided yourself for making a fool out of yourself in front of a man—Elias at that.

The man you’ve yearned for longer than you can even remember.

“I ain’t no whore,” you speak, finally regaining your senses.

“That right, sugar?” You can feel Elias’ breath on your heated face, and all you can do is nod in return.

“Y’wanna know what I think?” Before you can answer the question Elias poses, he murmurs lowly, “I think that deep down….You are a whore—and you needa be fucked like one.”

Despite the vulgarity of his words, the way that Elias places his palm across your cheek is soft—loving, even.

You press your thighs together through your dress unconsciously, desperately seeking even an ounce of friction to cool the impending heat between your legs.

Elias takes the hand that rested upon your cheek and moved it to the stiff rim lock that resided on the door’s surface.

Thank god—You’d hate for the likes of someone such as Sammie barging in and being witness to sin hotter than the Mississippi sun.

Elias then starts to walk you back to the table that remained bare in the dingy-lit room, removing his suit jacket and vest, followed by his tie. The backs of your knees meet the edge of the firm table, making you stumble just a bit. Elias takes it upon himself to lay you down onto the table.

You rest on your elbows as you look up at the six-foot-something man in front of you, and you can’t help but swoon. His beating eyes look down at you lustfully—almost as if he were a predator, and you his prey.

It made you weak.

Weak at the hands of a man you’d been waiting on while he had the time of his life in Chicago, with all sorts of Italian customs. Your actions are beyond halfwitted, but you make no effort to straighten yourself out anymore.

Elias takes his warm hands and spreads your knees with ease after unbuttoning his shirt, making you yelp involuntarily at the near-abrasiveness. He licks his grillz and lets out a short, deep chuckle; you feel it vibrate your bones, while he aligns himself so that almost he’s eye-level with your warm core.

“Elias, wait—“ You whimper meekly,

He hums disapprovingly, letting out a firm ‘mm-mmn’. He rips his gaze from your thighs to your eyes, “Been waitin’ for years, sugar, not sure if I can any longer.” He repositions his hands, lifting your dress and hitching it up to your upper thighs, nearly to your pelvic bone.

Elias massages your thighs with an iron grip, it’s not yet rough, but not exactly gentle either. His switch between the two is making your mind reel.

He kisses up from your knee almost to where your dress bunches up as he removes his button-up, leaving him in his undershirt. He then says, “…So, m’sorry if I lose m’manners,” he breathes hotly against your skin, “But I don’t think I can live without destroying this pussy for a minute longer.” He damn near groans.

His mouth hovers above your clothed cunt—he purposely breathes in a way that makes you squirm at the feeling you’re unable to run from. As you shudder and tilt your head back, you suddenly hear a rip and you feel a gust of air.

You gasp and look down, where you’re met with Elias looking up at you cheekily, with one half of your panties in his mouth, and the other in his hand.

“‘Lias!” You exclaim.

Elias feigns innocence, “Told ya I ain’t mean no harm.” He then averts his focus to your legs, and he leaves a kiss to your mound.

“Y’not gon let me freshen up, will ya?” You ask quietly, already knowing the answer.

Instead of answering, Elias takes his tongue and trails it from your hole to your clitoris, and you puff out the air you didn’t know you were holding in.

Elias seems to enjoy your reaction, for he then gives you another long lick.

And another,

and another,

and you guessed it, another.

You press your lips together, muting your sounds, and Elias ‘tsk’s at the sight.

He nips a bit of the skin next to your lips, making you choke on your own spit. “Don’t like how quiet you’re bein’.” Elias reprimands you.

“Stop t-teasin’ then,” You manage to huff.

Elias chuckles in disbelief, “Wanted to be gentle, but y’makin’ it hard,” he then lifts you up from the table, and places his back where you once laid. He hooks your legs over the sides of his head, your pussy now inches away from his plump, shining lips.

Elias’ typical, million-dollar smirk is back on his face, but there’s something more sinister behind it—your legs would’ve buckled if he weren’t holding them.

“You’re a whore, jus’ like I said y’were.” His southern drawl makes your stomach twist in knots, despite the familiarity. Before you could get a word out, Elias placed you onto his face.

You mewl at the feeling of his tongue swirling around anywhere, and everywhere.

Your clit, your lips—it was almost as if he were starving.

There was no rhythm, no harmony and contentment, just the actions of a man on a mission.

A mission to make you scream louder than the birds on your farm.

Then, abruptly, Elias leaves a small, yet firm slap to your clit. “Admit it,” he says between licks. “Admit that you’re a whore.” He leaves another slap.

You don’t respond, too caught up in both the pain and pleasure. Your head hangs back and your eyes are clenched shut, and Elias grows impatient.

He removes his mouth from you with a ‘pop’ and almost snarls at you, “Thought I told ya Ion like repeatin’ myself.” He slaps your clit again, this time with more force.

“Okay—Okay! I was bein’ a whore tonight, ‘m sorry!” You cry out as your back arches.

Elias starts to lower you towards his grinning face, and you shiver at the feeling of his cold grillz.

Instead of teasing kitten-licks, Elias sucks at your slit and lets his tongue roam freely, without a care in the world. You writhe and whine on top of him, your body bending back and creating a dull aching sensation.

His advances are relentless, and you have no chances of escaping his grasp; he readjusts his grip as soon as he feels you start to slip away from him. You don’t know whether to clench around his tongue as he fucks you with it, or to cry–you end up doing both, and this continues on for who knows how long.

You’ve stopped counting the number of orgasms you’ve had after the second one–you think–but you think Elias has been keeping track. He’s muttered ‘jus’ one more, sugar’ maybe three times now, and you don’t know how many you have left in you at this point.

After what feels like hours, Elias finally lifts your hips up, allowing you to slide down and straddle his hips with your head resting upon his chest.

The beating sound of his steady heart fills your ear, and you try to match your breathing with Elias’. You feel a vibration as he shakes with laughter. You slightly drag your head up just enough to peek at his face, and he looks down at you with amusement.

“We ain’t done, not yet, peach,” he chuckles breathily at the wave of surprise that washes over your face.

You fumble with your words, “What d’ya mean? ‘L-Lias, I-I’m spent!” You continue to tremble in his arms.

“Y’still talkin’, ain’t ya, sugar?” He scoffs, it’s antagonizing. And before you can utter anything else, Elias flips you around onto the table, so you now lay with your back on the wood once again. Your dress rides down a tad at the sudden movement, and Elias holds your back, lifting you so that he can push your dress up past your breasts.

Elias lowers your back, before leaning peck your nipples. You bite your lip, but quickly let out a moan once he blows air onto your nipples, watching almost menacingly as they harden. One hand tweaks one of your nipples, as the other drags down your rib cage.

His hot, glistening tongue swishes around your tits, as he leaves sloppy, open-mouthed kisses to your skin.

He sucks harshly as you whimper beneath him. One of his hands leaves your body and goes down to his slacks, he unbuttons them with ease without even looking, as he continues to leave hickies on your chest.

He untucks himself from his underwear, and you can’t help but buck towards his cock in anticipation.

“Easy, girl. You’ll get it when ya prove y’deserve it,” Elias mocks, you whine in response.

“I deserve it, more than anybody else–y’know that, ‘Lias,” You plead in hopes of him giving you what you want.

“That right, baby? All this yours, nobody else's?” He challenges, starting to stroke his length.

You squeeze your eyelids together, almost as if you were personally pained by the question.

“Damn right,” You huff as you look at him with a sudden wave of fire blazing through your eyes. Elias scoffs with a mixture of incredulity and mirth.

“Yeah, baby–always been yours. Glad ya finally came to y’senses.” And with that, Elias pushes inside of you, and you let out a broken gasp.

Elias quickly finds his pace as he thrusts in and out of you rapidly. He nearly pulls entirely out of your dripping cunt–and you think he’s going to tease you again, but he then slams back into you roughly, making you cry out as your back arches into him.

You’re now chest-to-chest with Elias as he continues to pump into you with little regard to your overstimulation. The contact of skin makes your toes curl in your heels. Elias grunts at the feeling of you clamping down on his cock and bites forcibly at the flesh of your neck.

Elias groans–almost as if fucking you were the key to heaven’s gates. He takes his large palm and pushes it down onto your torso, making your sweating body meet the barely-covered, rumbling wood.

You weep helplessly and squirm as he keeps you pressed against the shaking table.

“Mmnf–”Lias! Please!” You cry yet again, but without knowing the reason behind it this time.

He doesn’t respond to your watery blabbering, instead putting your legs on either side of his shoulders. Elias slowly–and almost lovingly–kisses your ankle, before unclasping the latch of your heel and sliding it off of your foot, letting it hit the floor with a thump that neither of you seem to catch through the sounds of your bodies meeting.

You two damn-near become one.

He repeats his actions on your other leg, but this time he kisses from your calf to your ankle before removing your heel and letting it meet the ground with your matching one.

His hand grips at the ankle he just kissed, using it as if it were the only thing keeping him grounded; like an anchor. He then sucks and nips at your leg, quickly marking just above your ankle with a red bruise, which you know will be purple by the time the sun rises for morning.

You hiss when he bites a little too roughly, and he shows his sympathy by licking at the irritated skin, soothing the tender ache.

“That feel good, darlin’? Tell “Lias how much y’love it, peach, c’mon,” Elias coos, lifting his shirt up so he can get a proper view of your sex.

You babble through sobs intelligibly, mewling something along the lines of ‘so so good, ‘Lias!’—at least that’s what Elias makes of it.

“Can’t hear ya, baby. Ya gotta–fuck! Ya gotta speak a ‘lil louder f’me, hm?” Elias manages to speak through his panting and groaning. You bawl, hot tears dripping from your cheeks down to your chin.

“It feels so good–oh god—‘Lias!” You shriek, not caring about the volume of your crying. “Please don’t stop! Please, please, please–” You ramble with a slur.

If Elias ever felt guilty at the way he man-handling you, seeing your fucked-out expression made all his worries wash away at the sight of you: tongue hanging out, as your tears dribble into your open mouth.

Your panting grows more frantic, little ‘uh-uh-uh’s being let out more frequently as you feel another orgasm course through your veins. “‘Lias—cummin’! S-sh-it, I-I’m cummin’!”

Elias firmly plants his feet on the floor, repositioning the arm on your stomach onto your other leg so that he can fuck you even deeper–deep enough to create a slight bulge in your stomach with his throbbing tip. “Yeah, that’s it. Fall apart on this dick, y’know y’want to, sugar. Been dreamin’ ‘bout it f’years, huh?” He taunts.

You try to answer him, honestly! But he’s hitting your cervix just right and his abs rub against the backs of your thighs–it’s too much.

Elias thought you’ve learned by now that he doesn’t take silence for an answer, so to remind you, he gives your spent cunt a more forceful slap than before.

“Fuck—Yes! A-always been wantin’ you, ‘Lias,” you wail. “I-I never let nobody touch me! Nobody but you!” You exclaim without thinking.

This fuels Elias to quicken his pace; he almost fucking growls at your words, and he tightens your legs around himself–right now, as he feels himself getting closer and closer to climaxing, he has no plans on pulling out.

He continues to heave words of encouragement as fucks you ruthlessly through your orgasm.

You moan and blabber as your vision turns white, and your ears start to ring. Your toes curl and flex, and your nails scratch at the table, hands desperate for something to hold. Your voice then gives out, as your tongue lolls out of your mouth yet again.

Elias gives you a few more earth-stattering thrusts, before his seed fills your puffy, aching hole; the guttural groan that leaves his throat ups in pitch–nearly turning into a whimper.

He pumps his cum into you once more, before releasing your legs from his grip and laying down on top of you. As he half-lays-half-stands against the table, he feels as if a cold bucket of water was dumped onto him.

He can no longer focus on the tingling feeling that shoots from his skull to his toes, but now on the fact that he was the first man you’ve been with.

You spent your first time with him–in a rickety building he bought from a Klan member, on an even dingier table.

