#where agatha will fuck herself over so hard that it will end in pain

[thymejot]

I am absolutely in love with the episodic nature of Agatha All Along.

It let's the audience marinate in each episode. Gives time to form opinions and theories.

I can watch an episode, come up with a hundred ideas about who these characters are, where they are headed and be so very wrong. Yet out comes the next episode and I have a hundred more.

I have missed this part of fandom.

Watching people spiral into headcanon, give deep meta for each episode, fixate on one tiny beat and stretch it out with beautiful art and gifs.

Agatha is such a deeply flawed character who cannot get out of her own way.

Watching a fandom fall in love with this complex asshole is a gift

[aparticularbandit]

this was supposed to be fluff and ended up having angst oops

it actually was going to go in a really angsty direction and i cut it because nope.  i think i like it better this way anyway.

this was supposed to be a second date alas maybe next time.

really, this chapter should be titled ted fucking sucks or some variation thereof.  maybe on ao3.

eve fletcher x agatha harkness

Eve has done a lot of hard things in her life.

She grew up with a mostly absent father, promised herself her son wouldn’t have to go through the same thing, and then dealt with him dealing with the absence of his father, all while realizing that her own mother probably felt the same way about her as she still does about him.  She’d lived through the unexpected death of her mother, so she’d never been able to apologize for the way she’d treated her growing up, the way she’d blamed her for the divorce, for her father’s disappearance, only realizing later that her mother did the best that she could the way that Eve herself still does the best that she can.  She’d handled her ex-husband’s affair, raged over the woman he’d found on Craigslist, and refused to blame herself for his wayward…everything, refused to forgive him for what he’d done to their son, and refused to let go of her anger at him for betraying her, not just with an affair but with leaving, when he knew how she had grown up.

These sound like small things.  Normal things, maybe.  She would never bring them up in conversation unless they were strictly speaking necessary; she’s never talked about them with Agatha because it doesn’t seem like Agatha wants to be the sort of person she can confide in.  Not like that.  Not really.

She’s living through that, too.

But it’s fine.  Those are past burdens, for the most part, and Eve doesn’t need to share them with anyone.  Certainly not Agatha.  She has Jane, after all, for days like this.  Anniversaries of painful things.

Jane, at least, remembers and checks in and sometimes just takes Eve out for coffee or lunch at their favorite café or whatever the newest movie with some relatively hot guy is.  (Last year, they’d gone to see Professor Marston and the Wonder Women, and Jane had come out of it with wide eyes, apologizing profusely because she’d just thought it would be a cute comic book movie when it was absolutely not a cute comic book movie; Eve had never admitted that she’d secretly loved it.)  This year, they’d probably go see A Star Is Born because Bradley Cooper is hot, Lady Gaga can sing (mostly, although Eve isn’t a fan of her music), and the…technically not the original, because this is the fourth time Hollywood has made this movie – but the last one, with Streisand and Kristofferson, was – and still is – one of Eve’s favorite movies. Of course, the new one could be a right fuck up, but, in the end, at least Bradley Cooper is hot?

She hasn’t told Jane about Agatha yet.  She hasn’t told anyone about Agatha yet because she doesn’t know what she would call her. Brendan knows because he was here, and Amanda must have guessed something, and she doesn’t know what Agatha told her after Eve had grown too exhausted to chat, and that’s just as terrifying as trying to broach the subject with her longest friend, of telling her that maybe, just maybe, she might be…dating…another woman?  Are they dating?  Are they in a relationship?  Or are they just…?

But precisely none of that matters right now.

She and Jane are going to go see a movie, and she’s going to eat way too much popcorn, and when they get to the café afterwards to talk about life and how hot Bradley Cooper is, she’ll have too much coffee and then go back to her house where, for the first time, she will deal with this alone.

…and probably end up inviting Agatha over to distract herself from that.

Agatha can be a very good distraction, and it’s not like Eve won’t reward her for it.

She’s…very good at rewarding Agatha for her time.

She just hates calling it that.

~

can u come over tonite?

Eve’s finger hovers over the button before she clicks send.  Maybe – maybe – she wouldn’t be sending it at all if Jane hadn’t cancelled on her. Something really big had to have happened; Jane had sent her a text about needing to stop by her house to pick up her discount movie mugs (Eve never finished hers and still always needed to pee halfway through the movie) and then called a few moments later to say she wouldn’t be able to make it.  Eve asked what was going on – if there was anything she could do to help – but Jane just….

It felt weird, knowing how honest she had been with Jane all those years ago, how she’d planned to go and hide out at her house for a few days if it wasn’t for Brendan (because she couldn’t abandon her son with him), if it wasn’t for—

Eve shoves that aside and sends another text immediately after the first: i need u.

Barely a minute passes before the response vibrates the phone in her hand, so quick that there are no dots in a bubble to let her know that Agatha is even typing: coming now.  be there soon.

A creeping sense of panic curls like a cat around Eve’s heart, but it succumbs to the wave of numbness washing over her.  Like the panic around her heart, Eve curls on her side, holding a pillow low against her chest, tightening it between her legs, and resting her head just atop it.  The pillow is soft, the softest she has, and it molds against her.

She doesn’t want to get up, but she knows, if Agatha is coming, she needs to prepare.  She needs to be presentable.

….

Agatha was here the entire week she was sick.  Fuck her expectations.  Eve’s not getting up.

….

Okay, she will get up just long enough to unlock the front door and then stumble back to bed and send a quick text: doors open.  Then she curls up into the same position she was in, closing her eyes and waiting.

~

Eve doesn’t move when she hears the front door open, shut, and lock; doesn’t move when she hears the shoes slipped off in the doorway, the soft footsteps down the hall and hitting the creaking floorboard on the steps; doesn’t move when she hears the squealing of her bedroom door.  Something in her tells her this is bad; she should be concerned when someone walks into her house – it could be a murderer!  But a murderer wouldn’t take the time to lock the door behind them or slip their shoes off at the front door.  Besides, she doesn’t have quite the energy

Agatha’s familiar weight presses into her mattress as she lifts her covers and slides in just behind her.  She wraps one arm around Eve’s waist, draws warm against her back, and kisses her neck easy, gentle.  Hey.

Hey.

You doing okay, hon? Agatha murmurs, breath hot on Eve’s neck.

Eve nods, lies.  Mm, she mumbles against her pillow.  Just tired.

You needed me here for tired?

Eve hears it, the actual question underlying everything, or what she assumes it is, and she holds her pillow close against her chest for a heartbeat before releasing it and curving into Agatha, tucking her head just under Agatha’s chin.  I’m sorry.

For what, babe?  Agatha threads a hand through Eve’s hair, pushes some of it back from her face.

I can’t—  Eve swallows, wets her lips.  I didn’t need you for—  She bites her lower lip.  I’ll be better in the morning, if you stay.  I can then, just not…just not now.

Agatha grows still.  She moves back, away from Eve, and Eve’s heart drops.  Then she sets a finger just under Eve’s chin and lifts until she stares directly into Eve’s eyes.  You can call me over for more than sex, dear.  You know that.  She searches Eve’s eyes for something.  Eve doesn’t know if she finds it.  I don’t mind.

Eve doesn’t say anything.  She just nods and buries her head against Agatha’s chest.  Her fingers find the edge of Agatha’s shirt and tighten as she clings to her.  Agatha just holds her to her.  Warm.  Secure. As she relaxes, Eve curls closer to her. She wraps her arm around her tight the way she might with her old stuffed teddy bear, unable to get close enough. Thank you, she murmurs, finally, as she settles.

Any time, hon.  Agatha plants a kiss atop her head.  Any time.

~

Eve doesn’t know how much time passes between when Agatha arrives to comfort her and when she asks the question.  She’s not really keeping track of that.  Instead, she’s been focusing on her own breathing, on Agatha’s steady heartbeat beneath her, on the warmth of Agatha’s breath, on the hands still holding her tightly, gently.  They’ve shifted once or twice, trying to find better positions that don’t lead to their arms growing numb, and eventually Agatha stretched onto her back, guided Eve half atop her.  Eve’s head still rests on Agatha’s chest, slowly lifting every time she takes a breath. Their legs are tangled comfortably together.  Every so often, one of Agatha’s hands lifts to brush through Eve’s hair, to rub comforting circles along her back.

Eventually, though, Agatha asks, Do you want to talk about it, hon?

No.

And that’s it.

Eve expects Agatha to push, the way she often has when something has been bothering Brendan.  It’s not that she’s wanted to intrude on her son’s privacy, of course.  She just wanted to make sure that he was really doing okay.  It’s not….  It wasn’t really pushing, just making sure that he knew, if he needed to talk, that she was there to listen.  Sometimes, when he was younger, it helped because he really did want to talk about it, she just had to find creative ways of getting him there.  Asking again.  Seeing if he wanted to make cookies with her, and then, while they were baking, oftentimes he would just open up.  Tell her everything.

Unless it was about Ted.  He would say that he missed him, sometimes, but as he got older, he stopped saying that. Ted would promise to show up for his hockey games and then never show up and then Brendan would be mad and refuse to talk about it and lock himself in his room because he had to do homework and play music so loud that Eve knew better than to try and intrude.  She couldn’t do anything about that, no matter how much she wanted—

It was our anniversary, Eve says into the quiet.

Agatha doesn’t stop her.

~

Eve remembers everything so clearly.

It was her first day of her first official job at the senior center.  She’d just finished her master’s degree a few months prior, taking classes at Eastern while Ted took care of Brendan and put him to sleep, and while she’d been volunteering at the senior center since high school (it’d been one of her extracurriculars when she’d applied to college all those years ago), she’d never had an official job there before.

Ted had been affectionate when they woke, kissing her with more passion than she’d had from him in a really long time.  At the time, she’d thought that was due to the long hours she’d spent either in class or doing homework, leaving her too exhausted to humor either of them, and when he cited their wedding anniversary as a good reason to start the day off “right”, she’d almost – almost – given in.

Sometimes, even now, Eve wonders what would have happened if she had, instead of laughing and pushing him away, instead of putting her new job over what Ted wanted.  She wouldn’t have been so late.  Ted had never been good at lasting very long, not that she’d said anything about it then.

Brendan, of course, had run into their room just as she was starting to get up, so it probably wouldn’t have changed anything.  In fact, it might have scarred him even more than the divorce had, although he’d been only eight at the time and likely wouldn’t have known what they were doing in the first place.

Her first day hadn’t been everything Eve had expected, of course, but it had been good.  She’d gotten to see a little more of what it was like as an employee and not just a volunteer, gotten to see more of what went on in the background, but she’d already been friends with most of her coworkers.  She didn’t really need all of that get used to your new job stuff because it was like they were paying her for what she’d already been doing.  Sure, sure, there was a little bit more responsibility, a few more duties that they couldn’t trust to general volunteers, but it had been—

Honestly, looking back on it, that was the best part of her day.

Of course, when the other girls had found out it was her anniversary, they’d jokingly chided her about coming in.  They sent her home two hours early, saying they could take over from here, that her real work would start tomorrow, and that she’d better spend some time with her husband while she was still young.  She’d thought about that while she left, humming to herself with the song in the car (The Smiths’s Asleep, which was ironic in hindsight).

Eve hadn’t even considered the car parked in front of their house.  People did that all the time during the day.  it wasn’t like they used that spot.  They had enough room without it.

She’d….

She’d heard them, when she walked through the door.  Heard them, smelled the sweet scent of sex, felt it in the vibrations in the air because it was impossible to ignore it, but refused to—

It was impossible to ignore it when she went to their bedroom and found her husband fucking some girl she’d never met in their bed.

The girl noticed before he did, had pulled up her comforter over her bare chest, had tried to hide against him because—

Because—

~

Eve threw him out.

He tried to explain, but she hadn’t wanted to hear it.

He tried to say that she would want him back later, but she hadn’t wanted to hear that either.

He tried to say that Brendan would wonder where he was, but—

That one almost stopped her, but if he wanted somewhere to stay, he could stay with that fucking whore—

~

The thing was that Eve couldn’t even curl up in her bed to try and make herself feel better because even after shoving all of the sheets and everything into the laundry, it still smelled like them, she still saw them, they still—

She curled up on the couch, unable to stop crying and finding that she didn’t want to.

Eventually, she’d dozed off like that.

~

The phone didn’t wake her up.

The pounding on her door did.

The yelling from Ted that she chose to ignore.

She hadn’t thought about turning her phone on silent, so really, it should have woken her up, and this time when it went off, when she saw the hospital’s number, she answered immediately.

It was unexpected, they’d said.  Her mom had just…collapsed.  They’d rushed her to the ER, but there wasn’t anything they could do.

She was dead by the time she arrived.

~

Eve’s throat grows raw as she lays it out for Agatha.  She doesn’t look up at her, doesn’t want to see her face, doesn’t want to see how she will respond, and when she gets far enough into it, she turns away from her, rolls onto her side, and curls like that, wrapping her arms around herself.  As she continues to speak, Agatha draws near to her again, entwines her arms with Eve’s, and despite all of this, Eve instinctively shivers.

It was the worst day of my life, Eve finishes, and every year, no matter what, I end up like this. It’s so…stupid. I’m so stupid.  She holds tight to Agatha’s arms.  You’d think I’d be over all of it by now, and most of the time, I am, and it’s fine, everything’s fine, it’s just....  It’s just today.  It all hits again.  And I’m like this.

You’re not stupid, hon.  Agatha presses warm against Eve’s back.  That’s as bad as saying I’m stupid for having a hard time with hospitals.  You had a really traumatic day, and—

You’re scared of hospitals?  Eve turns just enough to look at Agatha.  Why?

Agatha sighs.  That’s not important right now, babe.  I—

Eve’s brow furrows as she turns away again.  You took me to the hospital.

Yes, dear, I did.  Because, if you will remember, you passed out—

You stayed with me at the hospital, Eve continues, even though you hate them?

Agatha doesn’t hesitate.  Yes.  Of course. I wouldn’t have just left you there, babe.  You’re worth more than that.

Eve snorts.  Tell that to Ted.  I’m sure he would love to hear it.

I will, if you want.

He won’t believe you.

So?  Agatha’s brows raise; Eve doesn’t have to be looking at her to know what expression she’s wearing right now.  I don’t care if he believes me, hon; I care if you believe me.

You don’t even love me, Eve thinks, hating herself for thinking it. It isn’t true, not really.  Agatha clearly cares about her on some level. Just not the way Eve cares about her. That shouldn’t matter, but it does. She pushes the thought away; she doesn’t want to think about that right now, not when she���s already in a bad place, not when Agatha seems to be trying to get her out of it.

Eve, babe?  Agatha’s voice cuts through her thoughts.  What are you thinking about?

You, Eve admits readily enough.  She doesn’t want to bring it up – she doesn’t – and so she chooses not to.  Mostly.  I feel like I still don’t know anything about you.

What do you want to know?

The question is easy enough, but Eve suspects whatever she asks Agatha will avoid if she doesn’t want to answer it.  She bites her lower lip and then asks, Will you answer me?  Honestly?

Agatha considers this for a moment and then nods slow, her chin pressing into Eve’s shoulder.  One question, babe.  Whatever you want to know.  I’ll answer as honestly as I can.

Multiple questions leap to Eve’s lips immediately.  What am I to you? seems much more open-ended and, worse, Eve isn’t sure she could hear any negative response right now.  She couldn’t bear it.  So as much as that’s the question she wants answered, she doesn’t ask.  She could ask about hospitals again, but she’s not sure she really wants to know.  Besides, it could just be a childhood phobia, and that would waste the question.  Then she hits upon it, something she’d asked before and suspected that Agatha hadn’t been completely honest about.

Where did you get all of those scars on your back?

I told you, babe, Agatha murmurs, pressing her forehead against Eve’s shoulder blades.  I fell.

Into a rose bush? Eve asks, hoping that asking for more clarification doesn’t count as an additional question.  Multiple times?

Agatha chuckles.  No, dear.  I doubt thorns could cause that. Maybe if they were on a whip.

Eve’s brows shoot up.  Were you whipped?

No, no, no. I fell, babe.  Agatha’s tone is insistent, even as she hides her face against Eve’s back.  I collapsed during a performance in New York, and it….  She lets out a low, bitter chuckle.  It didn’t go so well for me.

That answer only causes more questions.  You collapsed? Eve echoes.  In New York? What kind of performance?  Was it like one of those circus tightrope walking things?  Did you fall on a bunch of knives?

Eve.  Agatha tugs the collar of her shirt down so that she can kiss her skin.  One question.  I got the scars from a really bad fall.

But—

Later, babe.  Agatha kisses her skin again.

Eve glances over her shoulder.  What are you doing? she asks. I’m still not in any mood for sex.

I know.  I’m not trying to change your mind, hon.  Agatha shifts upward so that she can meet Eve’s eyes.  I just wanted to remind you how worthy you are.

Eve raises an eyebrow.  Worthy of what, exactly?

Of being loved.

Eve stares at her.  But you don’t love me, she wants to say but doesn’t.  Not like that.  You’ve never said it.  The words catch in her throat.  She doesn’t want the answer.  She doesn’t.  No matter how fondly Agatha is looking at her right now with those eyes so clear and blue, she can’t begin to hope that she’ll get the answer she wants.

She’ll never admit it to herself, but she’s scared that she might.

Instead, Eve turns back to her, captures Agatha’s lips with her own, and relaxes into her.  Agatha responds in kind, gentle and yearning, but not hungry, not desperate. Comforting.  When they part, Eve can’t help but say it again, I love you.

Agatha just smiles, somber and sad.  I know.

[lovelybucky1]

please please can we get some Wanda x Agatha content? I know that you said that you were taking blurb requests so pretty please!!

Retribution

DARK FIC, READ WARNINGS

warnings: slight dubcon, dom!wanda, sub!agatha, use of magic, bondage magic, angry sex, face slapping, hair pulling, spit kink, manipulation, mentions of (non sexual) violence,

“You ruined everything!” Wanda yells, sending furniture sliding across the floor and slamming into the opposite wall.

“Calm down, Wanda, it’s just me,” Agatha says in a sickly sweet voice that fills Wanda with boiling rage.

“Everything I built, you ruined! I had a life, a family, and you took it all away!”

Wanda crosses the room in long steps and as she gets closer, Agatha takes a step back. She hits the wall behind her and she puts her hand out to stop Wanda, but she bats it away.

“You’re going to pay for this,” she hisses.

“You know,” Agatha clears her throat, “your accent gets thicker when you’re mad.”

Agatha immediately regretted the teasing remark when Wanda brought her hand up and slapped her across the face. She chokes on a surprised gasp and works her jaw to alleviate the sting.

“You’re quite the little firecracker, aren’t you, red?” she laughs humorlessly.

Wanda, having enough of Agatha’s jibes, covers her mouth with her hand and gives her a threatening glare.

“Speak again and it’ll be the last time.”

Agatha didn’t believe she would go through with the threat, but she doesn’t push any further and only nods.

Wanda releases the other woman’s mouth, then grabs both of her wrists and holds them over her head. Agatha feels a warm tingle, and when she looks up, she sees glowing red chains wrapped around her wrists.

“Come,” Wanda orders bluntly as she walks to the center of the room. Agatha only hesitates for a moment, but it is apparently too long for Wanda. She uses her magic to pull her forward and stops her only inches in front of her face.

Wanda attaches the bonds to the ceiling and starts to pace around Agatha’s suspended body. She admires her former neighbor’s figure; she may hate the woman but she isn’t blind. Wanda reaches out to place a hand on the center of her back, and Agatha jumps, making the chains jingle.

“What are you so afraid of?” Wanda asks, walking back in front of her. Agatha looks down at her with a pleading expression, and Wanda almost feels bad for her. Almost.

“Please let me go,” Agatha begs.

“What did I say about talking?”

Agatha squeezes her eyes shut and forces tears to spring to her eyes. Wanda is mad now, but she’s not an evil person. Her compassion is her weakness, and Agatha knows how to play into it perfectly.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I just... I didn’t want to do this. He made me,” she says, throwing in a few voice cracks for good measure.

“Who made you?”

Agatha opens her glassy eyes and gently shakes her head, like it would hurt her too much to tell Wanda the truth.

“Who made you?” Wanda asks again, firmer this time.

“Tony Stark,” Agatha breathes out.

Wanda’s stomach drops at the name. In the world she created, Tony Stark didn’t exist. Steve Rogers was a household name, the heroic Captain America who saves the day and is the image of goodness. Clint Barton and Natasha Romanoff, or Uncle Clint and Aunt Nat as her kids called them, lived far away on a nice, quaint little farm with Clint’s wife and his family. All of the Avengers existed in her world somehow, except Tony Stark.

“He blamed you for breaking up the team,” Agatha explains. “It was his last wish to make sure you end up in prison, away from your family just like you took away his.”

The anger fades from Wanda’s face, but nothing replaces it. She stares blankly at the floor as she processes what she’s heard. Tony Stark, the man who’s weapons killed her parents, the man who destroyed her home, and the man who tore apart her found family, blamed her?

“I’m so sorry, Wanda. I didn’t have another choice... he had a team of people come after my family.”

Wanda’s mind raced, thinking of reasons as to why Tony would do this. It wasn’t her fault, she didn’t deserve any of this. Maybe she just didn’t want to believe, but she was convinced this was wrong.

“You’re lying,” Wanda says, finally looking up from the floor.

“I wish I was, I really do,” Agatha sobs.

“He wouldn’t have done this.”

“I’m so sorry, Wanda.”

“Stop lying to me!” Wanda screams, the sound echoing throughout the room, making the furniture rattle. “You’ve done nothing but lie!”

Wanda’s hands ball into tight fists at her side and red energy swirls around her. Her eyes begin to glow and for the first time, Agatha feels genuine fear at what Wanda may do. Wanda grabs Agatha’s thigh and sends a hot wave of energy through her body.

It burns her everywhere, making her feel like she’s boiling from the inside. She opens her mouth to scream, but no sound comes out; only a red light emanating from her throat.

Agatha thrashes about against the chains, but it’s no use. She can’t escape the pain and Wanda is too furious to show her mercy now.

When Wanda finally lets go, the burning sensation stops and Agatha goes limp, hanging from her wrists as she tries to catch her breath.

“You’re a witch,” Wanda says, making Agatha look at her again. “Tony Stark didn’t send you, you came after my power.”

“Don’t be-”

“Don’t try to lie again, I know the truth. I looked inside your head, I saw the destruction you wish to bring.”

Wanda steps forward and places her hand on Agatha’s thigh again and she flinches, expecting it to burn. When it doesn’t she opens her eyes to find Wanda smirking.

“I’ll make you a deal. You can tell me what I want to know, or I’ll find out myself. One of those will be far less comfortable for you than the other.”

Wanda’s voice is low, almost seductive in a way. Agatha shakes slightly as Wanda looks at her intensely, her gaze unwavering even slightly.

“I’ll tell you,” Agatha says weakly, making Wanda smile.

“Wonderful,” Wanda chirps.

Just as Agatha was about to speak, Wanda trials her hand up her stomach, stopping just between her breasts. Agatha chokes, surprised at the other woman’s actions.

“Don’t mind me,” Wanda says nonchalantly as she lifts the hem of Agatha’s shirt and pushes her hand up, feeling her soft stomach.

Wanda grabs ahold of Agatha’s bra and rips it clean off like it was nothing. She gasps when Wanda pinches at her nipple with cold fingers, instinctively pushing her chest out for more. Wanda raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t comment. Instead, she pulls her hand out of Agatha’s shirt and snaps her fingers, and in a flash, all of her clothes disappear.

She yelps when the cool air of the room hits her body all at once, and she squirms to try to cover herself, but there is so use. Wanda grabs Agatha by the hair to keep her in place, shooting her a glare that says stay still.

“Start talking before I do something you won’t enjoy,” Wanda threatens.

“What do you want to know?” Agatha breathes out.

“Tell me everything. Who you are, what you want from me.”

Agatha nods quickly and begins to explain. She tells Wanda she is a witch and has been for four-hundred years. She tells of how she’s been searching for a more powerful being to teach her, to make her stronger, and that Wanda is the most powerful beacon of energy in the entire multiverse.

Wanda listens intently and begins to notice the story does not entirely add up. She decides to give Agatha a little more encouragement to keep telling the truth.

She kneads Agatha’s breast roughly in on hand, and with the other, she slides it between her legs to cup her pussy. Agatha squeezes her legs shut in surprise, which only adds to the minimal friction Wanda is providing. She moans quietly, an involuntary little noise that escapes her throat and makes her chest flush in embarrassment.

“Do you like that?” Wanda asks rhetorically as she slips her fingers between Agatha’s lips to press directly against her clit.

Agatha struggles with her answer. It feels good and she desperately wants more, but she’s also being held captive and interrogated. Squeezing her eyes shut, she nods quickly. Wanda smirks and rubs her fingers over Agatha’s clit. She laughs to herself when Agatha starts to roll her hips, matching her pace.

“If you wanted to learn, why did you come here to destroy me?” Wanda asks as she dips her fingertip inside of the other woman.

“I wanted it for myself,” Agatha confesses, “I knew I couldn’t make this myself, but I could get rid of you and take it for myself.”

Wanda is surprised at the other witch’s honesty. She already knew her intentions, but she wasn’t expecting Agatha to confess so bluntly.

“Was that so hard?” Wanda coos as she curls her fingers inside Agatha, rubbing her wall.

“No, no it wasn’t, I’m so sorry,” she babbles.

Wanda reaches up to brush a lock of hair out of Agatha’s face, a gentle contrast to the rest of this encounter.

“You’re a good girl, aren’t you, Agatha?”

“Yes,” she whines.

“You’d make such a good pet, darling. So obedient and pretty.”

Wanda’s fingers fuck into Agatha’s pussy faster, hitting her sweet spot with each stroke. Agatha’s face is twisted is pleasure and her chest heaves with exertion.

“I think I’ll keep you,” Wanda says darkly. “It will be your punishment for trying to take this from me.”

Agatha can’t hear Wanda anymore, too focused on her own pleasure to notice. She throws her head back and opens her mouth in a silent scream as her orgasm washes over her. It feels like it lasts forever; heat bubbles inside of her and her body jerks with each new wave. Her eyes roll back in her head and she sees a faint image of Wanda standing over her with glowing red eyes, but for some reason, she doesn’t feel afraid.

“This is where you belong,” Wanda says in a booming voice that echoes throughout the vast space in Agatha’s mind. “Helpless and bound at my mercy.”

Agatha doesn’t argue, doesn’t try to fight. She just nods, accepting her role as Wanda’s toy. Maybe one day she’ll be able to overthrow her, but for now, she is too weak to even dream of it.

[zafirosreverie]

Can I request a Agatha x reader where there in west view and its the final battle (but let’s pretend there having it on the ground) and Agatha gets distracted by something and isn’t ready so human reader stands in front of Agatha and takes the blast so then Agatha goes full on witch and like almost kills Wanda and then goes a takes reader home and heals her. Happy ending please.

Sorry it took me so long dear! But here it is! Hope you like it <3

Harkness or Y/L/N? (Agatha x Fem!reader)

Where the fuck were they?

One second you were having breakfast and the next one hell exploded in front of your face. Agatha and Wanda broke out of the floor and quickly disappeared in the sky. Red and purple magic wrapping them. You blinked and looked at the giant hole in your house. You could see your basement from there. Oh no. Agatha must have revealed herself to Wanda. 

Oh shit.

You ran out of the house, looking at the sky, but you couldn’t see any of them. This was bad, really bad. 

“Y/N!” you turned to see Tommy running to you. 

“Tommy! What happened?” 

“Mom and aunt Agnes are fighting! There are soldiers and dad is fighting another dad but white” he quickly said and you frowned

“What the-”

“Billy said to come for you” he said, taking your hand and not giving you time to process it all. 

A second later you were in the park. You gasped. People were running away, soldiers were entering Westview, Vision flew away with White Vision, Geraldine Monica had Billy against herself, protecting him, and Wanda and Agatha were in the middle of everything, throwing magic balls at each other. 

Chaos.

You ran to Monica, holding Tommy’s hand. She sighed in relief when she saw you. She thought something had happened to you for a moment. 

“What’s going on?” she asked 

“The hell i know?” you said and turned to look at the two witches. “They’re going to destroy everything if we don’t stop them”

“How?” 

“Why is aunt Agnes attacking mom?” Billy asked and you frowned.

“She’s not. Mom’s the one attacking her” Tommy said before you could answer. See? This is why he was your favorite.

“It doesn’t matter” you said “We need to stop them. Now” 

“How?!” Monica asked again. 

You looked around, trying to come up with a plan. You knew that you could calm Agatha, convince her to take this fight to another place, somewhere with no people around. 

“Ok, here’s the plan. Do you think you could stop the soldiers?” They nodded “Good, I’ll try to talk with Agatha, maybe i can make them stop at least for a moment. That should give you enough time to take everyone out of here”

They nodded again and ran to fight. You took a deep breath and turned to the witches. Agatha was powerful, but Wanda was furious. You didn’t know what the hell happened between them in the basement, but it wasn’t good. 

“At least they’re not flying” you thought. It would have been harder to stop them if they were.

One of Wanda’s power balls made a building fall and you gasped. There were people under it! They could die! But a purple smoke stopped the concrete pieces in midair, giving people time to run and escape unscathed. You smiled to yourself. At least your girlfriend wasn't completely evil after all (Not that it mattered, you'd follow her to the end of the world even if she was). 

But it seemed that the other witch didn’t care, using the distraction to attack Agatha.

It all happened too fast. You saw Wanda’s angry expression and the giant ball of red energy forming between her hands. Agatha wasn’t paying attention. You ran to her instinctively, yelling her name. 

You screamed in pain as the red ball mercilessly struck your body, sending a wave of electricity through your veins and raising your body temperature significantly.

In other words, you were burning alive from the inside out. And hell it was painful.

Wanda gasped as you fell unconscious on the floor. Where the hell did you come from?! But she wasn’t the only one staring at you in disbelief. Agatha not only heard you yelling her name, she also felt your pain when you took Wanda’s attack. 

“Y/N!” She ran to you, kneeled beside you and tried to wake you up “Please, love, don’t do this to me” she begged you. 

Wanda was still in shock. She didn't want to hurt you! You weren’t supposed to appear out of nowhere just to help Agatha of all people! She knew you were her girlfriend, but she assumed you would change your mind when you discovered Agatha’s real colors. Little she knew, you were a huge fan of that color palette.  

“Ags” you whispered and the witch sighed in relief, hugging you close to her chest. You felt her heart racing. 

“Why did you do it? You shouldn’t have done it. I could have lost you” she was almost crying.

“Because I love you, silly” you smiled. You were too weak, but you managed to caress her cheek “Aggs..”

“Yes, love?” She asked, confused at the smirk that was slowly appearing on your face.

“Unleash hell” you said before closing your eyes again. 

The witch gasped and you knew she thought you were unconscious again, but you weren’t. You waited until she let you on the floor carefully, and heard her steps getting away from you, to open your eyes again. 

Wanda took a step back when Agatha turned to her. Her eyes weren’t blue anymore, not even purple like the first time she used her magic in front of her. They were completely black. There was no trait of white in her eyes, as if she didn’t have eyeballs at all. And then there was the purple glow again, coming out from the darkness. 

“What-”

“You shouldn’t have done that, little witch” Agatha interumped Wanda “You Really. Shouldn’t. Have.”

Before Wanda could do anything, a purple smoke swallowed her. It was strange, because she didn’t feel much power coming from it, but looking at Agatha’s lifeless eyes, she knew she was in trouble.

Vision, Monica, Billy and Tommy turned to the women when Wanda screamed of pain. Agatha was just standing there, your body lying on the floor behind her. Wanda was trying to attack her, but every time she threw a spell, it would hit the purple dome Agatha put around her and then hit her back with more strength. 

Monica took the twins away while Vision flew to the witches. She knew what was happening. 

Wanda was slowly killing herself.

You smirked. Damn your girl was hot. You felt bad for Wanda for crossing paths with an angry Agatha, but well, she tried to kill her, and that’s something you wouldn’t forgive. Nobody touches your witch.

When the younger witch fell to her knees, too tired and injured from her own spells, Agatha smirked. She felt Vision floating to them, but she didn’t even turn to him while she put a dome around him too. At least the android knew better and didn’t try to attack. He knew it would just come back to him.

“When your little wife wakes up” she said to Vision, but kept staring at Wanda “be sure she understands how lucky she is. Tell her how thankful she must be. Thankful that my precious Y/N has a bigger heart than any of us together and that she loves those children of yours. Because that, dear Vision, is the only reason i won’t kill her.” 

With that, she released the android. He just nodded and watched as Agatha made the dome around Wanda get smaller and smaller until the purple smoke was wrapped around her. She threw one last ball to Wanda’s head and the witch fell unconscious on her husband’s arms.

“If she ever places a single finger on my girlfriend, ever again, i’ll kill her without a second thought” she warned Vision, her eyes still black. The man nodded again and flew away with his wife. 

You smiled as Agatha approached you and took you in her arms. Her eyes slowly turned back to normal when she noticed you were awake. She couldn't believe you. You knew! You knew the power you had over her.

______________

Three days after that, you were still in bed. Agatha had taken you back home, your real home, and quickly healed you. It didn’t take much time and almost all your physical wounds were gone. But your head was still hurting like hell. So, of course you would make a drama out of it. Currently, you both were lying in bed.

“I love you” you whispered and took Agatha’s hand “Please remember that”

The witch smiled and kissed your temple. “I love you too”.

“Please take care of our beloved son. He might be a bunny, but he can take over the world, Aggie. He can”

“I have no doubt of it, Y/N” she giggled and rolled her eyes.

“You know what’s my biggest regret?” you asked, wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her closer to you

“What?” she asked, trying so hard not to laugh.

“that my gravestone is going to say Y/N Y/L/N and that’s unfair” you pouted.

Agatha lost it and laughed. God, you were so cute. 

“That’s your name, love” she chuckled and kissed you softly. You smiled against her lips. 

“Yeah, but it shouldn’t be” you argued. 

“First of all, stop being so dramatic, you’re perfectly fine, you’re not going to die” she said “second, what in the world should your name be then?”

“Y/N Harkness” you answered without hesitation. 

That made her freeze and you laughed as her cheeks slowly turned pink 

“Or maybe yours should be Agatha Y/L/N, haven’t decided yet. It’s hard to take such big decisions on your deathbed”

“S-shut up” she mumbled and you laughed again, kissing her head. “Aren’t you supposed to be dead by now?”

“Aren’t you supposed to be grateful I'm not?” you said, loving her grumpy face “besides, I’m not leaving this world until i make sure my gravestone will say Y/N Harkness” 

“Your name won’t change until i make sure you’ll stay with me forever” she said, taking your head on her hands.

“Deal” you said, kissing her again. 

__________

“Which one do you think he’ll like better? Señor Scratchy Harkness or Señor Scratchy Y/L/N?”

“Y/N, I love you, but it's 2 a.m, go to sleep, I’m begging you”

“Señor Scratchy Y/L/N is it then”

“The hell it is!”

[post-modern-prometheus]

Okay I’m not sure how accurate this concept would be but im sharing it anyway

Essentially, Peter manifests the whole metal bending abilities (the actual word is super hard to spell holy shit) when he’s a little kid. He and Wanda would spend hours practicing with their own separate powers bc they were kind of similar in their own weird way. Not completely, but still, that wouldn’t stop them. And though it drove their mother insane sometimes, it was always so fun for them.

Then Peter manifests his super speed, which he uses to do all sorts of shit. He’s very excited about having two different mutations, and he spends hours just fucking around with both of them. Wanda sometimes joins him when she’s actually up for feeling incredibly sick after being sped around constantly, and Peter always tries to make the trips as fun as possible to make up for the nausea she gets from running with him.

Years pass, and the whole Pentagon thing happens. Wanda and Magda are both very upset about it, but Peter doesn’t think much about their worries until Magneto appears on TV. THEN he gets upset. And he only gets even more upset when Magda reveals that Erik is he and Wanda’s father.

But it’s nothing compared to how Wanda feels.

She rants and yells and shouts, begging their mother to tell them that it’s all one sick joke. Wanda doesn’t want to be related to Magneto. She doesn’t want to be a monster’s daughter. Eventually, she just shuts herself in her room. And while Peter would usually go up there as well in order to comfort her, he is also shaken about this latest revelation.

He always wanted to know who is father was, but now that he does, he wishes he could erase the truth from his mind.

Weeks pass, and the Maximoff household is pretty subdued. Wanda refuses to leave her room, Peter refuses to leave the house, and they both refuse to talk to anyone but each other. Magda wants to help her children, but she also understands that something like this takes time. So for the most part, she leaves them be, hoping that soon enough, their life would go back to how it used to be.

But that decision ends up costing her daughter her life.

Wanda, overwhelmed by the truth about her father and how the existence of mutants is now known to the public, just breaks one day. Wisps of red starts swirling around her fingertips, sharp and jagged, like the blade of a knife. And all she can do is stare at them as they start engulfing her hands entirely, so many emotions currently running through her.

Peter immediately senses that something is wrong and tries getting into her room, but her magic keeps him out. Wanda tells him to leave, and when he doesn’t, she uses her magic to get him, Magda, and their little sister out of the house. And when they try to get back in again, her magic stops them from even reaching the door.

Soon her magic starts spreading. It swirls around Wanda until it’s all she can see, and all the pain and fear she had felt for the past few weeks takes rises to the surface and takes hold. Her magic lashes out, and the building starts to tremble and shake. Bits of rubble fall around her, but she doesn’t stop — not even when she hears her family’s distressed voices from outside.

Eventually, the building collapses, and Wanda doesn’t survive.

And Peter? He tries to keep the building up with his metal abilities, but Wanda’s magic is too strong, and it kills her. It kills her and Peter feels her dying. He feels her taking her last breath. He feels her life seep from her body. He feels their bond they had shared since birth break into two, leaving only a dark, hollow feeling in its wake. It’s like his heart had been ripped to pieces, like his soul had been snapped in half, and he falls to his knees screaming and clutching his chest.

And though Wanda is the one dead, he can’t help but feel as if he had died along with her.

Months pass, and what remains of the Maximoff’s struggle to rebuild their life in the house they had moved into. But the loss of Wanda is large and overwhelming, and no one can stop thinking about it. Peter especially, who remains devastated and hiding in his basement, trying to shut out the world. He believes that her death is his fault for many reasons, and he just can’t stop thinking about that gaping hole in his heart where his twin sister once was.

Eventually, he can’t take it any longer and leaves the house in order to search for some way to fix it. While a part of him knows that death can’t be reversed, he is desperate and just wants his twin back. So no matter what everyone else says, he goes anyway. After all, almost nothing can stop a Maximoff when they have their mind set on something.

A few more months of searching pass, and Peter comes across a woman called Agatha Harkness (hehe). She tells him that she can bring his sister back from the dead, but she wants something in return. Peter agrees instantly, prepared to do anything to get Wanda, his other half, back.

But then, Agatha tells him that in order to get his twin back, she wants one of his mutations, but won’t tell him which one. Peter, of course, is taken aback. And while a part of him is horrified at the idea of living without superspeed or metallokinesis, he agrees once again. His sister is more important that his powers, after all.

(Did I mention that this is sort of based off of the song ‘Poor Unfortunate Souls’ from the little mermaid? Because it is.)

ANYWAYS!!! Agatha does her thing, and wisps of purple magic surrounds Peter. A part of him is terrified and wants to pull away from it, but he forces himself to keep still. Soon enough, some of the purple magic slams into him, and he cries out when he feels a harsh tug on his chest. It’s painful, but not as painful as losing his twin, and yet, he still ends up passing out.

When he wakes up, it’s in a run down looking house with no Agatha in sight. But, as he gets up, he sees his sister sprawled out on the floor nearby. He runs to her side, and as soon as he drops to his knees beside her, Wanda’s eyes snap open. And suddenly, their bond snaps back into place, and that emptiness in his heart and soul is filled.

Wanda is alive.

But Wanda is pretty confused. She asks him what’s going on, bc the last thing she remembers is the house falling on top of her, followed by pain and then darkness. Peter, upon hearing her voice, just bursts into tears and clings to her. Wanda, despite being confused, can sense his relief and distress and hugs him back.

Soon, Peter pulls away, and Wanda asks once again what happened. And he tells her. He tells her that she had caused the building to collapse on top of her, he tells her that she had died. And he tells her about meeting Agatha, who promised she could bring Wanda back at the price of one of his mutations.

Peter pauses when he gets to the mutation part though, and terrified, he tries to go back into superspeed. The world slows down, and he is close to crying with relief. His superspeed hadn’t been taken. But then he realizes what that means. Dropping out of superspeed, Peter reaches out a hand and tries to call something metal over to him. But it doesn’t work.

He had lost his metallokinesis, and although that hurts, his twin had been brought back to him, and that’s all that matters.

moodboard brought to you by post break up ricky bc HOLY SHIT

[wizardofrozz]

Welcome to Westview!

