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hayffiebird · 10 months ago

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Taste of Strawberries, chap. 40 (part two)

Author’s note: TRIGGER WARNING for mentions of eating disorder, suicidal ideations, animal cruelty and sexual assault.

Forgive me for any typos. I am really tired!

Hayffie Post-Mockingjay Multi-chapter, Rated M

Four years have passed since the end of the war when Effie returns in to Haymitch’s life once again. An old friendship is renewed. Will it lead to something more?

Meanwhile Panem has entered a new era. The rebellion’s over, the borders are open but in the shadows, anger and mistrust are smoldering. Something that will affect Haymitch and Effie’s life in a way they never saw coming.

Chapter 40

The writing on the wall (part two)

“When we graduated from the Academy,” Annabel continued her story, “Effie was dead-set on becoming a licensed architect. For years, that’s all she ever talked about. But her father contacted my father. Asked if he could pull a few strings. Recommend his daughter for an escort position. An outline district would be absolutely fine. And then they gave her the good news like a sort of … early birthday present. One she could not return without breaking their hearts.

I had no idea what I wanted. Most of the time I just longed back to our Academy days. Those years remain some of the happiest of my life. Before I met June. It was Effie and I against the world. I even got smitten for the first time. A girl in our year with wild, curly, jet black hair. And the school, while strict, was also my ticket out of Cordelia’s little kingdom, or so I thought.

All the Snow children were homeschooled. Like most of the prominent ultra-rich families. Especially the daughters, destined for marriage rather than higher studies. But my father was adamant. His girls wouldn’t sit and wait until someone proposed. We would get a proper, thorough tuition first and embark on a fine career of some sort. So, first the Academy – then the University, just like he once did.

Pallas and Apollo’s Academy were boarding schools back then. ‘Give them to us young and they are ours forever’ was the motto. So even though I’d still see Cordelia during each Games, I’d only ever leave the school’s stone walls for the occasional holiday. With me tucked away, I thought, some other girl would take my place and I’d fade from Cordelia’s memory.

After graduation I moved back home again. All of us children were expected to stay at the Flickermansion until we were properly married off.

Father was present and he wasn’t. He outsourced everything. Nannies to dress us, chefs to feed us, housekeepers to clean up our mess. I think I joined The Hypnotic Brass Ensemble – father’s house band, playing the trumpet because then at least I’d see him and not through a television screen.

He wasn’t a bad father. He loved us deeply. He just didn’t really have time to have five daughters. Especially after mother died. I believe he always tried to do what was best for us. But how can you really know what that is when you hardly ever see each other? Especially in a society that teaches you to push down every bad feeling that arises.

I had been home for just a couple of weeks when father summoned me to his office. Said he had some great news. I was betrothed.

‘Clearly you’ve made a good impression’, he said. ‘Cordelia asked for you herself. Her parents have blessed it. A fall wedding. How would you like that?”

I always knew I’d be married off eventually. To the daughter of a coal mining tycoon or maybe an award-winning up-and-coming director like Cressida. A match viewed as mutually beneficial for both families. But unlike many parents in the Capitol my father, our father, promised the five of us that we’d all have a say in who we got engaged to. He’d never sentence us to a forced marriage.

But in these matters he had no choice. And we both knew it. You didn’t say no to Snow.

‘This is the best thing that could’ve happened, Bee,” he said. ‘We couldn’t have hoped for a better match. The merging of the families … We’ll be related to the most powerful man in Panem.’

What he didn’t say, not in so many words, were the dangers of declining such a generous offer. If I so much as hesitated it would be questions. My wavering could set a ball rolling that we had no means to control.

After that, I was to spend all my Saturdays with Cordelia. At the mansion, closely chaperoned of course. All while the Snows and the Flickermans made arrangements for our three day wedding.”

She wet her lips, a vacant look in her eyes much like Effie when she shared a painful memory.

“I could never quite tell if she really was gay like me or just wanted something soft and submissive to use at her own fancy. Like the animals. Either way, I knew that once we were married she could beat me and enjoy me as she pleased and there was nothing I could do about it. Not without risking my family.

I didn’t know it then but looking back, I was clinically depressed by that point. Save those mandatory Saturdays I isolated myself from everyone, even Effie. Kept to the Flickermansion as much as possible. I’d counted calories on and off for years but it wasn’t until my engagement that the habit really escalated. Triggered an addition of sorts. I could control little else in my life but I could control what I ate. Or didn’t ate.

Weight loss is glorified in the Capitol. Praised no matter how you achieved it. People want to know your secret. Calls you morphling chic. But for me, it was never really about being thinner or looking a certain way. I doubt it ever really is, at the core if you have this disease.

First I thought I had control over it. This ‘weight journey’ of mine in lack of a better word. But once I reached my goal I started negotiate and bargain the finish line, pushed it further and further ahead. Because it was never really about the weight.

It was a system I built up, to protect myself from anxiety. To manage my feelings. It would just be me and anorexia sitting in a room and then it wouldn’t matter that I was alone and unhappy, facing a future I dreaded.

I had a hard time showing up for meals. To eat in front of people in general. I felt like everyone was watching me but if I missed too many dinners my sisters would ask questions.

So it became this destructive cycle of starving myself and then binge-eat as a response which triggered panic attacks so strong I went and drank Evermore drops to make myself vomit, only to tumble into a pit of self-loathing for wasting good food and so I was right back to not eating again.

And then there were still my Saturdays with Cordelia. For someone who apparently ‘asked for me herself’ she couldn’t care less about the wedding plans being made over our heads. We never really talked about it, but she spent more and more time with the animals and during the last weeks of her life she practically lived in the Asphodel Meadow.

It was really just another room, with the same twenty-foot-high walls but it had a force field, mimicking an open green plain, distant mountains and the wide blue sky.

Cordelia owned only one animal bigger than herself. A pony. I called her Boo for short and she was the fairest, mildest, most sweet-muzzled creature you ever saw. A cream colored, freckled Connemara who loved sugar. I always made sure to bring a few cubes in my dress pocket in the hopes that I might slip her some.

The Asphodel Meadow was an equestrian centre laid out with horse jumping obstacles and this is where she lived. Boo. I never got to ride her myself but I braided her mane, groomed her, cleaned her hooves. Minor things that bored Cordelia.

She was a fine rider. Had been on horseback since she was a toddler. She was supposed to always wear a helmet and never ride bareback but she hardly ever followed those rules.

One morning when I got there she was in a foul mood. I never did learn why but she took Boo out before she was saddled and ready. Didn’t care what anyone else had to say. Just grabbed the whip and swung herself onto the horse’s back.

I’d seen her hurt Boo before but never like that. She was livid. The people who worked the stable tried to rein her in but Cordelia ignored their every attempt. Furious, her and Boo soared over the jumping obstacles and either you got out of her way or you got run down.

Then something happened with the force field. To this day I don’t know what it was. If somewhere a fuse had blown or there was a power cut or someone simply turned it off but there was a sharp zapping sound and in an instant the Mind Flight was gone. Nothing left but the real ceiling, the high walls with no doors unlocked but the ones leading you back into the depths of the mansion.

The reaction from Cordelia was instantaneous. She shrieked with fury and slammed the whip down, harder and harder. Yelled at Boo to go faster. Punished her, I think, for everything wrong in her life. Whipped her bloody until I screamed at her to stop.

Finally crazed with pain and terror the horse bolted. The servants could not control her. Neither could Cordelia. She shouted at the mare but the animal was beyond reach. All the girl could do was drop the whip and clutch on to Boo’s mane. Grip her with her knees. She couldn’t even throw herself off at such sped without breaking bones, without being trampled.

Panicked, I watched it play out. Frozen like the first time she kissed me. And then Boo crashed into the vertical poles of a nearby obstacle. Cordelia flew forward and slammed into the ground, head-first.

The room was in an uproar. People running wild. Some for Boo, most of them for the young woman. All I did was stare at one of her boots, twitching with what little life still left in her. She’d broken her neck. By the time the doctor arrived she was already gone.

The next few days were a haze. I was in shock. Numb. Scared too. Scared over what might happen to my family. I know father called for an emergency meeting. A meeting we children had no part of, of course. It wasn’t hard to guess what the topic was. ‘What we will do if miss Cordelia’s death is blamed on Annabel’. As if any words or actions on our part would make the slightest difference if Snow decided to rain his fury down on us.

In the end, Cordelia’s fate was ruled a tragic accident. Capitol News made a glorious tribute about president Snow’s oldest daughter. ‘The free spirit and lover of animals. A fine rider heading toward a brilliant future when taken to young.’

I never forgot Snow’s face at the funeral. Hard-lined. Unsmiling. A white rose in his lapel. Very controlled and yet I couldn’t escape the feeling that on the inside he was dancing. Because a problem of his had been solved in an unexpected yet welcomed way. A bad leaf snipped off of an otherwise glorious rose.

And I lay awake at night wondering if I was much better. Wondered during those bleak, dark, sleepless hours if the real reason I did nothing when Cordelia died was because a part of me wanted her dead, wanted to be rid off her.

What kind of person was I for being more upset about Boo having to be put down than I was a dead girl. A girl probably feeling just as trapped and caged as I was, only more. If I could wave a wand and bring her back to life, would I? Would I really?

Not a week after the funeral, the citizens of the Capitol had already gotten on with their lives.

Not me.

I hadn’t seen Effie in ages. Hardly ever returned her calls. So when we finally did meet up at her place she noticed how much I’d changed physically, unlike my family who saw me every day. And I could pretend in front of my father and my sisters but not Effie. In the end, I told her everything.

About Cordelia. About my anxiety attacks. That I didn’t know how to eat normally anymore and that the only thing I could hope to achieve with my pathetic little existence was help continue Snow’s Games through my father’s name. All the things I never told a living soul. I could see how concerned she got. ‘I think we should talk to your father’, she said but I made her swear not to tell anyone. Not ever!

I already regretted opening up. Effie wanted to meet up again after that but I dodged her suggestions of when and where.

A week of this and my father took me aside again. Only this time, he came to me. For ten dreadful seconds I feared he’d announce another marriage candidate but that wasn’t it at all.

Effie Trinket had come to see him. Told him she was worried. Deeply worried. About me. That I seemed depressed. That I wasn’t eating.

I’ve never felt so betrayed. So deceived. I trusted her with my secrets and my darkness and she fed me to the wolves. The only real friend I thought I had in the Capitol.

So then our house doctor paid us a visit, I got my diagnosis and from that moment on everything changed.

Anorexia is a symptom of a larger problem but people thing the problem lies with the food. If only you start eating again you’ll be healthy and happy. So why aren’t you eating? Just eat!

So I started hiding my behavior – the sick ways in which I ate and it infected every ritual, every habit, surrounding food. Even with eyes on me, I hid parts of my meal in the napkin, smeared the gravy out across my plate, found ways to get my hands on Evermores and burned the bloody tissues in the open fireplace.

With each broken rule the grip on me grew tighter and tighter. My going to the dining hall was now mandatory. Breakfast, lunch and dinner, closely supervised by nurses employed by my father. And their obsessive-compulsive counting of calories only fed the existing problem, like petrol on a fire. I couldn’t use the bathroom without someone standing outside the door. They locked me in at night with guards at the door. Put bars on the windows so I couldn’t escape for a nocturnal run around the garden.

Ten days of this and I snapped. Completely. Called Effie. Screamed at her until my voice gave out. Told her I never wanted to see her again. That I’d never forgive her for doing this to me.

With Effie cut from my life, everything got even more unbearable. A month went by. Two. I was literally a prisoner at my father’s mansion. Like Cordelia. I don’t think my family trusted me outside those walls and they were right. There must have been questions about my empty chair in the house band but I guess father came up with an acceptable excuse. A secret passion project perhaps.

Finally, the hospital had to get involved. I was literally wasting away before my family’s eyes. Way beyond what even the Capitol considered attractive and still losing pound after pound.

This was the last resort. Executed in the biggest of secrecy. Father wanted as little bad publicity about me as possible after what happened with Cordelia. To protect me in his own way. I didn’t put up a fight. Was nothing I could do. Either I checked myself in to their psych ward voluntarily or I’d be committed against my will just the same.

My father never called. Never visited. Neither did my sisters. Looking back I believe they trusted that I was in good hands. That interfering would only hinder my progress. But at the time I felt nothing but utter and complete abandonment. That the outside world had finally forgotten me and wasn’t that what I always wanted?

Days passed. Weeks. Medicines. Therapy. Enteral nutrition pumped into my body. We were eight patients at my ward. Eight pale little ghosts floating around. Nurses and the occasional doctor filled the halls at all time. I didn’t care what they did to me. Didn’t care about anything anymore. Well, not quite. I was waiting. For my first day pass. One day outside those walls. Just an hour would do. So I could slip some garden rocks into my coat pockets and walk straight out into the River Theseus.

So outwardly, I co-operated. Did what they asked. Told them what they wanted to hear. But inside, I’d withdrawn so far into my numb little shell I might as well already be dead. The only thing that got me going during those first few weeks was visualizing the quiet, deep river. Over and over again.

But then, there came a letter. First and only time I ever got one at the ward. And I didn’t have to turn it over to know who sent it. I’d recognize that careful handwriting anywhere. The nurse who first brought it to me, stood with me as I read. Hours after I’d mustered up enough courage to do so.

Sweet Effie. It was as if all of my dark thoughts had somehow lit a beacon. A beacon so large she was able to see the smoke rising into the sky all the way from her apartment.

The nurses got a call through to her for me and an hour later she arrived in the little room for family and friends.

One look at her was all it took. Even after everything I said during that awful phone call months ago, her blue eyes held nothing but love and I completely fell apart. Her arms encircled me and I cried. More than cried. Wailed. Like a child sitting at the bottom of a well with no way to get up.

She helped me to the couch so my knees wouldn’t give out. Tears streamed down my face. I couldn’t even get any words out. Words of forgiveness, most of all. But I didn’t have to. She understood anyway. And she just held me. Caressed my back, my hair with quiet soothing sounds. Like I were a baby in her arms. She stayed with me for as long as she was allowed to. When they came to take me away and I started trembling she squeezed my hands and said, ‘Tomorrow.’

A fresh wave of pain filled Annabel’s eyes, but not for the reason Haymitch imagined.

“I didn’t know it then,” she said, “but she was already pregnant by that point. I was still on the inside when she gave birth to her boy, months later. We’ve never really talked about it since but I wonder sometimes. If I hadn’t ended our friendship when I did, right in the middle of her tender first time as escort in the Games … If I never said the things I did, would she have come to me instead of going to that party.”

“Not your fault,” said Haymitch. “Effie would never blame you. You want a culprit, that’s Kane.” And, with a heat behind it that made the hairs on his arms stand: “Sexual assault. That’s what it was. Doesn’t matter if he didn’t literally force himself onto her, it’s still fucking rape!”

He’d given it a lot of thought ever since Effie first told him and the more he did, the more he felt he wouldn’t mind jamming his knife into the man a couple of times. If they ever saw each other face to face.

Lucky for him he’s rotting in jail.

“I haven’t been there for Effie the way I should,” Annabel said, with a pain behind the words that he knew all too well. “It’s one of my deepest regrets. That I didn’t pay better attention. Listened to the things she wasn’t saying. The way you do. The way she did with me. I wish I’d spent more time with her. Especially after the war and my father’s trial. Instead I fled to District 11 every chance I got, first as a volunteer worker and then living here part-time.”

She drew a deep breath.

“But I am here now. She saved my life. She knew I didn’t want help. Knew I’d hate her for interfering . Knew I had the means to turn the Capitol against her if I wanted to. And she was fine with that. Fine with all of it. Because I would be alive to do it … Takes a pretty remarkable person,” she said, “to make a sacrifice like that.”

Haymitch nodded.

“Yeah,” he murmured. “Yeah.”

“You’ve been through hell,” Annabel said. ”I know that. Worse than any of us can possibly imagine. I just told you all this because I want you to know I understand. What it’s like when the people you love most goes behind your back. Tries to make you do something you don’t want to do. She did the same to me.

But it wasn’t betrayal. It was love. She carried me on her back when I couldn’t go any further. Helped me get the help I needed to help myself.

And now she does the same to you. Carries you on her back. Carries Amy and Ian too. And she's strong, without a doubt. Stronger than most. But she's not made out of titanium. She won’t manage it forever. No one can.

Now, I’m not telling you to check yourself into a rehab facility. Maybe you can’t. And if you can’t you can’t. But if you want to do something for me, then I beg of you from the bottom of my heart: Don’t break her just because you cannot live without her.”

Author's note: Special thank you to my sweet, dear friend Sara for sharing her experiences of eating disorders with me to help with this chapter. She and Annabel are not the same person and they don’t share the same backstory but the things I got right about anorexia is 100 % thanks to Sara!

Also, as you might have noticed I've made a slight change in past chapters concerning Haymitch sleeping with other Capitol women when drunk.

In my defence, I included that headcanon in 2015 so it's been a minute but lately I've thought to myself: "Oh come on! Effie would NEVER let Haymitch do that when he's drunk and isn't thinking straight! Especially after what happened between her and Kane."

So I went and changed it soo that poor/lucky Haymitch only got to sleep with two women he really cared about.

#hayffie #the hunger games renaissance #haymitch x effie #caesar flickerman #the hunger games #haymitch abernathy #effie trinket #my fanfiction

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littlemissidontcare · 1 year ago

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honestly guys.. how can you say that about her especially given the last month? Now, i know you guys can’t stand her but try to be honest / this and the rest of your ask are complete bullshit. The only reason why this woman isn’t posting or doing anything publicly is because she was called out pretty badly early in the summer. She is LUCKY that she isn’t widely known because if someone like J.Lo or whomever else had had such an embarrassing series of events take place, she’d be the laughing stock of the season.

May: Very obviously forced lunch with Lily James. Came right on the tail of Seb being spotted out with only Lily a week prior. White-knuckling Sebastian’s hand. Staring at the camera. He shakes shit up by starting a fight to embarrass her (love me some Leo spite 😂).

June: Honestly nothing I can care to dig through my memory for until the end of the month. We catch her STALKING Seb on the fashion show livestream. Big yikes. People on Twitter are like “lol she’s crazy.” THEN she shows up in Malta and we get unretouched pics of her there. Her face is literally frozen and we see what she actually looks like. Embarrassing. Fire your injector.

July: She gets desperate. The first week of the month is hilariously messy. NEEDS to let us know she’s at Benz’s house for the 4th after Sebastian is spotted talking to EmRata in Paris. Pap walk on the 5th. Photos show up mysteriously on tumblr in the wee hours of the morning on the 6th and then disappear. ZERO trace of them on the internet until around 10 AM, EST. The photos are…weird. He lets her hold in pinky for about five seconds before he yanks it away and she has to make it look like she pulled away to point to something. They have a chaperone with them, yet again. Sebastian looks so angry and mean that it’s actually uncomfortable to look at. That same day she posts three photos from Malta on Insta, and is CALLED OUT in the comments when she tries to say “I’m actually quite shy.” She gets so embarrassed that she deletes the entire comment thread.

July, cont’d: LOL this is great because we’re barely two weeks into the month and sis has been served a massive helping of Get Fucked every day 😂 DM has Enty on her Podcast and he obliterates her without stuttering once. Confirms that she’s a gf for hire, extremely opportunistic, etc. Also says they’re PR. THE FOLLOWING WEEK! DM talks about them again, saying that Annabelle had mutual friends set them up and he set major boundaries from the beginning. They (probably he, let’s be real) don’t even consider each other boyfriend and girlfriend. Annabelle goes radio silent for a week. Shows up at one of Anastasia’s, like, five PR dinners the following week. It’s such an obvious attempt at damage control that nobody gives a fuck.

A cruel, cruel summer for her, indeed. It’s not that she wants to hide. She’s probably been advised to hide.

#sebastian stan #annabelle wallis

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dullweapons-a · 4 years ago

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@bransles / 04. entry made after experiencing a nightmare. for ray

DEAR DIARY . . . ( writing prompt )

4am

my hands shiver as i hold the pen. sorry about the shitty writing. dawn said it was a good idea to try to write out my nightmares. something about helping me remember that they’re just nightmares. that they cant really hurt me. but then why do they ? i’m struggling to fucking breath. there are many goddess damn splatters on ink of the page i can barely make out what i’m writing . switching out between so many versions of hylian no modern man could make it out . guess thats good . no one can read it but me.

in the dream i was going to work , i almost thought it was real with how mundane it was . being an odd probation officer to octavo after that horrible dancing spell he placed on all of hyrule. he’s a good man , nice to talk too . he’s pretty cute too but when i got there , he wasn’t there .

annabell was .

she sat on his desk , swinging her legs like a child - her anklets jingling with every little kick. i remember how she made music with her dancing . she was playfully picking at his lute as if it was her own. singing her language-less songs . she turned her head and just smiled at me. gods she looked just as beautiful as she did all those years ago. i always know how these dreams go, but i can’t help myself from running to her . pulling her close and kissing her again. i can smell her - she smells so sweet , i’ll never forget it. i press deeper into our kiss, my hands reaching for the ties in the back of her dress.

she breaks the kiss to look up at me and says so sweetly:

are you sure you haven’t created an idol out me ?

warning ; gore , violence & murder !!!

a dagger finds itself in my neck. always she hurts me. is it her ghost haunting me for what i’ve done? havent i suffered enough? I loved you so much why why why why im sorry im sorry im sorrv------

the pen nib snaps with a horrid sound against the parchment, ink splattering everywhere like blood. each inhale of air was quick & paired frantic fingers pull at his neckline as he cries silently. he didn’t want to wake up his fellow demon, sleeping so peacefully in the bed next to him. how can she sleep so soundly ? does the memories of the past not haunt her ? suppose her lands were clean.

finding a new nib he continues.

i fall, struggling to breath and crawling away from her. i try to speak, something to get her to stop but i’m choking on my own blood. it hurts so much but she keeps smiling down at me. annabell walks up to me, straddling her legs around me. perhaps if this wasn’t a nightmare i would have found this attractive. instead i’m terrified of what she will do this time. every time she is brutal as she is beautiful. this isn’t even the worst one . i try to say i’m sorry but she stabs me again - again and again and again . i feel my eyes roll back in my head but with another stab i jolt to look at her again.

but its not her anymore. it’s octavo, covered in my blood. his lips part to speak in a language he shouldn’t know.

