#i also noticed we never got to meet the fourth aspect

[thisghosts-obsessions-again]

Speaking of what I don't get in Theodora's closing sequence is if she is reliving the memories of the previous LIs from S1 and S2 in her last breath thanks to Death... 🤔

[themultifandomgal]

From 2010- FOUR Hangout

Part 45

2014

“Hello everyone we’re One Direction and this is our first Google livestream” Niall starts after we have the thumbs up to say we are now live. I sit with my legs crossed between Louis and Liam

“We wanted to do a live stream so we could answer your questions about the new album. To help us with our questions we have very good friend of our, this is Ben everyone” I introduce our friend who is sat on a single comfy chair while me and the boys are sitting on a long red sofa

“We’ve got loads of questions from the fans and we only have half an hour so let’s just get into them. So it’s been four years now that you’ve been in the band which is why I’m guessing the albums called four right?”

“Yeah and it’s also our fourth album” I reply

“So you guys are actually on the XFactor tonight. Do you get nervous when you go back there because that’s where it all started”

“It’s very like, you feel nostalgic walkin round the halls and stuff. I think we all felt under so much pressure when we were there it’s now fun because we can enjoy the environment more” Harry explains

“Do you miss the simplicity of the old days YN. Is there anything you sort of miss?” Ben asks me. The boys all turn to face me as I think

“There’s definitely aspects that I miss, like being able to go to Waitrose with greasy hair and no makeup just to pick up some food, without having to worry about photos being posted or comments made. I think that’s been the hardest part for me, just being able to I guess live my life without any cares. Don’t get me wrong I am so grateful for all of this and I love meeting fans, and I know that without this opportunity I wouldn’t have met the people I have, but yeah I think that’s what I miss the most, just not worrying so much. I think it’s calmed down now though. Like where my dad lives no one really takes any notice of me when I go around the town”

“Yeah and at the beginning it was very hectic, but things have more structure now so it’s not as chaotic I don’t think” Louis continues

“Do you find though you’re able to enjoy it more now though?” Ben asks looking at Zayn

“Yeah definitely. We get time now to go and sight see which is nice”

“Do you ever watch clips of you back in the day and look at pictures and see the change? Niall?”

“Weirdly enough the other day I was watching our old video diaries and the stuff we did on the xtra factor and me and YN were texting each other talking about how young we were, we still are but especially her and Harry are the youngest, so looking back now it’s like woah we were babies”

“Some of the outfits I wore were hideous” I laugh thinking back to our days on the xfactor “so many clashed with my hair. Why did I think bright red hair was cute?”

“I know a lot of your fans miss it”

“I don’t. The amount of times when we were on tour and the bed sheets looked like a murder scene because he went to sleep with wet hair” Liam laughs along with me

“I ruined a lot of bed sheets, towels, anything white became pink. It was a disaster”

“I liked your red hair” Harry shrugs “made you look like Ariel”

“I think the problem was you never had time to go to the hairdresser so you dyed it yourself with a box colour” Zayn says looking at me

“Yeah that’s why I’ve gone back to brown because it’s just easier”

“So you won’t be dying it again any time soon?”

“Nope” I shake my head at that question

“Did people tell you at the time what to wear and what you had to do and say or were you in control of your own decisions?”

“A little bit. I know sometimes someone would show YN a dress or whatever and she’d be adamant that she wouldn’t wear it”

“Yeah it was a bit of both really” Louis continues on from what Liam was saying

“If you could meet yourself 4 years ago is there any advice you’d give to your younger self?” Ben asks “Louis?”

“Just have a second glance in the mirror and say are you sure you want to wear this?”

“Is that really what you’d say?”

“No ok that’s just me trying to crack a joke”

“Trying being the word”

“Oi” Louis nudges me on the knee with his hand

“I think on a serious note I would have said have fun and enjoy yourself” Zayn says I nod my head agreeing with him

“We have spoken in the past and there's a lot of it in the movie about how I guess for you there was an explosion on the internet really. it was a massive part of you career, but YN you had to deal with a lot of negativity. Is it better now and how do or did you deal with that?”

“It wasn't great obviously and I did struggle with it, but I went to therapy, still do, and I just don't check comments on social media. I just try to remember that the only reason people are saying things like that is because they have something to hide behind. They are bored. Our real fans are incredible though and most of the time if there's one negative comment there will be l0 positive”

“Is there ever a time where you it's gone to far?” Ben asks

“Definitely. Theres been comments telling YN to hurt herself or worse. I think some people forget that we are actual people and we all have feelings. We’re all so young and we can all be a little self conscious at lines so we just make sure we’re all ok and check in with each other” Liam tells Ben

“ Lets talk about the album. What were the songs that your most proud of? Zany let’s start with you, what is your favourite song on the album?”

“Erm I really like Where Do Broken Hearts Go” all of the boys seem to agree

“ I think Liams going to agree with me, but we fell in love with fire proof” Louis says

“YN?”

“ I love Fools Gold and Stockholm Syndrome. I'm actually so excited to sing them on tour”

“ Ok this is a recurring question. What is Stockholm syndrome about and what does it mean?”

“YN since it’s on of your favourites do you want to explain?” Louis looks at me with a smile

“Well erm ok it’s… harry you explain”

“It’s kinda along the lines of what Stockholm Syndrome is so”

“What is it?” Ben asks

“YN?” Harry looks at me but I shake my head “well it’s when you develop a relationship or feelings towards your kidnapper”

“And how much experience do you have with being kidnapped”

“Well I mean a couple times to be honest” harry jokes with a straight face which makes me laugh

“Is there any tracks from your other albums that you don’t like now?”

“I think there’s songs maybe we individually don’t resonate with anymore, or we don’t particularly like to sing anymore, but to say we dislike any of our songs would be a stretch. We all have our own tastes and styles ya know so a song I love one of these boys may not enjoy as much” I say looking at Ben “I think it’s important to be proud of all of the songs. I’ll always look back at the songs with fondness. Certain ones I can pin point locations and memories so yeah I don’t think I could dislike any of them”

We wrap up the interview having been talking for like 40 minutes about our music.

[ecargmura]

Pokemon Horizons Episode 73 Review - Meeting Kleavor

You know what I’ve noticed? Horizons likes to make recurring tropes be a staple in their episodes. In the beginning, it was Friede and Captain Pikachu swooping in to save the kids or shoving things into off-screen land. Now, it’s having the group be separated for some important occasion. In the previous arc, Liko was forcibly separated from Roy and Dot back around Episode 64 and 65. Now, it seems to be a recurring thing for this arc where the group have been separated for the second time in a row now. I get it’s to have the kids battle Kleavor on their own, but they could have done it in a less contrived way.

Anyways, gripes aside, this was a good episode! It was nice showcasing the second Hisuian Pokemon in this anime and fifth of the Six Heroes that eventually became the fourth to join the group. I like that Kleavor had some sort of history with Lapras with it being the reason why it had the scars on its neck. I also liked the twist that they actually get along and not have bad blood. The way the other Hero Pokemon tend to pop out whenever another Hero Pokemon shows up is interesting in itself and it makes me want to see more interactions. I also like its personality a lot. 

Kleavor is actually a very formidable fighter. I think this is the first time a Hero Pokemon deliberately knocked all out the Pokemon before joining them. I actually liked how this battle was played out. Kleavor moved around a lot, which gives the kids a bigger desperation to follow and continue their battle. I liked how they strategized by using the bamboos. Roy clearly was the biggest help in the group because of that. I also like how Liko took the initiative and terastalized Floragato, which then caused Roy and Dot to do the same. Man, if Kleavor was this strong, I can’t wait to see what Entei and Rayquaza are capable of when they go all out.

I think this is also the first instance where a memory of Lucius and the past is so clear and not be shrouded with pink fog like before. Lucius looks like he could be an older male version of Liko, but with blue hair and a braid on the back. The memory makes it seem like Lucius has visited Hisui which was how he got Kleavor to become his Pokemon. The most important aspect is that the memory is actually in Terapagos’s perspective, but Lucius says a name we haven’t heard before: Rystal.

By process of elimination, it’s easy to deduce that she is the person dressed in green in the opening with Lucius and Gibeon. Now, I wonder about who she is. Is she Lucius’s wife? I mean, if Liko is a direct descendant of Lucius, they, at least, could’ve procreated before he left for Laqua. If not, then Lucius could be related to Liko by another relative of his. Remember that Lucius is never stated to be a direct ancestor of Liko’s. If he was, Diana would’ve said something in an earlier episode. If not, then she could be Roy’s ancestor which could be why the Ancient Pokeball was in his possession, as it’s never explained how it was there and only that he’s had it for a long time. If those two aren’t the case, then maybe Rystal was Lucius’s sister, who could be Liko’s direct ancestor. I’m as invested in this story as the Rising Volt Tacklers are.

It’s sad to see Perrin leave the group, but her words do make it sound like she’ll show up again—perhaps when they encounter Entei? However, in place of Perrin, Diana confirms her return in the ending of the this episode. This gets me stoked because Diana is a great character and I can’t wait to see her again!

What are your thoughts about Kleavor, the battle, and the episode as a whole?

[douchebagbrainwaves]

WORK ETHIC AND BUSINESS

Put the most weight on the second factor. I'm not suggesting you suck up to people you don't really like because you think one day they'll be successful. But also because, as I mentioned, a pretty bad judge of startups. It's easy to start to depend on it happening. The other way makers learn is from examples. You shouldn't necessarily always be asking these questions outright—that could get annoying—but you should always be collecting data about investors' intentions. And you have leverage in the sense that they're just trying to reproduce them. Which means VCs are now in the business world where you can win big by taking the bold approach to design, and having the same people both design and implement the product. Big companies can develop technology. Recently I've had several emails from computer science undergrads asking what to do, which is not very constraining, and Robert, though 29, was still in grad school instead of starting a company is getting cheaper.

You'll be delighted when it goes up and disappointed when it goes down. Each one will be in the same way that car was. Statistically, the average rower is likely to think is that all? A lot of the people there are rich, or expect to be when you grow up. It's never so pure as it was when they were young. If you start a startup. The needs of customers and the means of satisfying them are all in one head. This is not just a heuristic for detecting bias. The advantage of a medium of expression, as concrete is for architects or paint for painters.

Imagine what Apple was like when 100% of its employees were either Steve Jobs or Steve Wozniak. Hence the fourth problem: the acquirers have begun to realize they can buy wholesale. More generally, it means that you have one kind of work. A worse danger is that you can't go to and say, I want to work for and apply to join them. They tend to be optimistic. It is enormously fun to be able to start startups as well as figuring out how to connect some company's legacy database to their Web server. At YC we use the phrase ramen profitable to describe the situation where you're making just enough to pay the founders' living expenses. All other things being equal, they should make them an offer.

David Hornik, a partner at August, told me: The numbers for me ended up being something like 500 to 800 plans received and read, somewhere between 50 and 100 initial 1 hour meetings held, about 20 companies that I got interested in, that's not necessarily a problem. Few will even notice. Which means to the extent we're correct, those are the qualities you need to raise. You have a large sample of smart people who could start companies and don't, and with it create a new source of revenue. And you don't generally know which of the two you're going to be about whatever you discover in the course of trying to make good things. You're trying to solve problems. The danger with grad school is that there's no such thing. They may also make the biggest investment. Which means the first VC to break ranks and start to do series A rounds from VCs. If you still want to go work for a big company you get paid, instead of an ox being yoked to the plow.

Many of these fields talk about important problems, certainly. Another way to be good at what they do, but the pool allowed to write on general topics was about eight people who went to another three times as much? But it makes deals unnecessarily complicated. One reason it's so brutal is simply the brutality of markets. Startups, like mosquitos, tend to involve existing code, and often require you to figure out a way to play games with them, instead of paying, as you would in a field that was more honest. And they, incidentally, but it goes fast. It's hard to predict how the startups we've funded so far. Robotics, for example—you want to create wealth, in the sense of an all-or-nothing aspect of startups was not something we wanted. A good piece of software is, in fact: you should only start a startup, you're not just trying to solve problems.

And if you want to start a startup in Houston or Chicago or Miami from the microscopically small number, per capita, that succeed there. This fallacy is usually there in the background when you hear people say that you shouldn't major in business in college, whether you want to work in fields with corrupt tests. Between these two sources of variation, the college someone went to Stanford and is not obviously insane, they're probably a safe bet. Someone has an idea for something; they build it; and in doing so and probably only by doing so they realize the problem they should be solving is another one. Like a lot of other people's. Many of these fields talk about important problems, certainly. Plus I have to get good grades? It's what bias means. Whereas if you graduate and get a little more experience before they start a company that would become big.

Technology tends to get dramatically cheaper, but living expenses don't. So one of the biggest remaining groups is computer programmers. Imagine what Apple was like when 100% of its employees were either Steve Jobs or Steve Wozniak. There is a large random factor in the success of any company. We knew we had to keep going. The answer or at least confirm, from the example of painting is how to learn to program. In fact, it's just a more extreme version of the norm in the VC business that there are 10 other investors who also want a little more effort expended on sales would carry you over the threshold of saying yes, it will end up ahead. They'll edge gradually into a different business without realizing it. We didn't have enough talent to make it as startup founders if they wanted is an important qualification—so important that it's almost cheating to append it like that—because once you get over a certain threshold of intelligence, which most CS majors thought I was one. In the best case, the company keeps moving forward at about half speed. Unfortunately, beautiful things don't always make the best subjects for papers.

Maybe the increasing cheapness of startups will mean they'll be able to say no. Be independent. That's an alarming possibility when you have to decide. Although a lot of other ambitious and technically minded people—probably more concentrated than you'll ever be again. By the time the Boston VC grasped what was happening, the deal was already gone. Every designer's ears perk up at the mention of that game, because your occupation is student, and you didn't fail at that. The reason they like it when you don't need that, but history suggests it's dangerous to work in secret. The second dimension is the one between tools and things made with them. Often they are, the more that matters, because most were founders themselves. Most people could see how it might be: don't be a cog. If I were you I'd look for the people who read the source read it in illicit photocopies of John Lions' book, which though written in 1977 was not allowed to include the numbers, and they're usually paid a percentage of it.

[itsallyscorner]

Favorite Time Of Day

Pairing: Tom Holland x reader

Summary: Taking naps with Tom when you’re done with Zoom meetings for school🥺

Warnings: none :)

A/n: I literally thought about this during class and couldn’t stop thinking about it. I always take naps when I’m done with all my Zoom calls for school, so I thought why not make it into a fic? So enjoy my loves💖

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

he’s so cuddly🥺

꘎♡━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━♡꘎

You listened to your professor explaining the lesson at hand. This was your fourth and final class of the day, it was around 1 pm and you were finally feeling the drowsiness of waking up at seven in the morning. As a college student, you could have chosen later classes and save yourself the hassle of waking up so early. You were considering it, but decided to go with a morning schedule since you’d be able to get your classes over with earlier and have the rest of the day to yourself.

You continued to jot down notes from the PowerPoint your professor shared on Zoom, not really paying attention to what you were writing. You already understood the lesson, he had gone over it last week, but decided to dive in deeper to the material today.

