Lonelyeyes Week 2025

Well then, since we’ve got a free-theme AU thread, I simply must show you my Hogwarts AU!

@lonelyeyesweek day 7– free au

Peter Lukas– the Headmaster of Hogwarts. They’re desperately short of competent staff, and he learns about Elias– a powerful wizard who strayed far from the righteous path and ended up in Azkaban.

Day Fill: Second Chances

Fandom/Ship: The Magnus Archives : Peter Lukas/ Elias Bouchard | Jonah Magnus

Rating: Teen

Word Count: 2243

Warnings and Tags: human Au, no fears Au, second chances, angst, fluff, conversations, awkward Peter, getting back together, maybe, break-ups and getting back together

Summary: Peter and Elias see each for the first time since they broke up years ago at a café, and they finally talk.

Written for @lonelyeyesweek for the prompt: Second Chances.

Author Note: Was totally gonna post this yesterday and then just got too tired and forget x-x" But hey better late than never! I love second chance loves and getting back together. I just mmm the bitter sweetness soothes my soul. Have some older Lonelyeyes maybe getting back together with help from Simon who just couldn't handle these two anymore.

Happy Reading, I appreciate every like, comment, and reblog! ❤️

Read a snipping from, Black Coffee and Cat Toys, Rated Teen, below or in full on my Ao3.

*note, this story (and all of my others) on Ao3 is locked for registered Ao3 user

Day Fill: Funeral

Fandom/Characters/Ship: The Magnus Archives : Peter Lukas/ Elias Bouchard | Jonah Magnus Rating: Teen Word Count: 354 Warnings and Tags: grave side conversations, implied atrocities, funeral, graves, funerals, banter, fighting as flirting, fear as food Summary: Jonah says goodbye to James Wright one last time, and hopes to soon say his first goodbye to Elias Bouchard.

Written for @lonelyeyesweek prompt: Funeral Author Note: Oh, it's super short, but I just really liked the idea of the original owners of Jonah's body's sticking around a bit until they just couldn't handle the things Jonah did. The fear, the sex whatever it was and that they slipped away eventual. And then I like the idea that he would start making a game out of it seeing what would make them leave what the limit was and with a Lukas for a companion of sorts a wager would grow from it.

Happy Reading, I appreciate every like, comment, and reblog! ❤️

Read, Another Grave, Rated Teen, in full below or on my Ao3.

*note, this story (and all of my others) on Ao3 is locked for registered Ao3 user

Jonah falls and dies and lives over and over and over again, fear and regret gripping at him while he does. Finally there comes an end, darkness. That is when he finally wakes up screaming in pain as he feels his chest bleed and his lungs fill with blood all over again. He chokes up as he hears people rush in and he is dragged away, its hard to say what is happening, but he finally is able to lose consciousness after what felt like years. Elias knows no more.

"Since you said you had something for me, to get some steam off from my…less than savory commentary about your person" He is still not proud of that, so his tone comes off as a bit more reluctant. With a sigh, Elias squirms a little bit, before once again trying to apologize. "Peter…i am deeply sorry about my choice of words the other day, the things I said about you—" "Oh here it is!" Annoyed, he asks what it is, when he sees Peter turn around from their closet with a… "No" "Hm, i say yes, you owe me Elias" "You know i hate that thing" The thing in question is a blindfold. A Dark powered one, which basically makes him unable to use his powers properly. Elias shivers just thinking about it. "Oh you don't hate it, if i recall you usually have the time of your life when you wear it, let us not lie to ourselves" His husband comes closer and offers it to him, he looks at it with disdain before picking it up and looking up at Peter who still gives him a neutral expression. He really hates that, he is so easy to read usually, he knows all his idiosyncrasies and yet he robs him of his favorite thing. "Fine"

Peter first saw James Wright at yet another funeral in the family manor. Apparently the others knew him as well, for one simply couldn’t avoid a person so deliberately by accident. Nathaniel was the only one who didn’t shy away from him– though he hardly appeared to enjoy his presence. He was handsome, composed, and his eyes were like mist– grey and cold. Yet something about them was wrong. Peter had seen them somewhere before, though he couldn’t recall where. Time passes, and with it memories fade.

