#since this is pre event you can pause it and/or we can even move it post event after the event

[vodika-vibes]

Oh ho ho ask and you shall receive.

Can I get a western au with Misfit and dealers choice on genre. Just at one point can I hug him. Thank you

Love oo

Better Place

Summary: After losing his career due to gross insubordination towards his Commanding Officer, Misfit finds himself moving back to the small ranching town he grew up in because he has no other options. He’s surprised when he realizes that this is his chance to heal.

Pairing: Pre Specialist Misfit (Clone OC) x F!Reader

Word Count: 2421

Warnings: Mentions of drug and alcohol abuse

Prompt: Western AU - though it doesn't really have a Western vibe, sorry.

Tagging: @trixie2023 @n0vqni @kimiheartblade

A/N: So, I had an idea, and I think I'm happy with it. Jango was a good dad to some of his children, but was a bad dad to others. Misfit, Hunter, Crosshair, Wrecker, Tech, and Sister are all the "undesirable" children, and I have ideas as to where they are, but I couldn't work it into the story.

“Here’s the Ranch,” Boba says to Misfit as he unlocks the door and walks over to a window to pull it open, “No one’s lived here since dad died, but I’ve had people coming out and keeping it clean. Everything is still in working order.” 

Awkwardly, Misfit lingers in the doorway, he pulls a cigarette out of his pocket and sticks it between his lips, though he doesn’t light it just yet. He watches Boba move around the kitchen, pulling open curtains and opening windows.

He hates this place.

He never wanted to return here.

Being in this house makes him feel like a child again. Unwanted. Unheard.

Ghosts of memories dance across his vision. He can see Jango—father— sitting at the dining room table, holding court with his favored sons: golden boy Boba. Ponds. Cody. Both sets of twins, Neyo and Bacara as well as Wolffe and Fox. The baby, Bly.

All the while, the less favored kids are left watching from the outside, in the hopes that they might earn an approving look from their father.

Not that they ever did.

He wonders if Jango regretted it, ignoring so many of his children, before the end. Misfit knows that he didn’t come and visit when he got word that Jango was dying.

He also knows that the other undesirable kids didn’t come either.

Knowing Jango, he didn’t even notice.

In any event, Boba inherited the ranch after Jango died. Though, it’s clear to Misfit that his older brother hadn’t actually stepped foot in the place since before Jango died.

It should make him feel better, the knowledge that Jango must be rolling in his grave since Boba’s just giving him the ranch. But it just makes him feel hollow and empty.

“Are you sure you want to just give me this place?” Misfit asks.

Boba turns to look at him, “We talked about this already, vod.” He leans against the counter, his arms folding over his chest, “The ranch is too far away from where I work.”

“We both know that Jango wouldn’t want me to have this place.”

“Yeah, well,” Boba shrugs, “Dad’s dead. What he does or doesn’t want is unimportant. He left the ranch to me, and I’m giving it to you.” He pauses, “The animals were sold after dad died, but I do remember that you never cared much for cattle or sheep.”

Misfit’s grin is slightly wry, Boba’s not wrong, that’s for sure.

“So, do you have any plans for the place?” Boba asks.

“Plant a garden, probably. Assuming the garden boxes don’t need to be repaired.” Misfit shrugs, “Turn the old barn into a workshop for my woodworking.”

“Oh, you’re still doing that?”

“I like working with my hands. It makes me less likely to turn to alcohol or drugs.”

Boba pauses and for a moment a pained look crosses his face, “I had heard…there are meetings in town for people fighting addictions. Support groups.”

“Yeah, I know.” Misfit pauses, “I already reached out for a sponsor.”

Relief washes across Boba’s face, “You have? That’s great.”

“Contrary to what you all seem to believe, I don’t actually like being high or drunk.”

“We’re just worried, Misfit.” Boba replies, “We thought you were going to get Court Martialed.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“You-” Boba exhales slowly, “Never mind.” He pushes his hair through his curls, “When I heard you were coming, I went out and bought some food for you.”

“Thanks.”

“It’s the least I could do. You’re still my brother.” Boba stops leaning against the counter and walks over to another window and ties the curtain open, “Honestly, I was worried I’d never see you again.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, the others…they’ve completely cut us off.” Boba says awkwardly. 

“Can you blame them?” Misfit asks as he finally steps into the house properly. He’ll have to redo the entire house to make it less anxiety inducing, but it’s always nice to have a project.

