#he would just be more open to the fact that everybody is freaking gorgeous and that he is very gay for them
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If Shen Yuan would have transmigrated after realizing his sexuality, SVSSS would have been even more unhinged.
Like, he already notices the beautiful men he is surrounded by, but now these beautiful men could be an option for him. Sure, not LBH because he is the protagonist of a stallion novel, he will get his harem of pretty flowers, but the others! After all, if all women belongs to the protagonist, maybe it wouldn't be frowned upon for the men to be cutsleeves. Right? His cute little white sheep will have all the peerless beauties, but the other men who also deserve love and appreciation and care will have no one and that would be a crime.
Now, he just has to figure out which one of his beautiful and handsome and reliable and strong martial brothers is open to have a... a closer relationship with him. I mean, one of them has to be at least a little bit queer, right?! That's just statistics!
#shen qingqiu#shen yuan#sqq's harem#svsss#obviously his (lack of) awareness would stay the same#he would just be more open to the fact that everybody is freaking gorgeous and that he is very gay for them#the internal freaking out would increase tho#obviously#sy transmigrated after realizing he is gay au
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11 and/or 26 for taakitz
Taako has his hoodie strings pulled tight as fucking possible, not a whisper of a ghost or peeping tom getting through this shield here, no thank you. He’s hunched over in the corner of the train and trying to pretend he doesn’t exist, because trying to pretend he wasn’t crying has already backfired. He never cries, never, and it’s a lot worse doing it in motherfucking public where god and everybody can see, and those bitches have no right to witness his emotional shame. If he had a fucking car, he could be weeping in some parking lot or traffic like a man, but no, no no, he’s here, and he’s crying, and he’s scrunched up like a dumb asshole about it, wishing he was invisible.
This, unfortunately, does not make him invisible.
“Oh my god, I’m so sorry,” goes the most gorgeous voice Taako has ever heard, because of course it would have to be a hottie and not some kind of freak. “My- I’m so sorry, my ferret is really interested in your bag, I- you probably want to be left alone, sorry, I-”
Taako un-scrunchies his hoodie.
“Dog, what the fuck do you mean your fer-” He looks down at his bag, and sure enough, the most charming little catsnake he has ever laid eyes upon is trying to climb right the fuck in there like it is nap central station. He laughs, hoarse and pathetic, and wipes at his face, hoping he doesn’t look as batshit and wet and miserable as he feels. “You have a fucking ferret on the train?”
“Yes,” the man says, tugging on the leash harness, but still the little wyrm persists. It must have smelled the jerky in Taako’s bag. Discerning creature. “And I- I really do apologize, usually Vengeance is much better behaved than this-”
Taako snorts so hard it almost hurts, and bends down to pet the little guy. He rolls against Taako and makes a happy little noise.
“Vengeance, huh? You don’t seem so vengeful to me.” He smiles, wiping his face one more time, his unceremonious dismissal from the best job he’ll ever have briefly forgotten. He looks up at handsome-voice and freezes in place, which causes Vengeance to flop against him, looking for more scritches. Handsome-voice is handsome, yes, this is true, irrefutable fact. He is also absolutely covered in blood.
“You might be surprised,” Handsome Serial Killer says. “Oh- you’re looking at me like-” he laughs, and it’s so sweet and warm and gorgeous. “Don’t worry, it’s not my blood.”
“For sure,” Taako says, feeling like an emotional kaleidoscope cracked open for the sweet geometric meat inside. He could not have predicted a single word of this day, honestly, and subtly pinches himself, just in case.
No dice. Bitch.
“It’s- you’re going to laugh.” He smiles warmly, and Taako wants to fall for him, but there’s a slight problem about it.
“Uh huh?”
“My car is in the shop,” he says, “And I had to clear out a den of feral vampires in the city.”
“Yuh huh,” Taako says, dripping with disbelief.
“Now- I certainly don’t make a habit of it, honest- I know it isn’t the best way to get around, and certainly isn’t that subtle, I know I’m being quite disruptive with my ferret and all that-”
“My dude,” Taako says. “Vampires aren’t real.”
“Oh, no,” Handsome Freak says. “They very much are. They’re quite a problem in the cities. Well, the feral ones, anyway, I leave the reasonable ones alone. Honestly, I’m friends with quite a few vampires, they aren’t that bad, although you always have to wonder whether they see you or what’s inside you, you know?”
“No,” Taako says. “I’m a fucking cook. Or- or I was-” Deep breath. Pet the murderer’s ferret on the train. Take the bullshit as it comes. “Not some kind of magic- fucker.”
“Really?” The man tilts his head. “But you would have quite the aptitude for it, I can tell. Do you mean you’re no longer employed? I’ve been looking for a partner for some time.”
“To hunt fucking vampires, man? To do meth with you??”
“The first,” he says, incredibly casually. “My vice of choice is something more along the lines of a beautiful cabernet.”
Taako shakes his head. His stop is coming up soon. He needs to stay alive until then and walk away in one piece.
But something about this freak has his ears ringing.
“Vampires?” Taako says again. “For real?”
“Not just vampires. My agency deals with all sorts of things. Have you ever wondered what lurks in the dark, my friend?”
“I’m not your friend, pal,” Taako snaps. He feels shaken up like a martini full of aquarium gravel. But he wants to know more, and the guy, in all black leather and a fucking cloak, jesus, is this guy a vampire himself? Seems to pick up on that. He hands Taako an elegant, dark red business card.
Kravitz, Problem-solver, is all it says, above a number. Taako looks at him, at the blood, at the ferret, at the doofy smile on his handsome face. He seems earnest. Too earnest.
Taako gets up for his stop, but he pockets the card. You know, just in case he can’t find another job fast enough. He’d rather kill vampires than be a dishwasher again.
#cw blood#blood#taakitz#taakitz fic#taz#tazb#the adventure zone#the adventure zone balance#fan5fics#taz balance
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Electricity
Inspired by @ledzeppelinmixtape 's emoji prompt: ⛈
Read on ao3 or below / 2.3k words
It's 11pm and storming biblically when Dean and Cas's apartment goes dark.
"Great," Dean mutters under his breath. "Fan-freaking-tastic."
From somewhere else in the apartment, his roommate asks "did the power go out?"
"What do you think, sunshine?" Dean replies sarcastically.
He has a half-written essay in front of him, but he knows his old-ass computer won't last long unplugged, so he saves the document before shutting it off. He leans back in his chair, stretching for the first time in an hour and running a hand down his face. He actually needed a break from the screen, he realizes, feeling his eyes relax as he rubs them.
The steady rain and strong winds outside make an overwhelming white noise track, interrupted only by thunder that goes from faint and distant to deafening in volume. If Dean wasn't stressed out of his mind and completely exhausted right now, he might actually find this kind of nice.
"It's raining cats and mice out there," he hears Cas say, his voice now in the room.
Dean smiles, still rubbing his eyes with the backs of both his hands. "Cats and dogs, Cas."
"Right. Cats and dogs."
It’s really no use correcting him; the entire animal kingdom could be falling from the sky right now and there wouldn't be much of a difference. The winds are definitely knocking things over, and the streets will certainly be flooded come morning. Dean wonders for how long the university will cancel classes after this (if at all, the heartless bloodsuckers).
A particularly loud clap of thunder startles Dean. He drops his hands from his face and opens his eyes, expecting to see pitch black nothingness, but the room is faintly lit by the flashlight Cas is holding as he rummages through their kitchen drawers. He approaches a minute later and sets a candle down on the small table.
"Smart."
"Thank you, Dean," Cas says, sitting down opposite him. Dean smiles again, this time shaking his head.
If anyone ever asked him to mention one thing he likes about Cas, just one, he'd probably say how genuine Cas is, how he takes everything to heart and speaks from it as well. Dean said just one word, smart, a simple comment on the fact that it occurred to Cas to light a candle instead of wasting the battery of their one flashlight, and Cas genuinely thanked him for the compliment. He's just ridiculously cute in his earnestness.
Cas is trying to light the candle now, but their lighter is tricky. Despite living together in that apartment for a year and a half now Cas has never really gotten the hang of it.
"Here, let me."
Dean means to take the lighter from Cas and do it himself, he really does. That is 100% his intention as he reaches across the table. Except he sees an opportunity, and Dean Michael Winchester is nothing if not smooth.
He wraps his hand around Cas's, gently guiding his fingers until they’re placed just right, and the lighter clicks on with ease. Cas meets his eyes, smiling, and Dean can feel the slightest brush of Cas’s thumb against his hand. It’s a small gesture, but clearly deliberate, and it sends Dean’s heart into overdrive. Cas leans away, puts the lighter aside, and starts leafing through a book he brought. Dean’s heart is still racing as he watches him.
Scratch that first thing. If anyone ever asked him what’s one thing he likes about Cas? His hands. God. Neat nails, slightly calloused palms, and overall larger hands than you’d expect. Cas is an environmental science major and he wants to get a Ph.D. in botany, so of course, there’s a small garden on their fire escape. He tends to those plants every day with more gentleness and care than Dean has ever seen, and Dean loves to watch him, even though he has no idea what Cas is doing with them half the time. He just knows that not a single one of their plants have died under Cas’s care. He names them too.
His attentiveness. That’s another thing Dean might say if anyone ever asked. Cas left to visit his sister Anna last winter break. He left Dean in charge of the plants, three of which died inside the week. (For Dean’s birthday a couple of months later, Cas got him a book. How Not to Kill Your Houseplant. Dean keeps it on his nightstand.) Dean went out and bought new ones, but he knew Cas would notice the difference, and he did. He wasn’t mad at Dean though, and he appreciated the effort, and as Dean apologized profusely over and over again, Cas looked at him in the eyes oh-so-softly and told him he was forgiven.
How could Dean possibly forget? If anyone ever asked, he’d say that Cas’s eyes are one of his favorite things about him. One of his favorite things, period. Dean is absolutely mesmerized whenever Cas looks him in the eye, and the guy loves making eye contact, which means that Dean lives in a perpetual smitten daze. He has never seen that shade of blue anywhere else on this earth. Or maybe he just hasn’t been looking, content to get his fill of that blue by staring into Cas’s eyes as much as he gets to on a daily basis.
“Are you alright, Dean?”
Dean blinks himself back to reality. “Hm?”
“You seem… spaced.”
Dean is staring. He’s been staring this whole time. Shit. Crap.
“Yeah, um. Just tired.”
Mr. Smooth, everybody.
“Maybe you should go get some rest. I doubt the power will be back anytime soon.”
Castiel Milton, always looking out for you. It makes Dean melt.
“Yeah, maybe.” I wanna stay here with you, though, he thinks. Instead, because he’s pathetic, he asks “what’re you reading?”
Cas shows him the cover. How Not to Kill Your Houseplant. Dean breaks out in laughter.
“So you’re going into my room and stealing my shit now?”
“Don’t worry, I didn’t touch your Vonneguts.” Cas puts the book aside, an easy smile on his face. “Just wanted something light to pass the time.”
“You done with your homework?”
A soft yawn escapes Cas. “For now.”
“Dude, why not just go to sleep? You look exhausted.”
“Look who’s talking.”
Dean tries to deadpan him. He fails, because around Cas, it’s near impossible for him to not smile.
“Besides, I might be done but you weren’t.”
“And you wanted to keep me company.”
Cas shrugs as if to say I guess, but he does it with a knowing smile. The smile doesn’t falter as he meets Dean’s eyes, and he doesn’t look away when silence settles between them, the only sound being the stormy white noise.
Dean is sure he could drown in that blue and die happy.
Before that train of thought gets away from him again, Dean tears his gaze away and stretches. “We should really go to bed though, I’m not getting any more done tonight,” he says as he stands.
“Of course,” Cas says, but he grabs the book again.
“You not going?”
“I want to finish this chapter.”
The seriousness in his tone makes Dean smile. Again.
“Well, g’night, Cas.”
“Good night, Dean.”
Dean thinks he detects a bit of shakiness in Cas’s voice but decides that he’s probably just tired.
He gets to his room and changes into something comfortable, the first t-shirt and sweatpants he finds as he rummages in the dark. He goes to set his phone on his nightstand and crawl into bed, but in place of the book he keeps there and puts his phone on top of– the book Cas has at the moment– he finds something else.
It’s paper. It’s folded into the form of a book, like one of those youtube craft tutorials with bad music, and it's no bigger than his own palm. The cover is handwritten, and Dean immediately recognizes it as Cas's. He smiles, expecting a prank or joke of some sort, Cas knows how stressed Dean can get with the start of the semester. However, his smile falters as he reads the cover:
How to tell your best friend you’re in love with him.
With a shaky hand, Dean opens the small book. The first page is the only one with any more writing on it, and it reads:
You leave him a note and hope it’s enough.
Dean is storming out of his bedroom (no pun intended) before he knows it. He barely even feels his feet moving, too focused on the pounding in his ears and the dryness in his mouth. He doesn’t go into the living room, not yet; his feet stop at the end of the short hallway and he braces himself against the wall. The room is spinning and he can barely breathe.
“Cas?” He chokes out.
Cas puts the book back down on the table in front of him and interlocks his fingers in front of him. He doesn’t look at Dean– Cas, who makes too much eye contact – and takes a deep breath before saying “yes?”
He’s nervous.
Dean takes a step forward, still keeping one hand on the wall just in case, and holds up the note. “What is this?” he asks, because his brain is just not there with him yet.
Cas stands, still not facing Dean. “Dean, do you know what day it is?”
He’s asking this now???
“September firs–”
Oh. Oh shit.
“Cas isn’t today the–”
“The night we met. Two years ago.”
Dean feels his brain catching up now as the memory starts coming back to him. Cas helps, starting to recount that night.
“Two years ago tonight, I was leaving my night course at the university, and it was raining. Not as bad as this,” –Cas looks out the window and lightning strikes, as if on cue– “but pretty badly, and I was an inexperienced freshman without an umbrella.”
Dean remembers. He was walking Charlie to her dorm when it started drizzling, and it was pouring by the time he made it back to his car. Dean had a night shift at the gas station and was about to head there.
“Two years ago tonight,” Cas continues, “you invited me into your car to shelter me from the rain.”
Dean saw this guy running in the direction of the men’s dorms, which were on the other side of campus. He felt bad, and he had a car, so he opened the passenger door and let him in.
Turned out to be the most gorgeous guy he’d ever laid eyes on. He was a bit awkward, but he had no filter, which made him weirdly funny. He asked about the music playing in the car and listened intently to Dean's rambling. He laughed at his jokes too.
At the end of the five-minute drive, he said his name was Castiel, and Dean asked for his number and saved it as Cas with a thunderstorm emoji. Because even if he didn’t know it yet, Dean was already whipped.
“Two years ago,” Cas says, finally looking up at Dean. His eyes are wide and vulnerable and he looks terrified and Dean can barely stand it. “Two years ago tonight, I started to fall in love with you.”
Dean can’t breathe. His ears are hot and he can’t stop fidgeting with the note in his hand and he can’t breathe.
But his feet start moving again, out of their own volition. They move toward Cas.
“If you don’t feel–” Cas starts, but Dean swallows his words.
Again, Dean’s brain isn’t all there yet, and he doesn’t realize what he’s doing until he’s already in it. He’s grabbing Cas’s face, digging his fingertips into the back of his hair, and the note is forgotten on the table, and thunder rumbles not that far away. He’s darting out his tongue, begging to explore Cas’s mouth as he’s wanted to do since forever, and Cas lets him. He tastes like toothpaste and coffee and honey and Dean never wants to taste anyone else ever again.
Cas is wrapping his arms around Dean’s waist and pressing his entire body against him. It’s making Dean weak in the knees but it’s okay because Cas is almost holding him upright at this point. There’s another clap of thunder, much closer this time, and the lightning probably illuminated the apartment, but it wasn’t enough to make them part. They’re moving and grasping and exploring frantically, and Dean is afraid Cas is going to disappear, or that he’s going to wake up and this will all have been another dream. But no, it’s real, and they’re playing catchup on two years worth of desire and longing and love.
They eventually pull away, breathless and giddy. The only sounds are the rain and the wind. Dean opens his eyes first, needing to see Cas and make sure this is completely, definitely, unequivocally real. Cas is smiling and taking deep breaths, and a weight seems to be lifted off his shoulders. He opens his eyes a second later, and even in the darkness, even with just the faint candlelight, the blue in them seems to shine. And even though there's no power, it feels as if there's electricity crackling in the air around them. It might be the storm.
No. It's the moment. This moment with Cas is what feels electric.
“Come to bed?” Dean asks, feeling brave and going out on a limb. The only way Cas responds is by interlocking his hand into Dean’s and kissing him again.
And after tonight, for the rest of his life, if anyone ever asks him “what’s one thing you love about Cas?” Dean won’t be able to narrow down an answer.
He’ll just say: “Everything.”
#gen.fics#spncreatorsdaily#creativecaviar#userjennmish#userdorksinlove#userstarry#tuserari#plantdadcas#offbeattraxx#slipper007#thisisapaige#lyntracks#deancas#destiel#college au#fic#spn#gen creates
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peaceful easy feeling ft. b.boeser | one
A/N: Here’s the beginning of my new mini-series! I hope you all enjoy it. It will definitely be a bit of an emotional rollercoaster, so be prepared! There will be five parts!
SUPPORT MY WRITING HERE: https://ko-fi.com/spine_buster
CONTENT WARNING: parents with disease/sickness (Parkinson’s); swearing; sex; alcohol use; lots of emotions.
* * * * *
Brock Boeser felt like he was at some sort of Alcoholics Anonymous meeting, with everybody around the circle introducing themselves and their similar predicaments. The group was in a big meeting room at the local community centre, and when he walked in, he saw a group of dads playing basketball in the gym. He sort of wanted to join them instead of being here, in this room, with all these people that he didn’t know talking about what they were going to talk about, but he’d done this back in Minnesota, at his mother’s behest with his siblings, and he was going to do it here, too, in Vancouver, to make her happy and ease her mind and to make sure that he was easing his own mind.
“Um, hello everyone. My name is Brock Boeser. I’m from Minnesota, but I’m living in Vancouver. And um, I’m here with you all because my dad was diagnosed with Parkinson’s Disease.”
“Hello Brock,” everyone smiled at him, and he smiled and nodded back.
“So it was your dad that was diagnosed,” the leader, a kind, older woman named Esther who had greeted him at the door and stuck with him until everybody sat down, egged on a conversation. He knew she was doing it because he was new; everybody in this room probably already knew each other. A part of him actually wondered if anybody knew who he was. “When?”
“Um, he—he was diagnosed with Parkinson’s in 2010,” Brock revealed, stuttering it out. He knew he’d have to be open at these things – open so people could empathize with him, open so he could empathize with others – but it was still tough for him to do so. “But he—it’s—it’s not just Parkinson’s. Two years after he was diagnosed, he was in a car accident and suffered a traumatic brain injury. In 2017, he was diagnosed with lung cancer. He beat it but then in June it returned to his liver and chest. In July, he had a heart attack and his heart stopped beating for 15 minutes. I was with him and—I—it’s—it’s a lot, as you can imagine,” he tried not to start crying right then and there. Imagine that – first meeting with a Parkinson’s Society of BC support group and he’d bawl like a baby.
“Goodness me, Brock,” Esther said. “He has support at home?”
“Um, well, money isn’t an issue now, but when I was growing up my mom worked three jobs to make sure we were all taken care of,” he revealed. “I’d pitch in too wherever I could, obviously.”
“But it’s been tough for a number of years.”
Brock paused. It had been tough for a number of years. It had been really tough for a number of years. He nodded his head. “Yes ma’am. I try to take it day by day.”
Esther nodded as well. “I don’t know if you pray, Brock, but I know a couple of members around the circle do, and, well – you’ll be kept in all our prayers.”
Brock saw a few people nod their head. Another older woman, probably his mom’s age, clutching a rosary; a Sikh man dressed in a casual suit; a younger woman, probably in her thirties, with short blonde hair. He appreciated the sentiment. He knew that people took prayer very seriously – that people suffering took prayer very seriously. It was, realistically, one of the kindest things somebody could ever say to you: “I’m praying for you.” “Thank you very much,” he said, nodding his head once.
***
There was an arrangement of cookies at the end of the meeting. Even after the 90 minutes of everybody talking about their experiences and emotions, they apparently liked to stick around afterwards as well just to mingle. It didn’t all have to be doom and gloom, he thought. It didn’t all have to be about Parkinson’s or about sick people or losing your loved ones all the time. Maybe some people just wanted to talk about the news. Maybe some people just wanted to talk about sports. The weather. Anything. Anything to make a connection with someone beyond something so tragic.
After stuffing an entire Fudge-O cookie into his mouth, he looked up to see a young woman staring at him, holding her trenchcoat in her arms. She was smiling to let him know she was friendly. He was embarrassed because he knew she just saw him stuff an entire Fudge-O into his mouth. “Hi,” he said, his mouth still full of cookie, the sound of his voice reflecting that fact.
“You’re Brock Boeser, right?” she asked sweetly. “You play for the Vancouver Canucks?”
“Yeah,” Brock couldn’t help but smile. He swallowed the rest of the cookie even though he didn’t really finish chewing it. “That’s me. Are you a fan?”
“My step-brothers are more so than I am,” she said. “But I’m a fan of the team, yeah. I’m Grace Gillespie,” she extended her hand to shake his. “God, they’re not gonna believe me when I say I met you. They’re gonna freak.”
Brock couldn’t help but chuckle slightly. “Do you—I mean, do you want a picture? I don’t mind at all. I’ll sign an autograph on a napkin if you want me to.”
“Well…it’s a bit awkward to ask you at a Parkinson’s Society of BC meeting, but we could go to the Starbucks down the street and I could buy you a coffee.”
Brock was slightly taken aback at her forwardness. He shouldn’t have been. Girls came up to him all the time. All the time. And they were most definitely not shy. But he wasn’t exactly expecting it to happen here, of all places. A bar, sure. Out with Petey or any of the other guys, absolutely. But not here. “Yeah…yeah sure,” he stuttered out.
“Then we should go,” Grace smiled. She turned to look behind her. Brock saw Esther picking up a few Oreos. “Thank you for leading another great session, Esther,” Grace said.
“Oh you are most welcome Miss Gillespie. How is Hamish these days? You didn’t speak much today.”
“He’s been doing fine lately. His caregivers have been working around the clock for him. They just work wonders, don’t they?”
Esther nodded. “They are angels on Earth. Anyways – we’ll catch up next week,” she said, leaning slightly on her leg to look beyond Grace and to Brock. “I hope to see you here again next week, Brock.”
“Thank you, Esther. See you next week,” he said, realizing he made the commitment before he could even realize what he was saying.
***
“I take that was your first meeting?” Grace asked as she set down the two lattes on the table against the window where Brock was waiting.
“Was it really obvious?” Brock asked.
Grace shrugged her shoulders. She didn’t want to make him feel self-conscious. “It was the stuttering that gave it away, at least to me. I know I stuttered a lot the first few times I came to these meetings. I wasn’t the most comfortable talking about my dad’s condition to a room full of virtual strangers. But within just a few months I realized the people in that room are the kindest, most empathetic, most amazing people that I’ve ever interacted with. So I became a lot more open.”
Brock was transfixed by every word that Grace was saying. “So you’ve been coming here a long time,” he said.
Grace nodded. “My dad got diagnosed with Parkinson’s when I was fourteen. I didn’t start coming here until I was about eighteen, though.”
Brock knew he shouldn’t ask. He knew he shouldn’t. But his brain had ulterior motives, and his mouth – well, his mouth listened to his brain, because it apparently needed to know. “Is your—is your dad like my dad?” he asked. “Does he have, like, other problems complicating things?”