Peter was woken by an unexpected phone call from Nathaniel, which usually meant someone had died. But not this time.

–There’s an investors’ meeting at Magnus’ institute. You’ll be going in my place. Not up for debate. Be there at seven. You met James Wright a few years back. Dress decently.
And with that he hung up, not giving Peter a chance to speak, let alone process the astonishing news. Nathaniel knew Peter wasn’t at sea and was in London, which meant there was no running–he would have to go and meet an old acquaintance.

–They say the head of the institute will be replaced soon.
–I’m not surprised. James has been sitting on that throne for years, and we’re hardly getting any younger.
–You’d never guess it looking at him. At sixty he barely looks forty-five.

Peter had first seen him fifteen years ago, when the man was forty-five– and even then he’d looked younger than his age. Lucas drifted about shrouded in mist, eavesdropping on rumours and gossip, most of which were nothing more than bone-picking. And then suddenly he felt tension seize his body. A coldness ran from the nape of his neck downwards. Someone was watching him.

Turning around, he saw the head of the institute with a glass of red wine, speaking to other investors, yet his gaze seemed intent on burning a hole through the back of Peter’s skull. The mist was no help now, and to avoid a scorched collar he decided to head upstairs. Parts of the institute resembled a labyrinth. Wandering aimlessly, he climbed to the third floor– the location of the director’s office, as well as those of all previous holders of the post. Five portraits hung deeper down the corridor, leading towards the entrance to the underworld. He had been calm and alone on the second floor, but as he reached the third the itch at the back of his head returned. Unpleasant, nagging, watchful. But from where?

And then the secret revealed itself. If one looked closely at the portraits, the eyes were the same. The same cold grey eyes with flecks of green around the pupil. Finding one person with such eyes wasn’t impossible. Finding five in London– now that was a conspiracy.

-Admiring the portraits, Mr Lukas?
James ascended the stairs slowly, like a predator entering its den, fully aware that prey awaited inside.
–You’ve got taste.
–I don’t compromise on my choices.

Oh, he certainly had taste–in suits and in lovers alike.

–Won’t you join me, Peter?

As if he had a choice. But he did not expect the scale of what was to come. They went out for dinner, which was undeniably pleasant, though James scarcely took his eyes off Peter, as if unable to get his fill. His eyelids were slightly lowered, his posture relaxed, and he was smiling. There was something about it that hooked Peter like a fish caught on a lure. Then James took him to his flat, and five minutes later the doorbell rang. Lukas hid in the mist; only James could sense his presence. What happened next forced Peter to reconsider James’ inclinations. It was vile, yet the grace with which he did it made Peter’s insides twist. The screams ended quickly; blood covered the entire table– no amount of oilcloth could have saved it– and a new suit was ready. New body was shaking, his lips were blue, and his tears were blood-red, washing away the memory of the original owner’s brown eyes. The mist weakened; Magnus could now see him without difficulty, but even within the fog Peter could feel him.

–What am I to call you now?
–Elias. Elias Bouchard.
–Hello, Elias. Fancy a go?–he asked, offering the pipe– an artefact of the Lonely. Elias knew as much, yet it didn’t stop him from taking a single drag for the brief, numbing stillness it offered. His eyes burned fiercely, tears continued to fall and were still tinged with blood. Instead, Elias pulled a cigarette from a long-abandoned packet on the coffee table. The flare of the match was bright and sharp– unpleasant, but worth it. The smoke filled his lungs, mingling with the thick mist that forced all troubles to dissolve, while the fog coiled around him– soothing, relaxing.

I was busy celebrating my birthday yesterday so no lonelyeyes post (but I was on a very lonelyeyes coded date if that counts!)

