igrab
in
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➥ Nothing Can Stop Me • Tessa/Harry
Nothing Can Stop Me
Tessa Gray/Harry Styles
• 1,400 words
• demigods!verse 1D meets The Infernal Devices
• you don't need to know anything about Tessa except that she's an immortal shapeshifter
• to the song the sweetest perfection, fourplay version
I stop and I stare too much
I stop and I care too much
And I hardly dare to touch
For fear that the spell may be broken
She had learned, in her many years on this earth, that there were many other gods, many other demons, and many other magics.
But she had still never met anyone quite like Haeres.
They first met in Barcelona, where she was avoiding Shadowhunters and Haeres was causing trouble. He was always causing trouble, but he was five, then, so trouble was just part and parcel of the whole deal.
Tessa fell in love with him instantly, of course. She wrapped him up in her arms and didn't want to ever let go, and it was only afterward, when she sat with Ana and let her guard down for a second, that she was told who - what - little Enrique truly was.
"Rico," Ana called out, "Venga aquí, por favor, cari."
He trotted over, his black curls a messy tumble and eyes wide in his face - they were dark green, Tessa realized, not quite the black that she'd assumed, to match his race. She couldn't quite believe he was a god - well, no. She could believe he was a god. She just couldn't believe she was speaking with him, that's all.
"Hola bastante señora," he chirped, and Tessa felt herself blush. Blush.
"I..." she cleared her throat. "Can you understand English?" She still hadn't the hang of Spanish. Everyone said Chinese was the most difficult language to learn, but somehow she hadn't had nearly the same problems with it.
"Si." His smile turned wicked, and it seemed he wouldn't be responding in kind unless dragged.
•
They met again in Venice, and Tessa was honestly surprised. She had thought Rhea would be avoiding anywhere connected with her gods; she reassured her that the gods had moved on.
"They're in America," she said, with a bit of a wry smile. "And it's nice to visit where they've been."
Venice was beautiful, but Haeres made it shine. He was just 'Rico' here, and Rhea was Annetta, though she didn't seem to mind when Tessa kept calling her Anna. He wasn't five anymore - eleven, and he was just gangly enough to be unhandsome and babyfaced enough to make that not matter in the slightest. Tessa still loved him. She could become anyone, but at the end of the day, she still had to go back to being Tessa no-longer-Carstairs Gray. Haeres could be whoever he wanted to be, truly, and he would always be loved.
His eyebrows shot up when he saw her on the Rialto. "Ciao, bella signora!" he called out in a ringing voice, and she melted. Oh, to hear him sing. It must be like hearing angels.
She smiled. "Ciao, bambino. How are you liking Venice?"
He switched to English without missing a beat. "Oh, I love it here. There's a mask-maker just across the canal from the Palazzo Labia, he makes the most beautiful--are you quite all right?"
And Tessa would never cease to be Victorian. She was blushing profusely. "Oh- yes, it's just. Erm."
Haeres, eleven years old, smiled ear to ear and winked.
•
Then she was in Beijing, and she fell in love with him all over again. He was five, or maybe six, and he chattered away in Cantonese like he knew. They were nowhere near Hong Kong; everyone around them was speaking Mandarin, which Tessa could only communicate passably in. Maybe he did know, maybe he'd been watching, seen how awkward her words were. But he couldn't've known. He would've just spoken in English, not - he couldn't've known.
"Hao bu hao, Tessa," he murmured, petting her skirts. "Xiang ai. Sam zi tou ming."
He was right, of course. Jem had loved her, and Haeres was the god of infatuation - of course he could still see it on her, even when the moment had long passed. She'd thought it would get easier - it didn't. He was still gone.
"Wo ai ni," he said abruptly, in his tiny little five-year-old voice, with asian eyes as big as saucers.
She smiled back helplessly. "I love you too."
•
Then, too soon, it was 1995. Tessa had been alive for over a hundred years, and it made her feel a bit queer, like she was supposed to be different and wasn't, really, not at all. Magnus wasn't talking to her and she'd lost track of her descendants, so she was just wandering aimlessly, drifting about Great Britain like a ghost. She'd gone to London for her centennial; stood at Blackfriar's Bridge and wondered if she could drown.
She needed to stop thinking like that, so she wandered. On foot. It was 1995 and she was still wearing long dresses, though she'd begun to show a bit of ankle on occasion. She just preferred not to. She still felt that anything shorter was scandalous; still felt naked without a corset.
Holmes Chapel, Cheshire. She was beginning to feel a bit less like drowning herself, for surprisingly, it was a town she'd never been to before. Not once. It was quite upscale, making her feel a bit bad about the state of her muddy clothes, but she was wearing a corset and no one else was, so there. She was still more elegant than all of them.
Then she laughed at herself, for bothering to care.