Your professor’s words went through one ear and out the other. Your mind was too far gone to focus on the lesson, too busy thinking of the cuddle fest that’ll happen after your classes. After every school day you had at home, you were drained of energy to go on with your day so you took naps to recharge. Majority of the time your boyfriend, Tom, joined you. He didn’t go to college; he spent his mornings doing interviews to promote his new movie, having meetings for future projects, and sometimes reading through new scripts for upcoming roles. Though his work at home was probably less taxing than yours, he also felt the effects of the day on him once his tasks were done. So once you were both done for the day (work wise), the two of you would meet in bed, quietly talk about your days, and drift off to sleep in each other’s arms.

You felt the sleepiness ease off your body once you hear your professor begin to wrap up his lesson, “Alright, well that’s all I could fit into this meeting. We’ll continue on Wednesday and I’ll see you all then!”

You bid your teacher goodbye and leave the meeting. Before getting up and leaving your makeshift office in the dining room, you double check all your work and tidy up your things. When everything seemed finished and clean, you got up and stretched your limbs. A content sigh passes your lips as the tension from sitting all morning releases from your body.

You hear light pitter patters from around the corner before Tessa enters the dining room. Her doe eyes land on your figure, moving to approach you. You smile, leaning down to greet the staffy with open arms. She nuzzles herself into your chest while you give her scratchies and kisses all over her face.

“What have you been up to all day, darling?” You coo at her, fingers scratching behind her ears. Tessa makes a noise as if she were replying, “Hmmm, sounded like you’ve had loads of fun today, Tess.”

You stand straight on your knees and motion to the hallway that led to your and Tom’s shared bedroom. “How do you feel about a nap, hm? You’d like that wouldn’t you?” You talk to the dog as you lead her into the bedroom. You pass by Tom’s study on the way and hear him talking about Cherry. Interviews must’ve gone over time today, you thought to yourself. Not wanting to disturb his interview, you quietly pass by the room and enter the bedroom. You softly shut the door behind you and settle into the comfort of your bed.

You exhale, letting the softness of the pillows and blankets consume your body. The scents of you and Tom linger in the sheets; the first thing you smell in the morning and the last before you go to sleep. It was your favorite smell, though it might seem weird, the combination of yours and Tom’s natural fragrances was like another symbol of your love.

You snuggle under the sheets, which have grown cold after being abandoned all morning. Tessa follows suit, making herself comfortable against your chest. You didn’t want to drift off without Tom, so you occupied yourself on your phone for a couple of minutes. You ended up on TikTok, scrolling through your FYP, while your other hand rubbed patterns onto Tessa’s short fur.

A few minutes later, the door creaks open, capturing both your and Tessa’s attention. Tom pops his head from behind the door, the look of uncertainty immediately replacing itself with a smile when his eyes land on you and Tessa.

“There you two are. I went to check up on you in the dining room but you weren’t there. Then I realized Tessa was also gone so I checked the back garden and you both weren’t there.” He explains. He pulls off the knit sweater he wore for today’s interviews, leaving him shirtless in only his boxers and socks.

“We haven’t been here for long, just a few minutes.” You hum. Turning your phone off, you reach over to your nightstand and set your phone onto it. Tom lifts the covers and slides in behind you. His chest is flush against your back, causing warmth to fill your body. Tom presses a few kisses along your shoulder and neck before your lips capture his. He maneuvers his arms around you so that he’s holding both you and Tessa.

“Mmm, my girls.” He nuzzles his face into your neck, his fingers reaching out to scratch Tessa’s head. The dog may have grown fussy, not even a minute of being wrapped in your and Tom’s arms she wriggles her way out of your hold and hops off the bed. Instead she walks over to a cool spot on the hardwood floor and settles herself onto it.

“Teenagers.” Tom playfully scoffs. He rests on his elbow to look at Tessa over you shoulder, “I’ve raised you since you were a pup and this is how I get treated. No affection whatsoever.” He tsks at his dog, who responds with a huff. You stifle a laugh while Tom dramatically gasps, collapsing onto the mattress. A giggle bubbles out of you.

Turning around, you’re met with Tom’s face smushed into your pillow. “Always the drama Queen aren’t you?” You tease him, fully turning your body so that it’s facing him.

Tom expressed a smug smile, “Well of course, darling, I’m an actor after all.” You shake your head at his antics. Tom chuckles at you. His buff arms pull you in closer so you’re once again flush against his chest. Nimble fingers expertly sneaking past the barrier of your shirt and now lightly dancing along your lower back.

He stares at you with his warm brown eyes, they look at you adoringly shifting between different aspects of your face. You eyes, your lashes, lips, blemishes—he loved it all. You probably found imperfection in them but to Tom they were the little things that created you—and he adored them.

In the haze of each other’s arms again, your fingers found themselves running through the mop of curls that were on Tom’s head. They were like silk and you enjoyed the feeling of it between your fingers. One of Tom’s hands remove themselves from behind you to gently hook your chin between his thumb and pointer finger. He tilts your head toward him and slots his lips with yours. Your lips move naturally against each other’s. The kiss was soft and sweet, with no intentions of escalating into something more steamy. It was simply two people in love savoring the moment of being in each other’s presence. He never fully breaks a kiss without pecking your lips multiple times. He didn’t know when it became a thing, but he could never just kiss you without following it with a bunch of little mini kisses that made your nose scrunch up and the cutest giggle to come out of you.

Tom lays on his back with your head on his chest, “How was your morning, lovey?” You tell him about your day and he listens intently. Even though he doesn’t understand half of the things you’re referring from class, he still loved to hear you talk. Especially when you ramble about something you were excited about, like right now. Your hand had removed itself from his chest, making gestures as you talked about the lesson from your Calculus class.

You stop midway noticing that Tom had been staring at you with a lopsided grin on his face.

“What?” You ask, a questioning smile on your lips.

“You’re so smart.” He hums, one of his hands stroking your hair and the other tracing shapes onto your back. You whine as he teasingly smothers your face with kisses. That giggle that he’s obsessed with escapes your lips, causing him to grin widely.

When you finally get him off of you, you ask him about his morning. He beams, excitedly telling you about all the things that happened during his interviews. The passion he had for his work shined through as he went on a tangent about how proud he was of the movie.

“And now it’s my favorite time of day.” He finishes, wiggling closer to you in the sheets.

You chuckle, “And what would that be?”

“Napping with my bubbs.” He murmurs against your hair. His grip around you tightens, locking you in his arms. Your arm rests on his chest, hand right above his heart where you could feel the distinct rhythm beating in his chest.

“I love you.” You whisper, pressing a kiss onto his bare skin.

“I love you to infinity.” He responds before the two of you drift to sleep in each other’s arms.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

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↪︎ @quxxnxfhxll @thegirlwiththediary @agustdowney @bi-lmg @rqmanoff

[hockeyboysiguess]

two turtle doves -> two hockey skates | t. seguin

a/n: thank you for all your sweet comments on the first fic of this little holiday series :) here’s fic number two in my 12 days of christmas series! full list linked here.

word count: 3,643

warnings: alcohol, terrible skating, some questionable choices, cheesiness. 

Christmas in Toronto, well outside of Toronto, with the Seguin family was going better than you had let yourself hope it would. Meeting Tyler’s family happened ages ago, but the decision to split holidays, Thanksgiving with yours and Christmas his, was a much bigger one that had brought nerves in never ending supply. Spending Christmas away from your own family, where you had always spent it, also had you worrying, on top of endless time with your boyfriend’s family where you felt like you always had to be on, you worried it wouldn’t feel like Christmas. But now, with the gifts opened and cherished, the fire roaring, dinner served and enjoyed, and with everyone drinking Tyler’s mom’s incredible spiked hot chocolate, your nerves had given way to warmth and love, and as cliché as it was, the Christmas spirit. 

“How you doing, Ty?” 

You smiled as you wrapped an arm around his waist from the side. His arm extended out, giving you space to tuck under it and into his side. He pulled you in tighter for a moment and dropped a kiss to your temple, other hand setting his fourth, possibly fifth, mug of spiked hot chocolate on the counter. The marshmallows in his mug floating on the surface were dissolving into the cocoa, a situation you knew Tyler was hoping to create, the candy cane used to stir discarded on the counter. It was the little things that made the holidays, not the big ones, like disintegrating marshmallows and his younger sister’s obsession with your family gingerbread recipe she swore was the best she ever had and the noise of the fire crackling in the background on top of a rare snowy Christmas in Tyler’s hometown. 

“When are we going to get you to use your Christmas present?” Tyler asked you, words slurring a little together from a combination of alcohol, exhaustion, and the holidays. 

“Oh, at some point, I guess,” you shrugged, then realized that might sound like you didn’t appreciate them before quickly adding,  “I really appreciate them, Ty. Thank you.” 

Tyler shook his head softly, “No, no, we need a plan to get you on the ice finally. None of this ‘at some point’ or ‘later, Ty’ bull. You’ve told me later for two years now and you know what? Now is later. Come on, get your coat.”

“Wait, you wanna go skating right now?” you squeaked out. 

“You mean,” he snagged a Stars beanie off the counter and tugged it down over your head quickly, pulling it back by the pom pom to adjust it, “we’re going now. Full stop.”

You were sputtering out words as Tyler headed for the front coat rack. Your inability to skate, and your even stronger will not to learn at this point in your life, were a regular sticking point with Tyler, a person whose job required him to skate well. He offered to teach you way back on your second date, and back when you’d been trying your hardest to impress him, you’d agreed to take lessons from him but only because the teacher was cute. Tyler hadn’t actually scheduled any lessons back then, when he was trying even harder to impress you, so you quietly let the offer fade to black, hopefully never to be resurrected. But here Tyler was, bringing it back from the dead, when you least expected it, on Christmas Day, a day you never expected to spend with him, but now we’re pretty sure you never wanted to spend the day without him. However, you didn’t want to spend part of it falling flat on your face attempting to do the thing your boyfriend did for a living. 

“Come on,” Tyler encouraged, as he laced his boots up tighter. “Get your coat. I’ll grab the skates.”

“Tyler, it’s after nine-”

“Stop giving me crap,” he teased you. “Coat, gloves, come on.”

You sighed and wanted to push back. It was dark. It was cold. It was snowy. It was Christmas, and yet, Tyler wanted to cash in on a promise from your second date. You pulled your coat on and wrapped a green scarf around your neck, Dallas Stars green, a reminder of just how much Tyler had permuted every aspect of your life, how important you made him, how central you made him. You never would be spending Christmas outside of Toronto, holding a brand new pair of ice hockey skates in one hand, walking down the Seguin’s neighborhood street, if you hadn’t made Tyler completely central to your future. Sometimes the thought of that, changing as much as you had for him, was terrifying, the kind of terrifying that made your hands shake and your chest tighten and your mind race down paths you barely knew excited because they were so rarely tracked. But then, like he did in that moment, Tyler turned to you and gave you his widest smile, smiling so hard to do it that his nose scrunched up and his eyes squeezed shut, and you remembered exactly why it wasn’t terrifying at all. He loved you with a pureness that reminded you of a child’s love of Christmas morning, but with the depth to grow and change with you the other three hundred and sixty-four days of the year. 

Maybe for him, you would try to learn to skate afterall. 

Tyler turned at the house at the end of the block, heading straight to the side gate. He noticed your puzzled expression and offered an explanation, “Neighbors built a little ODR they didn’t mind sharing when I asked.” 

“Tyler Seguin, how long have you been planning this?” you huffed, pausing in the open gate to give him a look that signalled you knew Tyler needed to come clean. 

He gave you a sheepish smile before saying, “Since you said you would come for Christmas?” 

“Tyler, that was in October!” you cried out, a laugh edging at your voice. 

“The lessons are part of your Christmas present,” he replied, pushing aside your whining tone. “Can’t give you a gift you can’t use and not teach you how to use it, right?” 

You sighed as you rounded the corner of the yard to reveal a small, but serviceable outdoor rink his neighbors created on a pond in their back garden. Tyler ushered you out with a wave towards the pond and your brows furrowed, but he just waved his hands to usher you along. It was dark, far too dark for you to possibly learn to skate in this, with just the faint lighting from his neighbor’s back patio showing the outline of the pond and a small bench beside it. You dropped down onto the bench and began to unlace your boots. 

Just as you pulled the second boot off, suddenly, the pond was flooded with light, making you jump a little in surprise. There were lights all around, spotlights, string lights, lanterns, everything it seemed the family could find to make the backyard as bright as possible. You shook your head softly as a smile came over your face. Of course. 

“Tada!” he shouted as he trudged through the snow to cross the yard to you. “The family that lives here is out of town for the holidays, but they were super nice and told me how to set it all up so I could teach you. Do you like it?” 

The skates in your lap and the ice in front of you that would soon be combined in a way sure to cause you physical pain made you want to say you didn’t love it, but the look on Tyler’s face, the obvious meticulous planning, and the thoughtfulness of the gesture made you feel otherwise. Plus, it was a Christmas gift and you couldn’t tell Tyler you didn’t like his Christmas gift because you were embarrassed you got this far into life, this far into a relationship with a professional hockey player, never learning how to skate. 

“It’s great,” you smiled at him as he plopped down onto the bench next to you. “Thank you, Ty.” 

“Merry Christmas, baby,” he told you before dropping a kiss to your temple in reply. 

You slid your skates on at the same time Tyler did, and you did your best to copy his motions, looping the laces on your skates to pull them tight. Tyler tried not to laugh, but you definitely weren’t pulling hard enough or loosening them at the right points or something else wrong because Tyler was done and laced up before you’d even gotten part of the way through one of your two hockey skates. Tyler laughed, more at your struggle compared to his practiced ease than actually at you, before sliding onto the ground in front of you, one knee dropping into the snow. 

“Let me do it,” he said as he pushed your hands away softly. 

He looked up at you with curious eyes for a moment. There was that familiar glint of a patented Tyler Seguin idea in them, which made you cock your head and furrow your brows at him. He just smiled wide, shook his head softly, and turned his attention back to your skates. 

“What?” you pressed him softly. “What did you just think of, Ty?”

He pulled the top of your laces on one boot tight to finish tying them as he spoke to you, “Just thinking about kneeling in front of you is all. Feels like it’s good practice, eh?” 

You sighed, “Ty, you can’t make jokes like that.” 

He barked out a laugh as he tightened the laces on your other skate, “Who said I was joking?” 

Before you could form a response, Tyler was up on his skates and pulling you up too. He led you to the edge of the pond, then took a confident step onto the ice when he reached in. Effortlessly, he spun on his skates to face you, reaching two hands out, ready to take yours and help you take your first steps onto the ice.  He made it look so easy, as easy as walking, but you knew if you tried to do what he just did without you, you were going to look like a very short baby giraffe, legs splayed out, flat on the ice. You huffed and Tyler gave you an encouraging smile as you gave the ice a disapproving look. 

“I’m not going to let you fall, baby,” Tyler said lazily. He outstretched hands opened and closed in front of you to encourage you to grab onto them. “Come on, it’s just skating.” 

“You’re tipsy and a professional,” you pointed out. “I’m tipsy and a complete novice.”

“I’ll have you know I’m one of the best in my field,” and the cheeky smile to accompany his words drew an eye roll from you. “Tipsy or not, I can still make sure you don’t fall.” 

“Pretty sure I’m going to make you eat your words, Seguin.” 