Elias then taps your face, just enough to get you to come back to your senses. You open your eyes with a lazy grin at the feeling of his seed mixed with yours, but when you’re met with his panicky expression, you quickly push yourself up–to the best of your ability.

“What? Wha’s wrong, ‘Lias?” You question worrisomely.

He allows himself to catch his breath before speaking, “Y’serious?” It’s all that he says.

You furrow your brows and tilt your head at him, “Bout what? Y’scarin’ me, Elias,” you chuckle awkwardly.

Had you said something you shouldn’t have?

A million thoughts run rampant throughout your mind.

“‘Bout all this,” he flails his hand, motioning to where your bodies had just met. “Was that really ya first time?” He speaks loudly, and you feel mortified.

Your breath catches in your throat. You confirm his worries, your voice softer than a freshly picked feather, “Yes.”

Elias takes a step back, and it takes everything in you not to reach out for him. Instead, you sit up fully and push your dress back down to your thighs. You twiddle your thumbs idly, seeking for even an ounce of comfort as Elias pushes his shirt back down and tucks himself back into his boxers after wiping himself off with a rag. Despite his glowering, he hands you a rag so that you can wipe away the slick from between your thighs.

Did he regret spending the night with you? Did he find the fact that you remained a virgin because of him embarrassing?

“Why you ain’t tell me, girl?” He exclaims, “I wouldn’t have said and done all that foolishness if I knew you ain't never been with a man before!”

You feel your soul come back into your body. “You would’ve been all sweet with me? That whatcha sayin’, ‘Lias?” You can’t help but giggle.

“Ain’t nothin’ funny, woman! I was all rough with you ‘n–” You cut him off with a kiss to his lips, wrapping your legs around his hips and pulling him closer to you. You fold your arms around his neck, and you feel his hands drift down to your waist and squeeze lightly. Your nose nudges his, his breath fans your face as yours does his.

You break the kiss when you feel yourself losing your breath, and you gaze at Elias lovingly.

“You were perfect, I couldn’t imagine it any other way,” you whisper.

“Well for starters, could've gotten you a bed in the house ‘stead of a table in this dark ass room,” Elias grumbles.

You grin, “I think the lightin’ was just fine. Added ambience ‘n all that.” Elias pouts, and you peck his lips.

“I don’t care ‘bout the details, “Lias. Long as it was with you.” Your tone is as sweet as the finest honey in Clarksdale, and it pulls on Elias’ heartstrings.

“Y’really waited all these years….For me?” He whispers.

“Course I did, couldn’t imagine bein’ with anybody else.” You speak just as softly. You recognize the guilt that crosses his face, despite his best efforts to mask it with his bravado. “Don’t feel guilty, please. I don’t blame you for nun.” You caress his hair. Silence fills the room as Elias deciphers what to say, you just hold him tenderly until he’s ready.

“I-I love ya, more than y’know, sugar…” He trails off before finishing his sentence, “I jus’ want ya to know that. I have since we was young.” He looks at you with adoration and love in his eyes.

“I love you too, Elias Moore. Have since you stood up to my daddy on his farm f’me when we was seven.”

He smiles, but it’s tight lipped, making you frown. “Jus’ wish I could’ve admitted it sooner. Then this would’ve went down differently—would’ve been better.” He sulks.

You take your thumb and index finger and pluck his lips, making him shout ‘hey!’ with a laugh.

“Stop beatin’ y’self up, Elias. I told you, I’m perfectly happy here, right now. Ain’t nun gon’ change that a bit.” You scold him.

“If ya stop all that moppin’, I’ll let ya try again tomorrow, however y’want,” you giggle mischievously. Elias’ eyes light up almost immediately, the way he perks up reminds you of a puppy that was just given a treat.

Elias roars with laughter and squeezes you, before lowering you back down onto the table, he presses nearly all of his weight onto you.

You squeal and cackle as he tickles your sides, “‘Lias!”

You lay wrapped up with Elias, you felt as if you could lay there forever, and honestly in this moment, you wanted to.

Clarity and revelations do the body good.

Everything was good.

Until you heard a commotion on the other side of the door.

[coldeforprez]

Is It The Way; 2003 • 01

Elias "Stack" Moore has "loved" and lost more than his fair share of women— and rarely thinks twice about it. But He can never seem to let go of her. There's only so much a man—alive or otherwise—can take. And he's been a gentleman long enough, right?

pairing: vampire!Stack x black!OC warnings: ORIGINAL CHARACTER (I love my bb Della Mae with my whole heart and will accept no slander - ty, mgmt. ) ANGST, this fic is VERY self-indulgent, suggestive themes, swearing, implied violence, established relationship, their relationship is kinda toxic but they're just two ppl who love each other okay?!, You get edged again cause no smut till part two :3 (this is a series we gotta do some world building besties) word count: 3.9k

dear reader 💌: hey pookie! I really appreciate the support and love that yall showed the teaser for the first installment of my new series To Have and To Hold ! I have been fighting for my life trying to get this out and honestly, I'm being super picky so I decided to just throw it out there :0 ! That and I can't focus on anything because it's taking up so much space in my head. Anyway ENJOY !

This story is told in a non-linear fashion. Like memories resurfacing.

winter of 1912.

Elias looks up from his spot leaning against the brick pillar—he and Smoke running their usual pickpocketing schemes down at the train station.

Feeling a stare on him, his eyes dart around the crowded platform looking for the source. His gaze skips over her at first—then returns.

She can’t be more than 16 years old; potentially making her only 2 years his junior. Her eyes twinkle with mischief like she’d been watching the twins longer than they knew. She stands next to an older woman and two younger boys, worn suitcases at their feet. Her hand-me-down dress fluttering softly in the winter breeze.

He tilts his head, confused—he’s never seen the girl or her people around town before. Turning to his twin brother, he taps him and asks, in a low voice, “Aye’, you ever seen lil’ mama in the brown dress ‘round here befoe’?”

The elder twin looks up from where he’s counting their earnings—it won’t be enough for a satisfying meal, but it’ll keep the hunger pains away for the night.

His eyes follow Stacks’ gaze to the retreating form of the young girl and her family. He cuts his eyes at his younger brother,

“Well, since I ain’t her maker, I’m not real capable of identifying ole’ girl from the back.”

Stack curls his lip, side-eyeing him. “What you always bein’ smart for? You know what—actually, I don’t give a damn. How much money we make?”

fall of 1914. The air smelled sweet—like honey, heat and the blossoms overhead. Della was leaning back on her palms in the grass, feet bare, Elias’ hat tossed aside beside her. The magnolia tree stretched wide above them like a crown, its branches heavy with blooms, thick petals littering the ground around her.

Elias stood a few feet away, trying to toss a pebble high enough to knock down one of the blossoms—she swore she could catch it mid-air.

“You gon’ miss again,” Del teased, grinning, “and I’ma laugh just as hard as I did the last five times.” he cut his eyes at her, squinting up at the branch, tongue peeking out in concentration. “I ain’t missin’. I’m doin’ warm-up tosses lil’ girl.”

“Ohhh okay! So that’s what you gone call it?” she laughed, tipping her head back until her coils brushed the grass.

He launched another pebble;hitting the branch just right. A magnolia bloom dropped—twirling slowly towards the ground—and Del leapt up with a gleam in her eye, catching it right against her chest. “Ha!” she beamed, spinning to show him. “I was right! Told you I’d catch it.”

He looked at her for a beat too long, he thinks her cheeks should be hurting from how hard she’s grinning. Her smile wide, singular dimple showing. “You always are.” he said softly, hands slipping into his pockets.

She slowed, watching him like she wasn’t used to that tone in his voice. “What?”

“Nothin’,” he said quickly, tugging at his collar anxiously. “Just… you somethin’ else, that’s all.”

Del tucked the magnolia bloom behind her ear and shrugged, but she was smiling too big to play it cool. “I guess you ain’t too bad yourself.”

summer of 1917. The sun was dipping low, casting amber light across the magnolia tree where they always met. Della was halfway through tying her braid when Elias flopped onto the grass beside her, arms folded behind his head, like it was just another Sunday.

“You ever think ‘bout what France smell like?” he asked, watching the clouds.

She side-eyed him. “France?”

He nodded, still staring skyward. “Yeah. I heard it smell like perfume and fresh bread. Kinda place folks write poems about.”

Della squinted at him, confused. “Why you talkin’ ‘bout France?”

He sat up slower this time, like his body felt heavier than usual. His mouth opened, then closed. He looked down at his hands, rubbing at his thumb—he was stalling.

“Got my papers.” ,he grumbled

She blinked. “For what?”

“…The war, Dove. I gotta go.”

Della’s hands dropped into her lap. “No you don’t. Ain’t nobody makin’ you—”

“They are,” he cut in gently, eyes still not quite meeting hers. “Draft notice came in yesterday. I—I ain’t wanna tell you like this, I just… I couldn’t figure out how.”

She stood sharply, fists clenched. “So that’s it? i’m just ‘sposed to sit around and wonder if you makin’ it back or not?”

He stood too, but slower, as if the words had knocked the wind out of him. “It’s not like I wanna go, Del. But if I don’t show up, they gone come lookin’. Maybe even worse.”

His voice cracked just a little on that last part, and he finally met her eyes. “I ain’t gone lie and say i’m not scared,” he admitted, quietly. “But I swear to you—I’m comin’ back. I ain’t dyin’ in no field—I don’t care what I gotta do.”

She stared at him, lip trembling. “You better,” she whispered.

fall of 1932. “You think I give a fuck what you want right now?” he growled in frustration. “I ain’t lettin’ you go. Not this time. You hear me? You mine. You always been, always gone be.”

She struck him—open palm across the face, hard. His head snapped sideways. He didn’t flinch. Just turned back slow, smiling crooked, eyes glowing like wildfire. His hands tightening on her shoulders voice thick with grief and possessive need.

“You all I got left,” he breathed. “I ain’t losin’ you too. I’ll drag you with me if I have to. I swear to God, I will.”

She scoffs trying to free herself from his grip to no avail,

“No self-righteous sacrifices for me huh? No bullshit speech about keeping me safe?” she spat, eyes burning with tears. “You always pulling me towards a burning building with you, but I bet you woulda’ lost your damn life to protect her from one! Hell—Mary the one made you this way! Go spend an eternity with her ole triflin’ bloodsuckin’ ass!”

She clawed at his chest, shoved, writhed—but his hands only steadied her, held her like something precious even as he stole her breath.

“I ain’t doin’ this life without you,” he said, voice thick, almost tender. “Ain’t no world I wanna be apart of if you not in it.”

And then—Stillness.

Her body limp in his arms. Blood on his lips. The river settled.

Above them, the magnolia tree stood silent. Watching.

spring of 52’. Their magnolia was in full bloom.

Del figured if they were gonna do this, it best be at a spot that held their most precious memories. Both the good ones—and the ones that still stung.

The wind brought in a soft breeze, just enough to ruffle the edges of her white dress. Her veil fluttered around her face like a whisper.

He wore a pressed suit—bloodstain still on the cuff she couldn’t scrub out. His grin was wide, wicked, sharp fangs flashing under gold slugs.

No preacher. No piano. No guests.

Just the river hummin’ nearby, and a jar of moonshine waitin’ in the grass.

She whispered her vows into the crook of his neck. He said his with his mouth pressed to her fingertips.

“You know this don’t fix everything,” she told him with a smirk.

“Ain’t tryna fix it,” he said. “Just tryna hold onto it.”

Their old magnolia tree the only witness to their eternal union. summer of 75’. “C’mon, morning dove,” he says, smiling like it was 1951. “Let me hold you a minute.”

present day; 2003

He strolled in right at midnight, just as everything had gone quiet and the once raucous city streets were now eerily still.

She didn’t turn when the door opened. Didn’t flinch when his footsteps found her.

She’d known he would come eventually. Of course he would. Even when she didn’t want him to—he always did. The problem was that she’d never quite figured out which she preferred more: his absence or his presence.

She never had to question whether or not she still wanted him though. Hell, she spent more time than she’d like to admit reminiscing the countless ways he’d expressed his insatiable hunger for her in this almost century-old dance they’d been doing.

