May 17
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@elejah-wonderland
If the vampire diaries were animated.
I know the quote is canon but I’m choosing to make this an AU where they’re together and about to drop that knowledge on her friends.
Elena : Hey Elijah did you noticed there's a "U" in stupid.
Elijah : Yeah? Well there's also an "I" in stupid!
Elena : (Grinning)
Elijah : Wait hold on....
Oh, My Elejah Heart!
💕💕💕😍💕💕💕
**gifs not mine
So... I just discovered photoshop
BREAKFAST OF DELUSION
Imagine : The morning sun spilled across the courtyard of the Abattoir, warm and golden, catching on the vines and old brick like the place was posing for a magazine cover. Elijah Mikaelson sat at the long outdoor table, wine glass in hand—filled with a deep red Bordeaux that probably cost more than Damon’s entire wardrobe.
Across from him sat his wife.
Elena Mikaelson. Two months pregnant. Glowing. Hungry. And currently on her fifteenth plate of eggs, avocado, and toast drowned in strawberry jam.
She was shoveling scrambled eggs into her mouth like she was in a speed‑eating competition.
Not a care in the world.
Not a single thought about Mystic Falls.
Not a single thought about Damon.
She lifted her wine glass—filled with Coca‑Cola—and took a dainty sip like she was at a royal banquet.
Elijah watched her with that soft, smug, I won smirk.
“My love,” he murmured, “you’ve outdone yourself. That’s… impressive.”
Elena shrugged, mouth full.
“Baby wants eggs.”
Elijah’s smirk deepened.
“Of course she does.”
---
ENTER: DAMON ‘DELUSIONAL’ SALVATORE
The courtyard gate creaked open.
Damon burst in like he was the hero of a movie no one else was watching.
Hair messy.
Eyes wild.
Chest heaving like he sprinted across Louisiana.
“ELENA! I’m here! I’m here to save you from—”
He didn’t finish.
Because the universe said nope.
His foot caught on a gardening shovel someone left leaning against the wall.
He tripped.
The shovel flipped up like it was auditioning for America’s Got Talent.
WHACK.
Right in the face.
Damon hit the ground so hard the courtyard echoed.
Elena didn’t even look up.
She was too busy drowning toast in jam.
Elijah took a slow sip of wine, eyes glittering with amusement.
“Ah. Damon. How… unexpected.”
Damon groaned, rolling over, dirt on his face, dignity nowhere to be found.
“Elena,” he wheezed, “I know you’re not thinking straight. I know you don’t really want—”
She cut him off by lifting another forkful of eggs.
“Damon, I’m literally eating. Please.”
He blinked.
He looked at her plate.
Then the stack of empty plates beside her.
Then her Coca‑Cola in a wine glass.
Then Elijah’s hand resting on her thigh.
His voice cracked.
“Elena… what is happening?”
She swallowed, wiped jam off her lip, and said casually:
“Oh. I’m pregnant.”
Damon froze like someone unplugged him.
“P‑pregnant? With… with who?”
Elijah raised his wine glass.
“With me,” he said smoothly. “Obviously.”
Damon’s soul left his body.
---
THE FINAL BLOW
Elena reached for another slice of toast, jam dripping everywhere.
“Elijah loves eggs and avocado,” she said cheerfully. “And apparently so does our baby.”
Elijah leaned back, smirk deepening, eyes locked on her like she was the only person in the world.
Damon looked between them, horrified.
“You married him? Because you’re pregnant?”
Elena shrugged.
“Well… yeah. And because I love him. And because he doesn’t cause property damage every time he walks into a room.”
As if on cue, the shovel Damon tripped over fell again and smacked him in the shin.
He yelped.
Elijah didn’t even hide his laugh this time.
---
DAMON’S DELUSION: TERMINATED
Damon stood up, wobbling, face red, pride shattered.
“Elena… you can’t seriously be choosing him over—”
She held up a finger.
“Damon. I’m married. I’m pregnant. I’m happy. And I’m hungry. Please go before I eat the plate too.”
Elijah placed a gentle hand on her back.
“Darling, would you like a sixteenth plate?”
She nodded eagerly.
Damon stared at them like he was witnessing the end of the world.
Elijah gave him one last polite, devastating smile.
“You may see yourself out.”
Damon stumbled away, defeated, limping, shovel‑injured, and still somehow delusional.
Elena took another bite of eggs.
“Babe,” she mumbled, “can you get me more jam?”
Elijah rose instantly.
“Anything for you.”
And Damon, outside the gate, tripped again.
She was too busy sitting in the courtyard enjoying breakfast.
