#agatha looked so small and powerless

[cissa-calls]

Agatha’s Trial, her worst nightmare, was to be a teenager again seeking her mother’s validation.

“Mom…why do you hate me still?”

“You were born evil. I ought to have killed you the moment you left my body”

Agatha, reduced and undermined as she was in her adolescence (hammered home by the fact she is literally dressed to evoke that), fight back tears as she realizes that her mother only remained as a ghost to punish Agatha. To try and ensure Agatha remained alone by telling the coven to complete the trials without her. Even though Agatha is a centuries old witch, standing there in her purple jersey, ratty hair, and tears in lost eyes, she’s a child again. Rio, having been with her for so long, shakes her head knowing how this could only go. How many times has she watched Agatha crawl for affection she will never get?

“Don’t leave me with her! I can be good! Please!”

If Agatha was truly born evil, it was only because her body formed in the womb of Evanora. Then:

“Mama! Stop!”

Agatha’s other greatest fear. Nicholas watching this all happen. Was she a better mother to him than Evanora was to her? Did stealing Alice’s powers just confirm that she was evil, as Evanora said, all along?

[theoriginalyorick]

I’m so normal about characters who choose to believe that they are a monster and a Super Evil Guy who Loves Being Evil and Bad and is So Terrifying because the alternative is looking inward and realizing that some really messed up stuff happened to them. Yes, they were responsible for some awful things, perhaps even on accident, but they still have to keep living and try to rebuild themselves while admitting shame and wrongdoing. They still have a responsibility to themselves to seek out community and love and try again. That’s so, so hard to do, so they choose not to, because the “fundamentally depraved” narrative is easier to believe and act out. Being Just Some Guy is terrifying at first. Admitting that you were hurt by someone else, vulnerable, or made mistakes in the past is scary as shit, because it means admitting you didn’t actually have any control. It takes you back to that place of feeling powerless and scared. It’s realizing that you were in some ways a victim, not a perfect evil mastermind, and that can make you feel so, so small.

Processing trauma and shame can take a whole lifetime, and without a safe environment to do so, people are likely to lash out or shut down when confronted with it for the first time. I’m in no way defending people who deliberately continue to be awful to everyone after going through something horrible or doing something awful themselves, but I do think it makes for some fascinating characters. If you’ve made it this far, yes, this is post is somehow about both Agatha Harkness and Bill Cipher because the hyperfixations won’t let me go.

[watchmakermori]

Womanhood as a prison in Natasha Pulley novels

I know that a great deal has already been said about Natasha Pulley’s portrayal of female characters, because even her most ardent fans (and I count myself among them) are often highly critical of how women are written in her stories - or, more aptly, written out of them.

But I think there is more to be said about how not only female characters are presented, but how the very concept of femininity is portrayed, via both the characters’ dialogue and inner thoughts. This analysis will reference all of Pulley’s books with the exception of The Bedlam Stacks. I’m excluding it on the grounds of it having little to no major female characters, but if any Bedlam superfans have any insight to add, please do reblog and contribute.

One of the main criticisms of Pulley’s women is their overarching similarity, so let’s briefly consider those commonalities. They are mostly educated, career-driven scientists (Grace is a budding physicist, Agatha a surgeon, Anna a much more experienced physicist). They are usually unnattractive by conventional standards; Grace is described as looking ‘like a boy’, Pepperharrow refers to herself as being ugly, Agatha is ‘tall and flat-chested’, and Anna’s introduction mentions that she has a ‘blonde buzz cut’ and is somewhat overweight.

They are also generally emotionally cold and poor caretakers, especially in contrast to the male characters. Joe’s wife, Alice, is noted to resent their daughter and engage with her far less than he does. Similarly, Shenkov is significantly more child-orientated than Anna. Agatha forces Missouri to watch a man having his throat cut, because she believes him too gentle for war. Said female characters may also show distaste for softer, more vulnerable women. Takiko Pepperharrow speaks of her mother like this (The Lost Future of Pepperharrow, p. 72): 

Saying yes and simpering all the time was silly - her mother did that and even noticeably anxious ducklings walked over her mother

She isn’t the only person to speak of her mother with a degree of pity and distaste. Grace claims that to argue with her own mother feels like ‘slapping a kitten’ - Mrs Carrow is presented as too meek to understand her own powerlessness, to the point that she considers it an achievement to leave the house alone. In the epilogue of The Half Life of Valery K, Valery himself describes the pitiable housewife Cecilia as being ‘just as stunted as his own mother’. Similarly to Mrs Carrow, the aforementioned Cecilia is not presented as fully aware of how small and restricted her life is - her happiness rests on the outcome of a dinner party, nothing larger than that.

The common thread between these pitiable characters is that they embody traditional womanhood - they are married, they are subservient to their husbands, and they have children. Perhaps the most notable - and interesting - trend amongst Pulley’s female charcters is that they invariably have a complicated relationship with marriage, caretaking, and/or childbearing.

Pulley’s novels frequently frame motherhood (along with other traditionally feminine pursuits and behaviours) as an obstacle to the female characters’ goals. In conversation with her mother, Grace talks about the prospect of marriage in the following way (The Watchmaker of Filigree Street, p. 102):

“Wives have duties. If I have children I’ll go insane for a year and a half - don’t look like that, you did, with James and with William, it was terrifying - and that will be a year and a half of weeping over nothing and a brain made of soup in which I can’t work. And then it will happen again with the next child, and then slowly I won’t want to work at all, and I’ll always be soup...”

In Grace’s mind, having children is a barrier to her academic pursuits. She is fiercely certain that giving birth will not only reduce her brain to ‘soup’, but that the impact will be permanent - she will lose herself to motherhood, and it will take away her drive and her intellect. Similar sentiments can be found among other female characters, such as when Takiko observes the following (The Lost Future of Pepperharrow, p. 175):

All her sisters had had children, and all she’d learned from it was that people with children turned inward. She didn’t see any of them anymore.

Once again, there is the sense that motherhood steals from women. It takes them away from themselves by turning them inward, and also from other people in that they lose contact with family members. The Half Life of Valery K foregrounds Anna’s perspective on motherhood (p. 137), which is probably the most extreme of all:

..she had told him straight up when they got married that she wasn’t a natural mother, that she didn’t do well with small helpless things, because she had been trained to care about electron microscopes, thanks, and obviously she would gestate him a small helpless thing to look after if he wanted [...] but there would be no talk of staying home, nesting, or maternal fussing, because frankly that was nothing but weakness of character in a woman...

A significant part of this passage is the notion that Anna is not a natural mother because she has ‘been trained to care about electron microscopes’. Not only does this again put scientific pursuits and childrearing in opposition (you may care for one, not both), the verb ‘trained’ suggests that this behaviour is learned, as though she has been educated out of maternal desires.

At this point in the analysis, I would like to specify that discussing these ideas in fiction is not inherently problematic or anti-feminist. It is vitally important for women to be free to reject motherhood, and by extension it is good to see female characters who are unapologetically unmaternal and unfeminine. When I first read The Watchmaker of Filigree Street, I adored Grace’s character for this - I loved her arrogance, her stubbornness, her distaste for marriage, her coarseness. Even the fact that she looked down on other women made her fascinating to me, because we just don’t see a lot of multi-faceted female characters who act in this way. She was complex and interesting without being a Strong Female Character™ to look up to - she was allowed to be wrong and wildly dislikable.

Where I take issue, however, is the fact that we have never seen an alternative to Grace in all five of Natasha Pulley’s novels. She is yet to write a significant female character who is complex and important despite being more traditionally feminine - there are no women who are scientists and dedicated mothers, who are career-minded and gentle, who are fiercely independent and hopeless romantics. It is one thing for Grace and other characters to disparage the poor, oppressed housewives in their society, but it is another thing entirely for the narrative itself to disparage these women. A woman without an education is still a fully-realised person with her own internal life. Women who cannot attain much agency are still as complex as those who can, yet Pulley’s stories never quite acknowledge this.

Which leads me onto the overarching portrayal of womanhood in Pulley’s novels. I’ve always been hesitant to assume too much based on singular characters, as I do think it’s imporant to recognise that a character’s perspective is not a proxy for the author’s. But after five books, the patterns are undeniable, and I think they’re more marked in The Half Life of Valery K than they ever have been. Consider the quotation below, taken from p. 30:

[Valery] never knew what to say when women pointed out that they were women and that it was, generally, awful. There was a knee-jerk human instinct to say it couldn’t be as bad as all that, like he would have to anyone who was feeling blue, but it was one of those instances where it really was awful, and trying to say it wasn’t was somewhere on the spectrum between stupid and criminal.

Valery offers an invariably bleak perspective on womanhood, which is in keeping with the attitudes of the female characters in Pulley’s books. Not only is womanhood described as miserable - Valery also claims that to deny the truth of this is either ‘stupid or criminal’. There is no space to take a more positive view on femininity. 

Being charitable, we could view this as a (heavy-handed) condemnation of sexism and patriarchy, and I do think that this is Pulley’s intention. But it’s worth considering that she does not discuss other marginalisation in this way. Despite the homophobia her numerous queer protagonists face, nobody goes on a similar tirade about the misery of being a man who loves other men. The trials and struggles are acknowledged, but queer love is still rightfully shown to be beautiful and privately joyous - in a way that being a woman never is.

Instead, womanhood in Pulley’s novels is oppressive and inescapable. Even a young girl’s fingernails cannot be neutral - they too represent the trappings of patriarchy (The Half Life of Valery K, p. 274):

“I can’t do it,” Tatiana said to her own laces. She studied her fingernails. “My tools of the patriarchy are getting too long.”

(This is an utterly bizarre thing for a little kid to say, by the way).

Towards the end of the novel, a carriage full of female prisoners is set upon by male ones, which is portrayed almost as an inevitablitity - we do not get a scene of exactly what happens, because the outcome is obvious enough to be implied. This outlook on the inevitability of violence against women is never challenged at any point; Valery only emphasises it in the final pages of the novel (p. 369):

every doctor he worked with and laughed with in tea breaks probably had an identical wife, all of them keeping women like bonsai trees

The messaging across Pulley’s novels is that of womanhood as a prison. There is little to no joy to be found in it; it results in confinement, loss of the self, isolation from others, and exposure to physical and emotional violence. Women who ‘succumb’ to marriage and children are given little voice in her stories - they are pitiable, ‘identical’ lost causes, called ‘stunted’, compared to kittens and bonsai trees. The only female POVs are that of women rebelling against conventional femininity, who are ambivalent or outwardly resentful towards caretaking, childrearing, and reliance on others. And even these women do not get to take up a great deal of space; all of them serve as obstacles to the central romances and all of them are written out to secure the male characters’ happily ever afters.

I do not believe that Natasha Pulley has malicious intent in how she writes female characters. It is important to address misogynistic violence and the ways in which the institution of marriage has restricted and oppressed women, and I believe she does try to do that. But there are ways to explore this issue whilst still acknowleding the variety of women’s experiences - and, crucially, showing that there is more to femininity than suffering.

But it requires time and space. Natasha Pulley has no hope of doing this if she does not start deviating from her usual archetypes - her stories need a better quality and quantity of women. While I live in hope of improvements to her female representation, I would be lying if I said I was optimistic.

[findroleplay]

𝑾𝑨𝑵𝑫𝑨𝑽𝑰𝑺𝑰𝑶𝑵/𝑨𝑮𝑨𝑻𝑯𝑨 𝑨𝑳𝑳 𝑨𝑳𝑶𝑵𝑮 𝑹𝑷 𝑮𝑹𝑶𝑼𝑷!

Westview. A small town that infamously became known as the hot spot for the Scarlet Witch's hex. Three years since Wanda's takeover and the town is finally recovering from the traumatic events. While the locals have their free will, Agatha has her identity back and Wanda managed to destroy the Darkhold, it seems like a higher power has other plans. People are suddenly waking up in a town that looks, sounds and smells like Westview, but something feels off. Westview locals are trying to deny it, it looks exactly like their home after all, so why wouldn't it be? Outsiders are waking up in beds that don't belong to them, in houses they don't own. Acting like squatters in fully furnished, but abandoned homes. The main issue for these people, however, is the lack of magical power. Witches, demons, entities, robots who are centuries old are now mortal. They are no more powerful than their human neighbours. While social media works, you can only gain access to those within the town. So since you're cut off from the rest of the internet, don't expect many views on your posts. Thinking of just leaving town? No matter what direction you take, you will always end up coming back to Westview. Even if you just walk in a straight line. There is no way out.

Westviewfm is a relaxed, 21+ small town roleplay on discord. Focusing on the aftermaths of both Wandavision and Agatha All Along. We have a combination of both canon and original characters, where muses suddenly wake up in a version of Westview that feels different to the original. Any magical being is now powerless and must try to figure out who has trapped them all there and how to gain their magic back. Some locals are in denial, believing that nothing is wrong, while others are starting to panic as they are unable to leave town. Currently the only roles taken are Agatha Harkness and Rio Vidal.

𝑱𝑶𝑰𝑵 𝑻𝑶𝑫𝑨𝒀!

https://discord.gg/BbBCqDCamS

-

[roleplay-finder-search]

𝑾𝑨𝑵𝑫𝑨𝑽𝑰𝑺𝑰𝑶𝑵/𝑨𝑮𝑨𝑻𝑯𝑨 𝑨𝑳𝑳 𝑨𝑳𝑶𝑵𝑮 𝑹𝑷 𝑮𝑹𝑶𝑼𝑷!

Westview. A small town that infamously became known as the hot spot for the Scarlet Witch's hex. Three years since Wanda's takeover and the town is finally recovering from the traumatic events. While the locals have their free will, Agatha has her identity back and Wanda managed to destroy the Darkhold, it seems like a higher power has other plans. People are suddenly waking up in a town that looks, sounds and smells like Westview, but something feels off. Westview locals are trying to deny it, it looks exactly like their home after all, so why wouldn't it be? Outsiders are waking up in beds that don't belong to them, in houses they don't own. Acting like squatters in fully furnished, but abandoned homes. The main issue for these people, however, is the lack of magical power. Witches, demons, entities, robots who are centuries old are now mortal. They are no more powerful than their human neighbours. While social media works, you can only gain access to those within the town. So since you're cut off from the rest of the internet, don't expect many views on your posts. Thinking of just leaving town? No matter what direction you take, you will always end up coming back to Westview. Even if you just walk in a straight line. There is no way out.

Westviewfm is a relaxed, 21+ small town roleplay on discord. Focusing on the aftermaths of both Wandavision and Agatha All Along. We have a combination of both canon and original characters, where muses suddenly wake up in a version of Westview that feels different to the original. Any magical being is now powerless and must try to figure out who has trapped them all there and how to gain their magic back. Some locals are in denial, believing that nothing is wrong, while others are starting to panic as they are unable to leave town.

𝑱𝑶𝑰𝑵 𝑻𝑶𝑫𝑨𝒀!

https://discord.gg/BbBCqDCamS

🍀

[rphunter]

𝑾𝑨𝑵𝑫𝑨𝑽𝑰𝑺𝑰𝑶𝑵/𝑨𝑮𝑨𝑻𝑯𝑨 𝑨𝑳𝑳 𝑨𝑳𝑶𝑵𝑮 𝑹𝑷 𝑮𝑹𝑶𝑼𝑷!

Westview. A small town that infamously became known as the hot spot for the Scarlet Witch's hex. Three years since Wanda's takeover and the town is finally recovering from the traumatic events. While the locals have their free will, Agatha has her identity back and Wanda managed to destroy the Darkhold, it seems like a higher power has other plans. People are suddenly waking up in a town that looks, sounds and smells like Westview, but something feels off. Westview locals are trying to deny it, it looks exactly like their home after all, so why wouldn't it be? Outsiders are waking up in beds that don't belong to them, in houses they don't own. Acting like squatters in fully furnished, but abandoned homes. The main issue for these people, however, is the lack of magical power. Witches, demons, entities, robots who are centuries old are now mortal. They are no more powerful than their human neighbours. While social media works, you can only gain access to those within the town. So since you're cut off from the rest of the internet, don't expect many views on your posts. Thinking of just leaving town? No matter what direction you take, you will always end up coming back to Westview. Even if you just walk in a straight line. There is no way out.

Westviewfm is a relaxed,21+ small town roleplay on discord. Focusing on the aftermaths of both Wandavision and Agatha All Along. We have a combination of both canon and original characters, where muses suddenly wake up in a version of Westview that feels different to the original. Any magical being is now powerless and must try to figure out who has trapped them all there and how to gain their magic back. Some locals are in denial, believing that nothing is wrong, while others are starting to panic as they are unable to leave town. Currently the only roles taken are Agatha Harkness and Rio Vidal.

𝑱𝑶𝑰𝑵 𝑻𝑶𝑫𝑨𝒀!

https://discord.gg/BbBCqDCamS

.

[lowkeyerror]

No Escape pt3

Dark!WandaNat x Reader

Word Count: 1.2k

Warnings: Stalking, Attempted suicide, kidnapping

Summary: Y/n learns she's trapped in Westview. Knowing this pushes her over the edge.

Series Masterlist | Masterlist

Similar to the last time Wanda invaded her dreams, Y/n began to pack up her belongings. If Wanda and Natasha were in the room with her unconscious body, they were too close.

Natasha had tasted her, had laid on top of her, and she was none the wiser. If it wasn't for Wanda telling her, she wouldn't have known. They were toying with her. Wanda and Natasha could've gotten her right there. She would have woken up with them standing over her, powerless.

She had to move quickly.

It didn't take long for her to put some clothes on and grab her things. As soon as she was ready, she left the motel.

For some reason, she was having trouble remembering how to leave the city. Usually she wasn't so forgetful, but today it had escaped her. She searched her bag for her map, yet she came up empty. Though it was frustrating, none of this mattered. Y/n still had to leave the town, whether she knew where she was going or not.

She picked a direction and started walking. If she walked long enough, she knew she'd hit the town's limit. She was right, eventually Y/n hit the town limits, but something was wrong. Something felt off.

Y/n tried to walk out of the town, but there was a barrier. She pushed and pushed, but it wouldn't budge. The image in front of her seemed to buzz.

Frustrations started to build up in her. She dropped her bag and ran at the barrier. She did it over and over again. Her body collided with the invisible wall each time. Her body hurt by the time she finally relented.

She slumped against the barrier, tears welling in her eyes.

" Fuck."

Y/n stared at what should've been her way out. She didn't let her tears fall. She set her jaw and grabbed her things.

The woman walked back to the motel. Agatha still sat at the helpers desks.

" Late night stroll, hun," the woman tried to engage in small talk.

Y/n smiled politely," Something like that. Hey Agatha, do you happen to know how to get to the next town over?"

She stared blankly at Y/n, " The next town over?"

" Yes, is there-"

" There's only Westview," she cut off Y/n. The far away look in her eye was off-putting.

" But my map-"

Agatha raised her voice," There is only Westview!" The harsh tone disappeared as soon as it arrived," It's the perfect little town. Who would want to leave?"

She followed it up with a laugh. This wasn't right, Y/n knew that much. She didn't stay with the laughing women, instead she went back to her room. Y/n sat on the bed with her head in her hands. This town wasn't what it seemed to be. It was a trap for Y/n.

The border stopped her exiting, the people weren't going to help, and she was cut off from the outside world. They finally trapped her. Now the tears fell. The frustration finally exited her body. What started out as a few stray tears turned into full on sobs. Her body shook violently, her throat became raw, snot fell from her nose.

She didn't know how long she cried for. It felt like an eternity. She felt small again. Y/n felt like the little, fragile girl that got her into this situation in the first place.

She marched to the restroom to stare at her reflection. Her eyes were bloodshot, staring back at her.

It didn't matter how strong she looked on the outside. The weakness was in her eyes. She could craft her body to mimic strength and resilience, but staring into her own eyes, she saw weakness.

It was as if she watched herself shrink back to the girl she used to be. There was no backbone in that girl. That girl needed Wanda and Natasha. She was lost without them.