The bakery called out to her in the way that bakeries did to all women, and swept in without a second thought.
Harry Styles looked up from the counter, his face lit up from ear to ear, and he gasped.
"Hey, pretty lady," he managed to get out.
He was sixteen.
He was a beautiful sixteen.
How long had he been sixteen? She felt like her head was spinning, or maybe something a little lower down. "You really need to send me a letter when you make yourself legal like this," she said, and he laughed and laughed and laughed.
"I really don't think there's anything legal about it. You're, what, a hundred and--"
"Please," Tessa interrupted, scoffing. "Spare me."
He chuckled. "And I'm well over two thousand. I'm too old for you, darling."
Tessa had the most frightening image of throwing herself on the counter, swooning, and begging him to take her now! ... She quashed that bit of ridiculousness, but she could see by his smile that he knew what he was doing to her.
"You're, erm, working, then?" She still had an American accent and it still sounded horrible in England.
Harry winked. "I get off at four. And if you're still here, I'll get off again after that."
She went absolutely crimson and he laughed, but she also knew she wouldn't say no.
•
It was 2011, and Tessa had finally started dressing like she was part of this century. The new millenium had made her feel young again, ready for some new beginnings, and she was back in London - not entirely because it felt like home, but because Harry Styles was in a British band called One Direction.
She followed them semi-obsessively, listened to their music and couldn't decide if she hated or loved it, but her long-ago dream of hearing Haeres sing was finally a reality. She drifted closer, working her angles (of which there were many these days), met the god of music and made a complete ass of herself then had to apologize, no, she wasn't crazy, just an immortal shapeshifter in love with Harry Styles. Just that.
But it took her longer to really find him, because famous people were disgustingly difficult to get ahold of, and he wouldn't recognize her face or name now so she'd have to do it proper. Normally, she liked proper. Harry made her want to toss proper out the window.
"Oh, hello," he said, then peered closer and a slow smile curled over his face. "...Pretty lady."
She laughed and blushed. "Hi, Harry."
"Can I call you--"
"No," she quickly responded, cutting him off and flicking her eyes over to the other boys - demigods, Apollo had told her, and she was strangely happy that Harry had other boys his age to connect with.
Then she had to remind herself that Harry wasn't actually sixteen, and she wasn't actually Tessa.
"I'm Caroline Flack," she said, trying to sound like Caroline and not like Tessa, and failing miserably. "And I'm a bit old for you."
He laughed in her face and dragged her off to bed.
Tessa Gray/Harry Styles
• 1,400 words
• demigods!verse 1D meets The Infernal Devices
• you don't need to know anything about Tessa except that she's an immortal shapeshifter
• to the song the sweetest perfection, fourplay version
I stop and I stare too much
I stop and I care too much
And I hardly dare to touch
For fear that the spell may be broken
She had learned, in her many years on this earth, that there were many other gods, many other demons, and many other magics.
But she had still never met anyone quite like Haeres.
They first met in Barcelona, where she was avoiding Shadowhunters and Haeres was causing trouble. He was always causing trouble, but he was five, then, so trouble was just part and parcel of the whole deal.
Tessa fell in love with him instantly, of course. She wrapped him up in her arms and didn't want to ever let go, and it was only afterward, when she sat with Ana and let her guard down for a second, that she was told who - what - little Enrique truly was.
"Rico," Ana called out, "Venga aquí, por favor, cari."
He trotted over, his black curls a messy tumble and eyes wide in his face - they were dark green, Tessa realized, not quite the black that she'd assumed, to match his race. She couldn't quite believe he was a god - well, no. She could believe he was a god. She just couldn't believe she was speaking with him, that's all.
"Hola bastante señora," he chirped, and Tessa felt herself blush. Blush.
"I..." she cleared her throat. "Can you understand English?" She still hadn't the hang of Spanish. Everyone said Chinese was the most difficult language to learn, but somehow she hadn't had nearly the same problems with it.
"Si." His smile turned wicked, and it seemed he wouldn't be responding in kind unless dragged.
•
They met again in Venice, and Tessa was honestly surprised. She had thought Rhea would be avoiding anywhere connected with her gods; she reassured her that the gods had moved on.
"They're in America," she said, with a bit of a wry smile. "And it's nice to visit where they've been."
Venice was beautiful, but Haeres made it shine. He was just 'Rico' here, and Rhea was Annetta, though she didn't seem to mind when Tessa kept calling her Anna. He wasn't five anymore - eleven, and he was just gangly enough to be unhandsome and babyfaced enough to make that not matter in the slightest. Tessa still loved him. She could become anyone, but at the end of the day, she still had to go back to being Tessa no-longer-Carstairs Gray. Haeres could be whoever he wanted to be, truly, and he would always be loved.
