wintersday (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
wintersday) wrote2019-12-09 11:02 pm
wintersday) wrote2019-12-09 11:02 pm
Entry tags:
- character: tma: adelard,
- character: tma: gertrude,
- fandom: the magnus archives,
- fanfic,
- fanfic: length: under 1k,
- fanfic: rating: pg,
- fanfic: type: f/m,
- format: linked ficlets,
- pairing: tma: gertrude/adelard,
- trope: character study,
- trope: dreams,
- trope: established relationship,
- trope: fairy tale elements,
- trope: mutual loyalty,
- trope: romantic bittersweetness
Fic: Let Me Be Weak
Title: Let Me Be Weak
Fandom: The Magnus Archives
Major Characters/Pairings: Gertrude Robinson/Adelard Dekker
Wordcount: 200
Rating: PG
POV: Third person
Summary: Two moments on the edge of sleep.
Adelard had woken once to see her curled in sleep beside him, barely breathing, one hand open on the sheets. She hadn’t looked restful, satisfied by her nightmare feast. She’d looked dead, or under enchantment, caught in the same strands of dream that trapped all the Eye’s victims. Hard to say whether that was more disquieting or less. Easier to forgive, in days after, the taste of terror in his throat when he woke.
He pulled the covers up around her shoulders and said nothing of it, holding the memory close as a secret she’d never intended him to know.
Another night, he woke to see her watching him. She stood by the window, her face in shadow, her eyes glinting oddly in ambient city light. He lay still in the darkness, breathing slowly – not afraid, precisely, but sensing something fragile – and for a long time, she stayed like that, unmoving, quiet and patient as a cat. She must have known he was feigning sleep.
He was never sure what he saw in her eyes before she finally turned away, or whether she meant him to see it. All he could say for certain was that it wasn’t only hunger.
Fandom: The Magnus Archives
Major Characters/Pairings: Gertrude Robinson/Adelard Dekker
Wordcount: 200
Rating: PG
POV: Third person
Summary: Two moments on the edge of sleep.
Adelard had woken once to see her curled in sleep beside him, barely breathing, one hand open on the sheets. She hadn’t looked restful, satisfied by her nightmare feast. She’d looked dead, or under enchantment, caught in the same strands of dream that trapped all the Eye’s victims. Hard to say whether that was more disquieting or less. Easier to forgive, in days after, the taste of terror in his throat when he woke.
He pulled the covers up around her shoulders and said nothing of it, holding the memory close as a secret she’d never intended him to know.
Another night, he woke to see her watching him. She stood by the window, her face in shadow, her eyes glinting oddly in ambient city light. He lay still in the darkness, breathing slowly – not afraid, precisely, but sensing something fragile – and for a long time, she stayed like that, unmoving, quiet and patient as a cat. She must have known he was feigning sleep.
He was never sure what he saw in her eyes before she finally turned away, or whether she meant him to see it. All he could say for certain was that it wasn’t only hunger.