BUT I am back to strike you right in the feels

Day 5: post-apocalypse

Peter doesn't know why he saved him from the ruins of the panopticon, especially since he himself has almost died due to Elias' schemes. Maybe to be able to gloat to his face for his "immortality plan" not going as he intended.

All Peter had to do to be finally truly Alone was to leave Jonah bleed out on the floor of the collapsing tower. He would be free, tied down by absolutely no one. Isn't that what he always dreamed of? He just has to turn around and leave, for it all to be over. No more marriages or divorces, no more petty fights over anything from interior design to world domination plans. No more dinner dates that ended with one or two poor souls afraid for their life. Peter could now be perfectly lonely, able to completely give himself over to his patron. To fade into another level of loneliness.

Except, the powers were gone now.

It started as crack, ended in… whatever that was

Enjoy!

Chapter 2: After Party

Fandom/Ship/Characters: TMA - OG Elias Bouchard, Jonah Magnus | James Wright, Peter Lukas, James Wright, James Wright | Jonah Magnus /Peter Lukas, Jonah Magnus/The Lukas family

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 1252

Warnings and Tags: banter, crass Peter, stealing documents, light stalking, body shopping with Jonah and Peter, Jonah as the weirdest and sexiest family heirloom, implied previous relationships, mentions of Simon Fairchild

Summary: Before getting called for the interview, before being selected. Jonah isn't sure he wants Elias, but Peter is not going to let it go.

Inspired by conversations with @michaelmilligan and finished for @lonelyeyesweek for the prompt: Pre-cannon.

Author Notes: Well, look who came back to finish this, or you know it wouldn't leave my mind or my wips, and I was like oh you know this is pre-cannon kinda.

Click Here to Read Chapter 1

Happy Reading, I appreciate every like, comment, and reblog! ❤️

Read, After Party, Rated Mature, in full below or on my Ao3.

*note, this story (and all of my others) on Ao3 is locked for registered Ao3 user

Originally, I’d planned to make a light NSFW piece of Peter and Elias in prison (S4), where Elias has grown so starved for touch that any physical contact makes him start praising Peter (he really likes it, though he would never admit as much. Peter’s touch is usually cold– so much so that it sends shivers up your spine and you feel the chill down to your bones, but now Elias wants it so badly that it almost feels warm). Unfortunately, I didn’t have enough time for either the sketch concept or the text, so this time I’m only presenting the drawing, though now it’s a fully finished one.

I really like the headcanon that Peter has long hair, even though it’s not typical for sailors, so I decided to include it here. Peter would only ever let Elias cut his hair, and since they break up more often than it rains in November, his hair tends to grow out quite a bit. Elias refuses to acknowledge how much he loves this, but he shows it in other ways– by taking care of Peter’s hair, and on rare occasions giving it a little tug to guide Peter in the right direction while running his hand through the surprisingly soft, slightly wavy strands.

(I guess this one counts more as an alternative ending)

What Elias remembered were only flashes of memories. He remembered pain mixed with ecstasy that detached him from reality; he remembered Jon's voice calling him by his name, and he remembered the archivist's anger and a knife in his hand. And a knife in his eyes. Two precise, vicious stabs aimed to take away what's left of him, and then he just passed out. Not able to cry, to see, or to know. Now he was awake, and he regretted it; he regretted every breath. He was cold and in pain, but all of that seemed unimportant in the face of the terrible, terrifying fact. 

He was blind. 

Elias shivered and sniffed, his eyes, or what's left of them, burning in pain. He curled himself on the ground and realized he was lying on sand. 

"Elias?"

Elias flinched. 

"Peter?" He whispered and felt a hand on his face. 

"What... Who did this?"

"Jon."

"Your Archivist?"

Elias laughed bitterly and winced in pain. 

"The Archivist claimed his rightful place in the Panopticon." He whispered, searching for Peter with his hands, and choked out a pitiful sound, not able to find him. "Please. Peter, please..."