Again.
Because pregnancy apparently meant eating every forty-five minutes or risking violence.
This morning’s craving?
French toast with powdered sugar, strawberries, bacon, and scrambled eggs all on the same plate.
Elijah had stared at the combination for a solid minute before deciding not to question fate.
Now he sat beside her reading a newspaper while she happily devoured enough food to concern several nations.
“You know,” Elijah said smoothly, “for someone so small, you consume astonishing amounts of eggs.”
“The baby wants protein.”
“The baby appears to want an entire farm.”
Elena grinned.
Then—
CRASH.
The front gate burst open dramatically.
“Elena!” Damon shouted while storming inside. “I’m not giving up on you!”
Elena closed her eyes slowly.
“Oh my god.”
Elijah didn’t even lower his newspaper. “Persistent creature, isn’t he?”
Damon marched through the courtyard looking determined despite the lingering smell of expired mayonnaise still somehow clinging to him.
“Elena, listen to me—”
CRACK.
Damon stepped directly onto a rake lying in the grass.
The handle flew upward violently—
SMACK.
Right into his face.
Again.
The sound echoed beautifully through the courtyard.
Elena nearly spit out her orange juice laughing.
Damon stumbled backward clutching his nose. “WHY ARE THERE SO MANY WEAPONS ON THE GROUND?!”
Elijah finally lowered the newspaper slightly.
“That one was not mine.”
A beat.
“…Though I respect it.”
Damon pointed angrily. “You think this is funny?!”
Both Elijah and Elena answered at the same time.
“Yes.”
Damon groaned loudly before straightening himself with whatever dignity he had left.
“I’m serious this time,” he declared dramatically. “Elena, you deserve better than this psychotic Original family!”
Elena blinked at him while eating bacon.
“You got defeated by gardening tools twice.”
“That is NOT the point!”
“It kind of is,” she said honestly.
Damon marched closer to her chair heroically.
“Elena, come with me.”
Elijah folded his newspaper neatly.
“No.”
Damon ignored him. “You’re clearly trapped here.”
Elena looked around at the beautiful courtyard, the breakfast spread, and her husband sitting calmly beside her.
Then she looked at Damon standing there with dirt on his boots and a rake mark across his face.
“…I literally live like a queen.”
“You’re brainwashed!”
“Elijah rubs my feet every night.”
Damon looked horrified.
“Elena—”
Without warning, Elijah reached calmly toward the table.
Damon immediately narrowed his eyes. “No.”
Elijah picked up an entire fresh baguette.
“Oh COME ON.”
“Elena requested French bread this morning,” Elijah said casually.
“That does not explain why you’re holding it like a weapon!”
Elijah moved with vampire speed.
WHOOOSH.
THWACK.
The baguette slammed directly into Damon’s forehead hard enough to snap backward dramatically.
Silence.
A bird somewhere nearby flew away in fear.
Damon stared in complete disbelief.
“…That is bread.”
“Yes,” Elijah agreed calmly.
“You threw BREAD at me!”
“You approached my pregnant wife aggressively.”
“It’s a BAGUETTE!”
Elena was laughing so hard she physically slid sideways in her chair.
“Oh my god—” she wheezed. “Not the French attack again—”
Damon rubbed his forehead in outrage. “How are you throwing baked goods hard enough to cause injury?!”
Elijah looked mildly thoughtful.
“Excellent wrist control.”
“That sentence is insane!”
The baguette rolled across the courtyard dramatically.
Elena pointed at it. “It survived better than Damon.”
“Elena!”
She couldn’t even answer anymore because she was laughing too hard.
Elijah calmly stood and adjusted his suit cuffs.
“Damon,” he said politely, “if you return tomorrow, I shall escalate to sourdough.”
Damon looked genuinely offended by the threat.
— ELIJAH’S PETTINESS LEVELS UP
Damon had barely limped out of the courtyard—face red, pride shattered, rake marks on his jaw—before he stopped, turned around, and muttered:
“I’m not done. Elena needs me.”
The universe sighed.
Elijah smirked.
Elena kept eating.
---
ROUND THREE: THE RETURN OF THE DELUSIONAL
Damon burst back into the courtyard like a man who had learned absolutely nothing.
“Elena! I know you’re brainwashed! I know you—”
He tripped over nothing this time.
Just air.
Gravity said get him.
He face‑planted into the dirt.
Elena didn’t even blink.
She was too busy dipping toast into jam like it was fondue.
Elijah set down his wine glass with the elegance of a man preparing to commit a petty crime.