Warnings: swearing, mention of past character death, blood 

A/N: 😞 there’s only one chapter left after this

Chapter 21

Clint POV

The only sensation I could put words to was the pounding that reverberated through my skull; I couldn’t even place the origin. I stayed in darkness, wincing with every pulse of pain that washed across my brain; along with the unrelenting pounding, a soft buzz started to break through the void. Clint…Clint. Someone was calling my name; it was soft, almost too quiet to hear. Clint. I tried to reach for it only to come up short.

           “Clint!” the voice exploded through my head.

           “What!” I screamed, my eyes snapping open as I shot up.

           “Jesus,” Nat sighed, resting her hand on my arm. “You with me?”

           “Yeah…yeah. Give me a second,” I grunted, rubbing my fists into my eyes.

           “Wanda! Wanda!” Monica screamed near the window. “Wanda!”

           “Hey!” I yelled, glaring at Monica as she turned to face me. “Want to shut the fuck up for a second.”

           “It’s a waste anyway, babe. No one can hear you from in here,” Pietro mumbled. I snapped my gaze towards the man sitting on the couch across the room from me, eyeing the guitar resting in his lap.

           “Where are we?” I asked, gently grabbing Nat’s hand.

           “Apparently, Pietro’s apartment,” Nat sneered, glaring over her shoulder at ‘Pietro’. Monica wandered around the room, inching closer to the door, glancing over her shoulder, jerking her head slightly towards the door. I groaned, rolling to my knees, taking advantage of Nat’s outstretched arm to help pull myself to my feet. Nat’s eyes roamed over my body, and in hopes of lightening the mood, I winked at her, wiggling my eyebrows, which earned me a slap across the face.

           “Yeah, I deserved that,” I sighed, rubbing the sore spot on my face. Nat flickered her eyes towards the door, lacing her hand with mine; I nodded once, shuffling towards Monica, whose lips twitched up. I lifted my foot to take a step, but Pietro was already standing in front of Monica, raising an exasperated brow at us.

           “Super speed, remember,” ‘Pietro’ snorted. The smugness fell away when Nat yelled out, grabbing her head, breathing hard through her nose. I couldn’t even take a step when a similar sound tore from my lips, the energy coursing through my head, forcing me to fold in on myself. Memories flashed across my eyelids so fast I couldn’t make sense of half of them; Nat’s face smiling and bloody, lingered for a second as she lunged at me, kissing me. Snippets from New York flickered by along with a deranged Loki and a pissed-off Fury. Sokovia, Wanda, and the real Pietro, along with bullets tearing through him so I could live. Nat slapping me so hard I tasted blood before her lips were on mine.

The Sokovia Accords, fighting Nat and the rest of my friends. The Raft. The time I spent as Ronan before Nat found me again. Thanos. The Snap. The last memory seemed to play in slow motion, dragging out the pain I already knew was attached to it. Nat’s back to me as she tried to wrap her head around the concept of Vormir. The last time I kissed her, sweet and full of years of love and pain before she hurled herself off the cliff. I relived every painful second, watching her fall for what felt like forever; the image of her sprawled out below me, surrounded by blood, will never leave me. I opened my tear-filled eyes, instantly finding Nat straightening, a haunted look in her eyes when she finally met my gaze.

           “What was that?” Monica whispered, looking between Nat and me.

           “Mind control,” I croaked, reaching for Nat. “Natasha.” She started shaking her head, a single tear rolling down her cheek as she back away from me.

           “Don’t, Clint. Please. I…We can’t…I don’t want to talk about it,” Nat whimpered, still moving away. I surged forward, grabbing her arm, and forcing her to face me; her eyes snapped open, the familiar fiery attitude burning in her eyes.

           “I don’t care. Just…kiss me. Please,” I forced out, swallowing around the lump in my throat. Nat’s face softened, and she was on me in the blink of an eye; I savored every second of her lips pressed to mine, burning the memory into my brain. “I love you,” I mumbled against her lips.

           “I love you too, birdie,” Nat breathed.

           “What is this stuff?” Monica called, pulling Nat and me out of our own world.

           “This is my man-cave. A place to chillax, you know, while the missus is stirring up trouble,” ‘Pietro’ replied, raising an eyebrow at Monica. “You a fan of Steven Seagal?” Monica ignored him, wandering around the room again, only stopping to pick up something off a table. Nat hesitantly moved away from me, strolling across the room to look over Monica’s shoulder; she let out a breathy scoff at whatever was in Monica’s hand.

           “You’re Ralph Bohner?” Monica asked, raising an eyebrow at the man moving towards her.

           “Boner,” Ralph and I chuckled at the same time. I recovered first, clearing my throat, and making a point not to look at the glare Nat was undoubtedly shooting my way.

           “How is she controlling you?” Monica closed the space between them, baring her teeth at him, but Ralph only laughed.

           “You wanna tussle again? Hmm?” he taunted with a smug smile.

           “Enough of this,” Nat growled. Nat moved past Monica and in the blink of an eye, Ralph was slammed on his back; Nat ended up on top of Ralph, her forearm against his throat, snarling down at him, her red hair wild. My brain knew better than to find the entire exchange sexy, but apparently, the head below my belt didn’t get the memo.

           “Meow, she’s feisty!” Ralph laughed, winking up at Nat. Nat put more pressure on his throat, sounding feral with anger, and I shuffled in place.

           “You don’t know the half of it,” I mumbled, letting out a breathy laugh. Nat turned her head with the sole intention of glaring at me; Monica rolled her eyes, stepping closer to Ralph and squatting down.

           “The necklace,” she breathed, curling a finger around it and tugging.

           “Oh! Oh, God! Please, spare my life!” Ralph cried, shaking under Nat. I smirked at her eye roll but offered my hand to help her stand up again, pressing a chaste kiss to her cheek.

           “Nice to meet you, Ralph,” Monica laughed, shaking her head.

           “Let’s get the fuck out of here,” I offered, using my thumb to gesture over my shoulder at the door. Nat, Monica, and I sprint through the apartment building, bursting through the front doors; across the street we could see the twins holding off the soldiers, quickly disarming them. As the three of us get closer, another man climbed out of his vehicle, shouting for his soldiers to do something; Nat and I split off, cutting off the advances of the few brave soldiers. My elbow connected with a jaw, and before the man could recover, I slammed my shin into the backs of his knees and landing a perfectly timed punch. I rocked back when a fist connected with my face, recovering enough to avoid another fist, barely; a string of gunshots rang out, and everyone froze. Nat landed with a soft thud, punching the soldier under her before the sound occurred to her; I peered over the soldier's shoulder, that I was holding by the vest, looking for the twins.

           “No!” Monica shouted. My tongue feels heavy in my mouth, terror seizing my muscles as I watched the bullets bury into Monica, but nothing happened. No blood, no screams of pain, the bullets just disappeared.

           “Stop!” Nat yelled, freezing in place, an exasperated look on her. I followed her gaze to find the man turning the gun on Nat, scrambling back, throwing himself into the truck he got out of earlier. I let out a shaky breath when the gun was finally off Nat; the crunch of metal made me cringe. The sight of a box truck pinning the SWORD truck in place was too funny for me to contain the laughter that bubbled up in my throat. My joy was interrupted when the soldier started struggling in my grip; my fist snapped his head back, and I dropped his limp body, racing for Nat.

           “You okay?” I yelled, slowing to a jog as I get closer.

           “Perfect.” Nat raked her eyes over me, nodding to herself when she didn’t find any serious injuries. “Um, Clint.” I flicked my eyes to her face, noting that her eyes were focused somewhere above my head; I turned, finding the object falling from the sky.

           “Oh shit,” I mumbled, wrapping an arm around Nat’s waist, pulling her to the side as the object plowed into the grass behind us, skidding a few feet. Nat and I looked at each other with wide eyes before jogging towards the strip of destroyed grass; I laughed despite the situation as we got closer. “I guess he graduated from the God of Thunder to the Thor the fucking asteroid.” Nat made a point of grabbing my attention so I could see her exaggerated eye roll before she went to our friend’s side. “Come on; you seriously aren’t going to laugh,” I called after her.

           “Thor,” Nat hummed, gently tapping his face. His eyes shot open, the icy blue orbs snapping between Nat and me, causing him to relax some; a low groan pushed past his lips as he tried to sit up.

           “I’ll be okay,” Thor grunted, scooting back some, so his legs were stretched in front of him. He let out a heavy sigh, his hands dropping onto his legs with a muted clap; Thor tilted his head and leaned to the side, smiling softly at something behind me.

           “Everyone okay?” Bucky yelled, his boots slapping against the concrete as he came to a clumsy stop at the edge of the grass.

           “Seems like it,” Nat sighed, smiling at everyone.

           “We’re only missing Vision, Loki, and (Y/N). Wanda is dealing with Agatha, and Monica has the twins covered,” I added, smiling down at Nat.

           “Vision was fine as of a few minutes ago,” Thor provided, taking Nat’s outstretched hand.

           “So where are Loki and (Y/N) then?” Steve wondered aloud, glancing towards the streets leading to the town square. A loud explosion of thunder overhead sent a tremor through the ground, throwing everyone off balance; we all slowly raised our eyes towards the angry storm brewing above us.

           “Fuck,” is all I could manage as I watched two bodies hurdling towards me. I twisted in place, covering my head with my arms, and waited for the impact that didn’t come; I heard a thud mere inches from my head and dared to open my eyes. I started to straighten again when the sickening sound of bodies colliding made me flinch; Loki landed in the cradle (Y/N) materialized, but apparently more on her than the magic cushion. The shield of swirling magic was so close it almost touched the side of my head, allowing me to see (Y/N)’s eyes looking down at me as she lets out a relieved, slightly strangled sigh.

           “Are you okay, darling?” Loki stuttered frantically.

           “If you would get off me,” (Y/N) panted above me. Loki lets out a soft oh and (Y/N) sucked in a loud breath as he moved off her. “I can’t believe Wanda threw us out of the sky!” she hissed to herself. The shield disappeared, leaving Loki and (Y/N) to land softly on their feet.

           “Anyone else want to hurl themselves out of the sky at me!” I screamed, dropping onto the ground, resting my arms on my bent knees. Choked-back giggles started to bubble out of my friends and quickly turn into full-blown laughter; I tried to fight the smile pulling at my lips but failed miserably. I covered my face, muffling my own laughter. Everyone fell silent when another wave of deafening thunder rolled through.

           “Mom!” Tommy yelled, skidding to a halt beside me. I climbed to my feet, never taking my eyes off the witches above me; Nat came to stand at my side, glancing at the twins and Monica before turning to look at the sky again. Bucky and Steve stood rooted in place, mesmerized, both of their mouths hanging open, watching Wanda; Thor, Loki, and (Y/N) stood next to Billy, murmuring amongst themselves as they watched the battle. I shook my head slightly, watching most of Wanda’s attacks miss, flying high or wide, and I couldn’t make sense of it.

           “She never misses,” Nat whispered. I faintly heard the twin's voices again, but I couldn’t tear my eyes away until another voice cut in.

           “Wanda, what are you doing?” Vision mumbled. My eyes found him standing behind the boys, following suit and watching his wife and Agatha. Wanda launched one attack after another, getting weaker by the second; Agatha suddenly began pulling energy from her until Wanda’s body fell limp, suspended in midair.

           “Mom!” the twins cried, clinging to Vision. Everyone stood frozen in fear, waiting for the inevitable final attack that would end Wanda; I bit my tongue, hoping to hold off the tears of grief already clawing at my heart. But nothing happened. I squinted up at the sky, blinking a few times when I thought I imagined Wanda’s head lifting until I heard (Y/N) gasp.

           “Runes,” she laughed breathlessly. Odd shapes started to burn brighter against the flickering barrier, appearing behind the clouds one by one.

           “She…she wasn’t missing,” Nat whispered, sounding awestruck. Wanda opened her arms, pulling power in, draining Agatha’s magic with what looked like little effort. Wanda radiated power as crimson beams and ripples of magic engulfing her, burning brighter with each passing second. My mouth hung open as I watched the light start to dim, leaving Wanda floating above us; the clouds quickly started to clear as Wanda and Agatha’s figures moved closer to the ground. Agatha landed with a loud thud while Wanda landed gracefully, a few feet in front of us, her back still facing us.

           “Good girl. So now what?” Agatha panted, throwing her hair out of her face. “You just gonna lock me up somewhere?”

           “No, not somewhere,” Wanda replied, her voice flat. “Here.” I narrowed my eyes, my head jerking back slightly before searching my friend's faces, only to find similar looks.

           “Here?” Agatha scoffed.

           “Mhm. I’ll give you the role you chose. The nosy neighbor,” Wanda replied, almost playfully as she moved closer.

           “No. Please…” Agatha tried to plead. I snorted, smirking, but it was short-lived when Nat jabbed an elbow into my side; I looked around at our friends before leaning closer to Nat.

           “Everyone else is laughing,” I whined softly.

           “Quit being a baby,” Nat sighed, rolling her eyes for the thousandth time.

           “I’m sorry,” Wanda offered, tilting her head.

           “No, you’re not. You’re cruel,” Agatha snapped. “You… You have… You have no idea what you’ve unleashed. You’re gonna need me.”

           “If I do, I know where to find you.” Agatha tried desperately to plead with her, but it was cut short with a simple touch of Wanda’s finger; scarlet magic twisted around Agatha momentarily. Someone resembling what I’d imagine Agnes would really be like sat in her place.

           “Hiya, hon,” Agnes greeted cheerfully. “Say, that’s some kinda getup you’re wearing. Did I leave the oven on, or is that just you, hot stuff?” Agnes winked, chuckling softly to herself as she eyed Wanda standing over her.

           “You live here now. No one will ever bother you,” Wanda informed her.

           “Okey dokey, artichokee.”

           “I’ll be seeing you, Agnes,” Wanda finished, turning her back to Agnes.

           “Not if I see you first, hon,” Agnes chuckled. Everyone lit up, smiling at Wanda when her eyes lifted from the ground.

           “Mom,” the twins yelled, running towards her. Wanda’s face scrunched up in a way I knew was an attempt to hide her crushing sadness with a smile. Vision took a deep breath, trailing his eyes over Thor, Loki, (Y/N), me, Nat, Steve, and finally Bucky before smiling warmly and following his sons. I tried to focus on the present, ignoring the knowledge of what was coming, no matter how violently it beat against the inside of my skull.

           “So, it would appear that our dream home has been reduced to a fixer-upper,” Vision laughed dryly. “I know you’ll set everything right. Just not for us.”

           “No. Not for us,” Wanda rasped, looking down at the twins. My heart clenched at the thought that this was coming to an end; I cast my eyes down, desperate to hide the tears threatening to spill over.

           “It’s time. Should we head home?” Vision asked softly.

           “In a minute,” Wanda mumbled, lifting her eyes to look over Vision’s shoulder. Fabric shuffled as everyone straightened, sniffling softly in an attempt to collect themselves as Wanda moved closer. “I’m so sorry,” Wanda choked out, fighting tears. “I…I love you all. I never meant to cause you more pain.” No one dared to speak. A lingering sadness hung around each of us; Wanda sniffled, dropping her head, and nodded once. “Let’s go home.” The walk through Westview was quiet and tense, but no one had the heart to break it. Loki and (Y/N) walked hand in hand a few paces behind Wanda and Vision, with Thor on Loki’s other side. Bucky and Steve walked close, their shoulders brushing with each step but not touching beyond that. Nat was pressed against my back, her legs wrapped around my waist and her arms lazily circling my neck as I carried her towards our fake home. I made a point to memorize the feeling of her warmth pressed against me one last time.

Chapter 22 | Series Masterlist

Taglist:

@marvelfansworld​ @imagine-yourself-happy​ @alluringshawn​ @lovelokiqueen​ @somegeekychic​ @wandas-love​ @shadowolf993​ @jointhehunt67​ @starks-hero​ @neenieweenie​ 

[conaionaru]

Loving you is a losing game (Modern Ivar the Boneless)

Synopsis: Ivar and Agatha look back on their toxic relationship, both unaware of the thruths that led to their break up.

Warning: toxic relationship, break up, drinking, asshole Sigurd,

Five fucking years of relationship all flushed down the drain over a month of problems. It was their anniversary, and Agatha felt like shit.

Once upon a time, she had dreams and hopes. She imagined a life of happiness and success. The university was thought, but so was she, and the moment she made it, she would go onto law school and become a lawyer. Life would bring her money and a good reputation; maybe she would have made it high and become a judge. Do some good in the world.

But it all got fucked over that night; she went out drinking instead of studying. By midnight she was drunk, crying on a stranger's shoulder, complaining about her teacher. The next day she woke up in the boy's bed with a massive hangover.

The cute stranger took her home after she barfed into a bush at 2 pm, and somehow, he liked her enough to date her.

Ivar Lothbrok, the bane of her life.

He should have left her by the vomit in the bushes. But he just had to be perfect and cute; his cocky attitude drew her in, and little by little, she fell for him.

Three years they lived in bliss, going on dates and meeting each other's families. Agatha worked hard to become a lawyer while he worked his way through med school.

He probably is a great doctor, with his little glasses and hair in a top bun in a white lab coat.

Meanwhile, Agatha sits on a rooftop with shot glasses and a bottle of expensive whiskey she stole from home. She was supposed to be in a pastel pencil skirt, with high heels and a neat hairstyle. Not a windy roof drunk and with no cash.

The first of October is today's date, the anniversary that she spent alone in self-loathing. It's not the day they went out for the first time or the party's date where they met. Today marks the day they fought.

It was huge, and she started it. Or maybe he did; it all kinds of blurs together after the seventh shot. Ivar had a paper due, and she was sick, her third day of having food poisoning. He took care of her in the morning; the next thing she remembers is her storming out and getting into his brother's car. His hand was bleeding; he cut himself on a cup he broke in their argument.

She was driving him to get stitches, but the argument wasn't over; Agatha lost control and hit the side of the building pretty hard. The airbags went off, but she still banged her head pretty hard, her head was bleeding, and by the time the paramedics came, she was barely conscious.

Ivar's leg got beaten up pretty badly during the crash, not mentioning Ubbe's car. She was high on medicine while driving and lost her scholarship, ending her hopes as a lawyer. On the other hand, Ivar's leg was so bad he had to get surgery, maybe the metal is still in his foot till today. Even three years after the accident she caused.

If she didn't crash, they would have sorted it out. But Agatha went against his instructions and swallowed more medicine than needed, unaware of her self-medication, Ivar asked her to drive him because of a wound he gave himself in anger against her. All because she felt awful and threw his mistakes in his face.

He went out to party with his brother's at the begging of the month, his brother Sigurd was in town, and they all wanted to celebrate. But they got drunk, and Sigurd got handsy, which made Ivar angry and broke his nose. They didn't argue then; she only gave him a disappointed look and ignored it.

During a dinner with her family, Sigurd threw it in his face, saying she was too good for him. When Ivar ignored the comments, Sigurd said she threw herself on him, and maybe she did, she was too drunk from a drinking bet she made with Hvitserk. But Ivar didn't throw it in her face till the end of the month; instead, he told him to fuck off and became distant from her.

The exams and papers did the rest, the stress too much and the lasagna her mom bought her for her birthday was the final nail. The food poisoning made her bitter, and he got agitated with her vomiting while he tried to focus. They yelled, and the coffee cup broke in his hand. And then the car his the arcade they had their first date at.

They broke up the next day, her not bearing to look at his leg in a cast, the permanent handicap she gave him so painful to see. He couldn't look her in the eye either, maybe because the three stitches over her eye with a popped blood vessel weren't a pretty sign.

The scar was permanent as well, including the depth perception problem she now had. So even if Agatha had her driver's license, she wouldn't be allowed to drive. It's better this way anyway.

But still, she misses him. He was good to her until he started getting mouthy and complained about her low sex drive. Cuddling didn't always cut it for him, and the jealousy around other guys was annoying. But they both kept quiet, too focused on the good parts that they ignored all the bad.

His mother was right, she wasn't good for him, and Ivar wasn't good for her either. Agatha was social and loved crowded places, but he loved silence and intimacy. She compromised and stopped going out, stopped talking to her friends, and instead spent time sleeping in his apartment.

She was too tired from school and constant sex to realize it wasn't a compromise at all; it all came crashing down on her when her mother pointed it out when she came to visit her.

Now she is sitting on top of the closed arcade that she crashed into, trying to remember the sound of the games and his victory smirk as he beat her at a car race. The smell of popcorn that she threw into his hair when he got too cocky for her liking. Maybe she was a sore loser, but at least she didn't have popcorn in her hair.

She was a disgrace without a degree working her ass off at a dinner her aunt owned. When she imagined arguing with strangers, it was supposed to be in court, not as an underpaid waitress smelling od burned coffee. Her parents let her move back home, looking at her like she was a dissapointment. Which she was, of course.

Ubbe stopped by last week on a date with his wife Torvi, who told her how her ex was doing. Ivar graduated and now works in a hospital in Copenhagen. His rich ass is dating an 18-year old model by the name of Freydis. The girl looks cute enough, but Torvi swears she is manipulative and bitchy. So like Ivar on his bad days. He now also uses a cane to walk but is doing ok in therapy; he should be walking on his own in a year.

They were doomed from the start to fail, but she was too blinded by her first love to see it. She got addicted to his cute smiles and ignored the jabs he made against her habits and friends. By the time she was free of him and no longer that depressed, she realized all her friends hated her or were too embarrassed by knowing her.

She poured another four shot glasses for herself and put away the empty bottle. She would nap to sober up later; now, she wanted to numb the need to send him money every year. She sent some to pay for the surgery, the money being useless as his family was rich and had no trouble paying it.

But back then, she wanted him to know she was sorry after seeing the Instagram post Hvitserk made of Ivar's recovery process. She blocked them all on every social media platform, moved back home, and burnt all the photos. But she still knew his phone number by heart.

Fucking prick with his contagious smile and firm muscles, why can't she forget him?

Ivar sat on his balcony, smoking his third cigarette, his right leg propped up on a stool to relieve some of the pain. The medication wasn't helping, and neither was Freydis. His girlfriend of six months was hogging his spacious bedroom to take some photos for her only fans.

He met her at a club where Hvitserk dragged him to, to socialize. He brooded at their booth, not allowed to drink because of his meds. He hated loud music, crowded places, and the pitiful looks people threw him when he limped around. He could even take a piss without somebody asking him if he needed help.

Freydis sat down next to him and leaned against the table so heavily, her boobs nearly fell out of her dress. She flirted with him, and the whole night, in the end, he slept with her. It was supposed to end after that night, but they started a relationship instead. He needed somebody to stroke his ego and his dick, and she needed a sugar daddy.

Three years of therapy, surgeries and crutches, canes, and wheelchairs are getting on his last nerve. Especially now that Ubbe mentioned the temptress that was behind all his problems. Agatha. His ex was a special one, smart and chatty with a constant need for affection.

The brunette collapsed on top of him drunk and gossiped about her teacher for hours. When he finally pried her off, he found her watering the bushes with her vomit, so he took her to her dorm and left. She wrote her number on his arm with a sharpie, and when he felt bored, he hit her up. That led to his longest relationship.

Agatha was a handful; she was far too social and would always make out only to deny sex later. He was frustrated with her all the time until he got what he wanted. She stopped going out and ignored her friends in his favor; the secret to having sex with her were gifts and affection.

He could swallow some romantic comedy if it meant sex afterward. But obviously, it didn't work forever.

Over time, she got more annoying by the week, and her getting too friendly with Sigurd wasn't helping. The bastard stole the girl he liked in high school, and the comments he texted about Agatha's body the same evening was the last nail. He ignored his brother's attempts at angering him and left her out of it.

Instead, he buried it in deep and tried to forget it, like he always did. That is until the night of the accident that she got on his nerves. She was throwing up the whole day, and when he texted Ubbe to bring by a soup, Sigurd read the text only to write back that she was probably pregnant.

Sigurd got inside his head, telling the child could be Ivar's or his or anyones. Maybe the reason she didn't want to sleep with him was that she had side piece, or maybe Ivar was the side piece all along. It made sense to him at the time; she was out so often before, always on her phone.

But after she stopped going out, Agatha got handsy, and their sex life got better. She wasn't so tired, and if he played along, she wasn't so annoying either. He was certain she must be pregnant and hiding it, so he bought a test.

But they never got the results because of the fight that broke out. When Agatha called their relationship toxic, the cup broke in his hand. He wasn't toxic; he was trying to be good to her. But all the short skirts and horny boys weren't helping, or Sigurd's and Hvitserks advice and taunts. He confessed to Hvitserk that their love life was shit, and the first thing his brother told him was there was probably somebody else fucking her instead of him.

He mentioned it in the car on the ride to the hospital; she was so angry that she looked away from the road to yell at him and crashed. He was in pain when the paramedics woke him up to drag him out of the vehicle. She was stapped on a gurned with a neck brace, and there was blood all over her. All because he listened to his brothers and saw her hobbies as signs of cheating.

The next day after his surgery, they broke up; he couldn't even look at her after it all dawned on him. Even if she was pregnant, she definitely lost the baby during the crash. She would need time to get her life in order and recover, and so did he.

So they broke up, and he focused on school and later on his job. He slowly recovered from his injury and moved on. And according to Ubbe, Agatha is better off too. She is working in a less stressful job, looking and eating healthier, no longer the anorexic looking girl he turned her into. She was in a better mindset, and by the amount of money she sent him yearly, she was good at it financially as well.

She was still single, but she would find somebody soon. After all, she had many friends and was always popular; in time, she would be married with kids, and he would be laying next to some other greedy bimbo.

With one last drag, he put his cigarette out and looked at his phone to see two notifications there. A text and a notice from the bank about somebody sending him cash. The text was from a number he still remembered.

"You win, here is your reward, Ives. - Agatha." The same thing it read every year, with that stupid money emoji afterward.

The same thing she told him on their first date before she threw popcorn at him. She was a sore loser and whined whenever she lost. He got addicted to her complaints, loving the way she jokingly called him an ass. That's what their relationship was built on, her losing and him enjoying it.

And yet they both lost in the end. And Ivar missed the dynamic so much; he missed her.

"Come to bed, Ivar. I hit two million; we should celebrate." Freydis purred from behind him. He stood up and limped to their bed with a nod where she sat in her lingerie, grinning from ear to ear.

He sent off a text back before he joined her in bed. "Don't pout, Loser, or I will feel sorry. Happy birthday. - Ivar."

[inspirationdivine]

End of the Line || Kaden, Agatha, Ariana, Chloe, Kelly, Todd

Timing: Current Parties: @chasseurdeloup, @letsbenditlikebennett @detective-keen @itsyaboytodd Summary: Pain.  Warnings: Significant discussion of domestic abuse, emotional abuse, drug manipulation (leanan-sidhe kiss), vomit

There was no waiting anymore. No avoiding the inevitable. When Kaden mentioned that Lydia should be leaving town, Ariana knew this was the only chance they had to get the humans she’d taken hostage out of there. How many humans Lydia currently had living in her basement was unknown, but they needed to be out. They needed to get their life back. She hadn’t been able to do it for Ace, but she could help these people. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she had the worry she felt for Athena shoved away. She was capable and she had people on her side helping her against Lydia. She would be okay. She had to keep telling herself as much. Being on separate sides of this mission did little to squash her worries, but this was bigger than that. These people needed them, so she’d step up and went over everything Athena told her about fae promises in her head over and over. She’d only seen Agatha once before, so she turned to Kaden and asked, “You’re sure she’ll be out?” 

 Kaden had been grazed with a fucking bullet earlier tonight. He shouldn’t even be out here but he couldn’t sit back and let this lie. Not when he had a shot at actually making this right. For once. “Positive,” he told her. What he failed to mention was why he knew that. What he’d failed to do. What it might have cost. This was his mistake. He should have waited for the fucking plan. He took a deep breath, steeled himself, readied himself to push past the pain. It wasn’t like it was anything new. “Keen was a last ditch effort. She’s banking on her promises,” he assured them. Not to mention the ones he bound her to himself. Part of him hoped she’d be there waiting and she’d see him again and feel a fraction of the pain she caused others over the years, selfish as that hope was. Reality set in. This wasn’t about him. Or even Lydia. This was about protecting humanity, always came down to that. He peaked around at the entrance to the house in question. The garden was trashed, glass everywhere, the windows were either gone or covered with tarp. Regan’s work if he ever saw it. “It looks like security’s gone. Maybe.” He shut his eyes a moment, tried to listen harder, make sure. “I can’t tell one way or another. We should be careful,” he said, looking back at both Ari and Keen before reaching down to unholster his gun. Better safe than sorry. 

 Agatha stood beside the pair. Staring into the void, she recalled what had happened over at Kaden’s flat. She still couldn’t make any sense of what had happened to her, but if what she had understood was real, as nonsensical as it seemed, then there were people being kept inside Lydia’s house, against their will, just like she had shot Kaden against her own. The mention of her name managed to draw her out of this day dreaming. She gave her co-worker a glance, worried, and feeling as if she would never forgive herself for what she’d done. She had shot an innocent, and it felt like the right thing to do. How. How. All she wanted now was to get in there, and make sure that Lydia would not harm anyone ever again. But first, they had to get her captives out. Kaden seemed sure of himself when he claimed that she was not here, and wouldn’t be here in a while, still Agatha worried of what would happen if the woman came home early. She had put on her bullet vest, and prepared herself for what she understood would not be a piece of cake. Following after Kaden, she glanced at the kid with a frown of disapproval. Perhaps Ariana was capable, but what was she doing here? This was going to be intense, dangerous perhaps, and she did not want to babysit while she was working.  

 Somehow even though Lydia wasn’t home, the house seemed daunting. Ariana wasn’t sure she was ready to see the conditions Sammy lived in. Where he had spent his final days before Lydia had done the unspeakable. She bit back the wave of emotion that threatened to spill over. She could be sad later. Right now, the other people in Lydia’s home still needed their help. There was only one way to go from here. She closed her eyes momentarily and concentrated on what she could hear and smell in the home. There were only a few people in there, tops, and they smelled vaguely familiar. Outside the door, it was still too difficult to tell. “I don’t think security is here. There are a few people from what I can smell.” She had no idea what Agatha knew about all of this, but it was too serious a situation for her to mince her words and not communicate clearly with Kaden. Let the detective think she was weird for all she cared. She turned to Kaden and asked, “You up for breaking down the door with me?” She waited a moment for confirmation before charging the door. A few sturdy slams and it busted open revealing the lavish mansion that Lydia called home. Something about it sent a chill through her. It was nicely decorated and there was art there, but knowing where the art likely came from only served to make her stomach turn. She took a few sniffs and pointed, “We should start upstairs, I think.” 

 Couldn’t smell them? Kaden’s face scrunched a moment, trying to push away any discomfort trying to burrow its way inside him. He wasn’t exactly used to working with a werewolf. Funny enough. Still, he trusted Ariana. He had to remember that. Still, he paused and shut his eyes a second, listening for any heart beats. He heard his, Agatha’s was pounding, and so was Ariana’s. He didn’t hear anyone immediately nearby. Didn’t mean there wasn’t anyone inside; even combined their senses were only so good. “Breaking down the door?” He didn’t see any reason why not to. It’s not like the house was in good condition right now. Maybe they’d get lucky and the previous banshee destruction would work in their favor. With a quick nod, he turned and threw himself into the door right alongside her. Putain. He forgot how much he still hurt, how recent his fight was. His face contorted and he took a deep inhale before slamming into the door with her a second time. Shit. He was going to regret that. Hell, he already regretted that, cradling his arm in his hand a moment as he winced. At least the door broke down relatively easily. No doubt Lydia wasn’t here considering how simple that was. That and the fact that there were no security guards waiting for them on the other side. The house was strangely normal. He wasn’t sure what he expected, honestly. Something darker, maybe? Danker. More like the prison and torture chamber that it was. He waited and listened some more. There were traces of something, but it was hard to pinpoint. “Sure, might as well.” It was a big place, it would take a while to comb through. His hand still gripped his knife as they climbed the stairs, shoes occasionally crunching on shards of glass. There were plenty of doors. Even with the destruction, the house was bright, clean and almost inviting. It sent a chill down his spine, knowing what he did. “Should we split up? Or stick together? This place is big.” 

 The ache of Lydia’s absence was beginning to sting in Chloe’s chest. She worked quietly, occasionally tapping a rhythm against the table to test how the words of her lyrics would flow. Todd and Kelly had calmed down enough, although she couldn’t help but occasionally glance over at them whenever they were in the same room. Lydia had left them with lots of carefully prepared meals in the kitchen, as she always did when she planned to spend some time in fairy rings. It was better when she didn’t come back for a few days, even when it hurt. Chloe was jarred out of her reverie when the door downstairs banged and clattered. She glanced at Todd, in the music room with her, but Kelly was elsewhere. Swallowing, she gestured for him to hide, walking silently over to the door of their room and turning the lock. You won’t ever let any guest of mine know you’re here. She retreated a little further back, remembering the red eyes of the last man who had broken into this hellscape sanctuary. She looked around cautiously, but Lydia’s upstairs office was the only place she could creep to with another lock on it, so she backed into it, locked that door too, and sank down against the wall, cradling her knees against her chest as the promise gnawed at her skin. 

 Kelly panicked, the moment she heard people smashing through the door. She looked around wildly, before scuttling into the one place Lydia didn’t take most of her guests - her bedroom. It was only once she was in there that Kelly realised that Lydia had several guests she did bring in here. Oh god, could she maybe hide in the bathroom? With a squeak, Kelly locked herself in Lydia’s bathroom, and clambered into the warm towel cabinet, pulling it closed behind her. 

 The days that had turned into weeks since Todd first found himself trapped in Lydia’s home, they’d passed by in a daze of confusion, longing, and pain. Pain, because he didn’t understand what Chloe and Kelly tried to tell him. He couldn’t make sense of the words that bound him to this place, didn’t understand any of it. Magic? It was magic? But, magic wasn’t supposed to do things like this, right? He had been in the sound studio when he’d first heard the door being knocked down, the impact shaking the otherwise still house. And, for an instant, he’d wanted to scream. But, the sound died in his throat, the promise that bound him to Lydia searing his vocal cords shut with a sharp lance of pain. Clutching his throat, Todd felt his body move, seemingly on its own, looking for a place to hide. Because that was one of the many promises he’d made-- he would hide, he would stay out of sight, and he would remain quiet. Rising from his chair, Todd locked the door of the room, the pain easing slightly as he did so. He tip-toed across the floor before squeezing himself in the gap between the wall and the desk. His hands pressed against his face, teeth biting into his fingers to keep from shouting. He had to keep quiet. He had to obey.

 There was something eerie about Lydia’s home even though she knew the woman wasn’t home. Maybe it was because she knew all too well what happened here, but on the surface, it looked like just an ordinary home. Like Lydia was just an ordinary albeit wealthy person. The art that hung on the walls was a bit pretentious, but homey in its own way. How someplace could look so welcoming and yet be so dark was a lot to digest. Ariana knew better than to get too caught up in any of the small things lying around. Getting these people out alive was their priority here today. She closed her eyes and focused on the smells around her. There were two that smelled familiar, but one pulled at the heels of her feet. “Wait,” she said as she reoriented herself to follow what she was smelling when realization hit, “That bitch.” There was venom in her voice as she could smell Todd. That was why he had been taking time to work on projects and not perform. She felt her fists ball up at her side as she stomped forward toward an office. “Someone’s this way. I-- Kaden, I know who it is.” It only pushed her forward further only to push right into a locked door. “Fuck,” she grumbled as she grabbed a bobby pin out of her hair. “Don’t worry, I got this one,” she told Kaden and Agatha. She pressed her ear against the door and fiddled with the pin until she heard the click of a lock. She let out the breath she hadn’t realized she was holding and softly said, “Todd? I know you’re in here, it’s okay, we’re not guests.” She hoped that statement somewhat helped work around Lydia’s promises. 

 Please just go away, please just go away, Todd thought to himself as his body continued to contort in pain, filling his bones. What had he done wrong? He was hiding, he was doing what he should, he was doing what Lydia wanted-- as he tried to figure it out, the doorknob rattled and he heard a voice. A… familiar voice. Megan? No, her name was Ariana, wasn’t it? No, no, no, no, no, please, he wanted to say. But, he still had his hand pressed firmly against his mouth, trying not to make a sound. If he kept quiet, if he kept quiet, the pain would stop, wouldn’t it? When she said his name, when she specified they weren’t guests, the awful feeling lessened and he let out a breath. “Y-you can’t be here. You shouldn’t be here. Sh--” His throat closed as he tried to say Lydia’s name, the promise that had originally gotten him into this mess reminding him of its presence. Gasping, he shook his head. “No, no, no, no.”

 Kaden’s mouth pulled into a thin line as Ari went off by herself. Something about this house, he didn’t like the idea of leaving her behind. What if Lydia had added layers of words binding the humans since Sammy was killed? What if there was something horrible waiting for them in each of these rooms? No, there wasn’t time for that. He didn’t think. And either way, he had to trust Ariana could handle herself. She’d proven that much. “Okay. I, uh… Left it is,” he said with a shrug and went towards the door across the way. He tried the knob and it opened easily enough. It almost unsettled him more to know he was entering somewhere that wasn’t off limits. He gulped back the uneasiness that had settled in since stepping through the threshold of this place and walked into the room. “Woah.” The words left his lips without a second thought. The room was huge. Possibly bigger than his apartment. And this was just the master bedroom? 

 Kaden shook off the awe. This was nothing to be jealous of. And it wasn’t why they were here. He wandered in, quietly and carefully. There weren’t any signs of movement, not yet. He couldn’t hear any new heartbeats just yet but he kept moving through the room. It felt like a home. Normal, almost. Queasiness dropped into his stomach. Still, he found his feet moving towards the dresser in the corner, practically drawn there by something, like there was a string pulling him along. There were pictures of smiling faces, Lydia with what had to be friends and family. She looked so normal, so much like any other human. His eyes drifted down to the bones sitting on the dresser, arranged lovingly even if in the corner. His fingers ran over them, feeling the smooth, cold surface. Banshee gifts if he ever saw them. Were they from Deirdre? Regan? Maybe both. He clenched his jaw against the tears pricking at his eyes. This was too complicated. It couldn’t be. This couldn’t be about Regan or even Lydia. He shut his eyes and concentrated, pushed past the barriers he put up around his senses and listened. A new set of thudding pounded in his ear. He tried to the right, quieter, then the left, louder and louder as he went. “Hello?” he said tepidly, opening his eyes as he walked slowly towards what looked like the bathroom. “I’m not here to hurt you. And I already know you’re here so it’s not breaking any promises to answer.” He didn’t know if that was true, but it didn’t hurt to try. He tried the knob. Locked. “I won’t hurt you. At least-- I’m not a friend of Lydia’s. Please. Let me in.” He tried the handle again. Nothing. He waited for a response, anything. If nothing changed in a few seconds, Kaden had no issues wrenching the handle open himself. 

 Kelly pressed her hand over her mouth, trying to suffocate her whimpers and hummingbird fast breathing. She heard Lydia’s bedroom door open, and imagined some creeping, monstrous shadow of a creature creeping through the room, like the Mindflayer in Stranger Things. Hello, it called, and the image in her head shifted. It was something bipedal, its limbs distorted and a voice like an angel only to disguise a maw full of teeth. Lydia wanted her to stay hidden. She whimpered as the closet door whimpered, the promise burning her lungs. She was going to stay quiet. She would be good. 

 As the two others decided to stick together, Agatha chose to go the other way. Just like them, she climbed up the stairs, but when they turned left, she went to the right. Alone now, she had gotten her weapon out, ready to fight back should she be there, somewhere, waiting to get them one by one. She arrived in one of the most spacious living room she had ever seen. She moved around grazing the walls, checking on every door. Some of them were closed, while others were not. Although, upon inspection, she had found, aside from a large amount of beds in one room, not found anything shocking. She noticed that there was not a single computer in sight, nor was there a phone, or anything that could have facilitated communication with the outside world. Will there was an obvious and expected lack here, there were none as far as the bookshelves were concerned. She couldn’t help but gaze for a short moment at the book spines, wondering what those were about. Her eyes were drawn toward some of the names. “The Eyes to the sky?” Her brows furrowed as she picked up one of the books that bore Lydia’s name. Wait, she was that Lydia Griffin? Under her breath, the detective muttered one particularly surprised what the fuck as a photograph of the woman on the other side confirmed it. “Well now you gotta tell me what face cream you use,” she commented, dropping the book back on its shelf. Now perhaps was a good time to see what all these doors were hiding. One of them was a recording studio, kicking the second door open, she did not expect to get so lucky on her second try. In there, hiding in a corner, there was someone. Remembering what the other two had said, she put her hands up and calmly, she explained: “I’m not a guest, I’m... “ Well the badge certainly helped get her point through. Damn, this room was busy, she thought to herself, for a split second turning her attention toward the rest of the office. “It’s going to be okay, I’m just going to talk with you, alright? As a not guest.” 