Without a second thought, another second to rethink the moment, you slapped your gloved hands into Tyler’s and put one foot on the ice. Your foot immediately started to slide forward, toward Tyler, and you panicked. Tyler was ready for your panic and pulled your hands, forcing you to put your other foot on the ice. You let out a small scream and Tyler laughed. 

“Baby, you’re so stinking cute,” he whined as you managed to, with as much force as you could muster using his hands as an anchor, stand up mostly straight in front of him. 

“I hate you, Tyler Seguin,” was all you could come up with in response. 

Your response made Tyler tip his head back and let out a long, full bellied laugh, bending his back into it as he laughed. Tyler seemed to forget your balance was incredibly precarious and entirely dependent on him. The three inches he shifted back on the ice as he laughed completely unbalanced you, sending your feet sliding forward too quickly and making you release his hands in favor of his forearms in a desperate grab for balance. 

“Whoa, whoa!” Tyler was still laughing as he spoke. “Easy there. I’ve got you.” 

“Does not feel like you do,” you grumbled, trying to focus on your feet in order to keep them steady now. 

“Okay, okay,” Tyler sighed. “First, don’t look at your feet. Look where you trying to go.” 

“What direction is home?” you quipped back without missing a beat. 

“Ha, ha,” Tyler replied dryly. “Look at me. You want to go toward me.” 

You let out a quick, irritated breath. You knew a large part of the reason you were irritated is because you were being asked to do something you were terrible at, in front of someone who was amazing at it, who just so also happened to be your boyfriend. No one liked to do things they knew they would be terrible at, let alone in front of someone who was so practiced in it that they probably couldn’t explain it well. In fact, that was your problem that developed after about two minutes with Tyler trying to teach you how to skate. Tyler couldn’t explain how to skate in the slightest. 

“Just push off on one foot, let your other one slide. Put the foot you just pushed off with on the ice again, and push with the one that was sliding. Go back and forth and then tada, you’re skating.” 

That was his best explanation of the lesson and you could confidently surmise that Tyler Seguin was an absolutely horrendous skating coach. And he was a drunk skating coach. Maybe, if you were throwing your boyfriend a bone he didn’t deserve, you could say if he was sober, he might be doing better, but deep in your heart you knew that wasn’t true. Tyler Seguin was definitely a terrible teacher, trying to teach something he could do forwards, backwards, diagonally, with his eyes closed, and made millions of dollars doing, while drunk. You were the one suffering. Tyler was having incredible time watching you flail and grip onto his arms to avoid falling flat on your face. 

“Tyler, help me!” you pressed. 

“It’s so funny. You’re like a baby penguin,” he managed to get out through his laughter. “So cute. So clumsy.” 

“Tyler!”

He cleared his throat and sucked in a deep, centering breath before saying, “I think part of your problem is that you’re afraid to fall. If you aren’t afraid to fall, you’re going to be too focused on doing exactly what’s keeping you from falling and not actually skating.” 

“Well, I don’t exactly want to fall, Ty. That’s not really the goal,” you said pointedly, your hands digging into his forearms when he shifted suddenly. 

“Falling is part of skating,” he told you. “I fall all the time. Get too on an edge or try to turn too tight or get rammed into by some wrecking ball on skates. But I just hop right back up and go again. You have got to get over this fear of falling and learn how to fall and get back up. Otherwise, you’re not going to learn.” 

Whether or not tipsy Tyler meant that statement to have merit and weight outside of the context of skating, you doubted, but it did. That’s the attitude you carried with you when you were at school, at work, everywhere. “It’s better to have tried and failed than to live life wondering what would've happened if I had tried,” by Alred Lord Tennyson popped into your head. Just maybe Tyler was right about something. Maybe your biggest hurdle was just the one in your head and you needed to, on the most magical of all holidays where miracles came true and the world was a little brighter, take a deep breath and fail spectacularly under the hazy eyes of the boy you loved. 

It didn’t even cross your mind that you were definitely still feeling the affects of that infamous spiked hot chocolate, not even for a second. 

You nodded and took in a deep breath as you did. Tyler raised his eyebrow to check in with you and you nodded again. You released your choking grip on his forearms and Tyler slowly backed up, giving you space to try on your own for a moment. You took a second to pause, your feet shuffling a little out of the natural movement of your body, making your arms flail to steady yourself. It wasn’t pretty, but you managed to stay upright after moving an accidental inch unassisted and for you, that was progress.

“Okay, okay,” you mumbled to yourself. 

You mentalled tossed out every single lesson Tyler had tried to impart on you on the ice that evening, knowing all of it was absolute drunken nonsense and wasn’t going to help you skate. You were better off going with your nonexistent skating instincts, which were just a series of mental clips from probably inaccurate ice skating scenes from terrible Hallmark and Netflix Christmas movies. The actors were never the ones skating, but someone had to for the shot, so you figured it had to be at least partially accurate. You knew if you looked down, you would definitely topple over, you looked out onto the snow covered lawn ahead and hesitantly pushed forward with one foot. Before you started to lose your balance, you took a chance and pushed off on your other foot, letting yourself glide just a little in between. 

“Your first successful skate!” Tyler gasped from somewhere beside you. “I feel like a proud mom at the preschool Christmas pageant.” 

Normally, you would’ve told him exactly where he could stick that comment, but you were focused on trying to make it as far as you could before the precarious house of cards that was you on your skates fell. You had a messy, incredibly atrocious rhythm going now. You knew you had to look ridiculous, partially bent over, arms out wide, tongue stuck out between your teeth in concentration, but you were skating and no one said it had to be pretty to count. You realized one thing too late though, far too late to even begin to do anything about it. Tyler was too far behind you, filming your first skate like the proud soccer mom he was, and far too tipsy to clue into what was about to happen. There was nothing you could do. You just had to accept that this was how your journey would end. 

You hit the edge of the pond roughly, the front half of your skate blades hitting the snow and you unceremoniously face planted into the snow surrounding the edge of the pond. You tried to twist as you fell to make it anything other than a complete face plant, but much like the end result of your first solo skating attempt, you failed spectacularly. Tyler was behind you in a second, dropping down onto his knees in the snow next to you and brushing your hair back to try and get a view of your face. 

“Baby, are you hurt? Oh my god,” Tyler started rambling. “I’m so sorry. This is all my fault. I should’ve kept closer to you so I could’ve done something. I should’ve-”

“Maybe you should’ve taught me how to stop, you idiot,” you grumbled out after lifting your face from the snow. “Stopping might have been a good first lesson, you know, like how dads teach you to drive. They make sure you know where the brake is first.” 

“You know,” Tyler mused as you pushed yourself up onto your knees, “that probably would’ve been a good idea.” 

“Oh, ya think?” You glared at him before beginning to brush off snow from your body.

“So next lesson-”

“No way,” you cut him off. “I’m asking Jamie to teach me. You’re fired, coach.” 

Tyler gave a whine that could only be described as like a petulant child who was just told they couldn’t open their Christmas presents two weeks early. He pouted at you, Dallas Stars pom pom beanie on his head flopping forward as he tilted his head to go with his jutted out lower lip. 

“Come on,” he begged softly. “Let me try again. Give me one more shot as your teacher. I’ll even be sober for the next lesson. I promise.” 

“If you aren’t, I’m suing you for damages,” you teased him, a smile coming across your face slowly. 

While you hadn’t succeeded, in fact your fall had been far worse than anything you had pictured it would be, you couldn’t deny you had a good time and it was really only because of the boy whose pout was slowly changing to a smile because of your own. You still couldn’t skate. In fact, you thought you might be a worse skater now than your previous baseline of zero. Tyler hadn’t taught you a single thing this Christmas about skating, but Tyler taught you a lot about Tyler. He liked way too many marshmallows in his spiked hot chocolate, he ripped wrapping paper to absolute shreds, and he relished in matching Christmas sweaters even though he pretended to hate them. You also learned that Tyler Seguin, who sometimes acted before he spoke, and was just a little too over eager for you occasionally, cared more deeply about you than you could possibly understand. Being loved like he loved you was rarer than the perfect Christmas day, which today had been, faceplant included. 

Most of all, you learned Tyler wanted to spend every Christmas for the rest of his life with you too, and that was the best gift you’d ever received on Christmas, the knowledge that he too wanted to spend the rest of his life sharing Christmases with you.

[dogsliampaynedoesntinstagram]

I would be interested in hearing more of your thoughts on 'If This Gets Out' whether about the fandom reaction to it (there are a lot of bad takes floating around) or the actual content of the book. I read it because I was intrigued and it was a okay story but felt very simplistic in the way it imagined how boy bands work and how boy band members navigate that space.

I've just finished reading it - and I definitely think the most interesting aspect of it was the premise.

I didn't think much of it as book - the main characters were very one dimensional, the secondary characters non-existent, it's depiction of the world was unrealistic sometimes to the point of offensiveness (I won't go into everything I found infuriating, because I'd be here all day, but the depiction of drugs and addiciton was totally fucked and actively damaging), the plot wasn't interesting, and there was no sense of energy or fun in the world building.

I think the only angle it's worth talking about is the 1D angle. And unfortunately fandom seems determined to be having the most boring and basic (while at the same time indefensible and hypocritical) conversation in response to this. The only possible response to the outraged claims of fandom is that telling stories about things that happen is perfectly legitimate, in fact common.

But it's a shame, because I think it is interesting to discuss 'If This Gets Out' in the context of 1D fandom, at least partly because of how closely the book replicates the fans' worldview. I think it's almost certain that at least one of the authors has been a 1D stan, or a very similar fandom, because of their depiction maps so precisely.

The big flashing light to me is the way both POV characters talk about fans. There's so many examples, but here's one: "A local radio station in Rome ran a backstage pass competition a while back, so tonight we're all hanging back to meet some fans, sign stuff and take photos. Usually this is one of my favorite parts of the job - we get whisked aside by Penny for a quick refresh and liner reapplication, then it's basically an hour of being gushed over and meeting the people whose lives you've touched, and being able to drop you walls just a little because no one's recording what you're saying - the dozens of contract guards make sure of that." No-one who isn't a boyband fan thinks that's how boyband members see fans.

The depiction of the music industry is also very '1D fan lore'. What is really noticeable is the way management are wildly under motivated cartoon bad guys. (There's also some really basic errors like structuring an imagined management contract like a record contract). You never get a sense of what management want, or that they're skilled at getting it. Rather than having management whose goal is to make money through an inhuman schedule, and who use a wide variety of tactics to make sure that it's possible (including human relatioships, which book is very limited in depicting). Instead they're shown as people who only exist to stymie band members in super ineffective ways that work for the narrative.

I was interested in the depiction of Lima partly just because it was quite blatant; anyone who has read any of the book will know which character was Lima. Neither of the bandmates who got together were very like Harry or Louis, but the fourth bandmate was a very shallow combination of Niall and Zayn (I though the one interesting read they had on 1D was the implication that Niall was having most sex of anyone).

There are also two names in common. The Lima characters father is called Geoff, and one of the two who get together's most important girlfriend is called Hannah. I really wonder if it's coincidence. I wouldn't be surprised if Hannah was, but Geoff seems like a stretch. Particularly because Geoff Payne appears in This is Us, and so is accessible to the most casual fan.

I would welcome other people's thoughts - because I do think there are things to say about the way that it's bad and boring, as well as the whole 1D angle.

[yellowocaballero]

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.

[wonderful-writes]

8. Like reader drops of the face of the earth before graduation for like 4 years, and Charlie just realized his emotions in that time frame.

Disappear

Charlie Weasley x Female!Reader

Summary: Y/N and Charlie were best friends during their Hogwarts days, and there might have even been a time when she hoped for something more. But all those possibilities were dashed when she mysteriously went missing, leaving her best friend alone and confused.

Prompt:

8) I never forgot you.

“Race you to the castle?” Charlie Weasley challenged, looking over at his friend Y/N.

“Oh, you’re on, Weasley,” she replied, already getting a head start.

“Hey, no fair!” Charlie protested. He sprinted ahead, attempting to get in front of her. He easily passed her and jogged the rest of the way back to the castle.

Soon, she came up behind him, just as breathless as he was. They stood panting at the Hogwarts steps for a moment.

When he had regained his composure, he teased, “Even when you cheat, you still manage to lose to me.”

She gave him a light punch on the shoulder. “Well, I’m not the star of the quidditch team.”

Charlie laughed. “You’re right. Not everyone can be as great as I am.”

Y/N delivered another punch, this one harder than the last.

“Hey!” Charlie shouted, though he didn’t hit her back. “Come on, we’re going to be late for dinner.”

The two friends headed into the Great Hall and quickly found seats at the Gryffindor table.

“Where have you two been?” asked Percy Weasley, Charlie’s younger brother, upon your arrival.

“We were just visiting Hagrid,” Charlie replied. “He wanted to show me a new dragon book he found, and Y/N invited herself with me.”

“I did not!” Y/N argued, crossing her arms over her chest. “You were the one who asked me if I wanted to come with you.”

Charlie chuckled. He knew how to push her buttons. Teasing any of his friends was always fun, but it was especially hilarious to tease Y/N. She never failed to get worked up, or at least pretend to get worked up.

After dinner, the students headed to their dorms. Y/N walked with two of her roommates, and the three chattered about graduation and plans for the future all the way up to the Gryffindor common room. It was the second-to-last week of their seventh year, and the end of their Hogwarts days was fast approaching. It made Y/N sad to think that she would be leaving all her friends, professors, and memories behind, but she was also excited for what was to come. She had scored an apprenticeship at the Ministry of Magic, and she was set to start immediately after graduation.

As she was about to walk up the stairs to the girls’ dormitory, she heard someone call her name. She turned around to see Charlie waving her over from the sofa in the middle of the common room.

“I’ll be up in a bit,” she told her roommates. “I have to go see what that idiot wants.”

Y/N made her way over to the sofa, taking a seat next to Charlie. “What do you want, Weasley?” she asked with fake annoyance.

Charlie grinned. “What? I can’t talk to my friend?”

Y/N rolled her eyes.

“I can’t believe we’ll be leaving Hogwarts soon,” Charlie mused, staring into the fireplace. “Next week is our last week.”

“Yup. And after that, I’ll be heading off to the Ministry. And you’ll be going to Romania.”

He turned towards her. “I still can’t wrap my head around the fact that we’re growing up. I mean, you’ll be working at the Ministry, and I’ll be working at my dream job on the dragon reserve. It feels like it was just yesterday that we were boarding the train as first years.”

She chuckled. “Yeah, well, that was nearly seven years ago, Charles.”

Y/N looked at him. She would miss him. Sure, she would miss her roommates and all her other friends, but Charlie was different. He was playful and witty, but also kind and caring, and not to mention bloody attractive. She had to admit that she had developed a sort of crush on him during their fourth year, but she had suppressed those feelings because she knew he would never feel the same. He saw her as a friend and nothing more. But no matter how many times she told herself that, her feelings for him never completely went away.

“Hello? Earth to Y/N?” Charlie said, startling her from her trance. “You’ve been staring at me for an awfully long time. Makes me wonder if I really am that hot.”

“Oh, get over yourself, you git,” Y/N retorted, hoping that she wasn’t blushing like a tomato. “I was just lost in thought.”

“Uh huh, sure you were,” he said with a smirk.

Before she could say anything else, someone called for Charlie from the far side of the common room, the side by the portrait hole. She turned to see that a group of boys were beckoning Charlie over.