‘”your memories overlap over one another . she was a good girl .”

guess i see a bit of her in him as well. am i trying to find a replacement? either way he finishes the job that annabell started.

i pray octavo doesn’t notice how jumpy i might be today .

#▌answered & RAY▐ ― ⌠ l’ll tell you my sins so you can sharpen your knife ! ⌡#once again i am force to talk about annabell...................#violence tw #gore tw #murder tw #nightmare tw #me writing this: so anyway i started projecting

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vaguely-concerned · 2 years ago

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-another layer of 'ow ah ouch' to everything pyrrha says about lyctorhood in nona the ninth is that she and g1deon may very well have been the first necro-cav duo to have done it fully mutually consensually, eyes open. it's heavily implied mercy and augustine had their hands forced by cristabel and alfred and wouldn't have done it otherwise ("I have built a myriad on the idea that I could have talked him out of it, given five minutes"), and they're the first and second saints... g1deon's the third. he and pyrrha presumably saw what it did to mercy and augustine, and they still decided to go through with it.

I WILL REMEMBER THE FIRST TIME YOU KISSED ME—YOU APOLOGISED—YOU SAID, I AM SORRY, DESTROY ME AS I AM, BUT I WANT TO KISS YOU BEFORE I AM KILLED, AND I SAID TO YOU WHY, AND YOU SAID, BECAUSE I HAVE ONLY ONCE MET SOMEONE SO UTTERLY WILLING TO BURN FOR WHAT THEY BELIEVED IN, AND I LOVED HIM ON SIGHT, AND THE FIRST TIME I DIED I ASKED OF HIM WHAT I NOW ASK OF YOU

imagine the extra weight over the years in knowing you chose this. at least augustine can cling to that desperate fantasy world where he did stop alfred in time, but pyrrha and g1deon thought they knew exactly what they were doing. they thought it was love. john let them think that was love.

-...do you think mercymorn and augustine begged john for the same thing harrow did, after? Please, undo what I've done, Lord. I will never ask anything of you ever again. (Also one of my all time favorite Harrow moments where she gets to ask the question they aren't allowed to for ten thousand years: How dare you ask me to live with it?) did he comfort them? tell them he's so incredibly sorry, but he needs them?

at least pyrrha’s understanding of how the process works does corroborate his claim that he can’t extract a cavalier’s soul from their necromancer's after the lyctorhood is complete without destroying both souls, which I guess makes for the one thing he isn’t totally lying about lol. though while referencing their own situation paul tells ianthe there's still hope for her and naberius, a duo where the soul absorption did seem to complete, which suggests another layer here john might not know about (out of lack of interest?) or doesn't want anyone else to find out about.

actually let's reexamine some things from the Gideon the Ninth epilogue now in light of Nona I'm on a roll here:

-[God] said, "I know you became a Lyctor under duress."

"Some may call it duress," said Harrow.

"You aren't the first," said the Emperor.

screaming. howling. clawing at him like a wild animal. the two people who have loved you the most, and you stood by and watched as this happened to them, as you engineered it to happen to them, you've seen up close what it did to them, and now you're repeating the process with new children a myriad later without a blush. you suck so bad john I have no words fhksajfhsa.

-"I have three teachers for you. And a whole universe for you to hold on to, for just a little while longer."

a) oh yeah just wait for those three teachers they're a real barrel of laughs they probably won't even try to repeatedly murder you or anything lmao and b) what's that supposed to mean john. 'for just a little while longer'. why does it only have to be a little while longer. as far as I can tell you're no closer to the fullness of your revenge than ever. does it have anything to do with 'good morning, annabel' and 'it gets dirty, you clean it again'?

So, the universe was ending. Good. At least if she failed here, she would no longer have to be beholden to anybody.

could this also be some kind of foreshadowing? from the dialogue on page here harrow's conclusion that the universe is, for sure, ending is not necessarily a natural conclusion (john only speaks of the empire slowly dying) so like... does pre-lobotomy harrow know something we don't? or is it just that she's the saddest person anyone's ever seen pre-nona seeing gideon? (most heartbreaking shade of drift compatability discovered :') )

-He said presently, "Most of my Lyctors have been destroyed by a war I thought best to fight slowly, through attrition. I have lost my Hands -- not just to death. The loneliness of deep space takes its toll on anyone, and the necrosaints have all put up with it for longer than anybody should ever be asked to bear anything. That's why I wanted only those who had discovered the cost, and were willing to pay it in the full knowledge of what it would entail."

so... in the same way g1deon and pyrrha decided to pay that price willingly, then. I am 100% calling bullshit on him here, though, because if any of that had been his real intentions he would have taken at least a modicum of time and energy to write ANYTHING to that effect in the invitations haha. but I think he does recognize in some way that mercy and augustine are burning out under the ten thousand years he's asked of them, like cytherea just did, and maybe mistakenly thinks g1deon is handling it better, because his and pyrrha's decision seemed more informed/less coerced? loveday always knew it was her life or cytherea's, after all, that wasn't ever a real choice either. huh.

-god, harrow literally states all her (frankly very modest and doable) goals and needs to him -- to return to the ninth at least once, to find her cavalier's body, and to figure out what happened to the other survivors of canaan house -- and once she is incapable of remembering them........ he does fucking NOTHING to remind her or help her follow up on any of them fhsdkajfhasdkj I am losing it! at least there is the delicious irony that he could have saved himself a massive headache if he had helped her with any of these, so his own fecklessness and narcissism is its own punishment in this case I suppose lmao

-another observation: harrow is not as deferential or worshipful towards God in this epilogue as she will be in HtN or beyond. she's angry with him! she's kind of sharp and a bit rude, even! she seems more to feel begrudgingly beholden to him because fair enough he is god I guess than to emotionally buy into it as sacred service. I wonder how she'll think of him after nona the ninth, now that she knows him so much better and has more of herself too -- ironically my sense from their last scene in nona the ninth is that her worship of him seems to have all but disappeared, but she loves him more, despite uh the everything of him, in all his awfulness. not in that she doesn't recognize him for what he is or that she wants his approval anymore, she's grown so far past him already, but I do think there's still love there. 'I still love you' is the real power he has, I guess

#the locked tomb #the locked tomb spoilers #nona the ninth spoilers #nona spoilers #nona the ninth #ntn spoilers #pyrrha dve #gideon the first #john gaius #harrowhark nonagesimus #mercymorn the first #augustine the first #this is just how my life works right now I'll sit around innocently and then just BAM locked tomb thoughts sparking in my brain

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gammija · 4 years ago

Text

The final Web!Martin evidence list

Now that canon is done, and we’ve got word of god confirmation that Web!Martin wasn’t complete nonsense, I decided to go back to my lil chronological evidence list and actually clean it up a bit, delete parts that in hindsight weren't all that indicative, and put everything in a slightly more readable format. (Obligatory disclaimer that i don’t and never did believe or advocate for some kind of evil web!martin, and that I'm not intending to connect a moral judgement to martin (or anyone else for that matter) having some of these traits)

So here: The (hopefully, please) final list with Web!Martin Evidence! Presented in order of importance, according to. me

The final (hopefully) Web!Martin evidence list

(In order from most to least obvious)

Spiders

I mean, it’s called the Web. TMA reiterates quite a few times that Martin liked spiders. Sometimes it IS that easy.

MAG022: Martin: "I like spiders. Big ones, at least. Y’know, y’know the ones you can see some fur on; I actually think they’re sort of cute -"

MAG038: | Sasha: "A spider?" Jon: "Yeah. I tried to kill it…" [...] Sasha: [Chuckles] "Well, I won’t tell Martin." Jon: "Oh, god. I don’t think I could stand another lecture on their importance to the ecosystem."

MAG059: Jon: "I have done my best to prevent Martin reading this statement in too much detail. I have no interest in having another argument about spiders."

MAG079: Jon: "Apparently, biologically, his account of the spiders doesn’t make any sense according to Martin."

MAG197: Martin: “What? Because I like spiders? Well, used to.”

Lies and subterfuge

Martin is able to use lying and subterfuge to achieve his goals, and is called manipulative a few times.

Lies:

MAG022: Martin: "[He] became slightly more co-operative after I lied to him and told him that one of the upstairs residents had buzzed me in."

MAG056: Martin: "I lied on my CV."

MAG158: Peter: “But you said –” Martin: “Honestly, I mostly just said what I thought you wanted to hear.”

MAG164: Jon: "You – I actually believed you!"

MAG189: Martin: “Sorry. Sorry, John. Not sure how much everything up there actually understood what was going on. But, y’know, I didn’t want to take any chances so it made sense to… um…” Jon: “Put on a show?” Martin: “Yeah, basically, more or less.”

MAG191: Martin: "That's not true." Arun: "Liar!"

Subterfuge:

The plan in 118, which revolved around convincing Elias that Martin was only “acting out”, to create a distraction for Melanie. (Also compare the way he evades giving a straight answer here with the way Annabelle talks in 196.)

Working with Peter in s4 under false pretenses, to distract him from Jon and eventually try to learn what Peter wanted.

Manipulation accusations:

These, I know, are somewhat contentious, since it’s mostly villains saying this to him. I’m still including them, since

1): From a media analysis standpoint, being mentioned 3 times is a sign to pay attention, even when it may not be the full truth.

2): I only see it as describing Martin’s behaviour in the previous points, not as a moral judgement; Especially since he almost always ‘manipulates’ people in positions of power over him.

Still, if it bothers anyone, feel free to ignore these.

MAG138: Martin: "That’s it? No, no monologue, no mind games? You love manipulating people!" Elias: "That makes two of us."

MAG186: Martin: “I can be a real manipulative prick, you know that?” Also Martin: “Oh yeah.”

MAG196: Annabelle: “Because you always managed to get what you wanted through smiles and shrugs and stammerings that weren’t nearly as awkward as they seemed.” [SMALL SOUND OF MARTIN’S CONCESSION TO THE POINT] Martin: “Point taken.”

The Lonely/the Web

The Lonely and the Web sometimes affect Martin to similar degrees.

In season 3, when Martin is getting used to reading statements for the first time, most of them leave him emotionally affected: MAG084, MAG088, MAG090,

MAG095: Martin: “S-S-Statement… done.” [HEAVY BREATHING & TREMBLING AS MARTIN STEADIES HIMSELF] “I don’t like recording these. There. I-I said it.”,

MAG098: Martin: [Panting] “End of statement.” [Deep breath] “I, um, I think I might need to sit down. Oh. Yeah, I am. Right. I don’t, uh, I’m not really sure if these are actually getting easier or harder. I mean I don’t feel –”

Only the last two statements he reads are remarkably easier. This might be a hint that Martin is just getting used to reading them, but the quote from MAG098 seems to contradict that. Either way, it’s likely not a coincidence that those last two happen to be the Lonely and the Web:

MAG108: Martin: “Statement ends.” (exhale) “That wasn’t so bad…”

MAG110: Martin: “Statement ends.” [...] “I mean, I think it sounds like a Jurgen Leitner book. About spiders. Hm. Good John didn’t have to read this one, anyway. I know he’s not a fan. Although, this one wasn’t too bad, actually! I – yeah. Anyway.”

In season 5, there are two powers’ Domains that actually affected Martin mentally, as opposed to only physically: the Lonely’s, in 170 (and arguably 186), and, depending on your interpretation, in 172, when Martin went exploring without knowing why he did so.

Proximity

Martin investigates a lot of the Web statements during season 1 to 3 (in other words, when the archive team still researches statements). The only ones he isn’t mentioned in during this period are MAG019 and MAG020, when he’s being harrassed by worms, and MAG081, which Jon records by himself outside of the institute.

Most notably, he’s the one who discovered the statement in MAG114, ‘Cracked Foundations’, which is the one statement in the entire show that sets up the interdimensional properties of HTR.

The Web!Lighter passed through Martin's hands first, before he gave it to Jon.

Similarly, Annabelle mostly spoke to Martin in season 5, despite most other Avatars usually focusing on Jon.

Aesthetics

Apart from the above obviously Web related areas, there are some other aesthetics which are mentioned in connection to both the Web and Martin, throughout canon.

These are describing the Web;

These are describing Martin.

Tapes:

Martin is the only character to treat the tape recorders as friends - any other character is either indifferent, or treats them as enemies.

MAG039: Martin: "I think the tapes have a sort of… low-fi charm."

MAG154 Martin: “Oh. Hi. Hello again.” … (small laugh) “Sorry pal, false alarm this time.”

MAG156 Martin: “Mm? Oh.” [HE LAUGHS, GENTLY.] “Yeah. (rustling paper) I was going to read one. Hate for you to miss it!” [SHORT, FORCED LAUGH, AS HE FLAPS THE STATEMENT AROUND.]

MAG170 Martin: “Oh. Oh, hello. What’s this? Wow, retro! What are you up to, little buddy; just – listening? That’s okay. It’s nice to have someone to talk to.”

MAG190 Jon: "[The tapes] seem to like [Martin]."

Retro:

MAG069: Statement: “I only saw Annabelle Cane once during this period. She wasn’t hard to pick out. She dressed like a vintage clothing store exploded on her, and her short bleach-blonde hair stood out sharply against dark skin.”

MAG160: Jon: “Anyways, don’t tell me the phonebox down there doesn’t appeal to your retro aesthetic.” Martin: “It – might. Maybe.”

MAG163: Annabelle/the Web callying Martin via an old payphone: [ A PHONE RINGS. IT’S NOT THE TINNY, ELECTRONIC SOUND OF A CELLPHONE – NO, THIS IS A TRUE, HEAVY, CLASSIC RING.] Martin: “Uh. John? Uh, J, John – the, uh, payphone that’s – here, for some reason – it’s ringing?”

Hatred of burns:

MAG067: Jack Barnabas’ statement: “I looked up and noticed within the corner of the room, where there had been a spider’s web this morning, there was just a faint wisp of smoke.” “Another held a bag that seemed to be full of candles, while a third had a clear plastic container filled with hundreds of tiny spiders.”

MAG139: Statement by member of Cult of the Lightless Flame: “The Mother of Puppets has always suffered at our hand; all the manipulation and subtle venom in the world means nothing against a pure and unrestrained force of destruction and ruin.” Agnes burned down Hilltop Road.

MAG145: The Web ties Gertrude to Agnes, stopping the Desolation’s ritual (the only Power whose ritual the Web is known to have prevented).

MAG167: Gertrude enlists Agnes’/the Desolation’s help in order to burn her assistant Emma, who was Web aligned.

MAG169: Martin: "Look, I just – don’t want to get burned, all right? It’s, it’s like my least favorite pain ever. [...] I, I legitimately hate burns, alright? They’re, they’re awful, and they scar horribly, and they just – it – it just makes me sick; I, I hate it. Hate it!"

Phrasing:

MAG039: Martin: "I’m trapped here. It’s like I can’t… move on and the more I struggle, the more I’m stuck. [...] It's just that whatever web these statements have caught you in, well, I’m there too. We all are, I think."

MAG079: Martin's poem: "The threads of people walking, living, lovi–"

MAG117: Martin: "This last couple of years, I’ve always been running, always hiding, caught in someone else’s trap, but, but now it’s my trap, and, well, I think it’ll work. I know, I know it’s not exactly intricate, but it felt good leaving my own little web. Oh, oh, Christ, I hope John doesn’t actually listen to these. “Good lord, is Martin becoming some sort of spider person?” No, John, it’s an expression, chill out! Besides, spiders are fine. I mean, yes, people are scared of them, obviously, but actual spiders, they just want to help you out with flies."

MAG167: Jon: “Methinks the Spider dost protest too much.” Martin: “Jon –” Jon: “Joking! Just joking.”

Personality:

How applicable these are depends heavily on how you interpret Martin's own personality, so your mileage may vary.

MAG008: Statement: “Nobody ever said a word against Raymond himself, though, who was by all accounts a kind and gentle soul [...]”

MAG123: Jon: "The Web does seem to have a preference for those who prefer not to assert themselves."

MAG147: Annabelles statement: "I discovered a deep and enduring talent inside myself for lying. [...] My manipulations were not intricate, but they were far beyond what was expected of a child my age, and I have always believed that the key to manipulating people is to ensure that they always under- or overestimate you. Never reveal your true abilities or plans."

Word of God and Annabelle

I kinda wanted to ‘prove’ that Web!Martin had quite a bit of evidence to back it up, hence this header being last. But of course, in this post-canon world, there are a few lines that most obviously confirm the theory:

MAG197: Martin is Web enough to be able to read the 'vibrations', like Annabelle, and see Jon and Basira (the latter being especially notable, as he hadn't known she was there beforehand): [CHITTERING, BUZZING AND HIGH-PITCHED SQUEALS CHANGE CADENCE] Martin: "Wait… Wait, hang on, is that him?" Annabelle: "Yes. I guess you’re better with the Web than we thought." Martin: "And – Wait, ha– No, uh… is that… Basira? He – He’s got Basira with him!" Annabelle: "Yes."

Season 5 Q&A part 2: Jonny: “Essentially, it was fascinating looking at the fandom and, like, the Web!Martin believers, because what they were doing was correctly picking up on hints dropped in the early seasons that were later, like, not exactly abandoned, but it was much more like, ‘Well, no, he does have like aspects of The Web to him, but he is moreover The Lonely.’ And that came about very… very organically, really. Because throughout Season 3 and going into Season 4, we had this conversation and we were like, ‘No, actually he's like-” Alex: “‘It can't be, it cannot be, it must be the other way round’ Yeah.”

(Note that they say “throughout season 3 and going into season 4,” which likely means that season 1, season 2, and at least part of season 3, aka half of the entire show, were written with Web!Martin as an intentional possibility.)

If you read all that, thanks so much! Obviously, Web!Martin never really came to fruition, so it's fine if you still don't like it. This is just a post explaining where it was coming from, at least for me and the other theorists I've spoken to.

#the magnus archives #magnus archives #tma #tma s5 #web!martin #web martin #webmartin #or as jonny called it:#spider!martin #tma theory #tma meta #martin blackwood #martin k blackwood #martin #tma martin #magnuspod #i feel like i say this every time too but #when i say martin lies a lot i dont mean that #in comparison to 'normal people'#i mean that in canon he gets specifically mentioned to lie; at a higher rate than the other protagonists #ditto for everything else. im not speaking about real life people who might have these traits. im doing a media analysis #my own real life bedroom curtains being blue dont mean im depressed but in media sometimes aesthetic themes can be deeper signifiers #and tma especially has some very strong aesthetic themes #ok i think im done talking now. webmartin theories always get me rambling #EDIT: oops i changed a part on mobile and now the formatting is a bit fucked #ill fix it back tomorrow #if anyone cares #EDIT EDIT: ok fixed it

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raindancer2004 · 4 years ago

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A life for a life

Word Count: 2,542 Felix x OC Oneshot Warnings: Angst, fluff

December 31st – Confrontation of Renesmee

Once it had been declared that Renesmee is not an immortal child, Irina was ripped apart and burned for providing a false allegation to the Kings.

Alice shows Aro a vision of what will happen if he decides to fight the Cullens and the Wolves “Now you know, that’s your future…unless you decide on anther course” “We cannot alter our course, the child still poses a great threat” Caius says to Aro “What if she can remain hidden from the human world, can we go in peace?” Edward asks “Of course, but that cannot be known” Caius replies “Actually it can” Edward cuts him off as Nahuel and Huilen break through the tree line and walk towards the Volturi. “I have been searching for witnesses of my own…” Caius cuts Alice off “We have enough witnesses” “Let him speak brother” Aro says, silencing Caius. “I am like the child, half human / half vampire. A vampire seduced my mother, who died giving birth to me. My aunt Huilen raised me as her own. I made her immortal” Nahuel advises everyone. They learn that Nahuel can survive on both blood and human food and after seven years he became full grown and hasn’t changed since.