 Police officer. Chloe stared at the badge, trembling. Hives were beginning to raise along her skin as the blonde woman stared at her. No one ever came up here, not without Lydia. Remmy hadn’t come in here in the months they’d been here. It was only ever business associates. But she’d heard the wood of the oak door splinter downstairs. The door in front of her had been kicked open. Something had changed. Something was changing. As a not guest. The emphasis was weird, strangely knowing. Chloe felt a horrible ache in her chest. If there were police here, Lydia wouldn’t come back. She’d never knowingly betray herself. Chloe had known for years that Chloe needed Lydia more than Lydia needed Chloe. That was the way her brand of intoxication worked. Fuck. “Why are you here?” She asked hoarsely, pushing herself onto her feet, pressing herself against the back wall as hard as she could. “Who are you?”

 Seeing Todd’s pained expression sent a fresh wave of rage through her body. While it stood she didn’t have it in her to deal the final blow, Ariana could only hope Luce and Athena made it painful for all she’d done to these poor people. Her heart sank realizing she hadn’t even known Todd would be here. She should have been a better friend, reached out and checked in on him more. She’d been so caught up in her own shit, that Lydia managed to get yet another one of her friends. “Hey, shhh,” she assured him as she reached out a hand for him, “It’s going to be okay. I should be here, you’re not doing anything wrong.” It was hard to gauge what his promises were, but he was in pain and she could only hope Lydia would be dead sooner rather than later. “I’m going to make sure you’re safe, I promise.” She looked to him with pleading eyes using a word she had promised herself to never use again, but she planned on delivering. There wasn’t another option. She refused to let Lydia take another friend from her. “Lydia’s not here. I’m not a guest, friend, or company-- Well, I’m your friend but-- Please come out, Todd. The pain should fade soon, but don’t push too hard.” 

 As Ariana came into view, a wave of relief rushed over Todd as he saw a friendly, familiar face. Well, friendly wasn’t quite how he’d describe how she looked at him. Worried, more like. Really, really worried. And, he was too. As she kept talking, he could feel the sharp edges of the promise start to dull, the pain lessening. She wasn’t a guest, she wasn’t a friend of Lydia’s. There was wiggle room with the magic, like the silence between notes of music. And that was what he could use to-- Swallowing, he didn’t dare let himself think about that, knowing full well what the promise would do to him. “How are you here?” He managed to say, his hands shaking with fear and dread as he stared at his friend with wild eyes. “I-- I’m trying. I’m trying.” He repeated as he managed to pull himself from the corner he’d shoved himself into. Ariana wasn’t a friend of Lydia’s, she wasn’t a guest, this wasn’t covered by the promise, which meant it was okay. The mental gymnastics of the magic were hard, but they were all that allowed him to stand upright and take a shaky step forward. “Kelly. And Chloe. They’re here too.”

 Shit. There was no response. Kaden knocked again just to see. Alright, guess there was no other choice. He yanked the door knob and forced it open, breaking the handle and pushed the door open. Shit, the bathroom was huge, too. He peaked around the corner and saw the huge jacuzzi tub and vanity. Right. He approached and… no one there. He looked in the actual bathroom. Nothing there. Not in the shower, either. “I know this is probably terrifying but I’m not going to hurt you. I pr--” Shit. That word. That stupid fucking word. Whoever was here had heard enough of that word. “I know you’re probably bound a million different ways but I’m going to help. I’m… I’m with the WCPD.” Kaden wasn’t sure if that was going to help or make things worse. There was only one place left to look, though. One door. He opened up the door to the linen closet and saw a terrified, shaking girl. Shit. Shit. His heart shattered and he wanted nothing more than to haul her out of there and make a break for it out of this fucking house. Instead, he took a deep breath and held up his hands in surrender. “See, not going to hurt you. Can you speak to me? Are you able?”

 Kelly screamed as light flooded into her cupboard, jerking back so ferociously she banged her head against a warm pipe, and tried to pull a towel over herself to hide. The promise was broken, it was already too late, Every muscle felt like she’d pulled it without warming up, but she still tried to hide. “I don’t know. Please- please go away!” Kelly scrambled forward, reaching for the cupboard door, and tried to pull it shut to hide her back in the dark.

 She had to be careful about what she would tell that woman. Since Agatha did not fully understand the extent of the manipulation, she felt like she was a tightrope walker, 30 feet above the ground. Her hands still up, she lowered them to place the gun back in its holster. At least that woman allowed herself to speak with the detective, she realized, relief making her shoulders loosen down just a little. This was good news, although it did not look like she saw Agatha as her savior, or like she wanted to leave the place. While having never encountered this in the past, it reminded her of those articles she read on Stockholm’s syndrome. All she hoped was that this was not bad to the point of attacking the people who were here to save her. 

She did not move closer to the other woman immediately. That woman was terrified, and nothing good would come from forcing her out of the room. This was Agatha’s ultimate resort, and one she did not intend to use. Lowering her voice, her tone was a bit calmer, soothing like a caress.  “Do you mind if I have a look around?” She asked. An excuse to get closer, as well as an excuse to talk to her. “I’m Agatha, it’s nice meeting you,” she pushed a strand of hair behind her ear, doing her best to appear as friendly and welcoming. Slowly, she moved toward the desk. Each and every drawer and cabinet was closed. Great. Her eyebrows raised and she glanced at the woman. “Do you know how I can open it? I really don’t want to damage anything,” everything in here was evidence, and she was sorry in advance for ruining the room for forensics. “Do you think you could help me perhaps?” Agatha had had a promise in her head for just a few hours, and it had been hell, she could not imagine how that woman felt, and she wondered for how long she had been there. 

 “You’ll get us in more trouble,” Chloe replied, still hard against the wall. She didn’t match Agatha’s gentle demeanour, but mouthed the name back at herself. Agatha. Agatha, the cop, rummaging through Lydia’s home. Something prickled in Chloe’s chest. “I don’t think I should help you. She’s coming back. She’ll come back. You can’t- She would want me to stop you.” But Lydia had never said anything about a police officer rummaging through her things. “Under the books. Nineteen forty nine.” There was a keypad. Chloe looked away, her insides churning. Just as quickly, she added, “We chose to be here. We want to be here. She’s going to come back, you know, and that- that’s good.” Two sides, always struggling. Lydia was going to be so upset when she came home to all this damage. The other two didn’t know better yet, but Chloe- Chloe watched Agatha and felt a tiny match in the darkness of her despair. She couldn’t think like that. “It really would be best if you just left, or talked to Lydia when she’s back. It’s not what you think, whatever you think it is.”

 Something akin to relief washed over Ariana as he stepped out from his hiding space. Working within the bounds of everything Lydia made them promise wasn’t easy, but she so desperately wanted to get them out of here alive. It wasn’t a guarantee, but hopefully once Lydia was dead some of these promises would be released. She knew better than to ride on that though. She did her best to hide the nervous energy that was pulsing through her. Unlike her, he didn’t have the advantage of supernatural hearing and probably couldn’t even tell that her heart was practically racing. How she was here was a loaded question and there was hardly enough time to explain. “It’s a long story. Lydia had another one of my friends hostage before, I got help. She won’t be keeping you or anyone else like this anymore.” Her eyes nearly dared to plead with him, but she kept herself confident. Todd needed to believe her. He needed to think he wasn’t breaking any promises to find that small space between them. He needed to believe he could go back to his normal life. The certain brightness and enthusiasm he had possessed before seemed so diminished now and it only served to further her hatred for Lydia. Then he said the name Kelly and she felt herself turn queasy. Not her too. That absolute bitch. “Kelly? Singer who is about my age- she- what?” It had only been a few weeks since she last watched her open mic night. How had she forgotten to check back in? “Okay, okay. I didn’t come here alone. We’ll help Kelly and Chloe, too. We just have to find the others.” 

 He could walk, he could follow her, Todd thought to himself, willing himself to take step after step behind Ariana. It hurt, all of this hurt. It would just be so much easier to stay here. He could hide himself away, tuck himself back in the corner and wait for Lydia to return. It would be better than this pain, wouldn’t it? Swallowing, he stared at Ariana as she talked to him. She knew someone else who’d been here? Someone else who’d been trapped in this house? “I-- Okay. Okay. Chloe, she, she was here with me before, but I don’t know where she went now. Maybe the office? But I want to,” His body contorting in on itself as he let out a wince of pain as he forced himself not to think about leaving, not even dare to hope for it. “I’ll follow you.” He said shakily, the words just enough of a loophole for the magical pain to stop clawing at him. Would this work? Would any of it work? He just wanted to be free.

 Shit. She hit her head and Kaden’s first instinct was to reach out and help her, apply pressure, check the wound. But he had a feeling that would only make this worse, cause more pain than he already was. “Sorry, I’m--” Putain, how could he help? He had to-- “What did you promise? We’ll-- Is it that I can’t see you? I’ll shut my eyes or, or-- If you have to hide, we’ll-- put a towel over you and you’re hidden. Right? I-- Just please. Please, I’m going to help. I just want to get you out of here.” He put his hand out for her to take, wedging himself between her and the door, wishing it was enough. She looked so young and so broken already. And he didn’t know what to do. But he had to try. “I know it hurts. It’ll be over, soon. Please. Let me help.”

 Kelly just shrank even more deeply into herself. “No, no! You’re lying!” Some part of her knew, deep down, that Josh wouldn’t want her to be like this. Her brother would want her to reach out and take his hand. She knew, god, she knew that leaving was the right choice. Everyone had explained so much, but it still didn’t seem real. Was it really wrong to want the stability and warmth that Lydia offered? As long as she did the right thing, it would be okay. It would be awesome, the music she’d already written in the last couple weeks would more than catch the attention of a crowd bigger than the local bar.  But she didn’t know this man, and if she did the wrong thing… well, Chloe’s scars told a story of their own, didn’t they? “I’m being good. Please go away.”

 Agatha, her heart heavy in her chest, looked Chloe in the eyes and with all the assertiveness she could muster, assured her that Lydia was not coming back. Never.  She made sure not to promise anything, but rather spoke just as calmly, explaining everything she was doing as she moved across the office. 1949. Agatha repeated the number in her head and searching through the books, found a concealed safe. The code provided opened it, and within it, Agatha found what she was looking for. “Thank you,” she gave her a warm smile and sat down at the desk, opening the cabinets one by one. “Do you have any free will left?” She glanced up from the drawer she inspected, once again searching for a hint of anything in the other woman’s eyes. “I do not think anything. I find evidence, and then I draw conclusions,” and what she was seeing was not comforting. In a box, within the drawer, she found a stack of identity papers, some expired, some dating back to a few decades ago. All of those belonged to different faces, and Agatha had to take a deep breath to stop her head from spinning. What the fuck had happened here. Who the fuck was Lydia? Well, at least now she knew who the other woman was. “Chloe, you’re Chloe,” she had a small sigh of relief and a sunny smile for her. “It’s good to meet you Chloe.”

 Agatha’s words hit Chloe like a waterfall, crushing her. She didn’t believe it, not at first, but the whiplash sting of Lydia’s biggest rejection hit her right in the chest. She wouldn’t have. She couldn’t have. Chloe hadn’t always behaved, but Lydia wouldn’t lie about going to a fairy ring, would she? Why wouldn’t she- Chloe covered her mouth and stifled an unwelcome sob, determined not to fall apart here, not under the force of toxins she had no control over. That didn’t make it any less real now, her brain could not separate the ache as clearly as it could the intent. “How do you know?” She breathed, scratching at the hives on her neck as Agatha began digging through Lydia’s desk. Finally, she summoned the courage to step away from the wall, staring at the box Agatha pulled out. “That’s a loaded question. I’m still me. It’s- it’s not like I’m just a puppet.” The instinct to protect Lydia even now left an acrid taste in Chloe’s mouth. As Agatha opened the box, her mouth ran dry. Right on the top was Todd’s and Kelly’s drivers licenses, but as Agatha began to sort through, there were more faces than Chloe could begin to recognise. Some, she did. One was a very young Anneliese, who had been taken seven years before her death, barely twenty at the time. Sammy, who looked almost the same, except there was a sparkle in his features in the dull photobooth photograph that she hadn’t seen in his real smile for months. Owen, too, and then there she was. Four years ago. The face there was almost unrecognisable. Agatha smiled warmly, and Chloe could barely force a half smile on her lips. “I guess I’ll find out if it’s good to meet you, Agatha.” There were voices coming from beyond, catching her attention. “Who else is here? More police?”

 The pain so clearly etched on Todd’s face only furthered her desire to see Lydia dead. Well, perhaps not actually see her, but at least know she was stopped. Everything in Ariana wanted to grab him and just run out of here. She couldn’t be that reckless though. A broken promise could do more harm than good and she had to get him out of here. Everything about Todd had always been so genuine and sweet from the moment she’d met him. He was the absolute last person who deserved to be trapped here. She should have noticed something sooner. She placed a gentle hand on his shoulder and assured, “You don’t have to say anything else. I know it hurts. Kaden and Agatha will find the others.” She couldn’t shake the sick feeling in her stomach as she wondered if Kelly was her Kelly. If her decision to not trade her to Lydia to free Sammy or break her promise had been all for nothing. She put on a brave face anyway. Todd needed to believe in her right now even if she didn’t quite believe in herself. He agreed to follow her so she led him out of the room, not daring to leave his side. 

 Ariana took her time with him and listened for the others until they walked by a room with an open door. Curiosity compelled her to peek inside and she felt her breath hitch in her throat. “I-- we need to go in here first.” The room had a decent stock of pottery along the shelves and she knew they had to be Sammy’s. Her fingers ran along some of the vases as if touching the same clay he once touched would connect her to him again somehow. Her hand stopped on one that had some motifs of the moon decorating it and a sad smile crossed her face. Sammy had to have made it. Without thinking about whether she should, she grabbed it off the shelf and looked back to Todd with strengthened resolve. “Okay, let’s get to the others. Are you-- How are you feeling? We can go slow, just tell me if it hurts too much and we can stop. Figure out a way around it.” 

 Todd trailed behind Ariana in mute silence, because if he did not talk, he couldn’t lie. He just focused on putting one foot in front of the other, keeping pace with the girl. If he didn’t think about what he was doing, he couldn’t break his promise. If he could just keep his mind clear and just let it happen, the nightmare would end, right? He would be free. Shoulders hunched over, he thought about all the things he would do when he got back. He’d call his parents. Call his siblings. Let them know how much he missed them. Tell them he was sorry for not talking to them more, for not listening to them. He’d call Winston and Ricky and tell them that he hadn’t wanted to lose them. He’d tell them that he hadn’t wanted to cut them off. He’d tell them the truth, that magic was real and that he wanted nothing to do with it anymore. He just wanted to be free. When Ariana turned to look at him, he realized she’d asked him something. Rubbing his arms nervously, he nodded, “I’m… It’s okay. It’s okay right now.” He said. It wasn’t true. He’d been thinking of what would come after all this, and with the thinking, the pain had returned. “We should-- do this. It’s gonna be okay, it’s gonna be okay.”

 “I’m not. I know it must-- But I’m not lying. Please. Let me help.” Kaden’s hand stayed there, outstretched and untaken. He knew this wasn’t going to be easy, but he hadn’t prepared for this. Not in the slightest. He was used to dealing with tough scenarios between police and hunting work, sure, but there was a reason he preferred animal control to standard jobs. Dealing with people was hard. Especially when they were going against their best interests so painfully. He knew he must look like a monster, coming in and dragging her out of what was, unfortunately, her home. He couldn’t even imagine how he appeared to her, his face beaten and worn, half of him bandaged and certainly worse for wear. “I’m sorry,” he said before he reached in and pulled her out of the closet, trying to sling her across his back in a fireman's carry. Kaden winced, the pain of everything that came before settling into his bones as he did. It didn’t matter. He pushed it away, he could hurt later. For now, he was sure she was going to resist and fight him tooth and nail. He was going to get her out of here. She could thank him later. “I’m sorry. She’s not coming back. We have to get you out of here.”

 Kelly screamed, her voice hoarse from all the singing she’d already been doing the past few hours. She tried to grab the inside of the cupboard, but no matter how hard she pulled it didn’t even slow him down. Terrified of him and terrified of breaking the promise, she trashed her legs and squirmed, but he wasn’t letting go. “Stop it! Let me GO!” She screamed. “YOU’RE HURTING ME! TODD! CHLOE! HELP!”

 “That’s my job, dear,” she had a hint of confidence in a smile as she glanced at Chloe, one that matched the light in her eyes. Knowing things was something Agatha had always done quite well, and she did not care for those who called her a Know it all. As if it were an insult. Better a know it all, than a know nothing at all, she had always told herself. Still the look on Chloe’s face took its toll on the police woman’s morale, and she approached Chloe carefully, putting her hands on her arms, and looking her in the eyes. Truth was, the detective was not feeling too great herself. She had just shot a coworker, found out that some people could make you do things, put you in some sort of trance, and now, she had to deal with a case that was getting more horrific the more she found out things. And yet, she kept her chin up, no matter how heavy her heart felt in her chest, no matter how much she wanted to cry and scream as she remembered how scared and helpless she had been back at Kaden’s. She kept her chin up, and she looked at Chloe with a look on her face that said everything is going to be okay, you’re under good care. With Chloe by her side, she had looked at the different IDs and would have kept doing so, had it not been for the screaming. “I’m with another police officer, and a …” She frowned. “Someone who’s great at finding missing people,” well that covered it. “Let’s go have a look, alright? Stay behind me,” she closed the drawer, locked it and took the keys with her as she went out of the office.

 “That not an answer,” Chloe replied, squaring her jaw, as if she could make herself immune to Agatha’s gentle demeanor. She didn’t- couldn’t believe it. Lydia had made herself the center of their universes, the sun and stars set at her beck and call. It wasn’t that Chloe missed her, it was that a world without her was impossible to imagine. It was impossible not to want to sob about the pain they’d caused Lydia just by being caught. Chloe was about to ask more about the police officer and the person find her when Kelly began to scream. “Wh-” As soon as they were through the door, when Chloe saw Kelly being hauled around, she didn’t stay behind Agatha at all, running over to Kelly. She almost lost her balance at the last second, staggering slightly as she got close to Todd. It wasn’t a fae promise to Lydia that propelled her forward, but a promise to herself. It had admittedly been about not letting the two kids absorb any of Lydia’s wrath if she could avoid it, but considering Kelly was currently slung over a stranger’s shoulders- she swallowed, grabbing a pencil from a nearby table, as if it could serve against any kind of weapon. “Please… please put her down! You’re hurting her, she doesn’t understand!” Chloe’s head whipped around, looking at Todd, and the girl standing next to him, away, and then blinked. It couldn’t be. Sammy wasn’t that good of a sketch artist.   

 Okay was such a relative term for Todd to use here when it stood that absolutely none of this was okay. He never should have been here. Ariana should have noticed he was gone. Should have checked in on Kelly more. “Good, just keep pushing forward. Everything is going to be okay,” she assured while placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. Was it to steady herself or reassure him? She couldn’t really tell anymore. The vase Sammy made was clutched tightly in her other arm though she nearly dropped it when she heard a scream echo through the hallway. It confirmed it was in fact her Kelly. The very Kelly she decided to keep away from all of this and yet here she was anyway. Fucking bitch. She hoped Athena got a nice stab in for her though immediately chided herself for that thought. “Don’t worry, Todd, she’s just scared. I know all of this is hard and scary, but I’m going to make sure everyone gets out of this, okay?” She desperately hoped she could live up to that statement. They quickly approached Kaden who had Kelly slung over his shoulder. She raced up to comfort Kelly and let her know a familiar face was here. “Hey,” she said softly, getting a good look in Kelly’s eyes, “It’s okay, it’s me, Ari. This is Kaden, he’s not going to hurt you. We’re going to get you out of here, alright? You’re not safe here.” 

 Even though Todd was doing his best to keep himself together, it felt like his brain was going to explode as he tried to keep himself calm. And then, he heard Kelly screaming, heard her yelling, heard her begging for his help. Then a man, who was carrying her. Terrified, Todd felt the pull of the magic begin to curl in the back of his throat, choking him until he reminded himself that they weren’t friends, that they weren’t guests, they weren’t invited. Which didn’t count, it didn’t count, this was a loophole. Even so, he’d heard the fear in Kelly’s voice. He hoped that Ariana was right, that he wouldn’t hurt them. But, what choice did he have? He knew he couldn’t stay here, even though every inch of his body wanted to curl up and hide and wait for Lydia to return. He had to do this. The very thought sent another sharp wave of pain stabbing through his side and Todd staggered a bit, leaning against the wall. “We… We’re not safe here.” He repeated, because it was true and it wasn’t bound in magic. “Hurry. Hurry.” He urged the others. This nightmare, this hell? He just wanted it to end.

 Chloe looked from Agatha to their other rescuers, to Todd, his face scrunched in concentration. Her stomach churned, her insides turned inside out at the thought of how disappointed Lydia would be, at the promises that she was so close to breaking with every breath. “We’re not going anywhere special, okay? We’re going to go look at the Magritte. If you lied to me-” Chloe turned to Agatha, her voice trembling, “If you lied, you could be killing us. But, we’re not doing anything special right now this second. We’re just going to get some inspiration from the Magritte painting. Without Lydia around- Without Lydia around we can just get some second hand inspiration from one of her ancestors.” The painting downstairs, near the front door. She looked back at the blue haired girl, and thought about the glaze Sammy had ordered in just that shade of blue. Could it be?

 Kaden was used to screams in his ears. And she wasn’t even a banshee. Not that it stopped her from trying to rival them, that was for sure. He winced under the weight of her kicking and thrashing against his back. If he clenched his jaw, maybe he wouldn’t feel the pain shooting through his arm, maybe he could just ignore it. As he entered into the foyer, he saw Ari and Keen along with two others. They must be the other hostages. His brow furrowed as the woman begged him to put Kelly down. Guilt seeped deeper into him as he did as he was told, placing her down gently as he could and taking a step back. “Sorry, I-- I’m-- She wouldn’t leave the closet and I didn’t know what else to--” Before he could apologize any further, he felt the pain flashing through his arm again and rubbed the wound. “I’m not trying to hurt you. I--” As Ari said his name, it occurred to him that he never introduced himself, either. Why the fuck was he even here? He certainly wasn’t fucking helping, was he? “That’s right. I’m Kaden. Officer Langley. And this is Detective Keen. And we’re--” His face scrunched up in confusion again when Chloe explained even further. “Just…. here to… admire the, uh, the art.” Was that right? Was that what she was suggesting? There must have been layers upon layers of word binding and fae magic at work. And certainly she’d know how to work around it better than him. “So let’s all head downstairs and make sure we get a good look.” He held out his hand and gestured for them to go ahead of him. He’d make sure they made it down the stairs one way or another. As much as he didn’t want to have to carry on as he had been. 

 Kelly almost bolted the second she was set down, and would have if Ariana hadn’t been right there, alongside Todd. “I don’t understand. Ariana? Are you here too? Did she get you too?” She looked from Ariana to Todd to Chloe, who was slowly lowering her pencil. She looked at Todd, then Chloe, her face wrinkling. “I-... I don’t want to go. We should be staying here, for Lydia.” She looked at Kaden Langley, who was apparently a police officer, which meant… which meant… “Just… Just looking at the art, right. Um, okay.” She agreed, and cautiously walked down the stairs, to look at the Magritte. 

 Shit. She rushed after Chloe, and stopped in the foyer, where the rest of them were. So there were two other hostages then. At least two, she corrected herself, observing what was going on. She almost said something about Kaden’s way of handling the issue, but decided against it. Agatha refused to demolish his authority in a situation as unstable as this one, even if she did not like this. “Well now she’s out of the closet,” this was not intended as a joke, and she kept her upper lip stiff. “Alright, yes. We were going to go downstairs to look at the Magritte,” wait they had a Magritte in here? What the fuck. Her face remained neutral, but the cogs in her heads were starting to hurt, as it seemed that she was hopping from surprise to surprise in this house. As one of the people in the room mentioned that Lydia could come back, she looked over at Chloe and shook her head, to remind her that no, Lydia was gone. Apparently the person Kaden had been carrying was not ready for that, and it was probably best to persuade her out of here through other means. She approached her coworker and, her eyebrow raised, she commented: “this is even worse than we imagined, isn’t it?”

 Magritte? Who was that? Todd wasn’t sure what they were talking about; hadn’t Ariana told him they were going to get-- A fresh spike of pain had him leaning heavily against the hallway, grasping at his side. No, no, no, no. No, they were just going to see Magritte or whatever and they were… he was being good. He was listening, he was keeping his promise. He wasn’t disobeying. He was here, he was here, he was here. “Uh huh. Uh huh.” He nodded, trying to keep his mind as clear of this as he could. But, it was getting harder and harder to not think of the circumstances when he realized that the two not-guests Ariana had were police officers. “Let’s go look at the art.” He nodded in agreement.

 The inclination to run was evident on Kelly’s face and she couldn’t ignore the guilt churning in her stomach. Ariana should have figured out a way to warn her, she did know she was perfect prey for Lydia. She reached out to give her shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “It’s me,” she said softly, “She didn’t get me. I figured out what was going on here.” The other woman had to be Chloe. Sammy had mentioned her and she had hoped she’d still be here. That she hadn’t been too late. There was something akin to relief running through her, but they weren’t out of the clear just yet. She nodded, “Chloe’s right. We should all get some inspiration from Magritte.” Whoever the hell that was. It hardly mattered if it helped them out of here. It was only a matter of time before Lydia was dead if she wasn’t already. Kelly didn’t seem ready to face that news so they’d focus on one thing at a time. 

 Magritte was a painter Lydia liked to show off several times a year, because his bizarre art style was often popular, even in the less expensive and famous pieces that she owned. Had owned, if she had abandoned it all here. Chloe paused the group in front of the painting, her hand curled in a tight fist to distract from the pain of thinking about this. “She’s not coming back,” Chloe said softly to the other two, taking Kelly’s hand in her own. Sickeningly, it reminded her of how Lydia comforted them from time to time, so she dropped that hand just as quickly. “It’s going to hurt more the longer we wait.” Chloe had been here too long. Her bones felt stiff, her body weary. She couldn’t frighten them off, especially Kelly, who was struggling to understand so much. “You’re going to have to break a promise. These-” Chloe looked at Kaden, who Lydia had once described as the most monstrous french creature in town, with frightening strength, and then to Ariana, who was a werewolf, that Sammy had waxed lyrical about. “These people can help, but it’s going to hurt, okay? But you’re going to go first, both of you, and it’s going to be -ah,” Chloe curled in on herself as the promise against lies pulled a stitch in her side. “We’ll figure it out. She’s not coming back, leaving isn’t disappointing her.”

 “And it’s not over yet,” Kaden said quietly to Keen. He lingered behind in the foyer, let everyone go down ahead of him, hand hovering by his pistol, just in case. He knew there was no one else here, but something about this place made him worry that anything could jump out at them at any time. That it couldn’t be as simple as walking right out the front door. When they got down there by what he assumed was the Magritte, he turned the door handle and pushed. It was nearly silent, and yet the sound of the door swinging open on its hinges echoed around them. He took a step past the threshold of the house like it was simple. For him, it was. “She’s right,” he said after Chloe spoke. “This isn’t going to be easy. Even if Lydia’s gone and never coming back.” There was no guarantee this would work, that the promises wouldn’t hold post death. As far as he knew, they did. That’s what the fae all said, at least. Words were more powerful than mortality. “Is there, uh, any more inspiration outside? On the grounds, maybe?” he asked tentatively, trying to catch Chloe’s eye for some confirmation that he was on the right track. There wasn’t much left in the garden that wasn’t destroyed, not now. But that wasn’t the point. “Kelly? Are you okay to find out? Maybe take a look?” he asked, shifting his focus to her and tentatively holding out his hand. 

 The moment of truth was upon them. They were coming up on the door and this was where things would get difficult. Ariana took in a deep breath to keep herself steady as she spoke. “That could work, I know the promises are varied,” she said in a hushed tone mostly meant for Kaden and Agatha to hear. She stood closer to Agatha, but she hoped Kaden’s handy dandy hunter hearing would come into play here. “She usually makes them promise not to leave her home. Not to make any sounds when guests are present, they can’t even sneeze. She’ll turn anything they say that she can into a promise. I’m not sure what our work around should be.” 

 Agatha still didn’t understand how this worked, it was most likely hypnosis, but there was a way to go around those, as she’d found out earlier, as she shot Kaden without causing too much harm to him. As Ariana mentioned Lydia’s home, the detective had a small, and yet malicious smile. There might have been a way for them all to get out of here, and no one getting hurt, she thought to herself. She felt her heart lifting in her chest as she took a deep breath. “This is not her home anymore,” she glanced at Ariana, then at her coworker and added. “She left, and this is a crime scene. This place is now under custody of the police department,” her smile brightened and she gave Chloe a look full of hope, nodding at her.

 Kelly stared at Kaden’s hand, as he offered it, and took it cautiously. She was pretty sure it didn’t work like that, and one look at Chloe’s face suggested it wasn’t very convincing. But Ariana… Ariana just knew, apparently, she knew things about Lydia that Kelly hadn’t until it was way too late. Finally, she looked to Agatha. “It’s- A crime scene? But, I want.” Chloe swallowed. “She left. It’s not her home. I- okay.” She turned back to Kaden, grit her teeth, and tried to move. Her joints locked up, freezing her in the doorway.  “Help,” she breathed, her muscles beginning to burn as if she’d run a marathon rather than just walked down the stairs. Everything in her strained to stay inside the house, to drop his hand, to return to their bedroom and curl away from the world. It felt like it was breaking a promise, it felt wrong, even if this wasn’t Lydia’s home. She didn’t even know if her hesitation was psychological or the promise itself. It was embarrassing, all these people watching her. But suddenly her muscles moved and Kaden pulled and she had to put her foot down just so she wouldn’t fall on her face, and… she was outside. Kelly stared up at Kaden with the biggest look of confusion, then back through the door. “I’m… okay? I’m okay!”

 This all sounded way too easy. Kaden wasn’t sure if they could just walk out the door and be perfectly okay. Would Keen’s idea even work? He held his breath and waited, watching Kelly take tepid steps towards the door. It felt like she stood there forever. Maybe she couldn’t do it on her own. And when she asked for help, it was clear that she couldn’t. Help. He was trying, but he didn’t know if he was doing the right thing. That didn’t stop him from trying. He reached out and pulled her across the threshold. He braced himself for her to collapse into pain or try to run back, something, anything. “You’re okay?” he repeated. The tension held in his chest dissipated as relief started to wash over him. One down. This would work. They’d be okay. They could save them. “You’re going to be okay,” he assured her with a smile before looking back to see who was next. 

 A tiny ball dissolved in Chloe’s chest as Kelly’s eyes lit up properly in the outside floodlights. Kelly looked from the door to Kaden and the outside again. It would start to ache soon enough, she knew. Not the promise, perhaps, but biochemical need to be with Lydia. Chloe just didn’t point that out. She also didn’t point out that Kelly and Todd only had a couple dozen promises between them, far fewer things to trip over than Chloe’s hundreds of promises. She looked at Agatha briefly, and tried to match that smile with one of her own. Maybe Lydia being gone meant Lydia being dead. Chloe swallowed, and tried to smile even more brightly for Todd. “You next, tough guy.” She gave him a quick hug, just in case she didn’t make it to the other side with them. 

 Thankfully, Agatha seemed to say the right thing and with a little push, Kelly was over the threshold. Ariana felt like she could breathe a little easier. This could work. They were going to get everyone out of here. She wasn’t going to fail all of them the same way she failed Sammy. She just needed to keep herself steady and confident to give the other two the push they needed to get out of here. They were relying on her so she did her best to hide her shock. “You’re okay,” she said with a soft smile before turning to Todd. Chloe had given him a quick hug and she stood beside him. Ariana placed a hand on his shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze. “You got this, we’re almost there,” she explained and offered up her hand if he wanted to take it. 

 Listening intently to the others, Todd tried to reassure himself that they were right. This wasn’t Lydia’s home anymore, it wasn’t hers. It was a crime scene. And he’d be able to leave a crime scene, right? She didn’t live here, it wasn’t her property, it wasn’t hers anymore. She didn’t own this place and she didn’t own him. He watched, with bated breath, as Kelly stepped over the threshold and out into the yard. And, for a long moment, all eyes were glued on her. But, if the punishment was going to come, wouldn’t it have happened already? A rush of relief washed over him as Kelly celebrated. Swallowing, he nodded at the others around him. “I got this,” He mumbled, cheek pressed against Chloe’s head as she hugged her tightly. “I got this. We’re getting out of here. We’re getting out of here.” He said and looked at Ariana with a nod. 

 Todd took a deep breath, steadying himself. This wasn’t her home, it was a crime scene. It was a crime scene. Those were the words he kept repeating to himself as he leaped forward, forcing himself to push through the pain that threatened to bring him to his knees. It wasn’t hers, he wasn’t hers. He was going to be free, just like Kelly and then Chloe would join them and they’d all be free. He’d be able to tell his parents how sorry he was, he’d apologize to Winston, he’d tell them everything about what had happened, he’d make it up to Ariana for having to rescue him from this. He’d do so much, once he was free. And, as he staggered upright in the front yard, he looked around with wide eyes.

 But that’s not how Fae promises work.

 Excruciating pain stabbed through his chest, starting in his heart and exploding outwards. It felt like someone had injected liquid metal into his body, boiling hot, and burning him from the inside out. A choking scream escaped his lips as Todd’s knees buckled underneath him, unable to keep him upright. He collapsed onto his stomach, body shaking with tremors as his hands reached up to grip his skull. His head felt as though it was imploding, like someone had stuck his brain in a vacuum, like it was going to collapse in on itself. His fingers clawed at his chest, his forehead, scraping at the flesh in an attempt to relieve the pain. He scrabbled against the earth, screaming, weeping, bleeding as he tried to crawl back to the house. But, he’d broken his promise.

 With a shuddering gasp, Todd’s eyes rolled to the back of his head. A final violent tremor ran through his body and then, the DJ was no more.

 “You totally got this,” Ariana assured as he prepared himself to step outside of Lydia’s home. Kelly making it over the threshold had given her confidence that Todd would be okay. That he’d leave here and she could tell Winston they’d need to look after him from here on out. She’d be a better friend. She’d check in on him more and make sure no more vile women like Lydia went near him ever again. If she hadn’t completely erased the word from her vocabulary, she would have promised him as much. She stood just outside the doorway now, ready to give him a hand if needed. There was a momentary proud look on her face as he began to step out of the house that was quickly replaced with one of horror.

 “No,” Ariana whispered to herself, “No.” She quickly knelt down to try and hold Todd up, but the way he was clawing at his own chest made it impossible to do so. The pain on his face and in his screams was enough to make her feel sick. She reached out unsure of what to do. “Todd, no, breathe.” Come on, just breathe. Please don’t. “You’re over, it’s over, you’ll-” Her voice was strained and her hands felt useless trying to find a way to keep him upright. There had to be something she could do, but she was paralyzed by trying to find the answer, hands still extended hoping he’d reach for them and find a way to steady himself. Grip to her through the pain, she could take it. What she couldn’t take was what happened instead. 

 Defeat was evident in the way her features contorted on her face. Ariana dropped down to the ground beside Todd, hoping against all better judgment that this wasn’t it. That he just needed to be carried out of here. Her ears felt as if they were about to pop with the pressure that was building up as she bit back tears. Still, she listened for any sign of a heartbeat, but there was none to be found. Shaky hands reached down to feel for Todd’s pulse even though she knew better. She knew she failed Todd just like she had failed Sammy. “I’m so sorry,” she breathed out soft enough that no one with ordinary hearing would be able to hear. She was frozen in place, staring down at the damage as if she could will it to change. Will Todd to move again, to stand up and say this was all some sort of joke. She wanted to move, wanted to remember that Kelly and Chloe still needed her, but she couldn’t find it in her to stand back up. They were better off with Kaden and Agatha anyhow. All she seemed to do is make this whole thing worse. 

 Kelly watched Todd with wide eyes as Todd stepped over the door, her own smile cautiously watching him. For a second, when his foot touched the pavement, he was fine, and Kelly was about to be ready to celebrate with him when he contorted. She jumped back as he screamed, her hand flying over her mouth as he clutched at his head. “Do something!” She cried out, but stood frozen on the ground as Todd collapsed to the ground. “Do something!” He tried to crawl back, but it was too late. He shook, once, twice, as Kelly leant against 

Kaden and wept, but the silence after his last scream was so much worse. Watching Ariana, Kelly found the courage to move forward too, cracking her knees against the pavement as she knelt over him. “TODD!” Kelly shook his shoulders, and then did the only thing she could think of, a move half remembered from a training video she’d watched years ago.  Pounding on his chest, Kelly begged him to come back, or anything. 

 For all the misery in Kelly’s scream, the sound Chloe made was even more wretched. She choked and gagged after trying to scream herself, silent tears spilling down her face. “Don’t ever scream again,” Lydia had once told her, and Chloe had promised without hesitation, Sammy’s blood still soaking her clothes. Her tongue swelled up as if stung by a bee. Chloe clutched her chest until the coughing subsided, but when she looked up, Todd was already dead. “No,” Chloe breathed, sagging against the wall. Surrender was so much easier. “No, no.” She could clean it up. She could fix the door and sweep up the glass and make everything fine, so Lydia wouldn’t be upset. Todd wouldn’t have to bear the weight of Lydia’s wrath if Chloe was- She swallowed. Todd was dead. It was too late.

 Kaden stood and watched as Todd started to walk forward. He knew he shouldn’t be as hopeful as he felt, and yet, he was sure this would work. Up until the kid collapsed. Part of him wanted to reach out, but Ari was already there, so he held Kelly back instead for the moment. The last thing they needed was for her to go back into that place. And Ari had it. Didn’t she? He would be-- But he wasn’t fine. He seized and Kelly and Chloe screamed. Kaden wasn’t sure what he did because the world seemed to stop and stand still. His grip on Kelly fell and all he could do was watch as she and Ari tried to bring Todd back to life. The sounds finally hit his ears and the world was turning again. He didn’t need to feel his pulse, he saw Ari check it and he could hear that his heart was no longer beating. There was no more hope left for Todd. He thought about pulling Kelly away, Ari, too. But he thought better of it. There was nothing more he could do there and they were okay as they could be. But Chloe. What was going to happen to Chloe? His pulse spiked as he looked over at her. “Hey,” he said trying to catch her attention from the other side of the doorway. “Chloe, I know-- Don’t give up. Not yet. Don’t--” He wasn’t sure he was any help. His eyes darted to Agatha, hoping she might have an answer. Forcing Chloe out of the house seemed so much more dangerous now. But she couldn’t stay, could she? Putain. What did they do?

 All she could do was watch, watch Todd drop to the ground, Kelly beg, Chloe turn back to the state she found her in back in the office. She’d never been one to stand and watch as things happened before her, and yet, here she was completely speechless as she tried to make sense of what had happened here. Elation had given room to death and despair much too soon. If her heart once again felt heavy in her chest, she put it aside, refusing this desperate situation to take control of them all. If Kelly had managed to get out, then maybe Chloe would be fine, or maybe Agatha would regret this. Sourly. Gathering all the softness that she could muster, the detective squatted down, sitting just a little lower than Chloe, and with hope in her eyes, she looked straight into Chloe’s and reached for her hands, slowly. She would have usually gone straight to the other side of the door, see if she could do anything to help save Todd, but there was something inevitable, almost prophetic about the way he had died. Brutal, ruthless, with no chance of survival. Yet, Agatha believed. She looked at Chloe as someone who believed, and when she spoke, if it felt like walking on a line high above the ground, she made sure not to look down. “We’re going to try. You and I, we’re going to try, because we know she’s gone for good, and I know there’s a lot for you out there, so much more than in here. Think of all the places you’ll go, and see. The beauty,” there was a quiver in her voice the more she spoke, but she did not break. “Let’s try, please.”

 “I gave up years ago,” Chloe snapped at Kaden, instantly regretting her words as Kelly whimpered. She rubbed her face, trying to get the tears against her face. She pulled a face that she hoped looked like an apology to Kaden, but her gaze slid back to Todd, dead on the floor. Like Sammy, trying to escape in his own way. Sammy had meant to come back, but it hadn’t made any difference. Chloe had cleaned his brain off the wall because of it, and she had thought then that she was proud of him having tried to escape. Maybe a quick death was better than what Anneliese had had in the end. Taking Agatha’s hand, she stood up shakily. Every atom in her wanted to split itself into two: the part that needed to stay, and the part that had seen Lydia for the viper she had been from the start. She didn’t listen to Agatha’s pretty words. Pretty words held lies and half truths. Everyone was looking at Todd’s dead body, and wondering how hers would survive if his hadn’t. They all used different words, which to fae made all the difference, but Chloe could barely remember what words she’d used before this. Hell, a single tense could kill her or save her. She just… couldn’t say that. She couldn’t tell them that she’d resigned herself to dying in this dragon’s lair years ago. She couldn’t extinguish the hopes on her rescuers’ faces before trying.