Grace shook her head. “No,” she said softly. “But the Parkinson’s is enough for him. I mean he was diagnosed just short of ten years ago and he’s already on puréed foods. It’s not—I mean, you know as well as I do that it doesn’t regularly develop that fast. But that’s…I don’t know how you do it.”
Brock didn’t know either. Some days he didn’t. “I just take it day by day,” he said simply, just like he said in the meeting. “If I think about it too much…that’s when it’s bad.”
“I hear ya,” Grace said, taking a sip of her coffee. “But let’s…not talk about this for too long. Do you like Vancouver? Do you find it nice?”
Brock appreciated the change in topic. “I love it here,” he nodded his head, smiling. “The city’s great. The fans are great. My teammates – I mean they’re amazing. What do you do?”
“I’m a dance teacher at Goh Ballet – little kids and teens, mostly.”
He wasn’t expecting that. She was drop dead gorgeous, sure – Brock wasn’t blind – but he wasn’t expecting to hear she was a dancer. “Do you, like, dance in the real ballet?”
Grace snorted slightly at his phrasing of ‘real ballet’. “No. I pursued it only up until a certain point. I was good, but uh, I stopped when my dad got diagnosed.”
“Why? Don’t they always tell people like us to have, like, an outlet or whatever?”
“They do. But I loved my dad more than I loved dance. And I would have rather spent the time that I was spending on dance with him instead.”
He understood where she was coming from, and he wasn’t there to judge her. “And your brothers you mentioned, did they help too?”
“Oh no no no. Sorry – I should have specified. I’m an only child. Like, the only child between my parents. But they divorced when I was six and when my mom re-married I gained two step-brothers, Jasper and Theo.”
“How was the divorce?” Brock found himself asking.
“You ever see footage of a nuclear bomb exploding?” Grace giggled as she asked the question. It caused Brock to laugh too even though the analogy she was making was dreadful. “It was awful. The type of divorce nobody deserves, you know? I became a pawn, basically, and my parents would only speak to each other through lawyers. Even stuff concerning me. It was bad.”
“That sounds horrible.”
“It was. But it’s the only life I know,” she said. “He was lucky my mom ended up marrying another rich guy. I mean, my mom only marries rich men,” she giggled slightly again. “That’s how Jasper and Theo became my step-brothers.”
“So your family has money?” Brock clarified. “What’s it from? Dad a lawyer or something?”
“Not exactly,” Grace said. “My dad and his brothers own a private equity firm that started like this,” she pinched her fingers together, “and went like…” she continued, spreading her fingers and moving her hands around her like a bomb explosion. “Gillespie Brothers Investments. I’m sure as a Vancouver Canuck you’ve heard of them. I mean they wanted to buy the Canucks before the Aquilinis.”
Brock hadn’t heard of them, but he now knew he’d have to do some snooping when he got home. “I haven’t heard of them. But I mean – sounds like they were successful.”
“Three billion dollars is pretty successful to me,” Grace quipped.
“B—Billion,” Brock sputtered out. “With a B.”
“With a B,” Grace nodded. Brock had no idea he was sitting across from the daughter of a billionaire. She didn’t act like a billionaire. Not like Brock knew what billionaires acted like. He’d never met one before in his life. Well, besides Francesco. “But tell me more about what you like about Vancouver. What about the nature? I always kind of fine a good long walk along the Seawall or through Stanley Park really clears my mind from all…this. What about you?”
Brock smiled. “I find the white noise of downtown clears my mind.”
***
“You want my number,” Grace said as a statement rather than a question as she and Brock exited the Starbucks. They were kicked out. They’d been there for so long that they’d been kicked out because they were closing. Their coffees had gotten cold. They hadn’t ordered new ones. And now they found themselves on the deserted sidewalk, jackets put on hastily, and Grace came up with that.
Brock looked down at her. They’d been able to look into each other’s soul for the past few hours. “Of course I want your number,” he said. There was no reason to hide it. No reason to deny it. No reason to have to wait until next week to see her again as they sat around in a circle in a community centre talking about their parents.
He took out his phone. She gave him her number. He texted his name to hers so she’d have his. When that dance was done, she looked up at him. “I’m really glad I met you tonight,” she said, her voice sincere.
Brock nodded. “I’m glad I met you too. I—I really enjoyed this. And I mean—I needed it.”
Grace smiled, nodding her head. “I needed it too.”
“D’you—” Brock stopped, trying not to get too far ahead of himself. “D’you need a ride home?”
“Oh no no, my driver is right there,” she motioned her head towards a black Mercedes waiting by the curb.
Brock hadn’t noticed the car until now. “Chauffeur?”
“Billionaire dad,” she winked. Brock understood. She took a few steps back before smiling one more time. “Call me,” she said, before flipping her hair over her shoulder and walking towards the Mercedes and getting into the backseat. Brock watched as it drove off, making a right at the end of the street.
He would definitely be calling.
#brock boeser#brock boeser imagine#brock boeser fic#brock boeser fan fic#vancouver canucks#vancouver canucks imagine#vancouver canucks fic#vancouver canucks fan fic#brock boeser blurb#vancouver canucks blurb#nhl#nhl imagine#nhl fic#nhl fan fic#nhl blurb#hockey#hockey imagine#hockey fic#hockey fan fic#hockey blurb#peaceful easy feeling series
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Chenford fanfic - In which Tamara gives Lucy and Tim the push they need (but only after completely freaking Tim out)
Tamara was pretty sure Tim and Lucy had feelings for each other and decided to take it upon herself to nudge them forward. She was meeting Lucy for lunch today at the food trucks and was looking forward to putting her plan in motion. However, before Lucy got there Tim did and he sat down opposite Tamara to eat his lunch and talk. She could work with that.
“I bet I can describe your ideal woman and future wife,” Tamara says bluntly a few minutes into their conversation.
Tim just rolls his eyes, “What are you a psychic now or something. Did you see my future in your crystal ball?”
“No. But I do know who you’re going to marry. She’s younger than you. Gorgeous. Dark hair and eyes. The perfect height for you to kiss her forehead. She’s smart and kind and really tough, and has never given up despite the obstacles in her path. And you already think of her as family.”
Tim was so confused he didn’t even interrupt. He was completely lost until he remembered himself as a teenager, convinced he was going to marry his high school crush. Could Tamara really think anything could happen between them? Tim thought of her as a daughter and the thought of what she was implying made him sick.
“I need some air,” he managed to say as he got up and walked away without ever even looking at Tamara. He was so wrapped up in his thoughts he ran right into Lucy who was making her way towards the table he had just vacated.
Lucy was about to tease Tim for bumping into her but the words died when she saw his expression.
“Are you OK?” Lucy asked, “You look shaken.”
“I…,” he began not sure what to say, “I need you to talk with Tamara. I think she has a crush on me and I can’t deal with that. It’s too weird. I need you to set her straight.”
Lucy’s concerned expression had morphed into poorly contained laughter as Tim talked.
“What could possibly make you think Tamara has a crush on you. You know she thinks of you as a father figure. She literally calls you Dadford.”
“She said she knew who I was going to marry, then described herself.”
“She said you were going to marry a previously homeless 19 year-old, who stole a police officer’s car, then convinced the officer to let her keep the car before selling said car?” Lucy asked clearly amused.
“Not that specific but I swear she was describing herself.”
“What exactly did she say?”
“Younger than me, pretty with dark eyes and hair, tough, smart, kind, has overcome obstacles, and about this tall,” Tim finished holding his hand about level with his nose.
“Oh and she said I already think of her as family.”
“Ok I’ll give it to you that Tamara fits all that criteria but she could be describing someone else.”
“Like who?” Tim questioned.
“Angela or Nyla for two,” Lucy offered pointing at the two woman who were currently enjoying their lunches.
Tim made a face. “I guess but what would make her think I’d marry either of them. They’re like my sisters. Plus Angela’s happily married with a new baby.”
Lucy shrugged. “I’ll talk to Tamara if it will make you feel better,” she offered.
“Thank-you,” Tim said as he let out a relieved sigh. “I have to get back on patrol but let me know what she says.”
“Will do,” Lucy replied before heading towards Tamara.
“So what were you and Officer Zaddy talking about?” Tamara asks as soon as Lucy sits down.
“You, actually,” Lucy offered “You freaked him out pretty good.”
“I didn’t tell him anything he didn’t already know deep down,” Tamara replied.
“Which is that he’s going to marry…?” she drew out the last word into a question hoping Tamara would finish the sentence.
“You.”
“What!” Lucy exclaimed having been completely taken off guard.
“Well it’s obvious to everybody else that there’s something between you two. I was just trying to move things along. I didn’t mean to freak him out.”
Lucy was so overwhelmed that she quickly pushed all thoughts of Tim to the deepest, darkest corner of her mind and changed the subject. She was able to get through the rest of lunch without any mention of him and lucky for her the rest of her shift was busy, providing the perfect distraction.
However, when her shift ended and she left the station she could no longer avoid her thoughts and the feelings Tamara’s comment had stirred in her. Especially when the object of said thoughts was in the parking garage, leaning against his truck, seemingly waiting for her.
“Hey,” he greeted pushing off of his truck to meet her, “how’d your talk with Tamara go?”
“Good,” Lucy replied feeling the heat rise in her cheeks, “she does not have a crush on you so you can stop freaking out.”
“Good. But I was not freaking out,” Tim countered.
“You kind of were. It looked like you had seen a ghost,” Lucy teased.
“Well can you blame me?”
“No, but it’s all good now. Go home and get some rest. I’ll see you tomorrow,” Lucy said heading towards her car.
“Wait if she wasn’t talking about herself. Who was she talking about?” Tim asked.
“Maybe we’ll never know,” Lucy offered still facing away from him knowing that if she turned around her flushed cheeks would give her away.
“I can tell you’re lying. Out with it Chen.” Tim demanded in his best TO voice.
Lucy turned to face him but kept her head down and eyes fixed on the floor.
“She was talking about me,” she finally said barely above a whisper.
“You? Oh?” Tim finished then trailed off. He didn’t know what to say. That actually made sense. When he had thought of Tamara, or Angela or Nyla as his future wife he had felt kind of grossed out but when he thought of Lucy he felt different, hopeful?
When the silence stretched on Lucy felt the need to fill it and hopefully break some of the tension.
“Crazy, right?” she offered finally looking up from the floor.
“Is it?” he asked meeting her gaze, “I mean we already kind of act like a couple. We’re each other’s emergency contacts. You are the first person I want to talk to when something happens, good or bad. We spend at least half of our time off together. Whenever I’m in a crowded room my eyes always look for you. There’s nobody’s opinion I value more than yours. For heaven’s sake I was buying a new Bbq brush the other night and I kept thinking “which one would Lucy like?’
Lucy let out a short laugh before speaking around the the lump that had formed in her throat. “I really don’t care about Bbq brushes,” she admitted, “you on the other hand I care about a great deal and the fact that you think of me when you’re buying things for your house means a lot.
“Don’t let it go to your head,” Tim quipped cutting through the heaviness of the moment with their familiar banter.
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” she laughed “but now that I know tough guy, Tim Bradford does sappy speeches I’m going to need more of that in my life.” A playful smile appeared on her face as she stepped forward and took his hands.
“I think that can be arranged,” he offered before tenderly placing a kiss on her forehead. “But you can’t tell anyone, I have a reputation to protect.”
Lucy rolled her eyes but since her head was currently rested on his chest. Tim didn’t see. “If what Tamara said is true it seems everybody already knows. They saw right through your hardshell to your gooey centre. You should just embrace it.”
“Fine,” Tim relented, “speaking of Tamara it seems we might owe her some sort of thank-you.”
“Let’s see how the first date goes first,” Lucy teased pulling just far enough away from him to meet his eyes. “We both have tomorrow off so I’m thinking a midnight stroll along the beach. I hear the bioluminescence is currently beautiful. And I think it’s a full moon tonight. We can stop for food on the way. There’s this great little taco truck that’s open late.” As Lucy talked they made their way to Tim’s truck and he opened the passenger door for her. “We should probably grab Kojo too. He’s already been alone all day. If we’re lucky we might even catch the tail end of the sunset. And if you’re really lucky there may even be some skinny dipping involved.” At that Tim raised his brows at her but didn’t say anything. He didn’t want to interrupt her train of thought. He missed listening to her ramble. And as she continued about grabbing towels and letting Jackson know not to worry when she didn’t come home tonight. It reminded Tim of the countless hours they had spent shoulder to shoulder, just like this. Her musical voice filling the shop while they patrolled. That was over a year ago now and although this felt familiar it also felt different, new, exciting. But most of all it felt like home.
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Ateez slapping their s/o’s butt or whistling at them
❦ Genre: Fluff/Suggestive.
❦ Pairing: OT8.
❦ Word count: 15k.
❦ Requested: Yes, thank you! 🦋
❦ Masterlist.
HONGJOONG
“Don’t do it... don’t do it...” repeated Hongjoong once again.
You stared at him, “don’t do what weirdo?”
“Nothing, just thinking out loud.”
You gave him a look saying, “okay whatever” and then continued to tidy your wardrobe.
Hongjoong was totally immersed by your butt in this sporty shirt you were wearing.
It was not the first time you showed skin like this, in fact he wasn’t even shook because you’ve been intimate before. But he ignored why this short has this effect on him.
“Where this short is coming from?” He shyly asked.
“Hum... I don’t know I found in my old stuff why? Isn’t it cute?” You faced the mirror, looking at your reflection.
“It’s cute. I just never saw it before.”
“Stop staring at me like you are liking an ice cream and go back to your work.” You stuck your tongue out at him.
“Yes, you right...” he sighed.
Hongjoong couldn’t help it. Just before leaving the room and almost ran toward you and slapped loudly but nicely your butt.
You puffed at this action, “Kim Hongjoong! Since when are you slapping your girlfriend’s ass like that?”
“Since this short looks too good on you!” He shouted before closing the door.
He sighed of relief, “aaah it feels good.”
SEONGHWA
You went to a Festival with the group. It was a special event in South Korea and you really wanted to go there, at least once.
For the occasion, you wore a nice dress a little bit shorter from what you usually wear but it was okay.
"When Seonghwa is joining us?" Asked Wooyoung.
"He's probably on his way here. He needed to finish his individual schedule first." You looked at the time on your phone.
"I really want to win this big plushie!" Interrupted San, pointing at a big fox.
"Don't you think you have enough plushies San?" You giggled.
He stared at you coldly. "You and Seonghwa might get along really well..."
"Come on, this big plushie won't even fit in your room."
"And what about the living-room?" he suggested.
"Bring this there and I throw your stuff out of the dorm." Claimed Hongjoong, walking next to you.
You were about to laugh at San's face, but you heard someone whistling behind you.
You instantly wanted to punch who did this, but when you saw your boyfriend with a wide smile on his face, you couldn't help but to melt a little bit more for him.
"I was about to punch you!" you kissed his cheek.
"Yes, I was scared to come back home with a black eye." He replied. "You are gorgeous." He complimented you, wrapping his arm around your shoulders.
“But don’t do it again,” you said seriously. “It’s not polite to do this to a lady.”
“Yes Ma’am.”
YUNHO
Even if you told him that he would be bored because you would be cleaning your entire apartment, Yunho insisted on spending some time with you.
He came in the morning around 10AM, you were already cleaning the kitchen.
All the dishes were spread out everywhere, waiting to be washed as well.
"Hi babe," you greeted him.
"You look in a good mood for someone who usually doesn't like to clean." He giggled.
"I know but this playlist is sooo good!" You claimed, doing some terrible body rolls.
Yunho sat on the couch. "Since when are you cleaning?"
"7AM." You continued to dance, cleaning the counter at the same time.
"3 hours and you just cleaned the bathroom?"
"Blame this playlist," you replied.
Secretly, your boyfriend was enjoying the view in front of him. He loved to see you so happy and dancing this way.
Even your failed twerks made you cute.
"Everybody thinks you shy but I know you are a freak little baby!" you sang out loud.
Yunho stood up and sneaked behind you, making sure you couldn't see him. When you bent down on the counter, he slapped your butt. The sound resonated in the whole room.
You were a little bit shocked because he never did this to you, but you admitted that you liked it. A lot.
"What was that for?" you smirked, booping his nose.
"I don't know... I just wanted to." He replied, grabbing a bottle of water next to you, before going back to the couch like nothing happened.
YEOSANG
You slap Yeosang's ass all the time. Just like that because you find it funny and because you know he hates it. Most of the time he would ask you to stop and sometimes even end being mad because of this, but it's just a matter of time. And he couldn't resist against your puppy eyes.
But you couldn't help it, it's like you needed to touch his cute butt at least 1 time per day.
But after 1 year, he found how he couldn't avoid this daily slap. He just needed to run away every time he feels you coming. Or when he can see you anymore, he would find the perfect moment before you could reach him.
Like today, you were enjoying a night walk with your boyfriend and just when he was walking a little bit in front of you, you tried to slap him, but he stopped you once again.
"How you do that?" you asked.
"I just know you." He replied proudly.
"I won't give up."
"Don't waste your energy on that anymore." He patted your head.
You pouted and continued to walk.
Inside of your head, you were thinking about a strategy to get him by surprise, but you completely snapped out of your mind when you felt his hand slapping your butt.
You were speechless, you ignored that he would do it one day. He was always so shy.
"So? How it feels?" he smirked, knowing that you were confused.
"I like it, do it again." You replied.
"Huh... she's crazy," he sighed.
"Slap me again!" You shouted, trying to embarrass him more.
He started to run, trying to stay away from you.
"Kang Yeosang, slap me again!"
"Help me!" He yelled; scared of you.
SAN
"What do you want to eat for lunch?" asked San, opening the delivery app.
"Whatever you want." You replied, looking for a glass.
"Come on I already chose yesterday."
"Then do it again."
San raised a brow. It has been almost 2 days that you were so bratty.
At first, he thought that you were a little upset or something but no, you seemed really fine.
But he didn't add anything, he just ordered a pizza and closed the app.
When finally, the delivery guy handed you the box, you stared at your boyfriend.
"Oh, you bought pizza again?"
"You told me to take whatever I want."
You gave politely the money to the delivery guy and thanked him for his work.
"I never thought that you would take pizza again. We ate one Monday."
"Then maybe you should have told me about it when I asked you."
"Anyway." You rolled your eyes.
San knew you weren't mad at him, but why a sudden change of mood?
"Are you okay?" he asked, entering the kitchen.
You grabbed a piece of pizza, "I'm fine. Why are you asking? Because I said-"
"Okay relax," he cut you straight.
You rolled your eyes again and engulfed the pizza in your mouth. You couldn't lie on the fact that it was tasty.
Your boyfriend noticed your eyerolls again and decided to slap your butt, nicely but you could feel the suggestive side of it.
"Don't be so bratty with me." He smirked coldly.
You nodded dumbly at him, he looked so intimidating and sexy that you didn't want to make him mad again.
MINGI
"I don't think this jean will fits me well." You stated from the dressing-room.
"Everything looks good on you," replied Mingi.
"You said that because you're my boyfriend."
"Yes, but because I found everything pretty on you too."
You stayed silent, smiling dumbly because of this sudden compliment.
"Just come out so I can see it."
"Don't laugh okay?" you asked shyly.
"Why the hell I would laugh? I'm your boyfriend, not the mean girl of high school."
You giggled by the thought of him wearing a pink dress and radiating the ‘bad bitch energy’.
"Okay, I'm coming."
You opened the curtain slowly. You were a bit insecure about your body and stuff, so it wasn't easy for you to come out with new clothes and stuff like that.
"Why were you so scared? You look really good in this!" He hyped you.
"Really? Isn't it too tight?"
"Nothing is too tight for you babe," he winked at you.
"Men..."
"Can you turn around quickly."
You executed; you wanted his entire opinion on this jean. But you weren't expecting him to give you a little slap on your butt while you were turning around.
"Mingi!"
"It fits you very much, let's buy it now." He smiled widely.
"You are incredible..."
WOOYOUNG
You didn't know why you told the manager that you could replace the make-up staff for the week, but you were regretting it a bit.
It was so exhausting to follow them around and to apply make-up H24/24 on 8 faces.
The only thing you were happy about was that you could see Wooyoung all the time. You just needed to stay away sometimes since no one knows that you were in a secret relationship.
But your boyfriend made it hard. He was constantly messing his make-up, so you could take care of him for 10 minutes minimum.
"If people don't assume that we are a couple with your comportment then it will be a miracle." You whispered.
"I just can't stay away from you," he smiled.
"But you will need to because, first of all, I'm tired of painting your face every 30 minutes and second of all because we are going to get problems."
"Okay okay," he said. "I'll come every 40 minutes then."
You hit his shoulder to bring him back to reality. "I'm not joking Jung Wooyoung! We need to be more careful."
Wooyoung simply nodded. In fact, he was contemplating your body on the mirror's reflection.
"Okay, it's done." You claimed, standing up correctly.
Wooyoung stood up after you and smiled at you before giving you a quick slap on your butt. "Thank you, babe."
You wanted to yell at him that he couldn't do such things here, but you were frozen. Too shocked to say anything.
JONGHO
Jongho asked you to come to the practice dance room. They would do a little diner there to celebrate their 600 days as a group.
For the occasion, you bought a few snacks as chips, drinks, chocolate bars and stuff like this.
You even drew a handmade banner for this special day. Everything was fine.
You couldn't help but to think about how your boyfriend might feel. Being an idol was his dream and now he succeeded. You couldn't be prouder of him.
Suddenly, your phone buzzed on your coat. Hardly because your hands were full, you grabbed it. Jongho was calling you.
"Hello Y/N," he greeted you.
"Hi weirdo, I'm almost there." You let him know.
"Do you think you will be here in 2 minutes because I'm going to the grocery store."
"Hum... if I run ye-"
You heard a suggestive whistle behind you. At first, you looked at the bunch of college students which were sitting at your right. You were about to yell; telling them that it was not polite, but you heard the whistle again.
You turned around this time. "Jongho! Oh my god," you shouted. "I was about to insult the group over there."
Your boyfriend couldn't hold his laughter. "I should have filmed this."
"And don't whistle me like that anymore idiot! I'm not a piece of meat."
"I know babe, I was just kidding with you." He pinched your cheeks before grabbing the heavy bags for you.
#ateez#ateez reactions#ateez reaction#ateez scenarios#ateez scenario#ateez seonghwa#Ateez hongjoong#ateez yeosang#ateez yunho#ateez san#ateez wooyoung#ateez mingi#ateez jongho#ateez writing#ateez writings#ateez reader insert#ateez request#ateez requests#ateez x you#ateez x atiny#ateez x reader#ateez suggestive#ateez kq#ateez kpop#ateez imagines#ateez imagine#ateez crackhead#ateez cute#ateez fluff#ateez funny
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The Crow’s Funeral Snippet: Jon Gets Involved In Local Politics, Regrets It
Annabelle, of course, was standing on the other side of the door.
Slightly less obviously, she was dressed in a finely tailored suit, complete with high heels and a gorgeous dripping silver chain-link necklace. Her hair was tied up in an up-do of braids piled neatly on top of her head, and there was even a briefcase.
She looked Jon up and down critically. He was wearing sweatpants and a holey shirt.
“You forgot,” she condemned, “didn’t you?”
“No I didn’t,” Jon said reflexively. He paused. “Forgot what?”
Annabelle pinched the bridge of her nose. Jon noticed that she was even wearing her usual all-black lipstick and winged eyeliner. “The council committee for London I planned for today. Remember? The one with a representative for each Entity?” Jon stared blankly at her. “There was an invite?”
“Oh, that. I don’t check my mail.” Jon looked at Daisy, who was now pressing aggressively against Jon. “Did you open up any mail recently?” Daisy barked. Jon looked back at Annabelle. “She ate it.”
“...of course she did.”