Aro appears convinced all is well, and there’s no danger in allowing Renesmee to live. However, Edward reads Caius’ mind and discovers he isn’t as convinced as Aro and without thinking he trades Renesmee’s life / freedom for that of Bella’s sister. “If we traded you Felix’s mate for Renesmee’s life would you allow us to leave and live in peace?” Edward asks looking at Caius. “What? I don’t have a mate” Felix says looking confused “You do, you just haven’t met her” Edward replies “And you have?” Felix retorts “Yes actually. Her name is Annabelle, she’s Bella’s sister” Alice answers this time and shock washes over everyone’s faces. “We would need to confirm that they are mates first” Caius replies, Edward nods “You can meet her today, she’s at home.” Caius looks at his brothers for a moment, before glancing over at Felix, who still looks shocked and nodded at Edward.

“Does your sister know about vampires?” Aro asks curiously “She found out recently, but it couldn’t be helped” Bella replied, Caius glared at them “You like breaking that basic law of ours, don’t you Edward?” “Actually, I let it slip” Alice interjected, smiling at Aro “That’s quite alright my dear, no harm done really. She was due to find out anyway, given that she is Felix’s mate” Aro replied with a smile, Caius rolled his eyes.

Aro sent the majority of the guards back to the plane, keeping Demetri, Felix and the twins with him, Caius and Marcus. “How do you feel about meeting your mate after centuries of being alone?” Demetri asked low “I should be happy, I know…but this doesn’t seem right D. This isn’t how I thought I’d meet her.” Demetri nodded and sympathised with his friend because he too didn’t agree that this was the ideal way to meet one’s mate.

“You know she is not going to be happy with either of you for doing this” Alice says looking at Edward and Bella. “My daughter’s life was on the line. What was I meant to do?” Edward replied “Oh I don’t know, maybe not trade in Annabelle’s life” Jasper pointed out “She’s innocent in all this and you’ve just handed her over to them like it’s nothing” Rosalie added, sounding a little upset. “They’re mates! They were bound to meet sometime” Edward shouts “This isn’t the best way though is it son?” Carlisle asks “And Bella, you’re awfully quiet, what do you think of Edward’s deal?” Tanya called out “It had to be done” Bella replied. “Let’s hope your sister is more loyal than you are” Tanya responded.

Carlisle motioned for Felix to approach him, Aro nodded and walked alongside him towards Carlisle and Esme “Everything ok Carlisle?” Aro asked “Yes, I just wanted to give Felix some advice” Esme replied low, Felix nodded “Be patient with her, she hasn’t known about our world for long and is likely to be upset, angry even at this situation” She added “I understand” Felix replied with a nod.

Bella and Edward go inside the Swan house to speak with Annabelle and tell her what they did and all hell breaks loose. The three Kings and the four elite guards stood in the back garden of the Swan house listening to the conversation between Bella, Edward and Annabelle, Caius finding the girl intriguing…for a human.

“You traded my life for hers? How dare you? You had no right!” Annabelle screams at Edward “They would have killed her…” Bella tries to explain “THAT’S NOT MY PROBLEM!” Annabelle interrupts loudly “You don’t understand...” Bella tries again “NO! YOU DON’T UNDERSTAND. I’M NOT GOING!” Annabelle screams “YOU DON’T HAVE A CHOICE!” Edward shouts back “ONLY BECAUSE YOU TOOK THAT AWAY FROM ME! YOU HAD NO RIGHT!” Annabelle continues to scream at Edward “I have a life; I have things I want to do with my life and being mated to a vampire is not part of my life plan. So, the deal is off!” Annabelle goes to walk away but Bella grabs her “OW!” Annabelle screams “He’s outside waiting for you. You leave tonight” Bella said, nodding towards the back yard and keeping hold of her sister’s arm “You need to go pack” Bella adds. Annabelle pulls her arm free of Bella’s hold and walks to the living room “I don’t care what deal that ginger prick and my sister made, but I am not coming with you. They had no right to trade my life for their daughter’s” Annabelle shouts, knowing they can hear her.

“I will not make her come with us by force. It isn’t fair to her or me” Felix says looking at the Kings “The mate bond doesn’t work that way my dear boy. You know that” Marcus says softly “I haven’t actually seen her; we’ve not actually met one another so there is no bond in play” Felix replies, Marcus turns to look at him “So you’re telling me you don’t feel a pull towards her...seeing as you’re in such close proximity to one another?” “Not really…but that might be due to her…reaction to the news” Felix replied, sounding unsure of himself, Marcus shook his head “We’ll see.”

“If you don’t go with him now, you’ll end like how I was when Edward left me” Bella said “No I won’t. I haven’t actually met him. I can’t miss someone I don’t know, genius” Annabelle retorts “She’s a feisty little human. I like her already” Demetri says sounding both amused and impressed not caring that Bella and Edward could hear him.

“You know what once I’m changed, I’m going to come back here and RIP YOU ALL APART!” Bella’s mouth falls open in shock “Caius won’t be happy with you” Edward says “Ha – I’ll just tell him it’s a newborn thing and he’ll just be happy I didn’t slaughter an entire village of humans and expose us. Let’s face it, he doesn’t like you two much anyway, so I’ll be doing him a favour really” Annabelle adds smiling.

“I like the girl. I’m going to go claim her” Caius says entering the house, missing the confused look on Felix’s face. “Don’t worry Felix, he didn’t mean it how it sounded” Marcus assured him. Caius enters the house and grabs Annabelle around the waist before an incident occurs as she was standing face to face with Bella. “You’re coming home with us” Caius said in her ear and she struggled in his arm “Put me down now” Annabelle told him “If you come quietly now, I’ll have the elite guards bring you back here as a newborn to follow up on the promise of ripping these two traitor’s heads off” She stopped moving and looked over her shoulder at him “You promise?” “Yes. I promise. I may even come to watch” Caius replied grinning “Fine. I’ll come quietly…but if you break your promise, it’ll be your head I rip off. Understand?” She glared at him “I understand and I will not break my promise, as you said I don’t like them anyway. You killing them means one less problem for me” He smiled at her.

“Wow. She threatened Caius and got away with it. Now I’m impressed” Jane smiled looking up at Felix, his face paled “She’s going to be a handful” He muttered “I know, I can’t wait” Demetri smiled wide, excitement shining in his red eyes and he patted his friend on the back. “It’s going to be an interesting year” Aro said just as Caius came out of the house carrying Annabelle. “Annabelle these are my brothers Aro and Marcus, we rule the vampire world together” “It’s nice to meet you both. My apologies for the…er…scene in there but it was abit of a shock to learn that my life had been ‘traded’ for their daughter’s” “That’s quite all right, my dear. We actually found it rather…refreshing” Aro replied smiling.

Once on the Volturi’s private plane Caius introduces Annabelle to Felix, Demetri, Jane and Alec. “Annabelle, these four are our Elite Guards, Demetri, our resident Tracker, Felix who’s our Executioner” Annabelle gulped and took a small step back, something that Felix noticed and he frowned slightly. “These two are Jane and Alec. They’re twins and are both gifted like Demetri” Caius added. “It’s nice to meet you all” Annabelle smiled at them “Likewise” Demetri replied “Are you curious who your mate is?” Caius asked “Yeah I guess, I hadn’t really thought about it” Annabelle replied “Ok then Annabelle, you are mated to Felix” Annabelle looked between Felix and Caius “That Felix?” “Yes, we only have one Felix…that I am aware of” Caius mused “You’re sassing me? Really?” She asked staring at Caius “When you ask an obvious question, you’re going to get a sassy remark” He replied and started to walk towards his seat “Is he like Edward?” Caius raised an eyebrow at her, the four elite guards turned to look at them “Is he controlling and possessive? Because if he is, this isn’t going to work. I am not Bella. I won’t be told what I can do, where I can go and who I can talk to” She replied “No, he is not like Edward. Although, all vampires are protective of their mates, seeing as we only get one and that can sometimes come across as possessive” Caius replied “Good. That’s something at least” Annabelle said low.

Annabelle sat down beside Felix “So…mate, how soon can I become immortal and go back kill my sister and her husband?” Demetri choked back a laugh as Felix took a deep unneeded breath “As soon as you feel ready to be changed” Felix replied “Great. Bite me” Annabelle said as she pulled her hair to one side and tilted her neck to give him access. Felix looked at Annabelle and then to Demetri who was sitting on his other side “Is she serious D?” “It would seem so Fe” He replied “Come on Felix. Bite me” “Annabelle…I…” “Demetri, will you bite me please?” She cut Felix off, Demetri smiled “Be my pleasure sweetheart” He stood up and watched as Annabelle turned to face him, he leant down and inhaled her scent “You smell nice” He whispered against the shell of her ear “Thank you…I think” Demetri carefully tilted her head a little more as his mouth filled with venom and just as he was about to bite her, he felt a strong hand on his arm “If you bite her D, I’ll have your head” Felix growled and Demetri smiled at him and sat back in his seat “See Felix you do want to bite me” Annabelle smiled and Felix sighed “I will turn you myself, but please wait till we get home. I’d like to spend the ten-hour flight getting to know you, not watch you writhe in pain” He said softly “Fine I’ll wait. But if you wuss out on me, I will let Demetri turn me” Annabelle told him before smiling at Demetri “I’ll be ready if / when you need me sweetheart” Demetri smiled back at her and Felix growled low.

They land in Volterra and once back at the castle they begin to make preparations for Annabelle’s transformation. Felix asks Alec and Demetri to be in the room with him when he turns his mate. “Demetri, Alec please be the room with me when I change Annabelle, I may need you both to stop me from killing her, if I don’t stop on my own. After all I have never turned anyone before” “Of course Felix, I will strip your senses away to allow Demetri to pull you away from her without ripping her throat out” Alec replied and Demetri nodded “Of course I’ll be there to help Fe.”

Annabelle woke up three days later and her eyes instantly found Felix’s and she ran straight into his arms “Thank you Felix” “You’re welcome mi amore” Felix replies as he gently cups her face in his large hands and presses his lips to her forehead.

Jane spoke to Annabelle about changing her plan for revenge on her sister and Edward. “Annabelle, I have an idea regarding your plan for revenge” “Ok Jane, I’m listening” She replied turning to face her. “Revenge is a dish best served cold and I think we should have fun with them first…” “What were you thinking sister?” Alec cut her off “I think we should play around with Alice’s visions a little, make the decision to go and see Bella and Edward, then decide not to go or just not turn up at all. Leave it a little while and make the decision to go to them again…” “Play mind games with them?” Annabelle interrupted “Exactly, that will irritate them, maybe even drive them mad” Jane replied smiling, a wicked glint in her eyes “I like that plan because when we do finally go and exact revenge, they will not see it coming” Annabelle responded with a wicked smile “We will all be by your side when the time comes mi amore” Felix added and wrapped his arm around her.

The next few decades were amusing to the Volturi but frustrating to the Cullens. Demetri tracked the Cullens as they moved around every so many years and took great pleasure in sending them a ‘Welcome to your new home’ card.

Finally, when Annabelle did decide to pay her sister a visit, Caius accompanied her and the four elite guards but instead of beheading Bella and Edward as originally planned all those years ago, they gave them a ‘new home’ present consisting of recently dead small woodland creatures “For you” Caius and Annabelle said together, both sporting a wicked grin on their lips and watched as shock washed over the faces of the Cullens. “We’ve bought you a welcome to your new home meal” Caius added smiling. “Revenge is sweet, sister” Annabelle told Bella with a smile before leaving the house to return to Volterra with her family.

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heartbreakgrill · 4 years ago

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Annabel Lee; Matthew Gray Gubler

a/n: I usually hate wedding imagines BUT fuck I watched Jim and Pam’s wedding scene again and just had to. Then I got carried away...

description: just getting married to mgg

You ran your fingers down your corset, gripping the red roses in your right hand almost too tightly. The doors that led inside the hall were shut, but you could hear the murmur of the guests awaiting the ceremony to start. Your bridesmaids- your sister, and Kirstin- and his groomsmen- Shemar and Steve- stood before you, casually chatting. Everyone was waiting for your cue, which you weren’t quite ready to give. You needed a few more seconds to breathe.

Your dad (or whomever, I know some of y’all got daddy issues) tapped your elbow, “You ready, honey?”

You looked at him with wide eyes, feeling your breakfast in your throat. “I don’t know. I feel like I’m gonna vomit. Everywhere.”

Kirstin overheard your confession. She turned on her heel, worry in her eyes. Your sister followed her over to you. The three of them crowded you. Your sister set a hand on your shoulder, “What’s wrong?”

“Nothings wrong. I’m just nervous,” you confessed as your hand landed on your skirt. You kept feeling the dress as if to ground yourself.

“For what?” Kirstin prompted.

You shrugged, “I don’t know. Like, everything. Like, yeah.”

“Girl,” Shemar interjected, “that man is so in love with you, it makes me sick. You’ll be okay.”

Steve added, “Oh, for sure. He never shuts up.”

Your face flushed and a shocked-in-love expression flooded it, “Really?”

“You look like the equivalent of the gushy eyed emoticon,” your sister laughed. “I think you’re okay.”

“Yeah, I think I’m okay,” you breathed out.

Your sister smoothed your skirt before returning to her position with everyone else. Your dad tucked his arm into yours, “You ready?”

“Ready.”

The doors swung open. Steve and your sister began to float down the aisle, but stopped halfway down. You couldn’t see him over Steve’s head, but you saw Paget at the top of the aisle, smiling proudly. She glanced down to her left and you saw just the slightest bit of brown hair flop in the air. You smiled widely, but became confused when the organ stopped and an upbeat song came on.

Your sister spun around towards you. She leaned around Kirstin and Shemar and winked. Suddenly, she started dancing to the Bruno Mars song. You groaned, tossing your head back and leaning your weight in your dad. Your forehead landed on his shoulder and he chuckled, patting your hair.

You peaked up to see Kirstin and Shemar join their flailing dance movements. Some of your family and friends were pulled up to dance with them. Your eyes flicked across the room, watching everyone engage in the loving moment. Your eyes found the front of the room and landed on Matthew’s.

He was grinning dumbly, hands crossed in front of his tux. He had shaved for the occasion and his hair was short. But, his personality still showed through the little crooked bow tie at his throat and his bright red Converse. His left foot was tapping along to the song and he tossed his head back to laugh. When his head came forward again, his eyes met yours.

He literally gasped, eyes widening. He hit Paget with his shoulder, nodding towards you. She looked at you and you briefly met her eyes, smiling so wide. She gushed to Matthew about you, and he only said, “I know.”

Your dad pulled you forward, urging you to dance with everyone else. You resisted a little, embarrassed by all the eyes that were landing on you. But, you grabbed his hands like you were a little kid again, giving in the numerous spins he tucked you into. He dipped you, letting your head fall towards the floor as a guttural laugh fell from your lips. When you were lifted back onto your feet, you shook your hips and spun around on your own.

You had made it about halfway down the aisle and the song was halfway over. You let go of your dad’s hand, finding Matthew’s eyes again. You needed to touch him, to hold him. You balled up your dress in your hands and ran up to the risers. He grinned down at you, about two steps up from the floor.

“Well, hello,” his cheeky voice remarked. You held out your hand and he didn’t hesitate to grab on. You pulled him into the aisle, his other hand coming to rest on your hip. He swung you round and round, rocking side to side as the song continued on. Everyone looked towards you, still dancing.

Eventually, the song winded down. Matthew held your hand as you climbed up the steps, feet aching in your heels. He straightened out the bottom of your dress, drawing awes from the crowd who was settling down. You let out a hasty breath, feeling somewhat sweaty from the dancing. Matthew stepped up beside you, Paget standing between you.

“Alrighty, then,” she remarked, brushing off Matthew’s shoulder. The room laughed a little at what had just happened. Once they silenced, Paget looked between the two of you. “So, I have the awesome honor of officiating these two’s wedding. Matthew officiated mine and Y/N sang a song at the reception. They hadn’t been together yet, but at the reception, they danced for hours. I remember talking to Gube after the night ended and I mentioed Y/N. He told me that he was planning on going to buy her roses the next day, that he was going to show up at her apartment with the proposition of going to Vegas and getting married.”

Matthew held your eyes in his, lips pressing together as a sheepish expression came over him. Your eyes widened, squeezing his hand in yours. “What?” You mouthed. He shrugged, eyes flicking away cheekily.

Paget laughed at your interaction, “Yeah, don’t worry. I talked him down. I told him to bring you a coffee, considering she’d drank plenty that night. I told him, coffee and roses. And ask her to dinner. He called me the next night and told me that they were going to be painting birdhouses that weekend. I told him that he was literally the weirdest man I had ever met. And then he called me again on Sunday and told me that they’d kissed. And, despite me urging him to wait, he went out and bought this ring.”

Paget held up the ring that was going to be on your finger room. You gasped, looking up at the piece of jewerly. Tears flooded your eyes at the realization. Matthew tugged on your arm slightly, drawing your watery eyes back to his.

Paget continued on through her speech, though you could barely focus on anything but his eyes. They were so, so thoughtful and loving, and you just wanted to hug him. He kept you grounded by rubbing his thumb over your knuckles, the rough edge of his thumb soothing your senses.

When it came time for your vows, you thought you were going to burst. You went first, “Um, okay, I had it written down, because I knew I would ramble, but I kinda just want to ramble.”

The guests chuckled at your words. You continued, “When I first met you, I thought that you were just the coolest person ever. You wore these big, colorful shoes and patterned socks which you always made sure were visible when wearing pants. You had all these cool kimonos that you’d wear on set all the time and you always made sure everyone laughed at least once a day, no matter if the scene we were shooting was sad or terrifying. I was so intimidated by you because you were this really successful actor who everyone in Hollywood says is some heartbreaker, but then I was eating cheese on set and you came up beside me and started talking to me about birds. Like, rattling off stupid facts about birds. And I think that’s when I was in love with you.

“But of course, I didn’t really know it. I was kinda just blindly finding companionship in you. And then, one day, you walked into my trailer one day after shooting and told me about this Edgar Allen Poe poem. You pulled out your journal and showed me this pen drawing of me, like, my face! And beside it you had written, ‘tell Y/N about Annabel Lee.’ And that’s when I knew I was in love with you.”

You took a moment to sniffle and draw your thoughts. You noticed Matthew’s bottom lib wobble and a thin line of tears fell down his chin. You reached up and wiped at his cheek with your thumb. He leaned into your hand.

“Matthew, everyday with you is a literal adventure. You force me out of my comfort zone in the best way possible. Without you, I think I’d still be avoiding phone calls with people in general. You’ve taught me to be fearlessly brave and to love myself more than anyone else. Except you, of course. You, I love more than anything. More than everything. You are larger than life and bigger than any stupid argument we could ever have. I love you.”

A bout of silence followed as Matthew attempted to refrain from sobbing. He thought about what to say before beginning with, “I bought a pair of socks with dinosaurs and hearts on them just because of you and this stupid song you showed me about dinosaurs being in love. This was before we got together. You told me how much you loved them and even though they cost like $20 and I couldn’t find them again, I let you have them.”

You gaped at the man, a slightly annoyed smile present. Of course. He winked at you and went on, “I always did stupid stuff like that. Like, going out of my way in the morning to get you those mini pancakes from the coffee shop that I lied and said was right across the street from my apartment. You didn’t know that until. You also didn’t know that I went to three different states to find you a birthday present that was literally just a blanket. But it was so worth it to see you curled up on the couch with it. And then, of course, there’s the little things, like filling up your car with gas and pretending like you just hadn’t known you didn’t use that much. Watering your plants without you knowing. Always making sure I buy you the same type of food I’m getting even if you’re not hungry because you are hungry.”

Laughter came again. Matthew shook his head, eyes crinkled, and he continued, “I’m not boasting about how great of a partner I am. No, I’m just telling everyone, telling you, that I love you. I would and do go to the ends of the Earth for you because you are my world. I don’t know how else to end this than to end it with our true beginning; ‘For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams of the beautiful Annabel Lee.’ You are my Annabel Lee.”

Everything moved on pretty quickly as you recited more repetitions and slid the rings onto each other fingers. Eventually, you were being prompted the room as Mr. and Mrs. Matthew Gray Gubler.

“That sounds ridiculous,” he leaned into your ear.

You giggled in response, squeezing his shoulder. Paget announced that you were to kiss and, as if he couldn’t be more dramatic, Matthew swooped you across his body. He dipped you, leaning down as you held onto his hand and shoulder and kissed you deeply. The room erupted into applause.

And you lived with no other thought than to love and be loved by him.

#mgg fluff #mgg x reader #mgg imagine #mgg gifs #mgg #mgg oneshot #mgg fanfiction #mgg blurb #mgg x y/n #matthew gray gubler x reader #Matthew Gray Gubler fluff

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moon-light-jukebox · 4 years ago

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Risk - [Hotch x Reader]

Summary: Things on a case go badly because reader took a risk. The entire team is mad at her...but no one more so than her unit chief.

Pairing: Hotch x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 3.4k

Content Warnings: Rough sex, mild brat taming, pussy slapping, choking, unprotected sex, orgasm denial, oral sex (male receiving), fingering, Dom!Hotch.