  “Look away,” Chloe said to Kelly, and didn’t even try until Kelly had. She took a deep breath, nearly throwing up with the effort of pushing her muscles over the edge. It was like trying to get through tar. Maybe it wasn’t worth the fight at all. She could live here comfortably until her natural death, which was what Lydia would want. She could avoid the pain of breaking this promise. She grit her teeth. Life in a gilded cage was still caged. Then, like an elastic band snapping, she was over the threshold and felt nothing trying to pull her back in. Chloe inhaled the chilly, winter air, and thought maybe she should have grabbed a coat before all this. Then lightning tore through her mind, blood spilled on her face from her nose, and Chloe went the same way Todd had, right to the ground. 

 Everything around her kept moving, but Ariana remained frozen for a moment, staring at Todd’s lifeless body. If she stared at it long enough, maybe it would distort back to how it was supposed to be. Kelly and Chloe’s screams barely even registered in her ears until Kelly was beside her beating on Todd’s chest. Kelly. She’d wanted so badly for her to never know this kind of pain, so much so she put herself through more just to avoid it, but it had all been for not. Hadn’t they lost enough? Seeing Kelly’s panic awoke something in her and she took a shaky breath. She could be strong for right now. She could be strong for Kelly who needed someone to be strong for her. Kaden and Agatha were already with Chloe. After her failed attempt with Todd, it only seemed right to leave that to them. This, she could do. She placed her hand gently on Kelly’s shoulder and softly said, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, but he’s gone. We need to keep moving and help Chloe now, okay?” 

 “Well I haven’t,” Kaden replied, not combatively but with no room to argue. He knew hope hurt like hell. He didn’t know how long she’d been there or how she got there, but he could only imagine that trying to hold onto any spark of hope in the situation she found herself in would have torn her apart. He was getting used to holding onto hope for someone else, carrying it for them when they couldn’t bear to conceive of it. He’d do it for her now if he could. And thankfully, so would Keen. He was grateful she was there, keeping them level and together, standing beside Chloe. He nodded and waited on the other side of the door, just in case anything went wrong. Now that there was no doubt just how possible that was. 

 He watched her closely, monitored each step she took. He saw the struggle on her face, but there was a brief pause where she looked like she was just fine, like she would face the same fate as Kelly. And then the blood poured from her nose. “No. No, no,” he started and she tumbled down towards the ground. Kaden lunged out for her, catching her before she toppled to the ground, stumbling down to his knees as he did. “Chloe! Chloe, no,” he shouted, giving her one shake to try and revive her. She couldn't die. She couldn’t. They were going to fix this, they were supposed to save them. Losing Todd was horrible enough this-- “Chloe, please, don’t--” He could feel his own breaths get shallow and then remembered to check her pulse. Her heart had slowed, but it was still beating. “I think she’s alive. She should be--” Please wake up, please. These people deserved so much better and Lydia didn’t deserve a single victory, even in death. 

 For a short moment, Agatha had wondered whether Chloe would step over that threshold or not. Perhaps she should have, she thought to herself. No, no, absolutely not. A life spent in this house was not a life, and the detective was both proud and full of sorrow as she reflected on Chloe’s last action. No, this could not be her last. No, no, no, no. The detective repeated the word under her breath, exiting the house last to rush to Chloe’s side. “I’m calling an ambulance,” she declared, glancing at everyone around her as she dialled the number. She would call for backup next, but for now they had to save Chloe while they still could. “Put her on her side,” she commanded, standing up and walking aside to speak to the 

Operator. 

 “No,” Kelly said, tear tracks on her face. She looked over to Ariana. “No, I can’t- I don’t understand. I don’t understand what happened. He- he was fine. Chloe- Chloe, don’t!” She stared at Chloe before nodding and squeezing her eyes shut. She whimpered as she heard Kaden yell, her eyes flashing open to look at Ari. It wasn’t until Agatha said she was calling an ambulance that she dared look back okay. “Is it over?”

 There were warm arms around her. A chilly breeze tickled her cheeks. Grey winter light streamed through her eyelids. There was more pain than Chloe had felt in months, but there was more than that too. She blinked open her eyes, and tried to sit up. That- that was a bad idea. “I think- I think I’m going to stay down here,” Chloe murmured. She squinted up at the three of them, Agatha walking away with her phone, Kaden holding her and Ariana holding Kelly. That blue hair... “You’re the one who tried to save Sammy, aren’t you?” She asked Ariana softly, her voice croaking. Her eyes drifted back over to Todd, his eyes shuttered. No one home. She moved just enough to take his hand. There was so much pain. There was also something else. 

 Ariana couldn’t refrain from outwardly cringing when she saw the struggle Chloe went through upon exiting the home. Prison. Whatever someone would call it. This couldn't be happening. Lydia couldn’t be having this much of a victory. Not in death. Her stomach turned as she was unable to take her eyes off the scene in front of her. A comforting hand remained on Kelly’s shoulder though at some point she had to wonder which one of them she was even supporting. The blur of sounds around her stopped mattering as she remained hyperfocused on the sound of Chloe’s heartbeat that wasn’t quitting. She was still there. Still fighting. Hope wasn’t lost yet though the fear of it being crushed yet again was far from gone. An ambulance was on the way and Kaden was supporting Chloe, keeping her on her side. The storm had died down and she calmly said, “It’s over.” As much as it could be over. She knew better than to believe they wouldn’t be living with the scars long after this. “You’re free,” she assured Kelly as she still stared at Chloe. Her voice sounded strained, but Sammy’s name rang out in her mind. She nodded slowly and said, “I-- That’s me. I’m sorry I didn’t. But you’re getting out of here and she’ll never do this to anyone again.” She knew Athena would make sure of that. Everything still felt like hell and she could hear the sirens approaching in the distance, but it was over. This was finally over.  

 Kaden tried to get Chloe on her side before she pulled herself up. “Hey, wait, don’t--” Thankfully she figured it out before he had to pull her back down. He nodded at Keen as she went over to call 911. “We have to call in the death,” he added. It was meant to be nothing more than matter of fact, procedure. It hit him harder than he expected. They were supposed to save them. All of them. He wasn’t even sure if Chloe would remain okay. If she had broken free from all of the promises. But she was here. And breathing. And out of that prison of a house. He looked up at it, most of the windows broken or covered. It was shattered, just like the illusion of who Lydia was. Forever. He wanted to burn the place down, be rid of it and her once and for all. But they needed the evidence still left there. They’d make sure that no trace left of Lydia Griffin would be praised or lauded ever again. And make sure that Kelly and Chloe got justice they deserved, some compensation or retribution for this. And that meant leaving that awful place intact. “It’s over,” he repeated. “You’re safe,” he said, looking from Kelly back to Chloe. He hoped that was finally true. 

Returning to Chloe’s side, Agatha assured her that an ambulance would come soon, and that she would be taken good care of. Her eyes then drifted toward Kaden’s arm, then to him. A silent nod answering his demand, the detective once again stepped away from the rest of the group, this time calling the morgue. She looked away, the group fussing around Chloe, responding mechanically to the operator's injunctions on the other end of the line. A tear came to burn her cheek, then another. With an audible sniff, she turned her back to the others, and walked away a little further. Behind his back, she heard Kaden repeat: You're safe, and although she was often optimistic this time, the idea that this nightmare was over did not seem to satisfy. Not that she thought all was well that ended well, but because it was hard to believe until Chloe got out of the woods.

[adamarks]

Penny’s relationship  troubles and how that relates to Simon and Baz

aka my Baz and Penny mirror post

I said I’d do this and god what a fucking emotional ride we’re about to go on. Strap in, my dudes.

In Carry On, it’s well-established that Penelope is Baz’s mirror character. She’s mostly static in the book (because it’s almost completely focused on Baz and Simon) and she’s used mainly as a literary device. Her mirroring Baz in particular is established very plainly. Both of them being top of the class; both of them geeking out over spells; both of them geeking out over marriage spells; their mothers both being headmasters; both of them getting out chalkboards and making the exact same types of lists. It’s very much in-your-face screaming in Carry On. 

It’s not so obvious in Wayward Son. 

The main reason for this is that Penny was upgraded from static to rounded in this book. She has an entire arc of doubting herself, which will most likely be completed in the next book. However, just because it’s not banging pots and pans in your face doesn’t mean the mirroring isn’t there. 

Let’s dig in.

Rainbow did something I really, really loved with this book: she made sure we know that happy endings aren’t what we’re told. The story doesn’t end because the Prince and Princess kissed-- how did they hang on? How did they make it to the hundredth kiss? Did they even make it to the hundredth kiss?

This book tells us that sometimes they don’t make it to the hundredth kiss.

This lesson is what’s got a lot of people’s panties in a knot. Here’s the thing though: it’s not a bleak lesson; it’s a warning. It’s a reminder that we have to keep trying; we have to want that hundredth kiss.

Simon and Baz want that hundredth kiss. They just don’t know how to get there. 

Wow guys I’m gonna have to struggle to not cry while writing this. Wish me luck.

Yes, the boys are morons that can’t communicate. How does Penny fit in?

She didn’t get to that hundredth kiss.

Micah and Penny are what happen when you just expect happily ever after to take care of getting you to the next kiss. 

Micah declares what the lesson Penny (assumedly with Shepherd Tornado Chaser Supreme) is going to learn about relationships is in Chapter twelve:

“A relationship isn’t about the end. It’s about being together every step of the way.”

This may be Penny’s lesson, but this is also a sort of (in my opinion) apology from Rainbow. Because, what was Baz and Simon getting together if not just a nice little tie up as part of a happy ending. What are queer consumers of media usually fed? Our representation usually dies, breaks up, or ends up together all happy go lucky right at the end. We don’t get to see characters we relate to struggle. We don’t get to see them still be miserably in love but unsure how to make it work when shit gets rough. 

Wayward Son is what happens when you don’t know how to keep going, but god do you want to. 

“I told you that I thought we’d grown apart--” 

“And I said that was natural!”

(also taken from Chapter 12 of Wayward)

Simon and Baz growing apart when Simon is so severely depressed and unable to communicate is natural. It’s natural, but it doesn’t mean that he’s going about it the right way. Simon is fucked up. He’s fucked up in a lot of ways, but (and this is coming from someone that’s struggled with the same kinds of thoughts Simon’s suffering from) that’s no excuse for him to hurt Baz in the process. 

Simon even realizes that this is a terrible way to go about this. It’s why he’s thinking about breaking up with Baz. 

i almost cried typing that just now rainbow why simon why i’m dying i-

BREAKING UP WITH BAZ IS NOT THE ANSWER, SIMON!!

Simon needs to learn how to communicate. How to talk about what he’s feeling and what he needs.

Here’s the thing though: Baz does too.

This is where Penny’s mirroring comes into play. Micah and Penny apparently didn’t talk for two whole months and she didn’t notice. They didn’t talk. They didn’t communicate. This is what killed their relationship.

This is what’s killing Simon and Baz’s.

In Chapter Fifteen we see Simon mulling over Penny and Micah breaking up:

“Penelope and Micah were going to get married. 

And now... Merlin, what now?”

I’ll come back to the concept of “endgames” throughout this series, but for now, apply that to Baz and Simon.

Baz and Simon were supposed to live happily ever after, but ever afters don’t work like that. So, now what?

Everything sucks. We are all in Pain. The dumbasses won’t talk. What do we DO, JAY? 

god, what do we do. suffer i guess idk. 

Okay but for real, we don’t have to worry. Rainbow knows what their issue is. And! She’ll make sure it’s resolved! How do I know? 

Well, I’ll tell ya.

Shepard.

We were introduced to a brand new, absolutely batshit, completely delightful character in Wayward. He’s spunky, he’s fun, but what does he do best?

Fucking. Talk.

He doesn’t shut the fuck up!! He’s completely honest and he just talks. Bitch will tell you his entire life story without batting an eye! This is what Penny needs. 

This is where Simon and Baz are going to end up. 

Perhaps not exactly, that doesn’t suit their personalities. This is what they’ll end up being, though: completely honest with each other. 

These fuckers are constantly thinking about each other throughout the book. 

“Oh he’s so beautiful.” “Oh he’s so charming.” “Oh he’s so funny and smart.” “Oh he’s so heroic and brave.” “Oh, i’d give him my whole being.” “Oh I wish he’d let me in” “Oh I love him so much.” “I love him.” 

They’d both feel so, so, so much better if they just said shit out loud. Good god. 

But neither of them are a) in a place where they can say it and b) in a place where they’ll believe it. 

This brings us to our next biggie:

Baz still doesn’t like himself.

Simon’s obviously having troubles with self loathing. That’s not even a question in anyone’s mind. Simon’s depression and lack of self worth is one of (if not the) main vocal points of the book. 

The issue with Simon’s sadness getting the spotlight is that we overlook Baz’s a bit. It’s thrown in so that we don’t notice immediately, because we’re not supposed to. Baz’s self-hatred isn’t as loud as Simon’s and he’s been dealing with it a lot longer. It’s a self-loathing he’s learned to live with-- he’s used to it by now. 

Sometimes the demons we learn to live with are the most vicious of all. 

I think it’s very clever that the most overt time we see Baz disliking himself is in his Things I Hate List in Chapter Fourteen.

“11. The wind in my hair.

 12. Convertible automobiles.

 13. Myself, most of all.

 14. My soft heart. 

 15. My foolish optimism.

 16. The words “road” and “trip,” when said together with any enthusiasm.”

It’s slipped in there awful sneaky! You’re giggling and going “oh thank god maybe I won’t be sad through the whole book” then BANG! there it is. But, right after we have “my soft heart” and you’re going “oh my poor baby he’s so sweet I love him” before you really had time to process number 13 as anything aside from an “lol i’m hot and icky and i hate myself” joke. 

Baz is used to hating himself. It’s everyday whatever. Simon’s is only louder because he’s not used to being allowed time to think about the bad stuff. Everyday before the end of Carry On for Simon was just struggling to get to the next day-- whether that was at Watford or a home. Simon’s happy when he doesn’t have to think; Baz can’t just not think. 

Penny’s just learned what doubting herself entails; Baz has been doubting himself for the last decade. 

No matter how much they coo at each other, it won’t fix the underlying issue: Baz and Simon don’t like themselves. 

This is the main internal conflict of the series for all of the characters: loving yourself for what you are. 

This brings us to Agatha. 

If you haven’t read my meta on simon being a dragon hell yes then you might want to. I discuss Agatha being a mirror for Simon fairly thoroughly in it. 

Remember how I told you to put a pin in the concept of  “endgames” earlier? Well, here we are. Agatha was supposed to be the “endgame.” 

Endgames! Are! Bullshit! 

Human beings are not our consolation prizes for getting through shit. Becoming stronger as people and loving ourselves more is our prize. Realizing how much you can withstand, how hard you can fight, how amazing you are for surviving is your prize for getting through it. 

None of these guys realize this yet. Agatha and Simon just think there’s nothing good that’s going to come out of their lives and Baz and Penelope just think that maybe their “prizes” weren’t what they thought they were. 

Maybe the rewards for our efforts were really just inside us the whole time. uwu.

Penny is just starting to think of plans again by the end of the book, but this time they’re looser, wilder, even more hairbrained than before and she really only has one plan at best! She’s learning that she can be strong and capable even when she doesn’t have all the facts and doesn’t have all the details thought through. Penny’s learning to loosen up. 

Baz is in a better place by the end of Wayward too. He’s learned so much about vampires and even himself. Like sure I fuckin’ hate Lamb but he helped Baz to realize that... maybe he isn’t a monster. Maybe magical creatures aren’t lesser. Maybe he’s not any less human just because he can drink their blood. 

They’re the only two that really, really develop in this book. Simon and Agatha change but mostly stay the same mentality-wise. Agatha still thinks she’s doomed to be a damsel in distress and Simon still thinks he’s just The Boy That Was. Baz and Penny are the most dynamic characters in Wayward Son.

I’m putting my money on next book being Agatha and Simon’s big development book. And at this point I’m convinced it’s going to be more than a trilogy. 

Now! Let’s talk about Agatha and Penny. 

@stressedidiot pointed out to me that Penny and Agatha holding hands and burning shit down in the last scene was supposed to call back to Baz and Simon. They’re absolutely right. I think the most important thing that was calling back to was Simon giving Baz his magic in Carry On. 

This parallel confused me at first: why would Rainbow need to remind us of that scene? I know I personally have the Ladybird and Twinkle Twinkle Little Star scenes permanently ingrained in my head forever. Obviously we didn’t forget that Simon could pour his magic. 

Here’s the thing. 

Baz and Simon don’t stay together during any of the fight scenes in this book. They always get separated or one of them gets hurt or they’re scrambling trying to find or catch the other one. 

They’ve forgotten that they work best when they’re together.

That was one of the main takeaways from Carry On. Simon and Baz work best when they’re together. 

“A relationship isn’t about the end. It’s about being together every step of the way.” 

Every! Step! Of! The! Way!

This is where my dragon Simon theory really comes into play. If Simon does end up with some sort of dragonesque powers, somehow Baz and him are going to share it. 

When Baz figures out how to drink from humans without killing them, Simon’s going to be right there, ready to open up a vein.

This is the true beauty of their relationship. Simon wants to be the one to lead the dance of kisses and intimacy and communication, and Baz wants to be there to give him anything he wants. Baz has received Simon’s magic; he’s gonna drink Simon’s blood; and he’s somehow going to receive something from Simon regarding this dragon business.

“I’d give him all that I am. 

I’d give him all that I was.

I’d open up a vein.”

They give and take and equal measures. They love each other wholly. I’m gesturing to my computer screen out of stress right now. They literally love each other that much!

Agatha and Penny sharing a magic conduit at the end of Wayward Son is a reminder of what happened between Simon and Baz and also foreshadowing of where they’ll be again.

Imagine how powerful they’ll be once they remember how to work together. 

They were practically unstoppable before when they worked together-- they turned back a dragon. 

But now their love for each other is stronger than ever. It’ll only grow once they finally talk. Once they communicate.

Two people, so strong separately coming together with only love and understanding for each other. 

With their hearts beating together, they could do more than turn back a dragon.

They could change the world.

check my meta about simon’s wings being The Gay

And also my one about the scarf

Thank you for reading this word vomit. Just wanted to tag a few people that might be interested in seeing this shitstorm of a meta:

@goodie-giving-gecko-gets-gatos @singerofsimplesongs @wisest-girl @watfordwallflower @slaying-fictional-dragons @carrybits

[flutteringphalanges]

Summary:  “Am I in Hell?” Agatha’s voice was hoarse, a hint of fear in her tone. “That depends on your definition,” Dracula answered. “Perhaps.” His fingers felt cool against her burning skin, the fever raging through her body. “If you’re going to kill me, then do it,” she mumbled. The count chuckled, gazing into her eyes. “On the contrary,” he smirked. “I’m going to save you.”

((In which Dracula cares for a gravely ill Agatha))

Characters: Agatha Van Helsing/Dracula

Rating: M

Read on FFN and AO3

A/N: A little shorter than usual. I think I have a stomach bug, but I wanted to give you guys something! Thank you for all of your support! Feedback is greatly loved and appreciated! If you ever want an explanation about something after you read a chapter, my author’s notes at the end in my AO3 and FFN docs tend to have them! Hope you enjoy! -Jen

                                                Chapter Eight

Agatha was bitten by a snake once. Searching for eggs in the chicken coop, no older than six. When she slid her hand under her favorite hen, something clamped down. Sharp, needle like teeth burying themselves into her skin. It burned. Ached. And she screamed so loud one might even go as far to claim the entire town heard.

But in reality, it had mostly startled her. The bite nonvenomous. A black snake. The young girl watched as the tiny droplets of blood oozed from the bite marks. Such a curious sight to behold. A wound on flesh from mouth. As she watched it slither away, too quick for her father to catch, she couldn't help but wonder if it'd remember her taste. Liked the scent of her blood. Agatha, of course, would never know.

Agatha's eyes widened in shock as she felt Dracula's fangs dig into the sensitive flesh of her neck. Fueled off an adrenaline rush, she kicked herself back, slamming against the headboard as the vampire eyed her in a mixed expression of confusion and lust. Blood glistened off of his teeth. Coated his lips. Her blood. He'd bitten her. The bastard had actually bitten her!

"Agatha?" The Count began before she rammed her feet against his chest. It did nothing. "You seem upset."

"Upset?!" She panted holding a hand to her throat. "You BIT me!"

Dracula was silent for a minute, watching the fuming nun with keen interest. He then sat back almost as if nothing troubling had occurred. This only seemed to fuel Agatha's rage further. Not only was he acting so passively about this, but his lack of acknowledging the situation entirely was frustrating. Furiously so.

"If you are concerned about turning, Agatha, I can assure you that isn't going to happen." He spoke as if those words meant something. "If I wanted to change you, you'd have been dead long ago."

Her fingers ran down the indents in her neck. The pain had faded away leaving a cool, almost numbing feeling. It was almost...pleasant. Despite this, she frowned. Angry at him. And maybe, maybe just a little bit disappointed she made him stop. But she didn't want him to know this. Why had he done it? What were his intentions? She remembered Jonathan Harker. His former "brides" in their boxes below. Why hadn't he killed her too?

"Are you in pain?" And there was genuine concern in his tone.

"No…" What was that about not letting him know? "No, it...it doesn't hurt. Not anymore." Agatha looked at him, her eyes no longer holding malice. Only interest. Needing. "Why?"

"Because I didn't want it to." Dracula answered simply, reaching for the hand that covered the mark. "My plan isn't to make you suffer, Agatha." There was a quick flicker of a smirk on his face. "Most of the time."

Before she could react further, he leaned forward and licked the spot where his fangs had struck. Smooth, with purpose, a shiver ran down Agatha's spine as he drew back. She began to feel that familiar ache stemming from her core. Heat rising in her like the night fevers she vaguely remembered upon her arrival to the castle those many weeks ago. Ignoring them, she quickly slid out of the bed.

"I should wash up." Agatha told him quietly, knowing that if she didn't, she'd regret it later.

There was a bassin of cool water along with a cloth in the bathroom. Agatha didn't bother to warm it over the fire as she began to scrap the gore from her body. It wasn't a pleasant feeling, the icy liquid dripping against her skin. But it was something. Something other than the almost feral emotions she felt back in her bedroom. She couldn't help but wonder if he was still in there. Waiting for her. Or perhaps watching her from the shadows. Was it so wrong to think that she wouldn't much mind if he was?

The former nun gazed down at the murky liquid. With the lack of mirrors in the castle-courtesy of Dracula, it was hard to capture sight of her reflection. Maybe if she asked he'd give her one. It'd be the least he could do. Exhaling heavily, she dropped the soiled rag into the bucket and ran her fingers through her hair.

As she took a few steps outside of the room, she was surprised to find a nightgown nicely folded at her feet. Peering around, Agatha picked it up somewhat unsure. Was the Count being genuinely caring at this moment or did he have an ulterior motive? Slipping it on, she made her way back to the bedroom. Fresh sheets. No sign of the slime or mess from their actions. It was almost irritating how he fluctuated with generosity.

"You sure do think about Abraham Van Helsing don't you?"

Agatha stiffened at the name as she turned to see Dracula standing, now dressed, in the doorway. He was eyeing her in slight amusement as he stepped inside, his gaze not breaking from hers as he moved in close.

"The first time I tasted you, I can't say I really gave your backstory as much thought as I did." He smiled, but the former nun didn't return the favor. "When you cut your finger?" Dangerous territory. "He was rather hard on you."

"Don't bring him up." Her voice was cold.

"I'm truly not trying to start something. But after what we just did. That tiny mouthful of blood. I finally see where it comes from. What makes you you." And he was grinning. Smiling as if he just learned the best news in the world. "I think I'm finally beginning to figure you out, Agatha Van Helsing."

Confusion. Almost hurt. Anger. After what they did. What he did. What she gave him. Together. Now such an intimate moment was turning into this vampire's delight of a discovery?! Christ, she'd begun to trust him. Like an imbecile. Gave way into her emotions. A fool. An absolute fool.

"So this was all it ever was to you?" She asked in a low voice. "A game?" Hadn't it always? "Nothing more than a chess board where we knock each other's pieces off?"

His laughing began to fade. "I certainly didn't imply any of that." Dracula's voice was cool. "I was merely bringing up the fact that the apple doesn't fall far from the tree." Wrong response. Terrible answer. "I knew Abraham Van Helsing, and though he raised you to do what he couldn't, something in you changed." When he reached towards her, she recoiled instantly. "Agatha Van Helsing, I think you might have feelings for me." And once more the smile reappeared. "In a good way."

"Fuck you."

A strong word. A hateful sentence. After they literally had sex-or nearly until he bit her, things were fine. They were co-existing and she'd begun to accept that. Accept everything. But now suddenly, out of the blue he brought up her grandfather. The man who hounded her for years to be the vampire hunter that he was. A task she'd failed. That she'd pushed aside. And he had the audacity to remind her of it. And play with her emotions. It was true. It had always been true. Count Dracula was nothing more than a monster.

"Burn in Hell." The bite mark began to sting on her neck as she said it. "You should've let the fever kill me when you had the chance."

"Agatha…" But she ignored him. The sound of her name on his tongue bitter. "Agatha, don't be foolish."

She was storming out of the room with purpose, blocking out the sound of his voice. Why was she so upset? Christ, she was acting like a little school girl. Heart broken. Betrayed. Abraham was right. He was always right. The bruises from training. The endless nights of identifying what was needed to ward off vampires. Her childhood taken from her. All of these years and she'd thrown them away by sleeping with a vampire. Not once. Twice. Letting him devour any integrity she had built up as a nun.

"It's raining," Dracula called after her. "I am quite sure you don't wish to be struck by lightning." When she still didn't reply, he huffed. "I apologize for ruining the mood. Again. But how about we discuss things without you being swept away by a flash flood?"

"Oh, I'm not going out of the castle." She snapped back. "I'm going to go sit on the balcony. The sun will be rising soon and seeing as you will burn into a crisp, I can be alone." At least, she certainly hoped it'd stop raining by then and the clouds would dissipate. "And then I'm leaving for good." Before killing him first.

"You keep saying that and it has yet to happen," he countered. There was a pause before he quickly added. "If you need anything, I'll be in my study for a few hours before the morning." She shouldn't have given him the last word. Wasn't that how fights worked? "Agatha?"

But she had already thrust the heavy doors to the balcony open. Almost instantly a heavy spray of water hit her directly in the face. She coughed, the liquid burning her nose and throat from swallowing it wrong. With a grunt, she slammed them behind her and took a seat on the ground. Agatha pulled her knees up to her chest, just barely covered by the outcrop of the roof above.

How in a matter of minutes had passion turned to fury? Agatha inhaled and watched the water run through the crevices of the stone. She'd failed her mission. Time after time again. Failed her grandfather. The late nuns of St. Mary's Convent. Jonathan Harker. And Mina. Dear, sweet Mina who had relied on her all along. Glancing towards the sky, she made a promise to herself. It was time to push it aside. Everything aside. And do what she was bred from a young age to do. Kill Count Dracula.

Thunder rolled overhead and the vampire slayer eyed her healed hand, studying her now functioning knuckles. She thought about the stake she had handled just hours earlier sitting down the steps on the table below. Agatha smiled, her brain and her heart competing on what was the truly right decision. In her head Abraham Van Helsing's dying words repeated in her mind.

"...Finish what I couldn't…"

[devourer--of--books]

if you’re not the bride (deluxe version)

So you may be wondering why is it you're seeing this. Hello, it is I again. If you're here, maybe you're familiar with the original "if you're not the bride', which I posted about three years ago. In case you're not, then, hello, welcome, when I was 15 I wrote a story under this same title. Then forgot all about it. But every so often someone would come across this story and I was reminded of its existence. Then, back in september 2019, I decided to read it again, correct some grammar and call it a day, you know, just so I could rest assured I hadn't written something horrible. Turns out, it got a bit out of hand and I decided to rewrite the whole thing. However, due to the fact that college is the worst, I never finished it and, well, forgot about it, again. Now, as quarantine came around, I found my rewrite from 6 months ago and since I got the time why not, right? This is now more than double the size of the original and has a lot more of backstory than intended. You can still find the original with some corrections here on AO3 and , and the cursed unedited version somewhere on tumblr for the sake of nostalgia. Warnings: There's cursing, some drinking and good old make outs. July 2020 edit: here I am, re-edting this thing again. This all said, welcome folks, to the deluxe version:

"You're going to what?!" Agatha raised her voice, tightly holding her phone to her ear. Surely, she must have heard Sophie wrong. Her friend did have a reputation for being over the top, but this was beyond absurd.

When people said that being friends with Sophie was…an exotic experience, they weren't completely wrong, per say. Being friends with Sophie could be a lot like being friends with a hungry animal. She was ruthless, dangerous and not trustworthy about 60% of the time. Sophie would do most anything to get whatever she wanted and absolutely would step over you in the process (sometimes for no reason other than because it amused her to do so). It wasn't personal, mostly. It was simply her nature.

For her, there were two kinds of people: her friends and her enemies. It was very easy to go from one category to another and anything in between simply couldn't be processed by her brain.

Sophie was a difficult person.

Agatha could tell you in more detail, she would know. Being Sophie's best friend wasn't exactly a dream come true. It had its perks of course, and when all was said and done, Sophie was an okay-ish person and a mostly good friend, but you gotta give it up to Agatha; it was no task for the weak-hearted.

They had been friends since kindergarten and were as different from one another as it gets. Had they met later in life, Agatha is certain they would've never become friends at all. Sophie was a loud, gorgeous (and kinda mean) blonde bombshell and Agatha was a grumpy, average-looking mostly nice girl (she wouldn't call herself kind, really, her niceness was more of a subproduct of her aloofness than anything else). The two of them disagreed in most anything and had not that much in common. Yet, it somehow worked. They argued a lot, as in, a lot, but it was always fixed within a weeks' time, in a coffee shop, over a good old vanilla latte and some black tea.

An odd pair, to say the least.

Which was fine by them. Sophie… was a work in progress. She was trying.

Nevertheless, every once in a while, something like this would happen. Because Sophie was still Sophie and her head worked in mysterious ways.

"I'm getting married, Aggie," Agatha could practically hear the blonde rolling her eyes on the other side of the device, "people do that all the time. It's, like, a thing."

"Sophie, you're not even done with college yet! Getting married with what money? As far as I know, your modeling barely pays your rent and don't even get me started on your student loan and credit card debt! And getting married to whom? Last time I checked, you weren't even going out with anyone!" She tried to cool her head, catching her breath while trying to recall any possible groom Sophie could have taken. "Unless… Are you marring Hort?"

A disgusted groan was heard.

"Ew, no. Not Hort, for God's sake. What do you think I am? Desperate?"

A bit, but Agatha didn't dare say it out loud.

Hort was a guy who lived at the apartment just below Sophie's, in a tiny complex downtown. They've known each other for quite a long time now. It was practically common knowledge that Hort acquired the biggest crush on her the moment he first laid eyes on her. It was all the old ladies from 1A and 2C ever talked about.

Over the years, he became quite easy on the eyes, even Sophie had to admit it. No longer the scrawny awkward kid that helped Agatha drag Sophie's couch upstairs (while Sophie flirted with the trucker, trying to get free shipping for her mattress, which, by the way, she got), but a fully formed man, completely jacked, and with a growing bank account to match, due to his fitness-program-thingy taking off. Agatha didn't really know the details of that, but she knew it was going well, mostly because Sophie told her so.

Anyway, he claimed to not want anything to do with her friend nowdays.

Yeah, right.

Agatha felt bad for him, she really did.

Loving Sophie was like loving a hurricane. Violent, brutal and downright painful.

She had initially assumed it would go away with time, that he would eventually see that they weren't compatible and let it go.

However, it was a bit more complicated than that, as most things in life tend to be.

She knew he and Sophie had hooked up, in fact, she knew that they did so often. Sophie hadn't told her, but she didn't need to. Agatha knew. The aftermath was never good, and for the sake of keeping things short and lighthearted, Agatha shall spare you the angst and just say that, as mentioned above, Sophie was fantastic at getting whatever she wanted and disregarding other people's feelings.

Honestly, Hort could say he wasn't into Sophie all he liked. At the end of the day, he was still living at that shitty apartment (even though he could probably have moved somewhere better a long time ago), hadn't seriously dated anyone since meeting her and was responsible for at least half of Sophie's modeling gigs, which were her friend's main source of income. Agatha had warned him, several times, mind you, but all you can do is all you can do. The heart wants what it wants, she presumes.

"If not Hort, who then?"

"Oh, you don't know him yet," She could practically see Sophie twirling a golden lock on her fingers, a mischievous smirk on her face.

"Clearly," Agatha rolled her eyes and put her phone on speaker to be able to look around for her keys more comfortably. Reaper, her cat, had a bad habit of hiding them in the weirdest places. "Why didn't you tell me you were seeing someone last time we went out for coffee?"

"Because I wasn't seeing anyone at the time," the blonde-haired woman sounded a bit annoyed, seemingly not understanding why Agatha was having such a hard time believing her ludicrous story.

"Sophie."

"Yes, Aggie?"

"That was literally three weeks ago."

"It's true love, Agatha. I can feel it. This is my real-life fairytale. I found the perfect guy for me. He's so different from anyone I've ever met…" Agatha tuned her out, finally realizing what was going on.

For Sophie, everyone she dates is her one true love. She was intense like that. There were lots of "perfect guys" on the list, too many, and eventually Agatha grew tired of counting them. Neither did she remember their names. Why bother, when Sophie would grow tired of them soon enough?

Her friend's drug of choice just so happened to be was serial dating with lots of love-bombing on the side.

Parents got divorced? Look at this cute basketball player that will probably cheat on me.

Bad day at a shoot? Oh, that barista is so sexy, bet he'll hook up with me anyway.

I have no idea where my career is going and hate my major? Why not call Hort up, right?

But getting actually married? That's new.

Agatha sighed, picking up her keys from the pot of her balcony plant. Time to be the be the grown-up. Again.

"Sophie, are you 100% sure you want to get married to this guy? Can't you wait a few months at least? How about you guys move in with each other first?" If Sophie doesn't tire of him, that would terrify the poor thing into ending this madness. Again, Agatha would know. She had to stay at Sophie's for a few weeks once, back when she had split with a partner whom she had been living with; it was hell on earth.

"Weren't you hearing, Aggie? We. Are. Soulmates. He is very serious about me. He's so in love with me, he would never hurt me, and I need to tie him down before he runs away. Isn't this what people always say?" Her friend's voice was getting snappy. Oh, no, not good.

"Sophie, I just think you should be more careful and reasonable…" Agatha tried to pacify, tiredly.

Did she not own any clean jeans? Damn. Why does she keep forgetting to do her laundry? The blue skirt she wore to work would have to do.

"It's always reason, with you, Agatha! You never listen to your heart! I thought you would be happy for me! You're always telling me just how much potential I have! He brings out the best in me! What do you even know about relationships anyway, you always end up ru-"

"SOPHIE!" She interrupted, before her friend could say something she'd regret and crush whatever good mood was left in Agatha's body. "I'm just surprised, that's all. Tell me about this guy…?"

Fuck it, she decided. Agatha was in currently in a hurry and this could be solved later. She wasn't going to be able to win Sophie over the phone. Maybe she could sit her down on sunday, have one long talk about red flags in relationships, again. Convince her to stay engaged for a bit longer, just enough for her to get bored and then call it all off as soon as the new whats-his-face walks through the door.

Now was not the moment to be arguing, especially if she wanted to be on time.

"…And he's so great and wonderful, he's tall, has these hypnotizing eyes, they're so intense, it's like they suck you in, Aggie! His hair is just wow, it's a very uncommon shade of blonde, the undertone is beautiful, so expensive-looking... but it's natural, he swears. And his skin is so soft, you wouldn't believe, his name is…"

Agatha tried to listen. She really did. However, all she could hear was "bla, bla, bla, perfect, bla, bla, bla, handsome". Lord, not this again. Did it get worse every time...?

The brunette stuffed her wallet in a handbag, grappling to close it (it had been a present from Sophie, and as such, probably hardwired to annoy her and look good at the same time), and gave herself a look over in the mirror, before frowning. Oh, time for her limited make-up skills to be of use.

Damn, she looked rough. She left in hurry that morning, so her bare face stared back at her in its full sleepless-racoon glory.

It has been a long week of nothing but late nights trying to get her workload done. She couldn't believe she was saying this, but she missed college. At least back then she didn't have to worry about rent. Oh, to be young, broke, dead-inside and living on a dorm. The wonders, truly.

Concealer, blush, eyeliner, mascara, and lipstick. There. Done.

Kinda?

"… So, are you up to it?"

What.

"… Hm, sure?" She responded, still trying to evaluate if her liner was acceptably symmetrical. It wasn't. It never was, but it wasn't always this bad. Really, not her best work. Maybe she could fix it, somehow?

"That's amazing, you'll look so pretty, the dress I picked is perfect for your undertone, you'll be the best maid-of-honor ever!"

Oh, god, no. No way. What has she done?

Should she do that red-flag-talk now?

"How… nice of you to say that," Agatha replied, barely contained horror coming across in her tone. Not that Sophie paid her any attention.

"I set the date for the engagement brunch-party for tomorrow around 10am. At the terrace. And speaking of dates, I must introduce you to someone, he's great, Aggie, and I think you guys could…"

No. No. No. Agatha is drawing the line here.

"Oh really, cool, hey I have to go, callyoulaterbye-"

Agatha throws her phone on the bed, groaning loudly. Reaper stirs in her pillow, but is otherwise unbothered by the conversation, unlike his owner.

Of all things… getting married. Agatha was now her bridesmaid. Engagement brunch…?

Sophie, why. Why?

Agatha was now an accomplice of this crime against good judgement, wasn't she? Should she call Sophie again…?

Ugh, you know what? She'll sort this out this later. Sophie could wait a few hours, Agatha earned this night out.

…This totally is going to come back to bite her, isn't it?

Well, too late, Agatha's leaving. Because, unlike Sophie, who clearly had too much free time in her hands, Agatha had things to do and couldn't just waste her precious friday nights on this kind of bullshit.

.

.

.

"You're late," is the first thing Hester says to Agatha, not even lifting her gaze from her phone as she approaches their table.

It was the usual one, right by the wall, perfectly placed so it was far enough from the dance floor but close enough to the bar, so it was still socially acceptable to be seated but not too "loser-zoned", in Hester's own words.

Hester herself looked the same as always. Dressed head-to-toe in black and showing off an impressive number of tattoos per square inch of skin, she made quite the intimidating sight. The only tip to her actual day job was the discarded white blazer and sleek suitcase lying on a chair beside her. Back in school, Agatha used to find it hard to picture Hester being anything but a witchy-biker or a badass-tattoo-artist, but she supposed scary-lawyer suited her friend just fine.

"Nice to see you too, Hester. I've been well, thanks for asking," Agatha sits down, annoyed. She knows she's late. She missed the "early-comers, free entrance" time, and damn if the isn't pissed that she's now 15 bucks broker then she already was. "Anadil, Dot, it's great to see you guys too"

Both women acknowledge her presence quietly: Anadil nods,before getting up from her spot and leaving to god-wishes-he-knew-where and Dot hugs her briefly, headed to the bar.

Hester rolls her eyes and repeats herself.

"You're late."

"Shut up, I'm here, aren't I?!" Agatha snaps, before she bit her lip and propped her elbows onto the table, head in her hands.

The gesture makes Hester lift her eyes from the phone, finally.

"Well, someone's had a bad day."

"Look, I'm sorry. It's been one looong horrid day. Have you ordered any drinks? Or are we going for beer tonight?" Agatha asks, going over the familiar menu, even though she has every beverage price there already memorized.

"Okay, slow down," Hester yanks the menu out of her hands. "Have you eaten? I'm not going to take care of you if you didn't."

Yes, she would, but that's not relevant.

"Yes, mom," Agatha rolled her eyes. "I'm tired, tomorrow is gonna suck, let's drink."

"Tomorrow? Tomorrow's saturday, loser, sleep to your hearts content," Hester reminds her, but at seeing Agatha stare back at her in misery it occurred to her what, or rather, who, this was about.

"Blondie has been texting me non-stop about brunch. At 10. What's up with that?" She lifts a brow, her judging eyes scanning Agatha's expression. Agatha in turn, lets her elbows drop and bangs her head onto the table, harder than originally planned, a whimper leaving her lips.

Hester sighs. She loves Agatha to the death, but when it comes to Sophie, she has always been way too forgiving. Agatha was not Sophie's mother, she shouldn't have to look out for her and bend over backyards to help her. Personally, Hester and Sophie didn't get along very well.

Which lead to: Sophie never invited Hester anywhere, unless she wanted to rub something in Hester's face.

"...Apparently, she's getting married in, like, two weeks?" Hester's brows lift in surprise. "...To some guy I don't know?" Higher. "...And I'm a bridesmaid?" Almost disappearing into her hairline by now.

Awkward pause.

"Okay," Hester breathes in and out, "what the actual hell?"

"My words exactly."

"She'll be over it in a week," the tattooed woman deadpans.

"No doubt," the other replies.

Three more seconds go by, and it's far too long for Agatha, whose leg starts to twitch under the table.

"You're doing it again," she states.

"Doing what?" Hester asks, crossing her arms, lying back at her chair.