Written for no real reason besides for the fact that I know too much about my own AU and I care about Annabelle. This story takes place both pre- and post- story: six months after Jon enters London, and six months after the events of the story. We talk about childhood/adulthood, stagnancy/growth, good/evil, and the inherent metaphor of a Nintendo DS. Sometimes...found family...is bad.
Rest under the cut.
In the third month, boiling and bubbling over, someone knocked at Jon’s door.
Not the door to his office. The door to his flat, which had a very large ‘EMPLOYEES ONLY’ sign on it, and was always locked. The employees were, granted, Jon and Daisy, but the message was conveyed. Jon saw the sign in stores and copied it, as he copied many aspects of business models. Jon didn’t quite understand how to run a business, but he had read both ‘What they teach you in Harvard Business School’ - whatever a Harvard was - and ‘What they don’t teach you in Harvard Business School’, so he figured he was set. Daisy had also grabbed him a Girl Scout book on starting your own lemonade stand, which helped more than the other two books combined. Harvard Business School could take notes.
Jon rolled off the bed, where he had been downloading knowledge of string games and trying to figure out how to do them. Omniscence was closer to reading an instruction manual than actually knowing how to do something, but at least that left Jon with plenty of time to learn skills. Even if it wasn’t necessarily his favorite activity - he was bad at a lot of them, which would frustrate him and make him wreck the craft. Daisy kept on saying he needed a hobby other than reading but what did she know, anyway -
Daisy, from where she had been sleeping at the foot of the bed, lifted her head and barked sleepily.
“I’ll get them to go away,” Jon promised. Or eat them. Maybe just eat them.
But when Daisy bristled and jumped off the bed, barking heavily, he knew who it was. Jon sighed, hastily shoving a shirt over his head, and undid the three deadbolts before unlocking the door.
Annabelle, of course, was standing on the other side. Slightly less obviously, she was dressed in a finely tailored suit, complete with high heels and a gorgeous dripping silver chain-link necklace. Her hair was tied up in an up-do of braids piled neatly on top of her head, and there was even a briefcase.
She looked Jon up and down critically. He was wearing sweatpants and a holey shirt.
“You forgot,” she condemned, “didn’t you?”
“No I didn’t,” Jon said reflexively. He paused. “Forgot what?”
Annabelle pinched the bridge of her nose. Jon noticed that she was even wearing her usual all-black lipstick and winged eyeliner. “The council committee for London I planned for today. Remember? The one with a representative for each Entity?”
Jon stared blankly at her.
“There was an invite?”
“Oh, that. I don’t check my mail.” Jon looked at Daisy, who was now pressing aggressively against Jon. “Did you open up any mail recently?” Daisy barked. Jon looked back at Annabelle. “She ate it.”
“...of course she did.” Annabelle glanced down at Daisy, whose fur was standing on end as she growled lowly. “Have you had any success?”
“You would have noticed if I did,” Jon said shortly.
“Have you tried talking to -”
“Yes,” Jon snapped, “but apparently some of us have better things to do than attend meetings and cure dogs.”
Annabelle intelligently dropped the matter, instead frowning at Jon. He crossed his arms, fighting the urge to hunch over away from her dark and perceptive stare. But instead of pushing him, she said, “Go get dressed in something a little appropriate, please. You look like you crawled out of the Buried.” Daisy barked, which Annabelle ignored. “What are you doing to your hair?”
Jon hunched defensively. It was a little matted and frizzy, but who was counting? “Daisy can’t exactly shave it anymore, and I don’t really...know what to do with it...am I doing something wrong? I bathe.”
It was very important to Daisy that he bathe and brush his teeth. Jon didn’t know what the big deal was, but if it was important to her then he did it.
Annabelle just pinched the bridge of her nose again, checking her wrist-watch. “Buzzing your hair is a crime against God, and letting your hair look like that is a crime against me. I’ll take care of this later. Just get ready in the next five minutes, or I’m filling your fridge with spiders again.”
Jon got ready in four. Annabelle didn’t joke around with that stuff.
He didn’t really know what a council committee was. He didn’t know why he had to go to one either, seeing as Jon only tended to concern himself with Daisy. Daisy had been taking up a lot of his concern lately. Then his mood had plummeted again, and in the last month they’ve both been recalcitrant to leave the flat for anything but eating, and he was capable of noticing when he was hunting a little vindictively, and - anyway.
He downloaded the knowledge, and then made a face when it didn’t really help. One of those nasty little political things. What was with his fellow Avatars and politics? Just torture anyone who bothers you. If they were one of those freaks who liked being tortured, then just smite them. Life was easy and very simple once you remembered that basic rule.
But Annabelle was really into it - she kept on saying something about ‘order’ and ‘regulation’ and ‘first dibs’ - and she tended to drag him along into these things. She thought it was ‘important’ that Jon ‘know what was going on’ or something. Jon liked Knowing things, but once you know everything you realize that some things aren’t really interesting enough to know.
When he asked Daisy if she wanted to go with, she feigned sleep. She had been hyperactive lately, compensating for her months of starvation with unbridled and frantic Hunting. Jon had taken her to one of those little pockets where people were running around and screaming all the time, and let her run wild in the rainforest for a while. It was the kind of fun bonding experience they hadn’t had in ages, and Jon had the opportunity to pluck his own grapes from the vine too.
There had been an old man who really hadn’t been happy to see Jon, which had freaked him out a bit. He had started going on a little bit about how Jon had ruined his life, but he only got a few sentences in before a giant, carnivorous plant had eaten him. That was lucky.
Jon had ripped the dimension apart as he left. Nasty little place. Nothing good there.
So Jon left the house without Daisy for the first time since she had been well enough to move around, and with Annabelle. Daisy had been waiting at the door with a rucksack packed with his favorite book and his Nintendo DS, which made Annabelle ask her where the juicebox was. Daisy tried to bite her again. Jon didn’t know why everybody couldn’t just get along.
There was a cab waiting outside, driven by another skeleton, and Annabelle quickly bundled him into it. Jon slouched in the corner and started playing WarioWare as Annabelle leafed through typewritten documents, lips pursing and making notes on the margins of each one with a red pen. She was muttering to herself, somewhat entertainingly.
“My fourth arm for a computer, I swear to Jesus. My fourth and fifth arms. My sixth arm for a computer…”
“Are those the internet machines you told me about?” Jon asked, scribbling his stylus on the screen. Ashley cheered him on. He loved Ashley. “Do council committees need the internet?”
“The internet’s for a lot more than council committees Jon,” Annabelle said tightly. “They’re for video games. Ememoharepeegees -”
“Gesundheit.”
“ - bitcoin mining, instant messaging, online dating, freaking Google Docs -”
“Do you want it back?” Jon asked, bored. “I can make you the internet.”
Annabelle’s pen froze on the paper, hovering over a bullet-point list. “The entire internet? You can just do that?”
“Yeah, sure, whatever.” Jon poked his tongue out his mouth in concentration as he pressed the monkeys in a rhythmic order. Rhythm games were his jam. “That’s, like, the pocket nightmare dimension from Tron, right? I can do that. Addictions are easy. Put people inside, trap them inside a video or something. It’d be mostly for torture but you could probably use it normally.”
Annabelle stared at him, expression blank, for so long it made Jon a little uncomfortable and defensive. What had he said wrong? Daisy was usually good at interpreting these things for him, although sometimes when people went on about ‘violence’ she was just as confused as him. Finally, she said, “No, that’s alright. I always hated Black Mirror anyway.”
“What’s that?”
“It’s a telly - never mind. I don’t want you getting any more ideas.”
***
The council committee was held in the stupidest building Jon had ever seen in his entire life. And he had been in London for six months. He knew stupid buildings.
‘London City Hall’ or whatever was this awful giant, lopsided, obloid monstrosity. All glass and windows, with nary a brick in sight, Jon hated it instantly and severely. He was immediately filled with the urge to turn to somebody and commiserate with them about shitty architecture, but there was nobody else in the cab but Annabelle - and, well, she seemed to have other things on her mind.
The neighborhood around it was filled with a mix of equally stupid buildings and perfectly respectable buildings that looked as if they had been made a long time ago. The sidewalks were relatively abandoned, and the streets were empty of everything but the endless rotation of tourist double-decker busses. Jon knew that this wasn’t one of those districts where people actually lived and roamed - instead, it was one of those business districts that people only stepped inside for work or city business. Like that silly little Palace of Westminster building that Annabelle had taken him to months ago when she was showing him the city.
That building Annabelle had especially loved. It was filled with old white men with sagging jowls and liver spots, looping in endless routines and miniature atrocities. Annabelle had asked him to take as many Statements as possible, and Jon had needed no encouraging.
That had been a strange trip. Normally people found his little monologues boring, because they were idiots with no taste, but Annabelle had listened to every single one. She had been enraptured, excited and triumphant. She had dragged him into some “Lord’s Chamber” or something and posed on the throne as Jon obediently took polaroids. Well, so long as she was happy.
Jon was already seeing that London City Hall was no better. Annabelle dragged him through it, anxiously checking and re-checking her files, as they effortlessly weaved between shambling zombies of old white men in suits. Jon tasted the ripe air of trauma from them - a similar taste to that spiralling academic building, but rather a little more tart - but Annabelle dragged him away before he could stop and eat them.
There were parts of London that were safe. Maybe even most of London - although nowhere was truly safe, not really, not every location was absolutely haunted. The grocer’s was the grocer’s; the chemist still sold your medication. Not that you really needed it anymore, but habit was habit.
But some buildings, which were entrenched so firmly in hundreds of years of evil, could not be dissuaded from their nightmares. In that respect, the safest city in the United Kingdom became the most dangerous. Some buildings had been nightmares even before the end of the world.
Jon, of course, gave very little shits about this beyond in the academic sense. Annabelle refused to let him duck out of her meeting to go snack, and she ended up dragging him in front of what looked like a smallish conference room.
Annabelle stopped in front of it, taking a second to breathe in and out and check her makeup. She seemed to be hyping herself up for it, shaking out her arms loosely. Jon slouched behind her, hands jammed in his trenchcoat pockets. Annabelle had asked him to put on a less raggedy suit, but - well, he sometimes had nicer suits, but they got raggedy very quickly. She had also asked him to leave the trenchcoat at home, but no way. It was part of his Look.
“You’re frightened,” Jon noted with interest. Annabelle was scared of less than he was, and she had much less of a reason. “What about this room scares you?”
“It’s not the people in the room,” Annabelle snapped, flashing her compact shut. “It’s what I’m trying to do. If this world’s going to last more than a few years before it devolves into fuckin’ Mad Max we need leadership. I didn’t put all of this work in just to -” At Jon’s blank look, she sighed. “Never mind. You don’t care. Just - try to trust me, Jon.”
“Of course I trust you,” Jon said, baffled. “Why wouldn’t I?”
She stared at him, expression inscrutable, for a long moment, before opening the door and pulling him in.
It was a nice conference room, all wood panelling and that specific green shade you only saw in lawyer’s offices. There was a large rectangular table in the center, and more than a dozen luxurious chairs arranged around it. There was a big pull-down screen on the far wall. Jon didn’t know what it was for, but he knew that if he downloaded the information it wouldn’t help. Omniscence was so useless.
In a move that horrified Annabelle, most of the attendees seemed to be there. They had been chatting - talking, actually, quite loudly - before Annabelle strode in and Jon slumped in after her. But in the second that they both stepped in, an abrupt hush swept the room, and every eye swiveled to them.
If Jon was honest with himself, he’d say that they didn’t quiet when Annabelle stepped in. He’d say that they quieted when Jon stepped in. That it was Jon who they were looking at.
But Jon didn’t particularly feel like engaging with that. He didn’t like being stared at by people he didn’t know, and he didn’t like being out in public with people he didn’t know. He didn’t enjoy being in buildings or meeting new people, much less going to boring meetings. Jon decided all of this instantaneously, as every eye swiveled to him.
Rooms full of humans were fine. It was just humans. Nothing even vaguely intimidating about that, unless the humans were teenage girls. But these were Avatars - Jon could taste their nature in the air, a sharp and electric tingle - and when they stared at Jon he felt something heavier in their gaze. Oh, lord. There was a teenage girl here.
Jon tried slumping to the back chair, but Annabelle grabbed his collar and dumped him in a comfortable chair to her right. Jon saw a little placard in front of it that read ‘THE BEHOLDING’. Great.
“Thank you all for coming today,” Annabelle said crisply, and suddenly every worry was gone. She was calm, poised, confident, and professional. A perfect imitation of the officials and politicians who once really walked these halls, who passed laws and rubber-stamped policies. She could have passed for an assistant or junior staff member, bright and intrepid and ready to climb her way up the ladder. “Are we all accounted for?”
It seemed so. Every chair but one was filled. When Jon peered around at the placards, he saw that each one had a different Entity on it. One of the seats had no placard, and was occupied by said teenage girl. Four were unoccupied: the Spiral, the Slaughter, the Hunt and the Extinction.
Annabelle sat down in the head chair, which seemed just a little fancier. She put her folder in front of her, eyes flickering down the room. “It seems that Helen couldn’t make it. The Hunt duo seem to have...recently met unfortunate ends. The Slaughter Avatar called ahead to say that they couldn’t make it - it was high school picture day? And...I suppose the Extinction Avatar still doesn’t exist.”
She glanced at Jon, who shook his head. “Do you want one?” Jon asked. “I can go find a climate change denier in this building and make one for you.”
That also disturbed Annabelle, as well as everyone else. Jon abruptly felt awkward, and hunched in his seat. He defensively pulled out his DS, his plans to fall asleep in the back of the room already foiled.
Above him, Annabelle continued droning. “Still, I appreciate you all coming. I know that we haven’t all gathered since a bit after the apocalypse began -” Wait, they had? Since when? “ - but I hope we can agree that further coordination is necessary. We’ve already begun having serious territory and jurisdiction disputes, and it’s best that they’re resolved sooner rather than later.” Nobody looked very impressed, but Annabelle looked seriously at them all anyway. “I want us all to have an equal voice at this table. Save the fighting for another time. And please try to keep your powers out of here. I’ve already sworn to avoid using any of my Mother’s gifts in this room, and I hope you all can do the same.”
“Yeah?” A woman drawled. She was unfamiliar to Jon, like most people in the room, but she had a teenage girl sitting next to her who seemed to be paying rapt attention to Annabelle. “How are you going to enforce that?”
Annabelle stared at him for some reason. Jon jabbed at his DS and won the Mona minigame. Nothing more was said.
“Alright, then. I’ve already collected motions from all of you prior to this meeting.” Motions? Annabelle hadn’t said anything like that. Maybe it was on the invitation Daisy ate, but somehow he doubted it. Annabelle looked down and traced her finger down to her first point. “Many of you suggested this, so I would like to introduce it as a general discussion. Territory disputes, apparently, are a point of contention between many of us.” She opened her briefcase and pulled out a large map, and if Jon looked over the top of his DS he could see that it was a map of London. She also pulled out a red marker, uncapping it. The sheet was laminated, and there were already circles and markings all over it. “We’ll go one at a time. Amherst, you’ve motioned that the Stranger is intruding within Camden.”
A foppish looking man on a dumb little top hat scowled, as the young woman sitting behind the Strange placard looked annoyed. “It is gentrification. Every apartment complex occupied by artist studios are stealing food from the plate of my insects.”
“You haven’t had Camden for a decade,” the Stranger woman said, rolling her eyes. The Omniscience informed Jon that her name was Sarah Baldwin. Vaguely familiar - had he seen her at a cafe? “Nobody lives in those rat-infested tenements anymore. Now all the rats are performance art. Which is us. Get over it.”
“What is performance art -”
“Motion for no more Avatars over the age of 40,” Sarah Baldwin said. “I hate how Amherst and Wakely are in this room.”
“I wish I could second that,” Annabelle said, to the great affront of two grimy old men, “but unfortunately we do have to deal with this. Amherst, I’ve heard several complaints from other council members that you’re infiltrating their territory.”
“I am made of bugs -”
Jon checked out after that.
Instead, he surveyed the room a bit. Nobody in it was really interesting, just a meaningless collection of self-important people. The only person in the room other than Annabelle who he recognized was Oliver, who was sitting at the very back doing his best to fall asleep. When Jon Stared at him a bit he took notice and subtly waved. Jon shyly waved back. Jon liked Oliver.
Oliver mouthed something adjacent to ‘what is wrong with your hair’, offending Jon grievously. He didn’t look that bad, did he?
He glanced to his left, then down, to ask Daisy’s opinion, but he realized too late that she hadn’t come with him. Stupid. She could have come as part of the Hunt - they didn’t have anybody, it wasn’t as if they could complain. Not to Jon, anyway.
But she wouldn’t have wanted to. Daisy hated being an Avatar, for reasons that Jon had just never understood. She tried explaining it to him a long time ago, trying to talk about how guilty it made her and how much harm she had done, but it had just confused him more. She had tried to explain up until the end, as Jon had grown more and more angry at her for her refusal. He had never understood.
She had stopped talking about it lately, though. Which was good. Jon didn’t know what he’d do if she starved herself twice. He wouldn’t have tolerated it.
Daisy had told him that the most important thing in the world was to make your own choices. So he let her make hers. No matter how much he hated it.
The others weren’t familiar at all. There was a woman with wild dark hair sitting behind the Dark placard, which confused Jon slightly until he decided that they likely hadn’t wanted to send the thirteen year old. There was this really wrinkly and gross old man for the Vast, a younger looking but older feeling man for the Buried, a deathly pale woman for the Lonely, the muscular woman and the teenager for the Desolation...why did they have two…
The teenager was staring at Jon. She had intense orange eyes, the kind that bored into you and never blinked. She looked away every few seconds, as if she was being subtle, but when her gaze drifted back to him again he met her eyes with an unimpressed stare. She squeaked and looked away firmly, hiding behind her curtain of long red hair.
Okay. Whatever. Kids were weird. Jon was glad he had never been one.
Jon swapped out WarioWare for Pokemon SoulSilver, opening back up where he left off catching another MissingNo. His entire team was full of the things. He wanted a Mareep, damn it.
Finally, Annabelle rapped the table sharply and said, “It’s agreed, then. Everybody submit specific written documentation of your territory by city block, and fax it to me by our next meeting. Please abide by the resolutions to the conflicts we discussed here. Any objections to moving onto our next order of business?”
“I have an objection to the Dark’s questionable behavior,” the Buried guy rumbled. He was dripping dirt everywhere. Why didn’t anybody complain to him about his hygiene? “In the words of the lad Brody, they are kill stealing. If they do not withdraw their nightmares from our embrace of the Earth, we will unleash retribution with extreme prejudice. The dirt is a holy place, and we will not be polluted by -”
“Oh, stick your shovel up your fat ass, Wakely,” the woman with wild black hair said. “People aren’t afraid of the fucking dirt, they’re afraid of the darkness in the tombs. Walk into a mausoleum sometime.”
“You poach the End’s territory now too, wench?”
“Please leave me out of this,” Oliver said.
“If you call me wench one more time, you’ll be watching the back of your eye sockets for eternity,” the woman said pleasantly, “so royally fuck you.”
“Um, not to interrupt, but that’s not really how it works,” the teenager said, and the death glares between the two turned on her. She hunched her shoulders, but her expression stayed firm. “The terror is going to overlap. That’s just how it is. The Buried and the Dark are not entirely...separate things, they’re gradients that overlap. If you get all finicky about what belongs to who, then you’re just going in circles…”
“The last thing we need is the coward Messiah of the Eternal Flame telling me how to worship my god,” the woman snapped.
“Watch your fucking mouth, Manuela,” the muscular woman said flatly.
Then they were glaring, and Wakely was saying something else snide, and Manuela was making another dig at the teenager as the muscular woman bitched, and Jon abruptly wanted them all to shut up.
“You’re being too loud,” Jon said.
The entire room shut up immediately. The teenager opened her mouth, but the pale woman caught her eye and shook her head.
Annabelle clapped her hands in the silence. “Onto the second motion, then! Infrastructure! Right now we are sorely missing a great deal of essential city infrastructure, and it’s becoming a huge problem. We’re still figuring out what’s mystically maintained, and what’s just being maintained because the humans haven’t figured out how to stop doing it yet, but there’s some work that’s being neglected. The Vast has motioned to reinstate the postal system.”
“Vetoed,” the Lonely woman said.
“You can’t do that,” Annabelle said blankly. “We need to vote.”
“I’d like to make an argument for the motion, dear,” the Vast man said, making Annabelle’s eye twitch. “My argument is this: Amazon Prime is so convenient!”
“We have every Amazon warehouse under our control,” the representative from the Flesh said. He was...very fleshy. “It’d be no issue to go back to production.”
“Jared has a point. The Eye’s been feeding through Amazon for years,” Annabelle said thoughtfully. The mention of the Eye piqued Jon’s attention, but then he finally ran into a Mareep and he stopped paying attention again. “We can tap into the people who are living 1984 and get them back in industry.”
“Can we begin producing again?” the Desolation woman asked, interested. “We have all these people miserable at work, but nothing’s actually being made. If we let a little reality break into the nightmares…”
“Wouldn’t that be dangerous?” the Lonely woman asked sharply. “It’ll make it easier for them to escape.”
“They all escape eventually,” Sarah Baldwin said. “They all break out in days to months. We can afford a little more permeability if we actually get things working again.”
Then conversation was off and running about something that Jon didn’t really care about, so he checked out again. He didn’t know what all of this production and infrastructure stuff meant. Going Postal meant that he had a very good understanding of a mail system, but he didn’t have a personal interest. Who he would send letters to?
Jon quickly downloaded what Amazon was. Oh, that would be useful. Wait, he could get any book delivered to his door? Without having to go out hunting for it? How would this work without the internet - a catalogue?
Everybody seemed invested in getting the internet back up, except for the two hundred year olds. Jared kept saying something about porn, whatever that was. If enough people felt like Annabelle, then maybe they would make it a priority. Jon didn’t know how he felt about that.
He didn’t know how he felt about the fact that it was impossible.
But everybody - or most people - genuinely seemed excited about it. They even seemed to be working together, intent on the same goal.
Sarah Baldwin wanted to know if we have enough people constantly under camera to have footage for television. Maybe we could get cable back up? DVDs were a lost cause, but if we could just start airing the VHS tapes…
Annabelle had a look of hook-ups (literally) in the film industry, maybe they could do something like that?
The Hahns are highly involved in production and distribution, Jared pointed out. There was no need to produce food, but if we wanted to increase access to goods it might be possible.
Why? Why did they care? This world provided them everything they needed.
For some reason, Jon felt a little defensive. What did they need all of these things for, anyway? All of this entertainment - cable and movies and internet. The world had books. What was so wrong with books? There were even old VHS tapes liberated from charity stores if you really wanted to get fancy. The most high-tech electronic Jon had ever found was the DS in his hands and a couple of games, which Salasea had given to him as an exotic artifact. Only Salasea owned these things now: trinkets and curiosities, hallmarks of an antiquated time.
What was the point of these supply lines? People didn’t need to eat or shop or consume. Nightmares provided the facsimile, and since they got a little crazy if they never ate they were provided the security of food. Buying towels and shoes and toys...it was a waste of time. People had towels. Nobody outgrew their shoes or wore them out. Children’s toys didn’t break, and anything that made happiness a little easier to come by was discouraged.
Nothing was ever subtracted. Nothing was added. The world was frozen, captured in the amber of time, and it would never move backwards and forwards.
They knew this. Didn’t they?
“We have to make this place livable for us,” Annabelle was saying. She spoke oddly intensely, with a fervor that Jon had seen in her a few times before. Annabelle didn’t like to give off the impression that she cared about things, but once you knew her it was hard to miss. “It’s easier than ever to stay powerful and feed our Forces, but that doesn’t mean we can grow complacent. We have to work together to eat sustainably. To live sustainably. If we don’t try to rebuild, at least enough to get the world moving again, then we’re sentencing ourselves to a boring and decrepit eternity in a world we will all see die within our immortal lifetimes.”