“Damon,” he said calmly, “I truly admire your persistence. It’s almost… touching.”
Damon groaned, pushing himself up.
“Elena, I’m here to save you from this—this—this suit‑wearing tyrant!”
Elijah raised a brow.
“Tyrant? My dear boy, I haven’t even begun.”
---
THE PETTIEST WEAPON YET
Elijah scanned the table.
He had options.
A spoon?
Too merciful.
A napkin?
Too subtle.
A grape?
Tempting.
But then he saw it.
A single, perfectly round cherry tomato.
Small.
Innocent.
Deceptively aerodynamic.
Elijah picked it up between two fingers like he was selecting a diamond.
Damon froze.
“Elijah… don’t you dare.”
Elijah smirked.
“Consider this… a gentle reminder.”
PLOP—FWIP—SMACK.
The cherry tomato shot across the courtyard like a bullet.
It hit Damon square in the forehead.
It exploded on impact.
Red juice dripped down his face like he was in a low‑budget horror movie.
Damon staggered back, horrified.
“You threw a TOMATO at me?!”
Elijah shrugged.
“You’ve already been bested by bread today. I thought I’d diversify.”
---
THE RAKENING: PART TWO
Damon wiped tomato off his face, furious.
“Elena, you can’t seriously be okay with this! He’s humiliating me!”
Elena, still eating:
“Damon, you humiliate yourself.”
He opened his mouth to argue.
He stepped backward.
Onto the rake.
Again.
WHAP.
Right in the forehead.
The cherry tomato splatter mixed with rake‑impact redness like abstract art.
Damon collapsed to his knees.
Elijah sighed dramatically.
“Honestly, Damon… at this point, I’m beginning to think the rake is doing my work for me.”
---
ELENA’S PRIORITIES (AGAIN)
Elena finally looked up, cheeks full of eggs.
“Babe,” she said to Elijah, “can you get me more toast?”
Elijah immediately rose.
“Of course, my love.”
Damon whimpered.
“Elena… please… tell me you still love me…”
She blinked at him.
Then shoveled more eggs into her mouth.
“No.”
Elijah returned with fresh toast, kissed her temple, and sat beside her like the world’s smuggest husband.
Damon tried to stand.
The rake waited.
WHAP.
He went down again.
Elijah didn’t even look at him this time.
“Do see yourself out, Damon. Preferably before I run out of produce.”
The following afternoon at The Abattoir felt almost unnervingly peaceful.
Almost.
Rain clouds rolled lazily over the French Quarter while jazz hummed from an old record player inside. In the courtyard, Elena sat comfortably wrapped in one of Elijah’s sweaters with yet another aggressively strange pregnancy meal balanced on a plate.
Fried eggs.
Fried ham.
Avocado on toasted bread.
Absolutely smothered in lingonberry jam.
The combination looked illegal.
Elijah sat across from her with a cup of coffee, watching her assemble the horrifying creation with deep concern.
“Elena,” he said carefully, “I love you beyond reason.”
She smiled sweetly. “I know.”
“But that smells like a Scandinavian hate crime.”
“The baby likes sweet and salty.”
“The baby concerns me.”
She took an enormous bite anyway and practically melted in happiness.
“Oh my god,” she mumbled through food. “This is amazing.”
Elijah sighed the tired sigh of a man accepting defeat.
Then—
BANG.
The front doors slammed open yet again.
Elena didn’t even blink this time.
“Of course,” she muttered.
In stormed Damon, once again fueled entirely by delusion and audacity.
“Elena!” he shouted dramatically. “I’m not letting this Original freak keep you prisoner!”
Elijah slowly lowered his coffee cup.
“Damon,” he said calmly, “you were struck by bread yesterday.”
“That was a cheap shot!”
“It was artisan.”
Damon ignored him and marched forward heroically like he hadn’t been humiliated for three straight days.
“Elena, come with me right now.”
She looked up from her sandwich. “No.”
“You don’t mean that.”
“I literally do.”
“Elena—”
Before Damon could finish, Elijah stood smoothly from his chair.
Damon immediately pointed accusingly. “No. No more food throwing.”
Elijah tilted his head slightly.
“I hadn’t planned on bread today.”
Damon relaxed for half a second.
Big mistake.
From a nearby decorative bowl, Elijah picked up a piece of fruit.
An extremely old piece of fruit.
Possibly ancient.
Damon narrowed his eyes. “Why does that peach look furry?”
“It is no longer a peach,” Elijah admitted.
Then—
WHIP.
SPLAT.
The rotten fruit exploded directly against Damon’s chest.