His eyebrows shot up when he saw her on the Rialto. "Ciao, bella signora!" he called out in a ringing voice, and she melted. Oh, to hear him sing. It must be like hearing angels.
She smiled. "Ciao, bambino. How are you liking Venice?"
He switched to English without missing a beat. "Oh, I love it here. There's a mask-maker just across the canal from the Palazzo Labia, he makes the most beautiful--are you quite all right?"
And Tessa would never cease to be Victorian. She was blushing profusely. "Oh- yes, it's just. Erm."
Haeres, eleven years old, smiled ear to ear and winked.
•
Then she was in Beijing, and she fell in love with him all over again. He was five, or maybe six, and he chattered away in Cantonese like he knew. They were nowhere near Hong Kong; everyone around them was speaking Mandarin, which Tessa could only communicate passably in. Maybe he did know, maybe he'd been watching, seen how awkward her words were. But he couldn't've known. He would've just spoken in English, not - he couldn't've known.
"Hao bu hao, Tessa," he murmured, petting her skirts. "Xiang ai. Sam zi tou ming."
He was right, of course. Jem had loved her, and Haeres was the god of infatuation - of course he could still see it on her, even when the moment had long passed. She'd thought it would get easier - it didn't. He was still gone.
"Wo ai ni," he said abruptly, in his tiny little five-year-old voice, with asian eyes as big as saucers.
She smiled back helplessly. "I love you too."
•
Then, too soon, it was 1995. Tessa had been alive for over a hundred years, and it made her feel a bit queer, like she was supposed to be different and wasn't, really, not at all. Magnus wasn't talking to her and she'd lost track of her descendants, so she was just wandering aimlessly, drifting about Great Britain like a ghost. She'd gone to London for her centennial; stood at Blackfriar's Bridge and wondered if she could drown.
She needed to stop thinking like that, so she wandered. On foot. It was 1995 and she was still wearing long dresses, though she'd begun to show a bit of ankle on occasion. She just preferred not to. She still felt that anything shorter was scandalous; still felt naked without a corset.
Holmes Chapel, Cheshire. She was beginning to feel a bit less like drowning herself, for surprisingly, it was a town she'd never been to before. Not once. It was quite upscale, making her feel a bit bad about the state of her muddy clothes, but she was wearing a corset and no one else was, so there. She was still more elegant than all of them.
Then she laughed at herself, for bothering to care.
The bakery called out to her in the way that bakeries did to all women, and swept in without a second thought.
Harry Styles looked up from the counter, his face lit up from ear to ear, and he gasped.
"Hey, pretty lady," he managed to get out.
He was sixteen.
He was a beautiful sixteen.
How long had he been sixteen? She felt like her head was spinning, or maybe something a little lower down. "You really need to send me a letter when you make yourself legal like this," she said, and he laughed and laughed and laughed.
"I really don't think there's anything legal about it. You're, what, a hundred and--"
"Please," Tessa interrupted, scoffing. "Spare me."
He chuckled. "And I'm well over two thousand. I'm too old for you, darling."
Tessa had the most frightening image of throwing herself on the counter, swooning, and begging him to take her now! ... She quashed that bit of ridiculousness, but she could see by his smile that he knew what he was doing to her.
"You're, erm, working, then?" She still had an American accent and it still sounded horrible in England.
Harry winked. "I get off at four. And if you're still here, I'll get off again after that."
She went absolutely crimson and he laughed, but she also knew she wouldn't say no.
•
It was 2011, and Tessa had finally started dressing like she was part of this century. The new millenium had made her feel young again, ready for some new beginnings, and she was back in London - not entirely because it felt like home, but because Harry Styles was in a British band called One Direction.
She followed them semi-obsessively, listened to their music and couldn't decide if she hated or loved it, but her long-ago dream of hearing Haeres sing was finally a reality. She drifted closer, working her angles (of which there were many these days), met the god of music and made a complete ass of herself then had to apologize, no, she wasn't crazy, just an immortal shapeshifter in love with Harry Styles. Just that.
But it took her longer to really find him, because famous people were disgustingly difficult to get ahold of, and he wouldn't recognize her face or name now so she'd have to do it proper. Normally, she liked proper. Harry made her want to toss proper out the window.
"Oh, hello," he said, then peered closer and a slow smile curled over his face. "...Pretty lady."
She laughed and blushed. "Hi, Harry."
"Can I call you--"
"No," she quickly responded, cutting him off and flicking her eyes over to the other boys - demigods, Apollo had told her, and she was strangely happy that Harry had other boys his age to connect with.
Then she had to remind herself that Harry wasn't actually sixteen, and she wasn't actually Tessa.
"I'm Caroline Flack," she said, trying to sound like Caroline and not like Tessa, and failing miserably. "And I'm a bit old for you."
He laughed in her face and dragged her off to bed.