" I hate that you make me feel this way. You like me like this, when I can hardly stand on my own two feet. All helpless and pitiful."

Y/n went back to the main room and dug through her bag. She got what she was looking for and returned to the bathroom. Her movements and breathing were erratic.

" Let me out, or I'll end it all right here. I know you can hear me. I know that you're watching. I'm not bluffing."

Y/n put the gun to the temple of her head," Let me out of here."

She cocked the weapon. Her reflection was mocking her, daring her to pull the trigger.

" I don't believe you, sweetheart."

Wanda was in the mirror. Natasha at her side. Wanda looked confident. Natasha looked like she was on edge. She was fidgeting, she knew that Y/n wasn't bluffing.

" I loved you, both of you, at one point. But I told you, I will never love you like this."

Her hand is steady, her face is straight. Y/n takes a breath and closes her eyes. Then she pulls the trigger.

" NO."

Wanda tries to stop Y/n. She reaches through the mirror and tries to push the gun away, but she is too slow.

Then Y/n opens her eyes. Her heart is beating like it never had. She looks at the gun and then at herself.

She took out the clip, there were no bullets. The gun slipped from her grasps. Before she can process what's happening, there's a pair of arms wrapping around her.

"Get off of me. Get off of me. Get off of me," she repeats it through her tears.

Y/n tries to push the person off of her, but the body won't budge.

" Just let me hold you, please. Just for a moment, dorogaya."

Y/n relents, and for a moment she allows herself to feel safe in Natasha's arms. The woman holds her as if she would disappear.

" It's not fair," Y/n viciously wipes her eyes," It's not fair that I want you to hold me after pushing me over the edge."

She pulls herself away from Natasha, only to stumble into Wanda’s frame. When Y/n catches Wanda’s eyes, she sees the trail of mascara trailing down her face.

" How could you do that?"

Her eyes began to glow that dangerous hue of red. Y/n takes a few steps away from her.

" Wanda," Natasha says, trying to calm the witch.

" Don't. Her brains would've been splattered all over the wall. She would lay dead here, if that gun was loaded," she pauses," She'd rather die than be with us."

" That's not true," Natasha shakes her head.

Y/n didn't want to be here. She wasn't supposed to be here. It was all supposed to be over. She couldn't keep running, but she'd rather die than be caught.

" Please, let me go," Y/n says amidst the tension.

" Why? So you can kill yourself? "

Natasha yells at her again," Wanda, stop it!"

" You aren't going anywhere."

The witch made it impossible for Y/n to move, just like in that first dream. Instead of strolling over to her, she appeared behind Y/n, wordlessly. Wanda began to use her magic to lull the young Stark to sleep.

" The chase was fun, bunny, but I'm not ever letting you leave me again."

Taglist: @bibliophilicbi @tigerlillyruiz @coollemonsaresour @captains-simp

[sapphiccrypt]

The Names You Call Me

Oh boy- I don’t have an Ao3 account so I guess I’m putting this here.

Ship: Wanda x Agatha (MCU) AU: Soulmate AU Word Count: 2578 -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Agatha had been around for a while- of course she had. She was a witch from all the way back in the time of the Salem Witch Trials. However, in the roughly estimated 350 years she’d been alive (she’d lost count around the first World War), she hadn’t figured out who her soulmate was. Everyone had one, or at least, everyone was supposed to. Every little nickname or term of endearment your soulmate called you was supposed to be inked somewhere on your skin. However, she herself had been a blank canvas for centuries. It’s not like she minded, she was always more focused on acquiring more magical knowledge.

However, this didn’t stop the witch from giving little nicknames to everyone. It had become a habit over time. Was it so that she’d finally find her supposed soulmate one day? Or perhaps it was just to prove to herself that said soulmate didn’t exist and would never exist. Either way, this habit hadn’t shown any positive results, at least, that’s what she thought. 

It was one of her habits that carried over into the nosy neighbor persona she had become forced to play. 

------ 

Wanda’s parents always told them about soulmates, how those little names that appeared on your skin were supposed to be so meaningful and lovely. Oh how she wished that was the case. Of course, life always seemed to want to throw a curveball at her. 

She was in her cabin in the vast wilderness when she had decided to shower. As she stepped out, her hair was intricately braided with magic. She had decided to check said braid in the mirror when she noticed something that made her heart sink. 

Written in small lettering along her lower back were different words. Wanda knew what this meant, of course she did. Everyone was told about soulmates. There were so many rom coms and tv shows about it. Hell- in the show she’d weaved together from the town of Westview, she’d finally been able to make Vision and herself soulmates. However, the few nicknames the deceased synthezoid had called her in the past weren’t written there.

Instead, there were ones like “buttercup,” “hon,” and “toots,” among a few others. In the back of her mind, she knew where those nicknames came from- who those nicknames came from. She stared at the writing for a while. Why her of all people? The one that betrayed her and tried to take her magic? Why couldn’t it have been Vision, or anyone else for that matter? Why did it have to be Agatha?

The mirror shatters.

------ 

Agatha didn’t know how long she was trapped in the lonely and painstakingly quiet void of own mind. Mere minutes could feel like years just for the next hour to pass like milliseconds. Feeling and watching herself do and say things, think things, without it really being her was a fate worse than death. No matter how hard she would scream, no one could hear her there.

Agnes, meanwhile, was brewing herself a morning cup of coffee. She had always been a coffee person, for as long as she could remember, just like she had always been living in the quiet town of Westview. Of course, she found her hobbies. Along with being the neighborhood gossip, she would tend to her garden and watch fun movies. It was a simple life, and she liked it, despite the part of herself buried deep within the far corners of her mind that told her this wasn’t what she should be doing.

As the housewife was pouring her coffee into one of her many ornate mugs, a knock at the door echoed above the noise of the television and her own humming. She almost spilled her coffee but set the pot aside on the counter. “I’ll be there in just a moment!” Agnes called as she speed-walked over to the door and opened it to see her former neighbor. 

“Wanda! What a pleasant surprise,” Agnes began with the same neighborly smile she always put on. The one that seemed so permanent that her cheeks would often hurt after a while. “And here I thought you had forgotten about little ol’ Agnes,” she teased, stepping out of the doorway so the other could enter. “Please, come on in.”

Wanda would nod, smiling calmly over at the other. “It’s nice to see you again, Agnes,” she’d comment as she looked around the neatly decorated house. The whole place had a sickeningly sweet atmosphere, as to be expected of the role she had put upon the other. She sat down on the couch Agnes guided her over to, looking over at the sitcom playing on the television. She had been meaning to watch that one.

“Would you like anything to drink? Coffee, tea, something a little more...adult?” Agnes asked with a mischievous smirk as she moved into the kitchen. “Take your pic, pumpkin.”

She looked down as the other called her a new nickname, knowing it was probably added to the list of words that were written on her back. “Tea is fine, thanks,” the Sokovian woman commented, quietly resting her hands in her lap as she prepared for what was to come. Hopefully the runes she’d placed on the house and Agatha herself would stop her from attacking or playing with her mind again.

Agnes rambled on about life in Westview and tidbits of gossip she’d picked up on since the other had left the small New Jersey town. Soon enough, the shrill noise of the teapot pierced the air and she prepared the other’s drink, walking in with both mugs after reheating her own coffee. 

Wanda talked with Agnes for a few minutes, thanking her for the tea and sipping it as they chatted and watched the television program. When the other set her mug down on the coffee table, the younger witch moved a glowing red hand to the other’s temple, bringing back the witch that she had previously locked away. 

Agatha’s eyes widened and she gasped as all her senses came back to her and she was in her own mind again. She looked over at Wanda, stumbling away from the other on the couch some before her gaze narrowed. “What do you want?” She asked. She knew deep down she couldn’t really do much besides listen to the other, as she couldn’t feel the usual buzz of magic underneath her skin.

“Well it’s nice to see you too, Agatha.” Wanda said, still keeping a calm demeanor about her as she looked over at the other. “I had to come by and see how my nosy neighbor was doing.”

The older of the two grumbled as she got up, blue eyes gazing at the other and desperately trying to figure out her motives. “You and I both know that isn’t the reason, Red.” Agatha commented. At least she was herself again, although being powerless like this was still worse than death, in her opinion.

Wanda sighed. What was with this woman and all her nicknames? She was sure her back was soon to be covered in words. “I just want to talk,” she paused, considering her next words. “Ags.” She noticed the hint of some marking on the other’s left arm, although it was mainly covered by her sleeve.

Agatha looked a bit surprised at the nickname before glaring once more. “What do you want to talk about.” She muttered, sitting down at a chair adjacent to the other. She didn’t really want to talk, but she didn’t quite want to be Agnes again either.

“Well- I have two things. First, a sort of proposal of sorts,” Wanda replied. “You said I would need you, so this is a time to make yourself needed. Teach me the secrets of the Darkhold, I know you know it well.” Some of the spells in the book were quite confusing, and at times the book itself seemed like it didn’t want to be read, and surely giving this incentive would give her the insight she needed on the book.

“The second...” she began again, “....is this,” Wanda said as red magic rolled up the left sleeve of the other’s shirt, causing Agatha to tense some. “Take a look for yourself.”

The brunette’s gaze settled on her arm, eyes widening as she read out the small, 3 letter nickname the other had just called her. She opened her mouth to speak for a moment before promptly closing it right afterwards. She was silent for what seemed like eternity before she let out a low chuckle.

“You must be covered then, huh, dearie?”

------ 

Months passed as the two resided in Wanda’s cabin. The Scarlet Witch’s training was going alright- save for a few clearings in the forest that definitely weren’t there before. Overtime, arguments and harsh words turned to cheeky and sarcastic remarks. Neither of them brought up the soulmate thing too much, as if the situation was a creature one would be advised not to poke with a stick. This didn’t stop Agatha from coming up with new nicknames just to add to the collection and tick off Wanda, however. Meanwhile her own arm was mostly bare save for a few names she was called when the other wanted to try at the game that the older witch was playing. 

It was late morning, Wanda was usually the first to wake up, whether it was from her just being an early riser or nightmares she got frequently was up for debate. She prepared a small meal, just some bacon and eggs, making her some tea. Agatha often made her own coffee, through normal or magical needs.

She had decided after a couple weeks to let Agatha use her magic, as trust had grown between the two and it was easier for the magic lessons to have someone who could actually use magic. Agatha hadn’t attacked or anything, she seemed to know it wouldn’t end well. Plus, through the passing months, both women were beginning to take a liking to one another, whether they wanted to admit it or not. 

Agatha came down from her room a few minutes after Wanda had sat down for breakfast, pushing messy brunette hair out of her face so her vision wasn’t obscured. She grabbed a mug, magically making herself some coffee before getting a portion of breakfast and sitting down across from Wanda at the small wooden dining table.

“Good morning.” Wanda commented with a soft smile. Although part of herself hated to say it, she really enjoyed Agatha’s company. She had grown to enjoy the little nicknames, the teasing remarks, the way her laugh made her feel like her heart was made of butterflies. Disregard that last part.

Agatha nodded, sipping her coffee. “Morning.” She said, taking a few bites of breakfast that the other had prepared. “This is good, buttercup.” She smirked some at the other before sipping her coffee. “Ready for today’s practice?” 

Wanda looked up from her cup of tea and over at who had become her mentor. “Of course.” She responded. Her control over her magic had been getting better, and she’d been learning all sorts of spells and runes from the other witch.

After breakfast, the two women got changed and went out into the forest, into one of the clearings that had been there before the two had started using the area for magic practices. This spot was quite peaceful, and the two spent many hours reading through the Darkhold, along with other books of magic that Agatha had acquired over the centuries of her life.

Practice went as normal, going over a few new runes and such, like one Agatha had used to block out her mind from the other’s telepathy in Westview. It was a difficult rune but Wanda had proved to be a quick and skilled learner. After a couple more runes, Agatha would switch over to spells. 

Wanda didn’t like to admit that elemental magic was really frustrating. How was chaos and creation easier than controlling water? The two had moved to a nearby creek for this spell. Agatha instructed how to control the water but each try ended in one or both of them getting splashed. 

Agatha had an idea and moved closer to Wanda. “Here.” She began, standing behind her and placing her hands on her wrists, ignoring the quickened beating of her heart. Yeah, she was falling for the other, who also happened to be her soulmate, so be it. She’d deal with that “problem” later. “You have to follow the flow of the water with your body, be fluid in your movements and calm in your emotions.” 

It was hard to be calm when Agatha was against her like this and her cheeks were tinted the same color of her magic, but Wanda was determined to get this seemingly simple spell down. She closed her eyes, taking deep breaths as she tried to cast the spell, moving in tandem with her mentor. Things seemed to be going quite well, opening one eye to see the water moving with them.

Until she fell, of course.

She had heard a rustling in the bushes and her concentration broke and caused her to stumble and fall forward, Agatha falling along with her into the cold shallow water. A deer ran out of their view. Wanda began to apologize before the other let out what was probably the most genuine laugh she’d ever heard, causing her already pounding heart to skip a few beats. She found herself laughing along.

Agatha stood up, helping the other to her feet as well. “Well that’s a way to become one with the water,” she teased, smiling at Wanda. “If I wasn’t already awake, I definitely am now.” She added before smirking and splashing the other.

“Hey!” The younger witch exclaimed as the cold water made her shiver, although the smile she had on never left her lips. “No fair,” she added before splashing the other in return. 

Agatha chuckled before reaching over to move some wet hair out of the other’s face. Her hand lingered on her cheek for a moment as their eyes met before she quickly looked away, going to climb out of the creek before a hand grabbed hers, and she looked back at Wanda. “What is it, darling?” She asked.

Wanda ignored how much the nickname made her face heat up. She hadn’t really been thinking as she grabbed the other’s hand, and she ended up staring into the other’s eyes for longer than most normal friends would. Her heart kept beating and she felt like if she didn’t say something to break the tension would be infinite.

“I think I’m falling for you.”

Ok- anything but that.

The older witch was the one blushing now, before chuckling softly as their fingers intertwined. “And here I thought you couldn’t stand me.” She teased, smiling at the other as they moved closer to one another.

It doesn’t matter who ended up kissing who, what matters is that it happened, and neither seemed to want to pull away.

When they finally did so, Wanda found herself leaning into Agatha’s touch as the other woman caressed her cheek, and she entangled one of her hands into the other’s unruly dark hair. 

“I don’t think I mind being your soulmate, Aggie.”

Another mark appeared on Agatha’s arm, and they both leaned in for another kiss

[diaryofabeautyfiend]

Small Time Witch (16)

You had your phone on silent the entire time you were shopping. Once you realized you checked your notifications. You had a text and missed call from Steve a voicemail from your therapist and a text from Tony. You called Steve back. His message seemed to be the most urgent.

“Hey. What’s up?”

“Where are you?” He sounded upset.

“In the city shopping. Why? What’s going on?”

“Did you see your doctor today?” Snitch.

“No. Look I know what you are going to say. I think I really have a handle on everything, Steve. I don’t want to see Dr. Calloway anymore.”

“Good. No, baby, that’s good. Don’t take anymore of those pills. Come back to the compound as soon as possible. We need to talk.”

“Steve you are scaring me.”

“Everything is fine, doll. Come on home.” You drove as fast as the law allowed. Steve met you outside of the gate. He stopped you before you could pull in and jumped in the passenger seat. Wanda and Sam got in the back and Bucky followed on the bike. “Just drive.” He pulled the radio out of your dash and told you to kill the navigation.

“We need to get somewhere out of SHIELD and Tony’s reach.” You bit your lip knowing exactly where to go. You started driving towards the freeway to head north.

“I have a place but you have to promise not to lose your shit when we get there. Promise me, Steve.” You tapped your fingers on the wheel and chewed your lip raw.

“I promise. Want to tell me what I’m walking in to?”

“Uh. My house. Not the one that was burned down. The new one.”

“When did you buy a house?” You were silent and started to tear up a little.

“Heimdall! I know you can hear me. Tell Thor to meet us at our house.” You wouldn’t look at Steve. You could feel his anger building. “You promised, Steve.”

“Baby, when you said ‘our house’ what did you mean?” He was gripping the arm rest so tight he almost snapped it off. He knew the answer to the question. He just wanted to hear you say it. You didn’t answer. You were concentrating on keeping the mood from escalating in the car. You were scared and it would be really easy to lose control at this moment. “Y/N I need you to answer me.”

“Loki built a house on the land that my family owns. He may or may not be living there. I don’t know because I haven’t talked to him in almost a year.” You put your hand on his arm and he pulled away.

“Nope. You don’t get to tell me how to feel right now, Y/N. I thought when you took that bracelet off he was out of your life. Out of our lives. That was a big deal for me.”

“It was a big deal for me too. I only found out about the house a couple of months ago. It’s a gift.”

“That’s a pretty big fucking gift. I can’t fucking believe you right now.” The rest of the ride was silent. Sam and Wanda looked out the window. The only sound you heard was the growl of Steve’s bike behind you.

The road went from paved to gravel to forest floor. You traveled far off the main drive. You arrived at the glen that was hidden in the shadows of a the mountains save for the beam of sunshine that shone down like a spotlight. There was a patch of grass that was singed where Thor likely landed.

You were trying so hard to hide your emotions but it was so beautiful. You took a deep breath getting a nose full of the mimosa that was now in full bloom. Wanda held your hand. “It’s stunning. I can’t believe he did all of this.”

The five of you walked into the gate. Loki was waiting in the doorway. “This is not exactly how I envisioned you seeing the place.”

“Thought she’d be alone?” Steve said blowing past him.

“Nice to see you too, Captain Rogers.”

“Don’t. Please” you begged. “Steve, honey. Can we have a seat and talk about why we’re here?” You gathered in the kitchen so Steve could explain. He confessed to knowing about the medication but not exactly what it was. He said he knew that Dr. Calloway worked for Fury and that the operation in Alaska was a rescue mission. He still hadn’t figured out the rest.

“I promise you I had no idea what that medication was not until I spoke to Agatha and Professor Xavier. Tony does and that’s why we’re here.”

“Steve, you should have come to me. The good news is I know what Aconite is. It’s been used for centuries as a poison and, in some varieties to help with anxiety. It slows the heart rate. Luckily I know an antidote. Plus I minored in chemistry and I’ve been working with Stephen Strange a literal medical doctor who helped me compound a quick dissolving tablet to neutralize the Aconite.”

“I’m sorry. I thought I was protecting you. I should have talked to you. I would never willingly hurt you. Do you understand that?” He hugged you tight and kissed you. You nodded your head and hugged him back but you were still hurt.

Loki beamed with pride. You were always one step ahead of these idiots. What a clever little witch. It irritated him to his core that you met Steve with understanding and compassion rather than blind rage when he lied to you. You were clouded by your feelings for him.

“So what’s the plan, Cap? Do we go on this mission?” Sam asked. While they discussed a plan and you excused yourself to explore. Every detail was as you imagined right down to the door knobs and drawer pulls. Loki left a clone of himself in the kitchen so he could join you.

“What do you think? Did I get it right?” he whispered. You slipped your hand in his and squeezed.

“It’s perfect. Thank you, Loki. I love it so much here. I’m sorry I’m seeing it this way.” He didn’t let go of your hand right away.

“I’m just glad you’re here. I do admit I thought it would be just the two of us. But, there’s plenty of room. I’d better get back.” He pressed his lips hard to the back of your hand. You heard Steve calling from the kitchen.

“We’re going to stay the night here and go back to the compound in the morning. Until we figure all of this out you stay and we’ll come back to get you. I trust you’re safe here.” Steve explained. You went back to the bedroom to try to get some rest. Loki took the couch. He grabbed some blankets from the linen closet and winked at you as he went down the hall.

“Baby, I’m gonna check on everyone to make sure they’re set for the night. Why don’t you go take a bath? I’ll be back in a sec.” Steve checked on Bucky and Sam who were sharing a room. The bed was large enough for the two of them to fit comfortably. Wanda was already in bed so was Thor. Loki was sitting up on the couch reading.