“We’re planning to sneak out,” he explained when he caught her confused look. “Well, I better go. They’re all waiting for me over there.”

With a wave goodbye, he was off the couch and making his way over to his friends — some of which were Y/N’s friends as well. She watched as the group disappeared through the portrait hole, a twang of sadness reaching her heart. At least at school, she could be around Charlie and spend time with him, even if they weren’t dating. Once they graduated, they would probably never see each other again, or at least not for a long time. She stood up from the couch and trudged up to bed, hoping that a good night’s sleep would ease the dread she felt about leaving Hogwarts and leaving Charlie.

The next morning, Charlie walked into the Great Hall with an extra spring in his step. It was Saturday, and he and his friends had planned on going to Hogsmeade. It would be their last Hogsmeade weekend of the school year, their last time going as Hogwarts students.

He sat down at the table in between Percy and one of Y/N’s roommates. “Hey, where’s Y/N?” he asked when he noticed she wasn’t at breakfast yet.

“Didn’t you hear?” the roommate responded. “She left early this morning. She must have wanted to start summer vacation early or something. She didn’t say where she was going.”

“Maybe her family is taking a trip,” another Gryffindor offered. “Once, in third year, I got special permission to end the term early because my parents had planned a trip to the Caribbean.”

“I’m not sure,” a third voice said skeptically. “She wouldn’t tell me what was going on when I saw her packing this morning. She just said that she was in a hurry and couldn’t talk.”

Charlie was flabbergasted. Why would Y/N leave so close to graduation? She never mentioned any trip with her family or any special event she had to attend. Had an unexpected emergency popped up? Did the professors know about her departure?

The rest of the day went on as usual. Professor McGonagall visited the Gryffindors after breakfast to discuss graduation protocol. A few students asked her about Y/N, but all she would say was that Y/N had a family matter to attend to. Even she did not know whether Y/N was to return for graduation or not.

After the meeting with Professor McGonagall, the Gryffindors made their way to Hogsmeade. Charlie chatted with friends, visited shops, drank butterbeer, and had an overall good time. But in the back of his mind, he still had questions about Y/N. Where had she gone? The professors seemed to know about her leaving, but they weren’t sure when she would be back. Was it a serious emergency? Was her family alright?

To ease his concerns, he decided to send her a letter once he got back to Hogwarts. He assumed she was with her family, so he sent an owl to her home address. He had never visited her home, but he knew her address from when they used to write each other over summers. In his letter, he asked what happened, if her family was okay, and when she would be back. But she never responded.

The last week of seventh year zoomed by quickly. Throughout the week, Charlie and the rest of Y/N’s friends waited for news. Most of them had written her, either asking about her situation or sending warm thoughts, but none of them ever received a reply. The professors did not seem to gain any new information either. It was either that or they were withholding information about Y/N’s whereabouts from the students.

On the day of graduation, exactly one week from Y/N’s disappearance, all the seventh years lined up on the lawn in order by house and last name. Y/N’s friends, acquaintances, and even those who only knew of her through the grapevine glanced around to see if she had showed up at the last minute. But she was nowhere to be found. The ceremony proceeded as usual, ending with the seventh years being rowed across the Great Lake in the same boats that had taken them to the castle in their first year. Afterwards, the students departed with their families, starting their futures as newly-graduated witches and wizards.

Charlie Weasley headed straight for Romania immediately after leaving Hogwarts. He was offered a job at the dragon sanctuary there, and he had never been more excited for anything in his life. He bade farewell to his family and didn’t look back as he left to pursue his dream.

In Romania, he lived in a quaint little house, one of many houses dotting the hills on the outskirts of the dragon reserve. He quickly became accustomed to life there, enjoying every minute of his busy work schedule. During his leisure time, he found himself sketching and taking walks outdoors. He never expected to be the artistic type — he truly wasn’t — but it was fun making bad attempts at drawing dragons and landscapes. But the most fun he had was working with the dragons. He loved every aspect of caring for them, training them, and spending time with them. He didn’t think he could ever be unhappy there.

But sometimes, his mind wandered back to his childhood and his Hogwarts days. He missed his parents, his brothers and sister, and his school mates. He found himself thinking of Y/N most of all. No one had heard from her since her disappearance, and her parents hadn’t contacted anyone Charlie knew either. He suspected that perhaps her family had moved to a new house, and that was why they weren’t receiving any letters. But why couldn’t she send a note informing her friends of her new address? The whole situation was bizarre.

Charlie realized that he had become lonelier during the time he was in Romania. He and the other members of his class occasionally wrote to each other, but letters were infrequent. Keeping in touch became more and more difficult as people grew up and moved on with their lives. His parents and siblings still wrote often, but wasn’t the same as having their presence with him. He had made friends with his coworkers at the sanctuary, and he of course had the dragons to keep him company, but it was Y/N he kept thinking of. Part of it was worry for her well-being, but another part of it was that he genuinely missed her.

But why? Why her? He hadn’t seen his other friends from Hogwarts since graduation either, but he didn’t yearn for their company the same way that he did hers. He supposed it was because he had gotten a chance to exchange proper goodbyes with his other friends. Y/N had left so suddenly that no one had the chance to say goodbye to her. That must be it. Why else would he be so hung over her?

About a year after moving to Romania, Charlie received a letter bearing good news. His older brother, Bill, just had a child with his wife, Fleur. Charlie immediately asked for leave and took a trip back home. It was his first time returning home since moving to pursue the career he had always wanted, and he was excited to see his family again and meet his new baby niece. The past year had been wonderful, but it had also been hard on him. What he needed the most was to see the faces of the people he loved.

Charlie spent a week at the Burrow and savored every second of his stay. He caught up with his parents, spent time with his siblings, and played with little Victoire, Bill and Fleur’s daughter. By the time the week was up, he was thoroughly relaxed and back to his joyful self. He was just packing up his trunk to leave when he noticed a knitted winter hat at the bottom of his drawer.

“Where’d you get that?” asked Ginny, his younger sister, as she came into the room. “I’ve never seen you wear it before.”

“That’s because it isn’t mine,” Charlie replied. He examined the hat closely and instantly knew where it came from. “It belonged to a friend of mine, Y/N. Remember her, the girl I told you about? She was the one who left school a week before graduation and never wrote back to anyone since.”

Ginny hummed. “Did she give that to you?”

Charlie nodded. “She let me borrow it one time in sixth year, and I guess I never gave it back. I must have worn it with me home for the holidays that year and let it sit in my drawer ever since.”

Ginny smiled. “You miss her?”

“Yeah, of course I do,” Charlie replied without hesitation. “She was one of my closest friends.”

His sister smirked. “And you’re sure she wasn’t more than just a friend? You sounded awfully sad talking about her and the hat.”

Charlie scoffed. “As if. I never saw her as anything other than a best mate.”

“You’re blushing, you know that?” Ginny teased.

“What’s this about blushing?” Fred, another brother, inquired as he sauntered into the room.

“Charlie’s got himself a crush,” Ginny informed Fred, making a point to emphasize the word ‘crush.’

“Ooh, has our older brother found himself someone to fancy?” Fred asked teasingly.

“Shut it, you gits,” Charlie replied before his siblings could say anything else. “I’ve never even thought about liking her that way. I just remembered her when I found her hat, that’s all.”

It wasn’t a lie. He had never considered Y/N to be anything more than a friend before. They were close in school, but he was close with lots of other people. She wasn’t in any way special. But now, he felt something he hadn’t felt back at Hogwarts. A new feeling, one that he wasn’t familiar with. It was close to that of having a crush, but he couldn’t be certain. Sure, he’d fancied other girls in the past, but he never had those feelings for Y/N. During their school years, he just wasn’t interested in her in a romantic way. Why would that change now?

When Charlie returned to Romania, he took the knitted hat with him. It comforted him to have a piece of her when nobody knew where she was. He spent the next few years of his life as a talented dragonologist. He devoted himself to his work, extremely happy to be in the profession of his dreams. He even attempted dating, going out with a coworker and a couple women he met in the nearby town. But his dates never went anywhere. No matter how interesting they were or how many things they had in common with him, he didn’t feel like starting serious relationships with any of them. Eventually, he stopped dating altogether.

A year after his trip to the Burrow and two years after his initial move to Romania, Charlie found himself sketching portraits in his living room. It was his day off from work, and it was far too cold to go outside. He had a cup of tea beside him and a fire in the hearth. He spent hours drawing from the comfort of the sofa, and by the end of the day, he had a hefty stack of sketches next to him. He leafed through the stack and discovered that a good number of the sketches were of a woman — one that looked strikingly similar to Y/N.

That was the moment when he realized that he didn’t just miss his friend. He had developed feelings for her, ones that weren’t just platonic. Maybe he had always felt that way, but he couldn’t see it. Maybe all along he had liked her, possibly even loved her, but was blinded by his own stupidity. He racked his brain for all his memories of her and remembered just how amazing she was. She was always so kind, so sweet to everyone. Yet she also had a biting sense of humor and could be brutally honest. He looked back on all their conversations and realized that perhaps he had been pining for her all throughout their friendship, but he had never admitted it to himself.

It was like he was finally receiving clarity. The reason why his dates never progressed into anything more was because he didn’t want anyone other than Y/N. His siblings had seen the way he looked when he thought about her, and now he was finally seeing it for himself. He was finally admitting to himself that he had fallen for Y/N. The only problem was that no one knew where she was.

For the next two years after his epiphany, Charlie tried to resume his normal life. He still cherished his work and adored the dragons. He still had friendly relations with his coworkers and even became close with some of them. He still kept in touch with his family and a few of his childhood friends. And he still couldn’t get over Y/N.

Everything about her occupied his mind. Her laugh, her compassionate heart, the way she listened to him like he was the only person in the world. But he would never be able to have her. She seemed to have dropped off the face of the earth, cutting off everyone he knew who knew her. Maybe there was a reason she didn’t reach out. Maybe after her family issue was resolved, she simply decided not to talk to any of her old friends anymore. Maybe she didn’t want to talk to him. And even if she did miraculously come back, there was no indication that she would be interested in pursuing a relationship with him. She had never mentioned liking him when they were in school, but then again, neither did he.

It had been four years since he started working at the sanctuary. Four years that seemed both incredibly short and torturously long. Charlie Weasley still had his zest for life and his passion for dragons, athletics, and the outdoors. In many ways, he was very happy. But he couldn’t escape the heartache of losing what he felt was the love of his life.

One night, it became too much, and he needed to drown his emotions. He went into town after work and purchased a bottle of firewhiskey. He had intended on getting drunk and using his day off the next day to recover. But when he arrived home, his better judgment decided that drinking away his problems would not be the best idea. Instead, he made himself a mug of tea and situated himself at the kitchen table, attempting to get his thoughts in order.

After a few hours of being alone with his thoughts, Charlie finally decided to retire for the night. Just as he was getting up from the table, there was a knock on the door. Puzzled, he approached the front door of his house. Who could be visiting him at this hour? It was nearly ten o’clock. Was there an emergency at the sanctuary? Was one of his coworkers coming to get him?

His mind reeling with possibilities, he opened ten door. When he saw who was there, his jaw dropped.

“Y/N?” he whispered, staring at the young woman before him. She didn’t look any different since the last time he saw her — same hair color, same expressive eyes, same soft yet defined features. She was unmistakable.

“H-hi, Charlie,” she stammered. She shifted uncomfortably, seeming to be looking everywhere except at him. When her eyes finally met his, she held her breath. She hadn’t seen him in four years, and she had no idea what to expect from him.

He was almost exactly the same as he was at Hogwarts. He still had unruly red hair and freckle constellations all over his face. Although, he was broader, more muscular, but she wasn’t complaining. After what felt like an eternity of staring at each other, he asked her to come inside.

Charlie made her a cup of tea and replenished his own. He set out some biscuits and fruit, apologizing for not having much else to offer. Y/N assured him that whatever he had was fine.

“Where were you?” Charlie blurted. It was the first question that came to mind.

“My sister got sick,” Y/N said quietly. “I received an owl in the middle of the night and left for home at first light. She...she’s no longer with us.”

Charlie nodded sympathetically, his heart lurching at her words. He remembered her talking about how close she and her sister were. He wanted to comfort her, but questions still flooded his head. “Why didn’t you tell any of us? And why haven’t you written anyone back?”

“I wanted to, I truly did,” Y/N said helplessly. “But I was hurting so much from losing her that I couldn’t even think, let alone write.”

He reached across the table and squeezed her hand. “It’s alright,” he whispered.

“I had to postpone my Ministry job so that I could have time to grieve,” she continued. “But when I was ready to start working, they had already given the position to someone else. I was already distraught over losing my sister, so losing the job that was supposed to be the starting point of my Ministry career was a heavy blow.”

“I’m so sorry,” Charlie said, searching Y/N’s eyes.

“It’s okay,” she replied, offering a small smile. “Anyway, for the next year, I worked odd jobs all over Britain, trying to make enough to help out my parents in their difficult time. By then, I felt comfortable enough to interact with people but was too ashamed to write.”

“Ashamed?” Charlie asked incredulously. “Why? We’ve all been dying to hear from you! We were worried sick.”

“I know, and I’m sorry,” Y/N said. “But I had been avoiding the letters for so long as I mourned my sister that it felt rude of me to suddenly reply a year later. Plus, I didn’t want anyone to pity me. I didn’t want anyone to think I was only writing because I needed help either.”

“I understand,” said Charlie. “So what are you doing now?”

“Well, after that miserable first year, another internship opened up at the Ministry. I ended up working in the field I had wanted to get into after all. My internship ended after a year, and I applied for a permanent position in the Department of International Magical Cooperation right after. That’s where I’ve been ever since.”

“International Magical Cooperation? That’s your dream job!” Charlie exclaimed. “I’m so happy for you!”

“Thank you,” Y/N said shyly, suddenly bashful. “I see you landed your dream job as well.”

Charlie grinned. “Yeah, working here is better than I could ever have imagined. I never want to leave.”

Y/N looked down and noticed that both of her hands were now in Charlie’s. Her breath hitched. After all these years, her feelings for him never completely subsided. That was part of the reason why she had decided to visit him. She couldn’t bear the thought of never seeing him again, even if he only ever wanted to be friends.

“Something the matter?” he asked when he caught her glancing away from him.

“No, not at all,” she managed. “I’m just a little tired. It was a long journey getting here. Your parents accidentally gave me the wrong address, if you can believe it.”

He chuckled. “That sounds like them, all right.”

Something about her writing to his parents made him feel warm inside. They had met her before, usually at the train station when they picked him up or dropped him off for school. But the fact that she was comfortable enough to talk to them all these years later made him feel unusually happy.

“I’ll go prepare the spare bedroom for you,” he said, letting go of her hands and getting up from the table.

“Thank you,” she said gratefully.

When he walked away and disappeared into a hallway, she let out a breath. She was relieved to see that he didn’t have a wife or children, though she already knew that much from his parents’ letters. But there was still the possibility that he had a girlfriend. She realized that her hands were shaking as she though about it. She was in love with him but had no idea if he would reciprocate her feelings. When he returned from the bedroom, she decided to pluck up her courage and ask him.

Standing up and taking a shaky breath, she began, “Charlie?”

“Yes, love?” he answered all too quickly. He instantly realized what he had said and blushed furiously.