Rating: Explicit

Request prompt: Could you please write a smut (hotch x fem!reader) where reader doesn’t listen to hotch’s orders in a case and she almost gets killed and on the jet on the way home there’s a big ass argument including everyone and it's whole BAU against reader and when they land back home reader is super mad and hotch tells her hes going to take her home and then they have angry sex

A/n: I didn't edit this as thoroughly as I usually do. All mistakes are mine. Hopefully the smut makes up for it. 😌 And I hope the anon that requested this likes it!

-- Risk --

The paramedics had ignored me the multiple times I insisted that I was fine. Luckily, they seemed to agree that I didn’t need to go to the hospital. It was still early enough in the day that the team might be able to fly back home if the local police didn’t need our help wrapping everything up.

I wasn't looking forward to the ass-chewing I knew I was about to get, but I couldn't regret my actions. I'd do it all again, even if that meant feeling a bullet burn across my upper arm.

Once I was released, I made my way over to the SUVs, seeing only Prentiss and JJ standing by them.

“Where is everybody?” I asked once I was close enough.

Both women stiffened at the sound of my voice. Prentiss turned away like I hadn’t spoken. JJ shifted her weight from foot to foot awkwardly.

“They’re wrapping things up with the local police,” the blonde woman answered. “Do you not have to go to the hospital?”

“Just a graze.”

Her eyebrows rose slightly, her lips pressing into a tight line.

“I’ll get the others; maybe we can get the fuck out of here,” Prentiss muttered, walking away without so much as looking at me.

I probably deserved that.

The entire ride to the airstrip was filled with tense silence. Even Rossi wasn’t looking at me. Despite the awkwardness, I still couldn’t bring myself to regret my decision. A 12-year-old girl was going home safe tonight because of me; that was all that mattered.

Everyone else could just scratch their mad spot, as my grandma would say.

I was the last one to board the jet, already dreading the 2-hour flight home from Atlanta. JJ and Reid were on the couch, Hotch, Rossi, Morgan, and Prentiss were in the 4 chairs around the small table.

All that suited me just fine, as I really just wanted to go home. I took my seat at the back of the plane, near the section that led to the bathroom. I was prepared to put on my headphones and keep my eyes closed for the entire flight home.

The plane had been in the air for about 20 minutes when one of them finally snapped. I wasn’t surprised that it was Morgan.

“What the fuck were you thinking, y/l/n?” He demanded, his voice low and harsh.

I didn’t bother turning my gaze away from the window. “I was thinking I needed to save Annabelle Richards, who is home safe now. Job done.”

Prentiss scoffed then muttered something under her breath.

“Kiddo,” Rossi began gently. “Yeah, you did the job. But you almost died. You ran in there like a hot head and almost got yourself killed.”

I couldn’t not look at Rossi. He sounded genuinely upset, and the older man had always been unfailingly kind to me in the months since I’d joined the team.

"I know," I conceded, meeting his gaze head-on. "But I couldn't see another way."

“So, you were just going to give up your life? We had no reason to believe they’d release her.” Morgan fumed, back in the game.

“It was our best shot.”

“No, it fucking wasn’t! If you hadn’t been so stupid you would have seen that!”

"Oh, very mature, Morgan. I didn't know we'd resorted to name-calling."

“He’s right,” JJ said, her eyes shifting from Morgan to me. “You were stupid and reckless. You almost died. If Hotch hadn’t taken that shot in time, you would have.”

I licked my lips, my eyes closing briefly. “I understand why you’re upset-“

“No.”

All the air in the room seemed to still at that one word. The voice we had all been waiting for had finally tagged into the match, The Entire BAU vs. Y/n Y/l/n.

I wasn’t prepared for Hotch to fucking stand up and start walking towards the back of the plane, his eyes boring into me. “No, you don’t understand why we’re upset.” His hand gripped the top of the seat in front of me, his knuckles were white with the force of his hold.

“Hotch-“

“Shut UP!” He pointed his index finger at me. “You don’t get to talk. You behaved like a spoiled child. I don’t know how they do things in Richmond, but you’re in fucking Quantico now. You’re a member of my team, and I cannot have rogue agents on my team.”

“What the fuck did you want me to do, Hotch?”

His eyes hardened even more. “I expect all of my agents to stick to the fucking hostage protocol!’

I was on my feet before I even realized I was moving. “She was 12-years-old, and she was screaming!’

“Because she was scared, y/n! She was a child trapped in a building with a mad man and she was scared! We had the profile! We all knew he wasn’t going to hurt her! She was his endgame!”

My fists were balled up at my side. “I couldn’t risk that.”

“Then maybe I can’t risk having you on this team. Sit down, I’ll deal with you when we land.” I opened my mouth to speak, but he snapped again. “That’s a fucking order!”

As you would expect, the remaining hour of the flight home was completely calm and filled with no tension whatsoever.

Not.

Spencer and I were the last ones to get off the plane; he was the only one who hadn’t spoken to me. “Are you mad at me too?”

He licked his lips, considering his words. “I’m not mad like the rest of them. I understand why you felt like you had to do it. I’ve broken protocol like that too. But I am mad because you’re my friend. And because of how you acted, I almost lost my friend.”

Out of all the words hurled at me tonight, Spencer’s actually cut me.

“Reid,” I mumbled out.

“Give them time,” he said, shrugging his bag up on his shoulder before walking away.

Time was not given to me, however. I was standing in front of the elevators when someone called my name from the bullpen.

I turned, giving my unit chief a blank stare. “Yeah?”

“Are you leaving?”

I blinked, then pointed to the elevator.

He wasn’t amused. “Are you going to take the train home?”

“That’s the plan,” I informed him, turning back to face the elevator, crossing my arms over my chest.

“I’m taking you home.”

My head jerked back. “No, you’re not.”

He took a step towards me, his face was set in a scowl that sent criminal running, and he towered over me. “You disobeyed a direct order twice today; I’m still debating on whether or not to put this bullshit in your file and you were shot.”

I mean…he’s not wrong.

“You’re not going to ride a train for 45 minutes when I can get you home in 20.”

I sighed, too tired to fight. “Whatever you say, Sir.”

The longer I sat in the front seat of Hotch’s car, the madder I got. How dare he yell at me in front of the entire time for doing my job? Where the fuck did he get off intimidating me into getting into a car with him? Threatening to put shit in my file when all I did was save a little girl’s life.

“If you have something to say, say it.”

I shouldn’t be surprised that he picked up on my mood shifting. “I thought members of the team didn’t profile each other.”

“You’re not acting like a member of this team, so why should I treat you like one?”

I had to bite down on my tongue to hold the string of curses inside my mouth. This smug mother fucker had absolutely no right to talk to me like that.

What had started out as cold anger now roared to life in my veins; I could feel my hands starting to shake.

Thankfully, he was true to his word and got me home in 20 minutes. The car hadn’t even come to a complete stop before I was undoing my seat belt and grabbing my bag. I shoved the door open, turning around to face him while he still sat in the car, his eyes fixed on me.

“Thanks for the ride, Boss,” I spat out. “Since I’m clearly not compatible with your team, you’ll have my transfer request on your desk first thing in the morning.”

He opened his mouth to say something; probably something that would have made me even more mad. But I cut him off, I couldn’t stop myself. I was fucking seething.

"Fuck you, and your perfect team," I said, slamming the door behind me.

I didn’t want to hear another word from that man, so I darted into my building, taking the three flights of stairs rather than waiting for the elevator. I was still so fucking mad. And what’s more, I actually think I was a little hurt.

I expected the bullet wound to hurt, but I never expected the entire team’s reaction to hurt worse.

Reaching my door, I fished my keys out of my bag, more than ready to get this day over with.

I was so fucking distracted I didn’t realize anyone was behind me until my door was open. A large hand grabbed me by my hair and shoved me inside. I tried to struggle, but his other hand clapped over my mouth while he kicked the door shut behind him.

My pure fucking terror only lasted for a few moments. The man turned me, slamming my back against my front door.

“Hotch! What the fuck! You scared the shit out of me!”

His eyes were the darkest I’d ever seen them; my normally composed supervisor was shaking with fury.

“Good, then you know how it fucking felt to watch you run into that house today,” he sneered, his body pressing me against my door.

Adrenaline was pumping through my blood, my breath coming in fast pants. Hotch’s body was flush against mine, his eyes wild and his breathing just as fast.

“Is that why you’re here, Aaron?” I taunted.

His eyes flashed at the sound of his first name leaving my mouth. Those large hands that were on me a moment ago had been resting on the door, but he brought his left hand down so quickly. He placed it on my throat, his thumb resting against my jaw.

“You know why I’m here.”

“I know why you’re pretending to be here. Your excuse for being here is that I fucked up today. But that’s not why you’re here.” I lined forward, dropping my voice into a mock whisper. “I can feel why you’re really here, Aaron.”

And I could. I didn’t have to be a profiler to see how blown his pupils were, to see how his eyes kept straying down to my lips. I especially didn’t need to be a profiler to feel what was pressed against my body.

His thumb dropped down to the other side of my throat before it squeezed, cutting off just a bit of my blood flow. His right hand came down from the door to squeeze in between our bodies, going right for the button of my pants. I was stunned when I felt it pop open and the zipper lower right before his fingers ghosted over the skin right above the top of my panties.

“What am I going to find when I slip my hand into your panties, y/n?” His breath skimmed over my face; his lips so close to mine. “Do you expect me to believe your little cunt isn’t positively soaked for me?”

“It’s not,” I bit out, stubborn to the end.

Aaron just smirked at me, his fingers moving inside of my panties, down, down, down, until I felt one blunt finger run across my slit, not even spreading me open.

His nose brushed against mine. “You feel pretty wet to me, princess.”

I felt my core throb at his words, but I couldn’t let him win. “I’m not your fucking princess.”

“No,” he mused. “You’re nothing but a little fucking brat.” He removed his hand from my panties, bringing it around to hook under the back of my thigh. “And since you want to act like a brat, I’m going to treat you like a brat.”

That was all the warning I got before his lips crashed against mine, his hand leaving my throat to grab my other thigh. He lifted my feet off the floor, forcing my legs to wrap around his waist.

Aaron Hotchner’s kiss was as intense as every other part of him. He ate at my mouth, biting my bottom lip before running his tongue over it. He ground his hardness against my pussy, smirking against my mouth when I moaned.

“Such a needy fucking girl,” was what he said before he lifted me totally in his arm, stepping away from the door. He walked through the living room.

“First door the left,” I mumbled.

He chuckled while he pushed my bedroom door open. “So, you’re enough of a brat to fight me, but enough of a slut to direct me to your room?”

“Fuck you,” I bit out.

Aaron tossed me on the bed, his hands gripping the waist of both my pants and panties before he yanked them down my legs. He was on top of me a moment later, his hands tearing at my shirt, ripping the buttons off.

“You’re going to regret that.”

A tiny shiver of terror went down my body at his tone, because I believed him.

He yanked the cups of my bra down, his scalding hot mouth wrapping around my nipple at the same time that two of his fingers sunk into me.

"Fuck!" I shouted my back arching, pushing me into him.

I felt his teeth graze over my nipple while his fingers continue to move inside me. His middle and ring finger were pumping into my pussy, the heel of his hand grinding against my clit.

“Aaron,” I whined, my hips squirming. His mouth lifted from my breast, kissing up my chest until he got to my neck.

“What do you want, baby? Do you want me to make you cum?”

I nodded my head frantically, my hips trying to rock against him.

“Why should I let you cum?” His fingers curled inside of me brushing over my g-spot, pulling a loud moan from me.

I felt my orgasm rushing towards me, threatening to consume me right when his fingers pulled out of me.

“Oh my god,” I whined out, my hand moving down to try and rub my clit. I was right there.

His hand was like a vice on my wrist, stilling my movements. “Ah-ah, no. Bratty little girls don’t get to cum.”

“But I’m so close,” I pleaded, my voice a pathetic whimper.

His lips brushed against mine, softly, teasing. “If you want me to let you cum, then you need to prove you can be a good girl.”

Hearing Aaron Hotchner say the words “good girl” was almost enough to send me over the edge.

“Can you be a good girl, y/n?”

“Yes,” I answered, trying to press my lips more firmly against his.

Without warning his hand moved quickly, slapping against my pussy.

“Fuck!” I shrieked, unprepared for the sensation but so desperate for more.

“Yes, what?”

"Yes sir!" I corrected tears of frustration in my eyes.

He moved off of me then, unbuttoning his shirt before pulling it off his shoulders. “Finish taking your clothes off,” he instructed.

I moved to comply quickly, wincing slightly when I pulled my arm out of my sleeve. My bicep was wrapped in thick gauze, the skin around it looking bruised.

Aaron watched me while he took his pants off. “It’s so hard for me to look at you. Because I see you hurting like that and all I want to do is lay you on this bed and treat you like a princess.” He was naked now, and I tried not to stare at him. I’d seen him in workout clothes, I knew he was well muscled. But I did not know he was so toned and well defined.

His cock was hard, the head wet with precum, and it was bigger than I had expected.

I scooted up the bed when he climbed on, stalking towards me. “I just want to eat your pretty pussy until you cum all over me. Then I want to slide inside you and make you feel so good.”

Aaron’s body was over mine, his arms caging me in. “But I can’t do any of that can I?”

He moved away before I could answer. “No, I can’t. So, you’re going to prove to me that you can follow orders. I’m going to lay on this bed, and you’re going to put that bratty little mouth all over my cock. Do you understand?”

“Yes sir,” I said, scrambling to my knees.

“Such a needy little thing,” he repeated, lying on his back.

One hand braced on the bed, the other reached out to wrap around him. If things were different, I would have teased him, but this fucking need in my body was burning too hot.

I wrapped my lips around the tip of his dick, hollowing out my cheeks, relishing in the guttural moan he let out. I slowly started to bob my head, taking more of him each time I went back down.

“I should have known you’d be good at this,” Aaron groaned out, one hand coming up to grip my hair, guiding my motions. “That smart fucking mouth of yours. You don’t know how many times I’ve thought about your pretty lips wrapped around my dick.”

I moaned against him, rubbing my thighs together at his words.

“You’ve thought about that too, haven’t you dirty girl?” He was lifting his hips now, making shallow thrust into my mouth. “Come on, baby. Take it all the way down. I know you can do it.”

I tried to relax my throat, fighting my gag reflex as tears pricked the corners of my eyes. “Come on, sweet girl. Try for me. Be my good girl so I can finally fuck that wet fucking pussy of yours.”

His words spurred me on, I squeezed my thumb in my fist, moving my head all the way down. I felt him hit the back of my throat; I started to gag, but I swallowed reflexively around him.

“Oh, my fucking god,” he groaned, pumping into my mouth a few more times before pulling me off of him. “There’s my good girl,” he praised, pulling my face up to his. Aaron pressed kisses to the sides of my mouth before his lips slid against mine.

He moved quickly, rolling me onto my back, shoving my thighs apart so he could settle between them. One of my hands fisted in my bedsheets, the other braced on his arm. My eyes were fixed on where our bodies were about to join. Aaron gripped his cock, moving it up and down my slit, coating himself in my arousal.

“Wrap your legs around me, baby,” he murmured, urging my legs higher up his abdomen.

I groaned when I felt the head of his cock slip inside me.

“Jesus, you’re so fucking tight, y/n.”

“Aaron,” I whined, shifting my hips underneath him. I was still so close.

“I’ve got you, needy girl.” He shifted his weight and then slammed inside of me, pulling a scream from my throat.

It didn’t hurt, just the opposite. I had never felt so fucking overwhelmed before.

“Please, please, please,” I pleaded.

One of his hands wrapped around my throat while the other gripped my headboard. He started a brutal pace while his hand squeezed against me. “Reach down and rub your clit, Princess,” he ordered his hips slapping against mine. “Come on. Make your pretty pussy cum all over me.”

He wasn’t even finished speaking before my fingers found my clit, circling it furiously. His grip on my throat loosened slightly, his thrusts becoming a bit sharper.

“I want to hear you fucking scream my name, you bratty little thing.”

“Aaron, Aaron, don’t stop. Please!”

With one more hard thrust, my orgasm crested, tearing through my body. I felt my pussy clamp down on his cock, pulling him over the edge too. He pumped inside of me a few more times, pulling every ounce of pleasure he could from me.

I finally came down from my high only to feel Aaron drop on top of me for a moment before he promptly rolled onto his side, so as not to crush me.

His arm wrapped around me, bringing me flush against his side, my head on his chest.

“I’m still mad at you,” he mumbled.

“I know.”

“I’m a little less mad now.”

I smiled. “I figured.”

Taglist: @rachelxwayne @pinkdiamond1016 @sickeninglyshoujo @justagirllookingforherplace @nanocoool @andiebeaword @imjusthereformggcontent @rainsong01

@spncersreid

#Criminal minds #criminal minds fan fiction #criminal minds smut #Aaron hotchner #Aaron Hotchner imagine #Aaron Hotchner x you #Aaron Hotchner x reader #Aaron Hotchner x y/n #Hotch x reader #Hotch x y/n #Hotch x you #Aaron Hotchner smut #Hotch smut #SSA Aaron hotchner

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spencereliotwinchester · 3 years ago

Text

That Summer Storm Chapter Two

Title: That Summer Storm Chapter Two

Chapter Title: Once Upon a Midnight Dreary

Author: Kat

Reader Gender: Female

Word Count: 2k

Series Summary:

Jensen kept his eyes on the floor, but nodded his understanding. He was too scared to look up into the guard’s face; he didn’t even trust his voice not to break. He didn’t look up until he heard the click-lock sound of his door. The room was very small. Along one wall was a set of metal-framed bunk beds. The far wall had a small desk with a stool. Opposite the bunk beds was a toilet and sink.

He sat down on the bottom bunk, head in his hands. I shouldn’t be here, I’m only fifteen, the thought ran through his head on a loop. This was not how his life was supposed to go. Jensen rubbed his knuckles into his forehead, hard. The sobs of his mother would haunt him. It had been all he could hear the entire van ride back to juvenile hall.

Warnings: There will be feelings!

Chapter Warnings: Solitary Madness, anxiety attack

Catch Up HERE

A/N: Little bit longer of a chapter. Next one may be a bit shorter. Please please please reblog or let me know what you think!!

Character: Jensen Ackles

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Tags:

@iwantthedean@lyarr24@janicho88@deans-baby-momma@sandlee44@mrswhozeewhatsis@blacktithe7@torn-and-frayed@the-jette-blog@supernatural-jackles@sacriceria@siospins@negans-lucille-tblr@eve-loves-apples@myinconnelly1@mariekoukie6661@stoneyggirl2@thisisallicansay@jjrp-obsessed67@amyzombie1013@mrskcreeves95

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The door click-locked shut and Jensen pressed himself into the corner of the room. He was hyperventilating and failing to calm himself down. Pressing his entire side into the cool wall and squeezing his eyes shut, Jensen tried to block out everything except the feeling of the wall. It barely registered that the door to the room opened and shut again.

“What are you doing?” It was the same voice that came to his rescue out in the yard, though it sounded reproachful. Padalecki moved around the room for awhile, pacing, then Jensen heard the top bunk bed creak. “Don’t let Roger catch you like that. He’ll throw your ass in solitary-”

“There’s too much space!” Jensen gasped. He slid down the wall, crouching in the corner.

“Jesus, did Tito dose you or something?” The bed creaked again, then there were footsteps coming toward Jensen.

Jensen started trembling, thinking back to Padalecki’s words: “he’s mine.” He’d heard stories about detention centers, stories that made his skin crawl. Now here he was, about to live through it. Instead of the rough hands Jensen had expected, a blanket was wrapped around him, tightly. The pressure around his body let him relax, finally. Jensen opened his eyes and was met with the hazel-brown eyes of his roommate.

Padalecki was tall, taller even than Jensen. He was lean and well built though. His eyes were hard, though, unkind, which was completely unmatching his actions. Padalecki had the blanket in his hands, pulling it as tightly as he could around Jensen’s body.

“Chill out, will you, Jensen? Fucking stupid name, by the way,” Padalecki said, rolling his eyes. He tied the blanket and moved away from Jensen, climbing back up to the top bunk.

Jensen moved to his bunk, slowly. He curled up as close to the wall as he could. He pulled the blanket tightly around him.

“It was many and many a year ago, in a kingdom by the sea, that a maiden there lived whom you may know by the name of Annabel Lee; and this maiden she lived with no other thought than to love and be loved by me,” Padalecki’s voice was soft as it drifted from the top bunk. “I was a child and she was a child, in this kingdom by the sea, but we loved with a love that was more than love - I and my Annabel Lee - With a love that the winged seraphs of Heaven coveted her and me.”

Padalecki read the entire poem in his soft, calming voice. By the end, Jensen’s breathing had finally returned to normal and he felt better than he had since he’d been arrested.

“Thanks, Padalecki,” Jensen whispered; he was unsure if Padalecki had even heard him.

“You can call me Jared,” came a few minutes later.