“Can I talk to you?” Steve asked. Loki looked around to see who else was in the room. He gestured towards the big chair across from him. Steve sat down and stared around the room trying to collect his thoughts. Everywhere he looked he saw you. Everything was soft and inviting. There was a spice to the air warm and aromatic. He wanted to curl up in this place. Get lost in here. This wasn’t his place though. Loki built it with the intention of living out your days here. There were flashes of him too. No. There was no place here for Steve.

“Can I trust you with her?” His voice was low and gritty like it was worked over with sandpaper.

“You know she’s safe with me.”

“You know that’s not what I’m asking. Can I trust you to keep your hands off of her?”

“I won’t touch her. You have my word.”

“Your word. That’s cute. You see here I was thinking you were gone. Out of our lives. It took her six months to take that damned bracelet off which means it took her six months to get over you. And here you are back in our lives again. What possessed you to build this house?” he put his hand up to stop him, “No. Don’t tell me. I already know. It’s the same reason I went out to Westchester today. The same reason I’m ready to go ape shit on Tony fucking Stark and all of SHIELD. Because you are in love with her just like I’m in love with her. The difference is she chose me. She chose to have me in her life. You just keep showing up.” Steve buried his face in his hands. He wasn’t sure if he was coming or going.

Loki was deep in thought dissecting what Steve said but also trying to figure out Tony’s play. “I’m trying to understand what binding her will do. It won’t change the fact that she’s a conduit. It will only leave her defenseless. Unless that’s what they are trying to do.” Loki’s eyes were wide thinking of the possibility that you would be able to absorb all of the powers of the people Hydra kidnapped. You’d be a nuclear bomb indeed. That’s only if you were powerless to stop it. As it were, you cast a spell on yourself that had a fail safe built in. If you kept training with Strange and Wong, you would be able to stop the lot of them. “Captain. That’s it. They are using her to steal powers. What is in Alaska?”

“Fuck. That’s it. Fuck! Alaska is a giant Hydra base housing mutants. I’m leaving Wanda with you. I’ll call Stephen Strange in the morning. Don’t tell her anything. She’ll want to confront Tony. I won’t let her. I can’t let Tony know she hasn’t been taking her meds.” Loki nodded in agreement.

Steve stood up to go to bed. He was bone tired. All he wanted was to crawl into your bed and wrap his body around yours like a cocoon.

“Steve,” Loki called after him. Steve stopped in the doorway his shoulders slumped down in defeat. “I’ll keep her safe for you. When all of this is over, the place yours. Just promise me you’ll let her be herself out here. She hides a lot from you because she’s afraid she’ll scare you if you really saw her. You really love her? Get to know the real Y/N.” Steve responded with a weak smile.

The master bedroom was painted a deep green and had warm wood trim. A large vanity was situated in the corner with perfume bottles a comb and a brush neatly arranged on top. A massive four poster bed was dead center. The posts were ornate and winding like a tree the legs like roots. The Yggdrasil tree. A big round window sat high on the wall letting the moonlight stream in. He could smell the oils you used in the tub. Warm spice notes and deep florals. That’s what your skin would smell like. He wanted to burn it into his nose.

Off in the corner there was a small winding staircase that lead to a loft. He climbed it to find a reading nook with a small table for snacks. He smiled thinking about how much you would love it up there.

On the other side of the room was a wardrobe. Inside there were dresses that you’d no doubt wear barefoot and blouses and trousers for you to wear to work. Off to the side were three little drawers. The top was for bras the middle for panties and the bottom larger drawer for sweats leggings socks and T-shirts. The bottom was neatly lined with heels strappy sandals and a pair of boots that made his cock twitch. He imagined you wearing them with the leather dress that would barely cover your thighs.

In the chest of drawers there were sweaters jeans that looked worn in and a whole drawer for tac gear in case you went on missions with them. This fucker thought of everything.

He wanted to go out there and punch him in his smug little face but stopped when he heard you sloshing around in the water. He cracked the door open so he wouldn’t startle you. “Sweetheart? Can I come in?”

“Hey. Yeah. There is plenty of room for you.” Steve stripped and eased in to the too hot water. You grabbed the big sponge hanging over the faucet and got it sudsy enough to wash him. He let you though he felt like it was somehow wrong. Like he shouldn’t be this intimate with you in another man’s home.

The bathroom was just as glamorous as the bedroom. A small gas fireplace sat perfectly positioned to warm the whole bathroom. A chandelier hung from the ceiling. The shower was also large enough for two people. There were so many spouts it looked like a car wash. There were candles placed on every and any flat surface. The place was fit for a queen. Loki’s queen.

Funnily enough you didn’t seem to care. You rinsed off the soap and kissed your way up to his neck. You used a small pitcher set on a step stool to wet his hair. When you massaged his scalp you kissed him deeply. “Close your eyes and hold your breath” you said in that low tone that made him crazy.

He shook off like a dog making you giggle. His favorite sound. He lifted you enough to sink you down onto him. He will never get enough of how you felt. The water lapped around your body as you moved. You both came quick and hard collapsing your body down around him. “I love you, Steve” you whispered as you caught your breath.

“I love you, Y/N. So much.”

You got out of the tub feeling like your limbs were made of jelly. You dried off braided your hair and slicked your skin with more oil. The one you chose was warm and slightly citrusy. Vetiver. It made your heartbeat quicken knowing that Loki remembered your mother’s fragrance. The two of you crawled into bed and slept like you’ve been sleeping in this room for ages. You weren’t sure if it was being back on your land or something else but you felt like you were finally home.

[devourer--of--books]

Something obvious I noticed about Agatha

Context:

I’m doing a small side-collection of my favorite scenes from WSF that I had to cut off, because just editing them out was making me sad. The first one of those (which should be up soon on AO3, under the name of ‘every memory of the sweet sunshine’) is a scene in which I have Sophie doing a bit of introspection on Agatha’s so-called ‘goodness’.

I cut off the scene for the sake of length (why, why do I always write stuff no asked for, no cares why Agatha has no car in WSF, literally no one asked) and because I didn’t want to mess with Sophie and Agatha’s arc in the fic by making her too self-aware or highlight her opinion on Agatha’s compulsive need to help other people too explicitly just yet.

But then, it occurs to me that Agatha’s behavior is not something exclusive from my fic. In fact, is something that is classical Agatha, noticeble during the entire book 1, TLEA, and even a during QFG (I’m sure it comes up during AWWP too, but I haven't picked that one up in years so I can’t speak for it). It’s a vital part of her character and I think we all know this, but it still made me kinda sad once I started to think about it. 

Agatha has low-key (high-key) savior complex

So, I am not a phycologist. I don’t claim to be one either. But I’ve been doing some reading and my google skills pointed towards white knight syndrome? I’m linking the main sources I used bellow).

Hear me out,

- Let’s start with book 1 and Sophie, because I feel like that is the basis of this analysis.

- During most of book 1, we get many reasons as to why Agatha feels the need to go home. She has good reasons, Agatha knows the school is dangerous. Naturally you’d wanna go home, back to safety and bring your only friend (we’ll talk about this in a minute) with you, so they’d be safe too, right? Nothing wrong here.

- But one of the most frequent criticisms of book1!Agatha is that she is very persistent in getting Sophie to go back home with her. Very, with like, major V. Numerous times we see Sophie brush off Agatha’s attempts to help her (in Agatha’s point of view, helping her is getting her home), and it just frustrates her and makes her try harder, despite Sophie’s clear wishes for her to just leave it alone.

- When you read this, didn’t it make you feel tired for Agatha? Burnout and angry at Sophie for not listening to her friend who clearly has her best interests in mind?

- I don’t think we need to highlight every instance in which Sophie was an absolutely horrible friend and trash person to Agatha in book 1, and she just… Took that shit, because ‘they were friends’ and continued to help her (including helping her get with Tedros in service of saving her) because she’s good and the good forgive everything?

- Because good believes no one, not even Sophie, 100% evil, is beyond redemption? Because that’s how normal friendship works? I mean, sounds fake, but okay.

- Agatha literally almost dies a couple of times when Sophie goes psycho-witch on her, but we still see her feel like she needs to save Sophie. Notice that I say needs, and not only wants. 

- If you don’t think Agatha and Sophie had a toxic codependent friendship during most of TSY, I don’t think we read the same books?? Their codepency tends to be a major plot point in all books??

- Very rarely do we see dynamics in which one person is 100% toxic by herself. This one is no exception. It’s easy to point out Sophie’s selfish narcissistic (borderline sociopathic) behavior as toxic, because it’s so loud and in our faces, but I don’t think we talk about how Agatha contributes to this dynamic as often as we should.

- We joke about how Agatha lets Sophie get away with everything. How annoying it can be. But why does she let Sophie get away with everything? Why does she enable Sophie’s behavior (through positive reinforcement)? Especially if the goal is to help Sophie, shouldn’t she be more incisive in ‘teaching’ Sophie that her actions have consequences?

- I mostly attributed this to Agatha’s cripplingly low self-esteem. But now that I thought a bit more, I think it’s a bit more than that. Agatha’s endless empathy for Sophie is part of why their friendship ‘works’. But for something to ‘work’, it goes both ways. We know what Sophie gets out of their dynamic: she gets to be chaotic, have Agatha clean up after her and access to bottom-less empathy and love from her. What does Agatha get?

- Mostly, Agatha gets a semi-good-ish friend. Which she thinks is the type of friendship she deserves. But she also gets to serve a purpose. Her life’s work is to save Sophie, solve Sophie’s problems. In fact we don’t see Agatha try to solve any of her own problems until Sophie pushes her away. I think Agatha needs to help Sophie because she envisions Sophie as her one redeeming quality, and linked her own self-worth to how well she can take care of her friend.

- Which is why she always feels so anxious and exhausted all the time. Agatha sacrifices her own well-being in favor of saving Sophie from the consequences of her own actions, even after Sophie tells her not to, because she believes it’s her job. If she’s not saving Sophie, than why is she here at all? 

- What Agatha gets out of their dynamic is the emotional high of playing savior. She gets to be in control of something. She feels powerless and frustrated at her own issues, so she has the compulsive need to ‘fix’ others (in this case, Sophie, because Sophie is her only friend).

- Think of how Agatha tells Sophie the reason why she always let her in is because Sophie looks lonely. I don’t think this is entirely true, but there’s some truth to it. Sophie is the ‘perfect fit’ for Agatha because they’re both lonely and vulnerable. Sophie needs a getaway car from her own chaos (instead of facing it head on) and Agatha needs a purpose bigger than herself so she can feel complete.

- This is also partly why I believe she got so defensive and furious when Tedros accuses her of ‘not being able to make Sophie feel loved like he does’. Saving Sophie is a fundamental part of how Agatha defines herself so when he says this, it cuts her deeply. 

- Because being Sophie’s friend and savior is directly tied to her own sense of who she is.

- Now, lets move on to how Tedros fits in this, by observing exemples during TLEA and QFG, as well as the end of book 1.

- As soon as Tedros  becomes important to Agatha, we see a shift in her behavior. She now needs to protect him. But their dynamic differs from the one between Sophie and Agatha because Tedros not only rejects her help; instead, he wants to be her white knight. 

- It confuses Agatha, because so far, being a savior was just her modus operandi and not at all mutual. I think there’s a line in AWWP (I know there’s a comic, so I’m not sure if it’s from that book, but I think it is, if it isn’t ignore this point) where Tedros asks Agatha what she saw in him, and she says something along the lines of him needing someone to protect him the way he protected the people he cared about. 

- Tedros’ unconcious wish for someone to take care of him is what draws Agatha in, much like Sophie’s. But Tedros wants a mutual relationship, where Sophie was pretty much one-sided most the time.

- Which is why I think Agatha and Tedros clash so much, but at the same time, why they make a good pair. They’re two idiots trying to save each other. And their relationship’s life work is to figure out how to listen to what the other actually needs, not what they think the other needs. Communication is key, as usual.

- Numerous times in TLEA we hear Tedros complaining that Agatha doesn’t know how to play ‘the princess’, how she bosses him around and treats him like he’s an idiot. That, I believe, is because that is the only way she knows how to express her love: she tries to fix as many of his problems as she can, ignoring what he wants.

- She tells him she has no idea how to be anything else. Because this is all she has ever known. She saves people, they don’t save her. But Tedros wants to save her anyway. So, conflict is created.

- During part two of TLEA, we see perhaps the best example of how Agatha applies this savior narrative to benefit herself. 

- When we fall back into an old habit, we don’t usually do it because it feels good. We do it because it feels familiar. And there is comfort in familiarity, especially in familiar pain.

- Agatha is having problems with communicating with Tedros, with sorting out their dynamic and with who she thinks she’s supposed to be without Sophie. So when Sophie crashes in and asks Agatha to give him up in order to fix her problems as well as the entire Woods, Agatha jumps at the chance to play the martyr, because that way she doesn’t have to fix her own problems. Like a get-out-of-jail-free card. 

- Pretty sure there’s even a quote from Sophie in TLEA where she points out she could never play Good’s savior. It’s implicit that she thinks this role has always been Agatha’s. It’s what Agatha herself thinks.

- As soon as Tedros is out of the picture, we see Sophie and Agatha’s friendship restored to their codepency glory (that scene where they’re riding and the frog and scorpion analogy, was it a frog, I can’t remember, but you know the one I’m talking about). But somewhere in her mind, Agatha knows this isn’t how it’s supposed to be, because of what Tedros has showed her, and not only Tedros, but also Hester.

- I’ll save Agatha and Hester’s relationship for another dive, as this is already very long, but yeah, not toxic at all, just friends being actual good friends. In fact, most of the time Hester is the one saving Agatha. We’ll see to this later. Anyway, back to my ranting.

- Then we have the wish-fish scene, in my opinion the best Hort-scene in all the books. Hort goes ahead and calls Agatha out on her shit. Shit that she wasn’t even completely conscious she was doing (someone get these kids a therapist omg).

- We get to see tagatha make up, working out their communication issues (!!!!). “You catch me and I catch you” it’s literally the realization that Agatha finally can trust someone enough to ask for help when she needs it and that she can trust him to come to her if he needs her help. That she has finally understood that it’s not her job to save everyone and only Sophie can save herself.

- Why, why did it not end here.

- I’m gonna spare you the QFG bashing (see my other post for that content, lol), but that book did Agatha dirty. I liked that they didn’t erase her progress with Sophie, how they learned to be better friends for each other, but wtf tagatha

- This is an entire book of Agatha feeling like she needs to save Tedros all over again. There’s even an introspective moment in which she explicitly says that in the end of the day, she trusts no one but herself (why, why did you undo the ending of TLEA, why) that breaks my heart.

- Tedros pushing her away, her going behind his back, the internal dialogue Agatha has with herself… Look, I love chapter 6. Chapter 6? Great content. Tedros belatedly noticing he needs to let Agatha in (six months bitch I just-) and asking for her help. Agatha’s savior complex comes full force and she convinces Tedros to let her fix everything. Tedros ends up allowing her to do so because he is desperate. Lots of kissing and touching. My favorite chapter of QFG.

- But since the follow-up is basically Agatha noticing what she’s doing and doing it anyway (contrary to TLEA, in which as soon as she could no longer deny what she was doing she gets her shit together) it just feels like she’s regressing? Her self-worth is no longer tied to saving Sophie from herself after 3 books, only for it to be tied to saving Tedros?

- Anyway, thank you for attending my TEDtalk.

Sources: 

https://amenteemaravilhosa.com.br/complexo-de-salvador/

https://www.healthline.com/health/savior-complex#how-it-affects-you

https://www.linkedin.com/pulse/complexo-de-salvador-como-ele-pode-impactar-sua-vida-pessoal

https://www.healthline.com/health/mental-health/sociopath

https://www.healthline.com/health/how-to-stop-being-codependent

[lynelovespopculture]

The Chilling Adventures of Zelda Chapter 5-ROAD TO RECOVERY PLEASE REMEMBER TO COMMENT!

CHAPTER 5-THE ROAD TO RECOVERY

WARNING: Talk of suicide

 Zelda couldn’t sleep. She sighed as she turned to look at the clock, 2:45 AM. Zelda looked upper still to Hilda 3 feet away, lightly snoring. Zelda removed her blankets and put her feet into her slippers. She exited the bedroom before conjuring a little ball of light to accompany her down the dark hallway. It had been 2 and a half weeks since Zelda’s husband had been separated from his insanity curse and things were not going all that well. The plan had been to free Faustus and then kill the curse and they had tried their best. Zelda had been literally in hell as Prudence tried to stab it and Hilda came from behind with a heavy rock. However, the stab wound made no difference and the rock that broke in 2. It fell to Zelda to tell her family that the curse bore the mark of Cain, which made it immortal. Somehow, the curse got away. So, Blackwood, (to help avoid confusion, the family decided to call the curse Blackwood and the real man Faustus,) was on the run again but not for long. A week later, when all the coven was in the church to hear mass, a bloody Dorcas stormed in to tearfully inform the others that Blackwood stormed the nearly empty academy. Dorcas tried hard but Blackwood did manage to reclaim the twins before disappearing again. Poor Dorcas blamed herself, but Zelda tried her best to comfort the distraught girl. Secretly, Zelda herself wanted to cry. How could they lose the twins yet again, after a mere 8 days! Late at night on all 7 nights, Zelda would take care not to be caught as she sneaked into where the twins slept. She would tuck them in if needed, kiss them and just stay with them for a while. Wondering how Judas and Letitia, she knew the girl twin was calling herself Judith, but she would always be Letitia to Zelda, could possibly be teenagers, when their 1st birthday was still weeks away.  Agatha, who was already pretty hostile, grew even more violent and wild when she learned that Blackwood came to get the twins but not her. Knowing that Agatha was a danger not only to herself but to the other students and teachers, Zelda made the decision to put Agatha in the dungeon, for now.

“I’m really sorry girls,” Zelda told the other weird sisters about her decision. “I wish there was another way, but I need to put the safety of the coven first, plus if Blackwood comes back for her, it won’t be so easy.”

“We  understand, Sister Zelda.”  Prudence soothed.

Dorcas nodded. “Agatha’s in good hands. We trust you, Mistress  Spellman.”

Zelda smiled, she needed to hear that right now.

Zelda briefly considered getting in touch with their mysterious new ally, Gloria Rose but the idea was quickly dismissed for 2 reasons. First, Zelda had no idea where Gloria lived or how to get in touch with her and had a funny feeling that Gloria wouldn’t pop up again it was time for Lilith’s next appointment. Also, was the fact that Gloria had betrayed Blackwood by giving him to the Spellmans so it was unlikely Blackwood would go back to her.

 The cold hallway gave Zelda a chill, sending her back to the present. Zelda went to the end of the hall and opened the linen closet, grabbed a blanket and wrapped it around herself.  In addition to worrying about Blackwood, the twins, and Agatha, Zelda was extremely concerned about Faustus, only in a completely different way. Agatha’s behavior was violent and dangerous. Faustus was a danger to no one but himself. Zelda was with her husband when he asked the dark lord to put him under house arrest and stripped him of all his magical powers. Boy, Faustus was not kidding. He asked for house arrest but it was more like room arrest. Shortly after returning from hell, Faustus went down to the morgue and stayed there for 2 and a half weeks. The morgue was the lowest, coldest room in the Spellman house. Zelda suspected if Faustus could go lower, he would. He also absolutely wouldn’t hear of going near the church or school.

“I am no longer a high priest,” he said when Sabrina addressed as Father  Blackwood, “nor should I be. I betrayed a sacred trust when I poisoned the entire coven.” His head turned as his eyes grew misty.