"That thing."

"What thing?"

"You know," Agatha vaguely gestures at Hester's face, "that thing your eyebrows do when you're being judgy."

"I am not."

"Are too."

"Am not."

"I so need a drink right now," she tells her before leaving the table.

.

.

.

At the bar counter, Agatha sits down on a stool and waits for the bartender, Chaddick, to show up, ignoring Hester's glare on her back.

Now for some unnecessary backstory, in case you're interested: Agatha and Chaddick had a bit of history (read, beef) long before this club, The Woods, opened and even before Agatha and Hester started to have their monthly night-out there.

Chaddick was a jock whom Agatha went to school with, all the way from sixth grade to senior year of high school. To be brief, he was the worst ™. He made fun of her, tormented her days, spread rumors about her (including one that she was witch, which lasted for years) and even stole her stuff once. In senior year, he had even developed this habit of showing up with his friends at the tea place her mother owned, where she had worked a few shifts from time to time, ordering not a single drop of fucking tea, being loud and annoying for hours and only leaving when closing hour neared.

Agatha was sure that if you googled 'jackass', his picture would turn up. He'd been so full of himself, all because he had some cash, was athletic and was "cute", you know, in that white-upper-middle-class-way that most school-aged popular boys tended to be. But then, flash-forward: Chaddick now worked wednesday to saturday as a bartender at Agatha's favorite club. Apparently, his parents went bankrupt or something during college. Agatha felt kinda bad for him, but not really? She supposed he wasn't as terrible of a human being nowadays, but she was not about to go ahead and call him her friend, no matter how many times she had to make small talk with him for the sake of bar etiquette.

"So what's it gonna be today?" The bartender asked, not quite politely, but she lets it slide, for she could tell he was as thrilled about this conversation as her.

Chaddick, too, looks the same, to no one's surprise. He looked more tired, but still douchey enough that Agatha didn't feel too horrible of a person for not feeling as sorry for him as she probably should.

"Surprise me. I've had a very bad day."

"Is Sophie actually up to something then?" He asks while grabbing some bottles, "I hear there's going to be a brunch-party tomorrow…?"

"Who told you? Reena?" Chaddick dismisses the name casually with his hand. "Gisele?" 'no', he denies with his head. "Beatrix then?" he nods, uncharacteristically shy, and Agatha nearly felt pleased, before she remembered what they were talking about before. "Bingo. But yes, there's a brunch-party tomorrow. An engagement brunch-party."

He hands her a cup, wide-eyed, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

"Engagement? Do I even wanna know w-"

"You don't. Trust me on this," Agatha cuts him off, taking a sip of the beverage. She doesn't recognize its taste, which makes her wary. She knows her alchool. "What did you even put here?"

"It's a secret, tonight's special," he winked mockingly, before hurrying on to the next client.

Agatha briefly wonders if she should drink the rest of it, eyeing the cup curiously. It didn't smell bad and she kind of liked the taste. Should she trust Chaddick? Probably not. Then again, Agatha needed a drink tonight.

It would be fine. She is no lightweight, Hester is here, tomorrow's saturday. Right?

Another thing that would probably bite her later. So, she braces herself and downs the cup in a few large sips, heading back to her table.

Bring it on.

.

.

.

Two other cups of who-knows-what and an hour later, Agatha was back at the bar, now sitting in different stool, as far from Chaddick as she possibly could be, when a body drops on the sit next to her.

It's Dot, giggling loudly like a high school girl on heavy drugs.

The giggling persists for quite some time.

... It's kinda creeping Agatha out.

"Penny for your thoughts…?" She tries, taking a sip of her drink.

No response.

Giggle.

More silence.

"Hm, Dot?"

She continues to stare at her joyfully, still smiling like a madwoman.

Agatha found Dot adorable and friendly, which was a surprise since she was one of Hester's best friends. The two of them weren't really that close themselves, but she did enjoy her company. Being friends with Dot was as easy as it was harmless.

"Don't look, but there's a really hot guy right by the pool table who hasn't been able to take his eyes off you for the last fifteen minutes."

Agatha's eyebrows shot up in Hester-like fashion and she fights the instinct to turn around and check if Dot isn't messing with her.

She knows she is not the most attractive female in the room. Agatha tends to think of herself as more of an acquired taste, truly. Yet, every blue moon someone would come over to try their luck with her. Sometimes they're cute, sometimes they're funny and sometimes they're just desperate. So far, "hot guys" haven't really been her target demographic.

"So what? What's the big deal?" She tries to keep her nerves out of her voice, mostly succeeding, but Dot's smile only grew more and more mischievous, as if seeing right through her.

"Turn around. I dare you not to remember him. Pretty sure Sophie told you about how she met him again a few weeks ago, at that event she went to? The one sponsored by Camelot International?"

…Okay, so Agatha might be a bit of a bad friend. She didn't listen to 90% of Sophie's rants about guys or modeling events, so most likely she had told her about him as Agatha did something else. Something important, really.

…Like playing games on her tablet.

She worked a lot, okay? Can't have people hogging all her free time. Even if it was Sophie. Her best friend.

Shit.

Agatha's face must have betrayed her because Dot laughed even louder than before.

"You seriously don't?" she managed to ask between giggles, as Agatha blushed, frowning.

"I should?"

"Most likely yes. Sometimes you're way too funny, you know?" Her smile was dangerous. Stop smiling at Agatha like that, woman.

It was at times like this she could see why Hester and Dot were such good friends.

"Thanks, I think?" Agatha eyes her companion carefully "How hot is this guy any…"

"Hot enough for you to talk to me, I hope," a male voice announced behind her, seemingly amused.

Not her day. Definitely not her day.

"He's right behind me?!"

Dot giggled loudly a final time before walking away to Hester's table. Very helpful. Forget what Agatha said about liking Dot. She didn't. Dot was a horrible person.

Agatha turned on her heels, facing the stranger with a sheepish smile. She was not ready for what was about to bite her.

Oh damn, please do.

…Figuratively, fuck. She meant in a figurative way.

Before we go on, Agatha would like to clarify that she blames any less than pure thoughts on Chaddick, because who knows what he put into her drink.

(Yeah, it's totally Chaddick's fault)

Amen, praise Jesus, okay?

Embarrassingly, her first instinct is to say that yes, he was totally hot enough to talk to her. Or come home with her. Or marry her (too soon for this joke, scratch that). That's not what she did, however. Oh, no, she stood there, in silence, and stared for quite a while before her brain rebooted and she finally gained control of her own body again.

Agatha is the first in line to advocate on why you shouldn't judge a book by its cover, but she had eyes.

He was tall. As tall, if not taller than her, and Agatha was a tall woman. His jeans looked expensive and his light blue social shirt was tight on his chest, almost as if it were a size too small, the top buttons open, defined muscles visible to even the most casual observer. The shirt was paired with a grey-ish tie that hanged loosely around his neck, a bit too effortless-looking to be unintentional. His features were sharp, sculpted even, a certain California-sunny-surfer meets Adonis-next-door quality to them. Soft blond locks had an unnatural shine under the club's lights, as if they were made of gold.

And his eyes, my god, they were so blue Agatha felt like sinking and drowning in his arms right then and there. Unfortunately, she couldn't. Because you see, she is a grown woman and had a little thing called dignity.

Not that she didn't want to though.

Focus.

He did look kind of familiar. Had they met before? Agatha doesn't think so. This man looked like he just walked out of a Calvin Klein ad, and she sure as hell didn't know many people who look like that. One of Sophie's model friends? If so, she certainly hadn't introduced the two.

Yet, the way he was looking at her right now indicated the reality that she should probably know who he is. Maybe he was from her old gym, back when she let Sophie talk her into going for a few months? No, there were no hot guys there, just old ladies and teenagers.

Okay, so, plan B, say something smart.

"Hm…"

Say something.

"…So…"

Anything!

He doesn't look very impressed by her articulate conversation skills, but Agatha can't place where she had seen him before. Maybe they had been neighbors at some point? She moved quite a few times in these last years and keeping track of all of them was impossible. But that didn't seem quite right. A friend of one of her exes then? Did they meet at pride or something?

Seriously, who was this guy! Acting all smooth, as if she should know who he is! He's good looking enough to be memorable sure, but clearly not memorable enough.

Hell, did she sleep with him? He must have been the worst one night stand ever for Agatha to somehow forget him. Maybe he was so bad that she forgot about him completely...?

"I give up, I can't remember you."

He looked a bit offended. Maybe he was indeed a Calvin Klein model.

"The name's Tedros…?"

Tedros, Tedros… Tedros?

"Nope, doesn't ring a bell," she concludes, "but, I'm, hm, Agatha?"

"I know," he responds, curt and firm, nearly glaring at her.

"Neat."

"Nice."

"Good."

"Great."

"Awesome."

"Amazing."

"Extraordinary."

"Now, that's a big word," he mocks. Agatha suspects he just didn't know any bigger ones to keep up. Part of her wishes to strangle him with his own tie and part of her wants to call him out on his shit. He approached her, okay? She is under no obligation to recognize him.

Her eyes narrow and she sips on her fourth cup again.

"Do you need for me to tell you what it means?"

"Oh, no, I'm fine."

The passive-aggressive-ness of this conversation is starting to exhaust her and kill any buzz she had, but she can't just let Mr. everyone-knows-who-I-am-and-I-look-like-walking-sex win. He needed to go down (on her). What.

"Hm, Tedros, you're going to order something or what?"

Chaddick cuts the stare contest between brown and blue and Agatha makes a note to leave him a nicer tip tonight.

"What's the special of the day?" Tedros' tone is amused, as if he and Chaddick are old friends. Ugh, of course he would. He sounded douchey enough. Maybe he went to school with her? That sounded about right, she could picture it. Pretty-boy-Tedros, walking down the hall wearing a football jacket with a cheerleader or two on his arm.

"Nice little things I've put together," Chaddick wiggled his eyebrows. "Want some?"

"Is it safe?" Tedros asks him, cautiously.

"Well, Agatha here is still fine at four, I would say so."

Soon enough Tedros is downing his second cup, sitting on the stool next to hers.

.

.

.

Agatha wasn't sure how or why, but things went from point A to point B very, very quickly.

Point A being sitting beside Tedros at the bar and point B being heavily making out with him in a corner.

Agatha wishes she was joking. She wasn't. It just…somehow…happened?

Fuck.

It all started when Tedros eventually caught up to her and from there on they held a little amicable drinking competition.

("I bet you can't do more shots than me." "Oh, you're so on!" "You drink like a fourteen-year old, dude." "Oh yeah?" "Yeah.")

Then, they paid for their drinks. Well, Tedros did.

("Did you just... pay for me?" "It's called having manners." "Excuse you?")

After that, Chaddick kicked them out to the dance floor, something about the two of them 'grossing him out'. Agatha is not much of a dancer, so she tried to go back her table but Tedros said something (she can't quite remember what it was) that made her realize that she kind of didn't want to. Leave, she means.

They danced for a bit before she stepped on Tedros's foot, or maybe he stepped on hers first?

("Ouch." "Get out of my way!" "Make me.")

From there on it was incomprehensible screaming over loud music for a while and they somehow ended up being way too up in each other's personal space. Agatha eventually just lost it, and grabbed him by his collar, bringing him down to place a forceful peck on his lips, before backing away, partly horrified, partly proud.

It took two mortifyingly long seconds of silence and pure embarrassment for Tedros to grab her by the waist and kiss her roughly.

They stumbled to a more secluded corner, until Agatha's back hit a wall, but she was distracted from the pain of the impact by Tedros licking her bottom lip, seeking her tongue, a small sound escaping her once he found it. What the hell is she even doing, this should not be happening. And yet, she cannot bring herself to care.

This is a wild, passionate kiss and not at all Agatha's expertise. She always considered herself more of a slow-vanilla-soft kind of girl. But out the window with that, Tedros was nowhere near close enough, no matter that they were already flush against each other. Maybe this is why Sophie thinks every guy she meets is her soulmate. As cheesy as it sounds, she feels somehow connected to this stranger, almost as if they were meant to be or something.

Ha, as if.

Any thoughts, of soulmates or otherwise, are forgotten when Tedros' hands start to wander, one goes from her waist to her hip and the other moves to explore her tight, squeezing it deliciously. Agatha retaliates by pulling on his hair, not as lightly as she probably should've, but is rewarded with a husky groan and a bite on her bottom lip.

(She does it again because that might be her new favorite sound.)

What. Is. Going. On.

Her last braincells are on fire. She was on fire.

Okay, young lady, de-attach yourself from the handsome male slo…

Oh God.

She's pretty much breathless when he decides to break the kiss, her lips chasing after his for the slightest second as he pulls away. Her heartbeat has never been this loud and she has no time to overthink, as, suddenly, his lips are on her neck. Agatha lets out a quiet, but embarrassingly needy, whine (as quietly as she could, but it didn't really matter, he heard her anyway) when he nips on her ear and then trails down to suck at her pulse point. Her hands snake their way from his hair to under his shirt's collar and Tedros shivers once she drags her short nails lightly on his upper back and shoulders, but she can still feel his very attractive smug smirk against her skin.

She felt drunk. She doesn't feel like that often.

Not the completely-trashed-I-just-had-countless-drinks kind of drunk and certainly not this don't-care-keep-going-my-blood-is-on-fire kind of drunk either. Like she wanted to keep touching Tedros for the rest of her life (the idea doesn't sound half bad), as fireworks danced around them and… God, if Sophie knows this guy how she could not marry him on the spot, because fuck…

He's leaving quite a few love bites along her collarbone, teasing, attempting (and succeeding) at drawing tiny sounds from her and Agatha can't take it anymore. She drags him back up to her mouth and somehow pulls him even closer. She did not like feeling weak, but to her surprise, Tedros seemed to possess the superpower of turning her completely boneless in the best kind of way.

Wait.

Agatha is making out with Tedros.

Tedros is making out with her.

Agatha's eyes open in late realization and the two of them stare at each other for a few seconds.

So, this happened, huh?

"I… hm… have to go. Out of here. Home. Alone. Yeah, that," Agatha makes way around paralyzed Tedros, whom looks very confused and disoriented. His lips are tainted with coral lipstick, he's panting for air, his bright eyes dark with desire, clothes looking disrelished, pants looking a bit too tight, and he just looks throughfully kissed.

No, Agatha does not feel even a little tiny bit of pride by seeing him look like that because of her, what are you talking about, not sexy, not sexy at all.

… Maybe he could come along?

No. No, no, no.

She doesn't run away from him exactly, but she sure as hell wasn't walking. As she passes Hester and Anadil, the two of them raise eyebrows judgingly, but Agatha does her best to school her expression into neutrality.

If she waited a bit longer, she might have heard Tedros saying:

"Until tomorrow then."

.

.

.

Agatha regrets every single life choice that led her to this point.

She's sitting on a ridiculously shaped chair at Sophie's apartment building's terrace, brooding silently in the corner, with a big headache, while eating some diet cake that tasted like foam, listening to violin versions of bad pop songs, probably dying of heatstroke, and if that doesn't kill her soon enough, can someone please end her misery…

Hester and Anadil are not here after all. Agatha doesn't blame them. It might be for the best, because Agatha doesn't need to deal with Hester's judgy eyebrows right now. Dot is down in Sophie's apartment, at the kitchen, most likely trying to steal some wine and she is pretty much the only person here Agatha can stand.

She partly wonders if Hort will show up but decides she does not care. She's running on aspirin, her head feels like it was smashed against a wall multiple times, and it's too hot here, okay?

It's a hot sunny day and the limited shade would not be enough to cool Agatha down even if she wasn't wearing a scarf. Agatha hates this scarf. It was another one of Sophie's gifts, and Agatha hates it because it's an evil scarf that pinches her every five seconds. However it's the lightest scarf she owns, and she can't it take off.

Otherwise, someone might notice the dark mark on her neck, which her shirt could not hide, as was the case for the other ones, lower, in her collarbones.

Tedros freaking marked her. The nerve.

She's not nearly as pissed as she should be, because honestly she's kinda into it.

Taking off the scarf would lead to too much teasing and questions, she had no turtlenecks available (damn you, past-Agatha, for not doing your laundry) and if only she had the skills to cover it up with makeup. Not only was the scarf evil by itself, it made it impossible for her to not think of yesterday, therefore, making her even more irritable.

She is not the kind of person who kisses people at the club. She sure as hell wouldn't bring a guy she's just met, at the club of all places, home. What if he'd been a psycho? She doesn't know him. He'd know where she lived. She wouldn't go to his place either, that sounded even more irresponsible. But she wishes she had at least gotten his number, you know, instead of freaking out and running away. Well, he knew Chaddick, so maybe she could ask him?

No, that would be humiliating, and Agatha is trying to hang on to whatever dignity she had left.

Also, it had been almost an hour at this damned terrace party and she hasn't seen a single trace of Sophie's fiancé, but the blonde assured her he would be there soon. He's the late-type, hm.

Okay, so Agatha hates him already.

She has been to this terrace quite a few times, it was the one pro of Sophie's building, aside from cheap rent. But she was running out of both will and things to point out in small talk with all these models and small influencers. If she hears "Sophie has such a lovely terrace" one more time…

Suddenly, there was clank, signaling that someone pushed the terrace door open. As Sophie lit up and moved to greet the newcomer, Agatha felt the cake climb up her throat.

Holy hell, is that Tedros?

What is her life, really.

Agatha gets up from her chair quietly, observing the scene from behind a plant, trying not to be too obvious, just, ya know, casually chilling in the middle of the scorching sun. Sophie hugs him tightly, placing a kiss on his cheek, grinning as she laces their fingers together and starts walking in Agatha's general direction, pulling the handsome man behind her.

Hm, no.

Agatha resists the urge to pace in circles as she tries to gather her thoughts. It might be the hangover or the diet cake but seeing the two of them together made her wanna barf. Not because they didn't look good together. They did. In fact, maybe too good. Sophie's long soft hair was a shade or two lighter than Tedros', but other than that, they might as well have been made in the same Instagram-model-facility. Like a set, Barbie and Ken.

What is this feeling?

Oh no, she can see them approaching. Abort mission, leave, get out, hit the road…

"Aggie, darling!"

Agatha forces herself to fake a confident smile, as if she could always be found casually hanging out behind plants on saturday mornings. It turned out to be more of sheepish grin, especially when compared to her friend, whose pretty smile is almost too big for her too pretty face.

Sophie looked particularly gorgeous in her pastel green summer dress and peep-toe heels. Her tanned skin glows under the sun, the light catching in her green eyes on that special way that made photographers all around the industry want to work with her despite her inexperience, the grace within her movements creating an allure Agatha doesn't think she'd be able to recreate even if she were to be born again.

This is not good. Leave, abort mission, repeat, abort miss…

"Aggie, this is Tedros, you know, the one I was telling you about yesterday," she winked. "Teddy, this is my bestie, Agatha, you remember her, right?" Sophie nudges him lightly using her elbow.

Tedros looks even better now that she can see him in natural daylight. Which should be illegal, truly. He's wearing a plain white t-shirt and jeans, his hair made of pure gold looked just messy enough to not look too try-hard, yet something about him looked weirdly… staged? Agatha couldn't quite put her finger on it.

"I surely do," Tedros lets go of Sophie's hand, shoulders tensing, and Agatha thinks he might be blushing. Is he nervous? "We-"

"Nice to meet you," Agatha interrupts him, grasping his hand on a firm handshake and letting go just as fast, as if touching his skin would burn her. "Sophie told me a lot about you."

Play along, please. I beg you.

"Oh, hm, it's very nice to meet you too?" Tedros responds, confused, but not calling her out. "Nice scarf," he adds, his lips curling upwards, so very slightly she might have missed if she wasn't micro-analyzing his every movement. Smug bastard. She is all too aware of his gaze lingering on her neck, a hint of pride showing in his bright eyes, the teasing in his voice making her want to pull him down by the collar, whether to choke him or to kiss him she couldn't tell.

"Oh, isn't it cute? See, Aggie, I told you that color looked great on you!" Sophie cuts in, reaching to touch said scarf. Agatha steps back self-consciously, making an effort to not scratch the back of her neck as not to call more attention to it.

"Quite the bold fashion statement for the summer, may I add," Tedros continues as he casually leaned one elbow on Sophie's shoulder. Subtle enough that Sophie wouldn't read too much into it, but Agatha could see right through his shit. "But I like it. You look very pretty, Agatha"

How dare he, truly. No sham-

Wait.

"So, I need to get going, work emergency you see, but I'll make it up to you, Sophie," Agatha excuses herself, quickly. She tells herself it's just the heat that it's bothering her, but her brain is going 300 miles per hours and she needs to leave. Now.

"Aggie, tomorrow we'll be having lunch at the country club, don't be late!"

"Yeah, be there, alright."

Agatha sprints down the complex's stairs as discreetly as she can, which is not much. By the time she's at her car, the weight of her realization hits her full force.

.

.

.

"I'm getting married, Aggie"

"Not Hort"

"You don't know him yet"

.

.

.

"Aggie, this is Tedros, you know, the one I was telling you about yesterday."

.

.

.

"That was literally three weeks ago."

"I dare you not to remember him. Pretty sure Sophie told you about how she met him again a few weeks ago at that event she went to? The one sponsored by Camelot International?"

.

.

.

"…Oh he's so great and wonderful, he's tall, has these hypnotizing eyes, they're so intense, its like they suck you in, Aggie! His hair is just wow, it's a very uncommon shade of blonde, the undertone is beautiful, so expensive-looking, but it's natural, he swears, and his skin is so soft you wouldn't believe, his name is…"

"bla, bla, bla, perfect, bla, bla, bla, handsome"

.

.

.

"He's so different from anyone I've ever met…"

"She feels somehow connected to this stranger, almost as if they were meant to be or something."

.

.

.

"Acting all smooth, as if she should know who he is!"

"He looked a bit offended."

"The name's Tedros?"

.

.

.

"God, if Sophie knows this guy how could she not marry him on the spot…"

"Sophie hugs him tightly, placing a kiss on his cheek, grinning as she laces their fingers together and starts walking, pulling the handsome man behind her."

.

.

.

Agatha is a very bad friend, isn't she?

She bangs her head on the wheel.

Then, she regrets doing so, opening the car's door, so she could vomit some diet cake and last night's alcohol on the parking lot's floor before driving away.

.

.

.

By a miracle, Agatha survives the drive home and makes it back home in one piece.

As she walks into her own apartment, she does not feel half as guilty as she thought she would be. But she was very, very angry. Furious, actually.

At herself for being both a dumbass and a bad friend, at Tedros for being a player, at Chaddick for being a dick in general, at Sophie for being Sophie, at Dot for not warning her and even at Hester for not being at the party today so Agatha could at least not freak out by herself.

She can't do anything for the rest of the day, because trying to work, read or sleep is useless, since she can't focus with all the internal screeching her mind is doing. Her existence now doesn't make any sense and Agatha is about to tear her hair out, lying down in her bed, staring at the celling.

(There's a long crack on there and for whatever reason, it reminded her of a river. Probably because it didn't look like anything else.)

She contemplates calling Hester and telling her everything but ultimately decides against it. She can't bring herself to explain this out loud, least of all hear any possible lecture Hester might give her. Is this how Sophie feels when she decides hide things from her-

Oh my God, Sophie.

Tedros was engaged. To Sophie. He was Sophie's fiancé.

Agatha is not freaking out at all.

.

.

.

At last, ten long hours of sulking later, Agatha is feeling a lot guiltier, still very much pissed and just confused as a whole.

She made out with Sophie's fiancé. Should she tell her? Yes. Would she? To be decided.

Maybe they wouldn't even get married. Come on, a few weeks? There's no way Sophie will keep up this insanity. Telling her about the club incident would only hurt their life-long friendship over a guy who wasn't even gonna last two months. Years of companionship out the window. She had no intention of doing it again so, did it really matter? What the eyes don't see, the heart doesn't feel, right?

She hadn't even known he was Sophie's fiancé!

But then again, Sophie had told her all about him. She didn't listen because she was a bad friend! Was she really gonna play the "I didn't know" card...?

It was the truth!

But no one would believe her. Fuck, if Agatha were Sophie, she wouldn't believe herself. Agatha was a smart grown woman, godamn it. What kind of dumb bitch even-

This wedding wasn't happening. No need to worry, right?

For now, Agatha has two long weeks of supposedly weeding-related bonding moments with Sophie to survive, without accidentally letting slip that, oh, talked, drank, danced and made out with Tedros.

Well, shit.

.

.

.

Even if one ignored the fact that the guilt was starting to eat Agatha alive from inside out, the next day would still have been a long, tortured journey of nothing but cringe and regrets. Yet she bore it, because she, even if accidentally, brought this on herself.

Agatha got up early on a sunday (name a bigger crime) to try and get something done, since she would probably have little time to work in the following weeks. Then, she went to have lunch with Sophie at a fancy country club (that Sophie couldn't afford by the way, which earned her a lecture on credit cards and personal finances) hoping to have that "red-flag" talk.

It did not go well.

Sophie had invited him along. Of course, she would. Apparently, since she was getting married soon, Agatha should be used to have him around. And, of course, Sophie would have decided to tell her he was coming the moment he walked in, headed to their table.

This is Sophie's fiancé. Do. Not. Stare.

What kind of cosmic karma is this? He isn't even her type.

WHY-

"Afternoon, ladies."

Sophie greeted the blonde with a smile and a hug, as Agatha merely nodded his way, scanning the room for the closest exit.

"Hi Teddy!"

"Tedros."

Lunch is awkward as hell and at this point Agatha is just waiting for a waiter to come and stab her. It ends up being both not so terrible and the worst lunch ever because she does talk quite a lot with Tedros, against her better judgment.

She learns that Tedros did go to her school, for three years. Sophie asks him if he remembers Agatha, and from Tedros' silence, Agatha assumes he doesn't want to admit to having been part of Chaddick's... shenanigans.

Her friend then talks astrology, and Agatha learns that he is a leo (because of course he would), is kinda proud of it but says he doesn't believe in astrology, prompting Sophie to start a discussion on why he wouldn't believe in astrology if he believed in tarot. The way he blushes and stammers is cute and makes Agatha feel horrible for thinking so, but she asks him about tarot anyway. She's just being polite, okay?

He mentions he'd turned 26 a while ago and recently moved back to the city, as he moved away to go to college in Avalon. She tells him she almost went there, but her scholarship did not include a dormroom and she knew no one there to share an apartment with. His answer is a blunt "I know", which both confuses and pisses her off.

Tedros offers her no further info on it, but they engage in conversation again after he mentions he is working at Camelot International.

("As one of the main executives on the board," Sophie adds, "it's one of the most powerful companies in the country.")

They quickly bond over their massive workloads (Agatha may not be a main executive of a huge corporate empire, but damn if being head finance director for SGE Enterprises didn't keep her busy enough), until Sophie slips that he must be very lucky to be the sole heir to the Pendragon Group.

Oh.

Tedros Pendragon. Are you kidding? Agatha remembers seeing his family's name being all over the news back in school and she feels dumb for not remembering that Tedros and 'that Pendragon boy' were the same person. Hadn't his parents had a huge cheating-divorce-scandal that caused the stock for the company to plummet a few years ago?

Tedros frowns at Sophie before saying that, "Yes, indeed, he's very lucky."

The blonde doesn't seem to notice the way his hands grip the fork tightly as he pronounces the last word, but Agatha does.

It adds on to the list of things that keep her awake later, after she does her damn laundry and stress-cleans her entire apartment. She curses as she turns and tosses on her bed, because it's 2 AM, work starts in a few hours and she needs to sleep.

.

.

.

The next four days are not much different, the routine is pretty much the same, except they have dinner plans instead of lunch. Work, eat, work, do bridesmaid shit with Sophie and Tedros somewhere, avoid his gaze, talk for a bit over something like choosing the best flower arrangements, and then hightail out of there, only to come home and be restless.

She was still very confused, because honestly, Tedros didn't seem bad at all. The more she talked to him, the least she wanted to stop talking to him. He definitely had some family issues and was doing some overcompensating, but nothing that made him, like, a total trash human.

And yet, he was still the guy who hit on her (fucking made out with her), knowing exactly who she was, while being engaged to her best friend.

She always thought herself a good judge of character.

Anyway, she did her best to act aloofly polite and if he ever seemed to hint at the night at The Woods, Agatha cut him off before he could. It was a good plan. Wait it out. And it really was working just fine.

Until the dress store.

For some reason she cannot wrap her head around, Tedros is there too.

(Isn't there a tradition against seeing the dress of your bride before the wedding or something?)

At some point, Sophie struggles to get into a particularly complicated dress at the dressing room, yelling at the poor employees like a harpy on a rampage and Agatha is about to intervene when he manages to pull her aside, his grip firm but with a certain gentleness that made her skin burn.

He semi-drags her across the store through a sea of sparkly white dresses and into this small nook between sections. Agatha does not want to admit that the main reason why he is able to do that is because she allows him to.

Things only go downhill from there.

He has her cornered, her back nearly merging with the wall as he stands close to her, his posture tense, moving slowly, like one would in presence of a startled animal. He doesn't look like he is trying to purposely intimidate her, and she doesn't feel particularly unsafe. No words are spoken between them and the silence allows Agatha's senses to pick up on a deliciously rich smell. Is that Tedros' cologne-

Agatha forces down the rash that is creeping up her neck and tries to focus on doing what she does best, aka, running away from her problems. She looks anywhere but his face, but he is not making ignoring him an easy job.

"I don't get you."

What.

"Excuse me?"

"You know exactly what I'm talking about."

Agatha scoffs, arms crossing in front of her chest.

"I truly don't."

Her response seems to annoy him, which she counts as a win, but Agatha might have declared victory just a bit too soon. Tedros, who was a couple of feet away has managed to get way too close (yet again). His hand raises her chin and forces her to look into his eyes. Her resolution to run away falters and she's scared he might hear her heartbeat speed up.

"Playing dumb doesn't suit you, Agatha. One second you don't like me, then you do like me, then you don't again… I don't understand the game you're playing here… So, I'll make this simple, you won, congratulations, now stop playing games, now you know I'm interested."

Agatha blinks. This is… not the conversation she thought she was going to have.

Of course, during her nightly overthinking sessions she thought about what she'd say if he confronted her about the previous friday, even if she didn't think he'd have the balls to actually do it. But she seems to have been reduced to this dumpster fire nonsense. Tedros never did what she thought he was going to do and it was short-circuiting her braincells.

She's way too aware of the hold he has on her, the compromising situation they're in. One of his hands cages Agatha in, placed on the wall behind her head, while the other keeps her from adverting her gaze from his. Tedros is too close, he smells too good and his mouth looks too inviting.

She hears him, but she doesn't really hear him, his presence fogging up her senses.

Agatha briefly entertains the idea of giving into temptation and kissing him. How nice it would be to grab his collar, invert their positions, slam him against the wall and kiss him senseless, so he could feel just how helpless she felt having him corner her like this. Kiss him and just leave him there, wanting, begging, and…

What. Wow, fuck. Stop.

A new thought hits her like a ton bricks.

This guy is an asshole.

Tedros looks irritated and Agatha wants to punch him.

So she does.

She's strong enough to give him a black eye, but she (unintentionally, Agatha swears) holds backs and aims for his chest. However, she can tell it hurt a lot by the way his eyes water and he backs away several steps. She hears Sophie yelling their names across the store and giving Tedros one last glare, she turns around and walks away.

The nerve.

Why would anyone marry him?

Sophie needed a wakeup call. And fast. Because while Sophie could be a nightmare, she did not deserve to be played like that.

.

.

.

Agatha was not a superstitious person.

If she forgot her umbrella at home and it started raining when she left the dress shop (Tedros and Sophie both offered her a ride but she would rather choke, honestly, and said no, forgetting that she rode here with Sophie in the first place), it's not fate, it's bad luck. If she gets sick and loses her voice (and therefore can't go do neither her work or her bridesmaid duty), it's not conspiracy, it's simply a coincidence.

Well, call it fate, call it bad luck, call it conspiracy, call it coincidence. The case is that Agatha has lost her voice and has both a running nose and a fever. She considers texting the whole story to Sophie but changes her mind when she imagines the blonde woman's reaction.

Agatha, you're such a slut.

She is going to tell Sophie about this… this… this individual. Yeah, she was going to come clean and expose Tedros. No wedding.

Why was Tedros marrying Sophie anyway? She could understand why Sophie would go for Tedros. He did seem like her type. Young, rich, successful and handsome.

(Not really what she herself looked for. Agatha tended to go for witty, responsible people and who did not mind her blunt nature. Never in the history of ever, had Sophie and Agatha been interested on the same person.)

Anyway, he would give her lots of exposure, would look great on her Instagram feed, would be able to save her from her terrible apartment, student loan and infinite credit card debt, and would open up the world of fancy designer shoes and pretty gowns Sophie always dreamed of.

But why would he do that?

Tedros was, again, young, rich, successful and handsome. He hardly expressed any special affection towards Sophie or had the usual lovesick look most of Sophie's victims sported when they found themselves bewitched by her. They didn't really agree on much, from what Agatha gathered on their conversations, had no shared interests, lived completely different lifestyles, had different moral values and overall didn't seem to have the grandiose connection Sophie spoke of at all. Maybe he was with her because she was pretty? But again, why. There werw thousands of pretty girls willing to date young rich men, why Sophie in particular?

Something about this seemed off. She needs to talk to Sophie.

…When she recovered.

.

.

.

Alright, maybe it was conspiracy. The wedding was in two days.

Two days.

She supposes time does go by quickly when you're procrastinating something you really, really don't want to do. Nearly two weeks gone by in a flash. And, as she should, Agatha finally gets herself together. She is going to tell Sophie.

Well, she was going to tell Sophie. The blonde and a few of her friends were at The Woods for a last girl's night out. Meaning:

Sophie was currently drunk.

But maybe she wasn't?

She probably was though. Sophie was the most lightweight person Agatha knew, likely because she was so skinny. Girl could not hold her alcohol and drunk-Sophie was messy-Sophie. Unwilling, untamable and unimaginably difficult to have a coherent conversation with.

But, maybe she wasn't drunk? Agatha was not going to risk it.

She forces herself to hurry. She doesn't change out of her work outfit (merely discarding the suit's jacket), stopping by her house to feed Reaper and leave some important documents. Agatha even nearly forgets to lock her front door, calling a car to the club, hoping it might not be too late to come clean. But she was late anyway, as proven not only by the 15 bucks that left her wallet (for the second time this month) but by-

"Aggieeeee! You're better! Have you taaaasted this? It's amaziiiing!"

Agatha glares at Chaddick, who has the decency to look away. He knew the amount of alcohol Sophie was capable of processing, namely: none.

"Yeah, I have…"

"You should have seen, Sophie; the other night Agatha was so wasted she ma…"

"Chaddick, don't you have somewhere to be? As in, not here?"

The ex-jock walks away with a smirk, knowing he had some nice blackmailing material on her. Could this get any more horrible?

Now what? Should she just take Sophie home? Sober her up, tell her everything then beg for forgiveness? She couldn't. Then what to do, what to do…

"Sophie, I have to tell you something, it's really important, you see…"

"Oh Aggie, I'm sure you can tell me laaaaaatteerrrr! I've been so stressed lately! Time to let it goooo! Come on, I'll even pay your first drinkkkk!"

Her friend lifted a glass of what looked and smelled like a vodka and gin disaster waiting to happen.

"Sophie, what is even that?"

"Not sure…but Chaddick told me it was good."

Agatha sighs. She should tell the truth, right here, right now, shouldn't she?

"… Alright."

And she would have if she were a better person. But to her shame, she downs five more after the first and suddenly she can't remember why she came here on the first place. Something about a guy?

(Lies, Agatha knows exactly what she is doing, but for a few more hours she gives herself the benefit of the doubt.)

Whatever, she'll just deal with it later. She hasn't said anything for the past few days, surely it can wait some more, right?

.

.

.

Said and done, five hours later Agatha concludes she is a horrible human being. She should just quit. Leave the job of human being for people who will not mess up. Like Hester. Hester never messes up shit. Yeah, great plan.

Sophie is knocked out cold, sleeping with her face in a table, drooling, besides said Hester, who has her usual judgy face on, glaring at the blonde woman, like she was some kind of disgusting creature.

Agatha doesn't think she could feel worse.

She should have just told Sophie the truth right away. The moment she found out Tedros was, well, Tedros. Instead she had gone along with a wedding that was sure to be a fiasco, because not only was the groom a liar and a player, but Agatha was therefore his accomplice, and her silence was probably the greatest betrayal of their entire friendship.

She picks up her phone to call a car, so she could at the very least wallow in misery at home, but before the app even loads someone snatches her phone.

Turns out she can indeed feel worse.

"We need to talk."

His voice sounds as it always does whenever she's around, half-annoyed and half-something else Agatha doesn't dare name. As usual, he looks nice. His tight shirt and tie are still in perfect place, unlike the last time she saw him here, signaling he too probably came straight from work.

"This is girl's night; you're not allowed here."

"Oh, I'm not?" Tedros mocks her, but she can tell his heart isn't truly in it. "Then please do tell me the circumstances in which I can talk to you, because you sure don't make it easy."

She is so tired. Trying to avoid him is hard enough, trying to avoid him knowing that she doesn't really want to is impossible. She has always read people so well, and he always seems so genuine. It makes her wanna believe he is not the bad person she knows he is.

"…I've been… avoiding you. It's not that I don't want to talk to you. Is just… that I shouldn't," she hesitates but ends up answering honestly.

Tedros' expression softens at her candor, peering at her with concern.

"Are you drunk?"

"No. Maybe."

He sighs, then digs his car keys from his pocket, still holding her phone hostage on his other hand.

"Look, I'll give you a ride home. I really just wanna talk. We have…unfinished business."

Agatha considers. All this wedding-baloney made her poor, Tedros is so pretty, he looks so wholesome and honest, and she just wants to sulk at home for the next few hours. Maybe he could stay for a day or two. That shirt of his would look great on her floor…

No, bad idea.

"I don't wanna get into a stranger's car," she blurts out the first excuse her mind can manage. In retrospect, that was some obvious bullshit, seeing as they had talked for hours last week and he had already given her a ride before. Granted, it had been Sophie's car and Sophie had been there, but still, that didn't make much sense.

"Oh truly?" he holds up her phone, the ride app now open, "You're gonna pull that one on me?"

It's Agatha's turn to sigh.

"Okay don't go using logic on me, mister. For all I know, you could be planning on kidnapping me and selling my organs on the black market," or worse, actually talking to her.

"Can never be too careful, can we?" he looks partly amused and partly annoyed. "Look, I'm serious here, okay? I'm not going to do anything to you, we can talk to Hester on our way out, I'm sure she'll hunt me and string me up upside down at her soundproofed basement in case I even dream of harming you. Alright?" Tedros's eyes never leave her face in the twenty seconds she takes to decide, and it's really distracting, but she manages to answer:

"Okay, fine."

They talk to Hester, rather, Tedros talks to Hester while Agatha avoids her gaze shamefully. Why does Tedros know Hester? Did they ever talk during school?

Agatha doesn't know and she doesn't ask. Her gaze lingers on Sophie's drooling face and she feels her chest tighten.

The two of them walk into the parking lot awkwardly, in mortifying silence, and enter a silver Porsche. Agatha notes that it looks very out of place, since most cars belonged to employees and looked rather humble next to the silver beauty. Why was Tedros here? He came in his car, so he was not here to drink. Did Sophie tell him to pick her up? Or was he here to see Agatha?

Her heart skips at beat at the thought and she doesn't ask him any of this either.

"Nice ride," she offers instead.

"Thanks."

Tedros drives in silence, with Agatha occasionally telling him to turn on certain streets. She keeps her gaze on the empty roads, but she does catch quite a stunning sight of his profile when she forgets she's not supposed to look at him at all.

To avoid getting too in her head, she decides to turn on the radio. The song that starts playing is familiar and she guesses the radio must be on CD mode. The letters in bold red on the visor tell her she is correct, and this is indeed the song she thinks it is.

"You're into this kind of stuff?"

Tedros grips the wheel, almost defensively.

"They're really good, okay? I've been listening to them for a few years and so far, they're my favorite band. I know their sound isn't for everyone and-"

"I know."

"…It's not what most mainstream artists are doi- you what?"

Agatha blushes when she feels his incredulous gaze on her face, and it occurs her that this is the first time he looks directly at her since they got into his car. She hopes he'll attribute the redness on her cheeks to the red light they're currently stuck at and hesitates before answering, in a quiet voice, meeting his stare:

"They're my favorite band too."

"Oh."

The rest of the drive is less awkward, one would even say comfortable if not for the leftover tension. They sing along quietly to the vocalist and Agatha is sure Tedros stopped himself from doing the guitar once. Not cute, not cute, not cute.

Eventually, they get to her apartment building. She reaches over and turns off the radio, the deafening silence almost too much to bear.

Agatha tries reaching for the car door, but it's locked.

"I did tell you we needed to talk."

Usually, she'd be scared if a guy trapped her in his car in the middle of the night, but Agatha's frustration just comes back at full force and topples over anything else.