--May 1996--

Life at Travis County Correctional became a mundane routine for Jensen. Monday through Friday they had school and on the weekends they had more recreational time, but the schedule never deviated. Jensen and Jared had even fallen into a nightly routine, at nine pm they were sent to their room and had one hour of quiet time before lights out. They would get into their respective bunks and Jared would quietly read from his one and only possession: The Complete Tales & Poems of Edgar Allan Poe. They’d gone through the whole book at least three times, but neither of them seemed to care.

Late one night, Jensen was suddenly startled awake by the sound of laughing. It started as a low snicker but quickly worked itself up into shrieks. Jensen scrambled out of bed to find Jared sitting at the desk. He turned quickly and locked eyes with Jensen. There was no mirth in his laughter and his eyes were black and dangerous looking. Jensen’s heart was suddenly in his throat and he backed up until he came into contact with the door.

“Jared?” Jensen’s voice quivered in fear.

“Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary, over many a quaint and curious of forgotten lore - While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping, as of someone gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door…” Jared’s voice was suddenly smooth, even, and it scared Jensen even more. Jared pointed a finger at Jensen, indicating to him to continue.

“‘Tis some visitor,’” Jensen squeaked, but his voice failed him. He turned and pressed the emergency call button that was located to the right of the door. Jared started laughing again, low and evil. He was still laughing when Barney, the night guard, came through the door. Jensen threw himself into the corner.

“There better be someone…” Barney’s voice died out as his flashlight fell on Jared, still laughing maniacally.

Barney called into his radio for backup and it was quick to arrive. They carted Jared off, but Barney stayed behind. He was a middle-aged black man, with kind brown eyes, and a little extra weight around his middle. His radio crackled, but Jensen couldn’t understand a word that was said.

“Come on, let’s go,” he said, helping Jensen to his feet.

“What?” Jensen’s brow furrowed.

“We gotta toss the room for drugs.”

Barney silently led Jensen through a labyrinth of dark hallways then through a door marked “Pod S.” A guard at a desk glanced up at Barney, nodded, and went back to his book. Barney prodded Jensen through a barred gate. They were now in a dead-end hallway with doors on either side. Barney opened door number one and lightly pushed Jensen inside. Barney gave him a sad, almost guilty look, before shutting the door. It click-locked with a finality that scared Jensen.

The only reason he wasn’t shrouded in complete darkness was the window in the door. The room he was in was small, much smaller than his normal cell. Everything was padded and the only furniture in the room was a small cot on the floor. A low rumble of thunder startled him and he wished he were back in his normal cell. Within minutes the building shook and shuddered from violent crackling booms of thunder. Jensen curled himself on the cot and wrapped the blanket around himself as tightly as he could.

He couldn’t sleep with the raging storm outside and his heart was still hammering from what had happened with Jared. Jensen looked around the padded room. Another clash of thunder. Jensen wondered what time it was, he wondered how long they were going to leave him here, and he wondered why they’d left him here. Jensen closed his eyes and started humming, trying to drown out the noise of the storm raging outside.

The storm was still going full force when the fluorescent lights clicked on. Six am. Jensen sat up on the cot, wrapping the blanket more tightly around himself. Soon, the door would unlock, and Roger would take him to breakfast. Jensen would welcome the sight of even Roger’s unfriendly face instead of the white padded room he was in.

Jensen counted the minutes until seven am. Nothing happened. At seven forty-five, there was a clicking sound. Jensen walked over to the door, expecting it to open. Instead, a rectangular hatch in the door was opened downward, creating a little table and a tray of food was set down.

“What’s happening?” Jensen yelled.

There was no response.

Eventually, the tray of food was taken out of the door and the hatch was closed and locked. Jensen paced the small room, seven steps, turn, four steps, turn, seven steps, turn, four steps, turn, seven… Alone. His thoughts matched in time with his steps. Completely alone. No one will come for you. All alone.

“Alone…”

Jensen froze. It had been a whisper, sure, but… It couldn’t be. Jensen took a deep, shaky breath. Get hold of yourself, Ackles, he thought. He rubbed his knuckles hard into his forehead. It was nothing, his mind was playing tricks on him.

“It is nothing but the wind in the chimney,” Jensen recited out loud. “It is only a mouse crossing the floor,-”

“Or it is merely a cricket which has made a single chirp!”

Jensen whirled around, his heart hammering in his throat again. The door to the padded cell was open and in the doorway was an old gentleman in a collared shirt, an argyle sweater vest, pressed pants, and loafers.

“Poe at his best! That’s one of my favorites as well. Care to have a seat, Jensen?”

Jensen slowly sat down on the cot, not taking his eyes off the man. Jensen realized the room was very quiet now, the storm must have died down while he was lost in his thoughts. The man brought with him a stool as well as a briefcase and he sat down across from Jensen. A young woman brought in her own stool and sat down in the corner. The door closed and click-locked.

“My name is Dr. Langstrom and this is one of my students, Abigail. I want to talk to you about what happened last night, and I’ll need to take some blood,” the man introduced himself, then took a small journal from his pocket along with an expensive looking pen.

“Is Jared okay?” Jensen chewed on his bottom lip.

“Don’t worry, now are you scared of needles?” The doctor asked and he began to take some plastic wrapped items out of the briefcase.

“No, but, why are you taking blood?” Jensen asked, holding out his arm.

“Just make sure everything’s alright with you.”

Dr. Langstrom took an alcohol wipe and rubbed Jensen’s arm. With his tongue sticking between his teeth, the doctor squinted at the needle. Then he paused for a moment, and pulled out a package of gloves and put them on. He took the needle again and pricked it into Jensen’s arm and Jensen hissed. Then, Dr. Langstrom actually moved the needle around, attempting to find a vein.

“Ow!”

“Sorry, sorry, let me try again,” Dr. Langstrom said vaguely.

“Doc, the tourniquet,” Abigail prompted.

“Yes, yes! That’s right!”

Dr Langstrom pulled the strip of rubber from his bag and wrapped it around Jensen’s upper arm. His second, third, and fourth attempts were no better than the first, however.

“Um, Doc, would you like me to do that? I just finished my lab rotation,” Abigail spoke quietly from the corner.

“Of course Abigail, that would be wonderful. I haven’t drawn blood in fifteen or twenty years.”

Abigail put on a pair of gloves and switched places with the doctor. She adjusted the tourniquet tighter and then she calmly took the needle and palpated Jensen’s arm. With one smooth movement, the needle was in and blood trickled into the waiting vial.

“Now, Jensen,” Dr. Langstrom started after Abigail finished drawing his blood. “Can you tell us what happened last night? Did Jared take anything?”

“I don’t know. I woke up and he was laughing. I hit the call button and Barney came in,” Jensen explained simply, picking at a loose thread on his jumpsuit.

“That’s all?”

“Uh, yeah,” Jensen shrugged.

“Were you attacked? Did he bite you or spit at you in any way?”

“What? No,” Jensen’s worry bled into his words.

“Good, good. Are you feeling well? No feelings of euphoria or despair?”

“I’m fine,” Jensen said through gritted teeth. “What’s happening with Jared? Where is he?”

“Good, good. Unfortunately, I can’t tell you anything about Jared.”

Jensen mulled that over for a moment. Then, his bladder reminded him it’d been way too long since his last bathroom visit.

“Can I go to the bathroom?”

“I’ll let the guard know.”

Abigail and Dr. Langstrom gathered their things and knocked on the door. It opened for them and closed behind them. Then, the hatch opened.

“Present yourself to be cuffed, Ackles,” came a deep baritone voice.

Jensen slid his hands through the hatch and winced as handcuffs were tightened around his wrists. Jensen stepped back and the door opened. He was taken to a small bathroom and then straight back to the padded cell. All attempts at talking to the guard were met with stony silence. Once back in the room, handcuffs removed, Jensen sat down on the cot.

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#that summer storm #jensen ackles #jensen #jensen x reader #jensen ackles x reader #jensen x yn #jensen x y/n #jensen ackles x y/n #supernatural rpf #jensen ackles x yn

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usuallyamazinglyaverage · 4 years ago

Text

Side By Side [Ethan x MC]

Hey there, ya lovely people!

I hope you all had a wonderful Christmas and got to celebrate the season of giving with your family and friends. To end this year properly, I’m back with a bit of writing :)

I’m not gonna lie, the two months before the holidays were really rough and I had to sort so much shit out. It just kept me from most things I love doing in my free time, including talking with my friends and writing. That’s why this one took me a while to finish.

(Nevermind the fact that I rewrote this fic like two times, but that’s a story for another day)

I’ll most likely take a break from OH oneshots for a while (unless inspiration strikes me), but I am still working on stuff, inluding one or two AUs and fics for some other fandoms. I hope a breather to get my muse back on track is alright with you all ;)

I wish you all a safe journey into the next year - let’s pray it’ll be a better one <3

As always, I apologize for any grammar or spelling mistakes. Please enjoy!

Summary: Big steps in a relationship are always difficult - this one is no exception.

Warnings: Just some light teasing and a bit of language - this is mostly cheesy fluff <3 (I know, I’m surprised as well)

Note: MC of the fic is Annabelle Dawson. I created the header myself, hope it’s pleasing to the eye :) This is set a few months after the end of Book 2.

Taglist: @perriewinklenerdie @andromedasinclaire @radlovedreamer @amillionmoonsred @hopelessromantic1352 @cordoniaqueensworld @paisleylovergirl @fangirlingmum @bucket-harrington @lu-ciq @fairyrink @princess-geek @cyb3r-kat @whenyourheartskipsabeat @lady-kato @queenof1000days @sunflowergirl05 @jlpplays1 @tacohead13 @the-soot-sprite @chasingrobbie @padfoot0415 @desiree-0816 @togetherwearerapture @thisperfectmemory @furiouscloddonutpeanut @tabootheunicorn @rookie-ramsey @theroseduelist @drakewalkerfantasy @lapisreviewsstuff @jooous @aworldoffandoms @edgiestwinter @inlovewithrebels @topsyturvy-dream @cerisesayeed-ramsey @i-bloody-love-drake-walker @marywitchjane @adrianrainesworld @zodiacsign1 @silverlitskies @trappedinfandoms @sherlockedmcu @drethanramslay @awhmilkywey @htgawparksandrec @theeccentricbibliophile @mvalentine @desmaranj @schnitzelbutterfingers @colourmeshy @mal-volaris @kaavyaethanramsey @riverrune @honeyandsunfl0wers @humanpokemon @ethandaddyramsey @lilyvalentine @mrsdrakewalkerblog @openheart12 @bellcat2010 @datynasuha @caseyvalentineramsey @ethxnrxmsey @squishywizardhq @custaroonie @beckaroo @colossalpainintheass @takemyopenheart @justanotherrookie @honeyandsunfl0wers @maurine07 @grandnachoconnoisseur @dr-ramseys-rookie @myusualnerdyself @mrs-raleighcarrera @akshara16 @wingedhairstylemusicweasel @alookseeblog

Song: If You Love Her by Forest Blakk

Ethan tried very hard to not look like he was running – and was failing spectacularly.

Some of his colleagues had to dodge out of his way as he strode through the hallways, white coat fluttering behind him, hands stuffed into the pockets. Slipping into the stairwell, the attending took two steps at a time, reaching the bottom floor quickly.

The atrium was packed, lit by the bright gray sky beyond the ceiling windows - reminding him that he was supposed to be busy in his office right now. Christmas was just around the corner, and after Edenbrook’s reopening, the paperwork had simply piled up, barely giving him time to bring some distance between him and his desk.

He dreaded going back already - but there was something he had to take care of first. Something that felt pivotal for his motivation right now.

Turning his head, Ethan let his eyes wander through the spacious room, from the stairs to the entrance and back again. Finally, he spotted a mess of golden locks, tucked into the usual practical ponytail.

She was with her friends, Trinh and Varma, already dressed in her day-to-day clothes, the strap of her bag slung over one shoulder. The two other women gave her a hug, shooing her along.

Ethan couldn’t help but feel silly when her bell-like, resounding laugh made his heart lurch in his chest, lifting his mood immediately.

Anna turned on her heels with one last wave and headed towards the doors, tucking up her scarf and the lapels of her jacket to ward off the oncoming cold. He waited until her friends went back to their conversation before following her, maneuvering through the crowd and catching up with the younger doctor in the light snowdrift outside.

His hand on her shoulder coaxed a tiny yelp from her, hazel eyes looking up at him with a gratified sort of wonder.

"Ethan? What-"

The older doctor cut Anna off by directing her against the wall framing the entrance, cupping her chin and gently tilting it up for easier access. The kiss was rougher than he would have liked, muscle memory taking over as he nipped on the corner of her mouth.

His former intern, however, didn’t seem to mind, parting her lips with a soft sigh.

Sliding his hands to the back of her jaw, he drew Anna closer, the sugary taste of her dissipating the rest of his stress. He smiled when she grew boneless against him, delicate fingers twirling his tie.

Eventually, they had to come up for oxygen, both drawing away with barely audible hums. Anna’s thoroughly addled expression filled him with an odd pride, her lashes fluttering against her reddened cheeks.

"Is it my birthday?“ she breathed. "Did I accidentally invent the cure for cancer? There must be something I did to deserve this."

"Actually, I just... wanted to wish you a good day," Ethan murmured, tucking a lock behind her ear. "We barely saw each other the past few days. I feel like I can’t catch a break at the moment."

Tenderness seeped into her gaze, liquefying the color to a point where he wanted to drown in it and never come out again.

"Did this help?"

He chuckled. "More than you know."

"Well, feel free to do that anyti-"

"Anna?"

Ethan jumped away from her, whirling around.

This is what you get for leaving your office, a perfidious voice nagged at the very back of his tumbling thoughts.

The tip of his ears flushed hot and he had to force himself to not look away from the woman standing a few feet from them, a grin plastered on her face.

"Hi, gran," Anna offered weakly, pushing herself off the wall. "You, um, you remember Doctor Ramsey?"

Greta Dawson gave them both an impish wink. "Hard to forget this one, right?" She looked between the two for a moment. "You don’t call him 'doctor' usually though, do you? Not that I’m one to judge."

Jesus.

Ethan rubbed the flushed back of his neck, desperately trying to find his dignity among the thick snowflakes swirling from the sky.

He had met Anna’s pint-sized grandmother a little over a year ago, after assisting in an operation that had ultimately saved her life. She was a cheeky, terrifying force of nature, intimidating in a very specific way. Mostly because meeting her had felt substantial – even then. Greta was the only relative Anna had left and as such, the older doctor didn’t want to make a bad impression.

Which he probably just did. Wonderful.

Straightening his shoulders and clearing his throat, he offered his palm. "It’s nice to see you again, Greta." The old woman chortled, taking his hand and giving it a firm shake. "Likewise, Doctor Dreamy.“

Next to him, Anna groaned, burying her face against his chest. "Please take me back to work." Despite his still burning ears, Ethan frowned down at her. "Absolutely not. You worked the longest shifts this week." The blonde answered his frown with one of her own. "Traitor."

Her pout was distracting and painfully cute, his Adam’s apple bobbing at the sight. "Go," he urged after a moment of indulgence. "Spend some time with your family.“ The jig was already up, so he leaned down to press another gentle kiss to her lips, this one far more modest than he would have liked. "I’ll see you on Monday."

"I have a better idea," Greta interrupted cheerfully, twiddling her fingers at the two doctors. "How about you join our dinner tomorrow?" Opening and closing her mouth, Anna glanced at Ethan while shuffling her feet. "I mean I... I like that thought. We're making lasagna?"

There was that coyness of hers again, making him wonder if she really didn’t know how utterly charming she was – and that there were very few things that he wouldn't do for her.

"I like that thought too,“ he said, his voice quiet but certain, giving her arm a reassuring squeeze. “Call me when you get home?“

"I will." Anna brushed her thumb along his scruffy jaw, smiling hesitantly.

"Have fun, Rookie." His blues flicked over to her grandmother, who was watching their exchange with obvious curiosity. "And, ah, you too, Greta."

The old woman winked once again. "We’ll see you tomorrow, Ethan."

“Damn.”

Anna stared into the mirror, grimacing at the smudge of mascara, just below her left eye. Sighing, she slipped the tiny brush back into the silver tube, exchanging it for q-tip to correct the mistake.

Her fingers were still shaky.

Wiping the black from her skin, she tried not to think about the man waiting for her in the kitchen – a hard thing to do when there were reminders of him all around her.

Her toothbrush rested next to his in a tall cup on the spacious sink.

Her towel occupied a shelf next to the shower.

His cologne and her perfume both permeated the air.

Reminders of him – reminders of them. All things she never would have thought possible half a year ago. Usually, the sight of shared commitment was a beautiful, giddiness-inducing facet of their relationship for her. Tonight, she couldn't help but wonder if Ethan was feeling smothered by it all.

Dinner with her grandmother was a step Anna hadn't even considered until she had caught them red-handed yesterday. Greta knew about Ethan, knew about the chaotic circumstances that had brought them together at last, but she had never expressed the wish to meet him in an official capacity.

Just one of the many firsts that he had been a part of.

Taking a deep breath, the young doctor tossed the q-tip into the trash bin, smoothing her hands along the burgundy fabric of her casual dress and her black tights – a last effort to calm herself.

The hallway outside of the bathroom was much cooler, making Anna shiver as she made her way to the kitchen.

Ethan was leaning against the island, his crisp white oxford peeking through his unbuttoned coat. Tapping away on his phone, he uncrossed his legs, dark slacks rustling quietly. He looked a little bit unreal in the dim light. An apparition, summoned by the farthest reaches of her mind.

“You're staring,” he informed her, finally looking up and interrupting her ogling.

Anna tried her hardest not to appear embarrassed, but her traitorous face heated at the comment anyway.

“You look nice,” she muttered, casting her gaze to the ceiling for a moment before meeting his once again.

Ethan chuckled, pushing himself off the island and crossing the distance between them. “You just stole my line.” His eyes swept over the dress, the blue heavy and eager. “Though 'nice' seems very much insufficient.” Stopping a few inches away from her, he pressed a lingering kiss to Anna's cheekbone. “You're stunning.”

The warmth in his voice broke her heart just a little. Anna wrapped her arms around his waist, letting his scent wash over her. Ethan stilled, one of his hands finding the back of her neck and weaving through the loose golden curls there. He didn't say anything right away, granting this moment of respite.

“You're nervous, aren't you.”

Perceptive as ever.

She released a long breath and traced the pattern of his coat. “Not because of the dinner itself.” Lifting her head, she studied his face before pressing on. “I'm just wondering if you're alright. We've really picked up the pace.”

Surprised, Ethan raised his brows. “Are you asking me if I have cold feet?”

“I... suppose I am.”

“Anna.” There was a note of gentle admonishment in his voice, urging her to listen. “You're here every second weekend. Yesterday, I practically begged you to come over, because we're barely seeing each other at work. Does that sound like I'm questioning my decision to be with you?” His lips brushed her temple. “I'll admit that your grandmother terrifies me. But that doesn't mean I don't want to get to know her better.”

“Well, now I feel silly,” she murmured sheepishly.

Ethan huffed out a soft laugh, tickling the shell of her ear. “Maybe I like that about you.” He pulled away, eyes crinkling at the corners. “You and your busy brain.” Lacing their fingers for a brief moment, he nodded his head towards the door. “Ready to go?”

“As ready as I'll ever be,” Anna sighed, letting him help her put on her jacket and lead her out of the apartment.

The drive to her grandmother's place felt far too short.

Her leg wiggled every time they passed another green light, forcing Ethan to rest his palm on it to soothe her. He did so wordlessly, keeping it there until he shut off the motor and offering it to her when they walked up the stairs to the second floor of the apartment complex. She took it, ever grateful for his quiet support.

The blonde fumbled with her set of keys when they reached the door, almost dropping them when it opened on it's own, revealing a her apron-clad grandmother.

“Gran,” she chastised, letting the old woman pull her into a hug. “Were you waiting by the door?”

“Nonsense, dear,” Greta sniffed, rubbing her back with a little too much enthusiasm.

Anna could practically hear the lie in her affronted tone, masking her pained sigh with a small cough. “Right. A preposterous notion.”

“Just as preposterous as denying me this view for past few months.” Her grandmother gestured over to Ethan, who had watched their exchange with a subdued smile. “The women in our family did always have an eye for the finer things in life, I must say,” she mused. “Come in, you two.”

Anna couldn't help but swallow as she watched Ethan hang up his coat and enter her childhood home. The furniture, the décor and even the comforting smell of chamomile and laundry detergent was the same, reminding her of days past.

With him in the middle of it all, it felt like two separate dimensions colliding and forming something she couldn't quite name. He looked both out of place and like he belonged as they followed Greta into the kitchen.

Handing her grandmother the expensive bottle of Château Monbrison the young doctor had chosen from his wine stash a few hours ago, Ethan rubbed the side of neck. “Anna told me this is your favorite. Thank you again for the invitation.”

Greta regarded him with amusement. “That's a very sweet gesture, Ethan. Tell me, how good is your cooking?”

“I -” At a loss for words, he looked over at Anna.

“He's great,” she affirmed hastily, flushing at her choice of defense. “I mean his cooking. It's great. Very good.”