 Faustus also insisted on being punished.  He even asked Ambrose to chain him up. Zelda quickly overruled that request. There was no self-torture Faustus wouldn’t inflict on himself. One day, he found a rope that he used as a  whip. By the time someone found him, his back was red, bruised and bleeding. He wouldn’t allow anyone to heal him but a sneaky Zelda did it while he was asleep. Zelda feared she wouldn’t be attracted to a powerless Faustus but she was wrong. I love him, she thought. I truly love him, more and more each day. People made sure that trays of Hilda’s famous cooking was brought down to him at least 3 times a day,  but Faustus barely touched any of it. Zelda spent hours and hours with him, begging him to eat, if only for her. It kind of reminded Zelda when she and  Hilda would do a good cop/bad cop routine when a 4-year-old Sabrina refused to eat her peas. On the days that were really bad, Zelda would take her own dinner to the morgue and refused to eat until Faustus did. Of course, her pregnancy and the fact that the baby needed to be fed, was her ace in the hole and soon found Faustus cleaning his plate.

 Zelda dismissed the ball of light as she went down the spiral steps to the morgue. There was a  full moon tonight and its light filled the room. Zelda sighed as she saw Faustus was, yet again, not sleeping in the cot that had been prepared for him but instead, sitting against the wall, wearing only his pants, trying to keep himself from nodding off. Why? Because sleep deprivation was a form of torture too.

“It’s like he’s broken, Aunt Hilda.” Zelda overheard Ambrose said one morning. Zelda said nothing as she entered the room but she knew whatever was ‘broken’ in Faustus, could be fixed.

“What are you doing here?” Faustus asked when he finally noticed Zelda standing on the last stair. “It’s late. You should be asleep.”

“So should you.” She returned firmly.

He shook his head. “I don’t matter, you do.”

“Yes, you do.” You matter to me. Zelda thought silently to herself. Zelda wanted to tell Faustus she loved him a thousand times since he been back but it never seemed to be the right moment. Sighing, she went over to him. “Oh, Faustus! Your hands are like ice! Here.” Zelda took off the blanket that was wrapped around her and gave it to him before going to the cot to pick up the rest of the blankets.

“No, I  don’t want it. I deserve to be cold!” Faustus whined like a child while pushing away the blankets. However, the blankets were tucked tightly around him once Zelda spelled it.

Then she sat down and snuggled next to him. “You know, Faustus,” Zelda said  before they both fell asleep, “you can’t go on like this much longer.”

  Zelda was right, of course, and Faustus knew it. It was Wednesday morning when it was when Faustus sneaked into the kitchen before anyone had come down. It was a lot harder to switch 2 bottles without powers.

“Well, Father Blackwood! It’s good  to  see you above ground level.” Faustus turned sharply around, keeping the bottle behind his back as he saw Hilda smiling at him. “Are you feeling better this morning?”

“A little.” He lied. “And call me Faustus.”

“Well, good! Fancy a bit of breakfast? The others should be right down.”

“No, thank you, Hilda. I’m not hungry.” That was true. It took a few more lines of small talk before Faustus was able to leave the kitchen without letting Hilda see the bottle he switched.  Out in the hallway, Faustus recognized a book on a bench that as headmistress,  Zelda would use. He picked it up and tucked it under his arm. Turning, Faustus almost ran into Sabrina.

“Oh, Miss Spellman, um, Sabrina, I’m glad I bumped into you. I just wanted to say that I am very ashamed of my behavior towards you when we first meet. I know now that I was just taking my anger toward your father out  on you and  that’s not fair to you.”

Sabrina was stunned. “T-Thank you, Fath, Mr. Blackwood. Perhaps we can start fresh going forward.”

Faustus smiled at the girl. He was back downstairs when he heard footsteps on the steps and Ambrose then came into view with a cardboard box.

 “I got you what you asked for from the academy.”

“Thank you, Ambrose. You’re a fine young man. My daughter could do a lot worse.”

Ambrose turned bright red.  “We aren’t back together or anything, not yet, I mean, not officially.”

“Nevertheless, I approve. Whatever you and Prudence decide to do.”

“Someone say my name? My ears are burning.” Prudence smiled as she entered.

“Hey, Prudence! What are you doing here?” Asked a friendly Ambrose.

“I just thought I would come round,  check on things here. Good morning, Father.”

Faustus returned his daughter’s smile. “Good morning, Prudence.”

“Do you want some company back to school?” Prudence asked Ambrose.

“Sure.”

They both turned to go until Faustus called his daughter back. Prudence turned and Faustus went up to his daughter, caressed her cheek before kissing her and giving her a big hug.

Prudence smiled. “What was that for?”

Faustus smiled back. “I just wanted to kiss and hug you just for no special reason, just once.”

Prudence’s smile grew bigger and she hugged him back. “Thank you,  Father.” She whispered in his ear.

She and Ambrose left then, passing Zelda on the stairs.

“Hello, Sister Zelda.”

“Morning, Aunt Z.”

Zelda came downstairs in a rush. “I can’t believe I’m going to be late again.” Zelda seemed to be  searching for something.”

“Lost something?” Faustus asked.

“Yes,” Zelda answered. “I   need a certain book for my 1st  class and I can’t  find it anywhere.”

Faustus held up the book he took from the hall. “Is it this one?”

Zelda looked up and immediately lit up. “Yes!” She took it from him and turned to leave.

My beautiful Zelda, Faustus thought. But I need 1 more look, just  1 more.

“Zelda?”

“Yes?”   She turned to him again and he drunk her in before he shrugged. “I forgot my thought.”

  It was half an hour before Faustus knew he was alone in the house.  It was only then that Faustus opened the cardboard box that Ambrose brought him to check if it had all the contents in it. Yep, it was all there. Every stomach-churning item. With 1 look, Faustus could tell that the old-fashioned potbelly stove was not going to be big enough to burn all this stuff. So, Faustus went upstairs to find something bigger. The fireplace in the living room seemed big enough but Faustus simply couldn’t do it.  It was on this exact spot, almost a year ago, that he kissed Zelda. It was by far, the very best kiss of his entire existence and that was the night that Faustus and Zelda started the affair that led to their marriage, 6 months later. Faustus continued his search combing all the upstairs but didn’t find anything that he needed.  Faustus was on the stairs when a stranger came through the door.

“Zelda?”  The stranger called.  “Prudence?”

“There’s no one here but me,”  Faustus said. “I think they’re at the academy.”

The strange woman looked up at him. “Who are you?”

I could ask the same thing of you. Faustus thought but he actually said “I’m an old friend of the Spellmans. I’m staying here for a few  days.”

“Oh, okay, nice to meet you. I’m Mambo Marie and I was just looking for Zelda. She’s been late a lot lately. I think she’s been avoiding me since we broke up.”

Faustus couldn’t stop himself. “Broke up?! You mean, the 2 of you used to be together?” You have no right to feel jealous. Faustus silently scolded himself. You have no right to feel anything but guilt and shame.

“Yes, we went out for a couple of months last spring,” Marie answered and sighed. “I still miss her sometimes. Zelda Spellman is proving a hard woman to get over.”

Try impossible, Faustus thought. Outloud, he said, “Would you like to get back together with  Zelda?”

Marie half-smiled and shook her head. “Not going to happen, even if I wanted it to. Our last conversation made that perfectly clear.”

“Oh, it couldn’t have been that bad.”

“Oh no?”  Marie challenged. “The last time Zelda and I were alone together, I tried to get her to take…an abortion potion.” She looked down at her feet.

“You tried to get Zelda to kill ou, her baby?”

“I do regret it,” Marie said quickly. “I got hurt that Zelda didn’t tell me herself and I got mad when she told me that the father was that bastard who wants to kill the whole coven.”

Faustus closed his eyes at the word ‘bastard’ but he forced himself to go on. “Have you told Zelda that you’re sorry?”

Marie shrugged. “No, I mean, what would be the point? Zelda would never forgive me.”

“Oh, I don’t know. Zelda can be very forgiving, perhaps too forgiving.”

“What?” asked Marie.

“Nothing,” Faustus dismissed. “You know if you act now you  could surprise Zelda with a romantic lunch.”

“You think that will work?”

“Can’t hurt.”

“Well, okay. I’ll try.” Marie smiled.

“Try giving her purple Primroses. They’s are Zelda’s favorites.”

“Thank you.”

“Bye,” Faustus waved until Marie closed the door. “Please take good care of all I love.”

 Half an hour later, Zelda walked into her office, studying some papers and looked up to see a set table and Mambo Marie was smiling and holding flowers. “Hello, ma Cherie.”

“Hi, what are you doing?”

“I know it’s been a while,” Marie started. “But I thought we could have lunch together so I could apologize for my behavior from last time.”

Zelda smiled. “I appreciate that.” Zelda closed the folder, tossed it on her desk and sat down on the chair Marie had pulled out for her. Then Marie sat down herself.

“I am sorry Zelda.” Said Marie. “I had no right to tell  you what to do with your  baby, it is your  body, after all.”

“Yes, Marie, it is,” Zelda said firmly.

“But that’s  not all.”  Marie put her hand on top of Zelda’s and smiled. “Ma Cherie, I think we should give us  another chance.” When Zelda said nothing, Marie said jokingly. “What? There’s not somebody else, is there?” Zelda looked at her guiltily.

“Unbelieve!” Marie snapped.

Before a fight could break out, Hilda ran into the office. “Zelda! Zelda!”

Zelda stood up. “Hilda, what is it? What’s wrong?”

“I was just in my herbalism class, showing how nightshade is poison in liquid form but when I opened the bottle, it was only dirt. Then I remember that I saw Father Blackwood in  the kitchen, near my purse and since this is the 1st  day he’s alone in  the house-“

“Faustus is going to kill himself.” Zelda finished for her sister.

Marie was utterly confused. “Wait, isn’t a good thing if Blackwood dies?”

“Blackwood and Faustus are not the same people anymore.”

“What?!”

“Hilda, you explain it to her. I got to go save Faustus.”

But Marie wouldn’t be put off. “Damn it, Zelda Spellman, if you walk out on me now, we are over! I mean it. I’m going back to New Orleans and I won’t be coming back!”

Zelda wasn’t one easily threaten but more than that, Marie didn’t seem to care about a potential suicide. “Have a safe trip,” Zelda said before teleporting home.

  Meanwhile, back in the morgue of the Spellman house, Faustus sat in a corner on the floor.  He held a picture of Zelda that he swiped from the mantle. “Goodbye, my love.” Faustus lifted the bottle to his lips but before he could drink anything, the bottle flew out of his palm and smashed against the opposite wall.

“What the heaven are you doing, Faustus?!” Zelda demanded, coming more into the room and gently shoved him. “You cannot leave me! You cannot leave me! You cannot leave me!” Zelda turned, covering her eyes to catch the fresh tears.  “What are you thinking of?”

“I was thinking of how you and everyone else would be better off without me.”

Zelda shook her head and crossed her arms. “That is so not true! You are needed, Faustus.”

“By  who?”

“By your children, by me!” Zelda returned. Faustus shook his head so Zelda went forward and held Faustus’s head so he had no choice but to look at her. “You are loved,” Faustus shook his head. “Yes, you are!” Zelda insisted. “Prudence love you, the twins love you, our new baby will love you and I love you.”

Faustus’s eyes widened. “In all our years, the centuries  we’ve known each other, that’s the 1 thing you’re never said to me, never.”

 “Well, I do, truly I do. I’m only sorry it took me so long to realize it.”

“What  about your girlfriend, Mambo Marie?”

“How do you  know about her?” Zelda asked. “Was she here? What am I even talking about? Of course, she was! She would never know to bring me purple primroses all by herself.  I won’t lie to you, Faustus. I did have a crush on Marie when we first met but crushes fade and in reality, we don’t know each other and lately, all we do is fight. Even now, when Hilda told me what you had  planned, she wanted me to stay and finish lunch with her but all I could think of was you and how I couldn’t bear to lose you, again.” Faustus stayed silent and Zelda got an awful,  horrible idea. “Have I gotten this all wrong? I know it’s only been a few months for us but it’s been 15 years for you. Do you no longer love me, Faustus?”

Faustus put an arm around her waist and for a second it looked like he was going to kiss her but forced himself to stop. “I love you so much, Zelda. Other than my children, I’ve never loved anyone else,  not for a second. Yet the fact remains that I don’t deserve you.”

“Deserve me or not, you have me!” Zelda said before she kissed him. Faustus tried to resist   but Zelda held him close and soon their bodies melted into each other. It wasn’t long before Faustus’s fingers found the zipper on the side of Zelda’s skirt. She stepped out of it and rolled her hosiery and panties down as far as they would go without breaking the kiss. Faustus, meanwhile, unbuttoned his shirt and let it fall off him before he scooped her up and gently laid her on the exam table. Carefully, he lowered himself over her. He began to kiss her, slowly. Beginning with the very top of her head and worked his way down to her forehead,  one cheek then the other and on to those sweet, sweet lips. As Faustus moved to kiss her neck, his fingers went to work, unbuttoning her blouse. Zelda’s view was blurry as he caressed her neck but when he skillfully took off her bra and embraced her breasts, Zelda saw nothing at all. Her sight returned when she realized that his kisses had stopped completely. Zelda looked up to see Faustus staring down at her swollen belly. Oh no, Zelda thought, the insecurity creeping in. Faustus wasn’t attracted to a heavyset woman. It was just a fact Zelda knew. Personally, Zelda never had to worry about it, until now. Does he find me disgusting, is that why he stopped.

Yet Faustus’s eyes were filled with wonder as he touched the mount of flesh that housed their child. “That’s our baby in there.” He kissed all around her stomach. “How far along are you?”

“I’m currently 9 and a half months pregnant.”

“It’s odd, isn’t it?” Faustus asked while he continued kissing. “It’s been 15 years for me but only a  few months for you, dearest. Hey! What is this?!”

“Oh, that’s just the wound from the gunshot.”

“What?! Who shot you?” Faustus demanded, instantly protective of his wife.

“It doesn’t matter.”  When  Zelda finally reached for his belt, Faustus grew nervous again.

“Zelda? Maybe we shouldn’t do  this.”

“Shh,” Zelda hushed. “You’re safe here. You’re safe with me, I promise.”

“Yes, but are you safe with me?” Faustus questioned.

Zelda only responded by kissing him and gently got on top of him. Now, it was Zelda’s turn to seduce. She kissed his chest, his hips and once she finally removed his pants, she went even lower. Faustus shivered with pleasure. When he couldn’t take it anymore so he rolled himself on top again and entered  Zelda. The couple was used to rough sex, but this wasn’t that. This was lovemaking, comforting and soothing lovemaking. The kind outlawed by the dark lord, but they didn’t follow him anymore. Zelda fell asleep in Faustus’s arms.

 When Zelda awoke, someone had covered her with a blanket, so she felt warm and safe. Without opening her eyes, Zelda reached out for Faustus but her hand couldn’t find him. Opening her eyes, Zelda discovered that he wasn’t beside her at all. With growing worry, Zelda prompted herself up on her elbow and scanned the room for her husband and found nothing.

“Faustus? Faustus!” Zelda cried out. Why did I fall asleep? She thought, panicking. Why did I leave him alone?

“I’m right here.” Came the calm reply. Zelda looked around and finally found him sitting on the floor, his back resting against the exam table. With a sigh of relief, Zelda wrapped the blanket around herself so she was at least semi-decent should anyone decide to come in before she climbed down to him.

“It seems that I’m always finding you on the floor.  We do have chairs, you know.” Zelda snuggled beside him but he made no move to embrace her nor did he push her away.

Finally, Faustus spoke. “We shouldn’t have done that.”        

“It’s okay,” Zelda soothed. “We don’t follow the dark lord anymore. Lovemaking should be fine.”

“I don’t give a flying fig about the dark lord!” Faustus cried, getting to his feet. “We shouldn’t have sex at all. Why can I never resist you, Zelda? Now it’s going to be next to impossible to go back.”

Zelda was confused. “I don’t understand, Faustus. Go back wh- OH!” Zelda instantly forgot what she was saying as her hand flew to her mid-section.

Faustus, too, briefly forgot whatever was troubling him as he went to his knees back to his wife. “Zelda? Zelda, what’s wrong?”

However, when  Zelda looked up,  she was smiling. “The baby,” she explained. “It just kicked.”

An odd expression came across Faustus’s face, one that was half horror, half awe. “Really?”

“Yes!” Zelda took Faustus’s hand and placed it on her stomach. “There,” she said after a moment. “Did you feel that?”

Faustus nodded. “Yes.” A tear fell from his eye as he stood, his head in his hands as he walked away. “This can’t be happening! Not now!” Faustus turned back to Zelda. “We’re finally married. You’re pregnant with my child. It’s all I ever wanted and I have to go back to him!”

Zelda was still completely lost. “Him? Him who?”

“My other half, of course,” Faustus answered. “I can’t thank you enough for…my little break, dearest but we both know that it could affect space and time if I’m not made whole soon. I just, I just can’t believe Edward was right. I’m, I’m just like my father.”

The mention of her brother made Zelda angry. “You are nothing like your father!”

“Oh no?”  Faustus challenged. “’ You forget yourself, my dear. A wife walks behind  her husband.’ I said that to you not even an hour after we were married. I cannot tell you how many times my father said exactly those words to my mother and my stepmother. I cringed every single time I heard it. I cringed twice as hard when those very words came out my own mouth. That moment I wanted to kick my own ass!”

“But Faustus, that was the curse  talking,  not you.” Zelda reminded him. 

“Curse? What curse?!”

Zelda’s eyes widened and put her hand over her mouth as the realization dawned on her.  “You don’t know, do you? Faustus do you what an insaniam maledictum spell is?”

Faustus didn’t need to think about it. “An insanity curse?  What’s that got to do with me?”

Everything! Zelda wanted to yell but instead, she said, “It’s getting cold. Let’s get dressed, there’s much to talk about.”

So the couple got dressed and sat side by side on Faustus’s cot.  That’s when Zelda told him everything. How Lucifer asked her to be Lilith’s midwife, how her payment was learning how Edward’s cursed their marriage, how she found his journals, the memory spell, how she confronted Edward and finally how she divided him from the curse.

Faustus, understandingly, was shocked for several moments before he spoke. “Do you mean even 16 years after his death, Edward was still trying to keep us apart?”

Zelda frowned but nodded.

“Why that little control freak! How dare he-“ Faustus stopped himself as he hung his head and his shoulders began to shake with heavy sobs. “For 15 long years, I  heard my voice use words I didn’t want to say and saw my body do things I didn’t want to do! I thought it  was my dark side was taking over completely but I never heard of such a thing!”

A  shiver ran down Zelda’s spine.  “You knew?” She whispered. “You knew but you couldn’t stop it.”

“Mostly. I  was only able to overpower his will when he tried to hit the twins and when he tried to murder you.”

“Faustus, from what I’m hearing,  you  were trapped in a curse that works like a cargarli spell.”

Faustus froze before he stood up and walked a few feet to distance himself from his wife.  “Oh heaven, the cargarli spell! How could I do that to you? I’m so, so sorry Zelda!”

She went to him. “It’s alright, Faustus. You were not responsible for anything you did under the curse. And for what it’s worth, I’m sorry too.”

“What? Zelda, what on earth do you have to be sorry for?”

“I remember thinking  after our wedding that it couldn’t be you but I let my anger and hurt cloud  my judgment.” She put her arms around his neck. “Plus, I’m sorry it took  me so long to realize that I love you.”

Faustus looked pained. “Zelda, I love you so much but we both know you don’t love me.”

Zelda felt like she had been punched in the gut. “But I do love you, Faustus, truly I do.”

He sighed. “Zelda, you yourself told me that you realized your feeling after reading my journals and performed the memory spell, I think those feelings are just pity.”

“No, Faustus, you’re wrong. Yes, I felt bad for the boy you were but I also realized how much I missed you. I lost count of how many times I want to inferred during the memory spell. I’m in love with you, Faustus and if takes me another 300 years to convince you of that, so  be it!”  She could see that he wasn’t convinced so she tried again. “You were right all along, Faustus, we do belong together. Think of all we’ve through already. Edward denies us permission to marry so you vow never take a wife. Edward tricks you into marriage with Constance,  but it doesn’t kill our feelings for each other or even slow them down. We finally marry and we defeat this insanity curse.  I’ve only forgotten my berries once in my life, barely a month after our marriage and that’s the very night I conceive our child. It all means something Faustus.”