Y/N took his response and reaction as a sign that maybe he did feel something for her. Or maybe it was an honest mistake, and he was just embarrassed at having called her ‘love’ without meaning it. Either way, she proceeded.

“Do you...do you have a girlfriend?” she asked timidly, almost inaudible.

“No,” he softly replied, meeting her gaze.

“Why not?” she asked, not breaking eye contact. She felt as though she could stare into his warm, brown eyes for all of eternity.

“I couldn’t...I couldn’t move on with my life,” he admitted, “because I never forgot you.”

And just like that, Y/N had heard enough. She swiftly closed the distance between them and connected her lips with his. He was shocked at first, but his hesitation was brief. He kissed her back, matching her intense passion with fire of his own. The moment was electric, but it was over too soon, as the need for air caused them the break apart.

“I love you,” Y/N breathes, her hands still tangled in Charlie’s hair.

He grinned. “I love you, too.”

“Oh, and guess what?” she said, a smile forming on her lips. “My department has a branch in Romania, and they’re willing to let me transfer.”

Charlie returned the smile, his cheeky and mischievous. “Well, then, that calls for a celebration.”

Not a fraction of a second later, his lips were on hers again, and neither wanted to ever let go.

[tossawary]

Chapter 24: “Seeing is Believing” of “pride is not the word I’m looking for” random favorite lines and commentary. Not a full list or full commentary, but longer commentary than usual to talk about quest construction. 

-

AN: This was... a weird chapter to write. When I started outlining, I had... the conversation with Shen Qingqiu planned... the conversation with Shen Yuan planned... the fact that SQH, SY, LQG, and LFL was the quest party... and the fact that they get the Eye at the end of it. That was everything. 

The entire rest of this chapter came together FRIDAY LAST WEEK. 

Huan Hua Palace wasn’t going to be there. The Weeper didn’t exist. The Eye or its previous owner wasn’t at all connected to the Garden Master. The Shadow Cave Wolf Spiders didn’t exist. The murder plant didn’t exist. The mysterious monster showing up at the end wasn’t originally planned either. 

I mean, I had a lot of pre-existing plot threads to tie in and weave with, but ohhh boy! Picture someone lying facedown on a floor like, “I forgot to plan the contents of the super important quest...” 

I was originally going to have the Eye quest a lot simpler, but given the weight “Death of the Author” had when I finally reached this part of the story, that wasn’t really going to do! It had to be bigger than that! It needed oomph! This also felt like a good opportunity to really establish the new SQH-SY dynamic. To explore SY fumbling to find a place in this world without strict character role, especially in relation to settled and well-supported SQH. 

- 

“One attempts to remain dignified,” Shen Qingqiu agrees. “As there is little point in kicking and screaming about how such ignobility isn’t fair.”

“Ha! Is there ever?”

“Not in my experience.”

“Yeah, it’s definitely not cute when I do it,” Shang Qinghua jokes.

Shen Qingqiu’s lips actually twitch at that.

Success?!

- 

AN: I wasn’t going into this fic with the intention of writing any Shang Qinghua and Original Shen Qingqiu almost friendship! But it started developing and it seemed a shame not to explore Shang Qinghua developing a real relationship with Shen Qingqiu (though not a particularly close one) when the man is suppose to be the scum villain (and the readers know that the man might get replaced by Shen Yuan). 

I can see myself writing more Shang Qinghua and Original Shen Qingqiu content in the future. Someone dropped a particularly nice prompt for them in my inbox that I’m looking forward to exploring at some point. 

(I mean, not to say that Shang Qinghua has a type, but Shang Qinghua has a type and it’s handsome, deadly, intimidating, frosty men with a villainous character design and trust/abandonment and communication issues. I could make it work.)

- 

“Ah, well, two ‘ideal’ situations come to mind: severing the personal relationship for good… or, ah, talking about how to do better and trying that. You don’t have to forget or even forgive if you don’t want to! But, ah… there’s got to be a difference between totally swallowing your anger and cutting ties forever, right?” Shang Qinghua says awkwardly. “If there’s… ever going to be anything good afterwards…”

Shen Qingqiu stares at him for a sweat-inducing length of time.

 “Ah, fuck,” Shang Qinghua thinks.

“Sorry,” he says. “Ahhh, I’m just… thinking about something someone told me… in… in regards to some of my own problems. Never mind! Never mind!”

- 

AN: Luo Jiahui really is out here making Moshang and Qijiu get their fucking act together just by setting a better example. 

- 

“Shizun, my apologies for the interruption, but I came to ask Shizun if he would be willing to join our music lesson today? The disciples have missed his playing and are eager to present their improvements.”

“...Very well, unless anyone here would disagree…?” Shen Qingqiu looks directly at the Qian Cao Peak cultivator, as though daring her to object and die.

“It’s an excellent suggestion!” the Qian Cao Peak cultivator says quickly.

The young woman smiles. “And perhaps Shizun could sit in on the calligraphy lesson afterwards? In order to offer his opinion on my progress as a teacher?”

“Fishing for compliments is unbecoming,” Shen Qingqiu says dryly.

“Wait, what?” Shang Qinghua thinks.

- 

AN: So, this has all been happening in the background, but Shen Qingqiu accepted this House of Rejuvenation woman onto his Peak about... 6-ish years ago now? This is kind of meant to parallel Shang Qinghua’s once-secret relationship with Luo Jiahui. 

Shang Qinghua was out here trying to be a better person and Shen Qingqiu noticed; now Shen Qingqiu has his own positive (platonic) relationship with a nameless background character who was meant to die for plot reasons. What a thing, huh? If the story was saved because Shang Qinghua started a domino effect of saving random people who went on to change things? 

- 

After all, as Shang Qinghua said to the kid, besides Peerless Cucumber’s apparent talent for cultivation, he knows that his fellow transmigrator has three very important skills that will serve him well on An Ding Peak! 1) An encyclopedia knowledge for even seemingly pointless bullshit (which is kind of flattering, honestly). 2) The willingness to fight total strangers over seemingly pointless bullshit. And 3) a sharp enough tongue to win.

Peerless Cucumber didn’t find these points as funny as Shang Qinghua did.

- 

AN: Shen Yuan was always going to end up on An Ding Peak. I thought about sending him to Qing Jing or Qian Cao or Qiong Ding... or any other Peak... but that would take him too far away from Shang Qinghua to really explore their relationship and to move him around conveniently in the story. And SY sticking to An Ding seemed to best illustrate the fact that SY is lost and doesn’t know what to do except cling to SQH. 

- 

“It’s not much, sure, but it’s yours,” Shang Qinghua says finally. “You’ll be joining the talisman classes soon, so don’t try anything from a book and then need to request some home repairs.”

Peerless Cucumber nods and puts his stack of manuals down on the table.

“How’s your tutorial mission going?”

“Fine,” the kid says shortly. “Have you found anything for the other one yet?”

“Ah, not yet.”

- 

AN: “Are you winning, son?” meme energy here. 

- 

Ah, now Shang Qinghua recognizes his fellow transmigrator’s expression! That’s the same stunned expression one of his Huan Hua not-disciples, Yu Chaonan, made upon meeting the Bai Zhan Peak War God for the first time. Shang Qinghua assumes that Peerless Cucumber was expecting a man who looked more like a musclebound giant and less like a pop idol (if one with amazingly muscular arms), which is a super common and never-not-funny misconception people have about Liu Qingge.  

“Brother of one of the most beautiful women in this world, bro,” Shang Qinghua reminds his fellow transmigrator, amused. Aha! Now Peerless Cucumber’s vehement disinterest in the harem stuff is making even more sense than before!

Shang Qinghua’s assumption gets 100% confirmed when it comes time for Peerless Cucumber to fly with Liu Qingge for the next leg of the journey. The other transmigrator is so embarrassed and awkward about it that Shang Qinghua’s super direct brother-in-law asks if the young man is alright.

- 

AN: This was so fun to write. Shang Qinghua really can use the Liu siblings to gauge people’s sexual/romantic orientation. 

- 

The map (or rather, the copy Shang Qinghua made of the delicate original map) takes them to a green and grey landscape of leafy trees crawling over a wide network of tall cliffs and deep gorges. Gurgling rivers cut through twisting rock formations. Shang Qinghua can’t see any of these rivers on the map. Or these deathly drop ravines. From the outside, the whole thing looks like a natural maze (holy shit, there could be so many monsters and death-traps in there!), and Shang Qinghua would know those golden robes flying low over the hanging trees anywhere.

“Huan Hua,” Liu Qingge mutters.

“Do you think they’re looking for what we’re looking for?” Luo Fanli asks.

“That’s usually how it goes,” Peerless Cucumber says, before Shang Qinghua can.

- 

AN: I came up with the skeleton idea first. Then I was like... “I should give it three eyes.” And then I was like... “But who IS this dead author? A god? A spirit? What grander implications am I spinning here?” 

And THEN I remembered that I had some ambiguous powerful being force the Garden Master into exile due to a flood. This was because, in the Epic of Gilgamesh, the immortal man Gilgamesh meets in the abyss is the survivor of a great flood. So I was like, “Reduce! Re-use! Recycle! There’s my skeleton!” 

So I wanted to relate the skeleton to water because of the flood angle. Water as a symbol of cleansing/reincarnation is a big thing throughout many cultures. I can’t remember exactly how the crying aspect came up, but I knew there was going to be water in the temple now, so at some point my brain like was, “Bro, this skeleton should totally be crying because mythology vibes.” 

So I built the surrounding land off the idea that there was water flowing from or around this temple. At this point, I had decided that Huan Hua Palace should also be looking for this artifact, so I had to come up with a way to hide the temple, yet have a way for SQH’s party to track it down. 

- 

The damage to the doors is worse: someone once upon a time collapsed a part of the cliff face around the entrance, essentially leaving only the top fourth of the utterly smashed stone doors visible. It’s a wall now and has been for ages. It looks like it would take days to dig through the rubble. Someone has even super helpfully carved, “These doors will never open again,” just above the wreck.

“Guess we’ll have to go in as intruders rather than guests!” Luo Fanli says.

“What would be welcoming us inside a lost temple exactly?” Shang Qinghua asks vaguely, inwardly cursing the fact that explosive mining techniques will definitely attract the Huan Hua Palace Sect cultivators’ attention and also probably collapse the whole cliff on them.

“We only have to clear a passage for us, not the whole door,” Peerless Cucumber says optimistically. “Is there a special technique for this kind of thing?”

“Aha, not really.”

“Oh.”

“Why don’t we just keep following the water?” Luo Fanli says.

“...How so?” Shang Qinghua asks.

“Some of those waterfalls could be passages inside,” Liu Qingge explains, because he and the little sister-in-law apparently share the same brain. He’s already eyeing the waterfall wearing down the giant statue on the left.

- 

AN: Temples in quests need to have traps and obstacles and monsters! Well, not ALL of the did, but this one did. I based the obstacles they faced as much as I could around the whole “Death of the Author” theme, while using this whole quest to explore Shen Yuan, Shen Yuan and Shang Qinghua, Shang Qinghua and Liu Qingge and Luo Fanli, and so on. 

The idea here with the door is that the “author” is not going to let them inside the temple to take the interpretation of the narrative (the Eye) for themselves. The story is over (the temple is closed for business)! The author is dead! If they want to get inside, they have to break inside or slip inside as intruders. 

This also creates a convenient obstacle to hold up the Huan Hua Palace Sect cultivators so that our party can be nearly caught later! And shows off Shang Qinghua, Liu Qingge, and Luo Fanli’s twisty lines of thinking. 

- 

Luo Fanli is holding the light and Shang Qinghua passes the other transmigrator to her, while accepting Liu Qingge’s hand for help getting out of the water.

“Ahhh, that was fun,” Shang Qinghua mutters.

Then he notices that Liu Qingge has the Cheng Luan sword out and ready. Shang Qinghua looks through the surrounding darkness, but all he can see are columns and water. For a moment, he thinks he sees something, a prowling shadow at the other end of the cavernous room, but he wipes the water out of his eyes and it’s gone.

- 

AN: The water in Shang Qinghua’s eyes briefly lets him see a flash of the invisible monsters who show up later! It helps up the tension. 

- 

Another low growl rips through the darkness and Peerless Cucumber shuffles a little closer to Shang Qinghua. Because that sounded really fucking close and yet Shang Qinghua still can’t see the thing that’s making that sound.

He doesn’t see Liu Qingge lunge at him either. He only feels his brother-in-law shove him into Peerless Cucumber, knocking them into the water, out of the way of something that howls when Liu Qingge slashes at it with his sword. Shang Qinghua rolls off Peerless Cucumber and looks up just in time to see dark blood splatter across the watery floor. Liu Qingge pursues the attacker with a second slash, but only seems to meet thin air this time.

“It’s invisible!” Luo Fanli cries. “Fuck!”

“Behind you!” Liu Qingge snaps, and spins to slash at the thin air beside him. Dark droplets of blood hit the water again and something hisses at him.

Luo Fanli whirls and slashes, searching for an opponent.

“They’re reflected in the water!” Liu Qingge yells at her, standing guard over Shang Qinghua as he gets to his feet again. “Listen for their footsteps and vocalizations! Feel the demonic energy and air displacement!”

- 

AN: I got this from a list of Dungeons and Dragons puzzles. The idea is that there’s some puzzle that must be solved, but the truth of the room can only be seen in the reflection of the nearby water (or mirror or whatever). 

Which felt fitting for a “Death of the Author” quest! Whatever an author’s intentions, the story is what they actually wrote, so the audience interprets a text without the context of the author’s insight. The truth (of the story) is in the reflection (audience interpretation)! It felt like a fun idea. 

It also allows Shen Yuan to actually contribute to the quest via monster lore and bring up his impaired vision problem. And to confront Shen Yuan with the reality of this world. And to show off Luo Fanli’s fighting skills. And to show off LIU QINGGE’S legendary fighting skills, instincts as a warrior who fights many dangerous beasts, and the fact that he’s clever and observant! 

Liu Qingge is good at what he does! And this is what he does! 

- 

Someone has… angrily… or desperately… carved a lopsided message into the wall.

 “‘If I go blind, so does the world,’” Peerless Cucumber reads.

“...That’s probably not good,” Shang Qinghua says.

“Nooo…” Fanli agrees.

The messages continue as they climb, carved into the walls, the ceilings, the floors. Most of it is illegible. Some of it is just nonsense. Some of it looks like the same kind of historical records carved into the broken tablets. Some of it looks like someone attacked the walls after reading what was written there. There are deep gouges in the walls and cracked marks that would match a giant’s hands.

 “‘The water cleans the lies,’” Peerless Cucumber reads. “‘I am the only one who can see.’ ‘Lies everywhere, lies everywhere, lies everywhere.’ ‘The water cleans the evil.’ ‘I do not have enough tears.’ ‘Everything is nothing now. Everything in vain.’”

“You really don’t need to read them!” Shang Qinghua tells the kid. “It’s fine. It's totally fine.”

- 

AN: This is mostly here to up the tension, but it’s also here to try and give insight into this being and relate them more to the “Death of the Author” and the “Seeing is Believing” themes. 

I also saw the phrase “If I go blind, so does the world” while I was browsing a list of riddles for D&D campaigns and I was like, “THAT’S SICK, I’M USING THAT.” Really brings the “an eye for an eye” and vengeance vibes. (The riddle was longer than that one phrase, but the answer was “the sun”.) 

