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tmabutlesbian · 3 years

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This one wasn’t requested bUT! i went on a random chooser thing and put the ships in and the two A girls came first!

This is like. An example of what a request will look like. In any case, this one shot happens when Agnes is about 14 years old. If you’ve read my other post about this AU, you’ll know that shit goes down when she’s 14 so. yeah.

Summary: Annabelle and Gerry have kept secrets from Agnes and Martin. Agnes’ too busy running away from a ghost lady and dealing with cult stuff to be properly mad about it. (Agnes and Annabelle)

(this got long so. sorry. also its 2am so if theres any errors, tell me pls thx)

(TW: Agnes is a bit of an unreliable narrator. She refers to the cult as her ‘family’ a lot, so if that’s not up to your league, here’s your warning. She does realize her situation by the end, btw. If you’re still interested in reading, I’ll link you an edited version. Not right now, but I’ll do it, no worries.)

(edit: I’m fixing some errors and fining some stuff. i don’t want to change much, my progress will show better in other future works. yh thats it)

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The rain kept pouring, hard, heavy. There wasn’t much wind and yet when the three ran they felt as if the air itself was in their favor, pushing them forward, faster, scrambling their way into the manor before she could catch them.

Ah, yes, she. The lady of the lake apparently. Gerry hadn’t explained himself well enough. And even if he did it would never be enough. Through the trees and the front garden, Agnes can hear Martin’s anger and hurt and betrayal between the fear. She feels it too, somewhere.

Their feet pound in harmony with the rain and they stop in sync when the big main doors close behind them, dripping all over the main entrance like wet dogs. God, she hates the rain.

Annabelle has heard them by now for sure. Does she know more than Gerry does? What do they know, entirely? Does it matter anyways? She can hear the voice of her family, all the way back in town. ‘The world will end anyways, Agnes,’ the reverence and want in their voices makes her want to smash her head into a wall and end, ‘you’ll bring it to us, not them.’ This may be the perfect opportunity to end it. To end her stay at Magnus Manor, to leave, and cry, and hurt, and end-

“Okay-” the broken silence grounds into dust when Gerry speaks up, and yet she’s glad for it, in some far away part of hers. “She can- fuck- open the... main doors even if they’re locked so-” Martin doesn’t look like he’s listening but he’s good at appearing non-existent. It would be more effective if he didn’t end every harsh breath with a growl.

Gerry takes longer to continue, and Martin snaps his head up, eyes golden around the edges. “She can... the-” he swallows around his dry throat. “The ghost lady. That comes- from the lake. She can just... open the main doors...?” Agnes feels his disbelief, somewhere, far. He’s indignant too. She can relate. “And you were just- just going to- to not tell us about it?!” masking hurt under anger is more of a Gerry move, but Martin spends so much time with him, he’s prone to pick up some habits. “How is this protecting us! How?! What-”

“Listen, I know this is bad and I’m sorry,” she hears faint running steps from deep within the manor. Annabelle’s coming, “but we have to get away from the- the doors.” when he grabs and drags her away she goes limply. Martin just pushes him away. Gerry falters; he’s shaking. “Martin, please-”

Oh, how Agnes aches when she sees the tears forming in Martin’s brown- golden eyes. “No, fuck off! How dare you! You, Annabelle,” he turns to Agnes and frowns, teeth bared but she can’t be sure, why is everything so unclear, is she crying-? “even Agnes- you all lied to me! Hid from me!” Gerry tried to butt in but Martin didn’t let him, “No- you- the ghosts! The fears! The magic! You hid everything from us, and you call that ‘protecting us’ but in reality it just puts us in more danger!” where’s Annabelle? She takes her sweet time in the worst moments. Gerry’s shaking but she’s sure it’s not all cold. “You wanted to study us. Right? You bloody-”

The rain drones everything out when the lady opens the main doors, even Annabelle’s hurried entrance. The lady’s so close, too close, they’re too close to the door-

Suddenly she’s farther away and Martin’s right next to Agnes, both of them behind Gerry, arms out to hide them away from her, from the lady. But she ignores everyone and ascends the stairs, Annabelle scurrying out of her way, and then the ghost turns a corner, and vanishes from view. And all is quiet.

Annabelle descends the stairs in a much quicker but staggered pace than the ghost, looking stricken while the lady had no face at all. “What were you doing out there? Are you all alright? Gerry-”

“They know.” it was surprising how his voice didn’t shake when the rest of his body did. Annabelle froze. “Annabelle-”

“Were you ever going to tell us?!” she hears Martin’s voice break and the tears spill, and they glisten the gold in his eyes, but she needs to get out, she needs to go, she’s going- she can’t-

“I,” she speaks so quietly these days. While she grows hotter, scalding and perfect for her family, to them- Martin, Gerry, Annabelle- she’s ice cold. She’s dying away, just like the world will, one day, she will burn it, whatever else is she made for but to destroy? “I want to leave.” even quietly, they stop and listen to her. Gerry frowns, mouth hanging open. Annabelle goes still but her eyes are set; she knows something Agnes knows too, but she can’t reach it, she’s so far away. And Martin. He’s breathing hard again but it’s the tears’ work this time, not the running. He can only let out a ‘what?’, soft and weak and fragile and too much when they all hear the footsteps of a fourth entity coming down.