The smell hit instantly.
Damon gagged.
“Oh my GOD—”
Another fruit flew.
SPLORCH.
This one burst against his shoulder like biological warfare.
Elena physically folded over laughing.
“Elijah STOP—”
But Elijah had reached a level of petty no one could control anymore.
With perfect vampire precision, he launched another expired fruit.
SMACK.
It exploded across Damon’s hair.
Chunks slid slowly down his face.
The smell was catastrophic.
“What IS THAT?!” Damon yelled in horror.
Elijah looked thoughtful. “I believe that was once a pear.”
“ONCE?!”
Another fruit hit him square in the stomach.
SPLAT.
Damon looked moments away from spiritually leaving his body.
“It smells DEAD!”
Elijah calmly picked up another rotten orange. “That would be because it is.”
“YOU ARE THROWING COMPOST AT ME!”
“You continue entering my home uninvited.”
Elena was crying laughing now, clutching her stomach while trying not to choke on her lingonberry toast.
“Klaus!” she gasped between laughs. “Your brother’s attacking people with garbage again!”
From somewhere upstairs came Niklaus Mikaelson absolutely howling with laughter.
“Brother!” Klaus shouted. “Use the melon! The melon’s turned liquid!”
Damon looked horrified. “THE WHAT?!”
Elijah calmly reached for the rotten melon.
Damon backed up immediately. “Absolutely not.”
The melon sagged ominously in Elijah’s hand.
“Elijah,” Damon warned, “don’t you dare—”
The melon burst on its own.
Directly onto Damon.
Silence.
Rotten fruit juice dripped slowly from his jacket.
The smell spread through the courtyard like a chemical attack.
Even Elena recoiled slightly. “Oh wow. Okay. That one’s evil.”
Elijah gently placed the ruined melon rind aside.
“I may have underestimated the fermentation.”
Damon stood frozen in absolute misery while juice dripped off his chin.
Then Elena looked at him, still holding her bizarre lingonberry sandwich.
“You know,” she said honestly, “if you stopped trying to ‘save’ me, you’d probably stop getting hit with produce.”
Damon stared at her in betrayal.
Meanwhile Elijah calmly sat back down beside his wife and adjusted his cufflinks.
“Elena,” he said softly, “would you like more toast?”
“Yes.”
“With jam?”
“Yes.”
Damon looked like he might actually scream.
A few days later, The Abattoir smelled entirely different.
Not because of Damon for once.
Because Elena had entered her Italian food phase of pregnancy cravings with terrifying commitment.
For three straight days she had wanted nothing except pasta, garlic bread, baked ziti, lasagna, ravioli, mozzarella sticks, and enough marinara sauce to drown a small village.
The kitchen looked like an Italian grandmother had declared war.
This evening Elena sat happily at the giant dining table surrounded by plates upon plates of food while Elijah watched her with deep affection and mild concern.
“You’ve eaten six breadsticks,” Elijah noted.
“The baby’s cultured.”
“You dipped one into Alfredo and marinara simultaneously.”
“That’s called innovation.”
Elijah accepted this explanation with the exhausted patience of a husband deeply in love.
She happily twirled spaghetti onto her fork while classical music played softly nearby. Elijah sat beside her in his usual immaculate suit.
One hand rested gently against the small swell beginning to form beneath her sweater.
He looked completely at peace.
Unfortunately for him—
BANG.
The front doors flew open again.
“Elena!” Damon shouted dramatically while storming inside the compound. “This ends tonight!”
Elena slowly lowered her fork.
“…Does he not get tired?”
Elijah sighed.
“He lacks survival instincts.”
Damon marched into the dining room looking determined despite previous injuries involving gardening tools, bread, rotten fruit, and mayonnaise.
Then he stopped.
The table looked like an Italian restaurant exploded.
“…Why are there four different kinds of pasta?”
Elena pointed with her fork. “Because they’re all emotionally important.”
Damon blinked once. “What does that even mean?”
“It means don’t touch my baked ziti.”
Damon straightened dramatically. “Elena, listen to me. You’re trapped here with a family of violent lunatics!”
Elijah calmly lifted something from beside his chair.
Damon froze immediately.
“…What are those?”
A carton of old rotten eggs.
Very old.
Dangerously old.
Elijah held them with the elegance of a nobleman carrying priceless jewels.
“Elijah,” Damon said cautiously, “don’t.”
“Elena specifically requested a peaceful dinner.”
“So put the eggs DOWN.”
“She also requested garlic knots.”
“Elijah!”
Elena quietly scooted her lasagna farther away from potential collateral damage.