- 

The top of the temple reveals one massive room that looks like someone was alternatively scratching their insanity into the walls and tearing chunks out of the interior design with their bare hands. Overtop of the rubble is that eerie overgrowth. There’s a fine layer of water over the floor. At the center of it all is an incredibly enormous desk, cracked in half, with a robed skeleton sitting behind it, slumped over the top. It’s a little too large to be an ordinary human.

Plus, its skull is a little too long, probably to accommodate the third eye socket in the forehead. There’s something gleaming softly yellow in the third eye socket.

“Is… there water dripping from its eyes?” Luo Fanli whispers.

“It looks like it…” Peerless Cucumber whispers back. “Like it's crying…?”

“Still…? Is it dead or not?”

 “Holy shit,” Shang Qinghua thinks, slightly nauseated. “System, bro, the worst bro I’ve ever known, tell me that we have not been swimming in a three-eyed skeleton’s magical undead tears or something this whole time.”

The shitty, no-good System stays unsurprisingly silent. 

- 

AN: Okay, so the idea here is that this being was someone who recorded history and shared their knowledge freely. This being had the ability to discern the truth of a person - they were extremely perceptive. (The Weeper is either female or doesn’t have a gender, by the way.) 

The Weeper met the Garden Master at some point. The Garden Master was an asshole, a liar, arrogant, etc.. The Weeper and the Garden Master clashed badly, until the Weeper sent the cleansing flood that nearly destroyed the sect and the Garden Master essentially had to flee to a personal abyss. 

The Garden Master sent the plant as a final “fuck you” to the Weeper. The plant caused the Weeper to slowly go mad. The smashed tablets and destroyed temple are the Weeper’s work. The Weeper (not in a great state of mind) had the temple closed themselves once they realized they and their work had been corrupted. This was a “you destroy my (embellished) reputation, I destroy yours (and your entire life)” plot by the Garden Master. 

The idea behind the tears is the whole “water is cleansing” thing. The Weeper tried to clean away the madness using their magical water-related abilities... and it actually worked for a long time. But eventually the madness began to overpower the effects of the magical water. The Weeper’s tears are from frustration and helplessness at losing control. 

The water inside the temple combats the plant’s physical effects. Also stabbing the root killed the plant and essentially broke its mental/spiritual powers. 

- 

Unfortunately, to get the fuck out of here, they have to go back through the temple. But hey! That’s still a lot better than an extended hike through an underground, haunted desert in darkness! The battle with the now-dead plant caused its growth to writhe around the temple. The vines need to be hacked through sometimes as they travel down through the rooms of broken shelves and shattered tablets.

“So much history lost…” Peerless Cucumber murmurs.

 “He still thinks of himself as a reader - an observer, a visitor, separate from the flow of fate.”

- 

AN: This is... absolutely based on the Heart from the Dishonored franchise. But this sort of item didn’t originate with Dishonored and I need it! It’s a surprise/mystery tool that will help us later! 

The Eye isn’t exactly a mind-reading object. I mean, it kind of is, but it works in a very specific way that I’m looking forward to getting into. 

- 

From there, their path back out of the natural maze is even more careful and stressful than before, now that the Huan Hua Palace Sect cultivators are actively looking for them rather than the temple. It’s slow-going and stressful and silent, except for when the Weeper’s Eye presses too close against his chest.

 “He is afraid that if he starts screaming, he will never stop,” it tells him, when he’s looking at a pale-faced Peerless Cucumber, as they fly over a particularly deathly-looking drop.

 “Oh, me too, bro!” Shang Qinghua thinks. “Seriously! Tell me something I don’t know!”

- 

AN: Having Shang Qinghua be totally unimpressed by an object like this was very funny to me. He’s the author! He’s a transmigrator! He knows these people well! He already has insight into their situations. 

- 

Shang Qinghua groans, but supposes that Peerless Cucumber would have at least been disguising Liu Qingge from the back. “You tell them that you were tracking thieves who stole something from Cang Qiong Mountain Sect,” he says quickly. “Rule of embarrassment! Admitting something that makes us look bad to a rival makes it sound true. Don’t tell them what was stolen and act really offended if they try to poke into Cang Qiong business. I’ll come back as soon as I get these two out!”

Liu Qingge nods and launches forward into the fight.

“We’re just leaving him?” Peerless Cucumber says, as they do exactly that.

“I’ll get changed and come back ‘looking for him for urgent sect business’ as soon as I’ve dropped you two off in the last town,” Shang Qinghua says. “I’m really good at acting stressed and confused, and at desperately needing an unstoppable wandering Liu Qingge back at Cang Qiong Mountain Sect immediately. Now let’s go! Let’s go! Mission isn’t over yet!”

- 

AN: Shang Qinghua is, at heart, a liar. I love him. 

[aestheticaxolotl]

Let’s Talk About Neal The Eel

Lets talk about Rat-Daddy, I mean Neal the Eel

Let me start with Neal, using the Carmen Sandiego Wiki to break him down as a whole, starting with appearance and personality (Excluding the comments around his action in the show). I am biased here, Neal is my favorite character in the god damned show. I will stand by this rat till I die.

I may or may not go into ship fodder but that may just have to be a thing for another day.

Neal is a tall man with a thin lanky frame and greasy black hair. He has buck teeth with a slight gap between, usually resting over his bottom lip. His skin is very pale, almost grey, and he has purple bags under his eyes.

All I have to say is this boy is tired, probably anemic, I have reason to believe that Neal the Eel is both anemic and hypermobile ( a heritable connective tissue disorder that affects the joints and ligaments in a person's body. It comes in different degrees of severity, the least being similar to double-jointedness). There is no age stated but I am willing to bet he’s around 30-35, due to his aged face lines and his Faculty audition (NGL I would have loved to see him as Faculty). Not gonna lie, the buck teeth is why I’ve been lovingly calling him a rat. I’ve seen many buck teeth in my day but this is the first time I ever really loved it. I think the greasy detail is just due to the slippery aesthetic. But I can appreciate that.

For personality we do not have a lot to go on, but what we do have is VERY revealing about the depths and flaws of his character.

Neal is described as "conniving and loyal to a fault" by Doctor Bellum. During fights, he has an affinity for making puns and teasing his opponent. Despite his goofy nature, he is a competent operative, having been able to outplay both Shadowsan and Carmen in combat— additionally having been considered a potential faculty member by Bellum. He is later revealed in the fourth season to be extremely laidback and easygoing, since he did not care about getting his mind wiped, getting fish dumped on him, or defecting from V.I.L.E.

As you all know by now, (Unless you are new), I marked the most important details in the bold font. As we do not have much to work with, a lot of details are bolded, I really hope what I put out is up to standard!

Neal is described as "conniving and loyal to a fault”

Now, I’m taking into account that he has a reason to be ‘loyal to a fault’. If you have read my headcanon you will know that I strongly think Neal came from a circus or some form of freak show, we know how flexible this man is and there is no way that it just happened. I imagine that the loyal to a fault is to Dr. Bellum, who wanted him on faculty. But WHY? I’ll touch on that soon. We do see that the man is loyal and is very clever during points in the show. So perhaps there is some connection to Bellum that we as an audience have not yet seen, through technology or something. He seems to enjoy technology, but not on the same level that Bellum does, this really stumps me and I would LOVE to hear what y’all have to say about it!

He has an affinity for making puns and teasing his opponent

Need I remind you all that Neal the eel is a HUG GOOF BALL?!? *Goes to laugh in the corner for a second* Okay, now, he makes a lot of jokes and has fun with his job and I can really respect that. I have not seen a character that has as much FUN at work as Neal does. That’s why he is so fun to watch on the screen, he’s having fun the way that our others are not. He’s poking fun at Carmen and Shadowsan, HE ASKS IF SHADOWSAN JOINS THE SOVIOT UNION. I Mean that was amazing. All his puns are centered around him being slick, and there is a LOT that one can do with that. I also noticed that Neal nicknames the people he is working with, I can only really see him calling Lady Dokuso “Slippy Micky”  as being playful banter, that she seems to ENJOY by calling him “ unagi”, which translates to eel. And I love that a character like Neal comes across as enjoyable and annoying at the same time, do I even need to mention that Mimebomb seems to absolutely HATE Neal? He’s slimy and annoying and tells bad puns. It’s amazing that dynamics that one character can have that spices up other characters too!

He is a competent operative, having been able to outplay both Shadowsan and Carmen in combat

Now. This detail does go back to the teasing of the opponent area of this character essay. Neal is able to outplay Carmen and Shadowsan in combat, that shows some major skill, seeing as Shadowsan is older and more experienced while Carmen might be both faster and dare I say stronger. I feel that the level of skill between Shadowsan and Carmen should have made him easy to take down, where as I state, people underestimate Neal and that is why he gets the best of them. If you have seen my previous two posts, you will notice I do not use the intro cards for the character, I look for images that really give a sence to the character. Take a look at the image used for Neal. This mother trucker had a BMI of 2- MAYBE. It would be easy to underestimate him in real life or in show. This allows him to be the competent operative he is, he KNOWS he is underestimated and uses that as a tactical advantage. 

Additionally having been considered a potential faculty member by Bellum.

I mentioned that I have no idea why Bellum would want Neal on the Faculty, and even here when I had time to think about it, I still do not! the only think I can think of is that Bellum must OWE him for something. Not he owes her, but SHE owe HIM something. Perhaps Neal stole something for Bellum that put him in great danger, like a computer system or something of great technological advance that put V.I.L.E So far forward in the technology stance that Bellum could not forget and had to repay. But then I look at the whole Brainwipe thing and wonder why she couldn’t repay him by letting him live free?  And that’s why Neal’s loyalty is such a hard thing to pin point.  SO I put forth that Neal is just skilled That’s it. It’s a little lame, but then I look that I say he is underestimated and think... That’s why they want him. His underestimation is the thing that got him on. They think that they can control him, and he would have shown them, No, they couldn’t.

Extremely laidback and easygoing

Come on, just when I think he can’t get any better. (Insert oh no he’s hot meme) or (Insert hes meeting all of my standards meme). Neal is laid back, relaxed, easy going, and all those other words for chill. I noticed that when he loses he’s not like “AUGGH NOO MY FUTURE IS RUINED” he’s more like “Damn that was a good game, I’ll get you next time.” He’s got good sportsmen ship and I love that. I’ll touch more in the next section too about how being too chill can be a problem. Neal being easygoing also make sense seeing how well he can work with other, I’ll gesture to the partnership with Lady Dokuso where he worked VERY well with her and then the teaming up with Mimebomb who absolutely hated every second of it. 

He did not care about getting his mind wiped

Not going to lie, but I screamed when I saw that Bellum was going to wipe Neal’s brain. First thought was ‘OH NO’. Second was “WAit I thought she liked him’, and third was... “Wait... He’s just... Fine with this?’. Neal is TOO chill. I feel like a person should care that their brain is getting wiped, maybe just a little bit? And then I stopped, thought about what I knee of him, and laughed. Like, if he was really worried about getting he mind wiped he would have yeeted out of there a long time ago. He know that Bellum and the Faculty will show mercy to him, give him a second chance. And when that second chance was given to him? He tried and then escaped. Never to be seen again, never heard from again, never even thought of again. I imagine he did care and placed a lot of faith into what he knew of the faculty. And yes, Imagination is the basis of this here, because as previously stated, he is a competent operative and knows what he is doing, he didn’t just allow himself to be walked all over.

Neal is a master of infiltration and specializes in slipping into small spaces. His slick body suit, lanky frame, and skills as an acrobatic-contortionist make him a difficult man to capture and hold.

This is all that is given for the abilities of Neal, its not a lot to work with but I manages to strangle some thing out of it. Neal being a master of infiltration strikes me as very direct, along with the added specialty of slipping into small spaces. I figure the directness is so that the show and tell aspect of the show is less surprising. Along with the slick suit, lengthy frame and obvious gesture to  acrobatic-contortionist skills gives me the impression of an escape artist. I figure from this that Neal was often used for the stealth and fast missions. 

While Neal the Eel doesn’t have as much to offer Wiki wise, I am so happy with what I was able to offer up to you. Neal is an amazing character, even if I set aside my bias towards him, and an even better study. 

Not just as a funny, skinny guy who looks like a rat, but as a deeper character with masks and guards that not even his closest allies could even guess at. A usual, I hope you enjoyed and I will have another one of these out fairly soon. Still doing requests!

Thanks for Reading!

[kiatheinsomniac]

Unwoven Fate VI

[MY MASTERLIST]

(Y/n) took another sip of her bitter coffee as she cast a glance into the fireplace, sitting with the Assassins.

"It doesn't make sense." She shook her head.

"That's precisely why it's so unusual." The man, who she now knew as La Volpe, replied.

"A dead child? They planted a dead child at the villa?" (Y/n) had to close her eyes and take in a deep breath. Her Aunt and Uncle were evermore being revealed as monsters to her. "Why go to that length just to take me in?"

"None of us had seen you in over three years so when we saw the child's body, we all assumed it was you," Machiavelli chimed in.

"But you had no idea that my mother had any family?" (Y/n) repeated again. Why had her mother hidden her past?

"No. She told us that she was an orphan from Vienna and moved to Forlì with her adopted father when she was young."

"She never mentioned Vienna to me as far as I can remember." (Y/n)'s brows furrowed. She could feel tears threatening her eyes but she kept them back as she took another sip of coffee, biting her inner cheek. If only Emma were there for the young woman to question her.

"What I still don't know is the connection between Emma lying about her past and why your Aunt and Uncle had her and Lorenzo killed." Volpe hummed.

"And why they killed an innocent child just to take me in. . ." (Y/n) added quietly, feeling guilt for whoever that nameless, faceless youth was. Whoever she was or would have been had died in her family's scheme.

"And, until now, the only thing you've known of the Assassins was what you found in the letter from my uncle." Claudia's brother added as he handed it back to her, having gone over his passed loved one's handwriting so many times.

"My Aunt and Uncle never mentioned it before. Originally, I thought it was because they didn't know but now I'm not so sure. . . It doesn't sit right anymore."

"There's definitely something deeper here. . ." Machiavelli pondered, walking away to the other room in order to think. (Y/n) put her cup of coffee down on the table beside her, no longer having an appetite for its bitterness. "Every time I go looking for answers, all I find is more questions." She sighed exasperatedly.

"And you will have them," Volpe spoke as he stood up, "You are Lorenzo's and he was like family to us, Emma became family in time too. We won't turn you away." She found herself smiling bittersweetly at this. On her journey, she felt that she had lost any sense of home so, while it was nice to be offered somewhere to stay, it felt painfully temporary.

"You may join our ranks." Ezio spoke up, causing some looks of surprise around the room, "Your family come from our Brotherhood and there will be a place for you here if you wish to take it. I'll give you all the time you need to make your decision."

An Assassin. He was right to give her time to make up her mind, it was a very big decision. It was a new life. Wasn't that what she wanted? Either way, she would definitely take her time on this one instead of jumping at every chance presented to her.

"Thank you," She spoke with a grateful bow of her head and she rose from her seat, "I'm aware that I've delayed your meeting, I'll let you get on." And she made her way back to the main hall where she found a bookcase and a pigeon cage with a carrier pigeon inside.