He bit his lip. “Are you sure the curse is gone? I mean, just  because it’s not  in my body anymore doesn’t  mean it didn’t creep into other things.”

“Like what?”

Faustus sighed. “Like the baby. You just said you conceived 1 month after our marriage.  When the curse was on me. So did you even think the baby was fathered by the curse, not by me?”

“I did think of that, actually,” Zelda said. “Then I thought about how before every time we made love as husband and wife, your eyes would grow soft or you would get a nosebleed. I  didn’t know it then but it was you breaking through. Even if you knew it or not, you never let the curse touch me that way and when I realized that, I loved you even more. Secondly, it’s a curse.  We have to stop thinking of it as a real person. It may be wearing your skin and speak with your  voice but it’s only a spell, a parasite we will be well rid of.”

Faustus lowered his eyes. “How can you be so sure that I’m not the curse? You told me yourself that the light was too bright to see when we separated. What if you brought home  the  wrong Blackwood?”

Zelda shook her head. “You’re the real Faustus. I know it  and I can prove it!” Zelda poked around in some drawers and took out something, held it in her hand and went back to Faustus. “One of the things the curse wanted most is to end the Spellman bloodline. We both know I have Spellman blood. So if you are the curse,” Zelda pressed the knife into his hand and even guided his hand up to her throat. “Kill me.”

They silently eyed each other as Zelda let go of the knife and Faustus did nothing either way. Unafraid, Zelda leaned slightly, just enough so the knife bit into her skin and produced a single drop of blood. Faustus’s lip quivered before he threw down the knife and hugged Zelda to him with all his might.

Zelda kissed his cheek before whispering,  “See, darling? You’re not the curse or your father or Edward. You’re you. Faustus. My husband, the father of my unborn baby and the man I love.” Her comments only made him squeezed her tighter.

  Zelda was still holding Faustus when she looked up and saw a cardboard box. It felt oddly out of place because Zelda knew they didn’t keep deliveries down here. She was right; for this was the box Ambrose brought Faustus this morning.

“What  is that?” Zelda asked. Faustus turned, saw it  and moaned.

Faustus, you idiot! He thought. He saw Zelda go over to it but he held her back before she could open it. “No, no, no! I’m sorry Zelda, I meant to burn the contents of that  box before..” Faustus’s voice died out.

“Well, what’s in it?”

Faustus sighed and hung his head. “All your things from when you were Lady  Blackwood. As I said, I meant to burn everything before you got home but then Mambo Marie showed up and I got sidetracked and forgot. You were never supposed to see them again.”

Zelda was touched. Faustus felt so much shame and guilt that he refused to leave the lowest point of the house for weeks and would have killed himself if Zelda hadn’t stopped him. Yet,  somehow, he still had the presence of mind to want to destroy what he knew had been harmful to her. “Well, I’m here now so how about we burn these things together?” She suggested.

Faustus shook his head sadly. “Can’t. I looked all around the house but the only fireplace large  to do this in the living room.”

“So? Let’s go.”

“No!” He objected. “I don’t want to ruin the memory of where we had the most perfect kiss of my life.”

Zelda flashed him a smile. “Faustus, my darling, we have a million kisses ahead of us, possibly in every room in this house.” To prove her point, Zelda kissed him right there.

So, with Faustus carrying the box, they made their way to the living room. The box mainly contained those big, bright, colorful  50’s style dresses Zelda wore as Lady Blackwood. Faustus would just roll them up and toss them into the fire but he couldn’t help but notice that Zelda liked to rip up the dresses before feeding them to the fire. Then, at the very bottom of the box, they found it. The music box.

“I’ll take care of it,” Faustus offered.

“No, I’m okay.” Zelda reached into the box and put the music box on the coffee table and checked the drawers for a picture of herself, just in case. Then Zelda looked up at her husband. “Play it.”

Faustus’s eyes bugged out. “What?! No! I don’t want to!”

“Darling, it’s alright. I asked you to. Play the music.”

Unsure and with a deep sigh,  Faustus winded up the music box. The tune started to play and then Zelda smashed it all to bits with a poker iron. Faustus smiled and joined it with another poker. Then he helped pick up the wooden pieces and threw them into the fire before gathering his wife into his arms. “I don’t know what I was thinking. You look so much better in black anyway.”

“You weren’t  thinking anything, the  curse was.” Zelda reminded him.

  Despite now knowing about the curse, Faustus still had massive feelings of guilt and shame. He still refused to live anywhere but the morgue, but something had changed. For the next 11 nights, Zelda, without fail, would slip into the cot next to Faustus and stay with him all night. On  9 of those 11 nights, they made love.  Faustus had almost forgotten how Zelda’s sexual drive matched so perfectly with his own. On 7 of the nights, Faustus would awaken in a cold swear frightened by harsh nightmares and cruel memories. Sometimes, it took all of Zelda’s soft words and her soft hands to soothed and lull him back to sleep. Despite his promise to her never to try to commit suicide again, Zelda made sure there was at least 1 other person in the house with Faustus at all times since Zelda’s duties during the day were many and growing as this season would be her 1st feast of feast as high priestess. To curb his depression, the other Spellmans tried to interact with him more. Ambrose bought down piles and piles of books and remembered how much he liked to talk about magic and life with the older, more experienced warlock. Sabrina and Faustus struck a deal, to forget their ugly past and try to start anew.  Hilda often went to Faustus for help with schoolwork corrections and advice for the 1st time teacher from the man who had done it for centuries.

 On the 12th night, Zelda came downstairs with a piece of pumpkin pie. “Faustus, I  bought you something.”

Her husband looked up from the book he was reading. “It’s nearly 10,  you’re almost never this late.”

“Oh, Faustus. You see what happens when you live in a morgue. The days’ blends into each other. Today  was Feast of Feast.”

“Yes, and as if it wasn’t chaotic enough with  this being my 1st as high priestess, Hilda was chosen  as queen during the lottery.”

“Zelda, I’m so  sorry.” Faustus frowned.

However, Zelda smiled. “Don’t be, Hilda’s fine.”

“But you just said your sister was the queen of the  feast.”

Zelda nodded.   “I did, but as high priestess you know, it’s my right to change the rules which I did. Now the queen and the handmaiden prepares the meal rather than be the meal.  Then the coven sups together before hearing mass in Freyda’s name. I remember when the elders of the coven  would become enraged when Edward would outlaw things and replace it  with nothing.”

“So do I.  That’s why I put most of them back.”

“But with  my slight  changes, I made most of the coven happy plus we get to enjoy  the queen’s famous pie.” She handed him the pie and sat down next to him. “Blessed feast.”

Faustus kissed her. “Blessed feast, dearest.”

 “Father Blackwood,  I need a favor.”

“Hilda, if I have told you once if I have told you a 100  times, I’m no longer a high priest, it’s okay for you to call me Faustus.”

It was the following afternoon and Hilda rushed into the morgue.

“Okay, well, Fath-um, Faustus, I find myself in a bit of a jam. Zelda just called and with Mambo Marie leaving us in the lurch, there’s nobody to teach the next class but me. Normally, it wouldn’t be a problem but today is Black Friday, the busiest shopping day of the year for mortals and I already promised Dr. C that I  would help at the bookshop.”

Faustus frowned. “Normally, I would love to help you out but Zelda knows I just can’t look at those students after what  I’ve done. Zelda talks about telling them the truth about  me being here at one point and then try to slowly ease me  back into the coven but I  just don’t see it happening.”

Hilda bit her lip. “I know you don’t want to be seen at the academy and totally understand why. So, um, I was actually asking you if you might go lend Dr. C a hand.”

Faustus’s jaw hit the floor. “Go work at a mortal bookstore, me?  Certainly not! I wouldn’t know what to do. Besides, I couldn’t even if I wanted to. I’m under house arrest.”

“Are you?” Questioned Hilda. “Zelda had told me about you trying your powers to make sure they’re gone but you’ve been here nearly a month now  and you’ve rarely left this room, let alone this house. Plus you made that deal with the dark lord that no one serves anymore. It may not be valid. Please, just try, I’m desperate!”

“How?”

Hilda thought for a moment. “Well, when Ambrose was housebound, he couldn’t go past the driveway. We could try that.”

So, they did and  Faustus crossed the Spellman driveway and into the public street with ease.

“I don’t get it,” Faustus said, puzzled. “Why would the dark lord take my power but let me roam free?”

“Maybe he forgot,” Hilda offered. “Anyway, I’ll go call Dr. C and tell him you’re on your way!” She was gone before Faustus could remind her that he hadn’t officially agreed to do anything.

 The walk into town took 20 minutes. Despite everything, even Faustus had to admit that the fresh air and the change of scenery did him a  world of good. What did Hilda say? That it was the biggest shopping day of the year for mortals? Boy, she wasn’t kidding! From the moment he arrived, the place was packed! Apparently, it was a teenage hangout as well as a bookstore. Somehow, Faustus made his way to the check-out counter where Dr. C, who was expecting him, greeted him and gave him a vampire cape to wear. Despite the cape, despite the mortals,  Faustus actually had a pleasant afternoon. It was a very nice afternoon.  It was nice to be busy and have something to do other than just dwell on his own guilt and sadness. Secondly,  Faustus learned the ropes of working retail fairly quickly. Thirdly and perhaps most surprisingly of all, despite the fact that they only met that day, Dr. C and Faustus had an almost instant connection. They say that opposites attract in love but maybe it’s true in friendship as well. The shop was so busy that it was 6:30 that evening before the men could stop to eat.

“Thank you,” Faustus said as he reached for the mug of coffee.

Dr. C smiled. “I’m delighted to meet you,  Faustus. I have heard a lot about you.”

“Not all good, I bet,” Faustus muttered.

Dr. C ignored that comment. “I have a question for you, actually. When Hilda’s brother married a mortal, they got major hassle but it wasn’t a big deal when  Hilda and I got engaged. I’m not complaining or anything just wondering why.”

Faustus raised an eyebrow. “Aren’t you an incubus? That’s what Zelda told me.”

“Yeah. I mean, I am now but I  was born mortal. The demon stuff didn’t happen until college.”

“Doesn’t matter. The demon is a part of you and abled you to marry a full-blooded witch, like Hilda. Consider it a marriage loophole.”

Both men heard the chime of the bell above the door which meant more customers.

Dr. C  stood up. “I’ll go. Can you clean up?”

Faustus nodded and  cleaned up until he heard “Come on, old man, give us the money!” Faustus sneaked up to the storefront to see that Dr. C was being robbed at gunpoint.

Damn! Faustus didn’t know what to do. He no longer had magic to save him so  Faustus looked around and smiled.

Meanwhile, Dr. C was in trouble. “Let’s go, old man!” Ordered Punk #1. “This money  better be more real than your attempt to look like a vampire.”

Punks #2 & 3 laughed. “Good one, man,” Punk #2 said. “A fake vampire.”

“You’re right, he is a fake vampire,” Faustus came from the backroom, his hands behind his back. “Unluckily for  you 3, I am a real warlock.”

Punk #3 was in awe. “Cool! So you conquer lands and stuff?”

Faustus sighed.  “No, you idiots, not a warlord. A warlock, a male witch.”

“Right,” sneered Punk #1. “He’s a vampire and now you’re a witch. So,  what are you going to do? Hocus pocus us to death?”

“No. That term is utterly useless. Besides, everyone knows that the really strong spells are in Latin. Like”  Faustus shrugged and spoke some Latin words.

The punks sloppily repeated the words  back then asked, “What does that mean?”

“A  big, honking baseball bat!” Then, and only then did Faustus produce the Louisville slugger from behind his back. He chased the punks around the shop and finally,  out the door. He was so pumped up that he barely heard the gunshot. A moment later, Faustus came back in, the bat resting on his shoulder and he was laughing. “Well, we showed them didn’t we?” Silence. “Dr. C?”

 Zelda and Hilda ran into the ER entrance of the hospital.

“My fiancée has been shot! Where is he?” Hilda demanded of the woman at the nurse’s station. They got the room number and rushed to where Dr. C was with a doctor.

Hilda rushed to him with a hug and kiss. “Oh, love, are you okay?”

“He’ll be fine,” the doctor answered, “It’s just a flesh wound.”

“So, what happened?” Zelda asked, in a tone calmer than her sister.

“I was robbed,” Dr. C explained, “ladies, Faustus was amazing. He distracted the robbers long enough to activate the silent alarm, he chased them off with a bat. One must have gotten scared for the gun went off and glazed my shoulder. When I came back around, I was in the ambulance and Faustus was right there with me. The paramedic told me that Faustus applied pressure to the bleeding and saved my life.”

Hilda closed her eyes and sighed. “Thank Hecate, he was there.”

“Where’s my husband now?” asked Zelda.

“I don’t know.  He was here a second ago.”

In the next room, Faustus looked up at the silvery half-moon. “Hecate, mother, let him be alright. For  he feels one-tenth for Hilda what I feel for Zelda, they’ll be very happy together.”

“You’re praying to Hecate.” Faustus barely saw Zelda in the doorway before his wife was in his arms and kissing him deeply. “What was that for?”

“Are  you kidding?” She replied. “You saved Dr. Cereberus.”

“Saved him? I got him  shot.”

“Don’t be daft,” Zelda dismissed. “You saved him and without having magic, you were in just as much in danger as he was but you didn’t even think of that, did you? That’s what made you a hero tonight.”

“I don’t want to be a hero! I want to be perfect! For only a perfect man could ever be worthy of you.”

She kissed him again. “I love you so much, Faustus even if you are talking nonsense.”

 Hilda stayed overnight at the hospital so Zelda and Faustus took a cab home. Faustus immediately headed for the morgue but Zelda stopped him.

“No, I have a surprise for you and it’s upstairs.” 

So they went upstairs with Zelda explaining she had already planned to give him the surprise tonight but now he truly earned it. Zelda opened a door that led to a cozy bedroom with a double bed and an attached bathroom suite.

Zelda smiled. “Welcome home.”

“This is a whole new room. When did you do this?”

“I started the night after we first made love.”

His eyes bugged out. “You made a whole new bedroom and bathroom in just 11 days?!”

“Darling, some of us still have our magic.”

“Dearest, this is superb.  But I can’t stay here. I don’t deserve  such comfort.”

“Then, do it for me,” Zelda suggested. “I refuse to sleep apart from my husband but my back is crying out in protest at the thought of another night on that cot. Speaking of my increasingly pregnant body, I need to get off my feet. Care to help  me christen our new bed?”  It was only then that Faustus returned her smile.

Hours later, after they had made love and fallen asleep in each other’s arms, Faustus awoke in a cold sweat and a sharp intake of breath. “Damn these nightmares! Will they ever go away.”

“It’s alright, my love. There is no quick fix spell for trauma and you’ve been living with that  curse for some time now.”  Zelda snuggled closer and laced her fingers with his. “The good news is that we have all the time in the world.”

[flutteringphalanges]

                                               Mirabile Visu

Summary: Sister Agatha Van Helsing discovers she’s in over her head when a competitive game of chess ultimately results in her becoming pregnant with the child of her worst enemy, Count Dracula. Now tied by a bond deeper than blood, the two must learn to coexist and adapt in a world that could be potentially hostile towards their offspring. Parenthood has never looked so batty.

Characters: Dracula/Agatha Van Helsing

Chapters: 8/?

Read on FFN and AO3

A/N:  Thank you guys for all of the love and support! It means the world! For that reason, I gave up lunch so I could finish this chapter for you! I hope it is to your liking! Let me know your thoughts! -Jen

                                               Chapter Eight

                                        Jonathan Harker Foundation

                                                   Present Time

There was definitely a change in the atmosphere since the night Dracula and Agatha had made their appearance at Zoe's home. Only a few days had passed and already Sorina had begun to pick up that something was off. Her aunt seemed more distant, aloof, burying herself in her work and paying no mind to her niece. Even Jack was acting off. Skittish, constantly glancing over his shoulder as if half expecting someone to jump from the shadows. If this was the new normal, she definitely wasn't liking it.

"What's with you?" Sorina asked one afternoon, placing a hand on Jack's arm. When he jumped in surprise, she pulled back, slightly hurt. "You're...acting weird."

"It's nothing," he attempted to assure her, his tone faltering. "Just a little under pressure since the Foundation hired me."

"Right," the young woman frowned, unconvinced. "Listen, my parents finally got settled into their new place. I haven't exactly been there yet, but I was planning to go tonight. I'd love it if you'd come and meet-"

"Can't," he cut her off quickly. Realizing the disappointment in her eyes, he exhaled. "I'm sorry, Sunny, some other time. I'm just busy tonight."

"Yeah, okay…" Sorina agreed, biting her lower lip. "So what does Zoe have you doing exactly? I never got to officially congratulate you for being hired. I mean, you know, from the internship to full time. They don't just hire anyone here."

It was useless small talk, but maybe with a little bit of effort she could get him to cave. But just as she was about to press further, a woman approached in a swift, purposeful manner. Dr. Bloxham. A woman that, Sorina had learned, lost her thumb to her father's bite. Her opinion on Sorina changed after that, not that the doctor had been fond of the halfling to begin with.

"Dr. Seward," she greeted, her eyes briefly flickering to Sorina before returning to Jack. "Dr. Van Helsing requests your presence in the lab. It's an urgent matter and she would prefer it if you came alone."

Alone. A bitter taste was beginning to sour in Sorina's mouth. Something was up and whatever it was, it more than likely had some relation to her. Not that she ever had much interest in what her aunt did, but with her acting so secret, more than ever did she want in. She looked over to Jack, hoping for some sort of recognition, an insistence that she join him. But he didn't.

"I'll go now. Thank you Dr. Bloxham," he tried not to meet Sorina's stare, knowing full well she was glowering at him. And she had ever right to be. But she also wasn't aware of the settle, low key threats he'd receive at random times through text from her father. Even when he blocked the number, a new one would appear. He was determined and Jack's guard had never been higher. "Sorry, Sunny," he apologized yet again. "Maybe it'll be quick. I'll hurry back, I promise."

"Don't rush on my account," she said, trying to force a smile. "I'm glad Zoe needs you. Maybe you can even let me in on what's been going on?"

"If I were to break confidentiality, it'd always be for you," he chuckled, lightening the mood. "I better go before I get written up. You know how your aunt is."

"Oh trust me," she rolled her eyes, letting out a huff. "I've lived with her for her entire life. I know."

He hesitated before pulling her into a quick squeeze. Still feeling Bloxham's eyes on him, he let go and headed towards the laboratory. Zoe was easy enough to find, dressed in her white lab coat as she stood hunched over a table. When he drew closer, Jack was surprised that the woman wasn't looking at anything. She was pale, her features seeming to have aged years since he last saw her.

"Zoe?" He questioned, his voice soft. "Is everything alright?" Was it the cancer? Had it truly progressed much faster than anticipated? "Do you need to sit down or…"

"She's pregnant," the woman whispered, not meeting the young man's eyes. "Agatha...Agatha is pregnant."

"What?" Jack asked, baffled. "Wait-are you sure? How is it even possible?! Do they know? Does Sorina-"

"No," she shook her head. "They haven't been informed." The scientist swallowed, finally turning to face her former graduate student. "I'm going over with Zoe tonight to give them an ultimatum. Either Agatha agrees to come back to the Foundation for...observation, or the Foundation will take matters into their own hands."

"Wait, what are you saying?" Jack frowned, taking a step back. "Can the Foundation really do that?! I thought they couldn't hold either Dracula or Agatha legally. He even had a lawyer, that's how-"

"This is different," Zoe cut him off. "What Agatha is pregnant with...we don't know what it could be or if it could pose a threat. The situation…"

"So you want to experiment on something that is like Sorina?" He shot back.