Damon pointed dramatically at her. “See?! He’s threatening people with expired groceries!”
Elijah opened the carton.
The smell escaped instantly.
Even Elena recoiled. “OH wow.”
Damon physically stepped back. “That smells illegal.”
“One discovers many things after a thousand years,” Elijah said calmly. “Including how long eggs can truly survive.”
“They shouldn’t survive THAT long!”
Damon tried to continue his heroic speech anyway.
“Elena, I came here to save—”
SPLAT.
The rotten egg hit him directly in the chest.
Silence.
Then the smell arrived.
Damon’s soul almost visibly left his body.
“Oh SWEET JESUS—”
Elena gagged laughing.
“It smells like something DIED!”
Elijah picked up another egg smoothly.
“Technically,” he corrected, “something did.”
“ELIJAH!”
SPLAT.
Second egg.
Direct hit to the shoulder.
The egg exploded with horrifying force, dripping down Damon’s leather jacket.
The smell became catastrophic.
Damon stumbled backward choking dramatically.
“WHY ARE YOU LIKE THIS?!”
“You continue returning.”
“That doesn’t justify biological warfare!”
Another egg flew.
SMACK.
Forehead.
Yellow-gray horror slowly slid down Damon’s face.
Elena completely lost control laughing, clutching her stomach while trying not to spill spaghetti everywhere.
“Oh my god— stop throwing plague eggs at him—”
From upstairs came Niklaus Mikaelson shouting encouragement.
“Brother! Aim for his hair! The smell lingers longer!”
“I HEARD THAT!” Damon yelled.
Elijah calmly considered the carton.
“One final warning, Damon.”
Damon looked absolutely furious now, covered in rotten egg sludge and smelling like a cursed swamp.
“I am NOT scared of your eggs.”
Elijah nodded once.
Then threw two at the same time.
SPLAT. SPLAT.
One exploded against Damon’s chest.
The other burst directly against his mouth.
The entire dining room went silent.
Damon stood frozen in horror.
Then—
“…I tasted it.”
Elena collapsed sideways laughing so hard tears streamed down her face.
Even Elijah finally looked slightly sympathetic.
“Sincerely,” Elijah said, “that was unfortunate.”
Damon looked ready to walk directly into the Mississippi River.
Meanwhile Elena reached calmly for another breadstick.
“You know,” she said between laughs, “at this point you’re basically volunteering for this.”
By the end of the week, Damon Salvatore had reached a new level of suffering.
The smell would not leave.
No matter what he did.
He’d showered six times.
Burned two shirts.
Compelled a hotel employee into giving him industrial soap.
Nothing worked.
The expired mayonnaise, rotten fruit, and ancient eggs had fused into one horrifying supernatural odor that followed him like a curse.
Even Bourbon Street vampires were avoiding him.
Meanwhile inside The Abattoir, life was wonderful.
For once, Elena wasn’t eating.
Mostly because she was currently curled sideways on Elijah Mikaelson’s lap in the library while rain poured outside the windows.
Candles flickered softly around the room.
Elijah sat in one of the large velvet chairs with Elena tucked against him beneath a blanket, one arm wrapped securely around her waist.
His other hand rested gently over her stomach.
She looked half asleep and entirely content.
“You’re very clingy lately,” Elijah murmured softly against her hair.
“I’m pregnant,” she mumbled.
“You threatened me earlier because I walked into another room.”
“You were gone too long.”
“It was thirty seconds.”
“It felt disrespectful.”
A quiet laugh escaped Elijah as he pressed a kiss against her temple.
Downstairs—
BANG.
The front door opened again.
Elena groaned immediately without even lifting her head.
“He’s back.”
Damon stormed into the compound looking exhausted, irritated, and emotionally broken.
“Elena!” he shouted. “We need to talk!”
Then he paused.
“…Why is nobody answering me anymore?”
Because upstairs, neither of them cared.
Elijah was too busy kissing Elena slowly along her neck while she giggled softly against him.
“Your hair smells nice,” Elijah murmured.
“That’s because you bought me expensive shampoo.”
“A worthy investment.”
Damon finally stomped upstairs dramatically.
“Elena, this has gone too far—”
Then he stopped dead in the doorway.
There they were.
Elena comfortably curled in Elijah’s lap.
Elijah’s face buried against her neck.
Her wedding ring catching candlelight.
His hand spread protectively over their unborn child.
And worst of all?
She looked happy.
Completely, stupidly happy.
Elena noticed Damon first and immediately started giggling again.
“Oh no,” she laughed softly, covering her nose. “The smell.