Everyone at the table was nodding. They looked determined. United. Almost...they held an expression that Jon just couldn’t name. An emotion he didn’t understand.
He had seen it in Daisy, once. She had called it hope. He hadn’t understood back then. He still didn’t.
“Liar,” Jon said, as his minigame timed out and the game over music tinkled across the tinny speakers.
Annabelle looked at him, expression inscrutable. “These problems are legitimate, Archivist. The writing’s clearly on the wall, and -”
“You’re all so stupid,” Jon complained, and Annabelle abruptly stopped talking to glare at him. Whatever. Jon had lost all patience. He closed his DS and dropped it on the table, resigning himself to talking. Jon hated public speaking, especially in front of so many people he didn’t know and, frankly, creeped him out. “You can’t build anything in this world. If you try to impose a cute little government then it’ll break down into cannibalism or something.”
“Would you know, Archivist?” Jared asked evenly.
“Jonah didn’t enact this world through myself for living,” Jon said, bored, and everybody stared at him with wide eyes. “We created it for suffering. Suffering isn’t living.”
“One might say the opposite,” the Vast man said, somehow twinkingly. “Suffering is an unavoidable side effect of living, isn’t it?”
“Is that philosophy? I don’t understand philosophy.” Jon wasn’t very good with anything that required extensive and complex thought. Which made sense - Jonah hadn’t exactly created him to think. “Humanity has clouded your minds. Makes all of you irrational and sentimental. Release your attachment to the old world. Just accept the way things are now.” Jon shrugged. “It’s not as if you can do anything about it.”
“Nobody in this room is exactly human, Jon,” Oliver pointed out placidly.
Jon snorted. “Wanting free porn back? You’re all dripping with it.” It was honestly a little sad. “The only ones in this world free of that weakness are Jonah and I. And he’s the only one who could do any of this.”
“Then where is he?” the Desolation woman snapped. She leaned forward, hands gripping the table in anger. The teenager watched her anxiously. “Why doesn’t he come on down from his high tower and explain what’s going on? We’re in the fucking dark here!”
“I’m sorry,” Jon said coldly, “who are you?”
He rubbed his bad hand. For some reason, everybody watched him do so. He stopped, self-conscious.
“Prejudiced remarks aside,” Manuela said. She had been hostile all day, but she now spoke cautiously. “Jonah Magnus needs to take responsibility for this. We don’t even know how the world ended.”
Several people glanced at Annabelle, whose lips thinned. “I shouldn’t say.”
Of course she knew. And of course she wasn’t about to tell him. Whatever. Jon didn’t care. Past was the past.
He found his hand clenching. There was a strange tension in his throat. He didn’t care. He didn’t. Rehashing the worst pain he had ever felt in his life, even now, wasn’t really worth the time or energy. He didn’t care.
“No use crying over spilled milk,” the Vast guy said lightly. “But it is a relevant question. Jonah frequently spoke of his plans, and I realize now that he had never truly shown all of his cards. But he had always held an intention to...well, rule. It’s only in this moment of his victory that he shows no interest.”
“Jonah’s busy,” Jon snapped. “Trust me, you don’t want that arse around. He never even gives me directions, and I’m his right hand.”
“Or his puppet,” Sarah Baldwin muttered.
It was fair. Probably even true. So why did an intense and burning fury shoot through Jon?
“What gives this child the right to dictate us?” Wakely demanded. Jon’s hands clenched on the table until his knuckles turned white. “What gives Jonah Magnus the right to rule us?”
“He’s not much of a ruler,” Amherst grunted. “My vote’s that we rule this world in a council.”
“Administration is important,” Annabelle said, impossibly terse, “but unless anyone here actually has the means to seize control, then there’s no use voting on it.”
“There’s only one Avatar here who has those means,” Manuela said darkly, crossing her arms and looking straight at Jon. “So why doesn’t he do anything?”
They were feeding on each other. They wouldn’t have said these - these treasonous things by themselves. But when one person spoke up, the next felt empowered, and they felt as if they outnumbered him. Jonah Magnus was hardly there to press him into obedience - why buckle under his oppressive gaze? What could he do?
The stupidest people in this world all gathered in one room. It took a special level of arrogance, pride, and stupidity to assume that one was more powerful than Jonah Magnus.
“I’m not in charge of anything,” Jon said tersely. “I don’t even have a domain. I’m just trying to live my life.”
The Desolation woman snorted. “Typical. You’re rolling over for Jonah.”
Jon’s eyes widened - not in surprise, but in anger.
The teenager seemed a little uncomfortable. “Jude,” she hissed, “I don’t think -”
“Jude,” Jon breathed. “So that’s your name.”
He was standing up. Jon didn’t remember standing up. Everybody was leaning away, their own eyes wide. Some just looked confused, slightly perturbed - Wakely, Amherst. Others looked ready to bolt - Manuela, the old man from the Vast. Jon knew, in a flash of insight that grew hotter and hotter, that he preferred to be called Simon.
“Sit down, Jon,” Annabelle said, as authoritative and no-nonsense as ever. Normally he’d listen to her, respecting that she usually knew what was going on far better than he ever did. But the words barely reached him, drowned out by the rushing in his ears. “Look, we can talk about this rationally, alright?”
“Oh, fuck off,” Jude said. She snorted, burning red eyes never leaving Jon’s. “As if I’m scared of this baby prick.”
“Maybe we can move on from Jonah Magnus,” Simon said quickly. “A discussion of airspace rights, perhaps -”
“Jon,” Oliver said, voice creased in worry, “are you okay?”
“This is the all-powerful demigod you all warned me about?” Amherst said. He was dripping with condescension, just like - just like everyone else - “He’s little more than a child.”
“Guys!” the teenager’s voice rang through the room, close to scared. “The walls are melting!”
So they were. It was as if the stone and wood was made of wax, sent guttering by a sputtering candle. Wood and finish were already pooling on the floor, melting the rolling wheel of Jared’s chair and forcing him to jump up from it.
“Jon!” Annabelle said sharply. “Don’t throw a tantr -”
The table cracked sharply. It was warping, twisting in on itself as if it was a wrung towel. Jon realized, too late to care, that his hair was rising. He knew his eyes were spinning, an eternal churning wheel.
“Fuck this, meeting adjourned.” Manuela stood up sharply, pushing her chair back into a melting bubble. The floor was beginning to bubble and warp. “See you all next month.”
“I’ll walk you out,” Simon said quickly, standing up too.
“You have two minutes,” Jon said, voice heavy with static. “Don’t bother me about this shit again.”
The signal was clear enough. Jude rose from her chair, grabbing her teenager’s elbow and pushing her out the door. The others followed in their wake, expressions carefully neutral. It was useless: Jon could taste their fear, their trepidation. Even better: their anger, barely brindled fury, and disgust.
They couldn’t do anything about it, Jon thought giddily. No matter how much they hated or were scared of him, they couldn’t do anything about it. Jon was powerful. Jon couldn’t be hurt. Jon couldn’t -
Jon couldn’t reign this in.
Before he knew it, the conference room was empty. Only two other people remained: Annabelle, expression as inscrutable as ever, and an uncomfortable Oliver. His hands were stuck in the pockets of his pea coat, and he was looking around with disaffected interest - as if he was standing in line at a Starbucks in rush hour instead of in the epicenter of a melting building.
Jon knew. The entire building was dissolving. It was teeming with humans, lost and trapped and defenseless. He didn’t want to kill them. Jon didn’t like hurting people. He heard a voice speak in his head, foreign and familiar. Bring it in, Jon.
But he couldn’t. His hair would fall back around his shoulders, and the static rushing through his ears just wouldn’t abate. It felt like everything was pouring out of him, a relentless faucet that wouldn’t stop churning out thick streams of putrid water.
Jon fisted his hands in his hair, groaning. “Where’s -”
“She’s at your flat,” Annabelle said calmly. “Do you want me to get her?”
No. No, this was too embarrassing. He was an adult, he could handle this. Jon groaned again and sank into his seat, saved from the toxic waste of glass and brick. “No. Focus on getting the humans out of here.”
“What do you care?” Oliver asked, vaguely curious. “You don’t seem that fond of humanity.”
“Just do it!” Jon snapped, instead of admitting that he didn’t know either.
Eventually, the room stopped melting. Jon didn’t even want to think about how difficult it would be to leave the building. He could probably straighten out the hallways just enough to help Annabelle and Oliver get out.
Ugh. This place had sunk straight into Helen’s domain. He could taste it in the air: any future human who wandered in would be stuck in an endless spiral of twisted, melted hallways. Probably flavored with...powerlessness and fear. Feeling very small, as someone very large loomed down on you. Tories.
At least he hadn’t sucked flattened the building into one plane again, robbing it of all spiritual and metaphysical dimensions. Jon had done that to a graveyard once. The place was putrid now. He had accidentally fallen into a grave and panicked and - anyway.
He rested his forehead on the warped and splintered conference table, waiting for his throat to open back up and the rushing in his ears to die down. Finally, after what felt like forever, his hair floated back down and he felt his eyes resume their normal shape.
Awkward silence loomed. Jon sighed. “Sorry.”
“I worked hard to arrange this, you know,” Annabelle said.
“Yeah.”
“I am not happy with you, Jon,” Annabelle said.
“Sorry,” Jon said miserably. “I didn’t mean to.”
“I mean,” Oliver said, after a beat, “that’s kind of terrifying. That you can melt a building on accident. Like, what would happen if you got really pissed at Manchester or something?”
“Goodbye, Manchester,” Annabelle muttered.
Jon lifted his head, glaring blearily at Oliver. “If you think that’s crazy, you should have been there the one time I opened up an extradimensional gate and unleashed nightmare terrors into the world, rendering all of humanity immortal and eternally trapped in endless infernal hellscapes.”
Oliver shrugged, conceding the point.
But Annabelle just looked thoughtful. Probably reworking five billion plans, knowing her. Jon didn’t want to know, because he didn’t care. Let her do whatever she wanted. None of his business. Hopefully, after this disaster, she’d keep it out of his business.
Finally, she asked, “Was that true? That there’s no moving us forward?”
Jon sighed. He really didn’t want to talk about this anymore. But if he didn’t tell her then she’d just bug him about it later, or find some way to get the information out of him that would be both convoluted and unpleasant. “I’m not saying that people can’t...live their lives. They’re obviously still going to work and typing in every digit of pi into their spreadsheets for eight hours and then going home to stare, hypnotized, into cable television. But I am saying that there’s no achieving more than that. There’s no going backwards, and there’s no going forwards. The past is closed to us, and so is the future.” He eyed her warily. “If you have any cute time travel ideas, forget it.”
“I would never,” Annabelle said innocently.
Yeah, sure. Liar. Jon scowled. “You’re all hampered by your humanity.” When Oliver opened his mouth, Jon just shook his head. “Even Avatars are still people. We’re all conduits for eldritch Forces, hollowed out to serve as a live wire for their power, but we - you all remember a human life. You care about things. You have relationships. You love. It makes you weak. Some of you don’t even like your lot in life - some part of you aching for something familiar, when you felt genuine happiness instead of the cheap facsimile induced by causing pain.” Jon looked down at his hands, reflexively picking at one of his many scars. “You should be more like me. You’d be more focused.”
“Are you capable of...changing, Jon?” Oliver asked curiously. “Or will you be this way forever?”
“Most of Annabelle’s plans hinge on that not happening,” Jon said, not even aware it was true until he said it, “so I suppose we’ll find out.”
Of course, Jon knew what Oliver had tactfully not said. He had wanted to know if Jon would ever grow up. They all thought he was a child, even Annabelle. Jon had the feeling even Daisy did, sometimes.
It was stupid and they were wrong. Child would imply adult, would imply birthday parties and learning to talk and learning geography. Jon didn’t have to learn geography. He knew geography. He didn’t age. He was born being able to talk. Jon was above all of these things. He was mature. And even if he wasn’t, who cared?
But Annabelle just smiled at Jon, a polite mask. Annabelle hadn’t made a genuine facial expression in - well, longer than Jon’s memory. Or maybe that was the wrong way to put it. Maybe it was more accurate that she never expressed an emotion that she didn’t mean to. “Well! That wasn’t entirely a disaster, was it? I think next time could go really well. Don’t worry, Jon, I won’t drag you out of bed again.” She propped her hands on her hips. “Now, the three of us are going back to your flat and doing something about your awful rat’s nest.”
Oh, lord. This was going to be terrible. “Do we have to?” Jon whined.
Annabelle smiled again, but this time it was so dangerous that Jon couldn’t help but quail. “My spiders are collecting the avocado oil and coconut oil now. My best friend in secondary had 3C hair too, I think I know what to do. Oliver, bring the buzzer, scissors, and satin wraps.”
“Three cee?” Jon asked, confused. “What’s that?”
Oliver grimaced. “Why am I involved in this?”
“Because I don’t know what to do with a guy’s hair, and you’re probably the only guy I’ve ever met who knows what to do with hair? Keep up.”
“I’m feeling pigeonholed, but fine. But we are not buzzing that hair. It’s a crime against god.” Oliver looked thoughtful for a second. “I think Jon would do a nice, loose afro. I think I still have some hair masks and vinegar rinse -”
“Why is this so complicated?” Jon asked, completely freaked out. “What are these things?”
But Annabelle just smiled sweetly at him, reaching out and squeezing his shoulder. “Don’t worry, Jon. I’ll teach you what you need to know.”
Well. It seemed easier than figuring things out for himself. Jon didn’t like responsibility. Today was his first taste of responsibility in ages, and he had already decided that it sucked. Better to let somebody who actually cared take care of it.
That way, he didn’t have to be powerful. Didn’t have to be anybody’s demigod on Earth, capable of murdering whoever he liked. He could just be Jon, Private Detective, Archivist. He could have fun. Just live. Didn’t he deserve that, despite everything?
He stood up too, summoning a shaky smile for Annabelle. “So you aren’t mad about me ruining your meeting, then?”
“Water under the bridge,” Annabelle said. “Now come on, we have to stop by the chemist’s and pick up a decent hairbrush.”
Hairbrush? What was that for?
****
Six months after time resumed its course
Jon opened his mailbox, only to find mail.
Suspicion immediately loomed. Jon didn’t get mail. Not due to any kind of impossibility, but just because he didn’t pay bills and none of the mimic junk mail was brave enough to try their luck with him. Maybe invoices, sometimes, but mostly those were dropped off in person. The invoices were scarier than the finger-biting mimics: he still didn’t quite know how they worked. Sasha kept insisting they were important, but Sasha also insisted face masks were important. She didn’t know everything. That was Jon’s job.
He grabbed the singular envelope anyway, elbowing his door back open as he inspected the envelope. Thick, rich, and creamy, it reminded Jon uncomfortably of Annabelle’s party invite from a while ago. In the front, he saw that it was addressed to...Agnes?
The living room was noisy and busy, entirely due to the recipient of the letter and her brother. They were playing Mario Kart on the Wii, and apparently disowning each other. Jon watched Agnes hit Gerry with a blue shell, slightly bemused, and saw Dry Bones spin out into the center and make a pitiful noise. Baby Peach loomed supreme.
Jon almost felt bad interrupting. An opened bag of chips scattered dust around Gerry, and Agnes had a half-empty pack of uncooked hot dogs next to her. They had both been at this for a while. “Agnes, you got a letter. And try to keep it down, Sasha’s working and Daisy’s sleeping.”
Agnes turned around, half a hot dog hanging out of her mouth like a cigar. She swallowed it quickly, holding out one hand and letting Jon give her the letter. She frowned down at the front, ignoring the way Gerry craned his head to take a look, and when she checked the back she frowned deeper. There was a wax seal, its details out of sight to Jon.
“Is it that time already?” Agnes muttered, putting her controller down and letting the parade lap on the screen continue.
Gerry frowned too as Agnes carefully broke the seal. “Is that from…?”
“Yeah. Weird, though. Guess it’s about time for the follow-up to the emergency meeting.” She pulled a letter out of the envelope, embossed on creamy paper. She scanned it quickly. “Downing street this time…”
“Are you going to go?”
“Well, it’s not as if Jude can,” Agnes said diplomatically, refolding the paper.
Jon cleared his throat, making the kids jump. They had half-forgotten he was there. Far too late, Agnes hid the invite behind her back. “Care to explain?”
“Oh, you know,” Agnes said vaguely, casually tossing the invite behind her shoulder and letting Gerry snatch it out of midair. “It’s the invite to the Avatar council meetings. I think they’re held once every three months, but since months are a theoretical concept it’s occasionally hard to tell..”
“Not these days,” Gerry said excitedly. “It’s cold! The leaves fell!”
“The leaf thing is dope,” Agnes agreed. “Anyway, I should go. I have, like, serious words. I already submitted ten motions. I want to run for Treasurer, but Jared keeps saying that anybody who isn’t old enough to open her own bank account shouldn’t be treasurer.”
“What on Earth are you talking about?” Jon asked blankly. Was this some kind of youth league? Baseball? Was this baseball?
Abruptly, Agnes looked very sketchy. “I...it’s really nothing you’d be interested in.”
“I am interested in everything,” Jon said. He was offended beyond all belief. “Don’t keep secrets!”
“Jon’s not a big fan of secrets,” Gerry stage-whispered. “Did Annabelle say that we shouldn’t tell him or did she just say not to bother him about it?”
Agnes abruptly started sweating wax. “I can’t remember.”
“Now you have to tell me,” Jon said flatly.
They gave up very quickly. Teenagers loved hiding things, but they also loved drama and spilling secrets. “It’s the Avatar council meeting thing,” Gerry said eagerly. “You know, where you guys all get together and re-enact the British empire by making government decisions and imposing made-up laws on the people you’ve conquered and are currently subjugating under your big stompy boots?”
“I’m changing the system from the inside,” Agnes said proudly.
Gerry shot her an unimpressed look. “Okay. Yeah. Sure. Because that’s a thing that makes sense in an inherently corrupt system with an inherently unethical existence that exists to be profitable at the expense of the marginalized.”
“I don’t understand anything children these days even talk about,” Jon said.
“I’m surprised you don’t remember it,” Agnes said to Jon. But she had a strange expression on her face, one hard to decipher. “It’s where we met.”
Jon stared at her blankly. “I don’t remember talking to you.”
“I was sitting next to Jude?” Agnes hinted. “Teenager? Red hair?”
Wait. Jon snapped his fingers. “Annabelle’s idiot thing! Right! Right, of course, Oliver made me sit still for five hours afterwards, it was insufferable.”
Wait. Jon abruptly remembered the rest of that day. It seemed like so long ago, even though it was probably objectively only about three years. It must have been about...yes, a few months after Daisy had gotten stuck...
He barely remembered those tepid and awful months. He had been on a bit of a hair trigger back then. It had been really tough, with Daisy leaving and his terrifying encounter with Jonah. He remembered everybody had been annoying and mean and made him feel bad…
“First time I ever remember feeling fear, honestly,” Agnes said to Gerry. “Scariest moment of my life. Remember when we first met Jon? All I could think about was that he was going to melt us like he melted that building.”
Hot shame flared in Jon’s gut. Right. Other people were real, and existed, and were probably more important than his...what had he even been upset about? He didn’t remember.
He melted a building and he didn’t even remember why.
“I’m going too,” Jon said, and both kids startled. “I’m coming with you.”
Agnes and Gerry stared at each other with wide eyes.
“Uh,” Agnes said finally, hesitant, “there’s about a 50/50 chance Annabelle said not to tell you about this, and you definitely didn’t get an invite, so statistically you probably aren’t -”
“She can’t exactly stop me from coming,” Jon said, and both kids quieted.
Power-tripping had lost all appeal for Jon - assuming role as a conduit for global and absolute power did that to you - but he couldn’t deny it was useful sometimes. The world probably could have stood a little more power-tripping from him, actually. At least, it would have been helpful if he had ever done anything helpful with it. But he had never really bothered.
But Agnes still looked perturbed, almost worried. “Annabelle’s like one of two people you used to ever listen to, so if you don’t really care what she thinks anymore -”
“I think Annnabelle knows better than to complain these days,” Jon said.
It probably was for the best that Jon didn’t listen much to Annabelle anymore.
****
Jon hadn’t really told the others about Annabelle’s worse-than-murder attempt.
It didn’t really seem like any of their business, and he had spinned a vague explanation of how the situation happened. He didn’t lie, just - withheld information.
For the first time, the truth didn’t seem so important. He had the feeling it would have just upset them. It wasn’t as if he would take revenge against Annabelle. The world needed her, and Jon was a little tired of murdering everyone who upset him. The others (Daisy) would insist on the little murder attempts if they knew, but that was probably part of why he didn’t tell them. If they never knew about the one unselfish thing he had done in his life - well, one unselfish thing didn’t make up for three years of selfishness, so there was very little point.
Martin suspected. Actually, Martin seemed to know, which terrified Jon slightly. It was impossible to get anything past Martin. Jon was deeply intimidated by the man. Sasha laughed very long and hard when he told her that, for unknown reasons.
Besides, it wasn’t as if he felt betrayed. Even if the last time he had attended one of Annabelle’s little council meetings he still trusted her, that had faded quickly in favor of complete apathy. Even then, as young as he was, he had never expected the truth from her. Just friendship. Whatever she was doing, it probably wouldn’t affect him, so there was no use in worrying. Even if Annabelle slightly terrorized every other person in the United Kingdom - well, Jon was fine, so what did it matter.
Jon couldn’t decide if he was stupid or naive. Or, even worse - if he was just lazy.
Jon didn’t listen to Annabelle anymore.
Unfortunately, he still listened to Sasha James.
Two weeks later, the date of the actual meeting, Jon was stuck explaining himself to his entire house, who doubted all of his decisions. Which was just unfair. Jon made good decisions! He had made tons of good decisions, like -
Anyway!
“I think it’s a great idea,” Sasha said, freaking out Jon. “Displaying interest in your local government’s fantastic! Did you do any research on the relevant issues?”
Jon, in the middle of pulling on his trenchcoat, started sweating. “I was just planning on showing up.”
Agnes, who was wearing a gauzy skirt and blouse as Daisy helped a whining Gerry with his court buttons, gave Sasha the thumbs up. “I’m going to propose motions and Jon’s going to say ‘yeah what she said’ and it’ll be great.”
Jon let Agnes believe that.
“Well, you’ll have to share Jon’s political weight,” Sasha said cheerfully. She was in sweatpants and one of Jon’s pilfered t-shirts again. She had recently designated herself a writer, and had joined some sort of recent artist and activist collective where they did mysterious things that Jon didn’t understand. There’s a zine involved? Jon didn’t know what a zine was and he was scared to ask.
Georgie and Melanie had spent a week teaching Jon in laborious detail what exactly the internet was - information Jon could have just downloaded, but they had been intent in their mission of creating ‘the perfect internet’ and had gone through great effort in teaching him what the ‘good’ internet was (Ravelry, Spotify, r/HobbyDrama, YouTubers but only a very specific list) and what the ‘bad’ internet was (social media, the rest of Reddit, every other YouTuber). Jon wasn’t sure if the new internet was to their specifications, and he hadn’t quite been able to avoid parts of it spiralling into nightmare dimensions and hellish breeding grounds for violence and trauma, but Melanie assured him that Twitter had always been like that.
Jon also secretly added a nightmare filter to Melanie’s screen reader, after he made sure every inch of it was accessible, after he roughly recreated screen readers. Melanie said that the voice sounded uncannily like the aunt she had hated, but that it was no big deal.