"What's to talk, you're clearly into someone else."

Tedros' eyes go big, and Agatha can't help but think he must be the world's greatest actor. Oscar nomination performance. The academy is shook-

"What? Did you, like, not hear anything I sa-"

"I'm not that kind of girl, Tedros," Agatha interrupts him firmly, "I don't hook up with anyone who's in a relationship, especially in a relationship with my best friend, no matter how stupidly short said relationship may be."

"I… Did Sophie tell you-"

"She didn't need to? You guys are engaged, and I am not going to get caught in between, okay? Please, please leave me alone. Don't talk to me. Don't look at me. Don't give me rides when I'm drunk."

Suddenly, Tedros' confused expression is gone and his eyes are gleaming with what looks like joy. He looks like he might kiss her and Agatha is not sure how well her defenses will hold in case he does.

"Agatha, I think you got this all wrong, I'm not-"

"What, you have amnesia? Or, let me guess, it's your twin brother who's engaged to her?"

Tedros burst out laughing and he sounds like an angel, throwing his head back, and Agatha forgets for a second that she's mad at him. But eventually reality brings her back and she pushes him, with just enough force to get his attention.

"Leave me the fuck alone, dude."

…Asshole.

This time when she reaches for the door, it's unlocked.

She glares at him from the sidewalk one more time, before entering the building.

.

.

.

Agatha doesn't hear a word from him after that.

It's for the best, she tells herself. Agatha spent so much time wishing he would just go away and take these weird feelings he gives her with him that she didn't even consider that once he did go away for real, new, stronger, and even more angsty feelings would appear. She only knew him for two weeks. He wasn't even hers. She has no grieving rights.

She goes out with Sophie one more time, and now it's just the two of them. It would be the perfect time to tell her. She has no excuses. No drinking, no sickness, no Tedros-

Agatha doesn't.

.

.

.

Today is the day.

It's a clear summer night, which is unfair with how angsty and conflicted Agatha feels. Hollywood lied to us all, hasn't it?

Agatha is dressed in a silky blue dress Sophie chose for her. It suits her and she thinks she looks quite pretty. Someone who actually knew what they were doing did her make-up, and for once she managed to tame her hair into submission, putting it into a fancy-looking up-do youtube taught her how to do. She's wearing her best shoes and her fanciest earrings. Agatha is looking and smelling like a daydream outside the main room of the church, but her hands are shaking and she's terrified.

She's not ready. Far from it really.

The rules were simple. If you're not the bride you don't wear white, you don't overdrink, and you never, ever, under any circumstances, fall in love with the groom.

No matter if they were hot, if they smelled good, if their eyes made you feel weak at the knees, if they shared common interests with you, if their taste was impossible to forget, if they went out of their way to get your attention or if they felt like they just might be the one.

You just didn't okay?

Shit, this was messed up. Still, Agatha brought herself to breathe deeply, trying to contain her anxiety.

The ceremonialist tells her it's her cue and she's soon walking down the aisle, clutching a small bouquet of pink carnations like a lifeline, looking around the church.

The place is crowded. Their entire social circle and their grandmother seem to be here. People from their childhood neighborhood, people from school, both of Sophie's parents, her stepmother and step siblings, quite a few models and influencers and a bunch of people she had never seen, probably Tedros' friends, family and co-workers.

The flowers and decorations look as amazing and beautiful as she would have expected from Sophie and she might have seen Hester, Anadil and Dot on a row somewhere, but that's not what made her almost freeze, nearly stumbling on the red carpet.

The groom.

He's wearing an expensive-looking white tuxedo, his hair is an unnatural platinum blonde and his eyes are disturbingly intense. He's tall, sharp and everything about him screams fancy. He's attractive in the way some snakes are attractive, beautiful and deadly, but the big deal is:

Agatha has never seen that man in her entire life.

She goes to her spot standing by the side, her brain running a marathon, tons of data just being tossed aimlessly on her mind as she tries to wrap her head around what the actual fuck is going on when her eyes meet someone else's.

Seating on the third row on the left, Tedros' blue eyes are shinning in complete and absolute amusement, his hand is over his mouth in a barely controlled laugh. The music seems to be on his side, because no one hears him. Agatha schools her expression into anything other than the overbearing wrath she feels, but she's not sure if she's doing a good job.

She's somewhat aware of the chaos that seems to be unfolding around her; the ceremonialist's screeching, the groom's rage, the crowd's confused mumbling and Sophie's absence. But it does not matter.

Agatha really wants to choke Tedros with his tie.

.

.

.

Turns out, Sophie's groom was named Rafal. Not that Agatha would remember his name a few days from now.

He is the current CEO of Two Brothers, a huge company, often associated with the mafia for fucks sake. Known playboy and womanizer, with a criminal record for drug dealing, as well as physical and sexual assault. Also, partially involved on the illegal leaks of information that caused the media scandal around Tedros' parents' divorce all those years ago, she later learns.

Great guy, Sophie. 10/10. Husband material right there.

At least she didn't follow through, Agatha argues to try and calm herself down. Oh yeah, Sophie ran away from her own wedding. No one was surprised honestly. Maybe Rafal. He looked very, very angry. Agatha didn't really blame him, after knowing that he was the one paying for the wedding, after party and honeymoon, no matter how horrible of a person he seems to be.

By now, Sophie should be in Paris, enjoying her honeymoon tickets and reservations. Through text, she tells Agatha how lonely and sad she is and how she'll tell her everything that happened in complete details on their next café meeting in a about month and a half. Agatha suspects she is not as lonely as she claims to be because Hort's Instagram stories tell her he is currently in Europe as well, if not in Paris. But then again, she will not concern herself over this matter. "No wedding" was good news enough to keep her in a great mood for any of Sophie's shenanigans for the next following weeks.

And since the reception was already paid for, everyone just decided to come enjoy it.

Yes, when she says everyone, she means everyone.

"Hey, you."

Oh, Lord, no.

Agatha doesn't lift her head to look at him, continuing to type a half-assed reply to Sophie's whiny texts. She won't give him the satisfaction. Instead she downs whatever is left of her whisky, because that's what one does when courage lacks.

She's sitting at the main table of the ballroom, by herself, mostly because it's where she's been assigned to sit, but also because she's not up for the questions the other guests will probably feel entitled to ask if she were to sit with them. Hester is nowhere in sight, but Agatha is sure she's making herself scarce on purpose. She saw Chaddick back at the church but they politely ignored each other and Dot had been missing for quite a while.

"Not speaking to me?"

"No."

"Come on, it was pretty funny."

"No, it wasn't," she finally looks up at him and he must have sensed true resentment in her perfectly lined brown eyes, because his smug, perfect façade crumbled, and he looked very awkward suddenly. Tedros pulls up the chair beside her and she notices it has his name on it. Sophie was not being subtle on her matchmaking at all, was she?

God, Agatha was so dumb.

"Well, it wasn't very funny to me either then, but I do laugh quite a bit now," he offers, sipping on champagne, trying to keep busy.

"I'm glad my pain amuses you," she's quiet for few seconds, considering what she's going to say. "Tedros?"

"Yeah?" he looks up from his flute of champagne, hopeful blue eyes shining in the half light of the candlelit ballroom and keeping her from saying what she was actually going to say, so instead she blurts:

"I'm not sorry for punching you."

"I didn't expect you to be," his smile is friendly and contagious. He downs the last of his champagne and extends a hand to her. "Okay, let's start again. I'm Tedros, I'm so single it hurts, and when we were in high school, I had a crush on you."

The way he says this so openly, his voice so even and clear nearly drowns out the vulnerable look on his face. Agatha herself can barely register his expression because she's pretty sure her brain has short-circuited. Again.

"No, you did not."

"But I did."

Tedros proceeds to tell her all sorts of things.

He tells her about how he first saw her as a rival because of her grades (she never really paid any attention to the scoreboard, she thought it was bullshit, but in retrospect she does remembers his name was always under hers), and about how sorry he was that he laughed and partook at Chaddick's antics during junior year, mostly because he the felt like 'the new guy with a big name and no friends' and felt she was a threat.

"That's some real introspection and self-awareness right there, hm"

"I'm just fortunate enough to have had a really good therapist," Tedros responds, "Merlin is like a psychology-wizard. He was the one who kinda sorted out that maybe part of my teen angst was repressed attraction to someone who fed the cats behind the library"

"Oh, then you've been my stalker for quite some time then."

Tedros blushes and Agatha is both flattered and embarrassed at the same time.

He then explains about how shit blew up on his face during his parents' divorce, how his grades dropped, how he got kicked out of the football team and how he started to spend a long ass time sulking at the library. Which just so happened to be Agatha's favorite hangout spot at the time. Tedros tells her how he thought she was cute, how she was one of the people who hadn't changed with him (even if unintentionally) and how he wanted to get to know her.

What.

"I just… wasn't sure how to approach you? I always dragged Chaddick to your tea shop when I didn't see you at the library but then chickened out and-"

"...I take neither of you were huge tea fans?"

"Yeah?"

"That does explain a lot," Agatha mumbles.

"I was going to talk to you about Avalon when I heard you were going there, but… Since you didn't tell me that, I kinda found out when Chaddick took your math notebook to be my 'wingman', I didn't think you would have…appreciated.

"Wait, that was Chaddick playing your wingman?" Agatha burst out laughing.

"The plan was that I was supposed to casually hand back to you something you forgot, but he kinda grew tired of waiting for you to actually forget something," Tedros chuckled. "If you thought Chaddick was bad then what big word is Miss-best-in-class going to use to describe Sophie's take on playing wingwoman?"

"Horrendous," Agatha deadpans and now it's Tedros turn to laugh.

Silence sits between the two. It's not uncomfortable and kinda welcome. Agatha digests the last forty minutes of enlighting conversation as they eat the main course of the night. A waiter comes to pick up both of their plates and she decides she still has some questions.

"Well, do you still do?"

"Do I still what?" Tedros questions, his head slightly inclined, like a confused puppy.

"Have a crush on me," Agatha mumbles, her cheeks burning.

Tedros' expression goes from 'confused' back to that mischievous look he had back at the church, leaning towards her ever so slightly.

"Maybe."

"Good," she offers her hand, as he had before, "I'm Agatha, I jump to conclusions, but I am very interested in getting to know you."

Tedros however, doesn't shake her hand as she had his. Instead, he takes it to his lips, pressing a light kiss to her knuckles, relishing in the shocked look on her face before she can school her expression back to unaffected aloofness.

"Are you free at six next friday?"

"Late meeting, but I'm good at seven. Pick me up?" she asks, an unspoken challenge laced in her words.

"As the lady wishes." Challenge accepted. "Any preferences?"

"Anywhere but 'The Woods'. But make sure to text me first if it's somewhere fancy," she smiles. "You know what? I still don't have your number."

Tedros confidently stands up, his hand yet to release hers.

"A number for a dance?"

Agatha told him that night at 'The Woods' that she isn't a very good dancer but again, he insists. It's fine, because they don't dance for long anyway. By the time Tedros gives up, fumbling with his phone to call a car, his hair is already a mess, Agatha's broke free from her up-do and there is lipstick everywhere.

I'm not sorry This was so much fun to revisit. I forgot how fun SGE was. I kinda fell out of touch with the series. I did read QFG, I just can't remember what happens in it? Idk. I felt the series should have concluded on TLEA. If possible before the whole Agatha and Sophie baloney stunt, because I never bought that. Please leave me comment and share your thoughts with me! Hope you are all safe during this quarantine, friends

[guardmesherlock-rowan]

Foiled Kidnapping - Agatha

Sometimes life is not fair. Sometimes life is a total asshole. Sometimes life decides that it doesn't matter if you're getting ready for bed on a cold winter night. It decides why not have your phone ring at 11 pm? It makes you think it'll be a quick consulting job. Not people trying to kidnap your ass at now 11:05 when it's freezing outside. 

Now you're in a tank top and silly valentine heart pajama pants, that your best friend gifted you, and tied by people you are NOT used to being tied up by. Sitting in the backseat of a car watching out the rear view window as the person, who you SHOULD NOT be used to being tied up by, chases the vehicle. Sadly, life decided this was a totally hilarious thing to do to Agatha one night.

"I can and will kick all your collective asses." Agatha growled at them. She fidgeted with the handcuffs, do break her thumb or not to? She had work in a few days like... she was supposed to be able to tumble out of a moving vehicle and go into a fight out of the gate. If she couldn't do it then... they'd find someone else or postpone the shoot. With James skulking around, nah. Not gonna miss the chance to help out Jane. To top it all off somehow they knew enough about her to tie up her legs too. The idea of beating people to a bloody pulp with her skull floated around a bit before she nixed it as too much of a headache.

"Miss Mad Hattie," the solemn looking asshat nodded at her, "we are in need of your services and... we're just worried that you might end up telling our competition our plan afterwards." Two guys on either side of her seemed to be taking his lead.

"Look douche, I'm a professional-ish person. Like I'd care?" Agatha held out the handcuffs, "off?"

Asshat douche shook his head, "I'm sure you'd care. Your boyfriend works for him."

"My boyfriend?" Her mind wandered over the possibilities, who the fuck?

"You know, 'M's art consultant? We're not blind Miss Mad Hattie."

Agatha leaned forward glaring at him, "Call me that one more time. Let's just see what happens."

"I understand you're upset, really, and I appreciate that, but we just cannot run the chance of consulting you and having it backfire."

"Oh so what's the plan? Hold me captive until your job is completed?"

She rolled her eyes at him before he chuckles, "no. We're thinking a little bit more long term. See, you are the best we've heard at... travel consulting. Thought we'd keep you around for a while until you've run out ideas or something didn't quite pan out the way you thought it would. Then we'd terminate the relationship."

"Right." He gave her the sleaziest smile, made her want to throw up. Agatha didn't have to solve riddles or find clues to understand exactly what he was saying. They didn't plan on letting her leave. 

Agatha relaxed, trying to get out now wasn't going to help too much. Between the person across from her and the handcuffs and rope around her ankles, she wasn't going to be getting anywhere fast, not unless he was distracted. "So, you know that guy isn't my boyfriend, right?" She smirked at him.

"That hardly matters anymore." 

"I'm curious, what exactly made ya think he was?" The man pulled out his cellphone.

"It wasn't that hard to figure out." He starts paging through his phone. Agatha starts to wiggle her feet trying to get out of the rope. As long as her feet were free she could control the fall just a little bit more and deal with the handcuffs later. "Dammit where is that picture?"

Picture?

She was more curious than she wanted to admit. What on earth was photographed to lead people to think she and Jack were together? Soft Jazz flowed from his phone, causing them both to jump.

"Hello?" He was hesitant to answer, but he seemed to relax and started nodding to whoever couldn't actually see him doing it. "Yes yes, got her right here. Smaller than I thought she'd be."

"Doom and mayhem, I promise you." Agatha shouted loud enough that she hoped she would be heard through the phone.

The guy shot her a glare and held it for a long time before shock and nervous laughter took over. "He just said, 'If Goldilocks doesn't mind her manners three bears are gonna come and take that little girl away.'"

Agatha tilted her head, "Who the fuck are you talking to anyway?" She eyed the phone, something felt off. 

"Just a guy back at the warehouse preparing your... stay." The guy gave her a dark greasy smirk. She leaned back and fidgeted with her feet again and watched as the roads went past. Round and round again.

"Didn't we already pass this street?" 

"We're just making sure we're not followed." The man shrugged. 

"That's stupid."

"Hey! We're the real professionals here! We know what we're doing."

A warehouse? And they were sure taking their sweet time getting there. Snow started to fall outside her window, at least when she jumped she'd have a little something to land in. "Almost there." The guy was looking out the window, they were getting close to a bridge, now or never. Agatha threw herself at the guy, head butting him in a quick moment. His nose spurted hot blood that splattered on her a little. She was sure she broke it, that guy wouldn't be seeing clearly for a bit. The others on the sides of her went to grapple, ending up pulling her pants down her hips just a little instead while she reached the door handle. 

It clicked and slide open but that moment was enough for them to get a hold of her again, the two now restraining her on their laps. A stream of cusswords coming from the guy across the way. "We should break her legs when we get there, she won't need them anymore anyway."

"Excuse me?!" Agatha shouted, struggling more against those holding her.

"Crossing the bridge." The driver called out, he actually sounded bored. She didn't know if she should panic they were crossing the bridge or insulted at his tone.

The man held his nose and leaned back trying to stop the blood from further running down and staining his shirt. 

"Sir?" The driver slowed down, sadly Agatha couldn't see anymore what was going on from her prone position. Douche turned around and looked out the window and gasped horrified. The car came to a stop. She felt the loosened rope slip a little 

"What is going on?!" He pulled out his phone and started dialing. 

"I'd like to repeat your question." Agatha pushed off the rope while the guy struggled to retighten it. Quickly she kicked him in the face as there was a tapping on the window down by her feet. Struggling to look up she saw Sebastian, tapping on the glass with the butt of a gun. 

"Go!" Douche called out to his driver who already had his hands raised as someone else was standing next to their door.

"Unlock it." the muffled voice at the driver's side shouted. With a damning click the car door opened as Sebastian bid it. He pulled the door out of the way before reaching in, offering Agatha a hand.

She sat up awkwardly. This wasn't exactly a rescue mission she'd expect. Quickly she glanced towards the warehouse, the burning, flaming warehouse. "The fuck dude?"

Sebastian helped her climb out of the car and started to pick the lock to her handcuffs. "You could've gotten out of these easily. Never be without a lock pick set."

"Wise words to live by, I'll make sure never to leave the house without them, even in my pajamas." Her teeth chattered as the wind cut through her clothes and the snow beneath her feet sent burning pain up her legs.

Sebastian rose a phone to his lips, he was on speaker, "Got her." 

"Near the entrance?" Jack's voice, her eyes widened staring at it. Really? 

Sebastian leaned forward looking into the car. "Yes, shall I send the rest of them forward?"

There was a long silence. "Walk them up here, James wants to have a word with all involved."

Agatha swayed on her feet, "I'm sure he already knows, but apparently they were consulting me for something that was against 'M'." Her voice was shaking from the cold that seeped deeper into her skin.

"Oh?" There was a soft voice in the background, James.

"I thought you said you were a professional." Asshat Douche hissed at her from the car.

"Oh and kidnapping me means you get to keep client confidentiality?!" Agatha cackled through her teeth chattering.

"Out." Sebastian waved his gun after hanging up with James and Jack. The attendants in the car followed his direction, holding their hands up. They shut the car door behind them and as they walked away Agatha started to follow. "No. You stay here." Sebastian held up a hand to stop her.

"You're kidding." Sebastian raised a gun at her.

"Fine, whatever." Agatha sat on the hood of the car, it was still warm under her as she pulled her feet up. The car beeped locked under her as they all continued to walk away. If she ever met the driver again she would have personal beef with him. She sat there curled up watching the flames rise from the building. Where the hell was the fire department? 'M' is for money she supposed. 

She hoped that they would hurry up and give her a ride home. It was freaking late.

A silhouette in red started rushing from the warehouse, passing Sebastian and company. Jack. Agatha groaned, here comes the yelling. The threats, the 'if you wanted to disappear I could help you out ya know?' Or something else along those lines. She watched with passive eyes, why was he rushing so fast? The cold nipped and made her skin sting, and the car was cooling down quickly. 

"Agatha!" Jack called out, he huffed and puffed stream of white smoke into the frozing night air. 

"Jack." Agatha nodded a greeting.

"Why the fuck are you so calm right now?" He shouted as he reached her.

"Well I'm safe. I am hoping I get to hurt another one of those guys. But all in all Jack, I'm just tired. This was been a weird night. I've never had a client try and kidnap me before."

"Really." He stared at her, his mouth pulled into a disgusted frown, "after everything, that's what you have to say?!"

"Thank you?" Agatha tilted her head, what did he want from her? 

"You are an idiot. When a client comes to you in the middle of the night you make sure your field is controlled by yourself. You don't go out to where they have a car and more power and more ability to do stuff than you!"

"Oh yes, sorry, my TOTAL fucking bad. How could I have forgotten criminal politics oh so easily! Dude I've been at this a while and this is the first time anyone has done something like this."

Jack leaned onto the hood of the car, practically snarling, "This is the first time I know of where you really had a name for yourself and were going to set up meetings vs people coming and hanging out with you in some little mamby pamby bakery!"

"Hey! That bakery was like a home!" Agatha poked his chest and immediately recoiled back into the little ball of warmth she was trying to create.

"Dammit Agatha, don't you get it. I-We... all- could've lost you." His hands balled into fists on the car next to her. 

She sighed looked at him, "yeah I get it. I'm sorry, it was a stupid mistake. I'll try to remember to keep my guard up around everyone."

"Especially-"

"Especially you." Agatha sighed looking over his shoulder at the flaming building.

"No." She glanced back at him. "Especially around anyone who might take you away from me." Jack reached up and gently placed his warm hand on her neck, she leaned into it. She didn't want to but it was so warm. "I should wring your neck here and be done with it." Agatha chuckled even as his hand squeezed the side of her neck lightly.

She looked up into his frowning face, his red eyes looked hard and tired. "I would run, really I would, it's just too freaking cold right now." The look softened, still there wasn't his usual glint. 

"Come here." He stepped back, she found herself pouting at the heat that moved away. Hesitantly she stepped down off the hood and approached him. "Stand on my feet and face that way." She sighed in resignation and did as she was told. He pulled his jacket forward, "hold these." She did, leaning backwards, feeling his warmth enveloping her, breathing in his warm smell. She wiggled back into him. "Nice pajamas by the way." He rested his chin on top of her head, watching the warehouse burning.

"Thanks." The tension she didn't know was building in her shoulders relaxed. She could give herself this a little bit.

"So I think we have a problem Agatha," Jack tilted his head so his lips brushed against her hair as he spoke.

"Hm?" the heat was leading her into a sleepy haze.

"I think you're becoming my weakness." His voice was a hushed whisper.

Agatha shook her head at him, pulling the jacket tighter and him closer, "shut up."

Old story I wrote - and the picture I commissioned for it 

[kurtty-drabbles]

You´re a witchy, Kitty au (part 16)

N/A: Kidnap time. And this is the penultimate chapter. More fluffy on the Maximoffs Twins because of fuck canon.

@djinmer4 @dannybagpipesarecalling @bamfoftheundead

Wanda is using magic to make a hairstyle to match to her wedding dress, sadly, her magic does not update on newest styles and she ended up like "I love Lucy" and is not a look that she was hoping for nor one she wants and judge by her twin expression, not even him likes such look.

"Wanna help?" Pietro offers once he stops laughing and Wanda sighs and let him do her hair and remembers a time when her mother, Marya Maximoff, their real mother and that´s all that matters, had trouble with her hair and it was Pietro who used to help with that problem. No one would believe now, but little Pietro wanted to be a hairstyle designer, but, fates have different plans to him.

"See?  much better" Pietro brags and Wanda sighs as her twin is right and instead, she decides to repeat a question she made when she and Vision start to date.

"How do you feel about Vision?"

"Look, I´d not like robots...bad story with them, yes, Vision is cool and treats you right, but, I still don´t like robots..."

"Can you accept Vision as a family member?"

"I can, but, please, Wanda, I´d not like robots and those bad memories and feelings won´t vanish just because Vision is a good guy...Can you accept this?"

"Of course, you´re my Twin and my only family ...all I´m asking is for you and Vision get along. I´m not heartless to ignore your pain nor nightmares and me and Vision will be understanding of that as long you too are  understanding of our relationship"

"Yeah, I can do that"

_____________________________________________________________________________________

Kitty is on her sit as Agatha announced the bride is about to come to the aisle, but, as Magneto tries to break in the wedding, much to Pietro´s chagrin and Wanda´s and well, everyone else, this moment was postponed as some X-men are fighting Magneto as well some Avengers and this leads Kitty to be left on her own.

Amanda, along with the mesmerized Dr Rory, makes her move as Kitty is talking with the Rabbi (oh right, Scarlet Witch is Jewish and Romani too) who is explaining who this is the X-men normal.

Agatha is no way near to the girl. She was with Wanda making sure Scarlet Witch don´t murder Magneto(is not fitting for a bride to kill her biological father today) and Amanda saw a nice opening and went for it.

"Kitty Pryde?" Amanda speaks using her strength to make her illusion be stronger enough to fool Kitty, she´s good with magic(too good, to the point some other witches are talking about her future and how they lament she´s wasting time with the X-men, well, that´s a polarized opinion as some of the witches support the X-men and think Kitty will grow in this group) "Are you really Kitty Pryde?"

Kitty offers a gentle smile and nods and speaks with a bright way. "Yes, I´m Kitty Pryde, and this is Rabbi Abadi," said Rabbi waves his hand a bit nervous as he can hear Cyclops giving orders on the other said of the mansion to take Magneto out of the way.

Amanda clapped her hands together and gushes at this. Perfect acting, if Amanda can say so. "Oh my god, I´m a fan. It was true you defeat Selene?"

Kitty chuckles a bit awkward. "Well, I had lots of help, not sure I couldn´t have done on my own. Storm and Nightcrawler were a good help, so, the credit goes to them too"

"Oh, of course, say, would you mind if I take a picture with you? My mother is a fan and my son" she points at Doug who looks nervous and far away from his parents as possible and back to Kitty. "is also a fan but really shy. Can I take a picture?"

Kitty looks at the Rabbi who chuckles and promises he´s better as the shouts stop and Magneto is finally out of the propriety. Kitty is not really keen with fans, Nightcrawler, her total opposite, has many fans(fangirls, pretty women that adore him and aren´t shy about it much to Kitty´s mortification and even jealousy) and takes selfies when the mood strikes(again, Kurt knows how to deal with his fans, but, makes a point in making his fans understand he wants privacy too)

"Ok, one selfie. Just one" Kitty instructed and Amanda nods as she takes her camera and takes a photo, but, instead of a pretty smile or a funny face, Kitty is knocked out and Rabbi Abadi is in a total trance as if nothing could bother him.

"Rory, take the girl...she´s ugly and heavy" Amanda has to say those words as still stinging her ego that Kurt picked this plain girl over Amanda and decides to be as petty as possible.

She teleports Rory, Kitty and herself away from the X-men who are back and left Doug behind, if the X-men go faulting Doug and kill him, well, Amanda won´t lose an ounce of sleep.

__________________________________________________________________________________________

Raven Darkholme was in the scene and watches as Kitty Pryde, the famous witch of Agatha´s school, getting knocked down so easily and Raven is disappointed, but, then again she´s young and still has lots to learn.

Now. She thinks. How to make this situation favourable in my way?

________________________________________________________________________________________

The Rabbi only comes back to his sense when Jean, using her powers carefully, manages to wake him up and the man is clearly confused by the time lost. "What happened?" and Jean informed what she knows and the man pales.

"Oh no...what happened to that lady?" he begins muttering something in Hebrew until he calms himself to speak in English again. "Kitty was here ...explaining how Magneto and X-men is a complex thing, anyway, a lady with blonde hair arrives and asked for a selfie...and then...I´m here talking with you" and those words hit everyone hard.

Agatha is the one to look at Kurt with accusatory eyes, one thing that the man can´t ignore and does not accept. "Blonde woman? A Szardos?"

"You still think I´m like them no matter what? You know what, I have no time for this...Katzchen is in trouble and I´ll save her while you point at me" Kurt explains and his eyes look at Doug who is under Psylocke and Ororo´s custody.

The boy is confused and at the verge of crying. And Once Kurt arrives, no spell needed to enhance his intimidation factor, the boy spills everything he knows.

"I´m from Hellfire, this blonde woman is Amanda...she and her brother fuck every day in the classroom...The White Queen took me as Amanda´s help" and more is giving as Psylocke can offer some sympathise for the boy as he does not want to do this and had no clue Amanda would do such thing, yet, naivety is often deadly in this world and her sympathies won´t let Doug scoop free.

Agatha looks up as a Raven leaves the tree and morphs into Mystique, Agatha can only frown at the sight, while Wanda is clearly counting until 100 to not lose her temper. Her father trying to bust in her wedding is one thing, but, kidnapping Kitty before the vows...Oh, Wanda is not happy.

"Hello, Son" Raven makes the reveal that is obvious to everyone even Kurt, however, it does not give her any warm welcome. "Looking for your soulmate? I know where Amanda took Kitty"

Questions are being made and Kurt will have to explain this, but, right now, is not the time. Wanda, with her eyes crimson, looks at Raven as a literal demon. "Tell me the truth" she speaks and well, everyone lives to regret as Raven is telling the entire truth about herself.

Vision was silent during the whole ordeal. He asks the Rabbi if he can quickly marry him and Wanda now as they´ll go right now and save Kitty Pryde, well, it wasn´t orthodox, but, sure the Rabbi can do a quick version as long Wanda and Vision return to the wedding.

Kurt Szardos wants to say he can save Kitty on his own, but, if they´re using Kitty for what Kurt fears then yes, Kurt will have to swallow his pride and accept help.

______________________________________________________________________________________________

Margalia is happy that Amanda brought the unconscious Kitty to the sacred location. "Amanda, my daughter, all is forgiven" and this phrase beams Amanda´s soul. "This will be a perfect sacrifice to the Dark Pharaoh...Well done"

"Anything for you, mother"

Dr Rory is still completely under her control and Stefan is still irking by the scene of the love of his life being so cosy with a total stranger as well the fact he´s useless here.

Stefan wishes he could be a gallant hero like Kurt was in their games in a very distant memory of a very forgotten childhood.

[boogiewrites]

Choking On Sapphires 81

Characters: Alfie Solomons x Genevieve (OFC)

Title & Song: Mardy Bum

Summary: Alfie is dealing with Gen's condition in his own way, by being an overbearing arse. Being blind to his behavior and the problems it's causing for everyone, the women of the house decide to do something to make him improve his coping techniques. Song is Mardy Bum by The Arctic Monkeys.

Warnings/Tags: Language. References to assault and violence. PTSD. Suffering/Physical Pain. Fluff. Mad Alfie. Grumpy Alfie. Tommy Shelby. Soft Gen. Aggie getting angry. (Like a teddy bear with a knife she is.)

Click on my icon then go to my Mobile Masterlist in my bio for my other works and chapters. (Had to do this since Tumblr killed links, sorry.) Please like, comment and reblog if you enjoyed it! It helps out us writers A LOT!

Aggie stands in the doorway and sees Alfie nodding off again while sitting up in bed. He had done this constantly the past few days, his body and mind begging for sleep, but his heart not allowing it. He wouldn’t let Genevieve out of his sight. He wouldn’t sleep, wouldn’t eat or do anything but hold watch over her like a dragon guarding his treasure. He was scaly and red just like the comparison, his words equal to fire as his mood was poorly to understate its severity.

He kept her company through her fits in her sleep, the same cycles of active dreams, both good and bad and the latter only increasing in frequency. Every time she would become restful, he became fearful. He worried her lack of upset was a sign she was slipping away again and he’d move to hold her if he wasn’t already, waking her and causing her pain. But despite the unhealthy paranoia he was revealing in this situation, every time Gen would be awake for a few moments, she would meet his gaze and gently touch his face before resting her head back against him with a smothered sigh. Never had so little of an acknowledgment given him so much feeling.

Aggie could see the signs of him breaking, knowing he would only get worse if he kept up this grueling schedule. It wasn’t only him she was worried about. Once Gen was well enough to get up and move around, and she was hoping that today could be the day for it, she knew he wouldn’t be in any state to help her much. The lack of rest had taken its toll on his body, looking and moving like a much older man. He needed to be strong for her in all aspects. Two people falling apart simultaneously would do no good to anyone. Especially with how Gen had responded to similar trauma in the past. Aggie was worried she’d act out. Alfie would have to serve as a hand of the law and hold fast rules of the house as a man if she did. If he was weak and desperate it would only lead to trouble.

With the appearance of Tommy, Arthur, and the children in tow that morning Aggie saw her chance to get Alfie back into working order.

“Morning Agatha.” Tommy’s cool voice coasted out with a nod of his head. Claire was already distracting the children with the maids and Arthur as they led them to the nursery.

“Forgive me for not exchanging pleasantries Mr. Shelby but as you can imagine things have been terribly tense around here as of late.” Aggie's tense face tells him all he needs to know.

“I do not have to imagine it Agatha, I’ve been through it myself.” He gives her an empathetic hand to her hunched shoulder.

“Might I ask you for a favor sir? One that might make Mr. Solomons angry but I’m at the end of my rope with him truth be told.” she lets out an exhalation, a bit of pleading in her eyes.

“You would not be the first and you will not be the last.” He muses. “What do you need?”

“Mr. Solomons is being most difficult. He won’t sleep or eat or leave. We’re more than capable of caring for Genevieve here but he refuses to let anyone near her, save Claire and me. Even to us, he won’t meet our eyes. Just watches over her like some gargoyle.” She answers with clear exasperation. “I was wondering if you thought you could talk him into letting us handle her and get her out and have him get some much-needed rest? He needs to be able to function as he had been. This seclusion is doing neither of them any good. I am relieved that you showed up as I was going to try to get her to the garden today.”

“I will make no promises Agatha but I will try. He’s a most stubborn man.”

“Thank you Mr. Shelby.” She responds with a bow. “Now I’m going to go check on the children.” She dismisses herself.

As Tommy makes his way down the hall toward Gen's room, he hopes she will be in good enough shape to argue with Alfie on the point of leaving her. He knew deep down that he also wouldn’t be leaving if he were in his position. He’d be drunk off his arse and just as mad as Alfie. But he didn’t have to know that.

He opens the door slowly, finding Alfie glaring directly into his eyes from across the large, gilded room. Tommy keeps his characteristic cool and walks towards him, not breaking his attempts at defended the sleeping woman next to him. Tommy blinks once, a polite bowing out and looks to Genevieve. She did look better. Under two weeks past since the incident and her color was coming back slightly in her cheeks, the bruises not as deep but now a vast array of colors and shapes all over her body.

“She looks better.” Tommy states with a flat delivery.

Alfie says nothing, only turns to look at her himself. Did she look better? All he saw was the hand shaped bruises on her body, the marsh and sea colors growing across her skin as they healed. But only superficially. It was hard to call her better when he’s spent the last few hours holding her hands to the bed to keep her from hurting herself.

“But you look like shit, Solomons.” He says with no smirk, eyebrow set in a nonaggressive stance.

“Oi you can fuckin’... piss off mate.” His low and ragged voice growls as he points a red, splotchy hand to the door.

“Might I suggest something? From a man that’s been through this... from both sides?” He tries a gentler approach, seeing the anger in his business partners eyes that he knew was only hurt disguised.

“Fuck no. Get out with ya so called fuckin' help. I’ve got her, yeah? Don’t need your fuckin advice. Ya couldn’t keep your wife alive why would I wanna listen to you?” He spits venom and Tommy sees now what Agatha was talking about. If he was in his right mind he wouldn’t have said that, but it didn’t help the upset it made bloom in Tommy’s chest.

“Look Alfie. You acting out isn’t going to help anyone. Certainly not you yeah? And not her.” He points to Genevieve laying with a flinching face in her sleep. “You think you’re taking care of her but you’re not. You’ll break soon. Mark my words. If you keep this up. Men, those like us weren’t meant to live this way. We can’t become obsessed with the things we swear we’ll protect. There has to be a line of self-preservation.”

“‘At’s fuckin rich comin' from you, Tommy.” He scoffs.

“When she needs you, truly. Her mind and body feeling not her own, you will need to know yourself with no room for question to help her. I’ve been where she is... where she’s goin’. It’s going to be a different sort of difficult now. And you need to be on your fucking toes for it. She was a hellcat before and it will only be worse with this medicine and her head.” He keeps his words stern but even. Wanting to show his seriousness but not have Alfie pull a gun he was sure was waiting just out of sight.

“I am bloody here. Ya got eyes innit ya?”

“Agatha has told me the truth whether you will or not.” He quirks an eyebrow at the man with a brow so low and hard his eyes were almost out of sight.

“None of them know anyfing. They let this happen, why the fuck would I trust them now?”

“No one LET it happen Alfie. It just happened. You were the one who pointed out the hypocrisy to me for us to be upset over things we deserve, things that happen to men like us. This is one of those things.”

Alfie is quiet and is eerily still, staring into Tommy.

“I believe you should let her out of your sight and get some air today. I’m here, Arthur and the children. Do her a world of good to see them.”

“Why does she have to be out of my sight?”

“Because you need to fucking sleep, Alfie. You look like hell and at least one of you need to have it together. And you’re fuckin’ fallin’ apart. I say that as a friend, as someone who cares about Genny. I don’t want her being looked after by a mad man who can’t even take care of himself. You need to get your life back in order Alfie. Falling apart helps no one. I’ve fuckin' done it. Didn’t help a fucking thing.” he says with an aggravated shake of his head.

Alfie huffs and then lets out a long sigh.

“I know she’s got her little potions and that, yeah? Take one. It’ll give you a few hours. She’ll be with us. She won’t be out of anyone’s sight.”

“Why are you tryin' to put me under? How do I know you aren’t trying something ya bloody gypsies.” He mutters with narrowed eyes, showing his growing paranoia.

“Because I went after her that day too. Because I was here to support your fucking proposal. Because I helped your men burn down half the bloody city.” He replies with an expression now showing his thinning patience.

“You weren’t there. I dinnit see you do nuffin'.” He retorts purely to only be difficult.

“Take it or fucking not Alfie, I don’t care. You’re being a right pain in the arse to everyone around you and will have everyone hating you again soon if you don’t recover. So get some fucking sleep yeah?” Tommy tells with a tight jaw and clear exasperation.

“I won’t be able to fuckin' sleep without it.” He grumbles and admits. Alfie blinks slowly, still glaring. “But you betta fuckin' swear it. If ANYFING happens to her you wake me!” he says angrily. Deep down, in his not sleep deprived functioning of his brain he knew Tommy was right. He didn’t have to admit it aloud though.

Gen stirs at the raising of his voice. “Mmmph.” she lets out, brow furrowing.

“Go on and get the old birds then.” Alfie pushes towards the door to send Tommy on his way. “Mornin’, love.” he says with a tone so distinctly opposite of his words with Tommy that the other man knew at least it was love that was causing him to act so out of character.

------

He had helped her get up and bathe, her sleepy face showing an acute lack of reaction to her environment that left him uneasy. But he knew the medicine was still in her system, her not having grown a resistance to the dose. He sends her off with her freshly washed hair and in a new gown before doing as he did her, and try to take care of himself. He takes a short bath, a quick scrub in all the ripe places before pulling on a loose shirt and trousers to lie down in, just in case he was needed he’d already be dressed.

Alfie begrudgingly takes the tonic. Not even a full dose, just enough to let his mind shut up long enough for him to get to sleep. Tommy had only convinced him because, despite his onerous behavior, he knew he was right. Alfie wasn’t above taking advice when it came from someone who knew what they were talking about. He knew Tommy most certainly knew the situation he and Genevieve found themselves in. As he lay alone in the dim light and quiet hush of the room, behind the closed ornate door to the bedroom, he finally allowed himself to exhale. With a face that still said, piss off despite being alone, his deep crows feet, the rolling hills of his forehead and brow settle as he shuts his eyes. He should’ve expected the dreams to find him as they did. All bad, all bloody and bitter. There are the fields of bodies, the trenches in sight as the explosions and gunfire whip by him as he dives among the duckboards for cover. The muddy mazes and the makeshift wooden slats turn into a hallway as he scrambles. The screams and explosions change to the sounds Genevieve made the day they rescued her and he searches desperately for her in the dark. He hears her and cannot find her, he screams for her and fights against the nothingness that surrounds him. Suddenly the cries stop, he’s in his home int he city, charging up the newly varnished stairs to his room to find their mutual friends standing over an empty bed.

“I’m sorry.” They all murmur and look at him with pity.

He tastes blood in his mouth, still covered in the filth of the trenches from earlier, hands on the bed and hitting it as if it would make something happen.

“She fought so hard.” Aggie says, sobbing into Claire’s shoulder.

“It was so sudden.” Claire whispers, shaking her head.

“If only you’d been there.” Tommy says, glaring into him.

“We’ll never forgive you for this.” Arthur growls.

“I told you to treat her better.” Polly sneers.

Alfie pants and growls, looking at them with wild eyes and sweat soaked skin.

“She’s gone Alfie. She’s dead. Because of you. It’s all your fault. You miserable old cunt.” Claire spits at him. “You were supposed to protect her.”

“Why didn’t you save me Alfie?” he hears her voice from behind him as he pivots and stares, sprawled on the bed as she’s in the doorway. One of her indulgent long sheer gowns in white, flowing and light around her body, lit up like the sun. Her face is solemn and hurt, her voice so timid it burns his chest to hear it.

“I did. I tried, love. Fuck Genevieve, I tried. I’m sorry.” he rushes out as he scrambles to her and his hands go through her.

“I’m gone, Alfie.” she shakes her head.

“No, no, you can’t be.” his hands reach out to nothing as she starts to fade.