He doesn’t announce his presence. No smooth line. No performative charm. Doesn’t even breathe too loud.

His coat’s worn in random spots—like something time had toyed with endlessly and then tossed aside. For a quick moment, she wonders if he’s fallen on hard times since the last time he’d blessed suffocated her with his presence. That’s how she felt, too—every time they slipped outside each other’s orbit. Like she was just waiting breathlessly in the wings for the next act of their whirlwind—whatever it was they have.

On the exterior, she’s the picture of indifference. Takes the time to sip the drink clutched between her sharply manicured fingers. Letting the silence stretch—uncomfortable for most, but not for them.

Just as she’s worked up the nerve to acknowledge his presence—

“Del.”

A beat. The space between them has never seemed further.

“You still carryin’ the weight of the world like it belongs to you, baby.”

She breathes out a soft, humorless sound. Doesn’t smile. Refuses to turn her head to give him the satisfaction of seeing a glimpse of the mental spiral his sudden appearance has catapulted her into.

“And you still talk like a ghost that don’t know it’s dead.”

He inches closer. Slowly. Like if he moves too fast, she’ll vanish again.

“Maybe I am.”

She turns swiftly toward him—eyes sharp, expression unreadable. With a slight furrow in her brows and something cold yet vulnerable in her voice, she asks a question that likely won’t have a sufficient answer—

“Why now?”

A brief pause. His usual sly grin is noticeably missing—his mouth opens and shuts quickly, almost like he’s chewing on the words but they just don’t taste quite right. Yet he doesn’t blink when he says it:

“Ain’t know how much longer I could stay away.”

She doesn’t respond. Not right away. Just lets out a quiet chuckle and tips her glass toward him—dry, disbelieving.

“Even after all these years…” She shakes her head, almost smiling. “You still one smooth motherfucka. I’ll give ya that.”

He breaks into that infamous grin—just as intimidating as it is bright. Like he ain’t ever seen a bad day in his life. “Now you know better than anybody—I can’t contain all this pimpin’.”

She pauses mid-sip, nearly chokes. Side-eyes him, nostrils flaring, expression dry as hell. She waits a beat. Then hums a noise of indifference,

“Mmm—You dressed like a broke-ass pimp. Must be hard flyin’ with one wing, huh?”

The jab knocks him off guard. For a second, he forgets they aren’t back there—where jokes came easier, when everything felt like that rare but sweet moment when you realize you’re dreaming—and somehow, you get to keep dreaming, just to spite reality a little longer.

He smacks his lips, gaze blank, mouth cocked to the side, ignoring the subtle bite in her voice. “Aye, stop playin’ with me. You know ian ever hurtin’ for no bread. Who you think bought out half these pieces before the showcase tonight?”

That earns him her first real smile. Small. Shy. Like it slipped out before she could catch it. Like her body remembered something before her mind could lock it away. “Yeah, I know. I just wanted you to drop all that silent and mysterious shit. Came in here lookin’ like you auditionin’ for that vampire nigga movie.”

He squints. “You talkin’ ‘bout Blade?”

She nods, grinning. “Hell yea. You got this big-ass trench coat on like it ain’t 75 degrees outside.” He cuts her off with—“Aye shoutout Wesley Snipes, you know i’on fuck wit’ allat capitalism—taxes and shit.”

She shakes her head, earrings jingling softly—briefly catching his attention—before he hears her mutter under her breath, “Ole’ extra ass.”

He spins with a grin and a little flourish. “Owee—Don’t hate baby.” Smirking as he invades her space just enough to make the hairs on the back of her neck stand up.

“ You ain’t gotta lie to yourself—Daddy still make that pretty thang’ hum, hm?”

The echoes of his southern drawl still makes her knees feel weak. Pause. How does he even think to say shit like that?

He does kinda have a point though.

She steps back curling her lip at him in pure annoyance, rolling her eyes quickly, “Nigga, gone on somewhere.” Giving him a slow once-over, “And don’t think you slick with that ‘I ain’t know how long I could stay away’ shit.” She drops her voice into a mocking tone—deep and dramatic, face scrunched in fake sadness. “I know you,” she says, shaking her head. “You want somethin’. So gone and come out wit’ it.”

“Why you always assumin’ I got a hidden agenda or some shit?” he scoffs.

She fixes him with a stare.

He coughs, looks away, then back again—“Okay. Never mind. Ignore that.” He sighs deeply like he’s afraid she’s going to shut him down before he can pull his thoughts together.

“Been tryna love other people—swear I have.”

She purses her lips.

“Okay damn, maybe I was just fuckin’ some of ‘em—Anyway—tried humans, but you know I get a little nibbly when I’m excited—dated some vamps, kinda hard for ‘em to live up to my expectations there though,” He scratches his beard in frustration, “Shit I even went out with a witch for a minute—she was a lil freak, I’ll tell you that—still ain’t come close to nothin’ we used to—”

She briefly stares off into space dumbfounded; then turns back to cut him off before he can remind her of anything she might still want. “Hmm—if you came to update me on all the places your dick has been the last decade, you can spare me.” She rolls her eyes and mutters under her breath where he can’t hear, “Nigga goin’ on a world tour with my dick and tryna tell me all about it—fuck is he on?”

His eyes widen in realization at the implications of his words. “Hollon’, I ain’t mean it like that,” He sighs again. “What I’m tryna say is every time—every time—I start feelin’ like maybe I can build somethin’ new, your name start echoin’ in my head. Or I’d smell that stankin’ ass oil paint you used to use. Hear you narratin’ your day like somebody other than just us was around—Even started listenin’ to that white bread ass group you like so much.”

She scoffs and interrupts, “Aht Aht—not too much on Fleetwood Mac now—that might be one of the few things white folks got right.” She rolls her eyes muttering under her breath, “Surprised his ass ain’t go lookin’ for Stevie Nicks since he like witches so damn much—”

He quiets her with a blank stare. Grumbling under his breath before continuing, “Keep on rolling’ them damn eyes— hope they get stuck like that.” Clearing his throat he continues, “I kept tellin’ myself you might actually be better off without me. Maybe finally found a way to feel human again—then I heard ‘bout this place. Figured maybe you ain’t moved on neither.”

She’s suddenly busy surveying the contents of her glass—it’s been empty for the last 10 minutes.

“And that kinda fucked me up a lil’ bit, Cause if you still alone—and I’m still alone—then what the hell we been doin’ all this time, Del?”

She sighs quietly and meets his gaze with a resigned look in her eye, but before she can get the words out he interrupts,

“I ain’t come here looking for no second chances. We way past that anyway. But—you the only one who ever—survived me—Who know me better than maybe even Smoke did. And I’m not goin’ another decade wonderin’ if we could finally get it right.”

She scoffs, her eyes quickly becoming ablaze with an emotion he can only define as rage. “And that’s our problem right there—It’s all about what you want and when you’re ready to do it!”

All things considered, he’s propositioned her with worse. She’s not even sure why she’s fighting him now— aching inside to try again but too afraid to take the leap.

How much will they bleed this time around if they cut each other again?

She pauses breath catching in her throat, feeling her composure slipping. Can’t meet his eye when she opens her mouth to say, “Look, I don’t think—”

71 years and they still can’t get it right. He can feel her slipping away. She doesn’t think he’ll ever get another chance like this. He knows he won’t. She’ll make sure of it. His throat tightens—panic sets in. He’s about to be knocked out of her orbit forever.

“I’m sorry.”

He says the words like they were trying to burst from his lips. His eyes damn near projecting a short film filled with the echoes of his desperation and whispers of his guilt. It’s rushed, clumsy, boy-ish—such contrast from the way he would normally carry himself. Honestly, it’s pretty sucky as far as apologies go, especially given the tangled history the two of them share.

But somehow it works. Like most things involving the two, no reasonable explanation could be given for how two words—3 syllables—can atone for years of hurting and healing each other.

She blinks rapidly, shifting from foot to foot. She’d always considered herself the least prideful of the two. So she’s admittedly a bit irked that he gets to be the bigger person for saying what they’d always known they both desperately need to hear—

“I-I’m sorry, Elias. I’ve always let you take the blame for everything wrong in our relationship— and my life too, I guess” Her breath catches, looking down at her feet—arms instinctively wrapping around herself. Even to her own ears she sounds fragile. This might be the closest she’s been to feeling like herself since that night in 1932. “That wasn’t fair of me.”

He doesn’t answer right away. Just stares at her like she’s some rare thing he isn’t sure he’s allowed to touch anymore. Then— “I could’ve fought harder. For you. For us.” His voice is low, steady. No theatrics this time. “I made peace with the blame—meant I still had somethin’ to carry around with your name on it.” He steps forward—slow, like the wrong move might undo it all. “I ain’t never wanted you to hurt like I did. But I- I didn’t know how to stop takin’ pieces of you with me every time I left.” He reaches for her—momentarily thinking twice about whether touching her will end in him being attacked ;or if she’ll submit to the current of the moment with him. Quickly coming to the conclusion that he’d be satisfied with either reaction, he finally closes the distance between them.

The feeling can only be described as that deeply seated joy you feel when coming home after a long time away. Almost like slipping back into a dream they’d been having every night for the last 71 years.

For a long moment, neither of the two spoke. Their silence saying everything they’d probably never be able to put to words—grief, guilt, passion. Their silence creating a picture that looks something like forgiveness, a bit like anger, and a lot like love. Whispers of a maybe. Promises of a forever.

Her face tucked near his neck, where she’d always felt safe she murmured a quiet, “Missed you.”

He looks down at her with a small smile, leaning in to get a taste of her lips for the first time in a decade.

She leans her head back and places two fingers over his lips with a smirk, “You know this means you lose right ?”

His arms tighten around her waist, one hand sneakily yanking her hand into his. Kissing the tips of her fingers with a smile in his voice, “Long as I lose to you, It ain’t really losin’, huh?”

He gives a crooked grin—and kisses her like no time has passed at all.

But time has passed. And it’s in the way his hand trembles just slightly when he touches her waist. In the way her breath hitches when their mouths finally meet, not rushed, not angry, but like they’re retracing old steps in a house long abandoned.

It starts slow. Mouths hovering, teasing. The tension’s all in the pause, the promise.

Then—He bites. A tiny nip at her bottom lip, soft and sharp all at once. A low, possessive growl vibrates from his chest, deep and involuntary. She tastes like something he lost in a dream. The air shifts. The room’s still, but they aren’t. The kind of stillness that only comes before a storm.

“Hey, daddy?” she whispers, lips grazing the skin just beneath his jaw—hot, deliberate.

“Yeah, Dove,” he murmurs, eyes half-lidded, voice soaked in want.

She smiles—slow, wicked. Her voice a sweet purr. “Wanna play a game?”

His hands slide lower on her waist, fingers slipping just under the hem of her shirt, just enough to make her heart skip.

“Only if I get to keep you after.”

She lets out a breathy scoff, laughing into his mouth, palms pressed flat against his chest like she might push him away—but doesn’t.

“No, seriously—how do you come up with this stuff?” she says, eyes dancing, even as her body leans closer. He just grins, lips brushing hers again.

"Been rehearsin' since 88'. "

summer of ‘75.

“You were my wife, my life, my hopes and dreams.”

Marvin Gaye’s voice curls through the room low, aching, full of a wisdom neither of them dare speak aloud. The record crackles faintly, wrapping them in a velvet cocoon, safe—for now—from the world, from the past, from the slow unraveling they’ve both felt coming.

Elias hums along, off-key. Della swaying absentmindedly in her silk robe, brush in hand, paint smudged on her cheek. He watches her from the couch, journal resting open in his lap, the morning sun painting their living room a gold hue through their sheer drapery.

“You set my soul on fire, my one desire was to love you and think of you with pride.”

“C’mere,” he murmurs, standing with his arms open.

She laughs, not looking at him yet. “You ain’t even brushed your teeth.”

“C’mon, morning dove,” he says, smiling like it’s 1951 again. “Let me hold you a minute.”