Anyway, Sasha was a blogger now. After a few meltdowns to Sasha’s computer he had to install a nightmare filter for her too, which made her complain about feeling like an old woman whose grandson had to install AdBlock on her browser. Jon was a little scared of the whole blogging thing, but everybody seemed much happier, so maybe that was the important thing.
“Wait,” Jon said, finally recognizing what Sasha said. “Share with who?”
There was a knock on the door. Jon felt intense fear.
“She’s here!” Sasha said cheerfully. “Come in!”
Jon watched in horror as Basira Hussain casually strode into her house. He knew he couldn’t stop her. She had a key to the place, because Jon had no control of his life.
“Hey honey,” Basira said, intimately.
“Hey honey,” Daisy said lovingly, releasing Gerry from her clutches.
They stared at each other, as if this was any kind of greeting whatsoever, before ignoring each other. Jon did not understand so many things.
Basira, terrifyingly, was dressed like she was about to go defend her client in court. She had a briefcase, and Jon recognized her most important looking crimson hijab. Very abruptly, Jon had a flashback to the way Annabelle had dressed when she had picked him up in his old office. They even had the same expression: determined and resolute, in a way that Jon could never understand.
Basira nodded at Jon. “Hey. Sasha invited me to this thing. She told you I was coming, right.”
“She did not.”
“Whatever. Are we going to get going? We’re going to be late.”
Jon looked at Sasha pleadingly. Cold and resolute stone, Sasha showed no mercy. She smiled brightly, giving Agnes a final hug and pushing her forward. “You kids have a great time! Terrorize the bourgeoisie!”
“I am the bourgeoisie,” Jon said blankly, but the situation had already spiraled out of his control. Agnes and Basira were already comparing lists of notes, seriously discussing the motions Agnes had raised and how she was going to help Basira.
That was it – how Agnes could help Basira. How Agnes, and the role she had in the council hall, could help Basira and the people Jon knew that she intended on representing today.
They hadn’t even looped him in. Had they assumed that he wouldn’t care? That he wouldn’t help? Agnes hadn’t even wanted him there. Only Sasha -
He felt a cool, small hand grab his arm, and he turned around to see Daisy. Gerry was already enthusiastically capturing Sasha about the concert he and Agnes were going to later, and Jon knew that they weren’t listening. Daisy’s expression was somber, her body tense. Daisy wasn’t one for facial expressions at the best of times – not even a new development – but something about this…
“I should go with you,” Daisy said.
“I already told you no,” Jon said, miffed. “I can handle this by myself.”
“I shouldn’t have let you go by yourself last time,” Daisy said. Jon could admit that things probably wouldn’t have spiraled out of control if she had been there, but that didn’t mean – “Don’t terrify yourself just because you feel guilty.”
Daisy hadn’t aged any more than the rest of the world had. As an Avatar, she likely never would. She even looked young for her mid-forties, with her short stature and broad, unlined face. Sasha had assured him that she was ‘Kristen Bell-ish’, whatever that meant. But she always seemed so old to him: larger than life and not even reaching his shoulders. Wise and world-weary even when, as Jon was beginning to see, she didn’t know what she was doing any more than the rest of them did.
It scared Jon, almost: if Daisy wasn’t the person who could swoop in and make it all better, then who could?
If Jonah wasn’t the omnipresent god, then who was the most powerful person in the world?
Jon shook her off, fighting the pull in his gut. “I’m not scared of them anymore.”
She didn’t look impressed. “You’re always scared.”
“Look at the time, going to be late, gotta go!”
He still couldn’t win an argument against her.
They took a taxi there, as Jon had cheerfully informed them that the Tube was delayed due to infernal leaves on the line (Work-from-home was the hot new thing these days). Basira was clearly on edge, tense and constantly keeping an eye on the taxi driver (a friendly skeleton) and the street. Agnes wasn’t any more relaxed, reading her notes over and over.
Jon leaned back in his plush seat, closing his eyes. What would Martin say? He would probably be cuttingly pointing out how Jon was in denial over how he really was secretly afraid of the Avatars and now it was even more dangerous because he was much more willing to power-trip.
Forget about what Jon wanted. Forget about his fear, his insecurities, and every rationale he had constructed for himself as to why Jon deserved a life free of these worries.
Jon was above politics. The Avatar with no need to defend their territory, who held no fear of death or failure, had no need. Jon could not lose the affection of his patron. His domain was the world, and it could not be attacked no matter how hard he tried. Jon was not a politician, so of course that meant he could not be manipulated by politicians -
“What’s your plan,” Jon asked, without opening his eyes.
They told him. Basira was clinical; Agnes excited. Jon didn’t say anything about it, and let the conversation die down until the taxi was rolling in front of 10 Downing Street. Didn’t the prime minister live here? Boris...something? Jon quickly downloaded the information, before he found that Boris Johnson had been the world’s most convoluted psy-op by Annabelle and had never exactly existed. Thank goodness.
Right as the taxi idled in front of the building, Jon opened his eyes. He let them flare up, an intimidating spark of toxic green. “You two follow my lead.”
“Excuse me,” Basira said flatly, as Jon waved at the driver in lieu of payment. He hadn’t found out that you were supposed to pay taxi drivers until...a few months ago. In his defense, they never asked. “This is our operation.”
Jon glanced at her, and something relaxed around the corners of her eyes. He wondered if his expression was familiar to her. He couldn’t help but smile weakly, and that softened her expression even more. “Will you trust me?”
Basira stared at him for one long beat, then two, before grimacing. “Don’t make me regret this.”
“Do I usually make you regret it?”
“Literally, every single time,” Basira said.
“Then it’s a pretty stupid decision to trust me again,” Jon pointed out. “You don’t seem the type to make stupid decisions.”
Basira stared at him for a long moment, before leaving the car.
Jon and Agnes silently watched her leave, before glancing at each other.
“And I thought you ran from your feelings,” Agnes said finally, before following her.
Jon, left with nothing else to do, followed Agnes.
10 Downing Street, Jon quickly found, was just like every other pretentious old British home. With lots of grandiose rooms with furniture shoved into corners so everybody could appreciate the gold-plated tile, or sitting rooms with the most uncomfortable places to sit Jon had ever seen. Each wall hosted gigantic portraits of famous British figures, who were all so ugly that Agnes incinerated one for fun. Jon respected her choices: he had been wearing a stupid wig.
Jon, unfortunately instinctively aware of the layout and history of this sordid place, led them through the halls. He opened his mouth, instinctively about to funnel a Statement regarding the decades of human suffering and imperialism, before forcing his mouth closed. Basira wouldn’t appreciate it. Besides, the Statements had been easier to ignore lately - like curious dogs nosing at his hands rather than insistent children demanding to be fed.
Instead, he settled on casually updating them on the choice of location. “A year ago, this location wouldn’t have been safe for Basira at all. This building was a nightmare pit of despair.” He led them up the ridiculous flights of stairs watching carefully as Agnes jumped up them. Trick steps, you know. Basira proceeded far more cautiously. “It’s...no less a nightmare pit, but like the rest of London it’s now safe to navigate. I’d keep clear of the residential rooms, however. The Prime Minister and his family haven’t escaped their nightmares since the apocalypse, and they never will.”
Basira’s eyebrows skyrocketed up. “David Cameron’s stuck in hell? No surprise there. What’s he having a nightmare about?”
“Well, there’s this pig, right, and you’ll never guess what he’s doing -”
“Never mind,” Basira said quickly. “Not interested.”
“I’m interested,” Agnes said.
“I’d rather you weren’t.”
Jon, who also wished he didn’t know this information, quickly directed them towards the conference room.
But he found himself stopping in front of the intricately carved oak double doors. The wrought golden handles were grimy and dull with dust, but Agnes and Basira did not hesitate to open the door and walk in. They didn’t hesitate; they weren’t frightened. Or, if they were, they didn’t let it stop them.
But Jon stopped. He felt like Annabelle, in that moment. Annabelle, standing in front of that conference room door so long ago, unable to admit that she felt any fear at all.
She had been desperate. Jon saw that now. Only a desperate person would have ever concocted that plan against Jon. He was the sole person capable of murder in this world, and the sole person who was so vindictive and petty that he would kill anybody who said something that he didn’t like.
Annabelle was arrogant. She thought herself the most intelligent person in every room. She was petty, manipulative, and power-hungry. She thought that the world was so broken that somebody had to fix it, and that she was the only one who could. She was desperate.
Jon didn’t particularly want to do this. But Jon really, really had to grow up.
Jon opened the door.
It was a far cry from the nice, professional conference room in City Hall. The floor was some ugly light brown hardwood color, and the walls were tudor-like and panelled. Old man ribboned curtains, an intricate rug woven from human rights abuses, and a claw-foot long conference table with an array of chairs made up an incredibly ‘antique’ room. The British found ‘antique’ and ‘wealth signalling’ to be the same thing. It made for some very ugly buildings and very uncomfortable chairs.
Nobody else had entered yet. Jon checked the time with his extradimensional psychic powers and realized that Sasha had hustled them out the door fifteen minutes earlier than necessary. She was so intelligent.
Agnes was already moving to her uncomfortable seat, and Jon tapped Basira on the arm and silently pointed to the seat with the ‘EXTINCTION’ placard. She raised an eyebrow at him, but followed his direction. Maybe that was what her trust looked like.
There was a placard stamped ‘BEHOLDING’ in big letters. Gone unoccupied since the last time Jon had been here.
He ignored it, and sat down at the head of the table. Likely where Annabelle usually sat, as director of the meetings. Historically, where the leader of Britain had once sat and directed the affairs of the country.
Jon kicked up his heels on the polished antique wood, pulling up an episode of The Twilight Zone in his brain. He identified with Rod Serling.
The other Avatars filtered in, one by one. All of their eyes widened when they saw Jon, but none of them said anything. Jon wondered what had filtered through the Avatar grapevine. They always knew all of the gossip on each other. It was impossible to miss the Earth’s paradigm shift, and Agnes mentioned that they had convened an emergency meeting on it. Doubtlessly, his name had come up. They likely knew he was the instigator. Who else could?
Annabelle was the fourth in, as fashionably on time as usual. She was the only one who stopped in her tracks when she saw Jon. A surprise, to a woman unused to surprises. Jon’s house didn’t have insect problems.
Her eyes widened. Her jaw clenched. That was all it took. And Jon Knew, in the way that he Knew things, that she was wondering if this was when he finally killed her.
She didn’t know why she was still alive. It was stressing her out. It was a move that made no sense - an unforeseen reaction. Jon was predictable. When Jon wasn’t predictable, and when Jon’s actions weren’t being very precisely controlled, then she was left with a vindictive and irreverent steam train on her hands. She hadn’t predicted his presence here.
Jon was also sitting in her chair. Scuffing the wood. Leaning back in the chair, and definitely scuffing the floor too.
He pointed to the chair at his right, with a placard that now read ‘WEB’. Annabelle sat down in it. Everybody noticed.
Everybody also noticed Basira. She was receiving some glares, or some pointedly unwelcome expressions. But Basira’s glares and unwelcome expressions were more powerful than any demon could ever offer, and one by one each Avatar looked away in shame.
Only Oliver actually talked to him. Which made sense, as Oliver feared neither life nor death. When he walked in he was just as surprised to see Jon as everyone else, but he offered Jon a smile too. Jon smiled back, which made several of the other Avatars lean back.
“Hey, Archivist. I thought you hated these things.”
“I do!” Jon said cheerfully. “I wasn’t even invited.”
Annabelle busied herself with her notes and agenda.
As usual, Helen didn’t show up. Jon waited patiently for everybody to filter in. Sarah Baldwin didn’t show up either, and Jon searched for the information before realizing that he really didn’t want to know. He saw some other new faces, as well as some faintly familiar ones. It wasn’t that strange: no position of absolute power was forever. Where was that bloke Wakely?
Wait. He was the Avatar who had talked for too long about burying people alive at a party in a ridiculous skyscraper. He had upset Daisy. Jon had seen red and lost his temper. Jon had...tossed him over the side of the roof. Let him keep falling. Left him to waste away. He was probably gone now.
The entire room had been at that party. Whoops.
Now uncomfortably reminded that Jon had murdered two people at this table, that everybody was aware of that, and that Jon had completely forgotten about one of the semi-accidental murders because, in Sasha’s words, he was “a bit of a psychopath, what the hell”.
This distressed her, because apparently Jonathan Sims had always been a “sensitive boy” with a “tender heart”. Daisy had said that he was still a sensitive boy, just prone to power-tripping. Sasha said that this was also very consistent behavior. Martin said -
Martin said that Jonathan Sims had been a good person. And, more importantly, that Jonathan Sims had wanted to be a good person. That was one thing that Jon didn’t want to change.
Who just buried people alive -
Jon waited until everyone was settled down. Nobody was chatting or talking to each other: just sitting silently, avoiding eye contact.
He could see Annabelle preparing herself to say something. Better get this ball rolling, then.
“Jonah Magnus is dead.”
The silence suddenly became oppressive.
Jon didn’t stop to savor the looks on their faces. That wasn’t the point. Enjoying this wasn’t the point. Jon had all the power he wanted and - and he didn’t want it at all. He hoped that nobody here would make him have to prove it.
Jon did not want to melt anyone. He wasn’t going to melt anyone. Life had started feeling a little valuable lately. These people, the soulless demons surrounding him, weren’t any different than he was. Humans with delusions of grandeur. Infighting and power plays weren’t going to fix it.
But Annabelle had been right, as she always was. Jon couldn’t keep ignoring this. If he could do something, he had to. Even if it was something he didn’t like doing.
Or something he hated that he enjoyed doing.
“Jonah Magnus is dead,” Jon repeated pleasantly. “The world has changed. These two events are related, of course.”
He didn’t elaborate. Jon didn’t lie, but he didn’t have to say everything.
“The chains which bind this Earth have loosened,” Jon continued. He folded his hands over his stomach, relaxed and casual. “We now exist in the third age of life. I ask that you do not resist.
“The seasons have begun to change, our eternal placid summer ripening into fall and sinking into winter. Our world turns yet again. Babies are born, grow old, and die. The apocalypse as we’ve always known was rooted in its stagnancy. Life and growth has bloomed, and will continue to subsist. Change is once again thriving, and we must adapt with it.
“You’ve noticed that your power has weakened. You will have to fight harder than ever to maintain your food supplies. What was once a conquest is now a battleground. The playing field is far from even, but the enemy and harvest now have a fighting chance.” Jon smiled brightly. “Of course, I’m sure that this was all discussed during your emergency meeting. Great job with your repeated warfare attempts against humanity during the last six months, by the way. How’s that working out for us?”
Silence loomed. Of course, their repeated attempts to quash the new human uprising had not gone very well. At the end of the day, for every one Avatar there were thousands of humans.
“You are no longer strong enough to allow these divides into factions,” Jon continued. “We must present a united front if we’re going to maintain the ground we have. We can’t continue on the way we have. And I’ve realized…” Jon glanced at Annabelle, catching her eye. “I’ve realized that I haven’t been helping the situation. There’s more I can do. That’s why Annabelle has handed over moderation of these meetings to me.”
Nobody looked impressed.
He could see it: the way Jon had become an unpredictable, dangerous nuisance towards them. Almost everyone in this room would be much happier if Jon dropped dead. Nobody had really liked him because nobody had ever felt safe around him. Only Annabelle and Oliver - the person who had nothing to fear from him and the other person who did not feel fear - called themselves his friends.
But they would have preferred it if Jon was hostile or dangerous. If he had even admitted his power. But Jon play-acted at harmlessness, unwilling and afraid to make enemies, and in that way he became a nuisance rather than an enemy. He couldn’t even pretend that it wasn’t on purpose. No matter how many Avatars brushed him off or ignored him, it was better than feeling their eyes on him. Or feeling the fear rich on their tongues.
“Also I invited a human to work with us on human affairs,” Jon said cheerfully. “Diversity hire! Any questions?”
There were a lot of questions. Basira didn’t look very pleased at his remark, either.
Simon leaned forward first, pale and watery eyes intent for the first time. “What happened to Jonah Magnus?”
“Natural causes,” Jon said cheerfully. “Next?”
“What does this mean for us?” the Lukas matriarch said. Her eyes skittered away from him. “Are we in danger?”
Jon shrugged. “Only if you’re incompetent at feeding.”
“What caused this?” Manuela demanded. “The children are running wild, we can’t control them. We’ve lost a major food source.”
Jon scratched his temples. “What caused it...sustainability efforts.” He sobered abruptly. “You could never control the children, anyway. This is the generation of the apocalypse. You’ll find that very little frightens them now.”
“Does this have to do with those humans you’ve been running around with?” Jared asked, scratching his chin as Manuela’s expression contorted in rage.
As usual, a frighteningly insightful observation from such a brute. “It is actually directly their fault!”
Everybody turned to look at Basira, who was completely unapologetic. She crossed her arms. “Don’t ask me. First I’m hearing about this too.”
“Did you kill Jonah Magnus?” Oliver asked, morbidly fascinated. “How?”
“We humans didn’t kill him. We showed up at the Panopticon to kill him, only to find Jon there and Jonah Magnus already dead.” Basira scowled as Jon and Annabelle glanced at each other. Jon subtly shook his head. Annabelle’s lips thinned. “It looked like he’d been dead for years.”
An unfamiliar young man with a thick mop of clumped black hair peered at Jon, expression contorted in grotesque interest. He was one of the Avatars who had been born in the Apocalypse, who were all recognizably weird. His name was - right, Geoff Anjou. Some French man who had made his mark in the Parisian Underground before moving to London and conquering his next terrain. A Parisian to the bone - or, a great deal of bones, as the case may be. So many bones. Jon had always meant to take Daisy to that wonderful little nightmare and let her run loose. Chase people through the tunnels. Munch bones. Perfect vacation.
“So did the Archivist kill him?” Geoff asked, in the same way you would ask who won the World Cup. “Steal his Watcher’s Crown or whatever?”
“Are you the new queen bee?” a young woman asked Jon. The new Slaughter Avatar, Henrietta Something-or-another. A Cambridge legacy college student, Annabelle had intoned, and Jon had been afraid to inquire further. She was cyberbullying someone on her mobile, which seemed to be bleeding. “Cuz, like, you don’t seem qualified.”
“I did not kill Jonah Magnus,” Jon said, for the five hundreth time in the last six months. “And I’m uninterested in filling his shoes. That’s enough questions, I think.”
“Are you as weakened as the rest of us?” Amherst demanded. “Surely this destruction has affected you worst of all.”
“He probably ate Jonah Magnus,” Henrietta said. “The Archivist’s probably god now.”
Geoff snorted. “No way. He brought a human as back-up.”
“Why is there a human?” Another woman asked, with long brown hair and a broad face. Something about her was unquestionably severe, from her bulging muscles to her incredible height. Jon had never seen her before in his life. Her name was Julia Montauk. Something about her stank of life and undeath, same as Amherst. “We can’t exactly work with the prey, here.”
“I’m proposing an emergency motion,” Amherst said suddenly, shutting up the rapidly overlapping voices. “I vote that a leader is elected democratically. And that representatives are limited towards loyal patrons of the Forces.”
“I second that motion,” Geoff said immediately. “We can’t afford a chaotic uprising in our government right now -”
“This really isn’t a vote,” Jon said.
“Isn’t this a democracy?” Henrietta asked, with the self-righteous assurance of a twenty year old. “We vote on things in a democracy. And leaders.”
“Annabelle was voted in last spring,” Julia agreed. “No reason to change things.”
Well. Basira said that she trusted him. He’d have to rely on that.
Jon pressed down.
It felt just like that: pressing down. Reaching out a hand and squashing. Sometimes it was like ripping someone into shreds, and other times it was like plunging your hand into their chest and ripping out their heart. But this was just a press: a heavy static, bearing down over your shoulders like a ten ton weight. A sight so horrible that it was too eldritch to even look at. The realization that the hideous sight was you, and that it was all you would ever be.
Some - Geoff, Amherst - gasped, as if they were choking. Others - Lukas, Henrietta - gasped at their hearts, as if they were having heart attacks. Jon carefully kept it off Oliver, Annabelle, Basira, and Agnes. He couldn’t help but remember what she had said a few weeks ago, about being so frightened -
But Basira winced anyway, clutching her temples, and Jon carefully released the static until the inhabitants of the room could breathe again. His eyes did not stop glowing, and Jon didn’t bother to turn off the light show.
Jon put his feet down on the floor and rested his elbows on the table, leaning forward. As everyone shuddered and gasped, he spoke slowly and pointedly. “This is not a democracy. It never was. It is a monarchy, and the line of succession is clear.”
Annabelle’s eyes widened, and she abruptly clenched her fists before loosening them. An uncharacteristic show of emotion from her.
“This coalition has never been a democracy,” Jon said severely. “This is a house of lords. You are uninterested in representing any needs but your own, and I know Jared failed level eight government, but I’m sure all of you know that democracy represents elected officials. Nobody here has ever lived in a true democracy, and in your human fallibility you have recreated the only system you have ever known. The seats at this table are determined by power - all of you, the most powerful conduits for your Entity. I am the inevitable consequence of this system. I am your natural disaster. All of you bought me. Now you have me. And you are no longer powerful enough to make me leave.”
Agnes’ hand was covering her mouth. Jon dearly hoped Basira was holding onto that trust. He dearly hoped that he wasn’t speaking from anger.
But he couldn’t stop. It boiled and bubbled. It was an anger and a powerlessness that had subjugated him for thirty two years of his life. It had served as the cloud hanging over his head for three more.
“If you want someone to blame for the Archivist who now moderates this meeting,” Jon said, his voice the thin lid over this boiling pot of hurt and anger, “I now know their names. Jonah Magnus. Jude Perry. Nikola Orsinov. Twice. Breekon and Hope’s coffin. Peter Lukas. Jane Prentiss. Maxwell Raynor. A strategic book.” Jon tilted his head, having effectively made his point. There were others, but he had forgiven Daisy and Melanie a long time ago. And Jared had been polite about it. “Bring up your complaints with them. Good luck with that.”
Jon clapped his hands, closing the lid on those memories. Maybe one day the pain would leech from them like a sun-bleached painting, but that day hadn’t come yet. “Now! If you have any further complaints about my position here, or if you want to continue debating political theory, feel free to stand up and tell me so. We’re all interested in you regurgitating your life story until you die. Anyone?” Crickets. Jon leaned back in his chair, making himself comfortable. “Can we go onto the motions now? Ms. Hussain first, then clockwise from her.”
As if they had planned this, with the air of a well-choreographed actress, Basira stood up and spread out her papers in front of her. “The human contingency requests neutral zones in essential areas. Maternal wards in hospitals are highly vulnerable locations, and when assaulted by parasites the mortality rate of children is very high. If you want a self-replenishing food source, you have to allocate space for safe living. The next essential zone is a daycare and a school for children -”
And she was off. Jon had nothing to say, nor was anything necessary. Raging debate sparked after she finished speaking, and Basira effectively crushed the opposition. Agnes spoke up in her defense, and to Jon’s surprise even Manuela contributed a solid understanding of the necessity of children. When the debate started spiraling in an unhelpful direction Jon cut in and shut it down, before forcing the vote.
It did not pass, obviously.
“By the way,” Jon said. “Ms. Hussain proposed five different motions today. At least two of them have to pass. This debate is about picking which two you want.”
Then that started up all over again, and Jon tried not to fall asleep.
Moderating was hard. He actually had to pay attention and focus, and he hated focusing. He was effective enough at shutting down conversations, but sometimes shutting down conversations wasn’t helpful - he just needed to steer them in a more productive conversation. And Agnes’ political theory and Basira’s almost-definitely-made-up statistics started flying so thick and fast above his head that Jon was starting to almost completely lose the plot.