Peter stared at him in terror. He slowly kneeled down next to him and let Elias lean on his chest. "Are we in the Lonely?"

"You can say that." Peter said, "More like an enclosure for the Lonely so your Eye can entertain itself. Oh, I should hate you, Jonah. I should leave you here to suffer. It watches everything!" Peter sneered. "I..." He sighed and slowly picked Elias up. 

"Where are we going?"

"Moorland."

Elias nodded and leaned on Peter's chest, the fog slowly getting to him. The pain became dull, and his thoughts dimmed and aimless. Peter glanced at him, surprised. He never saw Elias giving up to the Lonely before; he was always a bright lantern in the fog, able to navigate it. His will never faltered, and his eyes were always right. Now Elias was slowly... fading, as was everyone who stayed in his domain. Faded souls wandering around alone, without purpose, without memories, without names, or the need to remember them. 

A few years before, Peter would revel in it. Taunt Elias about it, grin, and keep him there as his favorite pet. But now? Now with the Eye above, with its all-knowing, all-seeing presence? No. Peter resented it now. The hate was burning hot inside his chest, and he had that unbearable feeling of being constantly watched, of his misery feeding the being that was the antithesis of his existence. And now this being was to feed off Elias? Of Jonah? His Jonah? He sneered. 

"After my dead body." He said to himself and looked at Elias. "Do you remember our anniversary?"

"W... what?" Elias flinched. 

"Last anniversary. You were complaining as always..."and he went on and on and on. Keeping Elias engaged, keeping him present. He put him in his bed and covered him with a blanket. Carefully cleaned the wounds and bandaged them and laid down with him. Keeping him close, and the fog allowed it. No. The eye allowed it. "Sleep, my little pufferfish. There is enough fog for both of us here."

Elias clung to him and didn't let go even when he fell asleep. Peter was lying on his back looking at the ceiling. "I know you are watching, Archivist. I suppose you always do, and I want to let you know that I have something of yours." Peter thought of Martin wandering in the fog. "And he will pay for your cruelty. I will make sure he will pay; I will make his life a nightmare, and you will watch. And you will enjoy every second of it. This is what you became." He hissed and knew that his message was heard because he felt the burn of something staring at him. "You took his eyes, and I will take that last strand of humanity that is left in you." He winced, summoning as much fog as he could to hide them. He hugged Elias closer to himself and realized that he was whispering something, clutching the eye pendant he wore on his neck. 

"You who watch and know and understand none. You who listen and hear and will not comprehend. You who wait and wait and drink in all that is not yours by right. Come to us in your wholeness. Come to us in your perfection..." Elias continued in a hush, rushed tone, and Peter wasn't sure if he was asleep or awake. Then he stopped and started again, quietly with a pleading edge to his voice, and Peter realized what was happening. He was praying. Lukas swallowed hardly and touched Elias' face. 

"Luv..." 

"N-no... No... please... Please, grant us the sight that we may not know, grant us the.... " His voice broke. "Please." He whispered when Peter pulled him closer. "Please."

Peter hugged him, slowly rocking back and forth; he glanced at the ceiling.

When he was a child and came to have the blessing of the one alone, Peter was taken to his great grandfather's study by his uncle. He sat him down at age 12 and he told him about a story, one passed down by generations of their family. Peter was told about a selkie, a coat and of his great grandfather Mordechai who kept that coat to ensure the selkie would not harm their family. He listens, a bit confused, perhaps wary, but after seeing Forsaken at work he can't say the existence of a thing like a selkie is out of the realm of possibilities. It's a simple thing really, once Peter is older, his job will be to look after the coat and deal with the creature. He will keep the coat with him, and keep it away from the selkie it belongs to, it does not matter what face he has, how many times it changes, the coat's powers continues to work no matter the years and the bodies.