"I never said anything about experimentation," she countered. "I don't like this anymore than you do, Jack. But if we don't get her to do this voluntarily, I can't say that I have the power to protect them. You know I'd never want to hurt Sorina, and…"

"I'll go tonight," he muttered. "But only for Sorina's sake. I don't want any part of what's going on. In fact, if something happens, I'm resigning. If you truly loved Sunny, you'd do it too."

"Jack," she called out. "I…"

But the man was already walking away, shoving his badge down deep into his pocket. His fear for Dracula had momentarily vanished. He had to warn Sorina, or at least, do something. Yet he felt powerless. As he stared up at the portrait of Jonathan Harker on the wall, something inside him burned. Anger. Conflicted. He exhaled, pulling his phone out of his pocket and glancing down. Tonight was sure to be something else.

                                                      XXX

"Jack!" Sorina exclaimed in surprise as she swung the door open. "You came!"

"Yeah," he said, forcing a smile. "Couldn't let you come alone now, could I?"

She peered behind his shoulder, frowning slightly when she caught sight of Zoe. Her aunt gave her a nod, adjusting her purse on his shoulder. Still awkward. Still uncomfortable. The young woman stepped inside and allowed the two guests to come in.

"Big place," the young man stated, gaze taking in the size of it all. For someone who was centuries old, Dracula was quite up to the current trends on interior decorating. It must've cost a fortune, especially designing it for vampire accommodations. "It's nice."

"Why thank you," another woman said, stepping out into the room. "You must be Jack."

A sense of uneasy crept of Jack's spine as Agatha walked towards him with a smile. Her resemblance to Zoe was nearly uncanny. He hadn't exactly been sure what to expect when it came to Sorina's mother, but the vampire seemed nice enough.

"It's very nice to meet you," he nodded. "Thanks for having me," he looked to Zoe. "Us over."

"The pleasure is all ours."

The young man's blood turned ice cold as a figure stepped from the shadows. He was tall, incredibly so, and within a few strides, he stood looming over Jack. Count Dracula in the flesh. Suddenly Jack was wishing he had turned down Zoe's request.

"Hello, Jack," the vampire's mouth curved into a crude smile. "I'm surprised. I can't say I was expecting you." His eyes flickered up and down. "You look much different in person. A lot more mortal than I imagined…"

"Dad," Sorina warned. "Don't."

They had only been there for a few minutes and already the tension had risen.

"What?" The count asked, feigning innocence. "I can't address my daughter's admirer?" He began to circle Jack, head cocked curiously. "So disappointingly inferior," Dracula commented, leaning in close to take in Jack's scent. "Nothing worthy of commemoration. Now tell me," his voice fell to barely a whisper. "What does she see in you?"

"Someone who is kind, caring, and doesn't judge me for who or what I am," Sorina's voice cut in as she closed the distance between her and her father. "Who didn't abandon me when I needed them most!"

"Again with this. For the last time, Sorina," the vampire exhaled heavily, voice laced with irritation. "We didn't abandon you! Your mother and I did what was best. Clearly the Van Helsings' bloodline neglected to teach you appreciation!"

"Sunny, it's okay, really," Jack began, but was abruptly silenced by the halfling's hand.

"Well at least I had Mom's side to raise me at all!" Sorina hissed, her fists clenching. "And how do you know so much about Jack?! What did…" Without thinking, Jack glanced down at his pocket where the outline of his phone was visible. It didn't take long for the halfling to put two and two together. "Were you harassing him over text?!"

Despite the improvement of her relationship with her mother, clearly it wasn't the same case for her and her father. He really shouldn't have come. Not when even more drama was about to be thrown into the pot.

"Both of you stop," Agatha cut in. "Dracula, leave the poor boy alone and Sorina, stop taking your father's bait. You're only encouraging him." She sighed, looking rather tired. "We don't really have any food to offer you. But if you'd like, you can sit and…"

"There's actually a reason I came here tonight," Zoe finally said, speaking up. "A rather urgent matter that needs discussion."

"It is about whether or not I'm moving in here?" Sorina frowned, brow furrowing. "Look, everything is happening so fast, and I don't want to leave…"

"Agatha's pregnant."

A hush fell over the room, even Dracula seeming stunned by the news. Sorina, taking the chance, grabbed Jack's wrist and pulled him over to her side. She looked up to him, as if attempting to read his expression and see how long he'd known. Absentmindedly, Agatha's hands rested on her flat abdomen.

"What?" She asked, confusion in her tone. "That...that's impossible."

"It must've happened right before The Demeter disaster," Zoe exclaimed. "Before Dracula turned you. When you went dormant, so did the fetus. And now that you're awake, your pregnancy has started to progress." She paused, trying to choose her words wisely. "I'm here on behalf of the Foundation to ask you return for observation-"

"Absolutely not," Dracula growled, interrupting. He stepped in front of Agatha, glowering at the scientist. "None of us are going anywhere, especially Agatha. You held us against our will last time and it proved to be illegal. What's to say I don't call my lawyer again and-"

"I came to warn you," Zoe replied darkly. "There are forces out there stronger than you both. Please, for your own sake, consider returning to the Foundation until we can figure out…"

"The answer is no," the vampire snapped. "Now, I think you should leave." His gaze flickered to Jack. "Both of you."

"Jack didn't do anything," Sorina protested. "You can't just throw him out!"

"This is my house, I can, and I will," he exclaimed.

"Fine," Sorina hissed. "Then I'll leave too. C'mon, Jack."

"Sorina," Agatha called out. "Wait-"

But the girl had already dragged Jack out of the apartment. The three remaining adults stood silently, Zoe looking surprisingly sympathetic at Agatha. With a nod, she exited, feeling Dracula's eyes boring into her back as she did. When she was out of range, she pulled out her phone.

"Dr. Bloxham? This is Dr. Van Helsing. I attempted to have Agatha agree to go in voluntarily, but she declined. Listen, I honestly believe that there is no harm in the child that she's carrying. If Sorina is any proof, it will be harmless. Please reconsider your decision and call me when you get the chance."

The doctor hung up her phone and let out a long sigh. It was late and she was exhausted. Throwing one last look at the door, she made her way towards the steps. Maybe some good news would come by tomorrow. 

                                                      XXX

"Another baby," Agatha mused, letting out a little huff. "I can't say I quite expected that." She glanced over at Dracula from where they sat curled up on the couch. "You've been quiet. Are you still thinking about Sorina?"

"I'm thinking about a lot of things," he admitted. "But yes, she is one of them."

"Jack seems like a good man," she smiled. "Sorina is smart. She isn't a little girl anymore."

"And yet, I keep finding myself forgetting that," he exhaled. "It feels like only yesterday she was three years old wanting to play dolls and read with me and now," he smirked. "She wants to bite my head off. I only want the best."

"I know," Agatha murmured, resting her head on his shoulder. "Just give it time. Who knows, maybe you and Jack-"

The former nun was abruptly cut off by a loud bang. The front door blew open as several men wearing black protective gear and helmets stormed in. Dracula jumped in front of Agatha as the figures surrounded them, pointing strange looking rifles in their general direction.

Zoe had been right. The Foundation was hellbent on getting Agatha. Whether they went peacefully or not.

[mageicalwishes]

Crying In My Dress - Chapter 7

Read on AO3: here

Read the previous chapter (on Tumblr): here 

Summary: The Leaver’s Ball marks the end of the school year. The end of their time at Watford. Baz has a confession to make before it’s too late. But, will he ever pluck up the courage to tell Simon how he feels?

Inspired by the song “Prom Dress” by Mxmtoon.

Chapter: 7/7

Words: 4,524

Simon

I break our lips apart, leaning back on my knees. I glance down, revelling in the sight of him sprawled out under me. He looks wrecked - His long hair fanned out over the pillow, gazing up at me hazily. His usually colourless lips have a faint, rosy tinge to them, flushed with the force of our kissing (I suspect mine are in a similar state). It’s like, somehow, I’ve kissed life into him -  My lips waking his body up. It’s exhilarating. Looking at him like this, it’s like I’m really seeing him for the first time. No more impenetrable walls stand between us, blocking my view - I can finally just see him. And, I can see all of him - Not just the carefully constructed version of himself he usually lets me see. I love it. I love him like this. He's exactly where I want him. He looks … Smaller, somehow. Vulnerable. Open. Not a monster. Not a villain. Just … A boy. Oh shit - A boy. Well, I guess this means I’m Gay, then? Or? Well, I thought I liked Agatha. But that never felt like this - Although, it did feel like something. I mean, I asked her out. I wouldn’t do that if I was Gay … Would I? Fuck, maybe I’m Bi then. I don’t know. I mean, I guess I’m at least something not Straight. I suppose it doesn’t really matter. I mean, I definitely like this. And, I guess that's all I really need to know right now. I’ll figure the rest out later.

“You okay there, Snow? You look like you're thinking. I don’t want you to strain yourself,” Baz teases, smirking up at me. 

"Hilarious," I deadpan, leaning my head down, and crashing my lips against his once more - Drawing a delightful, surprised hum from Baz.

Reluctantly, I pull away from him again. As if entranced- Baz pushes himself upwards, trailing after my lips with his, in a desperate attempt to recapture them. It’s adorable, and I’m powerless to stop the small giggle that escapes me. He steels himself self-consciously, flashing me an unimpressed scowl, as his cheeks flush a ferocious shade of red. I grin, nuzzling my face into the crook of his neck.

“Come on, Baz,” I mumble, moving to look at him once again. “I wasn’t laughing at you. I just thought it was cute.”

“Gross, Snow,” he says, his tone teasing. “If I knew you were such a sap, I never would have let you kiss me.”

“Yeah, right. You so would’ve ... And, if anyone is a sap, it’s definitely you,” I challenge, poking a finger to the centre of his chest.

He raises an eyebrow at me, a warning look spread across his face.

“Alright, alright," I relent. "No more teasing. I was just going to say that, as much as I’m enjoying this, we really should get a move on. The party started nearly an hour ago.”

“Oh right. Of course. I’d sort of … Forgotten about that. Sorry,” he murmurs. 

“It’s okay. It wasn’t exactly my main focus, either. It’s just … You know. It’s probably our last chance to see everyone. And, I wanna give Watford a proper goodbye - This place was pretty much all I had for the longest time. I always hated Summer, because it meant I couldn’t be here. It - It means a lot to me, you know? This is the first, and only, place I could ever really call home - This stuffy old room, with my insufferable roommate,” I say, scrunching a hand into his hair and tugging on it lightly. “I don’t want to miss out on anything I have left. I know that Watford isn’t exactly ... the same for you - So, if you don’t feel up to it, you can stay. No worries. But, I think I’d still like to go.”

He huffs out a laugh, then. “Missing out on a chance to see the Chosen One drunk - I don't think so," he says, shuffling out of bed, and reaching a hand down to me in offering. "Come on, Snow. Let's go and give you the proper send-off you deserve."

————————————————————————————

Baz

Snow has gone unusually quiet, walking in silence besides me. He's clasping my hand tightly, swinging our arms together between us. He's trying to hide it, but I can tell something is wrong. He's scuffing his shoes along the pavement with every step he takes, as if he’s trying to delay our arrival as much as possible, without stopping outright. 

“What’s wrong, Snow?" I ask. "You’re acting even more peculiar than usual. I thought that you wanted to go to the party?” 

"I do want to," he whines, pouting slightly. "It's nothing. Don't worry."

“No. It’s something. Spill,” I insist.

“I just - I’m just not sure.”

“About what?” I ask. 

“Us.” 

My heart skips a beat and my stomach lurches uncomfortably - His confession knocking the wind right out of me. 

I stop dead in my tracks. Of course. I should’ve known that all of this was too good to be true. “Oh," I mumble, dejected. "Well, I can just go back to Mummers, then.”

“What? Why?" He asks, furrowing his brow, and turning to face me. I don't answer, a thick knot blocking my throat. His eyes widen then, realisation clearly hitting him. "Oh god! No. No. No. Baz. You’ve got the wrong idea. I didn’t mean that,” he says, grabbing hold of my arms, his eyes wild with panic. “I didn’t mean that. I - I just meant that at the party, I’m not sure - Well, I’m not sure I want to like kiss and stuff. Because, you know, lots of people kiss at parties, but … I’m not sure I want to. Well, no. I mean, I want to kiss you. I just maybe don’t want to do it in front of everybody. I’m not sure I’m ready for that … Not yet, anyway. I- I mean, Is that okay?” 

I find myself smiling, all of my stress melting away in an instant. That stupid, charming, bumbling moron. “Snow. I’ve managed to restrain myself perfectly well for the last eight years. I’m certain I can handle a few hours more,” I deadpan. “I understand. So, don’t worry about it. We won’t do anything you don’t want. So, you've got it - No kissing. Sounds easy enough to me,” I say, softening my voice slightly. That’s a definite lie - Refraining from kissing Snow is no easy feat. It was challenging enough as it was, but now that I’m allowed to ... Now that I know he wants me to - Trying to control that impulse has taken on a whole new level of difficulty. But I'm sure I'll manage - I've always prided myself on my level of self control. I understand, of course. I imagine all of this has been a bit of a shock to the system for him. I mean, he didn’t even realise how he felt himself until a couple of hours ago, and we certainly haven’t held ourselves back. It took me years to come out after I had realised I was Gay - So, I was hardly expecting Snow to out himself to the entire year within hours of realising he was ... Well, whatever he is. 

“Okay,” he breathes, clearly relieved. “Thanks, Baz.”

"You don't need to thank me, Snow. It's no trouble,” I explain. 

He smiles up at me then, dropping his arms back down and taking hold of my hands again. Rolling forwards onto his tip-toes, he pushes himself upwards, placing a chaste peck to my lips. "Softy," he teases, turning and darting off down the street. The cheeky bastard.

I chase after him, catching up with him easily (Vampirism does have a few perks, after all). I push him up against the nearest lamppost, holding him by the collar of his T-shirt. “Take it back,” I threaten. 

“Or what?” he teases, a devilish grin spread across his face. I raise an eyebrow, unsure of where he intends for this to go. “Okay. Okay,” he concedes. “Fine. I take it back.”

I smirk, pleased with myself. “Come along then, Snow,” I say, grabbing his hand and pulling him forwards. “That’s quite enough messing about, you absolute nightmare. I thought you said you didn’t want to be late.” 

————————————————————————————

Everything about this is incredibly overwhelming. The room is dark, lit only by a set of gaudy lights, that are flashing in my eyes aggressively. Droves of people surround me, dancing and singing loudly. And, obnoxiously loud music is booming out of the speakers- The bassline hammering within my chest like a second heartbeat. And then, there’s Simon. We’d spent the majority of the night moving person to person, chatting and joking around with them all (apparently Snow is friends with everyone). He’d even gone so far as to drag me into playing a game of 'Truth or Dare' with him, Trixie, Keris, and some guy I vaguely recognised from Elocution. But now, he’s spinning around me, dancing like a mad man, his curls wild, and beaming with joy. He’s definitely a little tipsy - Having insisted that we both down three Double Rum and Cokes (Which tasted absolutely appalling). He’s moving his hands all over me, seemingly incapable of letting me go for even a second. Charmingly, he can’t quite seem to decide where he wants to place them - Pulling me close by my waist one moment, and twirling me around the room, his hands clinging onto my shoulders, the next. It’s chaotic, but so exhilarating. He’s so alive, he’s overfilling with it - Energy pouring out of him in waves. And, it’s as though it’s seeping into me, lighting me up from within, so that I can feel it too. Alive. So, so alive. Finally. 

I will admit, I’m a bit out of the depth. I’ve been to parties before, of course, but never one like this. There is no Champagne or calming piano here, just cheap beer and toneless house music. Although mercifully, Snow (who appears to be in his element), is leading me through it. He’s laced our hands together now (so that we move as one), and is throwing us around the dance-floor in wild, uncoordinated circles.

“Baz,” he shouts, his voice barely audible over all the racket.

“Yeah”

“Come with me, yeah?” he says, tugging on my hand and turning away from me. 

Slightly dazed, I follow behind him, letting him drag me out of the room and up the stairs. “Snow, where on earth are you taking me?”

“Shhh. Wanna take you somewhere,” he mumbles, distracted, opening a random door and peering in. Apparently unsatisfied, he turns us away, leading me further down the corridor. He pulls another door open, whispering out a quiet “Perfect”, as he drags us inside. 

 He’s taken us into small, dimly lit storage cupboard - And, to be perfectly frank, I’m struggling to understand exactly what about it is 'Perfect'. But, before I have the opportunity to ask, he's shoving me back against the wall roughly. For a brief moment, I think he’s going to try to fight me, but then his hands are knotting themselves into my hair, and his lips are smashing against mine. He’s kissing me hungrily, putting all his force behind it. It’s all teeth and tongue, but I find it alarmingly hot (Because I’m disturbed, ask anyone). It may be more than a little clumsy, his chin constantly bumping against mine, but I don’t care. Because, Simon Snow is kissing me like his life depends on it - Relentless and desperate. And, it’s intoxicating. He pulls back slightly, gasping in a breath, and dropping his hands down to my waist. I chuckle quietly at the absurdity of it all - I never would've guessed that this is how my day would turn out when I woke up this morning (Not that I'm complaining, obviously. This is far better than anything I had envisioned). 

“Snogging in a cupboard, Snow. Really?” I taunt. “And they say romance is dead.”

He huffs, rolling his eyes at me. “God. Just shut it, you insufferable prat. You didn’t seem to care about that a minute ago - You seemed enthusiastic enough, to me.”

“Hmmm,” I hum, rubbing a thumb against his bottom lip absentmindedly. “I thought you said there would be no kissing”

He flushes an adorable shade of pink. “Oh yeah. Sorry,” he mumbles, shifting his body awkwardly.

“Don’t apologise," I protest. "As you said - I was enthusiastic enough. I was just wondering.”

“Well, nobody can see us here … So, it’s different," he murmurs. "We can kiss when nobody can see. I just … Couldn’t wait any longer.”

My heart floods with warmth, an in-suppressible grin spreading across my face. “Christ, Snow,” I laugh. “You really are impossible. I managed to restrain myself for years, and you couldn’t even manage a few hours.”

“It’s not my fault,” he whines.

I shake my head, helplessly charmed. "You ... Are a complete dolt," I mumble, leaning forwards so that are lips are barely millimetres apart. He smiles against me, the corners of his eyes crinkling up sweetly. And, I close the gap between us - Pressing our lips together once more. We move languidly - Our action unhurried. The kiss is softer than before, but no less impactful - My mind still fogging over helplessly, his lips entirely consuming my thoughts, as my body responds to his touch eagerly. I lift my hands up, caressing his cheekbones slowly - Entirely enraptured by him.   

We stay in the privacy of the cupboard, completely lost in one another, for at least another fifteen minutes - Before Snow pulls himself away from me again (Much to my dissatisfaction). 

“Did you maybe want to get out of here?" He asks, running a hand through my hair. "We’ve been here for like three hours now, I think it’s time to go home, yeah?"

“Sure, Snow. I'm happy to go whenever. Are you sure you're ready to leave, though? Everyone else will probably be hanging around for at least another half-hour.”

“Yep … I’m bored of sharing you with everybody else,” he says, nonchalantly - As if he hasn’t just set my heart off pounding again. 

“Okay,” I whisper, pressing the palms of our interlocked hands together. “Let’s go home.”

————————————————————————————

Simon

I’m no longer tipsy (the light buzz off alcohol having worn off about an hour ago), but somehow, I still feel slightly drunk. Well, not drunk, exactly (I mean I don’t feel dizzy, or out of control, or anything like that) - I guess I just feel a bit … High. Not on drugs, obviously. Just, high on … Well, life. High on the perfect night. High on the party atmosphere. High on Baz. I feel like I’m floating - My mind buzzing with elation. Everything just feels so ... Surreal. We’re walking down the high street, hand-in-hand. I’m belting out the lyrics to some random Taylor Swift song, and Baz is laughing at me (really, properly laughing) - The sound filling my ears, and flooding my body with Serotonin. It's all so new - It's no wonder I can hardly believe that it's real. But it is - I know that it is (There is no way my mind could ever come up with something so wonderful).  