The accusations and reminders of Gen’s demise are all shouted at him as he keeps desperately grabbing and calling out for her. His body pushed so hard against the hurt that he wakes himself, half in and out of sleep, still heavy underneath the effects of the tonic. He finds himself thrashing and yelling in her bed, through instinct he looks for her near him, and when she is not there his half woke mind panics.

“No.” he chokes out, her absence telling him just like earlier that she was certainly dead. -------

The edges of her world were fuzzy. The pain in her body could be felt, but it was as if it were far away. She moves slowly, Arthur's arms on her gently as they make their way to a stone bench in the garden. He’s personally thrilled with her progress, recalling the state Tommy was in and how couldn’t even move in the beginning. Granted, she hadn’t had so many obvious injuries, but Polly had explained to him that the injuries inside someone can be far greater than the ones on the outside when it comes to the mind. That he knew what it was like to have your mind out to get you, and he had always looked at those suffering with pity and empathy ever since. His eyes for Gen were no different in the afternoon sun. He says sweet praise as she moves with a limp, her ankle on the verge of healing now.

“There she is now.” he declares with outstretched hands her hands rest over her thin white robe on her thighs as she sits up on her own. She was a bit wobbly, granted, but she was managing. Aggie stood behind her and kept watch that she would stay upright. Once they saw she was stable enough, Tommy brings out Charlie by the hand as he oh’s and ah’s at the seemingly giant pieces of the garden.

“There’s Auntie Genny now, eh?” Tommy says with a soft tone, holding the boy back from charging at her as he normally would. With a happy squeal, Gen raises her head towards the boy's noises and as he approaches she slowly recognizes her favorite small human. Arthur beams as a smile slowly comes across her face, albeit a sleepy one, but it was a good sign to be getting anything out of her at this point. After a brief kiss of cheeks, Tommy suggests Charlie pick his Auntie some flowers, eager to please and get his hands on the overwhelming amount of color surrounding him he happily bounds away. Gen watches him shrink and disappear behind a hedge, her smile faltering as she recalls her dream, a wrinkle of her nose and a mood swing takes her as she rests on her hand with a pained sigh, her eyes once again vacant.

“What is it Genny?” Arthur gruffs out, taking her hand and gently rubbing her back, stimulating her enough to meet his eyes.

“She can’t talk yet, dear.” Aggie says, pulling the pen and paper out of her apron pocket. “Here you go darling, would you like to try to talk to us a bit?” she asks with kind eyes, putting the pen in her hand for her. Her grip is shaky at first, but it does respond and Arthur doesn’t hide his relief that she’s able to do such a thing. At least her brain was sending out the orders, even if her body was slow to follow them.

“The children.” she writes, looking into the distance.

“They were excited to see you, eh?” Arthur happily chirps in his deep comforting voice. “Little Ruby is down for a nap, long drive ‘n that. Linda has Billy up at the farm, he wasn’t feelin’ up to it poor lad.” he explains.

Gen shakes her head, her eyes not meeting his.

“Oh don’t feel bad about it, love, he’s just got a bit of stomach upset. Probably got into the sweets behind our back again!” he says happily with a laugh.

Gen slowly reaches out and puts a weak grip on Aggie’s forearm, the other hand lifting the paper and pushing it towards her again.

“She’s been asking about children after waking up.” Aggie says quietly, her hand tender on Gen’s face as she sees an unexplained pain behind her unfocused eyes.

“What’s she on about?” Arthur faces Aggie, but keeps his eyes on the disheartened Gen.

“We don’t know.” Aggie let’s out a sigh.

“Look here’s little Charlie. Here’s the boy now.” Arthur says trying to distract her.

Charlie had been blessed with his mother’s patience, as he surely hadn’t gotten it from his father. They sit in the garden, Charlie babbling to a reluctantly willing participant in Gen about flowers. She takes them one by one into her hands, forming a bouquet slowly, Arthur watching her receive and follow commands from the enthusiastic boy and rubbing her back as she was able to grip and respond with nods as the child spoke.

“She’s doing better.” Claire says, standing at the foot of the stairs with Aggie, watching the picturesque scene go down, Gen with a peaceful look on her face, Charlie happily babbling and tottering around in the high grass and jumping after butterflies.

“She’s asking about children again.” Aggie frowns. “But other than that yes.”

“The doctor told us there would be confusion and even hallucinations. For what she’s been through the subject doesn’t surprise me. Tommy mentioned it to me in confidence as well. Says he saw all sorts of things.”

“Well, that’s just wonderful.” Aggie says with heavy sarcasm that she doesn’t usually explore. “How are we to know if she’s doing any better in her mind if she’s bloody hallucinating.” she groans.

“It’s still too soon to tell. Once she’s off the medicine we’ll be able to know for sure.”

“But when will that be? Maybe never!” Aggie huffs.

“Don’t let Alfie’s poor mood rub off on you Ags.” Claire chuckles and pats her back.

“My apologies dear this whole situation is just a bit... overwhelming.” she admits her hands wringing together with worry despite the clear progress being made in front of her.

“I know. But we can do this.” Claire nods confidently. “Let’s try to enjoy it moment by moment shall we? Look at her, not pained in appearance or sound, following commands, responding, sitting like a little flower in her lovely white robes among her favorite things.” Claire’s hand sweeps out. “Our friends are here, she’s here, Alfie has finally shut the fuck up and went to sleep.” she laughs and Aggie grins.

“Thank Christ for that.” she rolls her eyes. “Bloody menace that man is. I thought he’d be the one to be the most helpful but I feel as if we’re babysitting him as well.”

“I believe he’s unaccustomed to such emotions. Despite his insistence that this is something that happens to people like them, I believe he’s racked with guilt. With rest, I believe he’ll get better. He loves her. Let’s try to remember that. It’s out of love and even if he is a clever one, he’s still just a man.” Claire says with a sigh.

“Not to us. He’ll be her husband, father of her children, man of the house. His name will be on everything. I just want him to be strong enough for her is all.” She rubs the bridge of her nose. “I pray he is but-“

Just then a roar erupts from inside the house. The unmistakable boom of Alfie echoing off the halls and out of the wall of open windows and patio doors to everyone in the garden.

“Fucks sake.” Claire groans, already having to eat her words.

“MR. SOLOMONS!” The girls inside call out over and over. “SHE’S ONLY IN THE GARDEN SIR!”

“WHAT DID YOU DO WITH HER? WHERE DID YOU TAKE MY GENNY?!” his voice shouts with malice spat at the innocent and fearful faces of the maids.

“SHE'S NOT DEAD SHES IN THE GARDEN!” One squeals, being shoved out of the way as he barges through every door in the house.

“Fucking hell.” Claire moans, moving fast up the stairs. “What the fuck is going on?” Claire demands from a scurrying maid.

“I don’t know!” She says with watery eyes from what were surely hurtful words from Alfie. “He took the lady’s tonic and laid down, then he started screaming and fighting in his sleep when he woke up and kept doing it! I don’t know! It’s like he’s on drugs!” One answers with shaking hands.

“The vial.” Aggie replies and hitches up her skirt to chase after the sounds in Genevieve’s wing of the house. “The man only drinks ceremonial wine and he’s gone and taken belladonna.”

With understanding clear on her face Claire laments and posts up on the back patio, ready for him to come her way. He’s either taken too much or doesn’t know he’s awake she assumes. Of course, he’d freak out when he woke and she wasn’t there.

“Alfie! She’s in the garden. GARDEN, ALFIE! GEN IS IN THE GARDEN!” Aggie shouts as he turns to see her in the doorway of Gen’s studio.

“SHE’S DEAD, WHAT DID YOU FUCKERS DO WITH HER BODY?!” he charges towards her.

She moves out of the way wisely. “GARDEN!” Aggie says and shoves him down the hall. “I see why he doesn’t bloody drink now.” she murmurs to herself, chasing after the stumbling lion as he slides down the hallway in his socks.

“C’MERE ALFIE!” Claire shouts, getting his attention, seeing in his face that he wasn’t all there. She herds him down the hall to the back patio where he sees her. Same as in his dream. All white and fluffy and soft, a face of confusion as their eyes lock across the path.

“Genny.” a whine escapes him as Arthur moves to protect her, he didn’t know what was going on, just that Alfie was acting like a rabid animal.

“Ah-?” she whispers, slowly moving towards him, holding her robe up and her face full of concern, the most alert anyone had seen her all day.

“Gen...Gen..” he says, powering down, his feet hitting heavy against the light stone landing, the vison of her, what he thought was a ghost making his head spin. The race of his blood, the haze his mind was in, the lack of sleep and the culmination of stress, thinking his love dead all hit him as he takes one more step and collapses against the ground like a tranquilized beast. Everyone stops and stares.

Claire is the first to get over the shock and rush his way, motioning her arm to Aggie as she comes through the doors. “He’s passed out the absolute ninny.” she rolls her eyes.

“What the fuck is this?” Tommy says rounding the corner and Arthur is still by the hobbling Gen’s side.

“Bad reaction to the sleep tonic I imagine.” Claire sighs, rolling him and propping him up, one of the male staff members coming to help her hoist him up.

“I’d say.” the maid's murmurs amongst themselves.

“Get her back into bed with him. I’ll not have this circus erupting again.” Claire orders.

“I only wanted him to get some rest.” Aggie pouts.

“You didn’t know he’d react this way, Agatha. It’s fine. As this beast likes to say, these things happen.” Claire grunts as she helps carry him back to their bed. “If he can’t handle a little of bubbies potion I see why he doesn’t drink now.” She snarks.

-----

Genevieve sits up in bed of her own accord for the first time since coming home. She sits with timid body language, hands in her lap as she keeps her eyes on the snoring man next to her.

“Perhaps opium would’ve been a better choice.” Tommy smirks as he stands with his hands in his pockets, Claire and Aggie rolling their eyes his way.

“At least he wouldn’t have broken the vase if he was on opium.” Aggie protests.

Claire grins at Aggie who was entirely over Alfie’s wild antics the past few days. “Best he stays away from anything now. Except her I suppose.” Claire pats Genevieve’s leg covered by her plush duvet as she ignores the conversation around her and watches the nuance of Alfie’s lip blubbing in his sleep. She reaches out, having grown impatient to touch him even though they had all been keeping watch only a matter of minutes. Everyone watches her with bated breath as her hand reached out, body turned just slightly which was a feat in itself, as she touched his face.

“Ah.” she whispers, leaning closer to him, fingers carding through his now fluffy and unkempt hair, long pieces across his forehead that reminded her of the feelings he used to bring out in her with his moments of unintentional boyish charm.

His strong sloped nose twitches, hearing his back crack and pop as he arches it and grunts. “Pet?” he murmurs, hand reaching up to touch hers, wondering if everything had been a bad dream for a blissful moment in time before opening his eyes. But when he accepts that he is in indeed in the less than perfect reality when Gen’s watercolor splotched soft face comes into focus. Neck still wearing a necklace of bruises, braces on fingers that he now felt under his hand as he gently kisses her palm and sighs. “What are you doin’ up, love? What ya need?” he begins before slowly sitting up himself.

Her face smiles and he gives her a sleepy one back, finding brief solace in her happiness to look at him still despite being a man, and men had done those terrible things to her. Once he sits up his eyes move away from her, and his eyes go wide, chin pushed into his neck as his face moves into a sharp scowl. “What in the fuckin' hell is this?” he asks looking at the people surrounding the bed. “Some fuckin' rest I’ll be gettin' with the lot of you fuckin hoverin’ like fuckin’ fly’s.” he complains loudly, lips pursed as he meets their eyes.

“He doesn’t remember.” Claire smirks.

“Remember what?” he barks.

Gen lets out a small huff of a laugh that takes all his attention.

“Was that a laugh? Ya havin’ a laugh are ya?” a falsely threatening brow but a smile on his face for the happy sound from her makes him put his arm around her and let her lie against him. “What’s your old man done so I can do it again if it makes you laugh, love.” he chuckles into her hair as she resumes her kitten-like behavior and nuzzles into his side.

“You had a bad reaction to the sleep tonic you took,” Claire explains. “You didn’t know what was a dream and what was reality and you stormed through the house shouting about her being dead and then passed out when you saw her in the garden.” The superior feeling Claire had to finally have one over on Alfie was clear in her taunting face.

“I fuckin’ wot? No I dinnit.” he denies, shaking his head, voice gruff and defensive.

“We all saw it.” Tommy adds.

“Well it’s your fault innit!” he says with a broad swipe of his big paw of a hand towards the smug looking man.

“How was I to know you couldn’t hold your drugs?” he gives a subtle grin.

“I don’t do that shite for a reason, yeah? It’s fuckin’ awful that stuff.”

“Well don't take belladonna again.” Aggie scolds with a shake of her head. “You scared the wits out of the maids.”

“Eh.” he shrugs. “Best they get a backbone yeah?” his tone was still defensive and everyone could see it on his face. He was a bit embarrassed. Gen puts her hand on his stomach and rubs the softness that lies beneath the linen of his shirt as she listened to his voice, that boom, and power that made her shut her eyes and know things were okay.

“You best get a backbone.” Aggie retorts, crossing her arms.

“Excuse you?” Alfie laughs.

“I’m serious! You’ve scared Genevieve, screaming and then passing out and calling her name. Then the maids, and us with your loud arse stumbling around the house like a bloody bull.” her voice has bite and Alfie’s tilted head shows his surprise.

“Agatha, love, I didn’t know you were so bitter.”

“Not bitter just tired, Alfie.” she murmurs. “I don’t want to have to worry about you. You’ve been a fucking mess since she’s been home and I don’t want you acting like a boy. She needs a man. We all need a strong man to be there for her. And you’ve been nothing but another burden in your behavior. Acting like everyone is out to get you in this house. Acting like you’re the only one that cares about her or can care for her. You aren’t the only one affected by this and it’s time you realized that.”

Alfie blinks slowly, Claire wearing a proud look on her face. “Language Aggie.” he chuckles.

“Well I’m very fucking serious!” she says with straight posture and furrowed brow.

“Thank you for sharing your feelings then Agatha.” Alfie gives her a nod, trying not to grin at the entirely nonthreatening angry face the older woman was wearing.

“I also agree with that. You can’t stay here holed up as you have been. There’s proof it’s making you mad now.” Claire snarks.

“What do you think, love?” he softly asks Gen, a scapegoat for his behavior he thinks. But she’s already asleep on his chest. “Oh fuckin’ ‘ell look at her.” he sighs, fingers stroking her hair softly. “How can I want to leave this?” he mutters before kissing her hair.

“You don’t have to want to. You have to. You have a business. People are going to talk if you just fuck off to stay at home. They’ll think you’re weak, Alfie.” Tommy says.

He knew he wasn’t wrong. “Fuckin’ up me arse the lot of ya.” he grumbles.

“We’re going to be if you don’t start getting out of this bed and work on being yourself again. She needs you to be you so she can remember how to be herself.” Claire says, leaning forward and speaking intensely with eye contact to Alfie’s still hesitant eyes. “Your fucking legs are going to stop working if you stay in here with her much longer like this.” she says with more humor, pinching his shin.

Alfie sighs, kissing Gen's forehead. “I’m not doin’ it because ya tellin’ me to. Let me make that fuckin’ clear.” he points at each with a low brow. “But for her. She needs someone out there to control things. People are gonna talk 'bout her. She’s got more to lose than me right now. And I will admit though, right, that I don’t wanna be shoutin’ and actin’ like some fuckin’ drunk in me own house in front of people.” he grunts.

“Whatever you have to tell yourself, Alfie.” Claire groans. “We just need you to trust us and let her have her space. She can’t become dependent on you either. It’s not good for either of you.”

“Yeah.” he mumbles. “Not no little pups no more are we love?” he sighs and kisses her head. “Can’t stay in the love bubble forever as you say.” he continues speaking to her despite her state of consciousness. “She’d want me back out there.” he admits.

“Yes. Yes she would.” Claire nods enthusiastically. “She would want you healthy, handling your business. She wouldn’t want you to decline because of her.”

“‘N today was fuckin’ decline, innit?” he groans and rubs his head.

“Most certainly. You really showed your arse today Alfie.” Aggie says still pouting and peeved.

“Alright Ags. Christ.” he chortles. “We’ll take it slow today, yeah? Call up Ollie and have ‘im over for tea. We’ll figure this out.” he answers quietly with authority as he looks down at Genevieve. “We’ll get back on track tomorrow. ‘Cause I feel right pissed wif ‘is in me system still. Fuckin’ embarrassin’.” he admits and shakes his head. “One day at time, yeah?” he speaks softly, kissing her hair again and taking a deep breath of her lavender scent. “Same as you little flower. Not gonna block the sun for ya to bloom with my big loud arse around all the time.” he beams and shuts his eyes and she mewls under the contact, nose mushed into his side. “One day at a time, love.”

Please like, comment and reblog if you enjoyed it! It helps out us writers A LOT!

@jaegeeeeer @cosettewinchester @lookuptheskyisfalling-blog@brianaisasongbird @cry5t4l-w4rri0r @jess2464 @hardygal69 @thegarrisonpublichouse @a-flock-of-angry-pigeons @pootle @negansdirtygirl22 @musingsby-night @shine-dont-shadow @inkinterrupted @vale0413 @emerald-bijou @elaenom @give-jack-a-lightsaber @ultrablackwidower @tinastarkandco @arrowswithwifi @marvelgirl7 @they-are-not-just-stories   @ugly-crying-over-bucky-barnes @alitheamateur @gold-trashbag

[writingwitchly]

Fate knows how to be cruel

JILY CHALLENGE | October 2018 | angst | @wizardingworldwaitforme vs. @lovesickjily​

@jilychallenge prompt: “I didn’t expect you to wait forever. I just hoped…” au where lily breaks up with james because he is being attacked for dating a muggleborn, they later meet at an order meeting during the war and he is engaged to someone else

Word count: 9.4k (yeah, i’m proud)

Warnings: A LOT OF SERIOUS SH*T, PLEASE BE READY. death, blood, angst, language, etc.

A/N: I. DON’T. KNOW. 

***

Her diminished pupils, flooded in the last half-hour, were now dryly scanning the broken reflection that defied her.

Her intense green eyes, usually praised as very attractive, had become two dark pits, surrounded by red, tense skin. From her mouth, reduced to a pale split line, the rests of her anguish were escaping under the form of convulsive sighing, of air that her lungs did not manage to catch. The red maine she had inherited from her mother was plastered on her wet forehead, rebelling itself on some places by sticking out in messy knots. Her grayish cheeks were the vision of sickness itself, a sickness that comes from deep down in the chest, that roots itself cruelly in the flesh of the heart.

The cracked mirror, result of a very violent waving of her wand, was hanging loosely on the wall, throwing disdainfully at her tired body this vision of herself she had never adopted before.

Some months ago, nobody would have believed it possible for one of Hogwarts’ most promising students, exemplar Gryffindor prefect and thrice alumnus of the year, to find herself in such a situation.

Still, there she was, choking on her pain, raging at herself and the world, back at her desk, and writing her name at the end of the letter. She was signing her death sentence with her favorite quill.

The paper was heavy in her hands. The inked words weighted like lead on her lungs. She whistled a faint sound, and felt the air moving in her back.

Sealing the envelope and tying it to the frail leg was too hard. She had to start over twice, and scratched her wrist in the process, opened a new wound on herself. One more she’d have to cure, but would have no force to.

Her walk to the window, with the owl perched on her shoulder, seemed longer than one’s walk through life. Her fingers mechanically thrust the window open, scaring the bird.

The world was cold, freezing. Her soul too.

The owl’s piercing look searched its owner’s, but she pointedly avoided it, gazing at the clouds. If she allowed herself a moment of doubt, she’d never do it. The burning flame of courage in her stomach was faltering every day more, since this bloody war had started.

Sometimes she wondered, how could she not, why she had been sorted in the house of the braves. She had nothing of a Gryffindor, after all. She was demonstrating to be a coward. She wasn’t even doing this in person.

The bird let out an irked hoot, and turned toward the outside. It waited a few more seconds, implying that this was the only moment for her to step back on her decision. She almost did.

When the pair of sandy wings became a barely visible point on the dark roof of the night, the moon alone heard the shattering of the girl’s soul, the signal that her pure existence, already filled with too many sharp despair, had been attacked one time too much.

As she felt that her life was over, as her knees buckled under the weight of her past and future, the wind and stars united to mourn her innocence, screaming her name

***

What a coward.

The headquarters were full.

There had been another Muggle attack recently.

The Order’s meeting were a drag. Most of all, if Slughorn had to add a motivational speech at the end. His voice, in the best of the cases, was a muffled buzz that invited to fall asleep on the spot. The rest of the times, it just made you want to drink death potion.

The dark corner at the far end of the room seemed to be a very good place for rummaging dusty thoughts from two years ago, oblivious of what happened in the world around.

Maybe this was where Mad Eye stored his negative energy, in case he ran out of it.

What a fucking coward.

But, to be honest, it was not the place’s fault if Lily was feeling downhearted. It had become a habit of hers, to constantly be in the doldrums. She had erased the words happy, fun, joy -- and any synonym -- from her daily life.

All that mattered was to fight.

Nothing else.

Still. What a coward had she been.

It had happened ages away, back when she still could manage to worry about what was going on in her chest, in that place that she could not bring herself to name now.

Not even the flickering light bulb on the decrepit roof distracted her from remembering everything clearly.

The facts, the tears, the pain.

The reason.

She felt the urge to fracture a couple of Death Eater’s bones, but all she could do was to keep ruminating.

After sending him the letter, she had tried to hate him. For who breaks up successfully with the person they love? This type of separation never lasts long, and she didn’t want that.

Fate is strong, but Lily’s character too.

She had slowly managed to erase him from her life, half by shutting herself to the world, half because of why she had shattered their link.

It had been the right decision to take. She needed protect their friends, their security, their future.

She’d thought that, yeah. That it was the best to do, for her and for

...him.

He crossed the entrance with that characteristic nonchalance of his, talking loudly, not giving a blatant damn that Slughorn was still halfway through his speech. Sirius and Peter were behind him, laughing without hiding it, their clothes and hair and faces as Lily remembered them from the last time she had seen them, on King’s Cross platform: messy, but communicating mischievousness and a great will to live.

Exactly what she lacked.

She was not the only one staring at the young men. Two or three attendees had swung round, wandering who was arming hell behind there, and were now nudging their neighbors, appalled looks on their faces.

Whispers of wonder and astonishment rapidly covered the boring speaker’s words.

“What, they’re back!”

“Look at their smiles! The mission was a success, it’s sure!”

“Finally! Dumbledore must have found a way.”

“May Merlin hear your words, Agatha.”

“Almost two years out of the country, poor lads.”

“Looks like Albania didn’t educate Black and Pettigrew better than England had.”

“But it surely did a great job with Potter.”

James’ hair, surprisingly, was not storm-like; his glasses were not dangerously hanging from its point of his nose, but had somehow settled up on its bridge. His shirt was carefully inserted in his pants, which had been ironed, so could impossibly be his. His face was scarred in some places, but it was easy to notice the presence of proper baths and skin care on his regular traits.

This could not be James Potter.

The most shocking part of his appearance, to Lily, were his shoelaces. Leather strings, tied properly.

Reluctantly, she was reminded of that chilly pre-Christmas exams time of her sixth year.

This was already a period of doubt in the wizarding world, and the Gryffindors had decided to strengthen the solidarity bond with Yule gift. It had been Mary’s idea to write the names on a piece of paper, introduce it in a bag, and make everyone secretly draw one out. To Lily’s despair, she had caught that one paper she dreaded, the only one she’d have died to avoid. At that time, Potter still was the biggest pain in the neck ever for Lily. At least, that’s what every student got to hear daily.

The day to leave Hogwarts for the end-of-year holidays arrived, bringing along the deadline for the present giving. 

As Remus told Lily later, James had found a  tiny pack on his bedroom table, which wore no name, no mark that could tell him who had been his secret Santa. But by gradually removing everyone else from his list -- “Oi Pads! Next time you give me socks, at least watch out for matching sizes!” “Marlene! Who’s the fucking idiot who told you I like ice tea?” --, the boy had reduced his possible suspects to only one person. 

He had looked for her morning long, but had resigned himself to open the gift alone on the train Platform, after his fruitless searching.

Still, lily had never been very far, just hiding well. From the corner where she was watching him, ashamed of what she had done, Lily had seen the pair of formless, ragged pieces of thin rope being taken out from the wrapping paper. She had gulped down hard, wishing he would just throw them under the locomotive, consider it a prank. She had wanted to scream at him that “See Potter, that’s how important you are to me,” even if she was not sure she really felt this way.

But something incredible had happened. James had called the other Marauders, had gestured something to them, pointing to his feet, his face flushed with excitement. Sirius had rolled his eyes, but Peter had patted him on the back gently, and had helped him to fix the strings on his shoes. The four of them had laughed, James more drunkenly than heartily, and he had then cried out to the crowd, “Look at this, Evans! Best gift I’ve ever received!”

Lily’s stomach had done a 360 degrees flip, and she had bit her lip, trying to force herself into believing that he was just joking.

“Never gonna see me without ‘em!”

And she had never.

Until now.

Her eyes unconsciously trailed up his figure, until they came to rest on his shining smile. Her look met his, and the smile disappeared.

An unpleasant heaviness tied her throat.

For the first time since she was 18, she realized that her strong will had failed. The last two years’ efforts had been completely useless.

And for the first time since she was 18, she felt a ray of hope warming her face

But Fate knows how to be cruel.

The world seemed to spin in slow motion when a blonde girl, whom Lily had never seen before, stepped in the room. Sirius greeted her, and James’ eyes abandoned Lily’s to settle on the newcomer.

His grin came back. He opened his arms to welcome her.

The redhead felt a pang between her ribs, in that place she hadn’t considered for months.

It had taken her only one second to feel her heart come alive for the first time in two years.

And one more to murder it all over again.

Leaving behind a crowd in growing agitation, Lily sped off down the hallway.

He didn’t follow her.

***

She had seen the message earlier in the afternoon.

Which, to be frank, had been a real luck: she wasn’t opening her post anymore. She barely even ate.

But receiving an envelope with the red Hogwarts’ crest at the age of twenty meant that something serious was going to happen.

So she had read, understood, and followed the instructions.

And now she found herself gazing at the dark walls of the Ministry of Magic, armed, and ready to fight.

Ready to- give everything.

Go big or go to the grave.

The call came from some hundred meters behind her. “Evans!”

Kingsley had always been a good speaker, with that loud voice of his. In the times when they still called each other by their first name, she imagined him to become a radio presenter. Instead, he wore the Auror’s colors now. And had been promoted as a secondary leader of the Order.

Still, maybe, after this fucking war…

“Are you going to daydream for long? You’re the last one.”

Lily shook her head to get out of her drowsiness, and sprinted toward her group leader. He looked at her with a critical frown. “You should gulp something down more often, Evans.”

And they were off toward the other end of the somber corridor.

“How many of them?”

“Our sentry counted twenty to the meeting this morning. Cobra confirmed the hour of the attack.” Cobra, their double agent. They only disposed of one, and hoped they were not infiltrated as well. “We secretly evacuated the employees and officers in the early afternoon.”

“How many of us?” She knew the answer. It was the same every time the whole squad was convocated. She just liked to have all the information confirmed.

“Eighteen.”

A mechanical nod of approval, but then- “Eighteen?”

“Eighteen,” repeated Kinsley’s strong voice. “Eighteen.”

Deep below his still tone, there was some embarrassment.

For fuck’s sake no. Not tonight.

But Fate knows how to be cruel.

She first saw Peter, a grimace of utter worry stamped on his face. He looked ready to die. Not by fighting, but of fright. He did not grin at her when their glances bumped, but lowered his head.

Sirius saw her, but acted as if not. Of the Marauders, he had always been the one who liked her less. He was still angry at her for deserting them, causing another anguish to their group of friends.

From the bottom of her heart resurfaced the desire that Remus had come back from his mission too. She was selfish, but she would have given anything to have him as the third add to the squad.

As she thought this, James’ face came into focus, ten steps away. Right where Kingsley was pointing.

“But-”

He glared at her. “The orders don’t come from me, Evans.”

She reluctantly wished him good luck, and headed towards her fight partner.

Standing next to him gave her goosebumps.

“Evans.”

Cold, indifferent greeting.

“Potter.”

Erased, bitter answer.

Lily felt James shifting his weight from foot to foot. Their breathing was distressed.

“Listen to me everyone!” The leader’s words echoed in the huge, nearly lifeless hall. “The orders for this mission are clear: protect the ministry at all cost. I don’t care how you do it: fight until you are not able to breathe anymore. Do not pay attention to the rest of the team, be the only one standing if it has to be this way. Reinforcements are planned to arrive.” He marked a pause, fixed each member of his group, each soul under his charge, knowing that he may never see them again. “And please, do your best to not fucking die.”

There was no clapping, no murmur of approval. You don’t acclaim what can be the most final goodbye.

“You wrote.”

The words slipped off her tongue in an unauthorized murmur. She mentally punched herself.

“You didn’t write back.”

She had sworn she wouldn’t.

All lights were off. The silence was sluggish. The air was suffocating.

It was not her first operation of defense, but a sense of uneasiness was crawling up Lily’s lungs. She never had to fight in almost complete darkness before. A good pair cooperation was going to be crucial.

Great, she’d probably die tonight.

“I don’t know about you, but I don’t intend to say goodbye to life right today, Evans.” James’ voice was full of assurance. “So if you could please avoid to hit me square in the chest...”

He really thought that she hated him.

Everybody thought so.

That’s how she had made her letter sound.

A blonde silhouette hovered before her eyes for the fraction of a moment.

“Just fucking fight, you prat.”

And the conversation was over.

The first flash of electric green ripped the stillness seconds later, but the real shock shook them when somebody screamed.

At least two dozens of black draughts circled the members of the Order, and materialized in masked, caped shapes. The impact of red and blue lights was immediate, and chaos erupted.

Rolling down to the floor, Lily avoided a stupefy thrown her way, and poured all her rage in a bright orange spell. A strangled sound confirmed that she had hit her target.

“Expelliarmus!” shouted James from her side. He threw himself to the ground too, when his missed aim replicated. Lily saved him by conjuring a shielding charm, but couldn’t avoid the intense shot of purple that hit her in the ribs.

At first, nothing. Then, everything.

A snake of fire formed in her veins, consuming her skin. A searing blade was tearing her insides, her hands were attacked by invisible knives, her throat scratched by razors at each call for misericord. Her flaming hair cruelly danced around her, threatening to choke her already impossible breathing. Her bones were exploding, her mind was becoming something else. A burnt smell travelled in the atmosphere, her vision was masked by red sparks of suffering.

They always tell you horrific things about the cruciatus curse. They never approach the truth.

She could not think, nor react. She was a broken doll in some atrocious kid’s hands.

Her screams filled her attacker’s ears like a gong of victory. He savagely flicked his wand, enjoying the sight of the contorsionating girl.

He paid his barbarity too cheaply.

“Avada kedavra!”

Still harboring an ugly smirk, Adam Rosier became James Potter’s first victim, collapsing on the ground as the meaningless mass he was. The young wizard spat in the Death Eater’s direction, leaving for later his reaction to the shock of killing somebody.

He ducked a lost red flash, and ran to kneel down next to his partner’s motionless body. He prayed under his breath that she hadn’t died right here and now, before his eyes, because of him. His forehead was pale skin under a coat of sweat.

He grabbed her wrist, felt only a faint pulse, muttered a spell, prayed harder.

“Potter!” Kingsley’s voice was barely audible through the wall of imprecations and incantations, even though he was his closest ally. “Potter! What the hell! Get up and fight!”

No time to explain him about Lily, he would not have listened anyway. The orders were clear, and Kingsley was a man shaped by rules.

James sent him to hell, and took the girl in his arms, wrapped in occasional bursts of light.

He made it to the nearest hiding he could find, a wide crack in a wall, with a deep burn in the back and a bleeding eyebrow, but ignored them at his best. He carefully laid the witch on the fissured floor, waved his hands above her head, and breathed a couple of curing charms.

An explosion resounded, the ground quaked. Dust and little stones fell from the roof, hitting her face like solid rain drops.

“Please, Evans, don’t be a bitch and stay alive.”

He risked himself to shake her shoulder.

A groan escaped her throat, and James almost fainted of relief when her eyelids slowly raised.

“What the-” Her feverish eyes opened widely, and she sat up in a urge, releasing the content of her stomach on the concrete ground. Her face was the same color.

Another violent tremor shook the building, and the man had to force his throat shut.

When Lily’s retching came to an unsure end, her back found the floor as a support.

Her breath was heavy.

“Are you ok?”

Now, what a dumb question. Of course she was not.

She didn’t answer.

Lily had never imagined that she would meet James Potter again under these circumstances. It made the whole situation worse.

She had left him broken, two years ago. She had disappeared, leaving scars all over his soul. Yet, there he was, saving her life.

This was one of the things she had struggled the most to hate in him, when time had come to force herself out of their relationship. His unconditional kindness, his generous thoughtfulness. He was ready to believe in anybody’s redemption, providing excuses to the most irrational behaviors.

Through the blurry curtains of her pain, Lily distinguished his creased brow. Of course, he was preoccupied. He couldn’t hold any grudge, had to forgive everyone. Even when they killed him in the inside.

Why the fuck did he always have to be so- himself?

Lying, pale like a blanket, she wore that severe expression that implied she was on the edge of exploding.

A blonde face smiled at her. She blinked, and it was gone.

“Did you just call me a bitch, Potter.”

It was not a question, nor a joke to release the tension. He felt it.

“I just saved your life, Evans,” he defended himself.

“You are disobeying the orders.”

Their eyes met for the first time that night. It felt like a clash.

“So what, I should have left you at that monster’s mercy?”

“Exactly.”

James pushed his glasses up his nose with a raging gesture.

“You know what, Evans? I may actually consider you to be a bitch. And I surely have a hundred reasons to. Do you realize that it’s the first time we have a conversation since our- since our last day at Hogwarts?” There was badly disguised pain in his words. “Do you realize that, maybe, I have some questions?”

From the breach on the wall, some bits of the fight penetrated their safe place.

Lily stumbled up.

“Where do you think you’re going now?” James’ voice was irritated, but also preoccupied. He hadn’t brought her all the way here to see her fall again out there.

“Have you really not heard the bloody orders, Potter,” she answered, leaning on the wall to chase away her dizziness. “Get your scared ass in the tussle and fight.”

“But you can’t possibly think t-!” She was already out of reach of his words, moving toward the core of the collision. “Damn it, Lily!”

She heard him running toward the center of the mass a few seconds later.

“Confringo!” Her blue sparkle hit one of the enemies straight at the heart, and she stupefied another one shortly after avoiding his attack.

Feeling that agony inside her had heightened her expectations of sufferance, and she thought of nothing as she walked more dead than alive through the web of curses.

She was angry at the world, at James Potter, and at herself.

“Avada ke-”

Her words were cut off by the sudden disappearance of her target, leaving her baffled. She looked for another Death Eater to aim at, but could find none alive in sight.

She heard Kingsley’s confused imprecations, joined by Alice’s, and James’ sharp inhalations neax to her.

The temperature had dropped considerably.

“You have lost enough.” The treacherous voice snaked its way to her ears like a repulsive melody invading her mind. “If you give up now, you will be rewarded. Lord Voldemort is not insensible to courage.”

Several looks scanned the room, but the semi darkness prevented anybody from seeing farther than a few meters away.

A glacial laughter resounded in her head.

In prey of a terrible presentiment, Lily focused on counting the living people remaining in the hall, all members of the Order. One, two, five, ten, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen. Fifteen! Maybe she had just counted wrong. Again: one, five, ten, fifteen.

“You have until the count of three to surrender,” the voice explained, freezing her blood. “Or else you will all die.”

A bright light illuminated the air, forcing Lily to protect her eyes with her hand.

Her limbs stiffened.

Three bodies were suspended in the emptiness by a magical rope tied to their chest.

Three faces were decomposed in fear, bathed in this raw light.

Amanda, Drew, and Peter were hanging twenty meters above the ground.

Lily had found her three missing teammates. Panic was boiling between her temples.

Peter emitted a strangled squeal that shook her from her apathy. His eyes, out of their orbits, were fixing a point behind the group.

“Face me, members of Dumbledore’s army! See the traits of the man that will end your miserable existence if you don’t bend to him!”

When she swung round, a cry escaped her mouth.

The body was draped in black, floating in mid air. The face was thin, blueish, bore no nose. The fingers were long, bony, holding a menacing wand. The eyes were a snake’s, of an intense red.

The smile was sharp, victorious.

She was staring at the Dark Lord in person.

“I advise you to surrender,” The voice did not reach Lily through her ears. It came from between her ribs, from the center of her bones. “Now.”

Lily felt James’ body tensing centimeters away from hers, but the menace received no answer.

Despite the fear, the orders were clear.

“Good,” the Dark Lord’s voice echoed, with a cynical trace of amusement sketched in it. “So let the countdown begin. Nagini!”

Lily’s knees trembled.

Whatever Nagini was, it came slowly, imperceptibly, quietly, like death itself.

They didn’t see it, but they could feel its presence to their left, their right, everywhere. The creature’s aura trapped them, froze them. It was as if a spell had been casted on the room, preventing any movement. Any smell, any sound, had disappeared from the world.

The wizards couldn’t even hear their own shaky breath.

Time had stopped.

“One!”

A shout of despair recalled Lily’s attention on the point where the hostages were hanging.

Faster than a bolt, a long, scaled form had coiled down the first rope. Amanda’s face, which had been deformed in horror, was now still, her pupils vitreous. On her neck, a hideous mark was drawn in blood.

The aftermath of the cruciatus hit Lily hard in the stomach, and she felt like throwing up again.

Her arms couldn’t move, she was paralyzed.

“Two!”

She saw Drew’s last desperate look falter on his traits.

Heavy drops of cold sweat slided down her spine. She gathered all her forces, interrupting her breathing in the effort, weak from her injury.

Peter already looked dead to her.

She struggled to stretch her fingers.

“Th-”

“Confringo!” “Avada Kedavra!” “Petrificus totalus!” “Cruciatus!”

The four spells flew at the same time toward the voice.

Responding to their instincts, Lily, James, Sirius, and Alice had managed to break the inertia that was pinning them down, firing their shots with a propulsed rage.

It happened so fast.

Nobody could resist to four curses at once.

A ball of blinding light surrounded the Dark Lord, its powerful energy making everyone fall to their knees. The inhuman cry of destruction ripped the atmosphere, pierced their eardrums, reached their souls and tore them apart. A storm of black dust wrapped, asphyxiated them. There was coughing, an intense warmth, and the smell of rotten meat.

A skull formed in the air, laced by a snake. For a split second, it seemed to Lily that the skull looked at her with an intense rage.

She heard Peter’s screams, then fainted.

***

Lily wondered why everybody preferred life rather than death. At least, when you’re dead, you can’t wake up to a raw reality.

The first signal that she received from her body was a stabbing pain on her side. She stifled a cry with her pillow, which left a disagreeable smell of bleach on her face.

The sheets were white, that’s all she saw. Her eyes were too sensible to last more than a few seconds open.

Last time she had found herself in medical care, it had been because of a potions experiment gone wrong, in her seventh school year.

Right after waking up for good, she had been greeted by half a dozen of her friends, either sitting or standing, who had brought her sweets and kind notes.

Professors had passed by in the day, beaming at her and sharing their wishes of seeing her well soon.

Tucked under the soft sheets, she had thanked them all dearly.

The only thing to beckon now was the lonely grey chair that flanked her uncomfortable mattress.

She hated hospitals.

She tried to move her hands, but the effort caused a wave of protest in her stomach.

Her other, rapid sight of the world were two shadows on the white curtain that isolated her bed.

It took her a while to distinguish any sound.

“... serious state,” affirmed a high-pitched voice.

“How long do you think it will take?”

Dumbledore. This was Dumbledore’s serious tone.

“Probably days,” placidly answered the woman. “She was hit by a cruciatus, according to Shacklebolt. It didn’t last more than a dozen of seconds, but it was enough to make her lose her senses. And then, there was this explosion they all talk about. We can’t understand the magnitude of the force that hit them, nor how it possibly left her in such a drained state. She was two-thirds dead when they brought her here. Do you know anything more?”

The buzzing in her ears made it impossible for Lily to hear the warlock’s murmured answer.

“If you are right, I must act right now. Another healer will lead you to Pettigrew’s room. Black left yesterday, while Longbottom is still unconscious. Potter received a visit earlier in the morning. A young woman, to whom we gave exceptional allowance as she affirmed being his fiancee.”

A hurtful darkness engulfed Lily.

***

Everything was numb.

She was vaguely aware of the door of her room clicking open. A voice slinked in.

“I am not sure if she’s awaken yet, boy. And visits are not allowed, at this stage of the cure. You’ll have to come back in a few days, when she’ll feel better.”

It took some seconds for the words to sink in.

What?

No fucking way she was going to stay in this hell of a place for ‘a few days.’

“Hey!” She called.

Hurried steps came her way, the curtains were dragged open, and a grey beard bent over her face. The man’s pungent breath stung her nostrils.

He pulled back just in time to avoid her first retching wave.