“Wonderful. How about you help me prepare the rest of the lasagna then, my boy?” Her grandmother patted Anna's shoulder. “Could you be a dear and set the table? I've already left the plates in the dining room.”

“But-”

“Snowbell.” Greta brushed a lock out of her granddaughters face. “Don't worry. You'll get him back without even one hair out of place.”

On her way out of the kitchen, Anna caught Ethan's gaze, the two doctors exchanging a small, equally nervous smile before they were separated.

In the quiet of the dining room, the blonde took a shaky breath, trying to sort her thoughts as she moved plates, glasses and silverware around.

She should have expected this.

Anna trusted and loved her grandmother, dearly, but she could be a bit much at times. Then again, she had never taken such an interest in any of her partners. In Canada, she had been too far away to truly introduce her first long-term boyfriend and once she had finally returned to Boston, the relationship was already over.

And Michael – well. Nothing good had come of being with him.

Ethan was the most complicated man she had ever met by far – but he was her future. The thought strengthened every day she spend with him, every time she looked into his eyes and every time he held her close.

It was far too soon to tell him, however.

And that was exactly why she was nervous about the prospect of her Greta and Ethan alone together.

“You've been holding that fork for quite a while now.”

Startled out of her musings, Anna turned around, almost stumbling into the older doctor. He caught her by the elbows, gently prying the silverware from her fingers and setting it down.

“You're done already?” she wondered, blinking at him.

Ethan chuckled. “It's been a little over ten minutes. Lost in thought again?”

“...Can you blame me?”

“No,” he admitted. “But it wasn't as bad as you probably imagined. You're supposed to show me your room, by the way. Something about it being the prelude to embarrassing baby pictures.”

The blonde groaned, hooking her arm around his and pulling him back into the hallway. “Fine. But you better be gentle. It hasn't been renovated since I was sixteen.”

“I thought you liked it when I'm not gentle,” Ethan teased, earning himself a smack to his chest when they entered the room on the far end.

Closing the battered wood behind them, Anna watched nervously as he moved to the middle of the room, his height dwarfing the old furniture to ridiculous proportions.

His gaze wandered over the walls, the faded teal plastered over by posters and photographs. Taking a few steps closer to the scratched up vanity next to her bed, the older doctor plucked a picture from the frame of the mirror.

She fought to urge to take it from him, mashing her lips together.

Her twenty-year-old self in this particular photo looked like a textbook nerd, much shorter locks braided into two pigtails and clutching her acceptance letter for Boston's med school, while she and Greta grinned at the camera.

Ethan reattached the picture with another chuckle. Then, his gaze fell on her nightstand - and on the book sitting on it.

More specifically, his book.

The unassuming cover was well worn, some of the pages dog-eared. Picking it up, he thumbed through it, raising a brow at Anna.

"What?" she asked a bit too forcefully, cheeks burning.

His mouth twitched, eventually losing the fight against the complacent expression overtaking his features.

"Someone’s a fan," he hummed. "Want to me to sign this one too?"

"That depends," the blonde huffed, crossing her arms. "Do I need to undertake another ridiculous task before you do it?“

Grinning, Ethan tossed the book back and crooked a finger at her. "How about you come over here and kiss me, Rookie? You can decide after if that’s asking too much."

"You’re ridiculous," she murmured, walking up to him hesitantly and slipping her hands around his neck with a pout. Something utterly triumphant twinkled in his deep blues as he craned his head down, meeting her in the middle.

The kiss was soft, slow and warm, tasting faintly of toothpaste. Ethan wrapped his arms around Anna’s waist, lifting her from her tiptoes and setting her down on the bed, his lips never leaving hers.

There was a comfort in his body covering her own, the pleasant buzz of it all coaxing a faint moan from her throat.

Eventually, they had to come up for air, Ethan’s nose nuzzling her cheek.

"You know, you're the first guy to make out with me on this bed," she said thoughtfully and brushed her knuckles over his jaw, enjoying the texture of his beard against her skin.

The attending pushed himself onto one elbow, his free fingers mapping the curve of her hip. "I'm not sure how much more information my ego can take. I'm this close to begging for mercy."

"Oh my god." Anna pulled him back to her by his hair, their laughter mingling until they were breathless once more.

Eventually, Ethan rolled off to the side, facing the younger doctor on the mattress. It was oddly soothing, having him share the tiny bed with her. A peaceful little bubble, after the start of what was bound to be an eventful afternoon.

It gave her courage to ask the question sitting at the forefront of her mind.

“What did you and my grandmother talk about?”

Ethan's jaw tensed for a brief second, his palm lifting to find her face.

“She told me about the state you were in the week after I had left for the Amazon.” His calloused thumb drew a half circle. “And to be more careful with your heart this time around.”

“Or she'll put you six-feet-under?” Anna questioned weakly.

“No.” He gave a slight shake of his head. “No, she asked me while offering me a glass of wine. She's just worried, princess. And she has every right to be.”

“Ethan...”

“I can't ever take back what I did, Anna,” he sighed. “We both know that. You forgive me so easily every time I mess up and I shouldn't take it for granted. Even your endless patience will run out eventually.”

“You're worth it. You always were.”

Hazel and blue connected, both achingly soft.

“So are you.”

Unspoken words, unspoken emotions, enriched by the dim light falling through pale curtains, drowning the space in silence and contentment.

“Should we get back?” Anna murmured, careful not to disturb the tender moment with her voice. “My grandmother is probably waiting for us.”

“In a minute.” Forehead tipping down to meet hers, Ethan dragged her close, breathing her in. “In a minute, sweetheart.”

A/N: So cheesy. Was a lot of fun to write though :3

#ethan ramsey #dr. ethan ramsey #ethan ramsey x mc #ethan ramsey fanfiction #choices oh #open heart #open heart 2 #playchoices #choices: stories you play #my writing #can you tell I enjoy Hallmark movies and bad humor #probably

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ofdreamsanddoodles · 4 years ago

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i know the fears are kind of made up so classifying the statements isn’t super important, especially now, but I’d like to point out that even thought MAG 180 is about death, it is absolutely 100% a Web statement and, unfortunately, that means we should be worried about Annabelle

First off, this statement’s in second person. All of this is someone telling you what to do, to “walk faster now, pick up the pace” and to “just knock and and ask to enter.” Then there’s what’s actually in the building. The face “you” find is “stained with age and death and sin,” but immediately after "sin” is mentioned, the statement giver backs up, saying that they’ve misjudged what they saw. It’s very typical of the Web to make you second guess yourself. MAG 172 has something similar

THE SPIDER: “Oh, Francis. It’s such a shame that I couldn’t do such a thing even if I wanted to. The man in the audience saw to that. (laugh) I am no more free than you are, little puppet.

It’s not exactly the same, but here’s the line in MAG 180:

Or try your best not to hear, to think nothing but good and admirable thoughts of those who wait in monuments to their own virtue. There now, a face, pale and stained with age and death and sin, no, not sin, never sin. Misjudgment. Indiscretion. Misunderstanding. Never sin. Never evil.

Once again, an outside force is telling the statement giver that the people around them are good, despite the fact that the situation they’re in is specifically designed to cause as much fear as possible.

We even have a description of doors with occupants that have “brittle, bony limbs.” It’s easy to assume that this could be describing skeletons, except that Annabelle is described several times as being extremely thin, and says that the Web avatar she met was very skinny as well. Either way, we never find out what’s inside the crypts because the statement tells you to avoid the doors, and ignore the thoughts these sights make you feel.

There’s a very heavy emphasis on not being able to speak your mind, not because you don’t want to, but because something is stopping you from being honest about your feelings. First, there’s the phrase “Nihil Nisi Bonum,” which means not to speak ill of the dead, then the statement goes on to insisting that the angels wouldn’t like it if you made a scene, and continues on to imply that saying anything bad about the dead, even if they personally wronged you, makes you a terrible person. It’s all manipulation! The person in this statement isn’t afraid of the dead, or being dead, they’re afraid of what this experience will force them to say, and what will happen to them if they deviate from their script. It’s also pretty important to point out that this is very clearly about a dead female relative! It’s not specified whether or not it’s their mother or not, but it’s definitely someone who raised him. Which makes this next bit very interesting;

Don’t step on the cracks, or goodness knows what will happen. And you are surrounded by goodness, are you not?

"If you step on a crack, you’ll break your mother’s back” is a really childish superstition, but it’s another mention of mothers, right before we meet Annabelle (aka, the daughter of the mother of puppets) and it’s another insistence that “you” must be good. More manipulation, more insistence that you follow a rigid morality that makes no sense.

There’s also “t calls itself a home, but it lies,” which is a potentially Spiral line, of course, but the Web lies just as much. And now that Jon and Martin are in Annabelle’s home...

‘Come in,’ the Funeral Director intones, ‘the service is about to begin. You are expected.’

It’s not the same, but Annabelle welcomes Jon and Martin this episode as well. And it’s the Funeral Director nudging “you” through this entire statement. It’s them and their involvement that makes this day as terrible as it is.

The dust has settled over everything in layers so thick you dread to touch anything, to rest for even a moment, so keenly aware of the stark imprint you would leave, the marks of your presence.

This isn’t a super important line right yet, but dust and cobwebs are, as we know, tied to the Web. And the fact that they can’t even rest for a moment is really interesting, since that’s exactly what Jon and Martin are going to do.

There’s not much that’s obviously Web about the way the statement describes walking up to the corpse, but the Funeral Director forces “you” into the podium despite being desperate to leave, and then “commands” you into “saying a few words.” There’s a lot that can be said about, especially considering that’s kind of how Jon was forced into ending the world, but the fact that the eulogy is someone forced into speaking about how good someone is despite all evidence to the contrary? The fact that they talk about how this person touched the lives of others? Very Web. I’m sure Annabelle would say the Web made Jon’s life “more beautiful,” too.

There’s also the part angels play into this statement. It’s the angels that are watching, the angels that you can’t offend, they angels that are waiting for you to make one wrong move so they have an excuse to strike. The person in the statement continues onwards because of the fear of these angels, which the Funeral Director then takes advantage of. And in the eulogy, the corpse called an angel.

Beneath your threadbare suit and fear-stained shirt, the scars that lattice across your body ache and burn at the sight of the one who gave them to you. You feel the cross she once carved into your back open, and begin to weep its own bloody testament.

We all know who gave Jon his scars. We also know who he and Martin are planning on fighting. And we know Elias is always watching and that he was waiting for Jon to make a wrong move, so he could end the world. And Jon, just like in the statement, was placed on this path because of agents of the Web. The Director leads you up to the podium. Mr. Spider makes desperate to learn more.

And then we have the last few lines, which is what convinced me this was Web in the first place

You cannot turn from the podium, cannot stop the gushing flow of love and forgiveness you vomit out into the nodding crowd. Behind you, a dark shadow moves, a shape that seems to slither from the coffin. You watch it coming closer from the corner of your eye, but you cannot stop your kind words. Not even as the needle-sharp teeth of her corpse begin to dig into your shoulder.

Once again, not the first time we’ve heard about something like this. Yes, this is obviously a zombie, but Francis had hooks dug into their skin for The Spider to control them. And, honestly, what is a zombie but a person operating against their own will? You don’t want for flesh or brains, but being bitten by a zombie gives you that hunger. Jon needs to survive on statements. He lives this way because someone with a similar hunger forced him into becoming something inhuman.

And of course, the corpse you knew is the only angel that gets to hurt you. The rest never move, though it’s implied they could. But you’re only even so close to this corpse because of the Funeral Director. They’ve placed you right where you need to be for the one who wants to hurt you to deal the final blow.

So, whatever Annabelle has planned proooobably isn’t great news for Jon

#the magnus archives #tma #tma spoilers #tma meta #mag 180 #annabelle cane #jonathan sims #adventures of angel #the web

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yellowocaballero · 4 years ago

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Not Your Queer-Coded Disney Villain: Annabelle & Web!Jon Ficlet

Got bored again today and forced myself to write something that wasn’t gratuitously long. Set in the same universe (or, one of the universes) as The Convention on Chronographer Lane, but it’s completely unnecessary to have read that one before this.

Content warning for (apparent and fake) predation of a student by a teacher, body horror, and spiders. REVERSE content warning for A PSYCH 101 LECTURE WRITTEN BY SOMEONE WHO WAS A TA FOR PSYCH 101. ACCURATE SCIENCE, BITCHES.

“What am I turning into?” Annabelle asked, after a half-second of rapid thought. “Who are you? And what do spiders have to do with any of this?”

Jon smiled again broadly, grey eyes dancing with a barely hidden delight. “You’re fully aware that these are all the same question.”

“Then answer them. You said you’re here to help me. Then help me.” Annabelle narrowed her eyes. “We’ll negotiate a price later.”

“This one is a freebie,” Jon said. He leaned back, face fading into the shadow of the dim yellow light of the hanging light. “You’re turning into something much akin to myself.”

In the darkness, Annabelle saw Jon open his eyes. And his eyes. And his eyes. And his eyes…

Annabelle was sleeping through Psych again.

In her defense, she was really tired. The nightmares had been getting worse every day, and yesterday she hadn’t gotten more than forty minutes of sleep without jolting up in the middle of the night. She had flipped on the light five times during the night, hysterically convinced that bugs were crawling over her and earning the eternal ire of her roommate. Whatever - Irene would forgive her once she bought her an iced coffee from that campus shop she liked. If Annabelle gave it to her later at night, she’d stay up later and would be less likely to bitch when Annabelle inevitably made a stink at three am again.

It didn’t matter. Psych was tediously easy anyway. Not that everything wasn’t tedious, but there were few things more boring than listening to the drone of Mr. Sims’ voice. She had no idea how that guy had a fanclub. Emmanuela Odugawa had asked her if she thought that he recited Piaget’s developmental stages in bed. Barf.

Thankfully, Annabelle had mastered the art of sleeping with her eyes open in class and barely aware enough to recognize when somebody called her name a decade ago, and she ruthlessly used this skill now. She dropped into a half-doze, and was only startled into awareness when she heard the word that had been running in a nonstop track loop through her mind for the past month.

“Phobia: an extreme or irrational fear or aversion to something.” Mr. Sims adjusted his glasses, pressing a button on his laptop that advanced the slides. “It’s an interesting definition, in my opinion. Like many things in Psychology, it is almost infuriatingly vague. How do you define ‘extreme’? How do you define ‘irrational’? Oftentimes, that label is determined by society, science, and our therapists. However, I believe you can argue that phobias are the most rational thing of all.”

Annabelle rubbed her arms, suddenly cold. These auditorium classrooms were always freezing.

“The concept of aversion is heavily rooted in evolution and biology. Anyone here ever eat any bad shrimp?” He didn’t wait for a response. “The smell of seafood probably made you sick for weeks afterwards. Our bodies are primed to detect poison, just as they are to detect danger. Phobias rooted in modern, abstract concepts - clowns, elevators, airplanes - are easy to extinguish. But phobias rooted in real, present, perpetual dangers, the sort of dangers that threatened the lives of cavemen, are far more difficult to ignore.”

Despite herself, Annabelle found herself awake. She found herself listening.

“Snakes. Heights. The Dark. Dogs, bears, large animals. Storms, driving, insects.” Mr. Sims’ looked up at the auditorium, and Annabelle could have sworn that he was looking right at her, he was looking at her. Annabelle’s breath caught, her heart thumping in her chest - a little differently than it used to. “Spiders.”

A horrible clicking echoed in Annabell’s ears. She was afraid that it was her.

Then he looked away, and the spell was broken. “Phobias are one of the most powerful and motivational forces in human evolution. Like mental illnesses, pack bonds, and emotional needs, the perceived weaknesses of the human mind can frequently be some of the most powerful forces that allow the survival of the human species. It isn’t a bug, it’s a feature. I find that a useful way to think of humanity, and of ourselves: that our weaknesses can make us very strong indeed. Next slide…”

If Mr. Sims said anything after that, Annabelle didn’t hear it.

She didn’t pay any attention to anything he said until the end of class, when she shrugged on her cute little silver backpack and merged into the stream of students filtering out of the classroom. A few students had stayed behind to talk to Mr. Sims, and he appeared wrapped in conversation with the giggling girls, but somehow he picked her out of the thick crowd.

“Annabelle?” Mr. Sims asked. “Stay after, please.”

So she leaned against the long sweep of desks, left with nothing to do but squint at Mr. Sims as he spoke with another student about the requirements for the upcoming paper, wondering why he looked so familiar.

All of the other students had assumed he was in his late twenties - “total DILF”, they all inanely assured her - but Annabelle wasn’t so sure. Despite the already graying hair, small glasses, and severe expression, she really wouldn’t put him any older than 23.

Maybe his greying temples were hair dye. Or stress did that to you, right? Annabelle squinted. But when Annabelle looked closer, if she really focused, then she really wasn’t sure it was his hair color at all.

So she looked closer. Her eyes had been itching for the past week. She had caught her skin flaking and peeling, and instead of pink raw skin underneath there was hard and scratchy black necrosis. Her eyes itched now, as if they were striving to split apart, and if Annabelle only let them then they would burst. And as her eyes itched in a horrible, visceral pain, she thought that maybe the white at Mr. Sims’ temples was the thin, sticky webs of spider-silk.

“Annabelle? Are you alright?”

She snapped back to attention, fairly embarrassed. She had been zoning out more in the past month than she had her entire life. Her older siblings had said that college would be rough, but she hadn’t known it would be this rough. This wasn’t like her. None of this was like her.

“I’m great,” Annabelle said reflexively. All of the other students were gone, and Mr. Sims was staring at her over his glasses. “Sorry. Is this about my test…?”

“No. You did quite well on your test. Best in the class, actually.” Mr. Sims smiled at her, as if this was a compliment or important. “Is that why you’ve been so bored in class?”

Ah. Busted. A rare thing for Annabelle. She affected a faux-abashed posture and expression. “Sorry, Mr. Sims. I’ve been staying up ‘til two every morning trying to get my homework done on time. If I’m ever going to go to med school…”

“I thought you were a poli sci major,” Mr. Sims said cheerfully. Annabelle fought a shudder - how did he know so much about her? This class had 200 students.

“Double major,” Annabelle said blithely. “I’m sorry about sleeping in class, I’ll manage my time better. It won’t happen again.”

“Yes, yes.” Mr. Sims waved her apology away, as if that wasn’t what he had been looking for. Then what had he been looking for? “I’m afraid I had somewhat of an ulterior motive for speaking to you today.” He leaned in a little, pulling his glasses down, and his foggy grey eyes - same color as the grey at his temples - focused solely on her. Annabelle made her eyes bigger, and she leaned in too, adjusting her posture so she looked smaller. “You’ve been doing very well in class. I actually wanted to invite you to a meeting. About...oh, your potential for med school. I’m excited to see you succeed. I think you could do quite well in whatever field you choose, and I’d like to help. It would be just us, of course.”

Ding ding ding. Annabelle affected a giggle. “I could totally use the help! Like, in your office? Or, like...lunch, or…?”

“I was thinking dinner, actually,” Mr. Sims smiled. “How’s Bombay Bicycle Club?”

Restaurant and bar, with a casual yet dignified atmosphere. Not formal enough to put up anybody’s guard, but nice enough that a freshman girl could feel treated and be impressed. Most importantly, it was popular among the businessman crowd and almost nobody on campus visited it. Annabelle used it herself to meet up with her sugar daddies all the time.

For a brief, strange moment, Annabelle felt as if he did - but of course he didn’t. But it wasn’t impossible. But if he knew, then why wasn’t he blackmailing her? Was the blackmail for later, once he got her alone? This was probably a power play, getting her off balance by insinuating that he knows but not being explicit about it. He’d probably pull out the blackmail, ‘I’ll ruin your reputation you slut etc’, once they actually got there. Not that he could - Annabelle had contingency plans - but she would have to be careful to actually record him propositioning her anyway. Worst case scenario they had a MAD situation, best case she could squeeze him. Probably not for very much money, since grad students were poor as dirt, and she didn’t exactly need him to boost her grades...get him to slip her the test key and sell the test key? That could work. She could probably get him to strategically cut grades, which was a service that Annabelle could probably sell to students with a grudge…

But then Mr. Sims smiled at her, as if he knew what she was thinking, and Annabelle realized that she had been silent too long. She wanted to come off as panicked, maybe desperate, definitely flattered.

“Sure!” Annabelle said, barely having to feign the anxious creak in her voice. “What time? I have night classes, so…”

“Next Friday at six,” Mr. Sims said instantly. “I’m looking forward to it.”

“Me too.” Annabelle affected Smile #35 - shy virgin. Mr. Sims’ grin widened. Annabelle silently put aside the ‘Catholic schoolgirl’ outfit for Friday. “See you then!”

She turned around, gave him a shy smile, and bounced off. She had just opened the heavy door out of the room when she heard him speak again, freezing her in her tracks.

“Oh, Annabelle - how is the study with Dr. Bates going?”

And his question panicked her so much, made her heart change rhythm and made her skin itch as if something was straining to come out of it, made her eyes itch and crawl and burst, that every calculated move went out the window. She didn’t answer his question, didn’t even give an excuse - she just ran out the door, bright purple vintage boots thumping against the linoleum, breath catching in a chest where she was no longer sure she even had ribs.