Jon chose his moment as the Lukas woman was complaining extensively about how Henrietta’s digital bullying was intruding upon the Loneliness of her adherents. Henrietta had argued that social media made people more lonely. Jon was afraid that Henrietta was his fault. Maybe the Eye’s fault, holistically. Jared wanted to be friends with Henrietta and co-host Instagram events, which Jon enthusiastically supported despite Basira’s glares.
He leaned over to his right, gesturing slightly at Annabelle so she would lean in closer. She raised an eyebrow at him. Annabelle’s eyebrows were crushing.
“I don’t know what I’m doing,” Jon whispered to her, as quietly as possible.
Annabelle mouthed very clearly at him, ‘Wow, really? Shock!’.
“I was making a point,” Jon hissed. “An important point. But I don’t - I still -” Jon faltered, uncertain, as Henrietta began sneering something about Lukas’ hairdo. Finally, he weakly said, “You care. They need you.”
Annabelle stared at him for a long, silent moment, before turning away from him.
For the first time that day, she spoke to the room. “Let’s keep ad hominem attacks out of this,” she said sharply. “Madame Lukas, if you’ll make your closing remarks we can bring this to a vote.”
She really was good at it. Just like she had always wanted. She had never directly admitted it, but Annabelle had always wanted to be the kind of person in rooms like this.
A politician sitting in an uncomfortable chair at 10 Downing Street. Rich, successful, important. Powerful and respected. Back then, she had wanted to be famous. Now, she was content to be controlling famous people. A dream out of her reach in life; laughably attainable in this stagnant after-afterlife.
The dream had crippled her. In her search for a functional world, one that achieved and grew and provided a comfortable world, she had ended up recreating a world that hadn’t been functional at all. A world that was slow to change, and seemingly impossible to improve. A world passed down from the hands of the greedy and bloodthirsty into the hands of the uncaring and apathetic.
The apocalypse had been inevitable. Humans driving themselves to extinction. And Avatars, possessed of human weakness, had been eager to do the same. Just a pathetic room of sour and bitter people power-tripping.
For all that Sasha calls us bougie, Jon thought, we’re such deeply unhappy people.
There had once been a young man, desperate for attention and acknowledgement. Dreaming of importance. He would stay up late at night, planning out his life as a famous researcher and well-respected philosopher. Everyone would tell him how smart he was. He would prove it all - with a scholarship to Oxford, with a sneer and a haughty air, with a boss who said that he had so much promise, here’s a job that will let you realize your potential.
I deserve this job -
Something in Jon’s mind flared, a hot poker rammed behind his eye sockets. Jon hissed, one hand reaching unconsciously to his temple, and Annabelle glanced at him in alarm. She had - Jon had been thinking about her, and - what had he been -
Together, they managed to wrangle the meeting into something half-way productive. Most importantly, Basira had gotten three of her proposals passed, and Agnes’ arguments were stirring the other Avatars into serious discussion. Conversation itself would be stilted by his sheer presence, and they weren’t quite all working together yet, but they would.
It was really all the same to Jon if the Avatars or humans won the war. He should care a bit more than he did, so he didn’t vocalize this to the others. But this conflict sparked life, a strange and frantic energy. Experiences and growth. That was what Jon had always fed on.
It seemed that Jon’s skill at prioritizing himself over all others was as sharp as ever.
Eventually the two hours wrapped up, and the other Avatars were eager to leave. Jon waved them off cheerily.
“Meeting adjourned. Try not to do anything stupid until next time. And if any of you break the boundaries of the human safe zones, I’ll know! Annabelle, will you stay behind?”
The others filtered out quickly, uncharacteristically unwilling to see whatever carnage would be wrought. Agnes and Basira lingered.
“That went so well!” Agnes shouted, the minute the last Avatar left. The room was now empty save for Agnes, Basira, Annabelle, and - Oliver, who was leaning against the doorframe. “I can’t believe you actually did something useful!”
“Ouch,” Oliver said.
It was fair, though. Jon smiled weakly at her. “Hopefully I can help out a little more often going forward. But I’m not going to give any favoritism to you, Agnes. I’ll intervene to give humans a fair shot, but I really don’t want to be...king of a ruined world or whatever.”
“I know,” Agnes said firmly. She reached out and squeezed his arm, round and gentle face creased in determination. “You’d be terrible at it. So just be you, okay?”
Jon saluted her, before gesturing to the door. “Will you steal a historical British artifact from this garbage building for me? Daisy needs more targets to shoot.”
Agnes nodded eagerly and ran off. Jon silently hoped Basira would follow her, if also out of interest for also seeing British things destroyed, but she just looked at Jon intensely instead. Not quite a glare - just a searching, intense look, as if she was finding her own Statement from deep within him. It had always been disconcerting. Jon was still convinced she hated him.
“It’s not as if I knew you very well before we rescued you from the Panopticon,” Basira said crisply, pressing a folder to her chest, “but you’ve changed. What happened? What did Annabelle have to do with it?”
Jon and Annabelle glanced at each other. Oliver lifted an eyebrow.
“Basira -”
“Don’t ask me to trust you.”
“I didn’t betray that,” Jon asked, “did I?”
Her expression didn’t soften. “You didn’t. We’re going to continue needing your help. But an ally with inscrutable motivations who does everything on a whim is a bad ally to have.”
“I’m trying, Basira,” Jon said, impossibly exhausted and just a little disappointed. “Please be patient.”
“I’ve been patient for three years,” Basira said, before forcibly cutting herself short from whatever emotion she was about to display. “What happened?”
A phantom pain pieced Jon’s arms, like chains threaded through bone. Jon fought the urge to wince, unconsciously reaching up to rub at a spot on his forearm. Everyone noticed. “It’s...family business…”
“Did you kill Jonah Magnus?”
“Jonah Magnus killed me,” Jon snapped, far louder than he intended, “so he would have deserved it, wouldn’t he!”
He felt a little lightheaded, more than he intended. It felt like a hand was clenching inside his chest, more than he wanted. No, Basira is fragile, you can’t just - no, Agnes is a kid, Daisy said that we can’t -
“Basira Hussain,” Annabelle said, hands folded tightly in her lap, eyes serious and intent. Jon started, surprised to hear her speak again. “You should go catch up with Agnes.”
Basira stared at Annabelle for a long moment, lips thin, before she abruptly whirled on her heel and stalked out. Jon watched her go, exhausted. He waited for her heels to click down the hall, far away enough that he knew she wasn’t eavesdropping, before groaning and dropping his head down onto his desk.
“They hate me.”
“They’re scared of you,” Annabelle pointed out. She leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms. “Frankly, Basira could stand to be a little more afraid of you. She’s going to get herself in trouble one of these days.”
“She’s practically my sister in law, I’m not going to hurt her,” Jon snapped. “Your stupid plan relied on me never hurting people I love.”
“Sorry,” Oliver said pleasantly, “is anyone ever going to tell me what’s going on? I feel like an NPC in Jon’s Dungeons & Dragons game.”
“You want to be an NPC, I found you working at Taco Bell.” God, whatever. Jon could tell Oliver. He wouldn’t give a shit. Jon sighed, lifting his head to twist around and look at Oliver instead. “You remember when I was asking around after Sasha James? Annabelle had put me up to it.”
“Obviously. And then Sasha James started following you around? You terrorized Annabelle’s party again?”
“Yeah, it was this whole big thing.” Jon waved a hand expressively. “Anyway, then Annabelle tried to trap me in an eternal limbo that would shred me from inside out so I could act as purveyor of the world, and probably also use her connection with me so she could take over affairs here, and probably either nudge me into shaping the world back into order or into sinking it deeper into hell. I broke out and now I’m mad at her.”
“I had at least twenty other reasons,” Annabelle said, “but that’s the gist.”
Oliver stared at them.
They all sat in awkward silence. Jon found himself winding a finger around a stray coil of hair and letting it spring back into place. He had kept it the same the last three years, never bothering to change the style. A loose and bouncy cloud of hair, sometimes brushing against his shoulders until Annabelle kidnapped him to cut it again - him, as much as the trenchcoat was. So much as anything had ever been ‘him’.
“Well,” Oliver said diplomatically, “I see that you skipped a lot of steps there. So why are you here, then?”
Was it just to spite Annabelle? Screw her out of her work? Did Jon genuinely care? Did he want to organize the other Avatars, get them mobilized and going? Did he want to protect the humans?
Did he really only care about himself, and the people he called his friends and family? Did he really only care about himself, and those he possessed?
“There’s a person I want to be,” Jon said quietly, “but I don’t know how to be him.”
Annabelle stared at him, with dark and glittering eyes, expression as implacable as always. For a sudden, stupid, intense moment, Jon wanted to know if she cared about him. If one of the few people who had always helped him, who was always in his corner, had seen him as anything more than a tool.
Like Basira, who didn’t like him as a person, but found him too valuable to alienate. But Basira was - she was deeply good, if not always kind, and Jon had the sense that she had fought to turn herself into that good person. It was something she chose. She was trying to push Jon into making that same choice.
Jon clenched his hands in his lap, his fingernails digging into his palm. “There’s people I respect, and who I want to respect me. This person I want to be...I’m worried that I only want this because that’s what they want. They’ll deny it, but they want my power. Everybody just makes me into whoever they want. Whatever’s useful to them.” Jon’s gaze snapped to Annabelle, and he fought hard to keep the compulsion from his voice. It was difficult, when he wanted to know so badly, but - “The kind of person I used to be. That person I’m ashamed of. Is that the person who was useful to you?”
He didn’t want to force the answer from her. He wanted her to choose to say it.
Annabelle didn’t react. She didn’t show anything on her face. Much less what Jon wanted from her. She just tilted her head, one of the few unafraid to meet his eyes. “I never made you be anyone, Jon. All I ever did was put you in the right place at the right time.”
“That wasn’t my question,” Jon said, and this time he couldn’t help the static creeping into his voice. “Answer me.”
Annabelle sighed. “Of course it was useful. Is that what you wanted me to voluntarily say, Jon? I didn’t bring you to the first meeting because I thought it would be educational for you. I needed your power to keep the others in line. I needed everyone else to see that I controlled your power. That’s the only reason why any of this worked. We both got something out of it. Don’t pretend that you weren’t happy with the arrangement.”
It...it wasn’t a surprise, but…
“So that’s why you didn’t bring him to any of the other meetings,” Oliver mused. “He wasn’t as controllable as you liked, not when there’s more than ten other idiots around needling him. There’s never been anybody who can always predict when Jon’s going to lose his shit. Besides the biggie, I guess.”
The biggie, which was his past.
No wonder he had stayed so childlike, innocent, and cruel for so long. Jon took responsibility for his own laziness, but - but he had been most useful that way. Annabelle had liked him best that way.
Daisy had liked him best that way too. That cruel child - Daisy had wanted him, because he made her feel needed. Annabelle was just the same.
Everyone had liked him best that way. And if Jon became the kind of person who he wanted to be, nobody would like him at all.
“If you’re going to kill me,” Annabelle said, exhaustion seeping in through her voice, “just do it.”
Jon closed his eyes. He could feel it - Annabelle’s exhaustion, the way that she had just been waiting for him to do this. Everything she knew about Jon led towards an obvious course of action. Even though you nobody knew everything that set Jon off, certain things were pretty guaranteed that he wouldn’t forgive.
Annabelle had never accounted for Sasha. She had brought Sasha into his life, and she had no idea the effect she would have on it. Sasha, who had been the first to tell Jon that she chose to care about him for him. For a brief, hot flash, Jon was jealous. He wanted to be someone unpredictably kind.
If he only wanted that because he had found yet another person to give his wind-up key, then…
“You won, Annabelle,” Jon said finally, and he only knew it as he said it. “Congratulations. You played the perfect manipulation. You took a vulnerable, afraid man, who had been violated in the worst possible way and left to die.” He stood up, already uncomfortable with what he was about to say. “And you arranged him so that he loved you. I chose to love you. I’m making the choice never to hurt you, because I still love you. ”
He left the room. Oliver stood aside just in time, letting Jon brush by.
As Jon met up with Agnes and Basira, summoning a smile and a wave for them, he felt uncomfortably as if he had grown up.
He wasn’t sure that he liked it.
#tma#the magnus archives#my writing#tma fanfic#jonathan sims#annabelle cane#oliver banks#basira hussain#agnes montague#and a ton more#tcf was about deciding to change#and this story kind of hits at how difficult it is deciding who to change into#and how difficult it is to trust your own decisions when you've been manipulated since the second you were 'born'#jon and his choices and agency is becoming a big thing for me!
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Under the Mistletoe with the Akatsuki // Part Six // Hidan
Hidan
“Ah; you fucking lucky bastards! I should charge you all for this; to kiss an elite follower of the mighty Jashin is a privilege you assholes don’t deserve. Except you, Konan. In fact if you want to move the mistletoe to my bedroom then — ow! OW!! Kakuzu let go!! I was only kidding; can none of you take a fucking joke?!”
Konan
She sighs before she goes to him. He’s made a big deal all day about kissing her in particular, although she doesn’t get why. She feels nothing other than friendship for him, and, despite his ramblings, she doesn’t think he feels anything stronger either. Nevertheless, it’s her turn. She steps up to him and he reaches out and takes her small hands, giving them a surprisingly gentle squeeze. “You ready for this, gorgeous?” But something about that, about the word “gorgeous”, sets off the normally calm Konan. She yanks her hands out of his and plants them on her hips. “Gorgeous, beautiful, sexy — that’s literally all you ever say to me. I’m more than a pair of tits; I have a fucking brain in this head!” Hidan blinks, startled. “That’s - the first time I ever heard ya curse, Konan.” He grabs her hands again. He speaks in a soft voice and apologizes, and tells her that he has nothing but respect for her. “I only wanna kiss you so bad ‘cuz you’re beautiful INSIDE and out, and you bring lots of light to my shitty darkness.” She blushes and thanks him, and he takes the opportunity to lean in and kiss her lips. Just a soft touch, but both of them are smiling afterwards.
Deidara
Both of them are hesitant to do this, to say the least. Hidan won’t ever admit this, but he’s held a small physical attraction to Deidara since the day they met. Very small, and *purely* physical, but still. He doesn’t like thinking about it, because to do so would be him admitting to himself that his own sexuality isn’t as black and white as he’d thought it to be. He tells himself that if he likes Deidara at all, it’s simply because the guy looks ridiculously similar to a woman. Deidara doesn’t wish to kiss Hidan because, although HE will never admit to it, Hidan scares him. The man’s proven immortality throws a wrench into Deidara’s long-held ideals of what life (and art) are ultimately about: beauty made greater by virtue of being fleeting. But Hidan being able to live forever — could it be that Deidara’s partner Sasori has been right this whole time? That art really is eternal? Still, everyone is watching, so the two shake off their feelings, and Deidara approaches him. “Keep your tongue in your mouth, okay?” “Same goes for you, blondie.” Hidan gives himself very quick peck to the lips, but both men are blushing quite hard regardless. And even as brief as that was — Hidan makes note to ask Deidara what kind of shampoo he used later, because he smelled absolutely incredible.
Kisame
After the last kiss between them, when it was Kisame’s turn, Hidan is hesitant to get close to this guy again. But Kisame is grinning, and appears to be in a good mood. “Ah, come now, Hidan; surely we can let bygones be bygones?” Hidan starts to curse at him, but catches himself just in time: after all, his mouth was what got him into trouble last time. So he merely nods and stands still, while Kisame approaches him. “Are you afraid, Hidan?” “Ah? Why would I be —“ “I can smell the fear coming from you.” Hidan folds his arms in front of his chest and demands to know who wouldn’t be afraid at the thought of possible dismemberment. Kisame just laughs and promises he’ll behave himself. He leans in, locks eyes with Hidan, and flashes his teeth — before giving Hidan a closed-mouth kiss on the forehead. Hidan let’s out a shaky sigh of relief, and Kisame walks away, laughing.
Itachi
Like Deidara, Hidan has a bit of a grudge against the raven-haired Uchiha. He’s fallen victim before to the power of Itachi’s sharingan, and the calm, quiet way that Itachi reacts to Hidan’s jabs and wheedles always serve to irritate. But even so — Hidan has to admit that the guy isn’t all THAT bad (certainly not the hell-spawn that Deidara makes him out to be, anyway). There was a time once when Hidan caught a cold, and Itachi braved going into his room to bring him a cup of sinus-clearing tea. Itachi steps up to him and nods, and Hidan leans forward and kisses him on the cheek. An oddly sweet gesture, and one that Itachi seems to like, as he actually smiles before he leaves. Hidan watches him go, thinking (and not for the first time) that having a talent like the sharingan is completely wasted in someone who isn’t immortal. Maybe he should talk to him later about joining the Jashinist movement ...
Pein (Nagato)
If the Akatsuki is a family, and everybody (save Konan) are Pein’s children, then Hidan is undoubtedly the problem child of the group. The loudest, the most foul-mouthed, definitely the most violent ... but still. When Hidan could find an ounce of maturity, and focus, he was one of the best members of the team. And Nagato finds his regenerative abilities to be amazing, and, if there was ever the time and opportunity for it, would love to study Hidan in-depth. Pein approaches him and Hidan bows his head, an act of respect he gives to the Leader ... and ONLY the Leader. Pein delivers a light kiss to the forehead and walks away. He can hear Hidan mumbling behind him about “those damn piercings could kill somebody” but chooses to ignore it.
Zetsu
Oh, God. Hidan smells like human blood most of the time (thanks to his many gory sacrifices), and Zetsu is attracted to this scent like a bee is to a flower. He’d hang around this guy all day if he could, if not for the smell then to act as clean-up for the bits and pieces of his victims that he leaves behind. But Hidan doesn’t quite care for the plant man, to say the least. He didn’t sign up for the Akatsuki to be made to work alongside non-human freaks of nature. When Zetsu walks up to Hidan, the gray-haired jashin lover is nervous, to say the least. Zetsu puts his hand on Hidan’s face, leans in, and kisses his nose. It should only take a second, but Zetsu lingers over the spot for an abnormal amount of time ... and Hidan realizes it’s because he’s sniffing him, like an animal. “Okay, freak; get the hell away from me!” But Zetsu doesn’t move, in fact tightening his grip on Hidan’s face. Hidan is surprised; Zetsu is quite a bit stronger than he’d realized. His surprise turns to fear when the expression in Zetsu’s eyes shifts, and Hidan hears a very noticeable stomach-growl come from him. Hidan is seconds away from fight or flight (he hasn’t quite decided yet) when Tobi comes into the room, seemingly breaking the trance Zetsu had been in. Hidan breathes out a sigh of relief as zetsu keaves, giving silent thanks to the moron in the mask.
Tobi
After “scaring” Zetsu away, Tobi gleefully announces that its his turn with Hidan. “Ohh boy, Hidan-san! You and Tobi are gonna have fun!” Hidan is actually quite eager for this; not so much for the kiss itself, but for his chance to see this freak up close and unmasked. Tobi looks behind him; nobody else is around. He turns back to Hidan and slides his mash halfway off his face, revealing his pale skin, dark, long-lashed eyes, and full lips, pursed into a grin. Getting closer, Hidan can detect faded, jagged lines extending from the right side of his forehead to the bottom of his mouth. Still, even with them — “Fucking hot”, Hidan mutters, the words slipping out before he can stop them. Tobi grins and cups Hidan’s face, staring into his eyes. “So are you,” he murmurs, and is it Hidan’s imagination or is his voice ... different, somehow? Well, no time to think about it; suddenly Tobi’s (unbelievably soft) lips are on his own, and for the first time since this encounter started, Hidan feels a feather-touch of unease. The way Tobi’s kissing him ... this isn’t how an idiot kisses. What in the name of Jashin — and then just as quickly as it began, it ends. Tobi slides his mask back into place, and skips off to the kitchen. Hidan has to take a few moments to collect himself, and in the way-back of his mind is a small voice urging him to warn Deidara to watch himself around Tobi. About what? Hidan doesn’t know the specifics. All he knows is those two are alone a LOT for missions, and if Tobi really is more than he seems, then — But then again, why should he care what happens with the blonde jerk, anyway?
Sasori
Another person that annoys Hidan. He was in the Akatsuki for almost an entire year before he’d realized that the ugly body that he was in, wasn’t even his own. His surprise when he witnessed a hatch open and a childlike-looking redhead step out was unprecedented. Learning that he was in his 30’s meant that Hidan should have shown him the proper respect, but Hidan just couldn’t take orders from somebody with the face of a young boy. Sasori seems to know this, and therefore avoids interactions with him as much as possible. Now, however, contact is unavoidable. “Can you even reach my face, shorty?” Sasori tilts his head and seems to really be considering Hidan’s question. Suddenly, without warning, Sasori’s wooden arm detaches itself from Sasori’s body, and hits Hidan full-force in the center of his stomach. Hidan curses and doubles over, and while he’s bent Sasori takes the opportunity to go to Hidan and kiss his forehead. “I can reach you just fine, brat,” he murmurs, before leaving. Hidan has a quick recovery time to all forms of pain, and he’s quickly back on his feet, staring after Sasori with anger — and a tiny bit of admiration.
Kakuzu
“Hey old fucker; you’ve been waiting all day to get a taste of this, eh?” Kakuzu just rolls his eyes at Hidan’s comment. He’s not sure what he did, either in this life or another one, to be partnered with a creature as odious as Hidan. Normally with people that Kakuzu finds no value in, he kills, plain and simple. But Hidan is neither plain nor simple; no matter what Kakuzu hits him with, he keeps getting back up, just as loud and irritating as ever. But ... even someone as gruff as Kakuzu has to admit that Hidan isn’t all that bad. It’s actually a bit lovely, to have found another person (besides Sasori, who has made it clear that when everyone else expires, his complete solitude is something he’s looking forward to) to be with to share the blessing (and curse) of immortality. He walks up to Hidan and grabs him by the forearms, forcing him into stillness. “What the hell, old man?! Let go of me before —“ but Kakuzu interrupts him by inclining his neck and kissing his lips. Hidan’s mouth is soft, and he has a taste to him, something akin to cinnamon or pumpkin. Kakuzu let’s go of him and starts to walk away, when suddenly Hidan reaches out grabs him, pulling him into another kiss. Kakuzu is surprised, but he makes no attempt to break Hidan’s hold on him because ... this is nice. This feels good, this feels natural. Almost like — and then a sudden explosion makes them both jump; Tobi comes running past them, with Deidara (and his bombs) on his heels. “Get back here you little shit!!” Kakuzu sighs, and this time when he turns to go, Hidan doesn’t stop him. But Kakuzu can feels Hidan’s eyes on him, following him all the way to his room.
#the akatsuki#under the mistletoe#kissing#hidan#kakuzu#deidara#sasori#tobi#zetsu#pein#nagato#konan#kisame#itachi uchiha
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My thoughts on Episode 3--Hunted.
Most of you lovelies already realize this, but my thoughts tend to zig and zag quite a bit, lol. So. To save some of you the headache and spare you from seeing spoilers you’d rather not see yet, I’m again placing them behind a cut.
First things first. I have totally turned into Yvette Nicole Brown with her TWD notebooks, lol, and I’m not even sorry. I just felt like it would be fun to go back when the final episode is in the books and see how well my thoughts from these early episodes line up with what I’m feeling when we say our (not-so) final goodbyes.
But that’s enough about that. Let’s get to this thing.
It really is insane how very much I love Melissa McBride. Just hearing her doing the previously on TWD recap voiceover makes me ridiculously happy.
Cole! Dude! We hardly knew ya.
Not gonna lie. That first shot of Maggie in all the chaos reminded of a shirt I’ve seen. It says--”Well, well, well. If it isn’t the consequences of my actions.”
I have to hand it to Angela and the rest of her team. These opening scenes--on all 3 episodes--have been BOMB so far. They really hook you in right away. At least IMHO.