“But if you ever need me, i’ll be by your side.“

She lets herself go. Not because it’s easy—but because it’s familiar. Because even with everything cracking underneath them, the shape of him still fits against her perfectly. They dance like they’ve got forever. The lyrics echo what their souls already know—a promise for what’s to come being made without words.

“Though the many happy times we had could really never outweigh the bad…” “I never loved nobody, like I loved you baby…” “Now it’s time for us to say farewell…” “Maybe we’ll meet, down the line…”

Elias presses his cheek to her temple, eyes shut. She grips the back of his shirt like she’s bracing for a fall.

Neither one says a word. But the record keeps playing. And the silence between them says everything.

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[purpletyrant]

au chises that have been bumping around in my brain like my own personal multiverse of madness. they needed to be exorcised. i recognize and respect the adage that your au may as well be an oc at a certain point, and i think these two cross the threshold, but consider this: i like to play with chise like a paper doll and see how she reacts to situations. so there

for their faces i sorta referenced off of haruka kudo, who played chise in the stage play

attack dog chise is the "living weapon" trope. i imagine that the witch bought her just as elias did, but chise is under the impression that she was taken in out of the goodness of her heart. her master has taught her very little in the means of practical magic, instead focusing all of her training into inflicting as much damage as possible. the witch has no expectation that chise will live very long, so has no intention of raising her up to be an equal. so, this chise has only been taught the power of incredible violence. if she isnt using her fists, shes using low-level curses and other magic considered to be kind of a dick move

design wise, all the o-rings are meant to evoke arc 1 chises adder necklace. she was probably inspired by the knife-wielding punk chise with attitude from the merkmal. since this chise has no ruth, you could say that she sort of embodies both of them

i imagine the dynamic between her and her master as sort of a ~*twisted and dark*~ version of kimihiro and yuko from xxxholic... which ive never read, but still. i dont have a design in mind for the witch shes beholden to, but she isnt dissimilar to hiroe ando from the she who travels au. maybe she IS hiroe. hm

soothsayer's daughter chise is the golden child of her family and has lived a life of relative comfort since being taken from her mother. still, her bleeding heart causes her guilt when she thinks back on the mother she can barely remember. in the last couple years, this chise has tracked her down and set up the means to meet in secret with the intention of apologizing to her and gaining closure. her family does not take kindly to this, and when chise meets chika in the tiny, filthy apartment shes living in, magic is used to force chises mother to commit suicide in front of her. chise is left shaken to the core by this event, especially by chikas words that she "should have never come back." she attempts to maintain a brave and serene exterior, believing that no one else knows of chikas death

since yuuki is still considered a traitor to the family, this chise has a polite if distant relationship with him, having been mainly raised by uncles and aunts. fumiki is supremely annoyed by her. shes very protective and patronizing

her silhouette is based off of a shrine maidens, but i didnt want to dress her exactly like one, since thats... kind of on the nose, isnt it? regardless, the focus of her magic is in purification and exorcism - her soothsaying skills are not quite so refined

she who travels chise is she who travels chise, she comes with her own fic series, read it or dont. i do have thoughts about her older offshoot, though. this chise is in her 30s. she picked up smoking from master onishi - HE TRIED NOT TO INFLUENCE HER, REALLY - and took over the theater when he died. even though she owns it and its a good source of income, shes moved on and is trying to be a more respectable mage beyond the sideshow reputation of her early career. shes essentially cosplaying a put-together businesswoman, and is kind hearted but comically serious. she probably has a niece or nephew and is constantly giving them enchanted gifts. her elias received an untraceable check for five million pounds - adjusted for inflation - several years ago and has not been able to track her down. her anger has cooled, but its now been so long that she feels too awkward to contact him. she still maintains contact with angelica and simon, though - maybe one day shell show up in his yard in a shiny black car

i think it would be soooo fun to throw them all in a room together with canon chise and watch them fight. or maybe they would just cry it out? soothsayers daughter thinks shes above all of this and will condescendingly preach about how attack dog has a "wounded heart"... until attack dog roundhouse kicks her in the head

[kingnlionhearts]

Saw your reblog over wanting to yap about your ocs on tumblr more and felt oath-bound to send an ask in asking more about Taryn / your fic verse for her because I’ve loved everything I’ve seen and read about her so far! Hope this isn’t weird 💞💞

i've been busy all day but i've been WAITING to answer this 🥺 this isn't weird at all, thank you SO MUCH for being interested — this means the world to me 💞

first of all rq, there are multiple ocs in my asoiaf series 🫣 the main ones are: celaena ainar (my rhaenyra oc); arya stark (my jacaerys oc); lyanna snow (jon's twin sister, she dies as a babe); alys stark (robb's twin and my daenerys oc); elia dayne (my jon oc); and taryn baratheon. the fics are all connected, but taryn's fic LIONHEART is my current wip!!

so taryn is my robb stark oc 🥺 she is cersei & robert's eldest child and she's born a year later than robb. she's played by lily james!! her character is kinda inspired by cinderella (from the 2015 live action), mary queen of scots, and padmé amidala from star wars. but she's such a sweetheart. taryn is vv sheltered growing up & kinda naive, but she's Working On It. she loves her family and helping people. and she has a truckload of issues that i'm slowly starting to unpack. she's quite self-sacrificing.

taryn and robb meet when they're 7/8 when ned, robb & alys visit robert in king's landing. then they're betrothed when taryn is 10. taryn spent a few months visiting winterfell to get to know the starks, and tarynrobb wrote letters to each other for the next six years until the fic starts!!

her fic is a lot about realising that her family (the lannisters) are nothing like she thought. growing up, taryn never heard any of the bad things — thank you cersei. taryn's relationship with love, duty, marriage and religion is also important. blame her parents and her mean septa for all those problems. tarynrobb's relationship is the main focus, everything is about them lmao, but taryn has her ladies in waiting who are her best friends and will be important in act two!

LIONHEART is cross posted on wattpad, ao3 & tumblr!! 13 chapters are up on wp (updates are always here first, where im more active lol), 12 chapters are on ao3 because i always forget to update lmao, 4 chapters are on tumblr but i would like to keep posting soon!! the chapters are quite short and the current word count is 35k. the fic is a mixture of book and show canon. there are 20 planned chapters in act one/season one. im hoping that act two/season two will be about 30 chapters? (all the robb fics ive seen on wp do nothing with season 2 and it really upsets me, so im trying something new.) im hoping act three/season three will be 15 or so chapters.

the fic does contain smut and chapters will be marked!! so the fic is 16+ and 18+ for the smut chapters. the fic also includes pregnancy — ik lots of people don't like that trope, so i like to mention it. but it means we get robb as a dad so!!

this got long really fast oops 😭 when i say tarynrobb is my roman empire, you'll understand why. i know my friends are sick to death of me LMFAO. but thank you for letting me yap about my fave girl 🥺🫶💞

[magpod-confessions]

Okay let me be clear about one thing first, I’m not mad at people for writing what makes them happy. People are allowed to engage with fandom in whatever way they want. If that means writing ship fics and making ship content, then go right ahead! Hell, I genuinely enjoy ship content as well. Don’t stop making it just because some internet stranger said some words.

Having said that, I think this fandom (and to be fair, almost every fandom) severely undervalues platonic relationships. Let’s take for example Jon and Tim, which if you ask me, was one of the most interesting relationships in the show.

Out of 28,943 works on Ao3, 741 have them in a purely platonic relationship. This number drops down to 438 once you exclude Jmart. Granted, some of the ones that included Jmart might’ve just had it as a side thing rather than the main focus, but still.

For just a bit of perspective, that’s fewer works than Peter/Elias, fewer than Sasha/Tim, and fewer than even Elias/Jon. Don’t get me wrong all of these relationships are fascinating in their own right and deserve to be explored, but platonic relationships can be interesting too! And I think they deserve to be appreciated just as much as romantic/sexual ones.

Let me extra clear one last time that this is not me going “ship content bad!! >:[“ This is me saying that we should appreciate non-ship works as well, and that they can be just as interesting.

Yea no agree. I like shipping and all 100% but Im also a massive fan of platonic relationships and their explorations - rosette

[ivystoryweaver]

The Only One

Episode 7

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Summary: The last time you saw Poe was right before he blew up Starkliller Base - a huge victory for the Resistance. Things go to hell after that and you are separated from Poe, needing to rely on your instincts...and the Force. A huge secret starts to be revealed.

a/n: This Episode glosses over the events in the film The Last Jedi. You don't have to be knowledgeable about the sequel films to continue the story - everything that relates to Elia is summarized here. She is a bit separate from Poe during film events, so this is not a re-telling.

Pairing: Poe Dameron x female original character. Fic is written in second person, but the female "you" has a name (It reads basically the same as any other xreader)

Word Count: 1.6k

Content: violence, action, little angst (no more than in the films), not beta'd

PREVIOUSLY on "The Only One"...

He turned around one more time, granting you another sweet smile. “Wait for me, Ells. I’ll be right back.”

Somehow his humor and good nature gave you hope. Poe always gave you hope.

“May the Force be with you,” you whispered to no one really. Or, to all of them.

The next week was hell.

Which was, perhaps, what a demon like yourself deserved.

At first, the Resistance buzzed with the thrill of victory. Poe and his team destroyed Starkiller Base after Rebel legends Han Solo and Chewbacca worked together with the stormtrooper who defected and a young woman named Rey.

But before you could celebrate or have much of a reunion with Poe, the stormtrooper, who you learned was named Finn, was sent to medical in critical condition, while Rey supposedly flew away to find Luke Skywlaker.

Kylo Ren had murdered Han Solo.

You thought taking out Starkiller Base would give the Resistance a huge advantage in the uphill battle against the First Order, but the New Republic had suffered tremendous losses, crippling, if not obliterating support for the Resistance.

Your assignment kept you apart from Poe for days, so you hadn’t seen him since that fateful moment directly before the Starkiller Base battle.

...where he kissed you and asked you to wait for him.

So many had been lost since then - the chaos, nonstop. After the most recent attack took out most of Resistance command, someone named Holdo took over.

You were dying to see Poe, desperate to see for yourself that he was okay. Every time something else exploded, you felt sure you’d receive a report of his death. The stress piled up as you worked separately from Poe, thinking he might die, or you might die.

To make a desperate situation worse, the attack on the ship's bridge left Leia seriously wounded. And directly before Holdo took command, Poe was demoted, which infuriated you.

And, aside from the fact that you were (thankfully) able to focus, or hyper focus, as it were, on computer programming and other computer tech needs, the news of Commander Dameron's demotion was all you could think about...

...or talk about.

Thankfully, Perrha was with you for the past few days and was a wonderful grounding force for you.

Now, the Resistance was trying to safely land transports on the planet Crait.

Everyone watched in horror as one after the other, the First Order blew them out of the sky. You kept yourself busy working, tears streaming down your face at the thought of Poe being on one of those obliterated ships.

Poe felt the same way.

After maybe the worst week of his life (aside from when his mom died), Poe woke up from the little nap Leia's stun gun gave him. He listened patiently as Leia explained Holdo's plan, then watched in horror as transport after transport was obliterated.

"Where's Elia?" He asked Leia, as if she might somehow know. He had lost too many today, not only on the bridge, but when some of his closest friends died in the hangar explosion.

Leia shook her head, unsure.

Poe stared out into space. "Which one is she on?" He murmured, thankful that his new friend Finn was at least safe for the moment. Hopefully.

The planet's surface was so close. You and Perrha might make it through this. But who could be sure what awaited you on Crait, with the First Order bearing down hard?

As you entered the planet's atmosphere, the transport closest to yours exploded - near enough to your own that the blast and debris wreaked havoc. You were taking serious damage - hit hard enough to crash, just not to explode instantly like the neighboring transport.

Everyone around you was astoundingly calm, focused and professional, but a crash landing would not be avoidable.

Perrha's eyes met yours frantically as fire, debris and smoke filled the transport.

"We're not gonna make it," they gasped, coughing from all the smoke.