Most of her was already calculating. She was already two months into uni, she had to start establishing her power base. The minute her sorority accepted her she’d have greater access to money, popularity, and influence, but she needed reach with the administration too. Mr. Sims was her in. This was a good thing.

But part of her was disappointed, because she had liked him, and she felt a little used. Feelings of disgust, as strong and vivid as in her nightmares, rose in her chest. She squished far down in her chest, familiar with the feeling and effortlessly repressing it.

Annabelle was good with disgusting things.

She had another session with the Arachnophobia study on Monday. Which went fine. It was fine! She didn’t wake up that morning so sick with nerves that she almost threw up. She didn’t stare at her email inbox for thirty minutes, begging herself to cancel and drop out of the study. Nope.

She distracted herself by befriending all of her roommate’s friends and dropping faux-concerned gossip about how cranky and anxious Irene’s been lately, have you noticed she’s been blaming me for how badly she’s sleeping? It was really super sad, frowny face, how do you think I can help, frowny face frowny face frowny face?

So Annabelle went to the Arachnophobia study (it was fine), had increasingly realistic and vivid nightmares about her chest caving in and a nest of spiders crawling out of her chest and eating her eyes, and slept through class. It was all fine.

She should have gone to Oxford. It still made her a little bitter. She had been smart enough to get in, but she hadn’t been smart enough to get the full scholarship. She couldn’t afford it, so instead she was stuck in University of Surrey, where dreams went to die. Future politicians should go to Oxford. Yeah, Surrey had some peers and Parliament members, whatever. She needed better, Oxford and awards and money. From there, from some swotty school or another, it was easy street. Annabelle deserved easy street, and she deserved Oxford, and it just wasn’t fair -

After another three am nightmare, Annabelle blearily scrolled through her sibling groupchat. Barney was doing great in med school. Tricia had posted her maternity photos. Wow, look at that, Robin had gotten a commendation at his law firm. Whatever.

No hope of distinguishing herself in the world. No hope of distinguishing herself in her stupid family. She was smarter than any of her siblings, brighter and better than those doctors and lawyers and accountants, but nobody cared. Mum and Dad were living their retirement in comfort and cooing over their grandchildren, finally rewarded in old age for all their hard work.

If Annabelle dropped off the face of the earth, nobody would even notice.

It should have been a depressing thought. The idea that nobody cared about her, not really, that nobody knew the real her. But somehow it just made her heart beat faster in excitement.

The idea of disappearing from all of this, of cutting herself free from a thousand threads that brought her plummeting down to earth...in the cold hours of that dark morning, to an eighteen year old terrified and alone in uni, it was a siren song.

It was a siren song that sounded, oddly, like the chittering and scuttling of a thousand tiny bodies, but Annabelle was learning to look beyond that.

By the time next Friday rolled around, Annabelle was considering breaking her self-imposed rule against drugs and popping a Xanax. But that wouldn’t help her exhaustion, the persistent bone-deep frazzled sensation of going a week on almost no sleep whatsoever, so she settled for an espresso as she wriggled herself into a tight, slinky plaid dress paired with a puffy olive green windbreaker. She wasn’t sure if she owned any clothing that was made after 1990 - a habit born from a childhood of shopping from thirst stores, and continued voluntarily into high school when she started making her own money online fleecing suckers. It was her, so much as anything was.

“Hot date?” Irene asked, bending over her Physics textbook without looking up. She glanced at her vibrating phone, scowling. Poor baby - her friends were staging an intervention. “New guy or old guy?”

“New guy,” Annabelle said vaguely, carefully picking out a bold red lipstick - or did that seem too forward? Should she go for a natural look? “If I’m not back by midnight call the police. I’ll text you a picture of his car.”

“Roger.” Irene flipped a page of her textbook, oblivious to the fact that she was one of the few people Annabelle genuinely liked. Not enough not to screw with her, but she liked her. “He’s not good enough for you, something something.”

“Darling,” Annabelle said, winking into the mirror, “nobody is.”

She hoped Irene believed it. She didn’t.

It wasn’t a frequent occurrence that Annabelle wished she was stupid, but today she wished she was stupid enough to take a power nap during her ten minute Uber ride. Her mind felt frazzled and frayed, as if it had been taken out of her scalp and spread out with a rolling pin onto a floured countertop. She felt as if she was melting, her vision spiralling into fractals or blurring out. She wanted to sleep. God, she’d do anything for some sleep -

So she blared Bad Romance in her frayed earbuds instead, clutching her iPod Touch tightly, pulling herself together. Gaga, give her strength.

By the time that she tipped her driver, effortlessly found Mr. Sims’ car in the parking lot of Bombay Bicycle Club and texted Irene the license plate (Volkswagen, obviously), she had dragged herself into focus. She stapled on her confident posture and walk - no, we’re going with ingenue today, make it shy and hesitant - and slipped inside the restaurant, making a show of holding her clutch tight to her chest and looking around with big eyes.

She saw him instantly. He was sitting in a corner booth, head down and texting on his phone with a half-smile. The corner booth was poorly lit, light dampened by the wood panelling and soft leather seats, and half of his face was draped in shadow.

Great. She had even arrived ten minutes early just so she could pick a brightly lit, intimate little table in the center of the room. This guy - he was almost like her. He was almost like her, but he was better.

Annabelle fought the urge to grind her teeth. She smiled instead, waving cheerfully until he raised his head. He smiled back at her, wriggling his fingers, and Annabelle wove around the tables until she could slide into the seat across from him.

“This is cozy!” She said brightly. “Thank you so much for inviting me out, Mr. Sims. It’s been ages since I got away from my books -”

“Oh, cut that shit out,” Mr. Sims said, bored. “I’m not going to sleep with you.”

Annabelle’s mind shut down. Error 404, blue screen of death.

“I’m sorry,” she said pleasantly, smile frozen on her face. “What?”

But Mr. Sims just shrugged listlessly, slumping against the cushioned wall. His expression was no longer fond, indulgent, haughty. He just looked bored now, as if he was too tired and underpaid to deal with eighteen year olds. “I don’t want to sit through this entire dinner fending off flirting. We have actual business to talk about, and I am uninterested in beating around the bush when there’s no point. You aren’t even subtle.”

“Excuse me -” Annabelle started, enraged, but Mr. Sims put up a hand and cut her off.

The change was instant. On a dime, Mr. Sims straightened his posture, swept a finger through his hair to transform it from slicked back professor type to windswept, adopted a friendly and casual expression, and leaned in as if he was happy and excited to be sitting with Annabelle. In a moment he dropped ten years. Barely a second after his transformation the waiter approached them, holding a notepad, and Annabelle realized with a start that he had noticed the waiter coming before she did.

“How are you two doing tonight?” the waiter asked politely, smiling at the both of them in a rote routine that Annabelle remembered from her own days waitressing.

“Doing great!” Mr. Sims said, and even his accent was different, closely matching her own. He glanced back at Annabelle, nothing but open and friendly. “Mum says get whatever you want, dork. It’s on her bill, so let’s run her out of house and home.”

Instinctually, Annabelle shot back, “Aren’t you old enough to take me out to eat with your own money, loser?”

“Not with your stomach!” Mr. Sims laughed, and the waiter chuckled along too. Mr. Sims effortlessly rapped out an order for the waiter, before Annabelle even got a chance to look at the menu, and when she floundered Mr. Sims just rolled his eyes and ordered for her too. It was, somehow, her favorite food.

He waited for the waiter to move onto the next table, eyeing him carefully, before he let the persona drop. Mr. Sims sagged again, dropping the friendly act, sizing her up from half-lidded eyes.

“How did he even believe that,” Annabelle said flatly. “We don’t look anything alike.”

“White people will believe anything,” Mr. Sims said, rolling his eyes. “I have the Belgian government convinced I’m an Iraqi scientist and most high profile Australian celebrities think I’m Egyptian royalty.”

“...does Egypt have -”

“Nope.”

Annabelle was beginning to feel a little like the star actress in the school play who got upstaged in every way by the villain’s performance. Nobody did what she did. Nobody did what she did, but better.

“Don’t feel insecure,” Mr. Sims said, as if he could read her mind. “I’m a good actor, and I’m excellent at reading people. But I can’t plan or plot like you do. I’m shit at thinking three steps ahead, much less thirty. You can keep plots and schemes going for years - decades, even, if I were to guess. I’m not sure how someone as competent as you can have self-esteem issues.”

Annabelle bristled. “You try having nobody care about you for - how do you even know that shit about me?” Something terrible occurred to her. “Are you some kind of stalker, Mr. Sims?”

Mr. Sims shuddered in real disgust. “It’s Jon. And no, of course not. You just aren’t as subtle as you think you are.”

Yes, she was. She was subtle to everyone on the planet - everyone save, maybe, Jon. Annabelle narrowed her eyes. “What do you want?”

“Absolutely nothing,” Jon said immediately.

“Liar. Everybody wants something.”

“I’m here altruistically,” Jon said, the perfect picture of innocence. “Really. I’m here to help you, Annabelle.”

“You are stalking me.” Annabelle leaned forward, but Sims didn’t move. “Are you even a real graduate student?”

“Absolutely not. I’m twenty three, I got my Psych degree last year and I’ve been bouncing odd jobs since.” Jon shrugged, as Annabelle felt silently vindicated. Nothing about this man acted like a twenty three year old - she remembered her siblings at twenty-three, there was nothing adult about them - but it was probably just another persona. She wondered how far she’d have to scratch to get to the real Jon Sims.

“So you were just at Surrey to spy on me,” Annabelle said slowly. “I don’t know what country you’re from, but in England that’s definitely stalking.”

“I’d call it scouting,” Jon said. The waiter dropped by to place their drinks on the table - Jon had gotten a mule for himself, and he had ordered water for Annabelle in a move uncharacteristic for a sketchy guy. He waited until the waiter left to continue. “Call me a recruiter.”

“For who? What kind of job recruiter teaches a class for two months just to get to me?”

“How’s your study with Dr. Blake going, Annabelle?” Jon said, almost randomly, and Annabelle shut up. He must have seen something in her eyes, because a sharp little grin stretched in the corner of his narrow and sharp face. “Thought so. What do you dream of, Annabelle? In the cold corners of night, what fears come to life in the dark recesses of your mind?”

Maybe, Annabelle thought inanely, this was a dream too. Just an extended nightmare, one she hadn’t woken up from. It felt like that: distant and strange, hyper-real and unreal. This strange man sitting in front of her, who swapped faces so easily even Annabelle couldn’t keep up, was far too out of place to truly exist.

Or maybe he was the first real person she had met in a very long time.

Jon continued talking, as if she had responded. Maybe she had. “I am not a hero in this story. If I was, I would have come earlier. I would have deleted your name from the pool of subjects, and I would have made it so that you never got that call.” Jon looked away from her for the first time, letting a little sadness show on his face. “I couldn’t. No - no, I could have, I simply chose not to. You’re important, Annabelle. And I didn’t want to rob you of something that you may grow to treasure. I’m afraid that the choice you make now may not be much of a choice at all - but, perhaps, there is still a chance. At the very least, I would like to make this transition a little easier for you. It is a terrible thing, to have to do it alone.”

That…

“That was so vague it was completely meaningless.”

Jon barked a laugh, strangely delighted. “It’s not fair to speak in circles to somebody who’s gone a week without sleep!”

“But you’re doing it on purpose,” Annabelle said, too dead inside to feel mad.

“Oh, absolutely. I am not taking the risk of taking you on at full power.” Jon smiled at her, as if they were friends sharing a joke. “I saw what you did to that Walker boy in secondary.”

Despite herself, Annabelle smiled. “Hear he gets out on parole in five.” Something else occurred to her, a bit belatedly. “You are stalking me!”

“Does a spider stalk the fly that strikes a string on its web?” Jon asked cheerfully. “Or is it simply investigating an encroachment into its territory?”

“Does that mean that you’re going to eat me?” Annabelle said archly. “Thought you said you didn’t want to fuck me. Rude, by the way.”

Almost hilariously, Jon wrinkled his nose. “Sex is a waste of time, resources, and my attention. Can’t imagine why people are so obsessed.”

“I know, right!” Annabelle burst out, before she could help herself. “Do you have any idea how much money I get a month from guys just to talk to me? It’s like they’re aliens! Why do people fuck or date if it’s not to manipulate someone?”

“Right! It’s ridiculous.”

It was the first time anybody had ever agreed with her on that. It was the first time she had even told anybody she felt that way. For a brief second, Annabelle felt connected to Jon. It was the first time that happened in...a very long time.

Jon was the first person Annabelle had ever met who was like her. Everybody in Annabelle’s life had always been either useful or useless. Jon seemed above that, somehow. To be beyond utility, to exist on your own power...what did that look like? To be the powerful, instead of the powerless?

No matter how hard she tried, no matter how many puppet strings Annabelle tied around her fingers, she was never powerful. Not really. She was eighteen, from a nothing family, and no matter how many molehills she made herself queen of she would never rule the mountain. She couldn’t get as far as she wanted with what she had. The only reason she had even volunteered for the stupid Arachnophobia experiment was because she needed to crush out weakness in herself, erase the hidden flaws in her mind.

But Jon said her flaws were strengths. What made her weak could be turned into power.

Annabelle needed more, more, more. She needed everything, if she was to have anything. She needed what Jon had.

Everything Annabelle said had a purpose. Every word she used was chosen carefully, every little gesture or body language was calculated. She said nothing without thinking, and she could do it so quickly nobody even noticed. Jon would notice, a con man as perfect as she was.

Let him. Give her two straight days to sleep, and they’d have a real battle of wits. In the meantime, she just had to pick her questions strategically.

“What am I turning into?” Annabelle asked, after a half-second of rapid thought. “Who are you? And what do spiders have to do with any of this?”

Jon smiled again broadly, grey eyes dancing with a barely hidden delight. “You’re fully aware that these are all the same question.”

“Then answer them. You said you’re here to help me. Then help me.” Annabelle narrowed her eyes. “We’ll negotiate a price later.”

“This one is a freebie,” Jon said. He leaned back, face fading into the shadow of the dim yellow light of the hanging light. “You’re turning into something much akin to myself.”

In the darkness, Annabelle saw Jon open his eyes. And his eyes. And his eyes…

All eight of Jon’s glittering black eyes shone in the darkness, straining her own and making her head thump. It was wrong, outside of humanity or reality, and it felt as if the very sight was straining the fabric of her delicately maintained life so tight it would tear. It felt as if it was tearing her, right in two, ruining her forever. Her eyes felt like they were going to burst out of her head.

She didn’t want to know what would replace them. But she had the feeling that she already did.

“Then what,” Annabelle gritted out, “are you?”

“I am the eldest and most treasured Son of the Mother of Spiders,” Jon said. He smiled at her, just a little, almost apologetic. “Sorry about that. I know you’ve always wanted to be an only child.”

Ah. Duh. Obviously. She should have known.

“...do I want to know who the Mother of Spiders is?”

“Your mother, should you choose to accept her,” Jon said cheerfully, leaning back into the light, and his face was normal again. Human as ever. Strange and foreign as ever - possibly everything, possibly nothing. “I know you aren’t strictly in the market for adoption, but you may not have much of a choice. You’ve felt her scratching beneath her skin. She’s going to tear out of you, and soon. Did you know some species of wasp lay their eggs in the body of spiders to provide food for the grubs?”

“During the next experiment,” Annabelle said dully, already filtering out Jon’s useless tidbits of information. That was a guy who spoke for the sake of hearing himself talk. “That’s when it’s happening. When I’ll...change.”

“Yes. It’s a painful process,” Jon said, and it was almost apologetic. “My own happened when I was fifteen - quite young, all things considered. I still remember the sound of my bones snapping as -”

“Don’t.”

“Of course! Anyway, I thought I’d make sure you had...to use the psych term, informed consent, before you entered the crucible. Our - my, sorry - Mother often foregoes true consent in our operations. The beauty of nature!” Jon laughed, as Annabelle felt sick. “Agnes wanted to put together a pamphlet, but then we let Gerry go wild on the clipart and...well, it’s better if I just explain. I can’t give you the full story now, but I’ll tell you as much as your mind can comprehend.”

Annabelle wasn’t sure she could even comprehend this. It was so much, and she was so tired. She had just heard that her body was going to rupture like a cocoon and give birth to a giant spider that may or may not also be her, and all she could think about was the fact that she wanted to go back to bed. Somehow, all she could ask was -

“Why?” She asked, so stupid and pointless, as if she was stupid, as if she wasn’t her at all. “Why are you doing this?”

“It’s like I said.” In the dim yellow lighting, Jon’s eyes glittered pure black, and in that brief and stupid second Annabelle felt as if they were the same in that way. “Nobody should have to go through this alone and ignorant.” Then the moment was over, and his eyes were a human grey again, just left of normal. “Besides. Siblings stick together, right?”

“I hardly need more siblings,” Annabelle snapped.

“You’re about to lose seven of them real soon,” Jon promised, extremely worryingly, “so I’d take what you can get right now, Annabelle.”

“Are you going to kill -”

“Unfortunately, you may have to fake your own death!”

Then their food came, and Annabelle received her first lesson in the class of hard knocks.

They talked for hours. It took hours, to even just get a picture of the story. Jon was patient, answering every question, and Annabelle strained so hard trying to fight through her exhaustion, trying to understand the answer, Jon’s motivation in answering it or what he could be leaving out, that by the end of it she felt as if she had run a marathon. She had never felt so tired in her life, in the most dangerous situation in her life, with the most dangerous person she had ever met.

By the end of it, Irene was texting her to ask if she was dead, and Annabelle was falling asleep at her chair. Jon cut an end to their conversation when he slid out his wallet, covered the bill with a black Amex card, and slid a business card against the table. Annabelle squinted down at it.

The text in the center just said [FREELANCERS]. That was it. She stared at it.

Underneath the vague word, she saw a phone number [555-555] and an email [[email protected]]. Annabelle looked up to stare at Jon. “Are you for real?”

“Almost never,” Jon said cheerfully, “but the card will make sense when it needs to. Let me take you back to your dorm, alright? You can get some sleep in the car.”

If he was a creep, she was dead anyway. Annabelle didn’t bother arguing. She grabbed her jacket and got in the passenger seat of his car, and true to his word Annabelle drifted asleep almost immediately. She even felt as if the ride took longer than ten minutes, as if he drove in circles just waiting for her.

For the first time in a week, Annabelle slept uninterrupted, and had no dreams.

Annabelle wanted what Jon had.

And a week later, she took it.

Shivering in an alley, clothing ripped to shreds, her own skin hanging off her triple jointed limbs, she dug out a creased and torn business card. She had been worrying at it intensely over the weekend, staring and it and clenching it tightly as if it was her only lifeline. It was, of course. But Jon had known that.

The card looked different now. The text now looked handwritten, but with a beautiful and old-timey slanted handwriting. It now just read:

‘To Annabelle, with love. From your new friends Gerry, Jon, and Agnes’. There was a number underneath, and Annabelle frantically dug in her tattered leather jacket pocket to draw out her cracked phone.

Annabelle hated taking favors from people. Everything she had, she had fought for herself. She would scrape, borrow, beg, and steal whatever she had to. But, when it came to siblings...maybe, then, it was okay.

Dizzily, as Annabelle let the phone ring, she thought: this is my supervillain origin story.

The thought sent a slow smile crawling across her inhuman and warped face.

Sounds like fun.

#AROACE ANNABELLE RIGHTS #tma #tma fanfic #the magnus archives #the magnus archives fanfiction #annabelle cane #jonathan sims #web!jon #realized while writing evilcon that annabelle was seven while jon was twelve #and that their sibling relationship must be a NIGHTMARE #anyway i'm trying to convince myself not to write a web!jon agnes and gerry fic where its basically a leverage au #and i am failing miserably #so i wrote this instead of that #GRIFTER!JON AND IN THIS ESSAY I WILL #my writing

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eldritchteaparty · 3 years ago

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Chapters: 12/20 Fandom: The Magnus Archives (Podcast) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist Characters: Martin Blackwood, Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Tim Stoker (The Magnus Archives), Sasha James, Rosie Zampano, Oliver Banks, Original Elias Bouchard, Peter Lukas, Annabelle Cane, Melanie King, Georgie Barker Additional Tags: Post-Canon, Fix-It, Post-Canon Fix-It, Scars, Eventual Happy Ending, Fluff and Angst, I'll add characters and tags as they come up, Reference to injuries and blood, Character Death In Dream, Nudity (not sexual or graphic), Nightmares, Fighting

Summary: Following the events of MAG 200, Jon and Martin find themselves in a dimension very much like the one they came from--with second chances and more time.

Chapter summary: Jon and Martin talk things out after their encounter with Annabelle at dinner.

Chapter 12 of my post-canon fix-it is up!

Read above at AO3 or here below.

Tumblr master post with links to previous chapters is here.

***

Martin finally pulled his hand away. “We should pay.”

“I did.”

“Oh.” He still couldn’t bring himself to look at Jon. “I didn’t see.”