I turn to face him. He’s grinning over at me, soft creases visible besides his mouth where his smile has pushed his cheeks upwards. The street lights are shining down on him perfectly, illuminating all the high-points of his face. He looks perfect like this - All happy and carefree. His smile has always been prettier than his scowl (Although, I hardly ever got to see it before today). Suddenly overcome, I stop - My heart urging me to get closer to him, somehow. Without thinking, I grab ahold of his shoulders, hoisting myself up onto his back in a quick, clumsy motion. Caught off guard, he stumbles slightly, his hands gripping onto my thighs tightly in an attempt to support me. 

“Crowley, Snow! He yelps. “You could’ve given me some warning before just launching yourself onto me." 

I can tell he’s not really mad - The slight, upwards curl of his lips betraying his stern tone. “Oh hush, you,” I tease. “You have your vampire super-strength thingy. Don’t try and pretend like you can’t carry me easily.”

He goes quiet then, shifting his grip on my leg slightly. Shit - I didn’t mean to bring that up.

“Hey, Baz, " I coo, trying to comfort him. "I know you're - You know, what you are. You don’t have to lie about it anymore. I know ... And, I don’t care. Okay?” . 

“You should care,” he says, his voice small.

I shrug, resting my chin against his shoulder. “Maybe. But I don’t. So don’t … Freak out. It’s fine. Honest. I like you just as you are.”

He huffs out a shaky breath. “I’d never … Never a person,” he mumbles. He doesn't elaborate any further, but I know what he means. I press a gentle kiss to the column of his throat, hoping to reassure him. 

“I know. I know you’d never do that ... You’re good, Baz. I know it,” I say earnestly. "I know you wouldn't - I've never thought that you would."

————————————————————————————

We walked in silence after that. I was beginning to panic, actually - Convinced that I'd managed to ruin everything, accidentally pushing Baz into retreating behind his walls once again. But, just as the sun began to rise, I felt it - His fingers slowly running along my thigh, smoothing along the fabric of my jeans soothingly. It was hesitant, his touch barely-there, but it meant everything to me - Because, I knew what it meant. He was still there with me - Standing open, his walls little more than rubble at his feet. We were still alright. And, he was still mine.  

————————————————————————————

Baz

Snow walks out of the bathroom, his hands balled into fists at his sides as if he was preparing for a fight. I drop my book onto my beside cabinet, flashing him a nervous smile. He paces across the room, stopping besides my bed, and standing over me awkwardly. 

“Can I?" He asks, hovering his hand above the corner of my duvet. "I don’t have to sleep in it with you ... Not if you don’t want me to. I just want to - You know, for a bit,” 

I nod my head, granting him permission. “You can. If you want. I mean - You can sleep here too, if you want,” I explain, my voice barely a whisper.

He grins, clambering into my bed - Swinging a leg over my body, and accidentally kneeing the side of my stomach painfully. “Snow, you absolute clutz,” I complain. “What are you doing?”

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I just wanted to lay on the right side,” he huffs.

I chuckle lightly, leaning over to pick up my wand, as he settles besides me in the bed. Shoving the bedside cabinet over slightly, I cast a quick “Room for Two” spell. A moment later, the bed shakes, before doubling in size with a sudden jolt. I’ve lived with Snow long enough to know that he prefers sleeping in a ridiculous, outstretched starfish position - So, if he intends to stay here all night, the spell is definitely necessary. I refuse to be woken up by getting shoved out of my own bed. 

“Wicked,” he breathes. “I didn’t know you could do that.”

“Hmmm. We’ll add that to the long, long list of things you don’t know then, Snow,” I tease, stretching over to lay my wand back down. 

He punches my arm jokingly in retaliation - Grumbling out a quiet "You’re such a prick."

“I know,” I say, flashing him a wicked grin, as I settle back down into bed. We’re facing each other now, barely six inches apart. Our eyes meet, and I’m suddenly nervous, my face filling with heat. Smiling softly, he reaches out, wrapping an arm around my waist. 

“You okay?” He whispers. 

I nod, not trusting my voice. 

“Good,” he says, shifting closer to me - Bumping our foreheads together lightly. “Me too.”

 We lay in silence for a while. And as always, I find myself focusing on him. His breathing is slow and steady, air softly puffing against my face with his every exhalation. But, his pulse is rapid, his heart hammering erratically within his chest.

“Did you get the send-off you wanted then, Snow?” I ask, keeping my voice hushed, careful not to startle him.

“Hmmm,” he hums, his eyes fluttering open. “It was perfect”

“Good” I say, sweeping my fingers along his side gently.

He shifts himself then, swinging a leg over mine, and pulling our bodies closer together - Enveloping me in his heat. He snuggles his face against my neck, his bronze curls tickling my chin slightly. 

“Baz?’ He mumbles. “Are we … I mean are we like together now? 

My body tenses, suddenly apprehensive. “Well, it depends. Is that something that you would want?” I ask, hesitantly. He shrugs, squeezing his eyes closed. Unsure, I continue. “If it helps … That’s definitely something that I would want. I’ve wanted that for a long time, actually. So, it’s really up to you, Snow. I know my answer.” I pause, taking in a deep breath, and gazing down at him. “There’s no pressure, though. I mean … You don’t have to decide what you want right away. If you need more time, I’d understand.”

He opens his eyes then, a shy smile flickering across his face. Leaning forwards slightly, he pulls me into a deep kiss, his free hand smoothing across my chest as our lips move together. After a moment, we break apart - My lips still flooded with warmth from the contact. “I think I want that too,” he breathes, squeezing my waist gently. “I mean ... This is definitely better than fighting.” 

My heart swells, an all too unfamiliar wave of joy washing over me. Simon really wants this. He really wants me. Alesteir Crowley, I can hardly believe that this is real life. The way we were - There wasn’t a day where I believed that we’d both live through it. And yet, here we are - Talking about a future. Talking about a future together, no less. Unbelievable. 

“But … What about tomorrow?”

“What about it?” I ask, confused. 

‘Well, we’re leaving. I mean … Will we still see each other?”

“Well I should bloody well hope so, Snow,” I scoff. “It was my understanding, that being together usually involves at least some level of physical interaction."

“Oh right, yeah. Obviously. But - I mean … Aren’t you going to London?”

“Well, yeah. But, I’m not leaving until September - We have the whole Summer before then." I explain. "Do you know where you’ll be this Summer? I know they ... Move you around quite a lot.”

He scrunches his face up awkwardly, clearly embarrassed. “No," he mumbles. "But, The Mage wants me to stay with him. So ... I may just be here. It was nice of him to offer - I mean, he even said that I could have a room in his private apartments. But … I’m not really sure I want to." 

I brush a rogue curl off of his face, smoothing a hand through his hair. “So, what is it that you do want, Snow?”

“Well ... Penny said that I could spend Summer at her house. I think - I think that I’d like that.”

“Then go for it. The Mage isn’t in control of your life, Simon. You are. Go and stay with Bunce, I’m sure she’d be overjoyed to have you,” I reassure. He flashes me a soft smile, pressing a quick kiss to my forehead. “And, about us,” I continue. “You could always just catch a train down to Hampshire - Or, I could come to you, obviously. I could pay for all your tickets and everything, if need be - It’s really no hassle. I'd love for you to visit. And ... Thinking beyond Summer, there are always trains going into London. So, if you wanted us to be together, I see no real reason why it should matter that we’d no longer be living here. We could still make it work." I cringe slightly - Aware of how desperate I must sound. But, in my defence, I've pined after Simon Snow for eight years now - I couldn't bear losing him to something as surmountable as physical distance now. Not after tonight. 

“Okay,” he murmurs. “Then … Yes”

“Yes, what?” I ask, hope bubbling up within my chest.

“Yes to being together, you numpty,” he says, beaming up at me brightly. I mirror him, a wide grin cracking across my face. I chuckle, bumping our noses together, before pressing a quick kiss to his lips.

“So that’s it then? We’re like proper boyfriends now,” he says, disbelieving. 

“Boyfriends,” I echo, the reverence clear in my voice. I like the sound of that - Simon Snow …  My boyfriend. Christ - How outstanding. 

He giggles, his nose scrunching up adorably. “You’re such a  sap,” he goads, his voice light with laughter. I quirk my brow, unimpressed. “I actually can’t believe you. Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch, who would’ve thought?” He continues, lacing his hands together behind my neck. Mesmerised, I reach up, gripping his forearms. "I love it. I love it so, so much” he mumbles, before crashing our lips together into another bruising kiss. 

Simon

I flip us over suddenly, gripping his wrists and pressing him down into the mattress beneath me. 

"What on earth are you doing, you absolute barbarian?" He giggles, shaking his head. 

I lean down, peppering light kisses across his face and neck, punctuating every press of my lips to his skin with a mumbled "Mine." The word feels good in my mouth. Mine. Baz is all mine, and I've got him exactly where I want him. Brilliant. 

He starts fidgeting beneath me, trying to shake my grip from his wrists. "Stop it, you moron. It tickles,” he laughs. 

I lean back, basking in the sight of him. His usually pale grey cheeks have flushed a delightful shade of pink, and he's beaming up at me, his eyes alive and sparkling. My heart squeezes within my chest - A happy warmth flooding my chest and spreading throughout my body. 

"Possessive much, Snow?" He teases, an amused smirk adorning his face. 

I raise my eyebrows, trying to copy his usual expression - Although I can’t seem to lift only one of them, so it doesn’t really work. “Don’t try and pretend like you don’t like it. You’re blushing,” I taunt, running a thumb across his right cheek. 

He squints up at me, casting me a murderous glare. But, he smiles then, the soft quirk of his lips betraying the ferocity of his look. It’s painfully endearing - Seeing him trying to maintain his hard exterior so desperately, even when I already know that, deep down, he’s just as soft as anybody in love. 

“Just shut up and kiss me, you disaster,” he sighs, lifting himself up and claiming my lips once more. 

[upstartpoodle]

Bad Tidings (Chapter 5)

Rating: G

Pairing: George x Elizabeth

Summary: The final chapter of this instalment of the banshee AU, in which George attends the harvest celebrations at Killewarren, and receives an unexpected guest at Cardew.

Previous chapter

Chapter 5

Some weeks had passed since Ross’ trial and the election in Bodmin, and the only sounds that could be heard in Cardew’s study were the ticking of the clock, the scratch of a quill on paper and the light patter of drizzle against glass as George bent low over the bank ledger, a slight frown of concentration etched upon his face. Ambrose, as was his habit, lay at his feet once again, dozing. George, however, barely noticed the dog’s presence, so used to him as he was. And besides, he was far too engrossed in his work to pay mind to much else.

The weeks after his excursion up on the moor had not brought him much good. He had come down with some minor illness shortly after his return to Cardew, which he expected may have been caused by his uncharacteristic trek, though in the interest of not having anyone know about that particular venture, he had not mentioned this to Choake—as incompetent as the man was, he doubted whether him being in possession of the full facts would make much difference to the effectiveness of his treatment. The complaint, though not serious, had lingered, largely due to his difficulty sleeping and diminished appetite, and as such he was unable to shake off the constant feeling of ill health that it had brought with him, and prevented him from having both the energy and inclination to be seen in society for some time. He confined himself to Cardew, tired and listless, able to summon just enough strength to be bitterly amused at himself for thinking going to the moor would have settled anything. All it seemed to have done was made things worse, and the only thing which could distract him from it was burying himself in his work, now that they were no longer so tangled up in the disaster of the Queen Charlotte.

Another sound—that of voices in the next room, brought him out of his musings, and he temporarily focused on them in order to determine their identity. The first was unmistakeably his uncle. The second, he realised after a little while, was Tom Harry. He could not hear what they were saying beyond the odd snatched word or phrase, and, his interest in the conversation soon abating, he turned back to his work, carefully placing a small stack of coins on the little scale that sat before him on the desk before making a note on the page in front of him. He didn’t have the energy to deal with whatever the other men were doing. He couldn’t even summon the conviction to care.

His and Uncle Cary’s relationship had worsened significantly since they had returned from Bodmin. The carriage journey home had been nothing short of excruciating—neither had spoken a word to each other but Cary had seen fit to glare suspiciously at him the entire time. Fortunately, his uncle hadn’t cared to pry any further into where he had been the day of Ross’ trial, but things between them had seemed to spiral downwards nevertheless. Cary was furious that Ross had, against all odds, succeeded in escaping the noose, and as the nearest and most available person in his vicinity, George had found himself bearing the brunt of his uncle’s ugly temper more and more often, something that was by no means improved by his increasing reluctance to continue to involve himself in the feud with Ross. On top of the empty, dull misery which he was already feeling, it was almost unbearable, and between the man’s sniping at him to grow a backbone and his shouting at him to stop sulking and make himself useful, all he wanted to do was sequester himself away in his chamber and hide.

However, his uncle was, unfortunately, right in one thing—he could not keep moping about at Cardew and refuse to step out into society again forever. As such, upon being invited, he had resolved to attend the Penvenens’ harvest celebrations at Killewarren along with Unwin, who, though he irritated him more and more by the day, at least provided a sufficient distraction from his other woes through his ridiculousness. Now though, with the gathering being held that evening, George was beginning to regret the decision. He wasn’t sure if he could face being around so many people for that length of time, many of whom often saw fit to sneer at his presence amongst them behind his back—and to his face before their debts to the Warleggan Bank had grown substantial enough to make that course of action inadvisable—not to mention that his uncle’s actions, and his own absence at Ross’ trial and a good many things after that would likely be a popular subject of gossip among them—both things that he had not the slightest desire to discuss with anyone. As such, he could feel a knot of anxiety starting to form in his stomach—a deep-seated dread which he had not felt about attending such an event since he had been barely out of boyhood, cowed by the insults spat his way and too shy to enjoy himself even if he had been welcomed.

He ate little that day, picking at the food which had been brought to him in his study. Nobody tried to make him eat more—as long as he didn’t start keeling over, his uncle wouldn’t give a damn, and the servants knew better than to remark upon it in front of him—and he barely noticed when the meal was taken away barely touched, absorbed in the repetitive, calming motions of his work as he was. Eventually, some time late in the afternoon, he put aside the ledger for the time being and went out in search of Trigg to ask for a bath to be run. With the knowledge that he would soon be back in the company of the members of Cornwall’s gentry that evening, he was horribly aware of the fact that he had not been maintaining himself nearly as thoroughly as he usually did, and as such was keen to make himself as presentable as possible.

Later, whilst he was undressing beside the tub filled with steaming hot water, he couldn’t help but think that that may be more difficult than he had first imagined. The sporadic, meagre diet along with the lack of sleep and the constant stress from Uncle Cary’s unrelenting criticism had not been kind to his body. He had lost weight, so that his slim frame now looked sickly, each of his ribs clearly visible as he pulled his shirt over his head and laid it neatly aside. Eyes downcast, he scowled at himself as he sank into the blessedly warm water, soothing against his taut, aching muscles. He felt weak and frail and disgusting, and he could only hope that nobody would see it in him as clearly as he did himself.

He bathed for much longer than he usually did, the pleasant heat of the water combined with his prolongued weariness causing him to fall into a light doze more than once before he came back to himself. It was, he supposed as he wrapped himself in the silk robe draped over the chair next to the tub, fortunate that he had given himself enough time to account for delays in getting ready for this evening. He continued to prepare himself at a measured place, the deep-seated exhaustion that ached in his bones not allowing him to make haste and, once he was fully dressed in his evening attire—a new burgundy tailcoat and pale, off-white embroidered waistcoat that felt, in his reluctance to attend the night’s festivities, more like a straitjacket than the expensive and well-tailored finery that they were—surveyed his reflection critically in the full-length mirror in the corner of the room. To his eyes, no matter how well he dressed, there was little that could be done about the raggedness of his appearance. If anything, in fact, he felt that the quality of his clothing only emphasised the drawn, pinched lines of his face, the deep hollows in his cheeks and the dark smudges underneath his eyes by contrast.

Letting out a soft sigh as he fiddled absentmindedly with the cuff of his coat, he recalled Agatha’s sneered words to him when he had first been able to afford such fine clothing, comparing him derisively to a child’s doll as she scoffed at his attempts to fit into the circles which he had found himself moving in. At the time, he had seethed with unspoken rage, tinged with the same humiliation that he had felt when she had compared him to a bull calf as a child, but now a small, traitorous part of him began to wonder if there hadn’t been a grain of truth to her words. He had never felt more fake, all dressed up for the approval of a group of overbred idiots who relied on their names instead of their wits, as if he didn’t know that, no matter what he did, he would never gain that approval—not truly. Never had all that he had strived for and achieved felt so hollow, so empty. He appreciated what it had brought him, of course—comfort, a financial security which precious few could boast of in this day and age—but what had it led him to? The chance to jump through hoop after endless hoop for the entertainment of these people, with the knowledge that they could just as easily send him crashing down if he gave them reason to, with no name or breeding to fall back on in hard times? The constant fear that one misstep would lose him everything? Though he had long thought himself resigned to it, he knew in that moment that it wasn’t what he wanted from his life, for all that he knew that he was powerless to change it.

He was brought sharply out of his train of thought as he heard the trundle of carriage wheels rattling along the driveway and, with a glance out of the window, saw that Unwin had arrived. Pinching the bridge of his nose and rubbing his eyes, he shook his head to clear it of those maudlin thoughts. Now was not the time to be pondering such things. He may not be satisfied with his lot, but it was all he had, and he would not neglect his duty simply because he was feeling morose over it. With that in mind, he gave his reflection one more sullen glare before carefully arranging his features into a bland, polite smile, turned on his heel and strode swiftly out of the room, closing the door behind him with a sharp click.

The harvest celebrations dragged as much as he feared they would. He endured Unwin’s idiocy for as long as he could manage, but, having spent the entire carriage ride to Killewarren alone with him, he wore George down far quicker than he usually did. He spent much of the rest of the evening conversing with various business associates and, somewhat alarmingly, a good many mothers and their unmarried daughters. He was no stranger to this, of course—he knew that the size of his house and fortune made up for his unsavoury family history in the eyes of many young ladies looking for a husband—but it did little to improve his mood. He did not have the energy to deal with them, though he tried as hard as he could to be polite. And besides, he did not wish to be reminded that he would soon be expected to marry—he was, after all, somewhat dreading it. He could not think of a single woman he was acquainted with whom he would wish to wed, but he knew that his uncle, if not the mothers of the district, would see to it that he did not remain a bachelor for long.

Managing to excuse himself from the constant barrage of conversation partners for a short while, he sequestered himself away by the fire to gather his wits. He had noticed that Mr Aukitt was present at the gathering some time ago, and had briefly toyed with the idea of approaching him—Tankard had informed him that the man seemed discontent with his investment in Wheal Leisure, and though George no longer wanted to involve himself in the feud with Ross, he had a nasty feeling that the other man would not be of the same mind considering his uncle’s actions against him—but in the end had decided not to. Reinforcing the Warleggans’ presence in the running of Ross’ one real asset would only draw him in deeper, when all he wanted to do was extricate himself from the whole mess completely.

A little later, he noted with mild curiosity that Dr Enys was coming down the stairs leading to the room in which they were gathered. He must have been tending to Miss Penvenen, he supposed as he watched him leave. George idly wondered if she had asked for him personally—he would have expected that the Penvenens would have been Choake’s patients if anything, and Miss Penvenen had seemed to have taken a liking to him in Bodmin—but his musings were soon interrupted by the appearance of the lady herself. Unwin immediately moved to go to her, but she pointedly ignored him, and it was with some amusement that he saw her step gracefully round the table and head towards where he stood beside the fire.

“Miss Penvenen,” he greeted her as she came to a stop before him. “I trust you are on the mend?”

“I am, sir,” she replied with a slightly wry smile; her eyes flickered slightly towards Unwin and he observed that the man was wearing an almost comically put-out expression on his face. “But what of yourself? I fear you have become quite the recluse, Mr Warleggan—I have not seen you at all recently.”