Day Fill: Amnesia

Fandom/Ship: The Magnus Archives : Peter Lukas/ Elias Bouchard | Jonah Magnus

Rating: Teen

Word Count: 838

Warnings and Tags: the Lonely, amnesia, amnesia Peter, Peter is always late, Peter loves trains, established relationship, serial divorcees, huffy Elias Bouchard, mild groping, quick writings

Summary: Peter spends too long in the Lonely, Elias does not approve. Written for @lonelyeyesweek for the prompt: Amnesia and for the @fanfictionlibrary01 drabble prompt: Late.

Author Note: Aw man I was really running out of motivation today to finish this on time, but then I saw the drabble prompt and was like ah well isn't that just fitting for Peter. So I finished it xD

Happy Reading, I appreciate every like, comment, and reblog! ❤️

Read, How Could I Forget You?, Rated Teen, in full below or on my Ao3.

*note, this story (and all of my others) on Ao3 is locked for registered Ao3 user

@lonelyeyesweek

Elias was woken up by the sound of the door opening. He slowly put on his robe and went downstairs only to find his living room covered in fog. He sighed quietly.

 "Peter?" He glanced around looking for Peter and found him sitting on the couch with his face hidden in his hands. He approached him. "Peter. You were supposed to be here two weeks ago." Elias hissed.

Peter flinched and straightened himself up.

"Who are you?" He blinked. "What are you doing in my house?"

Elias sighed.

"Not this again. Peter." He placed his hand on the captain's chest. Peter stared at him with wide eyes.

"I have a husband." Peter blurted out, and Elias chuckled.

"Really?" He snorted. "This is what you remember?" Elias straddled his legs and kissed Peter slowly. Peter's skin was ice cold. Elias sighed, placing his forehead on Peter's shoulder. "You were too long on that forsaken ship, dear. I told you it's too long."

Peter slowly wrapped his arms around him and sighed when Elias started kissing his neck.

"Lias?" Peter mumbled.

"There you are." Elias pulled back and smiled. "Welcome home, Peter."

"What do you have underneath that?" Peter hummed, untying his robe. Elias swatted his hand away.

@lonelyeyesweek day 4– selkie

Elias does not like the sea. It’s damp, often filthy– the very opposite of what he cherishes and builds around himself. Yet on bad days, a walk by the sea, especially when old memories surface, is not the worst of ideas. On one such day, wandering along the waterfront, he found a tasteless red hat. It was unclear who had lost it, but the person clearly had no sense of style. Still, for some strange reason, Elias picked it up and tossed it into his bag. Either he forgot to throw it away, or he refused to accept the thought deliberately.

The next day was no better. The memory of his old “friend”, the sailor who had vanished forever to his beloved lighthouse, wouldn’t stop flashing in his mind. After a long workday, his feet carried him back to the promenade of their own accord. It was already dark, and his stomach demanded at least some food, as he had once again skipped lunch thanks to yet another meeting with an investor. Those meetings were always ghastly and sickeningly saccharine, but the institute, as well as Elias himself, needed them. Picking up some cheap sandwich from a stall by the shore, he sat on a bench and simply stared ahead. Despite the October weather, the sea was unusually calm, and the sight of it sent his thoughts drifting far into oblivion. He never did eat his dinner, for he noticed movement not far from the shore. The water seemed to glow faintly in a particular spot, and whatever was moving was heading directly towards him. The Eye offered no proper hints, only something vague about mythology. Stranger still, the Eye wasn’t working as it should– the information was jumbled, arriving in torn fragments that barely reached his awareness. Before he could grow properly alarmed, something began to crawl out of the water. With the lack of any lighting, it looked downright terrifying. The cold intensified sharply, and a chill crept up his legs all the way to the bone. He ought to leave– it was dangerous, unclear. But curiosity is a dreadful thing, pushing us into foolish choices. He stayed, and the figure took shape. At first he thought it was a seal, but no seal is two metres tall with long hair. Selkie, flashed through his mind at once. Elias never put much stock in mythology, but he did worship fear, and he had lived more than a single century, so such discoveries no longer surprised him. What startled him –perhaps even frightened him– was the confidence and elegance with which the selkie approached.