Panic gripped your heart. You didn't want to die. For once in your life, you really wanted to live and not just in terms of survival. You wanted to help the Resistance. You wanted them to win. You needed to learn about the Force, and ascertain from Leia if you were truly doomed to be a servant of the darkness.

Perrha was your friend and so was Poe. Your very best friend. Your heart broke as you thought of never seeing him again. It couldn't end this way.

So instead of giving in to despair, you opened yourself up to the flow of energy - no. The Force. A wall of fire swept through the transport.

"No." Your voice could barely be heard over the commotion. It wasn't a plea but a command.

Perrha cried out your name as you stretched out your hands and literally pushed the fire backward.

Your breathing steadied, your countenance - a mask of serenity. Your eyes fluttered closed as the Force surrounded you, flowed through you.

The fire would not touch you. Nor Perrha.

The remaining Resistance fighters watched from their transports, in awe, as a transport-on-fire gently touched down on the planet's surface.

You heard nothing. You only felt.

Calm.

Finally, you heard Perrha screaming your name. "This thing is gonna blow, come on!" They quite literally jerked you away - your boots thumping on the planet's surface as you ran for your life.

The ship exploded, knocking the survivors to the ground with a concussive force - dangerous, but not fatal.

Your ears rang, dusty salt filled your lungs, but Perrha hauled you up. You ran again, as fast as you had ever in your life.

The First Order had entered the planet's atmosphere and took up position at the mine entrance - the old Rebel base. Unfortunately, your transport's crash left you quite far away on foot. But thankfully, the First Order would assume your exploded crash site would leave no survivors - giving you time to run.

A battle raged overhead and in the distance. Blaster and cannon fire, and boot prints turned the ashy, salty surface blood red.

Your group finally made it to the mine, but there was no getting in the front entrance. The huge blaster door was sealed, but under heavy attack.

"Is there another way in?" You wondered aloud.

"Is there another way out?" Perrha countered, panicked. "Are they trapped in there?"

Your ragtag team rallied, determined to find a way to either get in to the safety of the mine, or help the remaining Resistance fighters escape, if they were trapped.

Suddenly you saw an old rust bucket ship zoom overhead and land at the edge of a shallow cliff.

Your team arrived just in time to see a young woman...making dozens of piles of rocks...float. This action served to clear a blocked path, allowing the Resistance fighters to escape the mine.

You saw the stormtrooper, Finn. The young woman must be Rey. You were so distracted by her dazzling display of the Force, that you almost didn't notice that just beside Finn...

was Poe.

Finn raced into Rey's arms for a hug, but it was Poe who noticed your ash-covered, singed, rag-tag crew, confused, for a moment, as to why you would have appeared with Rey.

"Elia," he breathed, pushing his way past anyone and everything in his path, including the huge boulders Rey had lifted moments before.

You were an adorable mess, most of your hair had tumbled out of your twin buns. Soot tarnished your cheeks and clothes. By some miracle your unlaced boots stayed in place while you ran for your life.

As Poe clambered toward you, your hands anxiously grabbed for your backpack straps…only to come up empty.

“M-my backpack,” you gasped, frantically touching your arms and chest.

Okay, people were dead.

Your transport crashed and exploded.

You only survived because you wielded the Force and ran for your life.

The First Order was bearing down.

Poe was alive!

But your brain?

“My backpack,” you repeated, desperately, craving the familiar soothing touchstone of its frayed straps.

“Here, sweetheart,” Poe gently offered, reaching for the fallen strap, to pull it back onto your shoulder. “Looks like the other one got burned.”

Which meant…

You grabbed for the other strap urgently, realizing the little pack might have been destroyed, leaving your wings out in the open.

Poe, so relieved to see you alive, wishing with all his heart that the could throw his arms around you, tried to understand…

“No, no no …” You shook your head, eyes wide with horror.

“Ells?” He asked, confused, holding up his hands in a supplicating manner, trying to show you he wouldn’t touch you if you didn’t want him to. “Baby, are you hurt?”

“I can’t…my backpack,” you gasped, short of breath. “I can’t…” Shaking your head rapidly, you backed away, running into Perrha…who got a look at your exposed back.

“Oh, Elia. A-are you - w-what happened…” they trailed off, glancing at Poe, confused at the sight of your tightly furled, dark wings. Perrha wasn’t sure if you were burned, or what was going on.

“What is it?” He demanded. “Is she hurt?” He reached for your arm to turn you around, but before his hand made contact, you clenched your fists and cried out.

“No!”

…sending tiny bits of rock flying outward from you body in every direction.

This got Rey’s attention.

As far as the young Jedi trainee knew, she and Leia were the only ones capable of this sort of thing.

Poe backed away, stunned, brushing bits of gravel from his face and hair, exchanging worried glances with Perrha, but determined to make sure you were all right.

He thought to approach you, but stopped short at a miraculous sight.

Your hair had tumbled down, beautiful and wild, your eyes closed in concentration.

Hands clenched by your sides, you held yourself still as bits of rock and earth circled you slowly.

And behind you, dark, slick wings unfurled.

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[waterfallofspace]

omg tma!! I started re listening it a few weeks ago and obsessed again. I would love to see some more Elias from you🫣 Your previous fic with him is still one of my favourites

Thank you so much, I'm so glad you enjoyed it!!~

So I uh... meant for this to be a drabble, but it... got a little out of hand... and it's not very snz heavy, more plot/general sickness heavy, so I apologize if that's not what you had in mind, just kinda went the way it went~

A Betting Man

The one in which Peter bets Elias he won't last the day with the terrible head cold he's 'hiding'. (Definite HUGE spoilers for the M/agnus Archives, so please be aware of that!)

Characters: Elias, Peter, Tim, Rosie ( ft. lonelyeyes + mentions of Jon + Sasha) Word Count: 4.3k

It’s been a long week, even for Elias. Dealing with a new archivist is always a bit of a headache, but especially now with all that’s at stake. Near constant surveillance has left a strain on… what perhaps one could refer to as his ‘eyes’. Jon has required a fair amount of supervision to make sure he stays on the right path- or, shall we say, at the right pace. 

Leaning forward in his chair, Elias allows his face to rest against his hands. Jon’s in the middle of another statement, still adamant to deny his way through the horrors. He’ll be occupied for at least another fifteen minutes. More than enough time for a brief rest. Not a nap, just… a couple minutes to rest his eyes…

“Mr. Bouchard?” Rosie’s voice over the intercom jolts him awake from the waves of fatigue that had been pulling him in. 

Elias hits the button to respond. He barely manages to get the “yes-” out before his voice breaks. He releases the button, ducking into his fist with a harsh cough, before trying again. 

“Yes, Rosie, what is it?” His voice still sounds rough, and he silently curses the nasal quality it possesses. 

“Uh, sorry to disturb you, Tim just has a few questions about some follow up to a statement, but I can tell him you’re busy… or…” Rosie trails off, the hesitation evident in her voice. 

“Well,” a voice sounds out, ringing out like a gunshot in the silent office. “Better not keep him waiting.” 

Familiar as it may be, the sudden nature of the intrusion comes as quite the shock. Elias maintains a white-knuckled grip on his neutral expression as he turns to face the captain, heart pounding in his throat. “Peter, I believe I’ve asked you to announce yourself.” 

“Ah, you did, seems I’ve forgotten again, ever so sorry Elias,” Peter smirks, unfolding himself from the corner he’d been watching from. “Wouldn’t want to step on your toes, what with the watching and all. More your thing than mine, isn’t that right?” 

Elias simply rolls his eyes in response, glancing back to the intercom. Peter follows his gaze, chuckling lightly.

“Peter,” Elias cautions, scanning back over to Jon in his mind. Still caught up in the statement, going on about some form of… meat. Not something Elias needs playing in the back of his mind while dealing with Peter. 

“Rosie’s waiting,” Peter interrupts, pulling Elias’s full focus back onto him. “Shame to leave her hanging, sweet girl and all, just trying to do her job.” 

“If you’d really like me to answer her, you’d leave me alone so I cahh… can do just that.” 

Elias trails off for only a second, feeling the itch that he’d believed quelled earlier this morning start to bubble back to the surface. The cold medicine should have had another few hours left. Seems burning the candle at all ends has its downfalls. 

He still manages to finish strong, fighting off the sensation with a single brush of his finger. It did not, however, go unnoticed. Elias fights back a sigh as the sparkle he’s come to know all too well begins to appear in the sea captain’s eyes. The eager glisten of someone with a bet to propose. 

“We both know you’re perfectly capable of answering her with me in the room. It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve had to be… subtle,” Peter offers, still watching Elias carefully. 

With a deep resignation, Elias hits the button again, informing Rosie to tell Tim he’ll stop by later. She answers with thanks, interrupted by Tim shouting something about ‘right-o double boss!’ in the background. A slightly mortified Rosie repeats her thanks, the intercom cutting off her apologies for the intrusion. 

Elias simply ignores it, turning his attention instead to Peter, still lingering in the office. Not undivided this time though, as Elias feels his nose twitch again. Eager to get this over with, he simply awaits Peter’s proposition. He could attempt to Know it, but with the current state of his head, and the dangerous buzzing in his sinuses, the risk seems to outweigh simply waiting.

“So,” Peter begins, eyes flicking up and down Elias, as if running final calculations. “I’ve got a wager to offer.” 

“I figured as much,” Elias replies, leaning back slightly in the chair and adjusting his suit jacket with feigned disinterest. “But I don’t believe you have anything to offer me that would entice me to accept it.” 

“I have a feeling you’ll take it anyways, Elias.” 

“And whhih.. why iihh- hehh!-” With a desperate sniff, Elias manages to pull back control, fighting back the burning creeping up his nose. 

“Because,” Peter cuts in, looking damn near gleeful at Elias’s struggle. “You’ve always been a betting man.” 

 “hiEh’mMPFfshh-uih!” Elias winces as the sneeze breaks through his control. He barely manages to catch it in the soft folds of his rapidly deployed handkerchief. Peter looks beyond thrilled at this, as if the sneeze itself was some form of acceptance. And– 

“hH’MPFSHh’uh! hiH’MFSHH–oo!” 

They both know it never stops at one. Managing to stall the onslaught with a rough massage of the handkerchief, Elias cautiously lowers it and meets Peter’s eye again. Peter, for his part, offers a blessing. Elias shrugs it off with a grimace. 

“Fine,” Elias says, internally cursing again as his voice scrapes painfully against his ever-worsening throat. “Will taking this bet get you to leave me alone?” 

“I suppose so, if that’s what you’d like,” Peter replies casually. They both know it’s not a hard sell, getting him to be alone. 

“Then get on with it, what’s the wager.” 

“A simple one,” Peter smiles, leaning forward and resting his arms on the desk. “If you manage to hide this terrible head cold you’ve picked up from the rest of your staff, then you win!” 

Of course Peter could tell. The medication had picked a lovely time to wear off, but… having this be the focus of such a wager was still… unpleasant. And besides, he had no time for such dramas. Jon was finishing up his statement by now. Elias found himself Knowing that Jon was in fact asking Sasha and Tim for the final reports on the follow up they managed to do. And for that, Tim was still waiting on him. 

With another sigh, this one hitting something on the edge of his lungs and leaving him coughing into his fist, Elias manages to gain enough composure to reply with a mild, “I’m quite the busy man, Peter.” 

“Oh I know you are,” Peter pushes the glass of the water on the desk closer, and Elias gives him a muted thanks. “However, all I’m asking you to do is- well, what we both know you were planning to do anyways. I’m just interested in making a little money on the whole ordeal.” 

“Fine, name your price and then leave me to my work,” Elias replies, managing to stall the coughing with a few sips of the water. 

“Fifty dollars says you get caught before you go home today.” 

“Noted. Now, if you’ll excuse me?” Elias stands from his desk, gesturing Peter towards the door. “I have an appointment with Tim.” 

Peter doesn’t fight this, simply offering a deeply unsettling smile as he folds back out through the door. Only a faint mist clouding the hallway and echoing in Elias’s mind lingers as any proof he was there at all. It soon fades from the doorway, though the fog covering Elias’s thoughts remains. Maybe that one is more from the fever than the visit. 