They swivel around and back away but the lady’s in her own world, roaming out of the manor slowly, resigned. Agnes can relate to that too.

The doors shut out the rain as they close, and Martin’s sniffs are the only thing more broken than the quiet she left behind. Annabelle turns around, facing Agnes head on. Many don’t respect Miss Cane, and she never understood why. Is it her height? Her lisp? The fact that she needs a cane to help her walk? All Agnes has ever felt for her was respect. Reverence, but different from the one her family in town have for Agnes. Behind her pursed brow and hard set lips lies the mother Agnes never had. Really, is she crying? She feels like she should be. Can a messiah cry? Agnes’ too far away to know, probably.

If Agnes had been shorter than Annabelle she would’ve knelt down to her knees. As it is, she only places her steady shaking hands on Agnes’ shoulders, hard. “Agnes, I need you to listen to me very carefully.” Martin’s shoulders bunch up to his ears and Gerry’s nearby, hesitant to help lest he makes it all worse, and she should look back to Annabelle now, let the boys fade to the background. “I know who your ‘family’ is, alright? The ones who have been stealing you away from us,” Agnes wouldn’t call it stealing. It just made sense. What’s the point of friends if everything’s going to burn anyways. “us, Agnes, and do you know why? The real reason why?” the twitch in her brow will have to be answer enough. She feels lightheaded. Annabelle’s hands are the only thing keeping her upright. “Because we are your warmth, Agnes.

“Those people you go back to, they want you to burn. But you don’t want that do you? Not really. I can see it, y’know? When it’s snowing and they come to pick you up sooner than you were expecting and- you hate the snow, the cold, and yet you hesitate at the front doors when it’s time to go.” Agnes remembers. She- she wants to go, surely, it’s her home, with her family. Her- she- it’s her destiny. She can’t stay. There’s nothing else to do but to go. “They tell you big words, about ‘destiny’ and ‘fate’, but they’re wrong. The only destiny you have it’s the one you make for yourself, not what others have carved out for you.” her hand flies to her face and it comes back wet. Oh, there’s the tears. She hiccups around Annabelle’s words. “I will never tell you lies ever again. I will never show you a path while hiding the millions of others and claiming it’s the only way. I will never hurt you by making you do it yourself and believing it’s the right thing to do. And,” here her voice shakes, and Agnes can’t remember any other time when Miss Cane wasn’t steady and yet, here they are, “I will never give up on you, Agnes.” her thin body, like dry sticks ready to be lit, shakes when she sobs but she doesn’t dare break eye contact with her mother.

“There’s no soft way to say this, and I won’t sugarcoat anything else, or hide anything from either of you again.” she looks briefly at Martin, who’s in a very much similar state to Agnes, grabbing Gerry’s sleeve. Agnes’ closer now, and the thought of ‘I’m going to tease about that later’ almost makes her laugh out loud. “You are being raised in a cult, Agnes.” well, there goes the laughter.

Something she knew but couldn’t reach. It’s like- well, not a slap, a slap’s surprising. More... a wave crashing all around her; she saw it coming, and she let it emerge her in the messy, icy depths of it.

Annabelle takes it away, explains their plans, the plans for her, teaches Agnes about all the painful things she knew deep down but couldn’t reach. She’s lucky, she realizes, to have someone take her by the hand and pull her closer, however jarring it is.

She takes Agnes’ face in her hands, smearing them with tears, and when she promises, “I’ll make this right, we’ll do it, just tell me how and we’ll make it true.” she believes her. Truly, so raw it burns her chest, and it hurts, but she’s closer than she’s been in years, and the most she can do now is throw herself at Annabelle and let herself be hugged.

There’s so many things to do. They need to get her family- the cul- her- them out of her hair until she can find herself again. Or for the first time. They took all the years she’s had until now after all.

Martin all but runs to her arms, wetting her sleep clothes. Gerry wraps an arm around her shoulders, slowly, and rests his head on top of hers, his mutter barely audible when his mouth is in her hair. “I’m sorry. Please don’t go.” she reaches for the wrist resting on her free shoulder and squeezes, and Gerry sighs a broken little thing that has her shaking harder again. But she’s closer now, again. She’s here. She wants to stay in here.

Her hand meets Annabelle’s and she feels herself breathe, again. Finally.

#tma #the magnus archives #agnes montague #annabelle cane #tma au #the hauting of magnus manor #tmalesbeen AU #tmalesbeen writes #martin blackwood #gerry keay #requests are open!!

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