–Evening.

There was no reply. Selkies usually appeared as young women or boys, yet this one was a middle-aged man, covered in hair and broad-shouldered.

–Do you need something?

–Hat.

–?

–You took the hat and came back. I saw it, so I came to you.

Now it made sense. Selkies seek a partner by casting hats ashore. Elias remembered the garish thing still lying in his bag.

–It’s a hat, yes– but an ugly one.

–A hat seems more elegant. More beautiful.

–I’m afraid you’ve no taste. The thing is absolutely hideous.

–I think it would suit you.

–Says the man in a seal skin. Entertaining sight, I’ll give you that, but you could at least cover yourself.

–It’s night, and I need to get home.

With a heavy sigh, knowing he’d likely regret this come morning and fall ill besides, Elias took off his coat and handed it over. Naturally, it didn’t fit, and the man looked absurd– like a bull in a china shop, trapped and clumsy.

–Thank you. Won’t you freeze?

–I’ll manage.

And that was the end of their meeting. Without another word, Elias left without looking back. Strange things happen, but one thought, distant yet persistent– fluttered in his mind: he was handsome. Not that the selkie possessed any remarkable beauty; if he had been younger, perhaps it would’ve been different. But this one had something. Something that lingered. Something impossible to forget, despite how little he spoke and despite the powerful brine scent clinging to him.

Elias did not return to the beach again, though he cursed his cold daily. He should never have picked up that ridiculous hat, never have returned to the shore the next day. The odds of the selkie finding him were negligible. London is enormous, and though Elias was not exactly unknown, finding him was exceedingly difficult– especially since he spent nearly all his time at the institute. With the workload and Gertrude’s relentless demands, he soon forgot the selkie entirely, absorbed in more pressing matters.

But the problem found him.

The institute was hosting a party for investors, and new faces had appeared– much to Elias’s relief. He sorely needed funding. But then a familiar figure caught his eye, and the scent of sea and salt tore through his thoughts. Distracted from a “most fascinating” conversation, he turned his head towards the entrance and saw the source of his troubles. If not for the Eye, which reminded him of the incident a month prior, he would never have recognised him. Now he wore a fine suit– surprisingly well-fitted– in a deep navy, like the ocean floor, which was ironic considering what he was. His hair was tied into a bun, though that hardly restrained the curls at the ends, a few strands sticking out here and there. And his eyes. They were icy, colder than any iceberg, and one look was enough to send a shiver down one’s spine. Strange for a selkie– they were meant to be brown-eyed. But coming closer, Elias noticed they weren’t simply blue; they had central heterochromia, and if one looked carefully, the centre was the shade of dark chocolate.

–Long time no see.

–What are YOU doing here?

–Bit awkward, but I now represent the Lukas family and am approving funding for the institute.

A nightmare. He could already see him blackmailing him with that hideous hat and the money. Brilliant– as if he didn’t have enough problems already; the bomb threat at the institute the week before was apparently trivial. And now, with proper lighting, Elias could examine him closely– and it was dreadful. He looked so much like his old friend that the similarity made his hair stand on end. The same features, the same sly and playful look, the same small bump on the nose– and freckles. Barely visible, yet dusted across his cheeks and nose. His hair was straight but curled at the ends, likely from seawater. Despite the matching features, he was… softer?

–Peter Lukas , at your service, Mr Bouchard.

Life was cruel, and Peter grew more attractive with every meeting. His jokes were foolish, and their conversations often devolved into betting on something or other. A year later, Elias– now spending half his time in Lukas’s flat. Drifted off to sleep and woke to find that wretched hat on him once more, while on the table sat a beautiful scarlet box containing a golden ring with a tiny engraved eye and mist rolled in outside.

Peter disappeared for six months.

Elias walked home along the waterfront. In his hands he carried a coat, two sizes too big and far warmer than necessary for April. The water glimmered again, and his betrothed emerged– dripping wet and smelling of salt.