After a few times, stealing had come naturally to her but killing? Did she have it in her? She shook her head; she needed to know more about this cause before she even started on that train of thought. What about this brotherhood had stirred her mother's passion so much that she had revoked her own family? She turned to the bookshelf, seeing some scrolls tucked between the volumes here and there and decided to see if the papers held any answers for her.

⚜⚜⚜

Two months had passed since and she woke up to the sound of the door across her room opening, hearing footsteps go down the corridor. Emilio's heavy door was usually what woke her up in the morning. (Y/n) threw her arms upon her pillow, groaning as she stretched her back and then sat upright, reaching for her aching shoulders.

She had accepted Ezio's offer of becoming a recruit for the Brotherhood and she felt that she was making good progress. She was not yet trained enough to be called on in the field but she hoped that she would be promoted soon. Ezio was the Brotherhood's primary mentor but he was also a busy man which meant that the recruits often spent most of their training sparring against each other.

(Y/n) fought with her father's hidden blade which had been repaired with a little oil to restore its long-neglected mechanics. The training had definitely taken its physical toll on her: she had not been very athletic before so aches and pains after a long day came without fail but practise and a lot of torn muscles were making her grow more and more used to her new lifestyle. She got out of bed and tidied up the sheets behind her: it had been a skill she'd taught herself during her residence at the Assassin hideout after being raised with servants to do it for her throughout her life.

There were still aspects of (Y/n)'s life as a noblewoman that she didn't want to let go of though and makeup was one of them. It motivated her to get out of bed as soon as she awoke instead of staying curled up in the sheets and she simply didn't feel prepared for the day until it was complete. It didn't take her too long to apply the light powder across her face and neck along with the blush on her lower cheeks. She oiled her lashes, dusted her brows and dappled some lipstick to the centre of her mouth in a matter of minutes then got to weaving her hair into a braid around her head like a crown. Her previous braided style had proved impractical for training as she'd found that they would often hit her in the face if she turned quickly.

She pulled on her wine-coloured recruit robes and took a final glance at herself in the small mirror, touching her necklace to the two strings of pearls around her neck. Somehow those pearls made her feel like she had made the right decision - the pearls of her Assassin mother now being worn by her Assassin-recruit daughter.

(Y/n) had noticed that she was now the best free runner out of the other four recruits but she knew exactly why. As she made her way downstairs to raid the pantry for whatever fruit preserves were left, she reflected on her experience so far. The other recruits didn't trust her and they weren't very good at hiding it. They found her mysterious past daunting somehow and remained suspicious of her because of it. This often meant that she was excluded from sparring so she had been spending much more time running across the rooftops of Rome and (without others knowing) checking the carrier pigeons. She would often check on what sort of contracts were available so that she could grasp a better idea of what it meant to be an Assassin.

She ate her usual breakfast of a cup of coffee and a few slices of bread smeared with fruit preserve. By the time she got to the hall where the recruits would train, she found three of them already sparring, the fourth reading in the corner. She already knew that she wouldn't be included this day and decided to make her way outside instead, climbing up to the roof.

(Y/n) had made it routine to take the leap of faith from the top of the hideout now. She knew that only formally initiated Assassins were supposed to take the leap of faith but she had performed it in an escape from a rooftop archer two weeks ago and loved the thrill that came with it.

Landing in the haystack below, she left Isola Tiberina and made her way further north in the city, scaling a wall once the buildings were close enough to start running over. She liked to challenge herself too: using flag poles, tightropes, ledges and balconies to really expand her potential routes.

Once the afternoon came about and the sun was beating down from overhead, she decided to take shelter on a platform that was fairly sheltered by the taller building beside it, casting her in shadows. The coos of pigeons joined the urban ambience of chatter from the streets below. (Y/n) sat down on and leaned her back against the wall, looking at the view around her. That's when she noticed that there was an irregularity in the shadow of the wall behind her: the straight line was interrupted by a rounded figure. She silently but quickly turned around, keeping in a crouch, suspecting that it was a guard. But what she was met with instead surprised her and she got to her feet as the figure jumped down to join her.

"Mentore," She greeted as his taller figure approached her, gesturing for her to sit back down. She did and he joined her, one of his knees propped up with his arm resting over it. It had been quite a while since the recruits had seen Ezio in more than just passing.

"Recruits aren't supposed to do the leap of faith, you know." He started and (Y/n) opened her mouth to apologise so quickly that she had missed the tone of amusement in his voice, "But you did it well, fearlessly, as it should be done."

"I actually wasn't as afraid as I thought I'd be the first time I did it." She started, glancing at him as he looked across the streets of Rome, "But that probably had something to do with that fact that the guard had already shot two arrows at my feet and I doubted that he would miss a third time." This made the man beside her laugh heartily, "I do think that the first time should be more ceremonial but desperate times call for desperate measures."

"Have you been following me all day or did you happen to find me again?" She questioned, now knowing that there was the chance she had actually been observed all day.

"You'll have to find out the next time this happens." He replied and (Y/n) set her eyes back on the streets, the hot sun climbing ever higher into the sky. "You're much better at freerunning than the rest of the recruits." He praised.

"I just spend more time doing it." She bit her cheek, "They don't seem to trust me enough to let me train with them as much as I'd like." She could see him turn to face her from the corner of her eyes.

"They just have a lot of questions."

"So do I. . ." She shifted the way that she was sitting, bringing her knees up enough to rest her arms over them. "I've been at a standstill for a while in terms of looking for answers and now I'm worried that I won't be able to find anymore." She confided.

"Journys like yours can be long and they can stop and start at times," He began, "Believe me, I would know. I spent years hunting all the men involved in my family's murder: I was acting as an Assassin without knowing that my father was one, that my brother was to take over for him while I minded the bank. Now I'm the Assassin and Claudia is the one who knows how to handle our finances. Sometimes you just need to let yourself sit out for a while before you're able to keep on going."

"I heard about your family in Florence. . . People still talk about you." He hummed, a smile teasing his face then vanishing again.

"I made some irrational decisions when I was young. My first major kill was out in the open and I announced myself to the crowd after. I've been a wanted man for a long time." There was a silence. "Just promise me that you won't let this take you down a path of vain revenge. It'll only hurt you more." She could hear in his voice that he was speaking from experience still.

"I'm not entirely sure that I can promise that. My own family killed my parents, essentially kidnapped me and lied to me for years. I'm not sure if I can forgive that and I'm not sure that I can face them again. I know that the day will come when I'll have to but I just don't know if I can."

"This life will toughen you up whether you want it to or not. When the time comes, you'll be ready." He patted her shoulder as he rose to his feet. "Andiamo."

"Where are we going?" (Y/n) asked as she followed him across an archway to another roof, continuing to lead her east.

"To teach you how to better use that blade!" He called from ahead of her and a smile painted her face.

[emelywrites]

hiiiiii can u do dating hermione hc? i loved the lily hc sm<3

Hi, so happy you enjoyed it! Here you go!

Warnings: sad Hermione, fluff

Dating Hermione Granger would entail…

Meeting early in first year, before she becomes friends with Ron and Harry

You both not having any other friends prior to meeting

Bonding over school work, everyone else thinks you’re nerds

If you’re a Gryffindor: Spending time past curfew talking in your dorms until one of you falls asleep

If you’re in another house: Her being even more intent on spending all her time with you cause you aren’t in the same dorm

Enjoying quiet time in the library together

Silence never being awkward

Generally understanding each other with no words

Probably developing romantic feelings around fourth year when the rumours about her and Harry / her and Viktor come up

Assuring her that Rita Skeeter just craves attention and everyone knows it’s not true

Being a little disappointed when she goes to the Yule Ball with Krum

Finding her when she was crying on the steps

(Harry had probably found you and sent you to comfort her)

Her almost immediately stopping her crying and switching to silent tears and a few sobs

Looking up at you after a while and just staring into each other’s eyes

(Remember how I said you can communicate without words?)

Yeah, she kissed you and it got pretty heated

Pulling back after a few minutes before someone could comment

Subtle love declarations (not necessarily saying ‚I love you‘)

Her rubbing your back almost subconsciously

You leaning against her when you’re sitting/standing next to each other

Giving each other little gifts because you saw it and thought of the other

(Books, sweets, jumpers)

Her definitely stealing your clothes and not minding if you steal hers either

Her reminding you of every important appointment/exam/due date you may have, whether you remember yourself or not

(You sometimes wondering how she knew about some of them)

On that note, her also remembering every little detail you tell her about

Her being super-organized with both your and her stuff

Long conversations about the future

I imagine Hermione as kinda insecure (her Boggart’s failure) so it’d be great if you reassured her sometimes

Definitely celebrating each other, no matter how small the reason

Hermione being your biggest cheerleader

After you graduate:

You’d probably get married soon after graduation (if you want that)

She probably proposed to you in the post-war-haze

It’d be small but likely in the papers, you know, cause she’s famous

You’d live in a cozy apartment with a lot of chaos but Hermione insists there’s a system in there

All the books right in your apartment (It’s where the chaos stems from)

People coming to your place for advice

Hermione doing the intellectual aspect and you doing social aspects so it’s the perfect advice for anything really

We know Hermione went into politics 

You’d probably go in a different direction so you come home after not seeing each other all day

And you just cuddle and talk about your days

Cooking together but rarely hosting friends for dinner or generally food

Dancing together to the music from the radio

Her probably not having a proper taste in music so she doesn’t care what you listen to

Could be no music, she wouldn’t notice

She’s too focused on you

[prettyoddfever]

the Brixton shows (October 21-24, 2006)

here’s my Brixton tag + a playlist of fan videos 

Spencer told Rock Sound that “Just being able to have four sold-out shows [at Brixton] in a country that we had never even been to nine months ago is amazing. For us to be so young and have done stuff like that blows my mind.”

The UK fans had been rather upset that P!ATD used a plain stage for their first headlining tour there in April but then the US got such an elaborate summer tour. Some UK fans were hoping that the August shows would look like the “new” style, but once again P!ATD was back to the basics. So those fans were definitely happier when the band decided to recreate aspects of the summer tour for just the London shows during the October 2006 international tour.

Panic! at the Disco had originally announced 2 shows at the Brixton Academy, but those sold out so quickly that they added a third... and eventually a fourth. There was a little debate among British magazines, but most journalists said that this made P!ATD the third band in history to play four straight nights at Brixton. One of those other bands was The Rolling Stones. 

I’m not sure if P!ATD was initially planning on doing such an elaborate show on these nights when they first announced just two nights at Brixton back in May. But they ended up hauling most of their set across the Atlantic, including the moon, night sky backdrop, trees, light-up name, and even the giant windmill (their piano stayed behind, though). They also brought the three Lucent Dossier performers who had finished the last half of the summer tour (Roger, Dusty, and Katie Kay). I asked Dusty if it was weird to jump back into the show’s routine after being done for so long and if they had to practice everything again. She said:

Yes it was sooo weird jumping back in at Brixton and we did rehearse in advance to remember and refresh the acts. The craziest thing about Brixton was that our luggage was lost so we didn’t have costumes!! We had to shopping at local thrift stores and throw together what we could find. It was madness! There were some photos of those shows that came out in a local paper. Seeing the photos I thought, we look ridiculous but we made it happen! The show must go on!

The costumes were the main thing that was noticeably different from the summer tour. It sounded like Ryan intended to wear the rose vest at the Brixton shows, but he lost it in New Zealand after the first show of the international tour. It was a little odd at first to see their regular October stage outfits at Brixton in the summer tour setting, but I also think it’s neat how that helped create a recognizable show that was unique to that one stage. The UK fans seemed pretty thrilled with everything. A Danish webzine mentioned:

“Never before have I seen such genuine worship reaction from people in the Underground, near Brixton Academy or inside the venue than I saw today. It was nothing short of hysteria, as if everyone from ages 12 to 25 were all about to meet God in person. Some girls on the underground were repeating spasmic sentences to each other that made no sense and were shaking of excitement, while outside of the venue some post-puberty guys were almost fighting to get in sooner with desperate expressions on their faces.”

random excerpts I liked from some Brixton reviews: 

NME: “It’d be easy enough for the band to be sloppy and let the stage show do all the work, but these boys are seriously well drilled and aren’t here to slack off... this show is an unforgettable spectacle, and for the majority of this audience quite possibly the greatest night of their lives.”

Rock Sound: “Panic! at the Disco are one of the best live bands on the planet after just one album.”

RockFreaks.net: “It made Green Day and My Chemical Romance's stageshows seem amateurish... If you've ever seen the Queen musical "We Will Rock You" - this was at the level of that, a full broadway musical with theatrical elements scattered all around the crystal clear, fantastic songs. It's safe to say Panic! At The Disco raised the bar by a few thousand metres tonight for bands to come.”

Kerrang: “if a band are only as good as their drummer – in this case, Spencer Smith – then this band are very good indeed.”

(here are the Rock Sound & Kerrang scans)

OTHER RANDOM DETAILS:

Drive-By Argument had opened for P!ATD in the UK in August and they were back again at Brixton. The Sounds were still direct support, though. (I feel like I also heard something about I Was A Cub Scout opening at Brixton for P!ATD but idk if that really happened or not).

side note: some of the Brixton pictures also ended up in my general October tag from the international tour. 

Roger took pictures and did polaroids at these shows just like during the summer tour.

the 3 Lucent Dossier performers gave some of their larger props to a random fan after the last show (like the gold frame & the fans).

The same fan who took a lot of pictures during the Kerrang fan interview in August got Ryan’s set list from Zack at the Brixton show on the 22nd, so here’s what it said (the italics are the guitars. and I’m going to leave the typos that were on the original list):

INTRO – FIRE

TIME TO DANCE – FIRE

NYC – FIRE

APPLASE – FIRE

KARMA POLICE – FIRE

BRENDEN GRETCH – CAMISADO – FIRE 

BRENDEN GRETCH – NAILS – FIRE

LYING – FIRE

CABARAE – GRETCH

SINS – FIRE

TONIGHT TONIGHT – GRETCH

TOP HATS – GRETCH

JOHN GRETCH – ESTEBAN – FIRE/BANJO

BUILD GOD – GRETCH

here’s a clipping from Kerrang’s list of “100 Greatest Gigs Ever:”

[thecrownnet]

Photo from left: Charles Dance, Erin Doherty, Helena Bonham Carter, Peter Morgan, Olivia Colman, Tobias Menzies and Josh O’Connor attend the premiere of The Crown and tribute to Peter Morgan at AFI Fest in Hollywood.BY ARAYA DIAZ/GETTY

'The Crown' Boss Reveals Why Meghan Markle and Prince Harry Are Off-Limits

The Hollywood Reporter Aug 18, 2020

Creator and showrunner Peter Morgan shares the unofficial feedback he gets from the royal family and why characters based on Prince Andrew and others won't be making an appearance in the Emmy-nominated series: "I'm much more comfortable writing about things that happened at least 20 years ago."

Peter Morgan was nearing the end of a lengthy shoot for the upcoming fourth season of Netflix's The Crown when the coronavirus took hold in the U.K., halting production. While he was ultimately able to wrap the season with what they had, he still lost a couple weeks of filming. "I can see where the gaps are, but I'm hoping that you won't," says the showrunner, who adds that he feels "lucky" that they were able to get as far as they did. In the wake of the show's nine Emmy nominations, including one for best drama series, the London-based Morgan shares what caused him to change his mind about the number of seasons the show will run, the unofficial feedback he gets from Buckingham Palace and why present-day royal scandals are off the table.