The world was spinning, she couldn’t draw in any oxygen.

“Johnes!” The healer’s voice was as disagreeable as his smell. “Call Jenkins and Perks, she’s having another attack!”

The last thing Lily saw, as her unsteady gaze fell on the doorframe, before sinking back into oblivion, were squared glasses and ruffled hair.

***

This dance between life and death was the most exhausting thing that had ever happened to her.

Exhausting and deceiving: she always woke up.

The fissures under her eyelashes revealed the same depressing white light on the roof. She groaned, but was relieved that no twist of nausea manifested itself. Her tongue seemed glued to her palate, and her throat was as dry as a roasted nut.

Helping herself with her forearms, Lily sat up.

“Bloody hell,” she whispered. It somehow felt comforting to hear her own voice, even if it was cracked. “When was the last time I brushed my teeth.”

“Six days ago, I’d say.”

Her start was so violent that she almost rolled down to the floor.

“That is, assuming that you wash them regularly.”

The grey chair at her right was not empty anymore. James was sitting on it, his legs crossed.

Lily instinctively pulled the sheets up, to cover what the hospital’s blouse barely disguised. “What- How in the world did you get inside here?”

The man pointed a finger toward the door with a smirk, which, in other conditions, would have made her roll her eyes.

She scanned him. He looked much more like the James she had always known, with his hair all untidy and his crumpled shirt half-tuck in his pants.

Nostalgy almost made her smile, but she got the feeling that he wouldn’t have appreciated it.

“What do you want?”

His stare fled hers.

“Before your dear friend comes back to kick my butt out of here, you should see this.”

He handed her a copy of the Daily Prophet

The rugose paper was stained in multiple places, ripped in others, but it would have been difficult not to read the title that took the entire half of the first page, ‘The Dark Lord Defeated.’

Lily’s jaw dropped. “I swear, if this is one of your stupid pranks, I’ll-”

A spasm in the side cut her sentence.

“Calm down, Evans. We don’t want you to die after becoming a hero, do we? Dumbledore would kill me.”

His finger brushed the upper corner of the newspaper, invisibly highlighting some words and numbers. Swallowing with difficulty, Lily read the date of publication. It was from three days ago.

“So?”

“So it’s not a prank. But it’s useless. He’s still alive. Cobra confirmed it.”

Her shoulders dropped. Still-

“How can somebody resist to four attacks at the same time? He can’t possibly be alive!”

James brushed her comment away with a gesture of his head. “Have you seen him the other night, Evans? He already looked like a corpse. He masters some dark magic we don’t know about, not even Dumbledore. I doubt we achieved anything more than to anger him.”

It had been too good to be true. Though it didn’t feel like reality. More like a nightmare.

“We did more than that. We saved Pet-”

Her voice died in her throat.

They had saved Peter.

They had saved only Peter.

On her neck, a hideous mark was drawn in blood.

Amanda had always been nice to Lily, even if the latter didn’t seek people’s company. She had shared with her a part of her lunch for long, after a particularly hard week, when Lily’s hollow cheeks had become too evident.

The last look of despair faltered on his face.

Drew had always been an important moral support to the squad. Not the most brilliant bloke in the world, but his seriousness was a column to which many members had found support, including Lily.

They had been important, in their own way.

And now they were gone.

Lily’s shoulders slumped.

“I- there is something else- I have to tell you.” James’ pause was sad, warned her of the worse. “Dumbledore told me something about- the second hostage’s wife. She- she died yesterday. They did her possible to save her but h-”

He kept talking, but nothing reached her ears.

Lily had met Drew’s wife once. The Order had lost her as a member when she had lost her brother because of a mission. She was very reserved, pale like a chrysanthemum. Drew often compared her to a frail flower, but Lily had understood that she was ill.

They were a loyal couple, loved each other dearly.

In wedding vows, you promise to follow your other half everywhere, no matter what.

The poor woman had kept her promise.

The air burnt Lily’s throat. She didn’t want to breathe anymore.

James was still sitting next to her, and didn’t move as she buried her grief under a sea of tears.

She would have wanted him to hug her, to help her soothe the pain of mourning people she had barely known, but who had died in front of her.

‘Fiancee’ had said the healer to Dumbledore.

“Just leave, please.”

It costed her only a whisper, and she was alone again.

***

Lily filled her lungs with the sun’s air, relieved to inhale the dust of the streets. After ten days of undergoing all types of stupid tests in the hospital, she was finally physically out.

What she needed now was infinite sleep, and a ton of pain killers.

But Fate knows how to be cruel.

***

Things reached her through a haze.

The bed and the light were the same, just the curtains had changed. They were thicker.

It was a nightmare repeating itself.

Her head throbbed. Somebody must have hit her skull with a hammer.

The person standing right next to her, maybe.

“Good morning, Lily.” For a moment, she feared that the man would get too close. Then she noticed that his beard was clearer than the healer’s. “Can I have a second of your time?”

Her instinct advised her to send him to hell, her sore throat won the battle.

Dumbledore observed her like a little girl looks at an injured puppy. Something in his voice was wrong.

“Do you remember anything, Lily?”

Anything of what?

Shaking her head made her nerves go wild.

“You did it again.”

She did what now. End up in a bed that smelt of too much cleaning?

Yeah, she had noticed.

“You defeated Lord Voldemort a second time.”

And she passed out.

***

“Can somebody  tell me what the fuck he meant?” The only answer she got was the metallic noises of medical tools. “How in the world did I ended up in this disgusting place again? What’s going on?”

Being nice had been completely erased from her agenda.

The nurses who were taking her blood pressure sighed in frustration. “We have already told you, Ms. Evans. We can’t tell you anything. The Head Healer said-”

“Then call your damned Head Healer.”

The women left without taking their toolkit.

An eternity later, Grey Beard stepped in.

“Good afternoon Ms. E-”

“How did I fucking end up here?”

He seemed to hesitate.

“I have been instructed to not reveal any information, Ms. Evans, for the sake of your health. You will have to wait until you get the green light to leave.”

“As if,” she grunted. “Where is Dumbledore?”

The man hesitated. His inner voices were arguing over what to do, but promptly found an agreement.

He left the room, and didn’t come back for the next two days.

***

“I am not a doll!”

Her fist hit the table.

She was wild. A real storm.

The portraits on the walls were empty, their occupants having fled toward a better climate.

Behind his desk, Hogwarts’ Headmaster didn’t flinch.

“You left me rotting in that horrible hospital for ten more days.” Her tears were a free stream. “You came to give me an explanation when I could only think you were a vision.” A bubble burst in her chest. “And now you tell me that-”

Dumbledore sighed. “And now I tell you that the girl who was your best friend died in that mission you can’t even remember.” Lily pressed her hand to her mouth, bit her fingers with rage. “Ms. Mckinnon was one of our best members, Ms. Evans. She knew that this mission was highly dangerous. She accepted it. Do not blame yourself.”

It hurt.

It hurt because Marlene had been the first person Lily had met after her sister had called her a freak for the hundredth time, on King’s Cross station.

It hurt because Lily hadn’t spoken to Marlene after their last day at Hogwarts, for the same reason why she had broken up with James, for the same reason why she had refused to answer to Mary or Remus’s letter.

It hurt because Marlene had been the only one to accept her decision, to try to understand her, when she had left.

It hurt because, after that, she had seen her for the last time during a mission she didn’t remember, maybe told her something she didn’t recall, or perhaps ignored her like Sirius had done with her.

“Are there- Are there chances to recover my memory?”

At least she could grasp to that, but Dumbledore’s eyes were sorry.

“The shock of the impact, its magnitude, leaves us few hopes, Ms. Evans. We don’t know what would have happened if Longbottom hadn’t come to your rescue.” Lily shuddered. I wouldn’t be here. “But what you managed to do,” he adds in a comforting voice, “Is extraordinary. Ms. Mckinnon will not have died in vain.”

She could ask him again, but he didn’t seem incline to disclose some information. It didn’t belong to him, after all.

“So who could tell me what happened exactly that night?”

She needed to know from somebody who had been there.

She needed to know how it had happened.

“Four people were present beside you and Ms. Mckinnon. Black refuses to have any contact with anybody, Fortescue and Longbottom are still interned. The only one that will accept to help you is-”

She felt the answer before he could mention it.

Fate knows how to be cruel.

“James Potter.”

***

The doorbell rang.

It had cost her a herculean effort. She hoped that no blonde girl would open the door.

An eye appeared in the spy-hole, widened considerably, then vanished.

There was a second of doubt before the wooden panel swung on its hinges.

“Lily?”

Blimey, Euphemia Potter hadn’t changed a bit. Maybe she had a couple more wrinkles, but these are things you don’t notice in women like her.

“Good afternoon, Mrs. Potter. Is James here?”

Euphemia defied the girl with a stare. A mother never forgets the face of her son’s murderer.

“Please,” begged Lily. “It’s very important.”

The woman slowly nodded.

In the corridor, she didn’t offer her any tea or biscuits. Not even water. She pointed to the living room, then disappeared upstairs.

Lily crossed her legs, and patiently waited.

She didn’t hear James coming, and practically did not see him standing in the doorframe until he cleared his throat.

Again, that will to hug him, to forget everything in the security of his warm embrace.

“What do you want, Evans?”

She raised her eyes to his face. “What happened?”

He sat in the armchair that faced her, and did something that pushed her down the cliff.

He took her hands.

***

Marlene had infiltrated the Death Eaters’ meeting.

The Order needed information. They had provided her a backup squad, in case things would go wrong. Everything was under control until the Dark Lord had required the attendees to take off their masks.

He knew.

Marlene had looked at him straight in the eyes when he had raised his wand.

“You jumped forward from behind the double-wall.” James tried to hold his voice together, pressing his thumbs gently on her palms. “Marlene looked at you as if you were from another world. For the fraction of a second, her empty expression switched with the one she usually harbored at- at Hogwarts. She badly wanted to smile, but you were both about to die, so she didn’t. The effect of surprise you had caused vanished, and the shot was fired. Hit her square in the chest.” He badly represses a sob. “He dismissed the meeting, as if nothing had happened, while you were still gazing at Marlene’s body. He felt so- superior.”

Lily’s vision was blurry.

“He was aiming at you, smirking, when shock woke you up. You turned to face him, and screamed the curse. He underestimated you so much that he didn’t duck it on time, so he stumbled. Alice and Frank were quick with their spells, but he was quicker. Like last time, his dark image invaded the room, and he dissolved into thin air. You were the closest one, the energy trapped you.”

Her mind didn’t want to assimilate this as the truth, though she knew deep down that it was the correct version of facts.

It felt unreal, but what did not lately?

She was not even capable to accept pain and sadness anymore.

“Lily… We could have gone through this together…” In other times, embarrassment would have made him scratch his neck, but his fingers were warm on hers. His grip was firm. He wanted an answer. “Why did you do it?”

Did he honestly think that she could talk about this right now?

She wanted to cry, but her body was dry.

“You have a fiancee, James. I don’t think it really matters to you anymore.”

“Don’t use that accusative tone. It sounds as if you expected me to wait forever.”

“I didn’t expect you to wait forever. I just hoped…”

“You hoped! Be honest, Lily! I thought you loved me at least a fragment of how much I loved you, that would have been enough. The world as we knew it was breaking apart, we all needed some stable points, but you decided to destroy my strongest one!” He grabbed her shoulders, forcing her to look at him in the eyes. “Do you know how much our relationship meant to me? Did you realize that you’d leave me in pieces? Did you even care? It turned out you hated me!”

Two years of efforts.

Marlene had died not knowing that she loved her, perhaps even thinking the contrary.

“I didn’t!” Her shout made him recoil. “I loved you more than anything in the world, James! I- I wanted to save you! You, Peter, Remus, Sirius, Mary, Marlene, Dorcas, and all the others! You were getting attacked for dating me! They fucking used the cruciatus on you, while we were still at school, bloody hell! You got tortured because of me!”

James was appalled. He raised, dropping her hands.

“Loving somebody means caring about their feelings, Lily. You hurt me more by leaving than these damned moron could have in hours of persecution! They came after me anyway! They still tried to kill me after you left! And guess what, I didn’t feel like surviving! I was dead in the inside! Was it not for the boys, I would be under six feet of dust right now!”

She stood up too, erecting herself so his nose faced her forehead.

Her eyes were losing their sparkle.

“You don’t hear yourself, James! War is not the right moment to attach your life to somebody else’s, most of all if that person is a principal aim! Look at what happened to Drew and his wife. He died, and she didn’t resist! I didn’t want that! I didn’t want you to suffer because of me!”

“It was harder to accept the fact that you were leaving without any apparent reason! Fuck, Lily! Try to be coherent!”

“You had friends then, but who knew if they’d still be living later! You got over it, you didn’t die of despair! You found l-”

She had to sit down, to cover her face with her hands.

All she had wanted was to protect him.

And now, he had a fiancee. Another person through which they could harm him.

He was making all her struggles meaningless.

He was making her jealous.

“You found love again.”

Fate knows how to be cruel.

***

Her apartment had never seemed as dim as when she stepped out of the chimney.

Even after opening the curtains -- she took them off, she had had enough of any kind of them -- the windows barely let a couple of light rays in. They needed some cleaning, but it seemed impossible to her that such a basic task still existed.

There was war going on. Her living room glass panels begged for some soap.

The two things did not get along at all.

Lily sank in her old sofa, sending a cloud of dust and ashes spiraling in the air. She took her wand out of her pocket, and examined it consciously. She was not sure to remember how to use it.

When you want to produce magic, you need to mean something.

She didn’t feel like she meant anything anymore.

Her gaze dropped to the floor, and this is when she noticed the envelope abandoned on the carpet.

***

Lily hesitated.

It was pure suicide.

“How many of us?”

Her favorite question to alleviate the pressure.

Though now, she really needed to know.

“Four.” It was a glacial answer. A frightened answer. “More would be too much, and less… pure craziness.”

This was already crazy. Marlene had tried. She had failed.

“Who else apart from us?”

“Frank,” Of course. “And James.”

Considering her luck in the last months, it didn’t even surprise her.

“I’m in.”

Their imperceptible nod was a silent promise .

Lily was about to leave her teammate’s flat when something clicked in her head.

“Does somebody officially know about this?”

Alice’s eyes scanned the redhead’s face, calculating the pros and cons of telling the truth.

“No.”

Nobody would come to their rescue. It was a secret against a safety.

They were disobeying the orders.

Their last drop of hope splashed on the floor.

***

Lily rubbed her hands together, then blew some hot air between her joined palms.

She was the first to arrive, for once. Hell, if she had to die, she had to do something extraordinary before.

There was a loud crack behind her, followed by another one. Without speaking a word in the silent night, Alice and Frank acknowledged her presence, then took different paths to their positions.

The woman waited for the last apparating sound to turn around.

The man wore a long coat and dark pants. His hair was combed, but he ruffled it. He probably wanted to die as himself.

“Good evening, Lily.”

“‘evening, Potter.”

She seemed unable to articulate anything more. But they didn’t have the whole night at disposition.

“You know, I meant it,” she said at last. He slightly raised a brow, observing her tense face from above his glasses. “When I said I loved you.” He looked away. She could see his perfect jawline contract as he clenched his teeth. “And as we’ll probably never see each other again…”

She stood on her toe tips, and lightly brushed his lips with hers.

Saying that it didn’t provoke any emotion in their chest would be a blatant lie.

But it didn’t feel the same anymore.

He had loved her, but she had hurt him. He had slowly mended his wounds, didn’t want to open them again.

Lily understood it, pain and remorse corroding her soul.

She left to take her position.

***

This time, it was over. They had finally done it.

He was gone. She believed it.

She wanted to believe it.

She hadn’t even ended up in that fucking hospital.

Maybe life was going to be good again.

She asked nothing more of it than to be acceptable.

So she had said yes to a couple of firewhiskey glasses. Which had turned into bottles.

The Daily Prophet’s title was its biggest in history: ‘The Dark Lord Defeated For Good: Four Heros To Thank.’

The journalist and editor must have been drunk.

In the pub, wizards and witches greeted her, thanked her, cried in front of her.

They were all drunk as well.

The music, the shouts, the people. It was all too much. She had retired in one of the bedrooms. To be alone with her thoughts drowned in alcohol.

It felt wrong to celebrate.

“Evans?” The slur was full of booze.

James was one of the other ‘heros,’ and understood as much as her how heavy this title was. They other two did too, but at least they could make out to forget.

He slowly came to sit next to her, on the mattress.

Chills ran down her spine.

“Nice party, huh?”

She didn’t answer. He was talking to her as if nothing had happened before the attack. Maybe he didn’t remember.

“Know what, Evans?” He took a sip from the bottle he had in hand. A long sip. “This whole story is bullshit. If four curses didn’t killed him the first time, I doubt that he got affected now. The man’s not over. He’s got like a thousand souls, I swear.”

This stupid theory, the stress, her hopelessness made her laugh nervously.

Granted, she had drunk one shot too much.

James had indeed forgotten all about her confession. He had blissfully forgotten everything about his life for this night. He deserved it.

The only thing he was conscious of was that, whatever the newspapers said, he had a bad presentment. And also that his leg brushed hers.

Meanwhile, Lily was getting hysterical. Her cackling irritated him, and he, pushed by the cruelty of oblivion, found no other way to shut her up than to press his lips to hers.

It was not a kiss like those they had shared in their youth. This one was furious, full of reproaches, aggressive. It was the result of tension, of an intense passion repressed for two years, moved by firewhiskey.

It was not sincere, it was desperate, crazy, drunk.

They were breathless, broken, intoxicated. They were lying on a bed, forgotten by everyone, in a room too far from reach.

The moon was full outside, treacherous, insatiable. The wolves hollowed in the woods, the empty souls trembled, the proud ones lost themselves.

Fate knows how to be cruel.

Lily and James were proud souls.

What should not have happened, happened.

***

“Don’t you fucking dare to kid me on this, Sirius.”

“I swear to you on Merlin’s left b-”

“How the bloody hell… What did he tell Katie?”

“The truth. The kid is his. Due in July.”

“Fuck.”

“I know. She slapped him round the face, didn’t want to see him for a week.”

“Did he-”

“They’re going to marry in June.”

“Lily and him?”

“Katie and him, Moony.”

“What?”

“Katie’s his fiancee. What happened with Lily was- an accident.”

“Are you fucking kidding me! I know he said he would never forgive her, but for Gryffindor’s hell of a hat… ”

“The girls are holding no excessive mortal grudge. Lily will settle in a calm neighborhood, she’ll have an old witch to help her with the baby.”

“At least that. The newspapers?”

“Those stupid blokes that call themselves journalists don’t say anything on the topic, too busy explaining why the Dark Lord is back after all. ”

“Hoping it’ll last, last thing we want is a scandal. But I guess the Ministry is covering them up. They still need them as a symbol.”

“Yeah. Defeated the Dark Lord thrice. But that bastard keeps coming back.”

“You know, it’s the first time I hear about Lily in two years.”

“I’m sorry, Moony.”

“Bloody fucking hell… Life’s a bitch.”

***

"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches... born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies... and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not... and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives... the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies...." 

***

She let him in.

James came once a month, when Katie allowed him to. His wife was sensible to Harry being the result of adults’ mistakes, just a kid.

A kid bound to die.

Lily’s hands trembled every time she opened the door. She feared to see her nightmare, the blueish face, red eyes, coming to kill her son.

But only James and Peter knew where to find her, so she tried to ignore her fears.

Happy chirping called her in the living room. James had brought chocolate frogs, and all kinds of soft sweets were lying on the floor.

Of course.

He had once bought his son a broomstick, when the Quidditch season had started.

He was a good father.

In her letter, the letter with which she had broken their relationship, a little more than three years ago, Lily had mentioned how things are bound to happen, and how James and her were not one of these things.

Now that she saw him play on the carpet with Harry, the possibility that she may had been wrong squeezed her heart.

But Fate knows how to be cruel.

It will never tell you what decision you have to take.

It will never allow you to step back.

It will never warn you of any danger.

As James stood to leave, half an hour later, in this chilly night dressed in the colors of autumn, Fate confirmed once more its superiority with a single, blood freezing sound.

Somebody knocked on the door.

[amillionmillionvoices]

‘I can’t breathe’ and/or ‘Don’t fucking touch me’ for Hicsqueak please! 😊(I couldn’t pick just one!)

part of the war au series, happens between this and this. / trigger warning: ptsd, emotional trauma; references to violence, torture, war, physical abuse) / also for @missy-poppins91 and @delightinpetrichor who both requested “look at me - just breathe, okay?”

Pippa hasn’t stopped grinning. Her eyes are wide and full of wonder, a look of awe and rapture in her face that makes Hecate feel soft despite it all.

The Opera House is stunning, she has to admit. Though she doesn’t care for the hoards of people, the loud noise, the way the acoustics amplify the smallest sound. She can hear glasses clink and snippets of conversation, children running and laughing around the lobby. It makes her teeth clench, but Pippa’s face, her joy, makes up for it.

Makes up for the spike of pain that ratchets down her spine when someone bumps into her. Makes up for the dull ringing in her ears. Makes up for the stares, the occasional hushed whisper.

She’d tried to blend in. Worn a dress that covers every inch of her skin, but it’s softer, black and a bit more ornate than she usually wears. Braided her hair and left it in a single plait down her back, to keep the headaches at bay.

But there’s a scar on her face she can’t hide, and the cane she uses to walk draws attention. She glowers at everyone who so much as looks her way, but it’s exhausting. The microscope.

Still. Pippa is nearly vibrating with energy next to her, and every time Hecate looks at her, she can’t help the small smile that creeps in, the warmth that fills her.

She looks stunning. In a blush pink dress with a low back, a bit more sparkle than usual, her hair done up in a loose bun, a few strands framing her face. But it’s her smile, Hecate thinks, that’s the most beautiful.

The way she looks around the hall, mesmerized. The way she grins in delight when the bell chimes, and people begin to find their way to their seats.

Hecate waits until most of the crowd has disappeared, and Pippa seems content to stand with her, pointing out various dresses she likes, the windows, the arches.

When the crowd is thin enough, Hecate leads Pippa to their seats upstairs, and Pippa gasps, marvelling at the elevator.

“I’ve always wanted to ride in one of these,” she whispers, and Hecate isn’t quite sure if it’s true, or if she’s trying to deflect from the fact that stairs are too much, too difficult for Hecate’s legs and back. If she’s trying, like she always is, to brighten Hecate’s dour mood.

Hecate shakes herself. Tonight is about Pippa, making Pippa happy. She offers a small smile, and her arm when the elevator doors open.

Pippa beams, resting her hand lightly on Hecate’s elbow, leaning into her space.

Pippa’s always been tactile. Was the only person Hecate could stand to touch for a long time. And it’s been hard, the last six months. Hecate, flinching every time. She knows Pippa takes it personally, even if she hides it. Knows it hurts her, even if Hecate doesn’t entirely understand why.

But Hecate knows she relishes in the contact, and she’s tried to be more accepting. Tries to find ways to touch Pippa, to let Pippa touch her without pain.

It isn’t that she doesn’t want the touch, doesn’t crave it. Doesn’t wish every night Pippa were beside her. But every time she comes close to being comfortable, she remembers. The scars, and the dark magic seared into her skin.

She doesn’t want pity. Couldn’t stand it if Pippa looked at her that way, looked at her differently than she did before.

She knows Pippa must have seen some of them at the hospital, but she’s never said a word and Hecate’s been too afraid, too ashamed to ask.

Instead, she hides. Covers herself from head to toe, as she’s always done. Even though the fabric of her favorite dresses rub at her skin and her stockings feel like sandpaper. Even though wearing her hair up gives her headaches. She hides, from everyone, from her own reflection in the mirror.

Hides from Pippa, who, for the first time in months, doesn’t look stressed or worried or devastated.

She looks peaceful, joyful, her hand on Hecate’s arm and her eyes wide as she takes in the theater, the stage, the ceiling, the balconies.

“How did you get these?” she asks, settling next to Hecate in the box seats she’d purchased. “They must have cost you a fortune.”

They did, but Pippa doesn’t need to know that. “I know someone who works here,” she says, and it’s technically true, though they were of no help. Not that Hecate asked.

“Is it alright?” she asks, and Pippa beams, leaning in to press a brief kiss to Hecate’s cheek.

“It’s perfect, Hiccup,” she murmurs, then, slightly embarrassed, “but you didn’t have to do all this.”

“I wanted to,” she says, though it isn’t quite true. She doesn’t want to be here - with the noise and people and stares. She’d rather be at home, where it’s safe and quiet.

But she owes Pippa this. Owes her…everything. She knows one night can’t possibly make up for the last six months, but it’s a start, she hopes.

Hopes Pippa will see it for what it is—an apology.

Pippa has barely left her side. Since the day she woke up in the hospital in Berlin. Since the day she was discharged and returned to Cackle’s. She’s been a constant presence, supportive and compassionate and patient and Hecate… Hecate has been none of those things.

Curt, and downright cruel at times. She’s pushed Pippa away more times than she can count. Told her she doesn’t need her, doesn’t want her. Told her to leave.

Pippa refused. Even with tears in her eyes, she stayed. Stays, and stays, and stays.

Hecate shifts, and her spine protests, wounds that haven’t quite healed pulling at her skin, and she winces.

Pippa frowns, reaching for her, then stops short and pulls away, hands fidgeting in her lap. “Are you alright?”

Hecate nods. Stares at Pippa’s hands, so warm and gentle. Thinks of her own words, not a week ago, a sharp, Don’t touch me she hadn’t quite meant.

She meant that it hurt. That even the softest touch in the wrong place made her head spin and her vision blacken, but Pippa hadn’t taken it that way. Had pulled away, stung, and Hecate hadn’t bothered to correct her. Hadn’t bothered to explain.

She hasn’t explained anything. Hasn’t told her about the nightmares that keep her awake, how every time she closes her eyes, she sees Agatha’s face, hovering. Sinister. Hasn’t told her about the way her arm aches from leaning on the cane. Hasn’t told her how much she hates it, hates using it, hates being seen with it. How weak it makes her feel. How broken.

She hasn’t told her how many times she’s been summoned by the Great Wizard to tell him what she knows. That she doesn’t know anything. That she didn’t say anything, and never would. She doesn’t tell Pippa about the truth serums they give her or the tests they put her through. Hasn’t told her how it feels, when they look at her with distrust.

How it feels when Pippa looks at her, like she’s some kind of fallen hero.

She isn’t a hero. At best, she’s an almost-casualty, nothing more.

Hecate closes her eyes and takes several steady, measured breaths; but in the dark, the conversations around her sound like shouting, remind her of the press, hounding Cackle’s her first weeks back, interrogative questions shouted up at the windows and flashbulbs and she wrenches her eyes open, tries to center herself.

There’s no one here that knows her. No one asking questions.

Her hands tremble in her lap and she remembers Pippa, stomping out into the courtyard, snapping at journalists to leave her alone. Pippa sending sparks of bright light back in their faces, a nearly growled, See how you like it that Hecate never thanked her for.

She hasn’t thanked her for any of it.

“Hecate?”

Her voice is soft, worried, and Hecate searches for an answer.

She’s saved by the lights dimming, a voice over the PA making announcements.

The quiet helps. She tunes out the voice and focuses on her breathing, until the strains of music reach her ears, a familiar piece.

The curtain rises, and she hears Pippa gasp next to her, remembers late nights as students, curled up on Pippa’s bed, Pippa making lists of all the things she wants to see and do, together.

The ballet, she’d said one night. At the Royal Opera House.

Hecate had frowned, looking up from her textbook. Why there? We have a witching company.

Pippa shook her head and smiled. But I want to see a real ballet. Not with magic. Magic makes it easier.

More efficient, Hecate said, and Pippa laughed.

Maybe. But it takes the wonder out of it. Non magical people, they do the same thing with no help. It’s incredible! Don’t you think, Hiccup?

I suppose.

I want to see Swan Lake.

Tchaikovsky’s?

Pippa nodded. The ending can change depending on the performance. Sometimes she lives, sometimes she doesn’t. And you never know until you’re there.

Hecate thinks back to a week ago, in her rooms, when she’d hesitantly proffered the tickets to Pippa.

I’m sure you’ve seen it by now, but…

Pippa stared at her with wide eyes. I haven’t. I always—I wanted to go with you. Hecate had nodded, and Pippa had beamed. Really?

It’s the surprise Hecate remembers, the surprise that settled like a knot in her chest. That Hecate would do something for her, something kind.

She supposes she deserves it.

After months of biting words and cold silences, supposes she deserves Pippa’s disbelief.

But they’re here now, watching a party scene, the soft strains of Tchaikovsky filling the room.

She keeps one eye on the performance, best she can, but mostly she finds herself watching Pippa. Her delight, her wonder.

Pippa sits on the edge of her seat during the first pas de deux, and Hecate can’t help but smile.

Pippa catches her gaze and flushes, leans in to whisper, “Isn’t she beautiful?”

Yes, Hecate thinks, but doesn’t say. Merely nods, and ducks her head when Pippa claps loudly at the end of the scene.

The chair is uncomfortable, not made for sitting up straight; the cushion is soft, but feels unsteady, and she has to use her abdominal muscles to keep herself centered. The scar at her hip pulls uncomfortably.

She tries not to think of how she got it. Tries not to remember Agatha’s delight.

Focusing, she turns her attention to Pippa, smiling brightly at the dancers, and she thinks that makes everything worth it.

She smiles so little, now, and Hecate knows that’s her fault. It’s her words and her obstinance and her refusal to accept Pippa’s help.

She wishes she knew how.

Wishes she could talk to her, to tell her the truth but every time she tries it feels like breaking. She isn’t entirely certain if she lets go, even for a moment, if she could piece herself back together again. Not this time.

She thinks sometimes she’d have been better off, never leaving that bunker.

Thinks Pippa would be better off, too.

When the second act is over and they file out for intermission, Pippa can’t stop talking. About the costumes and sets and movement and music.

“Have you ever heard anything like it?” she asks, all brilliant smile.

Hecate hesitates, then admits, “I used to play it for my mother.”

Pippa blinks. “Play what?”

“The main theme. It was one of her favorites.”

Pippa looks like she has a million questions, and Hecate turns away. She doesn’t know why she mentioned it - certainly doesn’t want to talk about it - but when she risks a glance at Pippa, she’s smiling softly, says only, “That’s wonderful,” and leaves it at that.

Hecate offers her a weak smile in thanks, and Pippa offers to get them drinks. She nods, watches as Pippa disappears through the crowd to the bar.

Her back aches, her hand sore from gripping the cane, but she forces herself to stand as straight as possible, to keep her expression neutral.

But there’s a gorgeous woman at the bar, leaning into Pippa’s space, smiling broadly. She tosses her hair over her shoulder and touches Pippa’s arm and it’s clear even to Hecate that she’s flirting with Pippa. And yet, Pippa does nothing. Her smile is polite, but nothing more, and she leans away, puts her drinks between them and when she returns, huffs dramatically as she hands Hecate a glass of wine. “I thought she’d never stop talking.”

A knot settles in Hecate’s stomach.

“Perhaps you should have talked back,” she says before she can stop herself, and the bite in her tone isn’t meant for Pippa; it’s for herself, her own shortcomings, her guilt. Too scared to let Pippa in, too selfish to push her completely away.

Out of the corner of her eye she sees Pippa flinch.

“I’m here with you,” she says.

Maybe you shouldn’t be, Hecate thinks, bites down on her tongue to keep the words inside.

Sighing, she tries to mend the sudden tension, an awkward, “I only meant, she seemed lovely.”

“Maybe,” Pippa allows. “But I’m not interested.”

Hecate doesn’t understand why. Why Pippa seems to have put her life on hold. What she’s waiting for. But she’s too afraid to ask, terrified of the answer, whatever it may be.

Hecate looks down at her feet, the cane in her hand, the edge of a scar creeping out from under her sleeve, and says nothing.

The bell chimes, a saving grace, and they return to their seats. Pippa keeps glancing at her worriedly, and Hecate doesn’t know how to reassure her. What to say to make it better.

They sit in silence until the lights go down, the curtain comes up.

Hecate keeps her gaze fixed firmly on the dancers, their steps, the control and grace in every moment.

She used to have control. Over her body, her mind, her magic. Now, everything feels scattered. Everyday she feels like some thread slips away, keeps her grasping desperately at nothing, trying to stay in charge.

She isn’t. Has nothing and no one to be in charge of, not even herself. Her students are scattered, still, there’s no work to be done or distraction to be had. She’d returned to Cackle’s because it’s the only home she’s ever known, but it feels more and more empty every day. Just her and Pippa and all the empty rooms.

Pippa leaves sometimes, takes a few days to return to her own school, to assist the war efforts, to get away. But she always comes back. With a smile, and usually something for Hecate - a box of ginger biscuits, a notebook, a new quill. Something to make her smile.

Sometimes Hecate manages it. Sometimes it makes her feel coddled. Feel like a child, bribed with treats to smile for the camera. She knows Pippa doesn’t mean it that way, hates that she takes it that way.

Hates that she craves the attention, the devotion, even as she rejects it.

Hates that Pippa has seen so much weakness, and stayed.

Shifting, Hecate winces as her side pulls, looks away from the stage to find Pippa watching her instead of the performance. She frowns, and Pippa offers a tentative smile before turning back to the dancers.

It’s a pas de deux, the black swan, and Pippa watches, rapt, a hand over her mouth as Odette tries desperately to catch her prince’s attention.

Hecate breathes deeply, closes her eyes for a moment, tries to center herself.

She tries to listen to the music, but the more she concentrates, the more it begins to change. Becomes less soothing. More grating. She opens her eyes, but it doesn’t help. Still sounds less like violins and more like static, the ringing in her ears that accompanied the blast when they blew the door down. Sounds like hexes being thrown and repelled, sounds like screaming.

She shakes her head, wills herself into the present but it’s too loud, too much. She squeezes her eyes shut and sees a blast of light and smoke.

We’re gonna get you out of here.

She tries to speak, but her throat is raw and her mouth too dry. She manages to hold out her hands, thick chains imbued with a magical suppressant shackled to her wrists.

The man in front of her undoes them easily, and she feels a surge of magic claw at her skin, weeks of build up sparking out and tearing at the air. She can’t stop it, can’t hold it in but he doesn’t seem to care.

Hands grip her arms, drag her from the cell. Her muscles scream and she cries out, knees buckling. Someone picks her up. Starts running. She can hear orders shouted and obeyed but she doesn’t understand the words, just the end, the screams,

Fall back, fall back!

Sees a man fall, hit the ground and still. Sees wide, dead eyes stare up at her as they run by. She can’t do anything. Can’t help. Can’t save him.

Can’t save any of them.

She could, if she were in control. If her magic were settled, if she could think, if she could breathe.

There’s a blast of light and the man holding her stumbles, falls to his knees.

Go, he says. Go now. He presses something into her palm. Follow it to the rendezvous point. Now.

She stares at the compass, feels the magic inside it, inside herself, bubbling over. Stares at the man with blood on his chest, on her hands.

No.

She hovers over him instead, searches for her power, feels it crackle, untamed, but if she could just focus, just for a moment—

Get her out of here!

Hands pull at her, drag her back, and someone is screaming as she tries to stay, she wants to stay, she can help him, she can help him—

He’s gone! We have to go!

He isn’t moving, isn’t breathing, and Hecate chokes, feels bile in her throat and a slickness to her hands, stares until they’re out of sight, until they reach a point far enough outside the bunker to transfer away, to escape.

Hecate blinks and feels her eyes sting, her vision blur. Her leg throbs and her back feels like it’s on fire, the crackle of electricity running through her, of foreign magic, dark and sharp.

The music swells but it sounds like laughter, Agatha’s bitter words, her mockery, I’ve always known you were weak, electric pulses through her veins, her bones, muscles spasming, whips of magic along her arms and back like cuts.

She bites her lip so hard it bleeds, tastes blood, remembers: blood in her mouth, in her hair, Agatha’s hand on her jaw, lifting her head. You will tell me everything.

Her other hand digs a bruise into Hecate’s thigh.

Hecate grips her leg to stop it from trembling.

Everything you know, Hecate.

Hecate.

Hecate.

“Hecate?”

She blinks. The audience is clapping. The dancers are bowing. Pippa is staring at her with alarm.

“Hiccup, are you alright?”

Her heart pounds too loudly, too fiercely, to be heard over.

She thinks she manages to say I’m fine. To say excuse me before she stumbles out of her seat and beyond the curtain, down the hall and and outside, to the balcony, where it’s dark and cold and raining and she gasps, feels the air hit her lungs like ice.

Everything hurts. Her body and her mind and her heart aches but she pushes it down, leans against the wall and digs her nails into her palm to ground herself.

She’s home. She’s safe. It’s over.

She repeats the mantra to herself, barely feels the rain bite at her cheeks. Just focuses on the pain in her hand, drawing her attention away from the pain everywhere else. If she could just catch her breath, just breathe, everything will be fine.

She’s home. She’s safe. It’s over.

There’s a pressure on her hand, the sharp pain disappears, turns to something heavy and warm, but no less grounding. She clings to it, desperately, hears a voice far away,

“Look at me, Hiccup. Look at me.”

She opens her eyes and sees Pippa, standing in front of her, already soaked to the skin, her hand in Hecate’s.

“Pippa—“

“I’m fine. Just breathe, darling. Just breathe.”

Hecate swallows, her voice trembling and hardly more than air. “You should go back inside.”

Pippa shakes her head. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Hecate wants to protest, feels the edges of biting words creep up her throat; but Pippa merely stares at her, soft and determined, and for once, Hecate can’t summon the will to push her away.

She can still hear the echoes of screams in the cars that pass by, sees red when she blinks, feels her legs trembling and her heart beating erratically.

Pippa squeezes her hand and steps closer, rests a careful hand on her bicep, shields her from the outside world.

“I’m right here, Hiccup.”

She’s home. She’s safe. It’s over.

Hecate nods, leans into Pippa just a touch, just enough.

“Do you want to go home?”

Hecate shakes her head. “The show—“

“Can wait.” Pippa catches her gaze and holds it. “Do you want to go home?”

Hecate swallows. Rain drips down her nose, her cheek. Pippa’s hair is plastered to her skin and it would be nothing more than a simply drying spell to make them presentable again, but the thought of the music, the crowd, everything, makes her skin itch and her eyes well and she hates it, hates being so weak, but she nods, and Pippa smiles. Squeezes her hand.

She sends a quick glance around the balcony - there’s no one there - and transfers.

It takes four jumps to get back to Cackle’s, and by the time they make it back, Hecate is exhausted. Everything hurts, her limbs are heavy, and her knees buckle, enough that Pippa wraps her arm around Hecate’s back and murmurs, “It’s alright. I’ve got you.”

She’s too tired to push her away. Even as she helps Hecate to sit on the bed. Even as she dries both of them, waves a hand to change both their clothes to sweatshirts and pyjama trousers. As she lights the fire and makes tea and Hecate bites down on her lip to keep the tears at bay.

“I’m sorry,” she manages, barely a whisper.

Pippa frowns, turning back and handing her a cup of tea. “What on earth for?”

Everything, she thinks.

“The ballet. You missed the ending.”

Pippa smiles. “An excuse to go back,” she says, like it doesn’t matter. Like Hecate didn’t ruin her evening, the last six months of her life.

“Don’t,” she says, clenching her fist against her thigh. “Don’t pretend it doesn’t matter.”

Pippa sits on the bed next to her and carefully uncurls her hand, holding it between her own.

“You’re what matters,” she says simply. “You’re what I care about.”

“Why?”

It tumbles out before she can stop it.

Pippa’s eyes are bright and she lifts a hand, slowly, carefully, hesitating a moment before she cups Hecate’s cheek in her palm, rubs her thumb over her skin.

“You really don’t know?”

She can’t breathe, but it’s almost a good kind of breathlessness, a slow sinking revelation as Pippa stares at her, so soft. Hecate clutches her teacup, takes a shaky breath.

“Pippa, I—“

She tries, but she doesn’t know how to say I want you and I can’t in the same sentence, in a way that makes sense.

Instead, she takes a deep breath, asks,

“Will you stay?”

Pippa nods, dropping her hand from Hecate’s cheek to rest on her knee. “I’ll make up the couch while you—“

“No, I—“ Hecate falters, unable to meet Pippa’s gaze. “Here,” she says, staring into her tea. “Stay here.”

Pippa’s silent for a moment. “You’re sure?”

Hecate nods, relief filling her as Pippa waves away their mugs, lifts the blankets so they can crawl under them, together.

Hecate keeps her back to her, curled in on herself, small as she can. She feels Pippa shift onto her side, and after a moment, there’s a gentle hand running over her head, through her hair, again and again. The touch is so light, so tender, Hecate shudders, and Pippa stops.

“Did I hurt you? I’m sorry, I—“

“No,” Hecate whispers. “It’s—fine.”

Please don’t stop, she wants to say, but the words get stuck and she hates herself for it.

Pippa seems to know. Without words, without even a glance, she resumes the steady, gentle motion, running her fingers through Hecate’s hair.