“mMFhsh’oo!” Elias groans softly into the handkerchief, already feeling the hitching start up again as his eyes begin to water. Never just the one. “mPFShh–eh’MFSHhh’oo!” 

He pulls his hands away, before ducking frantically into his shoulder for a final, “ah’tshhiew!”  that manages to slip through before he can catch it in the cloth. 

Mercifully Peter left before that particular outburst, the pitchy whine of the last burst sending a rush of heat to Elias’s ears. Peter’s never been one to shy away from a good bit of taunting when he gets the opportunity, and this would definitely have served as host to some mocking. 

Making his way down the hall, Elias gives Rosie a polite nod, wincing slightly when she calls out to him. 

“Mr. Bouchard! Sorry sir, just have a couple things to run past you, if you have a moment?” 

“Of course Rosie,” Elias replies, turning slowly to face her with a calculated smile. She means well, and he can’t find it in himself to be upset with her. It’s hardly her fault that he’s unwell, or that he had the misfortune to draw Peter’s attention. 

“I’ll try to make this fast, there’s just a few forms that need a signature, some follow up for you to review- oh! And I almost forgot, Jon was asking about a few different statements.” 

Absent-mindedly beginning to sign the papers, Elias turns his focus to finding Jon. It turns out he’s in artifact storage, looking at something related to a statement, perhaps. It’s not an inconvenient spot for him to be, should make the meeting with Tim go a lot smoother. 

“Sir?” Rosie says, hesitantly. Elias manages to pull himself back, finding it harder than it should be. This fever seems to be worsening by the minute. 

“My apologies, I’m a touch… preoccupied,” Elias pauses briefly, feeling the all too familiar sensation start buzzing in his nose once more. He manages to stall it with a quick rub. Rosie doesn’t seem to notice, too busy looking down at her stack of paperwork. 

“Oh, I’m sorry sir! There’s just the follow ups, and Jon’s questions-” 

“Please leave those follow ups on my desk, I’ll get to them after I go and see Tim. As for Jon, I’ll pop by his office and talk to him myself,” Elias cuts her off, keeping the smile on his face as gentle as he can manage. 

Rosie smiles back, nodding and jotting down a few notes on her pad. Elias nods his thanks, then making a few polite excuses, takes his leave. He barely makes it down the hall before the buzzing becomes all consuming. Handkerchief long forgotten at his desk, he settles for pressing his wrist to his nose, and attempting to stifle the onslaught. 

“ek’ngt-chh! eh’dngt! –nngdt’chh! hihh… hh’ngKT’chh–oo!” 

The last breaks through with a whiny exhale, spreading the fevered flush deeper into his cheeks. He’d always taken a sense of pride in his control, both of himself and those around him. Part of being alive, and in power, as long as he has, it comes with the territory. But this cold was determined to rob him of any decorum he had left, it seemed.

Mercifully it seems no one witnessed this outburst either, but his charade of health is rapidly deteriorating. Elias lets another internal curse slip, this time it nearly passes his lips. Discreetly wiping a thin sheen of sweat from his forehead, he continues down the hall towards Tim. 

Elias’s specific brand of Knowing has its advantages, not the least of which being the ability to find any employee whenever necessary. In this case it’s walking up behind Tim pouring himself a coffee in the kitchen. 

“I heard you wanted to speak to me, Tim?” Elias says, voice cutting through the silence. He admittedly revels a little in the shudder that runs through the (much) younger man’s spine. 

“Double boss,” Tim collects himself fast, giving one of his patented charming smiles. It’s no wonder the– well, everyone, falls for it so fast. “Uncanny how you can sneak up on someone like that! Have you thought about going into the surprise birthday planning business?” 

“I… don’t believe that’s a thing,” Elias replies patiently, offering a contained smile. It’s never a good idea to put off one’s subordinates so soon. Keep them in line? Of course. But this early on, respect and fear are both key weapons to wield. 

Tim chuckles, pouring a frankly outrageous amount of cream and sugar into the coffee before giving it a light stir. “Well if it isn’t, it should be!” 

“I think I’ll leave the party planning to you, though I’ll always find some time to stop by for a piece of cake.” 

“And you’ll always be welcome, you’re the big boss after all!” Tim smiles again, though Elias can see every ounce of sarcasm plastered throughout the grin. While he may not match Tim when it comes to charm, he far surpasses him in skills when lying is at play. He’s had much more practice, after all. 

Biting down the urge to cough again as his throat objects to the prolonged usage, Elias steadies himself with a firm, “I was told you wanted to see me? If you wouldn’t mind getting to the point, I do have other matters of which to attend…” 

“Oh, right!” Tim starts, setting down his coffee and reaching over to the table for a couple files. Elias takes this moment to duck into his wrist, managing a pair of completely silent stifles. Another trick his years have let him hone, though each new body seems to take a varying amount of time to reach perfection.

“hk’ndGT-uh!”  

This one, unfortunately, is deeply uncooperative, letting the final sneeze escape into a strangled noise. Tim doesn’t seem to have noticed, busy rustling through the files. He’s obviously looking for something. It would be much easier to simply Know, and just give Tim the answer before even hearing the question… but that draws too much attention. He’ll just have to wait it out. 

Since he’s standing here anyways, Elias takes the chance for a quick peek at Jon. He seems to have settled himself back into his office, clicking away at his computer as he translates a few statements over to the device. Hardly interesting work, they’re certainly not anything worthwhile, but they should give him something to do for the rest of the afternoon. 

“Boss?” Tim’s voice pulls him back, and Elias attempts to focus on the file being held out to him. Attempts, and fails. 

Instead, all he manages to do is offer a half strangled noise, and sway slightly on his feet. Tim, to his credit, is quick to react; pulling out a chair and leading Elias gently into it. 

“That’s quite alright,” Elias protests, attempting to stand before quickly thinking better of it. He plays off the attempt as merely changing position, crossing one leg over the other. “It was just a touch of dizziness, haven’t been sleeping enough lately, what with Jon in his new position and all. A lot of late nights, as I imagine the rest of you are pulling as well.” 

Tim’s face is nearly unreadable. Elias almost considers Knowing his feelings, but given how poorly checking in on Jon just went, he’s not eager for a repeat performance. 

Instead, he settles on raising carefully to his feet, and steadying Tim with a polite but firm look. “It’s nothing I can’t handle. Now, the files? I believe I mentioned it before, but I have quite a lot to do.” 

With a small nod, face still tightly guarded, Tim lets his gaze drop down to the files, collecting the papers he’d been holding out before. He hands them over to Elias, who recognizes quite quickly that they all feature connections to some rather big donors. This must be why Tim wanted his input before continuing. He had given Jon quite the talking to for digging in too far the other day. 

“The trails of these follow ups have led to some interesting places,” Tim begins, going on some rant about Jon’s persistence, Sasha’s lack of interest in hard work, and more meaningless drama. He’s just started on something about ‘needing a contact in the law office down the block’ when Elias feels the all too familiar tickle beginning to reemerge.

He isn’t going to be able to get away without making his departure all too obvious. No room for polite excuses or subtly in this moment, so with a slight grimace, he makes his move. 

“So sorry, please excuse me for a sehh- second.” 

Tim pauses, just beginning to ask if everything’s okay when Elias turns into his wrist, bending at the waist ever so slightly as he ducks away with a tightly contained “ih’gnDt!” 

“Oh- bless yo-” Tim starts, getting cut off by a wave from Elias, still hitching rapidly into his wrist. 

“N- nohhht… d- done… hk’nNgtchh! ih’mMFSShhh’uh! mMPFSHh! ih’MMPFShhh–oo!” 

“Christ, bless you boss! Quite the show there,” Tim laughs, clearly not too worried about mocking his superior. Normally Elias might chastise him a touch for that, but now doesn’t seem the time for such things. Instead, he merely offers thanks, grabbing a tissue from the counter and attempting a polite blow. 

There is a slight wince from Tim at this, Elias mimicking the action as his sinuses throb at the action. The dull ache spreads further throughout his head, and the world seems to spin as Elias pulls himself back to his full height. Tim’s still looking on, a touch concerned, and Elias offers a vague wave.

“Apologies, the dust down here still tends to get to me sometimes, even after these years.” 

There’s a brief pause, Tim seeming to consider this explanation, before the tension melts from his posture and it’s right back to the rambling. It’s much different from Martin’s brand. That seems to be more about nerves, his mouth moving faster than he can keep up with. Tim’s is more calculated, seemingly just enjoying the sound of his own voice. “Seems to happen to loads of people. They’re used to a much cleaner standard I think, the libraries seem to be cleaner at least, and it’s often a bit of a shock I think for people to see what disarray we’re in! I mean hell, I’ve succumbed to a few attacks of my own, and Jon– christ, you should have heard him when he first started emptying out those boxes. Nearly dragged him out by his collar a few times, just to make sure he didn’t stop breathing.” 

“And I thank you for that,” Elias interrupts with a polite smile. “Not eager to have to fill the role again quite so soon.” 

Tim chuckles a bit, but generally seems to be a bit lost in his own thoughts. Recalling memories of those first few weeks, Elias supposes. Or, shall we say, Knows. The knowledge leaves him a bit dizzy, but nothing nearly so bad to knock him off his feet this time. Tim snaps out of it quickly, returning to his line of questioning about donations, funding, and… things that sounded to be walking a fine line of legality. 

Elias gives the proper responses; a smile here, nod there, yes or nos when appropriate, some casual conversation when there’s nothing to comment on past a vague nicety. Eventually Tim finishes with his questions, Elias offering what knowledge he had– or rather, what knowledge he reasonably could have. 

“So if that’s all,” Elias says, relief beginning to spread through him as the end of this meeting draws tantalizingly close. “I’ll be getting back to my desk, and you should get back to work as well. There are still plenty of hours left in the day.” 

“Not much for me to do until Sasha gets back,” Tim starts, but Elias quickly cuts him off with a click of the tongue. 

“I’m sure Jon could always use a hand, perhaps you can go get a few more boxes to pack up the statements he’s already been through.” 

“Or,” Tim strings out the word, giving a tilted grin. “I could go help Sasha with some very important research.” 

This thinly veiled attempt at getting off work would, once again, normally deserve some form of response. The least Tim could do is pretend to be working, put a little effort into the charade. But between the chills beginning to work their way up his spine, and the consistent itch that won’t leave him be, Elias finds himself with bigger things to focus on. 

“Do what you will, just make sure you gehh– get your work done before you leave for the day.” 

The single hitch breaks through his focus, Elias fighting it off with the last of his resolve. Tim doesn’t let this one slide past though, reaching over and moving the tissues closer with a touch of a smirk on his face. Apparently eager for another display from the boss. Even as much as he despises the vulnerability, Elias can’t say the… voyeuristic side doesn’t hold its own appeal. 

It’s hardly up to him though, he’s been denying the whims of this cold for far too long it seems, and luck has run out. With the last bit of control he has left, he manages to grab a handful of the tissues Tim had so kindly pushed within reach, ducking into them as the fit finally breaks through.

“hH’RRSHHhoo!”

“Woah, bless you boss, that wa-” 

Elias cuts him off with a shake of his head, still hitching desperately into the tissues. 

“N- never… nehh… never just… hK’TZSHHhoo! eh’RZSHhhoo! Christ, I cahh… can’t– eh’RSHHh’oo! hh’ETZSHhhiiew!” 

The last one comes out more whiny than the rest, Tim at least having the decency to look concerned at the change of pitch. Elias manages to watch him through watery eyes, finding it almost amusing how arguably the most charismatic of his employees seems absolutely lost as to what he should be doing. In his defense, at this stage, there isn’t much to do but ride it out. 

“ih’EZSSH–EZSHH’oo!” The pair stumbles over each other, but leaves Elias with a long enough gap to grab another handful of tissues. He manages to get off a quick blow, wincing synchronously with Tim at the noises it produces. Not like he has much ability to save any dignity now. 