I realize I’m behind the game on this little tidbit, but how much do I adore the fact that Dog is now in the opening credits?
Okay. Alexandria might look like it’s been on some kind of post-apocalyptic bender but all our girls are looking beautiful as ever. Maybe it’s Maybelline, lol.
I love to see Kelly and Carol still gravitating toward each other. It really speaks to each woman’s heart. Carol wants to make amends so badly and Kelly just has the most lovely, warm, forgiving heart.
Carol’s point about Alexandria still needing the horses to help with the heavy lifting and pointing out the walls and rebuilding won’t matter quite as much if they’re limited by their hunger and what they can physically lift on their own isn’t wrong. But I’m sure the same viewers that were okay with Daryl and Co. going out on Maggie’s suicide mission (using the same reasoning) and saying it made sense for the bigger picture will pretend not to recognize that the same element is there in Carol’s desire to go out there and look for the horses. You know. Because it was Carol’s idea and not that of their fave(s).
Aaron, Man. Or maybe I should say Angela. You just had to put a pit of dread in my belly mentioning Buttons like that. RIP, Buttons. You deserved better. I’m still traumatized.
Look at all the babies bonding. Look at RJ getting to sit at the big kid table.
“My mom always comes back.” She damn well better. Those babies need her. Until she does, though, Uncle Daryl and Aunt Carol (and Aunt Rosita and everybody else) are going to be there.
Anyway. Poor RJ. He barely ever gets any lines, lol.
Hershel and Judith are obviously the mini-adults in this group and baby Rhee is already more cynical and jaded than his sweet daddy was until they reached Alexandria and the wheels started to come off.
So. Does Maggie just think everybody’s already dead here or what? Hmm.
You know. Any building can be creepy AF when the lights are off and it’s dark, lol. Any building.
So much darkness so far this season. I’m going to have to invest in some blackout curtains. I just know it.
Where are all those stairs leading? Why am I thinking of Hitchcock? Am I mixing up my scary, suspenseful movies? Probably.
Of fucking course, Maggie dropped her flashlight. Thank goodness she had that lighter at the ready just before Ghost Face Reaper took a swipe at her.
Is that Father G with a screwdriver impaled in his thigh? Listen. These people deserve a Mega Bottle of pain killers and a week just vegging out in a soft, luxurious bed.
All these horror movie tropes. Some of them are cheesy, yes. But I’m totally here for it.
LMAO. That’s it, Maggie. A good old punch in the nuts works every time.
Alden really is having a terrible, horrible, no good very bad day.
Negan is still Negan. Self-serving and looking out for number one. But I believe the man really does feel the group is his group too. He’s like that long lost, sketchy uncle nobody wants to acknowledge much less invite to the dinner table, but that bond? However thin? Is there.
I am both hating that Maggie is being forced to work with the man that murdered her husband (my baby Glenn) and finding it fascinating the lengths she’s willing to go to survive. This your plan, Angela?
Rosita and Carol! How sad is it that the last really significant scene I can remember the two of these women sharing was way back? Before Rick and Co. attacked Negan’s outpost and Maggie and Carol were subsequently taken? If only the show had done more of these kind of scenes.
How much do I love all the girls working together? Gimps would never. They’d all be stuck back at Alexandria minding the kids and the community.
Shallow aside--Rosita is so pretty in this scene.
Rosita being worried about Carol honestly makes my heart hurt, because it’s about damn time more of them actually did. Her saying Abraham is trying to tell her something in her dreams is interesting. Angela sure loves her dreams, doesn’t she?
Where are Daryl’s dreams, hmm? No. Seriously. I guess they want to give some viewers plausible deniability until the bitter end.
“Really? We’re just gonna go toward the screaming? Cool.” Hahaha. You know. Even the smart people in horror movies sometimes bite it, Negan. Just saying. Maggie really does need to “stop running up the staircase” when she could just run out the front door though, lol.
Poor Duncan. I think you could have been another Tyreese, Jerry type for me.
WTF does this show have against horses? Those poor creatures.
Kelly is totally me right now. I’d be freaking inconsolable.
Carol needed that hug. Thank you, Magna. From the bottom of this tired fangirl’s heart, thank you.
Why give us that beautiful, golden shot with the horses when you’re planning to stab us through the heart later and twist the knife. Oh. Yeah. That’s exactly why.
Oh snap! Father G’s delivery when he tells that Reaper “I’m not. God isn’t here anymore.” Cold as ice.
Judas. That the Reapers’ work. Or. Damn. Either way, that’s harsh.
Back to what Alden was saying. All these oprhaned children. Who’s going to take on Adam if he dies? That poor kid has had a rough go of it. Knowing that, makes you wonder what Alden was thinking volunteering for the suicide mission.
Omigosh. There went Agatha. Terrible way to go. Right, Beatrice?
I’m sobbing. Carol with the horse. That hurt my baby so much but she hurt herself for her family the same way she has been doing since the Prison. Melissa Mcbride? When she cries, I cry. Every effin’ time. Aaron being there just made it hurt more. But at least someone was there to see how and really take in how she continues to break pieces of herself off to keep her family as whole and safe and happy as she can.
Rewinding a minute--that Magna and Carol conversation. I get Magna’s reasoning too. I do. But Angela is just making everything so dire right now so that the sun when Connie is ultimate found shines a ltitle brighter.
Those babies know they’re eating horse. I could never.
That’s got to be a different Coco. She’s even smaller. But she’s gorgeous.
Fucking finally. Angela having the other characters notice after an eternity of being blind to it, just how much Carol sacrifices of herself for them. It’s so long overdue and I imagine Rosita’s even more worried for Carol now. It’s a shame it’s taken 11 seasons. My baby’s had blood on her hands trying to keep her family safe and whole and happy and fed for a long damn time. So heartbreaking watching her try to scrub the blood away.
Sweet, sweet hug that Kelly gave Magna. She’s such a sweetheart kid sis to all of them, isn’t she?
Interesting place of refuge. A gutted church. A visual symbol, Angela, of where Maggie and the rest of our people are now perhaps?
“It’s easy for you, isn’t it? Being reckless with sombody’s life...” Maggie. Maggie. Those words would have hit so much harder if we hadn’t spent the majority of the last 2.5 episodes watching you ignore sound advice just because it came out of the mouth of somebody you (justifiably) hate.
But will Alden be there when Maggie and Negan get back? That is the question. Or will he eventually Lucille himself?
That little bit of lineup Negan music to remind the audience of Negan lovers and sympathizers that he once took great pleasure in murderously swinging a bag at people’s heads was a nice, subtle touch there. Like agree with her or not, Maggie is literally left to rely on the hope, however small it is, that Negan has changed just enough that he won’t try to finish a job he taken on years before--killing what’s left of her.
Oh lawd. Next episode sees the return of a character literally nobody asked for. How excited am I not?
Dog better not be harmed or so help me.
Now for Angela’s weekly explanations of WTF she/there were thinking because they been doing this plausible deniability thing so long some people out there watching with biased, muddy stan glasses can no longer separate head canon from canon.
Is Maggie worried at all about Daryl or does she just assume his superhero powers are in full effect in this episode?
“You can’t really say it wasn’t going to happen anyway.” Not Angela pointing out that simply laying the blame for literally everything bad that ever happens at Carol’s feet isn’t the answer. Say it louder for those in the back. Alpha was going to do what Alpha wanted to do.
“There is love there. There is respect there. However, there’s also frustration...” You damn skippy. Friendships and human relationships are complex AF. Like Carol. She’s honestly one of the most complicated characters on this show and any show, IMHO. That’s what makes her so memorable and such a lightning rod for discussion.
I know I might be in a minority, but I really feel like they need more of those little scenes between the kids to keep things real.
Kang saying she always feels like she’s going to get murdered in a staircase or parking lot is relatable, funny, and sad all at the same time. It’s a girl thing.
Why is Carol’s story giving me Dark Knight vibes? Like I feel like she’ll gladly shoulder the burden of their distrust, their hate, or their judgment as long as the hard choices she makes keeps them safe. And she’s still ultimately going to come back to save their asses even when they forsake her. Just like Bruce Wayne/Batman. Am I reaching too far, lol? Because sometimes I do that.
Anyway. This is the third episode of the season and the third episode in a row that I mostly enjoyed. I don’t know if I’m just so relieved and happy to have all the characters and my show back or what, but overall? I’ve been pleased with the episodes and found something to love in all of them.
There’s a much stronger horror vibe woven throughout Season 11 so far. I feel like it’s a return to the roots of the show and I like that. Literally none of the characters are making perfect choices and this viewer is here for it. My only complaint so far is there hasn’t been enough Carol but what we’ve been given has felt like a gift and significant in a way that Gimps’ version was not. Also? I really hope the trend of the ladies working together and supporting each other continues because they rule the TWD world, lol.
Hope you enjoyed at least some of my TWD word vomit.
Until next episode.
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Too short!
Ok, I'm into Sk8 The infinity and Renga as much I'm into Nathmarc which means the fanfic ideas are flowing... here we go. This may have some spoilers!!! 📢🚨
Also idk if this count as a crack but the thing is I'm done with the angst so I came up with this silly idea.
So this is a canon divergence in which they boys get to talk about their problems and have the reconciliation they deserve and need.
They understand each other better, Langa even started to pay attention to all the rude things some people say about Reki and is ready to assure him when necessary.
Though.... there are some assholes that are just well... assholes.
Like this guy we will call Yoshio... maybe I'll come up with another name when I actually write the fic. Btw, Yoshio is their age and a jerk, he tried to get close to Langa because being friends with Snow would be cool and would gain him some points, however Langa was not interested, the guy was... not friendly, besides the friends he already had (Shadow, Joe, Cherry, Miya and of course Reki) are more than enough for him, especially Reki.
And well Yoshio can understand why Snow would prefer the company of people like Joe , Cherry and Miya, even Shadow but that slime redhead? At least Yoshio has his own name in "S" but that guy was just a nobody, so he didn't understand why the big Snow was so eager to spend time with with such a nobody, the genius even looked like he was looking forwards to just be seen by the redhead, why?
Of course since Yoshio is a jerk he doesn't think and gives his opinion on the matter. In a rude way.
"I don't get it. Why waste your time with a lowlife like him? What does have that nobody that I don't? At least people here knows my name!"
Langa is not a violent boy, he usually don't get mad or angry, but right now he just want to punch this boy until he backs off his words. The only reason he didn't was because Cherry and Joe interfered, but he did give him a piece of his mind. Fortunately Reki didn't let those words get to him.
For some time Yoshio leaves them alone, but he really wants to humiliate that slime, so he would finally understand his place.
Then he comes up with an idea which is at best childish, but it would make what he wants: humiliate Reki in front as much people possible.
So he challenges him into a beef. The loser would wear a dress chose by the winner.
Yeah, childish and kind of retrograde is XXI Century please.
Reki honestly doesn't think much about the beef, is just a dress, though they are not his style. Yoshio will bother him until he agrees. Reki was about to win but Yoshio plays dirty, even dirtier than Shadow, and what he did was actually dangerous, Reki lost and ends up with more bandages on his left arm and right knee.
Again, the only reason Langa didn't beat the shit out of Yoshio was because Cherry and Joe stopped him.
Now Reki has to go to "S" wearing the dress Yoshio chose for him. That day the gang meet at Joe's restaurant so Reki can put on the dress, they all decided to wait until he wear it to see it, so it was a surprise. But Reki was feeling very uncomfortable wearing it and was seriously considering to not set foot in "S" ever again or deal with whatever shit he had to face if he decides to not keep with the beef.
"Everything alright kid?" Joe asked outside the room Reki was changing.
"Y-yeah... I just... I'm not sure I want to do this"
"Uh, are you ashamed for using a dress? I honestly thought you didn't give a shit about it"
"Language!" Cherry corrects Miya, but he had a point, they didn't thought Reki really cared.
"Is not that, I mean is just a piece of fabric and is stupid to say is just for girls, but that is not the matter..." Reky replies a little hesitant.
"What's the matter, Reki?" Langa asks soflty.
"Well... I didn't take on account Yoshio would chose something so... revealing"
"What do you mean with revealing?!"
Shadow already bored with all that just junked the door open revealing a blushing and startled Reki wearing a pink dress that seemed taken of some magical girls anime, it had ribbons and sparkles and just like Reki said... it was kind revealing. The neckline was pronounced, if Reki were a girl... you have an idea, and the skirt was way too short. It gained different reactions.
Shadow and Miya explode in laughter, Cherry and Joe's parental instincts kicked in and were internally ranting about how their child won't wear that in public and thinking in ways to make anything that may happen to Yoshio to look like an accident.
And Langa... Langa felt for the first time what a gay panic was.
He knew he liked his friend in a romantically way, after that talk he had with his mother the night he lost against Joe in the tournament, it was like an ephiny and it didn't took much for him to accept it. He knew he was gay since he was like 12 and Reki was just the sunshine incarnated, it was hard for him to understand how people would not like him.
He always thought he was handsome, cute, adorable, gorgeous and even sexy... he is a teenager and he has hormones okay?! Don't judge him!
But this?
Yeah, he has seen Reki shirtless (which made him flustered) but it’s just... the dress and he looking so freaking cute and flustered, that is making things to his heart... and to another parts, not gonna lie, his legs look amazing and he can't help but appreciatee how the dress embracess Reki's frame so nicely.
"Ugh, close your mouth you are about to drool" Miya whispers to him while elbowing his ribs.
Langa snaps out his trance, Miya is watching him with a smile too knowing for his like. Langa can't help the deep blush spreading over his face
"Jeez! I didn't know you were into this kind of stuff, and you looked so wholesome" the kid tases him shaking his head, for once the Canadian is speechless at his young friend, if for what he implied or the fact he talked about it despite his age he doesn't know and doesn't want to know either.
He tries to justify himself but all that comes out his mouth are stammered words, Miya just laughs at him, he glances at Reki who is too busy yelling at Shadow to stop laughing to notice their little interaction, good, he feels too embarrassed and he doesn't need Reki to notice.
"Absolutely no! There is no way you are going to "S" wearing that!" Cherry states immersed in his parental figure mood. Joe immediately agrees, for once with the man.
"But what about the beef? I get he feels uncomfortable but Yoshio won't let this pass" Miya chimes in, right that is a problem.
"But we can have Reki walking in a public place looking like that! Who knows how many creeps or homophobes are there!"
The people started to talk about what to do, but Joe's words keep floating in Langa's mind.
Creeps and homophobes.
Right, if Reki goes to "S" everybody will see him like that.... Langa's chest tightens at the idea in a mix of concern and, even if he is ashamed of the last one, jealousy.
In one hand both the creeps and homophobes have him worried for Reki's safety, he doesn't want him to be harassed or assaulted.
On the other hand he doesn't want anybody to see him like this, he doesn't want anybody to see how stunning Reki looks, is he jealous? He doesn't have a problem with their friends but... Joe and Cherry are pretty much their parents, with Shadow and Miya there is an age gap and even if that wasn't a problem, they are like brothers for Reki and him(Miya is like their cat son when Cherry and Joe are not present), so he is pretty sure they don't count, buy anybody else? Yeap, he doesn't want them to see this side of his dear best friend. It sounds selfish? Maybe. He cares? Pfff no. He is thinking about this when an idea crosses his mind.
"Shadow, borrow us your cape"
♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡
"What is this?! Where is the dress!" Yoshio all but barks at the redhead, the Canadian can't help growl under his breath.
"Actually I'm wearing it, under the tunic" Reki explains with a smirk and even opens the tunic a little to show that indeed he is using the damn dress, he quickly closes it again.
"This was not the beef slime! Take off that cape or..."
"Or what, brat?" Shadow appears suddenly and glares at Yoshido, who gulps and steps back.
"Also, the beef was for the loser to wear a dress chose by the winner, you never said the dress had to be seen by everybody so technically Reki is receiving the punishment" Cherry adds as he puts a hand on Reki's shoulder, Joe and Miya also appear besides them.
Yoshido, outnumbered has no other choice but back off.
That night Reki decides to just watch to avoid any accident that would reveal the dress, Langa decides to keep him company, practically attaching himself at Reki's side, just in case.
Though, at some point, in which he sees Yoshido by himself, he ask Cherry to take care of Reki saying he wanted a drink.
After 15 minutes, a long time to go for a drink, Langa returns without drink but with a very satisfied smile.
Reki doesn't miss it.
"What did you do?" But Langa ignores it.
"Mom will make poutine for diner on Friday, wanna come?" He asks instead.
"Hey answer my question!"
"I'm sure mom will love to have you there, she adores you"
Knowing he won't make Langa talk Reki just sighs and says he will be there, Langa will tell him if he thinks is important.
Needleless to say, after that day Yoshido never bothered Reki again and every time he saw Langa he would look away scared and just avoid any contact with the two best friends.
Reki, Cherry, Joe, Shadow and Miya are sure Langa did something but, they are not complaining, the guy was pain in the ass.
"As far as he didn't do something we wouldn't do" is Joe simply state.
As for Langa? He is just grateful skirts and dresses are not Reki's style at all, otherwise he is sure his poor heart couldn't handle it.
This is a draft, the actual fanfic will come soon 👀
#skate the infinity#sk8#reki deserves love and happiness#reki kyan#langa hasegawa#renga#fanfic#lenga x reki#cherry blossom#joe#miya#shadow
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Summer’s Almost Over (So Come Spend it with Me)
Day Twelve, Side A: Exacerbate
read it here on AO3!
Blaine Anderson’s never been lucky in love.
His first crush was in third grade on Jim Hawkins from Treasure Planet. Oh he’d almost burned the DVD out from watching it too much. His crush ended when his brother accidentally broke the disc and Blaine couldn’t watch the animated teen anymore. Plus, all of the other little boys were crushing on girls, ones that were real and not animated. Most importantly they were girls. So he put crushes on the backburner for a while.
His next crush was in seventh grade, on Joey Partmon. Joey was new from Texas, which may have well been a foreign country to him and the other private school kids Blaine went to school with. He was tanned under his school mandated uniform, with dark freckles and floppy red hair. Blaine loved his deep southern accent and the way he twirled his pencil around in his hand when he was bored. They weren’t close, Blaine wasn’t outgoing enough to say ‘hi,’ and Joey moved away that summer. But he did dream about kissing him on more than one occasion. That’s when he realized he was gay.
Freshman year’s candidate was Ryan Night.
He went to a public school then. He and Ryan were the only two boys in their choir, which already put a huge target on their backs, not to mention the fact they were both gay. Blaine still doesn’t know if it’s a blessing or a curse, but he was able to hide it. Ryan wasn’t as lucky. But it didn’t matter, they were friends, brought together by this horrible thing they had to deal with. The whole situation turned into something beautiful. So when Blaine asked Ryan to homecoming, he expected everything to go fine.
He’d be proved wrong, of course. So he took a break from crushing for a little while. In fact, he took a break on everything, for about a year.
Everything was different when he came to Dalton. The kids, the students, the zero tolerance bullying policy. It all kept him safe. So he joined the Warblers and became their leading man, not because he was gay or straight, but because he was good. They kind of idolized him, and he suddenly had this giant group of friends. That’s when he met Jeremiah.
Maybe it was because he was finally out and proud, but his crush on Jeremiah felt so different. It was almost like love. He was older and wiser than Blaine, and so so cute. And as the days ticked on and the boy was all he could think about, he decided he had to do something, and he had to do something big.
Safe to say that totally backfired. Blaine promised himself to never let a crush get that serious again, not until he was sure. And that plan had worked, until now. Because he met Kurt Hummel.
They actually met at NYADA, at a Midnight Madness competition.
Blaine had been dragged there by his friend Leslie, who wasn’t actually a singer but a dancer, she just liked drama. So he went, dressed in sweatpants and a Dalton hoodie, and sat in the back. The whole place was honestly just a giant fire hazard, and the heat from the candles was making him sweaty. They were waiting on someone apparently. Rachel Berry, the senior who had won last year. Blaine knew she had a reputation of being a diva, but good Lord she was taking forever. The crowd of theatre geeks was becoming antsy.
“Wait!” The door opened and shut in a swift motion, blowing out a few candles by the entrance. The young man’s chest heaved, like he had just run all this way. “Rachel’s out sick. But I’m here, I’ll do it in her place. The dim light blocked out most of his face, but Blaine could see the outline of him; slim and tall with a smile that lit up the room. Was it weird to be attracted to a shadow?
The moderator nodded. “That’s fine, Kurt, we just need someone to challenge you,” he said. Kurt stepped into the ring in the center of the room and took Blaine’s breath away.
It had to be illegal to look this good at twelve in the morning. Whereas everyone else was dressed in casual clothes and pajamas, Kurt wore tight jeans and a cream sweater so soft Blaine wanted to reach out and touch it. His pale skin was painted tan from the candlelight and his hair stood so high and perfectly coiffed on his head Blaine was sure it must have taken hours to fix.
“I’ll do it,” Blaine offered, cringing at himself when every pair of eyes turned to him. He could have smacked himself in the forehead. He didn’t come here to compete, he didn’t even come for the drama. He was going to horribly embarrass himself and be forced to switch careers. Slowly and on shaky legs, he made his way to the center of the room.
Kurt smirked and said, “You’re going down.” But his eyes were gleaming with mischief. Blaine almost smiled himself, but the moderator whispered that Kurt will go first and Blaine could sit back down. The song is announced, or whisper-yelled, to be “On My Own” from Les Mis.
The music started and Kurt took a moment to close his eyes, drinking in the silence before performing. And then he sings. He floated atop the song like a leaf across water, dipping in and swirling through the melody. He sounded like he might cry, and Blaine felt a tear threatening to slip out of his eye. That’s when he knew he wouldn't win. Emotional ballads had never been his thing. And when only fifteen people gathered on his side of the room and waved their hands in silent applause, he didn’t care.
“Hey, Blaine is it?” Kurt asked when Midnight Madness had ended and students poured out the doors and back home or to bars. Blaine’s eyes went wide. Leslie spotted his fear and left without him, blonde braids swishing behind her. He was going to kill here.
“Yeah,” he replied, breathily as he turned around and finally got a good look at Kurt’s eyes. Icy blue and gorgeous, Blaine felt stripped down under his gaze. “You were really amazing, I mean obviously since you won but…”
Kurt bit his lip to hide his smile, and Blaine guilty pocketed the moment for a later time. “Thanks, but you were great too. I couldn’t imagine being a freshman and being able to sing like that.”
“Ah, I’m actually in my third year,” Blaine said, rubbing at the back of his neck. It wasn’t his fault, he didn’t do too many extracurriculars at NYADA, not any he imagined Kurt would also be a part of.
“Oh! I’m so sorry,” Kurt apologized, face flushing pink. “Um, I was wondering if you wanted—”
“I should go,” Blaine interrupted, feeling more and more embarrassed as this whole ordeal went on. He honestly just wanted to go home and forget the whole thing even happened.
Kurt actually looked a bit upset for a brief second, but he caught himself quickly and went back to his bright smile. Props of being an actor. “Right, well, it was nice meeting you, Blaine.” He nodded and walked off and out of the glass double doors.
This time, Blaine did smack himself on the forehead. He was so stupid. Kurt was going to ask him out, wasn’t he? Or at least for coffee, everybody drinks coffee super late. He trudged out of the doors and down to the subway, trying his best to not think of himself as a total screw up when it came to love. But he did check Kurt’s Instagram on the ride home. Just to look.
“I’m going out! It’s my grandmother’s birthday and she misses me,” Leslie said even though Blaine already knew she was leaving. The red party dress he helped pick out popped against her dark skin.
He closed his journal and glanced at his roommate.“Tell her ‘happy birthday’ for me!” Leslie just kissed his cheek in response and shut the door behind her, leaving Blaine alone for another quiet evening.
