#themoralone

“Tell me that you destroyed that thing,” Gia demanded, coming into the compound without any other greeting. “Tell me you had it and that you burnt it, Elijah, tell me every single splinter of white oak is gone.”

Because she’d heard otherwise. 

And she couldn’t believe- wouldn’t believe- that he would keep a single piece of that thing in this world. Knowing it could kill him. Kill his worthless brother and his slightly less worthless brothers, and his sister, all of whom he loved so much. At the very least, she had to believe his care for them would mean he had done what he should have done and destroyed it. 

If Josh dies I will fucking RE-FUCKING-VOLT... Oh look replies are back who knew? wow. much surprise

His boyfriend died, I doubt they’re gonna pull that with him. 

@themoralone

Remembrance is my verse with @themoralone.

It’s fairly close to following canon with one very large divergence. Which would be that when things started coming to a head with Dahlia Elijah compelled Gia to forget New Orleans and everyone she knew there, to forget what she was and how she became a vampire, and run. 

She settled in Seattle, working in a bar as the musician, trying to keep a low profile.

After catching Elijah in the bath by himself, shared baths became a thing. Elijah was a thousand years old- something Gia sometimes had a hard time really wrapping her mind around- and time she’d known him alone he’d gone through enough to exhaust a person. She’d been through enough.

Baths, she thought, were deserved. And should be enjoyed.

Even on nights like this one when she herself was so exhausted it was all she could do to keep herself awake. Turned out that even in his absence Klaus could cause trouble in the mere form of people looking for Klaus. So it wasn’t entirely surprising for her to curl up against his chest and let the hot water and his heartbeat lull her into sleep.

What was surprising was waking to a splash, Elijah jerking beneath her head, and soap in her newly opened eyes.

“I already know the kind of chocolate I want, and I don’t believe it’s French. Not that there’s anything wrong with French chocolate, mind you.” He smirked to himself, as if sharing his own private joke. “And if you are willing to share your bon-bons who am I to complain?”