Thankfully, it seems to have stopped the attack, and Elias sinks himself back into the chair Tim had pulled out for him earlier, exhausted. Really quite astounding, with how far the modern world has come, still a cure for the common cold remains out of reach. 

“Christ, boss, bless you,” Tim offers, Elias startling a bit as he comes to the sudden remembrance he’s not alone. 

“Thagk you,” Elias replies, once again leaving them both wincing at his rapidly deteriorating state. If he didn’t know better, Elias would think Peter somehow caused this illness to behave in this fashion. Alas, he does know better. And, for that matter, Know better. This state of rapid decline is par for the course in this body. It seems to have a quite poor immune system. Unfortunately not something he can blame Peter for. 

“I think you’re running a fever,” Tim pauses, seeming to, for the first time, truly take in Elias’s appearance. “A pretty bad one too, I’d guess.” 

Elias pauses, face calm as he weighs his options. It’s almost certain the bet’s lost now. The other symptoms he could probably have waved off as more dust related problems, but a fever… that’s hard to pin on a mere sensitivity, or even an allergy. 

Still, the bet’s not his main concern. Maintaining his careful balance of fear and respect requires a lot of maintenance. Being seen this unwell, this vulnerable, that certainly could tip the scales into unwanted territory. 

“I’b–” Clearing his throat, Elias attempts some semblance of normal sounding speech, though the edges of his words still hold that heavy congested tone. “I might be a touch under the weather, but it’s nothing I can’t handle. I appreciate your concern, but all I need is a good night's sleep, and I should be good as new.” 

It seems a mutual agreement that that statement was a lie, and that neither of them is going to be the one to point that out. Tim offers a vague shrug, mutters something sarcastic under his breath about ‘not being Martin’, followed by something about ‘spreading the plague to the whole office’, but generally leaves without much of a fuss. 

The fussing, no doubt, will come in the form of a salt-tinged sea captain waiting in his office. Elias doesn’t even have to Know, to know that one. 

As he makes his way upstairs, shrugging off Rosie’s concerns with a tight, yet friendly, dismissal, Elias finds himself hurrying to duck into his office before the–

“hh’atshhew! at’shhoo! Christ.”  

“Bless you, Elias.” 

Elias turns to face the voice, accepting the handkerchief it offers out to him. “You knew I’d lose, dihh… ah’tzshh’oo! atschhew! heh’RRSHh’oo! Bloody hell.” 

“And again,” Peter smirks. 

“Didn’t you?” Elias finishes, keeping an eye on the figure standing next to his chair.

“Of course I did,” Peter replies, nonchalant as ever. “Rosie had you clocked since this morning. You had lost before you even accepted. Surprised someone of your standing didn’t… Know that already. Still, it was quite entertaining, watching you attempt to hide it for so long.” 

Elias simply rolls his eyes, blowing his nose for what is almost the first real time today. It leaves him breathless, and he follows it with a second, then third. He takes more than a hint of enjoyment from the looks of concern that flash across Peter’s face.

Placing a fifty on the table, Elias sinks into his chair, finally beginning to let down his guard under Peter’s watchful gaze. He puts up little resistance when strong arms guide him up, and over to the small couch in the corner of his office. The lack of resistance continues as those same arms pull him down, laying him carefully across the couch, head resting lightly on Peter’s lap. 

No words are spoken between them, but then again, they never really needed such things.

[penelopesbaby]

2 person house party

Being disgusting at karaoke with Elias

It was one of those things that you're not really sure how it happened. At first Elias just recommended that they put on music while cleaning the safe house, which then quickly turned into a single along.

At some point it switched to full karaoke, and after ditching the brooms and the dusters for remote controls and wooden spoons, barista and Elias both found themselves belting every song that popped up on the TV. Every voice crack was ignored, every wrong pitch was left unnoticed. The two could hardly hear each other over the sound of their own screaming.

After a while and after the screaming died down, the two of them looked around to see the living room a complete utter mess again. And you would think the whole point of putting on music to clean would be to help you focus, right? Instead, all of the singing turned into dancing performances and jumping on the couch, causing ANOTHER big mess that Elias and barista needed to clean.

"Wasn't the purpose of the music to help us get this done faster..?" Elias questions while picking back up the discarded broom off the floor.

Barista picks up their wash cloth before responding, "Uhm.. Maybe? I feel like we kinda just made a bigger mess..."

"Well..." He starts, "Since there's still a mess, and since we both know I killed it at karaoke, maybe we should just wait to clean up the mess after a round of karaoke battle?"

Barista stops and looks up at him, a smug look coating his face while he crosses him arms.

"You want to battle me at karaoke? Do you know how hard this is gonna hit your ego?" The smug look Elias wore now displayed on barista face, as they discarded the wash cloth to the floor and moved back over to the TV.

"Oh, trust me. You couldn't bruise my ego if you tried." He smirks.

It seems he was wrong though, because the thousand more points barista gained from singing song after song was, at the least, humbling.

"There's no way.." Elias whines looking at the scoreboard after the last song, and obviously, barista had won by a long shot.

"See I told you! I knew you were gonna sulk in your loss, you crybaby!" They laugh out. "Ughhh yeah yeah get your laughs in, but later when I load up the play station you're not gonna be laughing."

"Well maybe I’m laughing because after that attempt at a high note somehow you lost points."

"The game is rigged!" He throws his hands up before covering his laugh. "Are you sure it's rigged or are you just really bad at?" "It's rigged."

"Yeah okay, sure." Barista jokes before looking around at the new now bigger mess in the living room.

"So... should we clean this now orr..." They ask.

"Yeah.. Yeah we should.." Elias answers while picking up his discarded broom.

"Try not to trip over the coffee table this time." Barista responds, walking back over to where they were cleaning before.

"That was your fault! You were distracting me!" "Whatever your'e such a liar!"

------------------------------------------------

me when I don't know how to end a fic

ik it was rly short I'm like just getting back into writinggg...sigh....

[gunnrblze]

Mischaracterizations are prevalent in fandoms. I'm curious, which ones of the CoD:Ghosts franchise bug you the most, and make you want to pull out your hair once you see them in fics/other materials?

This question created several additional thoughts, so I’m putting all my yapping below the cut lmfao.

Tbh it doesn’t bother me a whole lot except when it’s a large part of said character, or one of their only canon descriptions/facts/etc. I think it’s great for ppl to create what they want, esp when a lot of the ghosts have little/no info so we quite literally have to make shit up and fill in the likely blanks, but if you’re straying so far from who a character is…😟

Like, Keegan is described and shown throughout the game as being a very quiet man…so it does make me side eye when people portray him as this talkative guy, or someone with a really big personality lol cause that’s just not the vibe. That’s why I rb’d that thing, because I was thinking about how he’s the most popular ghost by far, and I think a lot of those fans aren’t necessarily into the rest of the ghosts game (and they don’t have to be, just an observation). I think that’s why so much of the content made about him outside of the actual ghosts fandom seems out of left field, bc people just kinda take a hot character and do whatever with him (which again, is fine, free will in fandom is good and necessary). I also think that’s why so many people get him confused as being part of other CoD games, because they aren’t aware of where his character even comes from in the first place.

Now this may be a bit of an unpopular opinion bc I know a lot of ppl hate some of the smut aspect that’s written about these characters, because they include themes that are/seem ooc, but I’m gonna be honest…that part doesn’t bother me so much because at the end of the day, people just want to put their fantasies and ideas onto hot masked man…and I get it lmao. Not to say im necessarily gonna read it, esp stuff with hard kink type shit, but it’s more so bothersome when people mischaracterize them because they don’t pay attention to the actual canon character in other fics/materials.

That’s why I kinda separate smut fic from everything else a bit, because a lot of smut I’ve noticed, especially with Keegan specifically, is written ooc, because making it canon/character correct isn’t the point, the sexy time shit is. Now I still prefer reading smut that seems largely in character lol, but I do have to defend the larger idea here that it’s not a crime to write an ooc smut fic because half the time…the smut is the main focus, not the canon/implied personality of the character.

I completely understand the shock of seeing certain smut in the first place (talking about the more fucked up shit here…), especially when it’s then placed on a character you know and love, but it honestly doesn’t bother me that much-and maybe it’s because I’ve been on the internet for too long💀- but that’s kinda the point of fandom I think…doing whatever pleases you, having an outlet. That’s the type of smut I think is very obviously written with the idea in mind, and not necessarily ‘would the character do/behave like this?’. Because yea, these ghost boys would most likely not do all these fucked up things, but I think people still deserve the freedom to write it, and they’re going to anyways lmfao (IF you’re tagging disturbing content correctly, you owe people that much!)

I’ve been having those thoughts for a while now so I had to yap them out of my head lol, but to answer the actual question, aside from Keegan, I hateeee seeing the Walker fam mischaracterized. I think because (it seems) they have more info available on them compared to the other ghosts, so when I see people just giving their personalities a 180 I’m like…Hesh would NOT act like that😩. Especially with Elias because he’s my husband obviously…so people missing larger parts of his character or stuff that’s implied about him makes my eye twitch a little lol.

Also, I don’t typically see a whole lot of ooc stuff for the ghosts in the first place tbh (minus Keegan, bc he has reached the CoD masses of course). Because we’re a smaller fandom, and I think people tend to stay in character more in smaller fandoms (at least from what I’ve seen) because there’s so little content available on characters, and it’s like we’re all clinging to what we DO know about them lmfao.

Thanks for attending my ted talk 💋

[justatiredghost]

Traffic Lights Tag Game

rules: talk about something creative you're working on of any kind.🚦 green: what is it about, what excited you about it, what sparked the idea? orange: slow down and share something from it: a photo, a few words, some more background info etc. red: what is the roadblock currently? what is one thing that is a necessary evil in making it?

tagged by @princessraptor thank you so much!!

Green

I’m going with my ongoing series No Freedom from Knowing. It’s a Magnus Archives fantasy au where avatars are warlocks and the Fears are their patrons. John is kinda hiding out alone on the fringes of society, because most people are understandably terrified of magic and react badly when they find out he’s a warlock. 

Occasionally, because he’s the only one stupid enough to live in a monster-infested forest, he stumbles across injured victims of the Fears and tries to help them, which is how he meets Martin at the start of the story. 

While I wanted to put him through the horrors, I ended up wanting to focus more on John learning to trust people again and the ways connections can save us, which is how I took a 10 chapter fic and managed to get it up into the 30s lol. 

I first got this idea while relistening to s5 and at the very end, when Georgie mentions the mob justice people were enacting on avatars, I realized, if he knew Martin was safe, John probably wouldn’t fight back if they came to kill him. And that is an incredibly sad thought. He’s just so full of guilt, and if he isn’t actively protecting someone or trying to save the world, he’d probably just accept it. I don’t think he wants to hurt anyone, and honestly he’d probably see it as some sort of atonement.

So I wanted to do something with that, but ended up putting it in an au bc I wasn’t sure how to handle a post-canon world, especially if I wanted a happy ending. So yeah, John hasn’t ended the world, but he has hurt people and if the only other avatars/warlocks people know of are like Jane Prentiss, they are more likely to lash out first and ask questions later.

Orange

This was supposed to be a short exploration, but apparently I am enjoying writing John having one panic attack after another, but then getting to experience comfort and safety after. So, every time I think I’m done, I think of another scenario or scene I want to explore and it just keeps going lol. 

I am happier with the character arc I have now than when I’d originally planned to end it at ch10, so I might wrap it up for now and create a series if I do end up adding onto it. It makes sense to have Elias be the final villain. I do think it would be interesting to bring Peter Lucas in and explore stuff with Martin more, but I have no concrete ideas yet so we shall see. 

Also, I keep going back and thinking about Martin’s pov and writing little scenes for him which is fun to explore considering what an unreliable narrator John is. No idea if I’ll do anything with them though

Red

Ah action scenes, the bane of my existence lol. I’ve got at least two, maybe more, coming up, and I’m not entirely sure how to handle them yet. I find them very difficult and get impatient with them, so. I’m trying to make sure I’m actually having fun writing them and not just using them as a way to get from point A to point B. 