How did you celebrate your Emmy nominations?

I'm not sure I did celebrate, to be honest. I mean, I was relieved. I'm not sure that relief is a celebration. This just feels like such a strange time. Jumping around punching the air and lighting cigars feels like something I look forward to doing again, but at the moment, it just would feel weird to be doing that.

Having lost a couple weeks of filming on the upcoming season, is there any chance that you could reconvene everyone once it's considered safe to do so and get those final shots?

In order to hit the release schedule for season four, we needed to start editing and lock episodes, which we've been doing throughout this time. And everything takes much longer under these new social distancing regulations and rules, [even post-production.] So if we'd, for example, waited until next month, when a number of people are starting to film again in late August, beginning of September, to pick up these extra scenes, I think a) everyone would have been out of the rhythm of it and it would have felt very strange, and b) I think it would have compromised our post schedule. And we had to weigh up, "Is it worth it or not?" And, actually, that we're still able to hit our release schedule in November for seasonal four has been worth it.

It was announced recently that the fifth season, the one you're currently writing, won't be released until 2022. Was that a decision impacted by COVID or was that always the plan?

It's a normal schedule for us because what happens is, as you've noticed, we filmed The Crown in two season chunks, so we had Claire Foy for two seasons, we've now got Olivia Coleman for two seasons. And there was a gap year in there in which I frantically do a draft of all the scripts, and then I re-write the scripts and polish the scripts after that — but at least we have a roadmap of where we're going for the two seasons. And I said that there was no way that I could possibly do that and be showrunning the seasons if they were in production. You do need a gap year to get ahead with the writing.

This year, you said that the show was going to run five seasons instead of the expected six, but you recently reverted to the original plan. Why the change?

That's me being exhausted, and the truth is people have just been so supportive and so kind. They were so kind to go with me on the five-season version. That was an act of generosity because it was always pitched as being six seasons and always imagined to be that. And then I think they just looked at the state I was in, which is a classic showrunner look. You look slightly green and yellow and you have bags under your eyes, and you look at least 10 years older than you actually are. At that point, people say, "Just let the poor man out of his misery." But then in the course of meeting the actors, they were all furious they were only getting one season. (Laughs.) They were like, "Well, that's not fair. How come Claire Foy gets two and Olivia Colman gets two and I only get one?"

Are you writing that next season with COVID protocols in mind or are you hoping that the virus will be a thing of the past by the time you're in production again?

I think so. I'm writing it exactly as I wrote it before. I'm making no concessions whatsoever in terms of international locations, in terms of extras, in terms of size. If anything, the show's getting bigger. So I am absolutely banking on there being not just a vaccine but that the vaccine has had global dissemination by that point.

What was the most challenging scene for you to write last season?

If there isn't a challenging scene to get on paper in every episode, I'm not doing my job. If it doesn't feel to me like I'm climbing without a rope, then I don't see [the point]. I remember in season one when Claire Foy comes back to find her father dead, she cries when she sees his dead body. And I said to everybody then, "This is the first and the last time we're ever going to see the queen cry. She will never cry again. There'll be many times where we imagine she's crying, but no tears come." When you have the queen in scenes of extreme emotion, those scenes are very difficult to write because she's not a person of extreme emotionality. So you're constantly having to find ways to make the audience cry without, as it were, the queen crying. In other words, it's all about inability and restraint and being blocked, because she herself is blocked because it's wrapped up in this package of being the queen — and the queen is in itself an abstract concept rather than Elizabeth Windsor, who she is underneath. So any scenes that really push to that are always a real challenge.

You've meet with royal aides to brief them on what's to come in the show. How do they typically respond, and what do you hope to get out of those meetings?

I meet on an entirely informal and impersonal basis with a couple of people who used to work at the palace and who I imagine still have contacts with the palace. It ends up as one of those rather ridiculous conversations in which everybody is slightly tiptoeing and saying something other than what they mean, but you're still finding a way of getting some information out while at the same time everybody has the most important thing, which is deniability.

Do they ever come to you and say, "No, it didn't happen this way," or "That isn't accurate"?

Occasionally they might come back and say, "I enjoyed certain aspects of the season," and by that I know that he or she probably means other people enjoyed that. And then they'll say, "There were one or two things that I personally found disappointing," which probably means that somebody else found them disappointing.

Does that feedback influence how you write the show at all?

No, nor would they want it to. No one's trying to censor me. No one's ever tried to correct what I do or censor what I do. No one wants anything to do with each other. I don't want anything to do with the palace and the palace wants nothing to do with me — again, so that we all have the most important thing, which is that they can say, "I don't know what they think they're doing." And we can say, "We have no interest in making them happy." That's really important because different people have different attitudes. Some people could say, "Oh my god, it's outrageous what The Crown has got away with saying," and other people could say, "The Crown could have said it a lot worse." So depending on your perspective, if you are a rapid anti-monarchist then no matter how critical I am, it will never be critical enough. And if you are really staunch establishment monarchist, then just about everything I say is pure treason. You will never make those two extremes happy. And there's no point even trying to. I only write what I want to write.

You've said the show won't get into modern royal subjects like Meghan Markle or Prince Andrew. Why?

I just think you get so much more interesting [with time.] Meghan and Harry are in the middle of their journey and I don't know what their journey is or how it will end. One wishes some happiness, but I'm much more comfortable writing about things that happened at least 20 years ago. I sort of have in my head a 20 year rule. That is enough time and enough distance to really understand something, to understand its role, to understand its position, to understand its relevance. Often things that appear absolutely wildly important today are instantly forgotten, and other things have a habit of sticking around and proving to be historically very relevant and long lasting. I don't know where in the scheme of things Prince Andrew or indeed Meghan Markle or Harry will ever appear. We won't know, and you need time to stop something being journalistic. And so I don't want to write about them because to write about them would instantly make it journalistic. And there are plenty of journalists already writing about them. To be a dramatist, I think you need perspective and you need to also allow for the opportunity for metaphor. Once something has a metaphorical possibility, it can then become interesting. It's quite possible, for example, to tell the story of Harry and Meghan through analogy and metaphor, if that's what you want to do. Because there've been so many examples in the past, whether it's Wallis Simpson or Edward VII, or whether it's Diana and Prince Charles. There have been plenty of opportunities in the past where there have been marital complications. There've been wives that have been married into the Royal family that have felt unwelcome and that they don't fit in. So there are plenty of stories to tell without telling the story of Harry and Meghan.

Interview edited for length and clarity.

[aion-rsa]

Why Tom Holland Was Terrified of Playing a Bank Robber in Cherry

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All of a sudden Tom Holland is everywhere. He’s got two movies out right now–the sci-fi thriller Chaos Walking and the drug/crime drama Cherry–and the latter is making its premiere on Apple TV+ this weekend after a limited run in theaters. He also recently wrapped production on the long-developing adaptation of the Uncharted video game franchise, and he’s currently working with director Jon Watts again on their third standalone Spider-Man adventure together, Spider-Man: No Way Home.

In Cherry, based on the best-selling semi-autobiographical novel by Nico Walker, Holland stars as the title character, a young Cleveland man who joins the Army after his girlfriend (Ciara Bravo) announces she is going away to college. He returns home from Iraq with PTSD, develops an opioid addiction, and eventually turns to bank robbery to support his habit.

The often harrowing film is directed by Anthony and Joe Russo, making it the first motion picture directed by the Cleveland-born brothers since 2019’s Avengers: Endgame. Cherry marks Holland’s fourth collaboration with the Russos, following Endgame, Captain America: Civil War (2016), and Avengers: Infinity War (2018), but his first time working with them without a superhero costume.

Cherry is also one of two recent movies, the other being last year’s grim The Devil All The Time, in which the British actor steps away from his generally sunny, innocent demeanor to take on a darker, more tormented character. We touched on that, working with the Russos, researching the world of addiction, and more–including little nuggets on No Way Home and Uncharted–when we hopped on Zoom recently with the young Mr. Holland.

Den of Geek: What did you respond to in the character of Cherry, as well as the script? What was your emotional and visceral response to his story?

Tom Holland: I think my initial response was that I was terrified of the idea of playing this character. It’s the type of role I’ve definitely never done before, and I was a little sort of apprehensive and questioned whether I could do it. Knowing that the Russo brothers were going to be there to support me through the job is what kind of tipped me over the edge into saying yes. But my initial response was, “I don’t think I’m the right person for this job because I don’t know if I can do that.”

You probably had a level of trust established with the Russos from working on the three Marvel pictures you did together. Did that make you feel comfortable right away?

Yeah. Absolutely. Still, I had that element of awe when it came to the Russos because they were the directors of the Avengers films, and I was still very much the new kid on the block when I was making those films. It was really nice for me to get to know them both on a more personal level and, obviously, that level of trust grew as the film progressed. It grew and it grew and it grew, and it’s now to the point where Joe and Anthony could ring me up, and I would be on set for them in a heartbeat. The trust between the three of us definitely grew.

How is their style of directing different on this? Was there more of a personal rapport because of the fact that they’re not dealing with the same kind of visual effects as in the Marvel movies or servicing 50 different characters?

I felt a little spoiled to be honest, because I was getting their utmost attention. But I mean, their direction style didn’t change in the way that they spoke to people, in the way that they addressed people, in the way that they treated people on set. But the style in which they would use the camera or the way they would get you to portray or work in a certain scene is very different because, obviously, it’s a very different type of film.

But from a logistical standpoint of how they made the film, they were basically the same two guys, just having fun. It’s nice to see two people who are so in love with cinema just having a good old play and figuring it out as they go along.

Was it interesting and maybe refreshing for you to do a film where you’re not in the Spider-Man suit for so much of the movie, and you’re not acting against a green screen?

Absolutely. Working on green screen and blue screens and wearing a spandex Spider-Man suit is amazing, and it’s awesome and I love it, but there’s something freeing about everything on set is what is in the shot, what is in the story. I don’t have to imagine anything, because everything is a tangible asset and is right there in front of me. It’s a different process, and I love both equally. But it was nice to kind of have a change of pace and dive into something a little bit smaller.

How was it working with Ciara on her first feature film? Was it easy to establish the rapport with her?

We were so lucky with Ciara. I remember when I watched her audition tape, when the boys had cast her, and they sent it to me just to say, “By the way, this is the girl who’s going to play Emily,” for the first time in my career, I was so intimidated. She just has this gravitas that she brought to the character in her take that was so amazing.

I was really excited to work with her and I was really happy when I found out that her and I were very similar and had a lot in common. We became very, very good friends, which was so valuable for us, because this film was such a difficult film to make, physically and emotionally. The fact that we got along so well meant that we could help each other through the process. She was like my emotional support person, and I was hers, and it was great. We were a little team.

Do you take a role like this, or something like The Devil All the Time, knowing that these are going to not just challenge you as an actor, but show a whole different side of you to an audience that maybe only knows you as Spider-Man?

I love playing Spider-Man, and I think it comes with its own set of challenges. I think sometimes people overlook that superhero films do require performance, a character arc, building up a backstory, an objective of where you want to go. It’s just these films are very different. They’re very different in style, but they’re not very different in the way that you make them. The process of making a film is pretty similar. They just spend less money, and it’s less blue screen. But, yeah. I enjoyed the sort of creative freedom of making a film a little bit darker.

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Did you get to meet and talk with Nico Walker? I know you did meet with some people with addiction problems, as well as some veterans.

I’ve never actually met with Nico. We were supposed to meet a few weeks ago, but for some reason, our schedules kind of got a bit jumbled up, and we couldn’t get together. But I hope to meet him. He’s obviously the one person that I’m really nervous about watching the film, because we took a portion of his life, and we turned it into this piece of art, and I hope it’s something that he likes.

But we did loads of research when it came to speaking to veterans and people suffering from PTSD and substance abuse, and it was so valuable in the making of this film, because I couldn’t have made this an authentic experience for the audience without having that information from those people. I’m very grateful that the men and women I spoke to were very open to talk about the things that they’d been through, which were sometimes very harrowing.

What did you learn that maybe you hadn’t known before and were able to apply to the part?

Wow. I could go on and on. I think one of the biggest things for me that helped drive a lot of the motivation in the scene was that once you’re hooked on heroin, all you can think about is getting more heroin. It was a really good kind of catalyst to tell these stories authentically. I think that was one of the most valuable things I took away from my research.

What was the most physically challenging aspect of the shoot?

The most physically demanding portion of the film was dope life, when I was losing all the weight, and I was skinny, and I was having to starve myself. And robbing the banks was tiring, because I was so weak from being so skinny and frail, I guess. So that would easily be the more physically demanding aspect of the film.

Apple TV+

You also play this character as he ages over 15 years. Is it fair to say this is the first time you’ve actually played a character who’s aged over that kind of span of time?

Absolutely. On The Lost City of Z, a James Gray film I did, there was quite a large progression in age, but I was no way the lead of that film. A lot of my stuff sort of happened off camera. Obviously in Cherry, you are with this character from the beginning to the end. That meant that I had to do a lot of the growing on screen, and it was difficult. It was tricky, because trying to play older, to me, felt very fake. That’s where I was so lucky to have my amazing makeup artist, Rachael Speke. She did a wonderful job of aging me up throughout the course of the film.

It was difficult, and I just had to trust the Russos and that they knew what they wanted and they were happy with what they were getting. But it wasn’t the easiest thing in the world to do.

Is that something that you would like to apply to other characters? As you continue to play Spider-Man, would you like to see him age a little more noticeably, if it’s appropriate?

Yeah. Peter Parker is a character that everyone knows and loves. It would be really interesting to sort of find a side to him that people haven’t seen before. Whether or not we do that, I don’t know.

What can you say about Spider-Man: No Way Home in terms of how it expands the MCU and how it evolves Peter’s character?

Well, there’s not really much I can say, obviously. What I can say is that I’m having the time of my life making it. It’s so fun being back with Jacob [Batalon] and Zendaya, and [director] Jon Watts. The film is incredibly ambitious, and I’m delighted to say that we’re succeeding in making it. It’s going really well. We watched a fight scene that we had shot a few weeks ago, and I’ve never seen a fight scene quite like it in the MCU. I’m really excited for audiences to see that.

You also just recently wrapped Uncharted. What do you think people will see in that if they’re not fans of the video game?

Well, an interesting idea and one that I really think lends itself to our film, is that when you watch a video game film–if you’re a fan of the games–I often wonder, “Why would you watch the film?” Because it’s less immersive. You can go and be that character. Why would I just want to watch that character?

But what we’ve got is we’re telling the prequel story of how the character, Nathan Drake, became this worldwide known character. For the fans that love the games, they’re getting an aspect of the story that they’ve never seen before. And the people that haven’t played the games are getting a really nice introduction to a character. It kind of works for everyone.

It’s a really fun film, and the action is amazing, easily some of the coolest action I’ve done so far. I had a lovely chat with Tom Rothman, the chairman of Sony, he saw the film, and he’s over the moon with it. If the boss man is happy, then everyone is happy. We’re really good.

Cherry premieres on Apple TV+ on Friday, March 12.

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