on some real faggot shit out here. this will be. done. once i fix the proportions and actually make it digital png real image. just have to mentally summon my apple pencil to me. from the deep recesses of my room
The thing that’s so funny about jonelias to me is that only 10% of their relationship would be twin pupils of the Eye feeding off your fears monster fuckery and the other 90% would be bitching about their coworkers and quiet nights in
have realized that while i am not a fan necessarily of “people meet and immediately fall in love” i am a fan of “people meet and are immediately obsessed with each other.” the love can come later but the absolute fixation should be immediate
funny how jonelias has a vice grip on my brain again all of a sudden
Jon feeling Elias’ presence like a spinal reflex, a stimulus to which he reacts despite himself—he is entirely out of control when it comes to Elias, which is to say he surrenders control to a part of him he desperately wishes not to acknowledge. Jon can’t turn away from Elias when they are extensions of each other, when every nerve in Jon’s body aligns itself irrevocably with Elias’.
jon being glad he’s not-human enough anymore to hate the world jonah has created, to hate jonah himself. jonah being glad he’s still enough human to experience awe and pride, as he witness jon -his creation- ascend to the role of god.
Ngl this might be the softest jonelias I’ve ever written and even at that it’s full of murder and manipulation and plotting. XD Thanks for the prompt!
23. carrying the other one in their arms
*
It’s late when Elias leaves the Institute, after police statements and questions and emailing all the department heads so they can inform their staff of the troubling news tomorrow morning. A light is still burning through the lounge window when he arrives home; he did text Jon not to wait up for him, but since when has Jon listened to anything Elias says? Elias could have Looked in on him before coming home, but tonight rather took it out of him; and besides, he quite likes Jon being a surprise.
He lets himself in quietly and makes his way into the lounge. The table lamp is lit, and Jon is curled up at one end of the sofa, his cheek pillowed on the armrest and his mouth slightly open as he sleeps. Papers and files are strewn around him from the haunting case he’s been working so hard on lately. A manifestation of the Dark, quite likely, but a mild one; not dangerous enough that Jon needs to be steered away from investigating.
Elias considers. He could leave Jon here, fetch him a blanket and let him sleep. At worst, his neck might be a touch stiff in the morning. But there is something small and selfish in Elias that wants the warmth of another person beside him tonight. (That wants Jon beside him, he thinks, and then immediately dismisses.) This evening was…difficult, and Elias isn’t inhuman, for all else that he might be. He didn’t enjoy it; it was simply necessary.
Elias is not a large man, but Jon is smaller and slight, and Elias lifts him easily, arms hooked under his knees and around his back. The feeling of Jon’s pliant, vulnerable weight in his arms stirs something tender in Elias’ chest, something warm and aching. Jon is a deep sleeper, when he deigns to sleep at all, and he doesn’t even stir until Elias sets him down on the bed; then dark eyes open, blinking dazedly up at him.
“Wh’ time is’t?” Jon mumbles.
“Late,” Elias tells him, and then makes a decision. “There was…something happened. Gertrude Robinson has disappeared, and I found blood in her office.”
“What?” Jon’s awake now, and his brow furrows with concern. “God, that must have been awful. Are you okay?”
“I’m quite all right, Jon,” Elias says “A bit shaken, of course. The police are investigating, but it doesn’t look good.”
Jon reaches for him, and Elias lets himself be pulled down to sit on the mattress, lets Jon’s arms wrap around him comfortingly.
“Is there anything I can do?” Jon asks.
“Not unless you can find me a replacement Archivist,” says Elias, then: “Sorry, that was in poor taste.”
“It’s fine,” Jon says against his neck. “I’ve been known to use inappropriate humor as a coping mechanism myself, on occasion.”
“I’d never noticed,” says Elias dryly, and Jon huffs a laugh and releases him.
“Let’s get to bed,” he suggests. “You’ve had a difficult night, and tomorrow probably won’t be much better. You need a good night’s sleep.”
He starts trying to wriggle out of his trousers, before realizing he needs to take his shoes off first and redirecting his efforts with a little grumbling noise that’s rather endearing. By the time Elias has undressed and hung his clothes neatly in the wardrobe, Jon is a lump under the duvet, and the space beside him is already beginning to warm. Elias slips in beside him, pulling Jon back against his chest, letting his nose press into Jon’s hair.
Jon makes a small, soft sound and relaxes against him, and Elias feels that deep aching tenderness again. He focuses on that feeling, allows himself to feel it, to know it, to understand that none of this will prevent him from doing what is necessary. Nothing will.