I also have a scene where a character confronts their abuser, and I want to make sure I handle it okay and also make it satisfying. Hopefully I can pull it all off lol. Endings are always stressful. 

[aestheticpearl]

— 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞

✧·˚ elias having a soft and sweet moment with his favorite barista

“you don’t have to sit here with me elias.”

“i know, but i want too.”

you sniffle and wipe away a stray tear from your face. you’ve never been strong when yelled at, even with nasty customers the faucet behind your eyes always seems to run no matter what. it’s the tone that’s the real killer, you just don’t want to disappoint anyone.

“i’m sorry, i probably look a mess. i’m not sad i just—” you take a breath as you feel your eyes fill with tears once more. “i just have trouble saying how i feel without crying and i-i don’t know why.” you voice waivers and you hate how pathetic you sound.

“i’m sorry.” you look down at your hands trying to focus on something to get yourself to stop crying. elias places his hand over yours and feels a tear drop fall on the back of his hand.

“don’t be sorry, emotions can be hard to process sometimes.” he intertwines your fingers with his and gives your hand a light, reassuring squeeze. you look up to connect your eyes with his and he gives you a comforting smile. “i’m hear to listen baby, take your time.”

“thank you.” you move closer and lean your head on his shoulder. no one had ever in your life cared about you like this, it felt so refreshing and unreal. deep down a part of you was scared that this was a fleeting moment and that it was real, just a façade that elias put on to comfort you, but he seemed so genuine.

“you know… you’re the only person that has seen me cry, which is shocking cause i feel like i cry all the time but i’ve always hidden it from everyone each time. what i’m trying to say is thank you for not making fun of me.”

“i could never make fun of you…well, i could never make fun of you when it’s a serious matter.” you smile and shove him gently while laughing softly. he returns the laughter and kisses your head.

“thank you for being here for me.”

“i always will be.”

“you’re so sweet to me elias.” you cups his cheek and kiss him gently, only pulling away when his phone suddenly buzzes.

“sorry.” he declines it and kisses you again.

“mm don’t you need to get that?” you ask pulling away.

“it can wait, you’re more important.”

“i am not elias, answer the phone.” you reach over to his phone and answer it before giving it to him. elias sighs and takes the phone.

“hello?” he leans in planting another kiss on your lips as he listens to the other person on the line. you quietly laugh at the romantic action.

“oh yes we’re being very careful warden.” he leans in for another kiss before you smack his shoulder lightly after realizing who is on the other line.

“it’s your father!” you whisper shout.

elias can’t help but smile at your shocked face while still holding your wrist to prevent you from landing another hit on him. your embarrassed face is just too cute to not look at.

“yes, thank you warden.” he finally ends the call and drinks in your embarrassed state. “you’re adorable when your embarrassed you know.”

you shake your head and lean against him as he hangs up and you look back up at the stars. they almost seem bright now that elias is here next to you.

“you know, i really wish we met under different circumstances.”

elias takes your hand and squeezes it.

“me too, but i’m just glad we met even if the circumstances weren’t ideal.”

“thank you elias, for protecting me from all this chaos. sometimes i don’t think i deserve it; deserve you.”

“don’t be ridiculous, you deserve it.” he says as he brings your hand up to his lips and place a light kiss on the back of it. “let’s stay together after all of this is over okay? i think it’s best if we both stay.”

“okay.”

now that elias is with you, you can’t even remember why you were crying in the first place.

this was supposed to be a valentine day fic but i didn’t finish in time i apologize

.love always <3 pearl

.masterlist

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

i just saw 1968 getting brought up again and this is by no means a competition (and im not being serious rn 😭) but im proclaiming myself no1 1968 fan.................. that story... phew. i even had my non-fanfic-reading, non-hotd-watching friend read it and go insane with me (we even gave them different names while talking about them. in our two-person-fandom aegon is andreas and aemond is agamemnon. don't ask it just happened.) like................ if 1968 has a million fans im one of them. if 1968 has no fans im dead. if the world is against 1968 then im against the world, etc. I WILL LIVE TO SEE THE DAY I HAVE IT IN MY HANDS AS A PHYSICAL COPY AND I MIGHT NOT SURVIVE THE OUT-OF-BODY EXPERIENCE IT WILL BE !!!!!!!!!! ok that's all. vote 3leni as the official spokesperson for 1968 fans. im 3leni and i approve this message.

Bestie you have made a compelling argument, I proclaim you 1968’s #1 fan 🥳🦅🇺🇸

Also it is SO CUTE that you renamed the characters and proselytized to nonbelievers, you were way ahead of me in translating 1968 into an original novel! 😂 But 1968 will have its own book one day, I promise!!! In the novelized version, Aemond is Angelo and Aegon is Elias (Eli) 🥰

(After TKOH is done I’m taking a lil break to focus on self-publishing and building up a library, I was going to do that before TKOH but Pope Francis had to go and make conclaves cool again so I couldn’t resist getting that fic out asap 😂)

[lilacstarryskies]

im so done w hotd rn…

the only thing keeping me going is aegon!!

but tbh i think im gonna go back to my love for got-era things… even tho 99 percent of the jon fics now crush me when they make one small note of elia like “oh she accepted ur father’s annulment and even advocated for his love for lyanna” 😭😭

icl i CANNOT keep rereading all the pro-elia fics on ao3, i think ive read EVERYTHING at least 5 times 💀

fic ideas??? if u cant find it, write it? and i cant fine enough elia-rhaegar-lyanna+kids fics lol

1) smth for jon being slightly disappointed w r+l… focus on his wall besties ??

2) jon+rhaenys+aegon beloved trio in kl while lyanna (who feels regret but is still queen) is striving for jon to be heir but he loves his children (dance style-au kinda)

3) day 1 for sundragons week! written a lil for a rhaenys lives but elia and aegon don’t. rhaegar want to please her so intensely and she hates lyanna and jon (sorry bro).

4) need day 2 for sundragons week! maybe aegon raised by rhaella and ashara in dragonstone goes to see rhaegar+lyanna+jon for a tourney for his coming of age???

[rosered2018]

TMA/TMAGP Crossover

I have been reading a fair amount of Magnus Archives and Magnus Protocol fics, and have noticed that most of the crossovers focus on the OIAR crew encountering Team Archive. I decided to take it the other direction.

Since my philosophy with crossovers is to choose the one character who would cause the most chaos for both groups and use them as the crossover point. In this case, I would choose Gwen.

I'm operating on the theory that the Fears are somewhat active in her home timeline, so it's possible she either goes through the wrong door or falls through a crack in the universe.

Her first sign that something is massively wrong is when she goes to the OIAR building and finds the Magnus Institute instead.

She remembers that her Uncle Elias had worked there when it burned down, and goes in to see if he's still there. Rosie greets her and tells her that, yes, Elias is still there and, as a matter of fact, he's been the head of the institute for about twenty years now.

Gwen hasn't seen her uncle in years, but she still wouldn't trust him to run a register in a shop much less the day-to-day operations of an academic institution. She goes into his office, and finds herself face-to-face with Jonah Magnus in an Elias suit. She has a minor panic attack, and flees before he can say a word to her.

She ends up in the lobby, trying to get a grip and figure out what the hell is going on, when she encounters Tim and Sasha on their way back from lunch. They assume she's there to give a statement and walk her down to the archive. Gwen listens to the two of them banter, and is struck by how much they remind her of Alice and Sam.

Not that she misses them.

When they get to the archive, they walk in on Jon and Martin having an arguement about spiders. Jon wants any and all spiders in the archive killed immediately and with extreme prejudice. Martin is arguing for a catch and release policy. When Gwen hears their voices, she has another breakdown.

Two cups of excellent tea and a few cookies later, she's well enough to give a statement. "My name is Gwendolyn Bouchard. I work for the Office of Incident Assessment and Response in the Chelsea neighborhood in London..."

[tideswept]

THANK YOU. OKAY.

FIRST. Was Michala trans? or enby? or crossdressing?

SECOND. I read the 10th chapter! I promise! But Mordechai seemed so sad asdkf like did Mr. Lonely Himself care about his friends? I know the story wasn't about him or the group but I LOVED them all together.

THIRD. Why did that servant attack Jon in the darkness chapter? (WHICH BTW ONE OF MY FAVES) Rayner reacted like he didn't plan for it. Was he putting on a show?

FOURTH. I have a confession. When I read it the first time I REALLY thought it would end up jmart and that's why I read it. And then you just hit me with a baseball bat over the head and said NO YOU SHIP JONELIAS NOW. And yeah I GUESS I DO. But I was wondering... did Martin ever really have a chance? I was thinking at one point that it would end in a time-share kind of sutiation? Or would Jonah just. No. Absolutely not?

I'M SORRY. I HAVE MORE QUESTIONS. But I'll stop here. Please and thank you may you have ALL THE CANDY THIS HALLOWEEN

wb nonnie! ♥ I admit I had to look up some stuff to make sure I was remembering correctly.

(1) Michaela was cross-dressing to be able to sneak into the school (which at that time historically was males only), though arguably she could also be considered borderline enby? She didn't dislike being a woman. She just hated the discrimination and constraints she faced as one. Maybe her opinion on the matter would have been different if she'd been born in a kinder era.

(2) Mordechai absolutely did care for his friends. Er, well, mostly; the antipathy between him and Michaela was real, but in a "worthy rivals" kind of way. They respected each other's grift. Very much a case of "you're a piece of shit, but somehow you're more tolerable than other people." so... they WERE friends. But once they chose their respective sides, they wouldn't have really hesitated to kill each other, except that Jonah and Jon wouldn't have approved. More so Jon; Jonah would have understood.

But pulling it back on a macro scale, yes, Mordechai did care for the Eldritch Friend Group, and he had at least some care for the family he went on to have. But by that time he'd been changed by the Lonely, hardened, so it was already different. And while he would absolutely abhor being considered having a "sad ending" imo he totally did. A part of him was distant enough to maintain the objectivity to see what the Fears did to his friends, and even if he didn't regret his own choices, he still didn't like what happened to the other three. And the man went out of his way to warn his descendants about Jonah... but not Jon.

(3) You're correct! Rayner did not order the servant to attack Jon. He wasn't terribly upset by it, naturally, but that was 100% the Spider's doing. Jon had a collection to complete, and the Spider had it all planned out in advance.

(4) :< I am sorry? mostly! I mean welcome to the dark side if it makes you feel any better, writing Beholding's Own is exactly what turned me into a JonElias shipper. Before that I was tepid on the idea, and marginally positive about JonMartin (I hadn't listened to s4 yet.) So yeah, at the start, Martin has as good a chance as Elias, though at I wasn't even remotely thinking about endgame. My brain was focused on putting the pieces together.

I know the exact moment the fic went from "Default Jon/Martin, Elias is just there because the relationship is needed to make the plot work" and it was in chapter 2. I wrote a drabble to get a feel for dynamics in the past between Jon and Elias in the lead up to their meeting in the tunnels. (That became the scene where Jonah tells Jon that he's attending school with him.) That was the first crack in the ice.

Then P2 hit and it became apparent that Martin would not be faring well. It wasn't his fault, Jonah and Jon had too much history, and modern!Jon was too traumatized to consider a relationship with literally anyone. Even at that time I didn't have much focus/interest in who Jon would end up, because I knew that odds were high Jon would remain too traumatized by the end to be with anyone / Martin or Elias could go on the chopping block any moment.

So! Was Elias/Jon/Martin ever a possibility? Yes, actually! Not in a proper throuple kind of way, but the possibility was one I kept tucked to the side. But then I dug deeper claws into Martin as I listened to s4, and developed my own thoughts on the Rot, and I honestly could not do that to them. Not any of them.

Even if Martin's jealousy wasn't quite triggered as intensely with Elias as it was with say, literally anyone else, it still wouldn't have been good for him, and he deserved better. So did Jon. And so did Elias (even though lbh this was ALL HIS FAULT). It would have been an absolutely miserable situation.

Oops. I've definitely rambled enough. ♥ I hope I managed to answer your questions! And thank you! I hope you also get lots of goodies. :)