Despite the light, teasing tone, there was something shrewd in her expression that told George that, though he had been able to fool a good many others with vague statements about work taking up much of his time, she would not swallow the lie. Still, he could hardly tell her the truth. That he wouldn’t have told anyone—not even Francis.

“Oh, I am quite well, Miss Penvenen,” he replied, trying to keep his voice light, “and I assure you that I am not seeking a change of lifestyle. I have simply been busy.”

The look in her eye suggested quite plainly that she didn’t believe him for one second. Fortunately for him, however, it seemed that she didn’t have much interest in pursuing the matter, and the conversation was soon turned to more pleasant topics.

After that, the evening progressed a little easier, but George still felt drained and exhausted when he finally returned to Cardew late into the night. The house was silent and empty, save for the one bleary-eyed footman who opened the door for him when he arrived, and he headed up to his chamber as quietly as he could, wanting nothing more than to go to bed, and preferably stay there as long as possible. Ambrose, who had been sleeping in the parlour, woke up and padded after him as he passed, following him up to bed as he often did. George paused briefly to scratch him behind the ear before continuing on his journey. He didn’t think he’d ever felt so glad of his company as he did then—the dog was at least…uncomplicated in his companionship.

The door to his bedchamber creaked on its hinge as he pushed it open, and with a hastily stifled yawn, George pushed it closed again, heading over to the chair and draping his tailcoat over it, a hand pressed over his eyes as the tiredness which had been eating at him all day overcame him. Good God, since when had attending a simple social gathering become so tiring? He had thought he had long stamped out that particular weakness, and yet here he was again, wondering and worrying and second-guessing himself as if he were still that shabby, mousy boy, terrified of making conversation for fear of rebuke, rather than a grown man who had proven himself a hundred times over. He scoffed at himself as he headed over to the window with the intention of drawing the drapes. One strange meeting on the moor and he was completely unravelling.

“My God, I’m pathetic” he muttered to himself, pressing his forehead against the cool glass of the window, his shoulders slumping as exhaustion seized him.

It was Ambrose’s high-pitched whine that first alerted him to the fact that he was no longer alone in the room.

He whirled around, clutching at the sill of the window so hard that his knuckles turned an icy white, his heart feeling as if it had leapt up into his throat. On the end of his bed was perched the woman he had seen all those weeks ago on the moor, dressed exactly as she had been during their last encounter and wearing entirely too innocent an expression on her face for someone who had, as far as he could tell, simply materialised right into his private bedchamber. Upon seeing his alarm, that expression turned a little apologetic.

“I’m sorry,” she said, watching him with a concerned little frown. “I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

“How did you get in here?” George replied, not letting go of the windowsill. Ambrose, still whining and whimpering, skulked to his side, his ears flat against his head.

“I walked through the door” answered the woman simply.

George frowned in confusion.

“But I would have noticed if the door had opened—”

“Oh, well, I didn’t open it,” the woman replied as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “I walked through it.”

It was a testament both to the bizarreness of the situation and how much her sudden appearance had thrown him that it took George several moments to realise exactly what she was attempting to tell him. Once he had properly absorbed her meaning, he suddenly felt rather faint, and had to cling onto the windowsill even tighter to prevent his knees from buckling under him.

“You walked through—?” he murmured weakly.

The woman nodded absentmindedly. Her attention had been taken up with staring around at the rest of the room, her gaze soft and curious. She seemed particularly interested by the full-length mirror standing in the corner to her left, and she stood and headed over to it, examining it with interest. George watched her cautiously, extricating himself from the far wall and heading slowly over to the bed whilst her back was turned. He sank down onto the mattress, feeling as though his legs would cease to support him at any minute, and, reaching down to grip the silk covers at the edge of the bed in his balled up fists, tried to make sense of the thoughts whirling chaotically about in his brain. Ambrose, not wanting to be left alone, leapt up on the bed beside him—something which he knew that he wasn’t usually allowed to do, but given the situation, George supposed he could make an exception—and rested his head and front paws on his lap. George let go of the bedding and reached up to tickle him behind the ear, the slow, repetitive rhythm of the movement soothing to his overwrought nerves.

“Who is she?” the woman asked all of a sudden, reminding George abruptly of the mad situation he had found himself in. He turned to look inquiringly at the woman and saw that her attention had been diverted from the mirror to the portrait that hung on the wall beside it. A lump formed in his throat, and he swallowed thickly before answering.

“My…my mother” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. She turned to regard him and her gaze, though kind and gentle, bore straight into him, as if she were looking right past all the layers and protections he had worked so hard to maintain over the years, directly into his soul. He cringed, fighting the sudden urge to run and hide.

“She…died when you were very young, did she not?” the woman murmured softly. George froze, staring up at her with wide eyes. He suddenly thought of the memory…or dream…or whatever it was that his mind had dredged up the day of Ross’ trial, and he felt a horrible cold fill his veins.

“How do you know that?” he asked, a little sharper than he had intended, and immediately regretted it when he saw the sad—albeit apologetic—look in her eyes.

“I am guessing you know what I am now, yes?,” she asked, and George nodded curtly in reply—even now he didn’t dare say it aloud. “Well, we can…sense death. I can look at a person and I can see how many of their loved ones have died, when and where they died, how they died… And when someone’s loved one is marked for death in the future, we see that too.”

George closed his eyes and took several deep breaths. He could feel his hand beginning to shake as he stroked it mechanically through Ambrose’s shaggy fur. It was…it was too much to take in… It was simply… It was just… God he didn’t know what it was. All he knew was that, if he hadn’t been able to confess what he had seen before this encounter, he certainly couldn’t now. A word of this to anyone and he would surely be shipped off to the madhouse.

“Why have you come here?” he asked, and he desperately wished, as he had intended when he had spoken those words, that his voice had sounded stronger, more confident, that he had been able to keep it from trembling as he put the question to her. Instead, he sounded exactly how he felt—vulnerable, exposed and alarmingly fragile.

The woman stared at him for a long moment, as if she didn’t quite know the answer to that question herself, and he saw something of that folorn look had been present in her gaze during their last encounter on the moor. She moved slowly away from the painting and back towards the bed, stopping so that she stood a little to the left of him but still clearly in his line of sight. He tracked her movement with his eyes warily, still not sure what to make of her and her presence here.

“I…just wanted to talk to you, I suppose,” she replied, and there was an uncertainty in her tone which made him feel a little better about the lapse of his own façade. “I wanted to, before, when you came up to the moor the second time but…but I didn’t dare…”

George blinked up at her, nonplussed. Of all the answers he had expected, that had certainly not been it. His first instinct was to recoil from the confession. Why on earth would she want to talk to him? What did he have to offer her that she couldn’t find in any number of the infinitely more brave and interesting and charismatic men that the county had to offer? And yet, for all that his mind could not accept it, the open, simple honesty with which she said those words were undeniable, and he had no idea how to respond to them.

“So, you were…you were there that time?,” he asked, seizing on—in his mind—the least challenging detail which she had provided. “But…I wasn’t able to see you…?”

The woman nodded, her eyes flickering to the floor as she brought her hands together in a slightly nervous gesture.

“Humans can only see me if I choose to reveal myself to them,” she said, “or if…or if they or someone close to them is…”

She trailed off, but George understood perfectly well what she had refused to say. The lump in his throat was verging on painful now, and he swallowed convulsively, staring down at Ambrose and the repetitive motion of his hand stroking through the dog’s fur. It had not stopped trembling, he noticed, for all that he was desperately trying to still it.

“And the…song?,” he asked, not entirely sure how to refer to that strange, unearthly wailing. “Can everybody hear it or is it just…?”

“Everybody can hear it, but most choose not to notice it,” the woman replied, watching him with her head tilted to one side, as if she were attempting to figure out a particularly complicated puzzle that he had posed to her. “But you are affected by it more than others, yes? It can happen when the song is for a loved one of…a soul that is about to depart from this world or…or if the person in question has suffered a recent loss… It…dredges up memories of old grief, to my understanding, but I am largely unfamiliar with the ways in which the human mind works. I have never spoken with a human before you.”

So that was what that dream of his mother had been, he supposed. He wanted to linger on it, perhaps ask some more questions on the subject, but an entirely different part of what she had said was encroaching on his train of thought. No human had ever spoken to her before he had, and by the looks of it, her own people were hardly the kind to socialise regularly. How often did she have the chance to actually talk to another person, human or otherwise? It must be horrible, he thought, out there on the moor with no company other than her own and nothing to think of but omens of death and misfortune.

“Nobody has ever…nobody has ever talked to you before?,” he asked, staring up at her with wide eyes. “Not once?”

The woman shook her head, and he could see the the sad, lonely look in her eyes more clearly than ever.

“Humans mostly fear me or consider me beneath their notice,” she replied. “You spoke to me though, and I thought…I thought you might know what it is like to be alone…”

The words struck him so hard that she might as well have dealt him a physical blow. She was utterly alone and, as he had seen it in her, she too must have seen it in him. What she wanted was so simple and basic and fundamental that he barely knew what to make of it—she wanted a friend. He thought of his own strained relationship with Francis, and the fact that she had been the only person he knew who had made an effort to console him over Matthew’s death, for all that it had come before the event itself had happened. It was a mad idea—completely mad—but then again, George couldn’t help but think that the relative sanity of his life had taken an immediate downturn the moment he had met the woman up on the moor anyway.

“I don’t know your name” he blurted out before he could stop himself, entirely unsure of how to proceed. Far from being disconcerted by the sudden change of subject, however, the woman sent him a shy little smile, though there was something a little melancholy in the expression.

“Nor I yours,” she replied apologetically. “Though I can hardly fault you for not knowing mine. Our kind do not have names. We know each other by the territories which we preside over, and besides, we usually avoid each other so there is little need for names among us.”

George took a moment to digest this, a small frown forming between his brows.

“Oh, well, my name is George,” he said. “George Warleggan. But…but there must be some name that you are known by, surely?”

“None,” returned the woman with a little frown on her face. “But why would you wish to know?”

“Well, at the risk of sounding presumptious, you made the effort to come here simply to speak to me, so you must have done so in the hope that it would not be a unique occurrence,” George pointed out, watching her expression narrowly—however cautious and careful she was, she was still so very unguarded compared to those whom he usually associated, and as such he knew that every emotion that flitted across her face was absolutely sincere. “If I am to see you again, I can hardly call you the banshee of Bodmin Moor.”

The woman blinked at him, startled.

“You…you don’t mind if I…?”

She trailed off, staring into his eyes, searching for the answer to her unfinished question. Again, he felt the full force of her penetrating gaze that left him so open and vulnerable. This time, however, he fought the instincts telling him to squirm away, or attempt to hide himself from it, and allowed her to find the answer she was looking for. After a few moments, it was clear that she had found it, for her lips curved upwards in a cautious smile.

“Well I could always take a human name,” she said tentatively. “Do you know of any that might…?”

George frowned, running through a list of women’s names in his head that might suit her.

“Henrietta?,” he suggested. “Isabelle? Elizabeth?”

“Elizabeth,” said the woman with a thoughtful look on her face, trying the name out on her tongue. “Elizabeth… I like that. Yes, I like that very much.”

“Elizabeth it is then,” George replied. “If that is what you wish, of course.”

“It is” the woman—no, Elizabeth—replied, and for the first time, she smiled a full, wide, joyful smile and, as he found himself smiling shyly back at her, his mind couldn’t help but wander back to his thoughts during their first encounter up on the moor. He had woefully underestimated the effect that that honest, simple, happy expression had on her, he decided, for it enhanced her beauty more than he could possibly describe.

Note: This is the last chapter in this fic but I intend to write several short fics for this AU. The next one, which I'm aiming to post around March/April, will be a bit longer than this one.

[stilldreamingreality]

When Agatha intertwined their fingers, Wanda squeezed tightly, not due to the pain, no, but instead it served as a reminder and a promise that she wasnt alone.

For the first time, she felt as though she could take a breath without the crushing weight on her chest. As soon as she could, Wanda gasped, head tilting back as something cracked back into place, relieving the pressure from her lungs.

Perhaps it was necessary for Agatha to keep silent about her pain, or more so the exchange of it, for Wanda would have easily resigned to carrying her burden rather than unload it.

"Your hands are warm,". Wanda mentioned honestly, letting her mind wander as she rode the high of tranquility when the pain eased and she swore that even some of the heavy sorrow that she carried around permanently had even lifted from her shoulders.

Agatha took everything when she took her pain and crown, leaving her as Wanda... plain, powerless Wanda and the redhead forced herself to suppress a grimace.

She still held the witches hand in her own, and instinct had her leaning against the touch on her cheek.

"I'm afraid so. You know I can take a few hits," a weakened grin slipped onto her lips at the revelation that she might have missed those endearing pet names.

"I-" once more the words got stuck, how was she meant to explain any of this? But one look into those wonderful eyes had Wanda realising that she didn't have to, not yet... "Thank you," The scarlet witch whispered, her thumb caressing small circles to the back of Agathas hand.

If that's what it takes to be happy.

Spoilers for MoM

@agxthahxrkness

A thick cloud of debris and dust formed around the Scarlet witch, the chaotic fog only thing to trespass through the fragile barricade that shielded her from the destruction above. Power crackled from Wanda's body, although it was weak and broken, nothing like the display the Darkhold had given her.

Reaching out unsteadily, her fingers slick with blood, she anchored a solid grip on a large stone and pulled herself across the ground out of the way of the fallen boulders that threatened to crush her. The redhead let loose a quiet hiss of pain, not ready to assess the damage as she struggled against the rubble.

It happened too quickly, the moment that she was in the clear Wanda rolled onto her back, a wretched cough tearing through her lungs. The magic shield snapped and an accumulation of boulders cascaded down to the ground where she had been just a moment ago. 

Both pain and exhaustion gripped her body, and Wanda closed her eyes for just a moment before she succumbed, not even having the strength to stay awake.

At least, in her dreams, she might see her boys one last time.

Wanda felt her heart flutter as she paused in the doorway, stealing a serendipitous moment just to ingrain the scene into her memory. Agatha sat at the head of the table facing away ans engrossed in a book that she couldn't fully see.

"What's that?" The redhead played enigmatically, stepping behind the taller woman and combed her fingers through thick, dark curls.

Agatha didnt even look up, but she knew the teasing smirk that pulled at her lips. "Its a book, darling."

She felt the woman suppress a shudder beneath her touch as her hands moved sweetly down her shoulders and the redhead feigned innocence, "Is the book more interesting than I am?"

They were used to this game apparently, because at this, Agatha titled her head slightly to grin devilishly up at the younger witch.

"Are you honestly trying to compete against Jane Austen for my attention?" The accusation was dripping with sweet smugness that always had Wanda just a little bit weak.

But two could play at that game and so she bent forward until they shared an intimate breath and Wanda could have just grazed the other lips had she moved that tiny bit closer. "That depends, is it working?".

Wanda awoke with a peculiar sensation squeezing tight around her heart. In that blissful moment in between realities, she swore she could just about feel the warmth of Harkness' lips on her own.

But like all good dreams, they faded away, leaving behind an empty void that she didnt know how to fill. Her heart yearned as she sat up among the chaos, ignoring the pain the shot through her body.

This had not been the first window into an alternate world in which she was loved by the dark witch and every time, they had always seemed so happy.

Wanda had no set destination as she conjured all her energy into teleporting, blinking through space. She would end up somewhere safe, if such a place existed.

She appeared in the middle of the road in an ungodly state, leaning her weight on the one leg that could bare it, bloodied and crushed more than just literally. The familiar street ironically welcomed her return to Westview and Wanda found it fitting that if the Scarlet witch could be born in this town she could die here too. Yet what confused her most was that this was her safe space.

The transportation spell had exhausted what felt like the very last of her power and Wanda nearly buckled feeling the magic seep from her veins.

It felt unnecessarily cruel to go crawling back, beaten and powerless, all in the hopes of figuring out if happiness was still possible in this reality.

[alchemine]

Worst Witch 2017 Coda

Since we won’t be getting a new episode this week, here’s a teeny tiny bit of Worst Witch reboot fic, set right after the end of the finale. 

“I passed! I can stay!”

Miss Cackle stood at a prudent distance and watched Mildred Hubble bounce up and down, arms looped round her friends’ necks as they celebrated her reprieve. It was a wonder the child didn’t have concussion after flying full-tilt into a tree, but Miss Cackle had found that twelve-year-olds were generally much sturdier and more resilient than they looked. It came in handy when teaching them to blow things up with magic.

“That was nice of you, Hecate,” she said to Miss Hardbroom, who had just arrived at her side, clipboard in hand, looking cool and unruffled despite her tight dress and the warm July day.

Miss Hardbroom arched an eyebrow at the Headmistress. “It was not nice, Ada. It was fair. A proper repayment for services rendered to the school.”

“Yes, of course.”

“And the girl’s still here on a probationary basis as far as I’m concerned.”

“So you’ve said.” Miss Cackle reached over to pat Miss Hardbroom’s arm and tutted to herself at its birdlike feel. For years she’d been on a secret campaign to fatten her deputy up, but no matter how many custard creams she was plied with, Hecate remained stubbornly whip-thin, burning off every spare unit of energy in the crucible of her own intensity. Miss Cackle often wondered what it must be like to live that way, but on balance thought she preferred a calm, measured style, even if it was a bit boring at times.

“They do look happy together, don’t they?” she observed, following Miss Hardbroom’s gaze back to Mildred and her friends. Maud had collected the splintered remains of Mildred’s new broomstick from the ground, and all three girls were taking turns at trying to repair it, groaning and laughing at the different ways the bits came together with each new spell. Currently the bristles were sticking out along the length of the handle, as if the broom had mated with an angry porcupine and this was the result.

“Very happy indeed,” Miss Hardbroom said, and there was an odd, wistful note in her voice that made Miss Cackle glance sharply back at her. Hecate was not much given to open displays of sentiment, but after two decades of friendship, she knew there was a lot going on under that prickly façade. She assessed the tautly drawn profile of Hecate’s face, wondering whether the other woman needed soothing or distracting, and decided on the latter.

Deliberately, she let herself sway a little, eyes half closed, and at once Hecate was supporting her with a hand under one elbow, all solicitousness and worry.

“Ada? Are you all right?”

“I’m fine. Just a bit tired.”

“Are you sure? You were trapped in the painting for so much longer than I was. It could have had some sort of effect-”

“It didn’t,” Miss Cackle assured her. “But it has been a very trying few days. Let’s go back inside and leave the girls to their efforts.”

“They’ll never mend that broomstick at the rate they’re going,” Miss Hardbroom said. “Do you suppose we ought to…”

“Not just yet,” Miss Cackle said. “They’ll learn more if they try to do it themselves first.”

“You’re right,” said Miss Hardbroom with a sigh. She still had hold of Miss Cackle’s elbow, and now she gave her the small, affectionate squeeze that was as close to a hug as she usually came. “It’s so good to have you back, Ada. I was afraid-”

“So was I,” Miss Cackle said, remembering with a shudder what it had been like to watch helplessly, crushed flat and powerless in the two-dimensional world of the painting, as her sister wrecked everything either of them had ever cared for. Well, now it would be Agatha’s turn to watch events unfold without her. It might even do her some good, though if it did, it would be the first time in their lives that any punishment or reward had made an impact on Agatha’s behaviour.

“Come along, Hecate,” she said to Miss Hardbroom. “We may as well finish off the last of Agatha’s biscuits before they go stale, don’t you think?”

“They’re Miss Gullet’s biscuits actually,” Miss Hardbroom said. “I expect she had them left over.” 

“Left over from what?”

“From building her house of sweets to lure little children in the wood,” Miss Hardbroom said dryly.

Caught off guard, Ada laughed out loud, and looking up, she saw a quirk of humour playing around Hecate’s mouth as well. They were both still giggling quietly to themselves as they passed under the raised portcullis and through the castle gate, and that was how they completely missed the triumphant moment when Maud finally managed to restore Mildred’s broom.