It was finally summer, another year of college completed. Blaine had decided to stay in the city instead of going back home like a lot of students did. Not that he didn’t enjoy Ohio or his parents, he just didn’t feel like the cold small talk that would follow him the entire summer. The only thing he missed was the weather. It was a scorching summer this year in New York City, and Blaine had always preferred the cooler months. The whole city felt as though it had been placed in a boiling pot, and Blaine and Leslie spent most of their days inside at work or avoiding the heat. Their nights were spent partying on Leslie’s part, or curling up to watch a movie for Blaine.
If he were being honest with himself, he had no idea what he was going to do after college. Being a Broadway actor was no guarantee, if he would even make it there. He had heard of graduates from NYADA, bright eyed and filled with dreams, fizzle out like burning stars and end up in jobs that they didn’t even major in. Blaine couldn’t end up like that, he’d be proving his dad right.
So he had a moleskine journal filled with songs. The kind of music he sang in the shower. Poppy love ballads and short and brash breakup songs, even though he had never been broken up with before. The other people who had ever heard them were Leslie and Will, an ex-fling who he had mistakenly let get closer than he should have.
A set of sharp knocks at the door snapped him out of his thoughts.
“You have keys, Les!” Blaine yelled but got up anyway. She probably forgot her keys. The knocking didn’t stop until Blaine swung the door open, gaping at the sight.
“Hi,” Kurt gasped, looking just as surprised as Blaine probably did. His hair was dripping wet, and he had...shower shoes on?
“Are you okay?” Blaine asked. “How do you know where I live?” He ushered Kurt inside.
“I don’t, and I am,” Kurt said, running a hand through his hair. “I saw Leslie leave and asked if she could help me and she said her roommate was home? I didn’t know you two lived together…” He glanced around their living room.
“Oh, we’re not dating, I’m gay.” Kurt’s eyebrows knitted together, that wasn’t what he was asking at all. What was it about this guy that turned Blaine into a complete idiot?
“Um, what did you need help with?”
“My shower isn’t working, and I have a date in an hour,” Kurt groaned. Blaine tried to make his heart stop freaking out at the mention of a date. They hadn’t spoken beyond Midnight Madness, save a nod in the hallways on the off chance they passed each other. “Can I use yours, please?” He pouted and poked his lip out, as if Blaine wouldn’t have said yes before.
He gulped. “Yeah, yeah. Of course.” He squeaked despite his best efforts and led Kurt to his bathroom. At least he didn’t have to worry about it being dirty. Leslie was a bit flighty, but they both shared their germaphobe tendencies.
“You just turn the water on like this.” Blaine twisted the knob left then right until it clicked to get the water to the hottest setting. When he turned back around, Kurt had already taken his shirt off. Blaine’s mouth went dry. When his biceps flexed when he moved to unbutton his pants, Blaine covered his eyes and shut the door as fast as he could, not wanting to further exacerbate the situation.
He was almost at his room, ready to bury his head into his pillow and just scream, when Kurt knocked on the bathroom door and said, “Stay?” So soft and barely loud enough over the rushing water that Blane just had to stay.
“I’m here,” he smiled and slid down the other side of the door until he was sitting. “What’s up with your date?” he asked, trying not to sound so bitter.
Water splashes the ground and Kurt yells through the door, “Oh, some guy kept asking me out, for like months. And I eventually just said yes.” Blaine heard a groan from inside the bathroom, and ignored the way all the blood rushed to his face. And other places.
“Do you even want to go out with him?” He didn’t mean to be nosey, truly. But the way Kurt described him, the guy kind of sounded like a dick.
It was a moment before Kurt responded. “I guess. It’s been a while since I’ve been on a date, so…” There was a soft click and the water stopped pouring.
“I get that. I’ve actually never had a boyfriend before, so the only dates I’ve had are usually followed by a messy hookup,” Blaine said. He didn’t know what it was about the whole ordeal that made him want to spill all of his secrets out. His head eventually caught up to what he said though. “Sorry, that was inappropriate.”
“Come in here.”
Blaine shook his head from the narrow hallway. “No, no it’s, that’s–”
“Blaine. Come inside.” Kurt’s voice was deep and stern, but when the door opened, he was laughing softly. Blaine thanked God he was dressed, because he was totally prepared to faint if he wasn’t.
“I have a deal for you,” Kurt said, drying his hair with a towel. “If my date goes terrible, I’ll call you. If it goes well, I’ll still call you.” He grinned and handed Blaine his phone.
It was crazy how contagious his smile was. Blaine felt his lips tug upwards as he typed a smiley face next to his name. “What’s in it for you?”
Kurt rolled his eyes with that same smile on his face and took his phone back. “Getting to hear your voice, or course.” He squeezed past Blaine, who’s limbs had temporarily planted into the floor. “Thanks for the shower, Blaine.” He winked, freaking winked, and Blaine heard the door shut softly behind him.
He smiled alone to himself in his foggy bathroom and turned his ringer all the way up.
#spaceorphan’s sophisticated challenge: exacerbate#tan lines and tan hands#glee#blaine anderson#kurt hummel#two shot#klaine fanfiction#i’m back to writing oblivious blaine#my specialty
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Screw It (7th Chap)
Warnings: None.
The complete fic
———————————————
“It was very nice to meet you all, and thank you again for the hospitality, Seb.” - We were leaving. Tom was going to give me a ride home, and If I must admit, I had the feeling that it would be awkward. But the party was really great, most of them asked me to call them by nicknames, if I wanted to, I met the people that I’m ‘in love with’ since I was a child. I mean, it was amazing. When we approached Tom’s car, he opened the door so that I could get in, then he got himself inside the vehicle. Thomas kept driving, but both of us remained silent. “I guess this is where I leave.” - I said, when he parked in front of my building. “Isa” - He started, when I opened the door. “Night, Tom, see you.” - And so, I got out of his car and slammed the door. Then I walked to the building entrance. Tom always waited a bit, parked, so that he could be sure that I would get in safe. But today, after I was already inside, he kept there. I was confused, so I decided to just wait and see what the hell he was doing. I see him getting out of his car, then he grabs his phone, and then I feel mine buzzing inside my purse. ‘Come out of the building, please, darling.’ All I can think about is, “what the actual fuck.
“Hey Tom, what is it?” - I ask as soon as I see him outside. “Isabela, I have no idea of what I’m doing. But it just makes sense…” - Hearing people calling me Isabela is strange. It's not bad, but I prefer Isa, and I can't even remember Thomas calling me Isabela before. “I don’t get what you mean.” - I say, almost whispering. We stay silent for a while when he cups my cheek and say. “Oh, screw it.” - I feel his lips on mine, lord, how much I wanted it to happen. It felt nothing like what I had imagined too many times before, his lips were soft, and it was like we were both depending on that kiss. I feel his hands travelling my back, then one of them stops at my waist, and the other one settled on my neck. My mind was blurred, I had no idea of what was happening, but I liked it. And of course I wasn’t just standing there, both my hands had their grip oh his hair. He started to move, walking until we found a wall, where he pinned me while we still kissed. Lord, oh lord. He kissed me. I can’t believe it. We broke the kiss because we had no air left in our lungs. “Well...” - I say, I’ve never been trough that before. Well, I had my boyfriends, but they were all teenage passions, nothing like what Thomas makes me feel, so I have no clue of what to do. “I should have asked, I’m sorry.” - He says, when he releases his grip. “You make it up to me by doing it again.”- I giggled. In a usual situation, I would never say something like that, but my brain stopped working when he touched my cheek. He just smiled and kissed me again. Sweet lord. I wasn't drunk, I wasn't dreaming. It was all real, but I could not believe it. I was completely ready to wake up in the morning and discover that it never happened, it was just my imagination. “So, I guess I see you tomorrow, darling.” - He said. “I thought I was just seeing you next week, Tom.” - I mean, at least it was what we discussed before this ‘situation’. “Oh honey, I’m taking you on a date, of course. Does a picnic sound good?” - Man, oh man. I’m going on a date with Thomas William Gorgeous Amazing Hiddleston. “Yeah, sounds amazing. - I said, trying not to let too apparent that I was freaking out. “Amazing, I’ll text you the hour later, I’ll come pick you up.”
I loved how London looked beautiful when we were approaching the winter. People started to wear coats, and everybody looked fancy on the streets. I just loved more when the winter started, snow was everywhere, but I’ll haver to wait some months for this to happen, now, we just have the fancy coats. I had to decide what to wear to my amazing date with the famous actor. I don’t know where he’s taking us, it should be hard finding a place to go, since everybody in the world knows who Tom Hiddleston is, and this is something that I think I’ll miss when I start acting. I get to enjoy my quiet life, I’d better live it up while I can.
But I don't have to worry about a place, Tom already did that. I also don’t need to take anything, Thomas asked me not to worry about anything but my outfit, and that’s exactly what I’m trying to do right now, but I’m too nervous. Thomas is coming to pick me up in two hours, do I need all this time to get ready? No, but I’m anxious, so I’m doing that now. I have already bathed, Hades, my cad, has been fed and brushed. I’ve done everything I had to do, I just have to choose my outfit, but it seems impossible.
He didn’t tell me exactly where we were going, but he said that it was a park, so I had a clue of what to wear. I decided to go with a white overall, and a beige turtleneck. Also, I was wearing white All Star sneakers. I tied my hair into a bun, but I left a loose curl on each side, and decided not to wear makeup. Now, I just had to wait one and a half hour for Thomas to arrive.
We were at the Kew Gardens, almost anyone was there, what makes me think that maybe he has been preparing this for a while. Thomas was wearing a white dress shirt and a deep blue pullover, with black pants and also black shoes. He was carrying the basket, the one he carefully put on the ground, he set the red and white towed, and started to settle the food on top of it. We had red whine, lemonade, water, strawberries, bananas with honey, grapes, yogurt, gelatine, cheese, sandwiches, chocolate chip cookies, brownies, and red velvet cupcakes. “Thomas, oh my, there was no need. You could have asked me to bring half of it.” - I was amazed by the fact that he had prepared all of it, but I’m feeling guilty because he did all of it by himself. “Hey, I told you not to bring anything, also, it didn’t take me much time to make, the rest of it I just bought. Not a big deal.” - Wait, what? “Thomas, lord, you baked?” - I’m feeling special, if I may say. But I’m even more guilty. “Yeah, the cookies, the cupcakes, and the brownies. I don’t know if they taste good, though.” - He said. “Well, there is only one way to find out.” - I said, laughing, and he laughed too.
Nothing really happened, we were just there, eating and chatting, but it was amazing, probably one of my best experiences. But since we were in public, we had to be really careful not to touch too much, because gossip flies far. When we left, we were inside his car, so we were finally able to kiss. I’m still doubting these events, I’m ready to discover that it was just a dream. A very real and hot and perfect dream. “Do you want to do something else? Or do you want me to drop you at your house?” - He asked me. I mean, I wish we could be trapped in the picnic moment forever, but we can’t. “Whatever works for you, Tom. I have nothing in mind.” - I said. “Well, neither do I.” - He said. “Well, why don't we go to my house and watch something?” - His house is ten times more comfortable than mine, but we’re always at his place, and that memes me feel a bit guilty as well. “Sounds amazing, love.”
#tom hiddleston#hiddlestoners#hiddlestan#thomas william hiddleston#fanfic#fanfiction#tom hiddleston fanfiction#tom hiddleston fanfic#tom hiddleston imagine#tom hiddleston series#tom hiddleston x reader#tom hiddleston x ofc#hiddlesfic
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I 100% agree about wanting more fanfic lists! I honestly think it's the best way to get a variety. Everybody has personal preferences, if someone, who mostly reads long, fluffy au Brio fic, is making recs, they're not likely to mention short, angsty, canon Brio (which is understandable and fair!) so ideally someone else, who does like those, would also do recs. I'm pretty sure I've read or at least tried the vast majority of Brio fics, but the recs often make me re-read the fic and author.
YAAASSSS!!! I mean like, okay, I v much get why people have issues with rec lists, and I def do not by any stretch endorse the idea that recs/rec lists should be considered anything other than one person sharing a think they liked, but to me a lot of the issues (the same fics/authors getting recced, feeling like awesome fics/authors are going unrecognized) can be solved by more reccing, not less. everyone’s got different taste and different stuff they look/read for and I am extremely pro sharing that.
Idk, I think about it like this: in a previous internet life I was a YA book blogger and I lived and died by recs from other bloggers whose taste and preferences I knew. I mean, you know, I’d check out a book bc the premise sounded interesting but literally the first thing I would do was go to Goodreads and look for a handful of people who tended to like the same books I did and see what they were saying about it bc that was the best way to get a good idea of if I wanted to give it a shot. Or, on the flip side, there were some people whose reviews I followed bc I knew we v much did not read for the same things so if they hated a book for X, Y and Z reasons, I was probs going to like it (one thing about book blogging is if you want to keep current, you do not have a lot of time to mess around, snap judgements are key but that’s a whole other thing and idk if it’s even relevant anymore bc that landscape has changed so much).
ANYWAY, the point is, I got in the habit and now I do the same thing with fic bc, tbh, I don’t have a ton of time to read, esp not when I’m actively writing which, with the exception of the last week or two, I’ve been doing p non-stop since I got here. All of which to say is, I am desperately in favor of fic recs for purely selfish reasons, I need them! Give them to me!!! Please!!!!!
That said, I uh, am v bad at returning the favor and I recognize that (I think I’ve made what? two rec lists for this fandom?) so I will try to do better to live by my own, idek what this is, moving on and here are 10 recs not really thematically linked by anything other than I’ve read them and loved them and don’t think I’ve put any of them on one of my rec lists yet (and if I have, my blog is a trainwreck I cannot be expected to remember what’s on it LET ME LIVE):
The Goodest Boy by EnsignDisaster
There’s a key turning in the lock and Buddy rushes over to greet his Master excited for her to meet his new friends. The door opens and he dances around Master’s feet rejoicing on the fact that she’s made it home. It's been literally forever.
“Hey Buddy what’s wrong? Need to go potty? Need to pee-pee?”
“Nah he’s good we took him out.”
Master does something very unMasterlike, she drops all the food she’d brought in on the ground and screams. It’s a non traditional avant garde type of hello…Buddy loves it. Mostly because while Master taps furiously on her small light box and sits tense in the corner opposite his new friend Buddy can lick up the egg smashed on the hardwood floor.
Buddy! The! Dog! POV! no further explanation necessary. Technically WIP, but it covers the whole pilot in a way that could be read as standalone (THOUGH THAT WOULD V MUCH GIVE ME A SAD though, when did the show forget the Bolands had a dog? so maybe that’s a tragic casualty of canon, idk)
May The Moon’s Silvery Beams by @pynkhues
Emma hums in agreement, and Rio turns her around to sit her on the counter, grabbing one of the older looking boxes of muesli while she kicks her legs out, heels bumping back against the counter, watching him. He gropes around the inside of the box, finally just opting to pull the plastic cereal bag out and peering inside. He can’t quite keep the grin off his face when he sees the wad of cash lining the bottom. This woman kills him, she really does.
Then there’s a little face peering up beside him, trying to peek into the box.
“What is it?” she asks, and he tilts the box sideways so she can see inside.
The upside to not getting here until s3 is that old fic is new to me! Huzzah!! Idk how many of y’all have already read this on but if you haven’t I highkey recommend. Extremely cute take on what if Emma woke up when Rio and came by to collect his/Beth’s/whoever's money during the shutdown. Cannot believe I’m reccing kidfic. Witchcraft!!!!!!
Maybe You’re My Fantasy by ohmisterjapan
He fucking loves the involuntary. It speaks to how he likes to unlock chaos and walk away. He's been called a control freak before and it felt like such a misunderstanding of him - he's all about self control but he doesn't want to control others. It's more that he enjoys revealing to them how little they can control themselves. It's more that he likes to stand still in the eye of someone else's storm and pick coldly through the wreckage.
Another oldie but a goodie. This fic is more like an extended character study (first chapter Rio POV, second chapter Beth) and I LIVE FOR THIS KIND OF SHIT. I really really really love the take on both characters, it really digs in and pulls out some nuances that made me sit and think about my own read of them and I love it.
A Shock Of Blue by mintletters16
“You don’t look very well. Would you… like me to get you a glass of water or something?”
Her voice is low but smooth, laced with a softness that cuts straight though to his core. Strawberry blonde locks fall gently just above the pair of magnets freezing him in place.
He can still feel the chaos tearing through his veins - emanating from the gold plated gun stuffed in his waistband - and suddenly he can’t be here anymore. Can’t meet this wide-eyed gaze that’s been locked on his for the past God-knows-how-long anymore.
Can’t see blue alive and concerned when he just left it cold and void somewhere in oblivion.
She’s looking at him like he’s on the brink of madness. He thinks maybe he is.
Apparently, it’s backlist rec day over here and I’m not sorry. This one is another technical WIP but the chapter works as a standalone (BUT if the author decided to return to it I WOULD NOT BE MAD). It’s a what if Beth and Rio met pre-canon and it works so!!! well!!!! The tension and fascination and build are all *chef’s kiss* plus the writing is gorgeous and lyrical and ugh, I love it.
for a moment we were strangers by openhearts
“We got stuff,” Rio motions with a nod to the backpack Beth hadn’t noticed when they arrived hanging on the back of one of the chairs at the island.
She swallows and turns back to the dishes, realizing Rio apparently means to sleep there , assuming the place isn’t bugged. Or for some kind of cover story if it is. She turns and fixes Rio with a narrow-eyed stare, studying his face, the corner of his jaw especially prominent from the angle she’s looking up at him. He’s methodical about drying each dish and setting it back on the rack, maddeningly ignoring her hard stare, so when he goes to take the next plate from her hands she grips it tightly and gets his attention.
“Hey.”
“What you on about now?” he asks, irritated.
It gets her gut uneasy, how he’s just . . . there, settling in, in ways he never had before, no matter how nonchalantly he would let himself in through her locked doors.
“This is,” Beth tries, failing, to find words for it, “. . . it’s weird .”
This one takes place post 204 and Rio and Marcus end up spending a long weekend staying with Beth and Emma for reasons (that work, for the record, I’m just not trying to summarize rn) and it’s domestic and cute but honestly my fav part of it is how weirded out Beth is by how easily they slip into sync. The story does an excellent job balancing where they are in canon (uneasy post-sex truce) with a snapshot of what they could be if they got over themselves (HA! as if) and Beth is DEEPLY FREAKED which makes her slow slide into realizing she could maybe sort of kind of oh shit like it/him??? that much more satisfying.
Not So Careful by @bensonstablers
When he doesn’t answer, her eyes go to his but he’s too busy watching the letter opener which is still pressed against the back of his hand. Curiously, Beth runs it up his arm, careful not to press too hard, and smiles a little as he shivers. Pulling her leg up onto the bed, she shuffles closer to him before pressing the tip of the sword to his chest and slowly circling his left nipple with it, being sure not to get too close.
“You ain’t gotta be that careful.”
And when she lifts her eyes to meet his, he’s got that look. The one that always makes a lump form in her throat and for her to fall back into bed with him without a single thought of what they have to do that day. Only thing is, this time they’ve got nothing to do for the rest of the weekend and well, staying in bed the entire time had seemed like an appealing idea so she allows herself to give in a little to that look.
It makes me EXTREMELY SAD that knifeplay ranked so low on the kink survey so I’m gonna need y’all to check out this V V V EXCELLENT example of it and come back and tell me you’re sorry and you voted wrong. I am v reasonable what are you talking about.
love (where it wasn’t supposed to be) by @lilliloves
"You know what I can't stand?" Rio asks, stepping closer. It's a rhetorical question but he pauses for a second and watches Dean sniff, watches a bead of sweat trickle down his forehead, watches him shift on both his feet as he contemplates making a run for it.
"A guy who don’t realize how good he's got it." Rio continues, looking Dean up and down in disgust. "A guy that will literally fuck up a good thing just to get his dick wet."
"Yeah, well I can't stand a guy who can have anyone he wants but chooses the married woman he's not entitled to.” Dean shoots back. "And I really can't stand the fact that you're always in the room with us even when you aren't there."
And who brings him into the room Dean hmmmmm????? Jk, jk (or am I). In this one Rio catches Dean out on the town with another woman (bc of course he is) and tries to call him out but whoops! gets called out himself. I really love the like, idk, undercurrent of wistful regret in this fic. I love Dean straight up calling Rio out on his feelings (spoilers but there’s an exchange right after this one that made me straight up holler), and, you know, obvs I am here for Rio making Dean feel like an ass.
Hell Is Other People by makemanybraver
Rio: We're in Hell, Elizabeth! If you don't think you belong here, then repent! Don't fuck everyone in the room in hopes that you get to go out!
Beth: Why do I have to repent?!
Rio: Because you did some fucked up shit in your life, Elizabeth! You keep doing fucked up shit here, too! And you think you don't belong here!
Beth [screaming at the top of her lungs]: Because I don't!
This fic is existentially bonkers and I love it. It’s the kind of experimental format/homage/what have you kind of thing that I L O V E. Based on No Exit by Jean-Paul Sartre, Beth, Rio, and Fitzpatrick are stuck together in a room in hell for all eternity. What more do you need, honestly.
Working On Things by odenkirk
Unknown
Hold up, Elizabeth. I'm really thinkin about you here.
Beth turned her face into the pillow, effectively suffocating herself for a moment, but thinking it was a good trade off for the way the cool silk of her pillowcase chilled her skin.
She lifted her head to glance at the still sleeping Dean before replying.
Beth
I'm thinking about you too. But this can't happen.
She wanted him to know she wanted him, but she also thought that admitting she was already there would save Rio from trying to convince her. She wanted him, but morals had to win just once in a while.
YES this is technically Beth/Dean while also being Beth/Rio BUT it’s also sort of Rio/Dean and I am HERE FOR THE DIVERSITY OF SHIPPING leave me alone who asked you.
Five Times He Knew What She Was Thinking, and One Time He Didn't by JoeyLee
Aight, so tell ‘em I was hittin’ it. Said deliberately blunt, eyes locked on her face the whole time, just to see those blue eyes widen. She looked so shocked that he almost laughed, so he softened it teasingly just to keep her going. Oh, I’m sorry, sweetheart, tell ‘em we were makin’ love.
Then he just watched her, just watched her face, just fucking fascinated. Her lips were parted and her eyes were big as saucers, and…there it was. Before she could look away flustered, he watched the thought go through her mind. Him and her together.
He wondered what she was picturing or where. Them in the back seat, her bed, a motel? Her on top or him from behind or his face between her legs?
Whatever it was, the blush started immediately, and he watched it bloom out from her cheeks to her hair. Then she was tearing her eyes away to gulp a little. But it didn’t knock her down for long before she was looking back. And then, wait, was she actually asking him how to go about telling a fed they were fucking?
Okay this is another technical WIP but works as a standalone. I am absolutely fucking feral for character POV takes of canon scenes and this is a supremely excellent take on Rio POV of some notable scenes from the pilot through 204. Imo it brilliantly captures Rio’s voice and I love it a lot.
HEADS UP I am absolute shite at tracking ao3 to tumblr unless people have specifically told me someone’s ao3/tumblr name SO if you recognize any of the non-tumblr authors on please lmk so I can tag them and YES I recognize that I am asking y’all to do things for me throughout this entire post and I’M SORRY OKAY I’M A WHOLE ASS MESS LOVE YOU BYE
#brio fic#brio fanfiction#good girls fanfiction#fic recs#anon#asks#gg disk horse#i feel like i had jokes i wanted to make in the tags but now that im here i've totally forgotten them#ANYWAY the important takeaway here is#tell me what you like and why i want to know okay#send me recs#ME ME ME#hahahahaha jk#sort of
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Maybe if things chill down, ill be back.
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Ilruggitodelmandrillo