“I know.”

“Thank you.” It seemed like the right thing to say before he did, but afterward it hung awkwardly between them.

“Do you…” Jon cleared his throat. “Do you want to leave?”

“Sure.” He didn’t want to stay.

Now that it was later in the evening, it was cool enough outside that he didn’t feel terrible for jamming his hands into his pockets as they walked to the tube station. He took the window seat on the train, staring out into the darkness of the tunnel as if he were watching scenery go by. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to talk, or even that he was avoiding an argument; after all, arguing seemed to be one of the few ways that he and Jon actually managed to communicate with each other. It was that he still didn’t know what to say.

Jon surprised him by speaking first.

“You’re angry.”

“Yeah. I’m angry,” he answered.

“You have every right to be.”

“I mean—I’m not angry at you.” He finally looked at Jon, who was eyeing him with skepticism. “All right, I’m not just angry at you. I’m angry at the whole situation. I’m angry at her. And I’m—I’m angry at me.”

Jon nodded.

“And I feel stupid.”

“You’re not—”

“I am. And I’m sad,” he added. “I’m sad I can’t fix this.”

“It’s not your job to fix it.”

“It’s not yours, either. But that doesn’t seem to make a difference.”

Jon didn’t answer him, and he went back to looking out the window. They didn’t exchange any more words until they were almost at the front door of the flat, where Martin finally knew what he wanted to ask first.

“When did it happen? When did you—know it was back? Was it after Hill Top Road?”

Jon unlocked the door and opened it, waiting for Martin to go in before he answered him.

“It was. But not right away—it was that next week. I don’t even know if that had anything to do with it.”

“Ok. Ok. So that next weekend, when—and that haircut, and this—this stupid date—” Jon recoiled. “All of it, it’s all been, what—a distraction?”

“What?” Jon started to step toward him, then stopped. “No—no, it wasn’t.”

Martin drew in a breath and swallowed. “But it wasn’t real.”

“It was.” There was a kind of desperation in Jon’s face that Martin hadn’t seen for a while—like he had something to prove. “It’s what I could give. I don’t know how much time we have, and—”

He couldn’t hold it in. “Jon—why didn’t you just tell me?”

A moment passed, but Martin was determined to wait for an answer. Jon finally gave it.

“Because you were happy.”

“Happy? I was worried sick about you most of the time.”

“That was still better, though, wasn’t it?”

“What do you mean?”

“When I was—” Jon paused. “You liked taking care of me. You liked that I had to rely on you. You liked that I couldn’t—

“Don’t.”

Jon didn’t.

Martin was suddenly conscious that they had never moved away from the front door. Jon’s last point had knocked some of the energy out of him, but going to sit somewhere else didn’t seem right. He sat on the floor instead, leaning against the back of the couch. Jon reciprocated, leaning on the wall behind him. It was dark in the flat, they hadn’t turned on a light, but they could still see each other well enough from the lights outside the window.

“Look—at least I knew it was wrong.”

Jon sighed. “It wasn’t—it wasn’t wrong. I did need you. And it—it was sweet. I’m glad I have you. It was just—”

“I know. I know what it was.”

In the quiet that followed, guilt that had lain dormant until then writhed its way down to his stomach. It settled in, weighing heavy inside him until Jon broke the silence again.

“Earlier, what you said—you were right.”

“About what?”

“That I should have tried harder to tell you.”

“Jon—I was upset.”

“You weren’t wrong.”

“Yes, I was.” Martin sighed. “I mean… I know you tried to tell me. Well, now I do. But I would have listened if—honestly, I just thought you were going to apologize again or feel bad for everything, and—”

“And you didn’t want to hear that.”

“No, I—” Martin stopped. I didn’t want you to feel that was what he started to say, but he was interrupted by the recollection of his mother, telling him to go put the kettle on to make a cup of tea. He’d grown to hate it right along with the oolong, the way she avoided having to talk with him about anything that might have really mattered, replacing it with something that only roughly resembled comfort.

Words he’d once spoken to himself came back to him. At best, it’s a plaster. At worst, a muzzle.

He was exactly the same as her. The guilt that had awoken started to twist its way back up, into his chest and around his lungs.

“Martin, you’re not—it’s different. You’re not the same.”

“Jon!” Martin’s face flushed. “That’s not suddenly ok now, you know?”

“I’m sorry,” Jon mumbled. “I didn’t mean to. It’s not—it’s harder to control than I remember.”

“Yeah. Great.”

It got quiet again; Martin distractedly tapped his fingertips on the floor, looking up at the ceiling.

“Ok, so… what else? What’s it—what’s it like?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean—ok, so do you need to read the statements?”

Jon took a small breath. “Yes.”

“Is it—” He forced himself to look at Jon. “Are you ok? I mean… I know they used to really take it out of you.”

“I’m…” Jon met his eyes, which seemed just as hard for him. “Sometimes they do.”

“Ok. Will you—will you check in with me if you’re reading one and I’m not around?”

“Martin—”

“Look, I’m not asking for a promise. I’m just—I’m just asking if you will.”

“I don’t know.” Jon returned to staring at the floor. The answer hurt, but Martin was relieved for the excuse to break eye contact.

“What about… have you compelled anyone?”

“No.”

“Could you?”

“Yes. Well, probably. Depending on the person.”

Martin nodded. “How hard is it to—know something?”

“It’s, um… not easy. Not as hard as it was at first—before—though. And more things… slip through.”

“Accidentally.”

“Yes.”

Martin realized the muscles in his shoulders and neck were starting to cramp from how he’d been holding them. He exhaled and leaned back against the couch when something occurred to him. “What about Melanie?”

Jon looked up at him again. “What about her?”

“You’ve been sending her after dead ends, haven’t you? That’s why she hasn’t found anyone to talk to. You knew she wouldn’t.”

Jon didn’t answer.

“So that’s a yes?”

Jon nodded reluctantly.

“Good.”

Jon sat straighter, looking at Martin again. “Really? I wasn’t sure if you’d—I mean, I know you want them to know about… about everything.”

“Yeah, I do, but—but everything’s different than I thought.” He couldn’t keep the tinge of resentment out of his voice, but he pushed ahead. “They still need to know, but… it’s different. I’m glad she’s safe.”

The gratefulness he saw so plainly reflected in Jon’s face did two things. It made Martin want to go to him, to bridge the short distance between them and put his arms around him, and try again to convince him everything would be ok. It also stirred the guilt that had begun to recede quietly back into his subconscious, pushing him to think further through everything that had happened, what he might have missed, what he might have done. Those thoughts were coming faster now that he was over his initial shock. They had more to talk about.

“Jon, I’m—I’m sorry I stayed to talk to Annabelle tonight.”

“Are you?”

He hadn’t expected that bit of harshness, and he tensed up at the words. “Well, I—”

“Never mind,” Jon stopped him. “I know why you did it.”

Martin sat back again. “I am sorry, though. I mean, I’m sorry it hurt you.”

There was another short round of silence.

“Jon, why do you think she came to talk to us? Or—talk to you, really?”

“It’s obvious, isn’t it?” Jon slumped back against the wall. “She won and she came to gloat.”

“Has she?” Martin asked. “I mean—yeah, we’re here, but—this wasn’t exactly what she wanted. It’s not what she wants in the end, anyway. And gloating, I mean—that really doesn’t seem like her.”

“We have no idea what seems like her, Martin.” The pure bitterness in Jon’s voice was almost a welcome break from the sadness that had dominated his tone until then. “That’s really her whole deal.”

“Maybe.” Martin kept pushing. “Still—I just think—do you really think she was trying to—call a truce? Whatever she said?”

“No,” Jon answered. “I think she came to see the look on my face when she told me they didn’t need me anymore.”

“I don’t think so.”

“No? You don’t think the Fears will find their way out of here eventually?” It was not meant as a legitimate question.

“Ok—I don’t know, but—” Martin tried to choose his words with care. “Yeah. It seems possible.”

“Therefore, she came to gloat.”

“But Jon—” He could feel the frustration creeping into his voice. “I mean—she has to know you won’t just accept that. You’re not planning to let it go, right?”

“Of course not.”

“Exactly. And she has to know that. It’s almost like—it’s almost like she was trying to push you to do something. To not let it go. Why?”

Something about Jon’s demeanor changed; he stiffened slightly, or shifted his balance, and Martin’s thoughts began to converge. The way Annabelle had talked about time—of course she was right, the Web didn’t care, and so she didn’t either. It was very clear her own life didn’t matter to her, any more than it served the Web.

So why would she show up and deliberately remind Jon that if he did nothing, the entities would escape?

It brought to mind something Jon had said earlier, something he had ignored in the moment.

I don’t know how much time we have.

“Jon, what have you been doing?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, when you’ve been staying late in the office. When you’ve been working here, writing. What have you been doing? If I open that drawer”—he gestured vaguely behind him toward the desk—“what will I find?”

“I’d prefer you didn’t,” Jon said quietly.

He measured his words carefully. “I’d prefer you tell me.”

Jon shrank into himself; he wrapped one arm around his chest and pulled his knees in, and brought his other hand up to his mouth.

“Jon.” Martin couldn’t stop the slight shake in his voice this time; he hoped he was wrong. “Please. Tell me what you’ve been doing.”

“All right.” Jon spoke from behind his hand. “It’s—it’s a ritual.”

It wasn’t the answer Martin had wanted to hear, but it was the one he had expected. “To start another apocalypse?”

“I—” Jon was breathing harder, and Martin could see the effort he was making to push through his words. “Yes. Not—not exactly the same, I could do it faster, and there would be less—”

“How? From memory?”

“No. Well—some. Some of it—there are a couple of—of Leitners—”

“Jesus Christ, Jon!”

“I only used ones that were safe—”

“Safe? Do you realize that a giant fucking eyeball fear monster is telling you which ones are safe?”

“I meant that I could control—”

“I don’t believe you.”

There was a beat of silence. “Martin please, I’m—”

“No, I mean—I literally don’t believe you. I don’t believe you could do it.”

“Martin—”

“Look, I get what happened before. I didn’t agree, but I get it. You’d lost everything. They used you and they took everything that mattered to you. They took Sasha, then Tim, and then Daisy, and you had to watch what it did to all the others—”

“And you,” Jon said.

“—fine, yes, but—Jon, this is not that. This is—they’re all here. They have a chance. And whatever you think happened before—this is a real choice. And they care about you, and you care about them. I just—I don’t think you could do it. I don’t believe it.”

Jon face slid down into his hand until his eyes were covered. “I don’t know. I don’t want to. Probably I couldn’t. Probably I won’t. But I wish I could. If it gets bad enough, maybe I can. And I need to—to be ready. I just can’t—I just can’t let them—”

The quick hitch of breath that followed made Martin forget what he had been about to say, if he’d had any words. He crawled to Jon’s side, slipping one arm around his back and the other around his chest, awkwardly trapping the arm Jon had wrapped around himself. Jon’s face ended up pressed against Martin’s throat, where his breath continued to catch as he fought to stop crying.

Martin wanted to tell him it was ok—that it would be ok, that they could still fix it—but he remembered the last time Jon had finally broken down that had only made him withdraw again. He was starting to really understand that it wasn’t ok for Jon, and probably never would be. He couldn’t bear to think what that meant for him, especially not right then, but he knew enough to not make that mistake again.

He said the only comforting thing he could think of that he was sure about, that he had been sure about for a long time now.

“I love you.”

Jon reached a hand up to Martin’s neck, where he pressed the pads of his fingers firmly against his skin.

“I’m here.” Martin spoke softly against Jon’s hair. He could tell Jon was still struggling, still trying to gain control, but he seemed to have relaxed a little; his body wasn’t quite so rigid as Martin held him.

***

Eventually Jon was calm. They’d shifted so that he rested with his back against Martin’s chest, and Martin’s back was against the wall. His arms were around Jon’s waist, and Jon’s arms rested comfortably on top of his as he leaned back into him.

“So.” Jon’s voice was raw. “I’ve finally become a monster.”

“No.” Martin pressed his mouth gently against his ear. “You haven’t.”

“Yes, I have.”

“No. I mean—I still don’t think you could do it, but—now that we’re here, and we know what’s out there—you don’t want them to get out again. That would be terrible.”

Jon shifted slightly; Martin impulsively tightened his grip, then made himself relax again.

“To be clear—I don’t think you’re responsible for what happens a hundred years from now, or a thousand years from now—and I’m definitely not in favor of ending the world over it.”

“Martin, it just—it doesn’t matter how long from now it is. If it’s ten thousand years from now and they escape, and poison a thousand dimensions—more than that, maybe—if I could have ended it, it’s my fault.”

Martin tightened his grip again, this time deliberately.

“Maybe there’s another way.”

Jon turned so his forehead was against Martin’s cheek. “Martin, I know you want to think that, but—”

“Yes, and I know, the world doesn’t care what I think.”

“I should never have said that.”

“I mean, it hurt—but it was true.”

“I’m sorry.”

“That’s not the point. The point is—I still don’t think Annabelle would have turned up just to brag. I think she needs something. She doesn’t want you to have time. I think she’s trying to push you into acting, and maybe—maybe, if you did, it would all turn out the same. But worse, obviously.”

Jon’s fingers, which he had been absentmindedly brushing over Martin’s forearm, were suddenly still; Martin realized that possibility hadn’t occurred to him.

“But maybe—if you don’t, but if you keep trying—keep looking for it—maybe there is another way. One she’s scared of. A path she doesn’t want you to take.”

“Hm.” Martin could tell Jon wasn’t sold on it, but he had heard him, and that was enough for the moment.

“Jon?”

“Yes.”

“I’m—I’m going to tell them soon.”

Jon nodded. “I understand.”

He kissed Jon lightly on the forehead, and slid his hand up to his chest, where he slipped his fingers into the gaps between the buttons of Jon’s shirt. He could feel the scar, his scar, through the thin fabric of Jon’s t-shirt; beneath that though, around it, he could feel the rise and fall of Jon’s chest.

“Jon.”

“Yes?”

“Let me know if you’re reading a statement and I’m not around?”

Jon sighed. “All right.”

#the magnus archives #tma #mag pod #tma spoilers #jonmartin #tma fanfic #my writing

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beardycarrot · 4 years ago

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I, lying awake in bed because that’s how it always is the day before you have something important to do... am going to try to guess what the plot of Bioshock Infinite is, based on what I’ve seen in the first few hours and with knowledge of the other two (and a half?) games. Spoilers for the entire Bioshock series, except maybe Infinite, but I intend to knock it out of the park.

So. The first Bioshock is set in a futuristic (by 1950’s standards) city at the bottom of the Atlantic Ocean, created by a hardcore libertarian named Andrew Ryan as a way to once and for all live in a society free of government regulation. I won’t get into all the “sea slugs that produce a gene-altering wonder drug” and “child slaves brainwashed to drink corpse blood” stuff; very interesting, very important to the plot, but if I tried to explain the world of Bioshock I’d be lying here typing on my phone until the sun comes up. That stuff aside, the major plot points are that you’re not actually a guy who just happened to crash-land near the entrance to the city but are, in fact, Andrew Ryan’s son, and the guy who’s been guiding you through the city was actually using a Manchurian Candidate-style activation phrase to manipulate you into doing whatever he wanted. It’s a big, mind-blowing reveal (as is the realization that your character is actually about four years old... science fiction, man).

Bioshock 2 didn’t really have any big plot twists... or plot, for that matter ...but it was developed by an entirely different team, while the original’s team also did Infinite, so I’m expecting a return to form. Just as an aside, Bioshock 2 had a short DLC campaign called Minerva’s Den, which had a fantastic story, and a twist that the player can figure out on their own if they’re paying attention. Your goal is to get a very smart computer (for 1968) out of the underwater city and back to the surface so you can use it to cure all the victims of the slug-borne gene manipulation, and you’re guided over radio by the computer’s creator. At the end, you learn that the one guiding you was actually the computer itself, and that you’re its creator, slowly recovering from brainwashing. For the record, the endings to all three of these have made me cry.

So! With those kinds of twists in mind, what am I expecting from Bioshock Infinite? Well, I went into the game only knowing the names of the protagonists, that rather than underwater it was set in a floating sky city, and that there was some kind of religious theming but also a lot of old-timey Americana. As it turns out, the people of this city worship— no, have DEIFIED the founding fathers, and are lead by a man called Father Comstock. I’m pretty sure that name is a reference to the Comstock Act, similar to Andrew Ryan being named after Ayn Rand... but he could actually be called Father Cornstalk and I just haven’t been paying attention.

Anyway. Just a few minutes into the game, I noticed that a statue of Comstock looked suspiciously similar to my character... before deciding that I didn’t actually have that clear of a mental image of my character, they wouldn’t pull the “secret son” thing twice, and as much as I love it there probably isn’t going to be any time travel. Le sigh.

UNTIL!

So, your goal is to get a girl named Elizabeth out of the city, and there is some legitimately weird stuff going on with her prison. Like, they have some of her personal possessions from various points in her life in containment: a teddy bear, a diary, and a bloody cloth labeled “menarche”. Gross. Why would you keep that. Well, when an electric current (or something visually similar) is applied, the bear and diary change color, and the blood disappears from the cloth. The reason I’m not sure if it’s electricity is that there’s some kind of siphon system set up, it looks like a bunch of subwoofers, and it’s absorbing... something? When she sings, maybe? Is the energy being siphoned what changed the quantum states of those objects, or whatever was happening? There was also a chart showing that when she hit puberty... something, really spiked, which is what forced them to build the siphon. I can’t claim to know what’s happening here, but when I finally saw her she was day dreaming about Paris, and.. I guess opened some kind of portal, TO Paris? But then a bus or something barreled towards her, so she quickly closed it. In the couple seconds that the portal was open, I saw the marquee on a movie theater that... well, was in French, but I’M PRETTY SURE said “Return of the Jedi”. I should probably mention that this game is set in 1912. That smells like time travel to me, baby!

So, this is where it gets interesting, and confusing, and complicated. I think Elizabeth is Comstock’s daughter, from various signs and posters about Comstock’s seed being their salvation, and The Lamb of God being locked in the tower, and such... and signs about a “false shepherd” who would try to take her away (again, lots of weird divergent Christian sect stuff). One sign showered the false shepherd’s hand as having the initials AD branded on the back, which the protagonist Booker does indeed have. Before rescuing Elizabeth, Comstock confronts you, and seems to know all about Booker’s past, including his wife Anna (who died in childbirth), and claims to know his future as well. Being a prophet and such. Thing is, the way it’s presented, that whole thing could’ve all been in Booker’s head...? Shortly after rescuing Elizabeth, you run into someone who mistakes her for someone named Annabelle. Hmm HMMM. I’ve also run into a diary by someone named Rosalind Lutece (I think she’s one of the creepy twins who keep popping up everywhere) talking about physics and what sounded like the concept of quantum superpositioning, as well as a little informational kiosk in which she claims quantum mechanics are what enable the city to float. There were also a couple diaries that seemed to imply Elizabeth came from... somewhere else, and a part of her might still be there, or something?

SO. Finally, we get to the part where I theorize on what’s going on. In short... iunno.

Okay, well, I feel like my idea should be obvious by now. I think Comstock might be a future, or ALTERNATE REALITY FUTURE, version of Booker, and Elizabeth is... either a past version of his wife, before she went back in time and married him, or an alternate-reality version of his daughter? But then who is the Annabelle that the girl thought Elizabeth was? Did Booker’s child not die along with his wife, and was secretly wisked away to skytown? Comstock’s wife is consistently referred to as Lady Comstock, but what if her name is Annabelle too? Maybe it’s the same concept as the Heinlein story By His Bootstraps, with the protagonist only realizing that he IS now the old man from the beginning, and has to get his younger self into this weird time loop in order to live the life he’s lead?

I might be going a little off the rails; I mean, I’m pretty sure that the statue of Comstock I saw earlier actually reminded me of Handsome Jack, a character from another game I haven’t played who happens to wear an outfit similar to Booker’s. That said, there’s DEFINITELY some kind of time travel or dimension-hopping shenanigans going on here. There are good writers on this game, and I refuse to believe the Annabelle/Anna thing is a Batman v Superman-level coincidence.

The weird part is that in the tower where they were keeping Elizabeth, they have documentation of her dating back to one year old, so she was clearly exhibiting... something, unusual, even as a baby. The game also has yet to explain Vigors, its versions of the Plasmids from the first two Bioshock games, which were basically superpowers granted by the substance produced by those sea slugs. If I had to guess, Vigors are... a result of some kind of quantum something-or-other, which they made from whatever it is they were siphoning off of Elizabeth? Maybe it’s a Scarlet Witch kind of thing... you don’t actually change yourself, you just find yourself in an alternate reality where everything else is 100% the same, except you’re a version of yourself who can shoot crows out of your hands.

Right, so. My... official theory is... that... I have no idea what’s going on. Yeah, sorry, something in that mess up there is bound to be close, but when you get into time travel and/or dimension-hopping, all bets are off the table. Or all bets, a literally infinite number of bets, are on the table. Which is a lot to try to comprehend.

#bioshock #bioshock infinite #bioshock spoilers

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