“No.” Boba admits, “Dad was great…for some of us. It took a long time for me to recognize that the way he treated you younger kids was…” He sighs and shakes his head, “None of you deserved that.”

“No, we didn’t.” Misfit agrees. “Anything else?”

Boba’s quiet for a moment, “I left my old motorcycle in the barn, you can have it. I can’t ride it anymore. The helmet and leather jacket are back there too. They’ll both fit you.”

“Thanks Boba,”

“You need a way to get around. It’s not super, you won’t be able to do a massive grocery trip, but it’s good enough.” Boba walks over to Misfit, and reaches out to grip his shoulder, “Listen, if you need anything, just give me a call. We’re family.”

Misfit stares at him for a moment, “Yeah, sure.”

“I mean it, vod.” Boba drops his hand, “I wasn’t always the best brother, but I’ve grown up since then.”

Misfit sighs and nods, “Alright, Boba. I’ll let you know.”

“Great. I’m going to get out of here, let you get settled.” Boba heads to the door, and then turns around to walk backwards, “Answer your phone when I call, Misfit. I mean it.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Then Boba is gone, leaving Misfit alone with his thoughts and memories.

His hands twitch, and he finally lights his cigarette, in the hopes that the familiar sensation will help him feel a little less like a child again. 

It helps settle him, a little bit, and Misfit starts poking his way through the house. It is in pretty solid condition, all things considered, he decides as he goes up the stairs.

The paint and wallpaper in the rooms are dated, but both are easily corrected. Besides, wallpaper is outdated as a whole anyway. 

The bedroom he used to share with Hunter, Wrecker, Tech, and Crosshair will probably be reworked into an office, Misfit decides as he peeks into his old bedroom. It needs a new coat of paint, and he’ll probably take the door off, to make it more open.

Misfit clicks his tongue and heads back downstairs. He finds a notepad and a pen in the kitchen, and then heads back upstairs, making a list of everything he’s going to need to make the house less nightmare fuel for himself.

As he heads out to the barn later, to make sure the motorcycle still works, Misfit can’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, this won’t be as terrible as he fears.

Three months later, Misfit thinks that he’s about as settled as he’s going to get. He has a dog, a mastiff he named Bull, and the entire house has been repainted so that it doesn’t look like the same house.

He managed to get his garden in, and rigged up the hoses to automatically water the plants on a set schedule (he had to get on a video call with Tech to hammer out the more finicky details when some of the coding didn’t work properly, but it works now and that’s the important thing.)

Misfit has even managed to repair the old fences so that Bull has free reign of the yard. 

All in all, this place feels more like home now than it ever did when he was a child. Even his relationship with Boba has settled into something safe and comfortable. 

They don’t talk about Jango. Ever.

But they get together once a week, have lunch or dinner together. It’s settled something, an old hurt, in Misfit’s heart. It’s nice to know that his older brothers don’t actually hate him.

It’s around that time when his neighbor across the street sells their home. The original owners, an older couple who used to babysit Misfit when he was a little kid, had been thrilled to see him again when he moved in.

But they are an older couple, so Misfit wasn’t surprised when they admitted that they were moving out. He also wasn’t surprised when they asked for him to come and help with a few repairs around their home before they sold it.

The new owner is a young woman around the same age as him. Though Misfit hasn’t met her yet.

The morning he meets her, he’s out in the front yard working on his garden, while also playing with Bull. In fairness, he doesn’t notice her first, but Bull releases a loud bark and tears over to the fence.

Misfit straightens from where he’s pulling weeds, and he whistles sharply. Bull immediately sits, though his entire body is wiggling with excitement. “Good boy, Bull.” Misfit praises as he pulls a cookie out of a pouch on his hip and passes it to the dog.

“He’s so well trained!” The woman standing at the fence says, her eyes wide as she looks from Bull to Misfit and then back again, “Did you train him yourself?”

“Had some help from my cousin.” Misfit says, “He’s a dog trainer here in town.”

“The one who visits every week?” She asks, “I saw him the other day.”

“No. That’s one of my brothers. Hound doesn’t visit often.” He pulls off his thick work gloves and sticks them in his back pocket, “Anyway, can I help you?”

“Oh! I was just coming over to introduce myself!” She holds out her hand, and introduces herself with a broad smile, “I just moved in, and I’ve been wanting to come and introduce myself, but you’re a hard man to catch.”

“I’m a pretty busy guy.” He pauses, “Misfit.”

“I…sorry?”

“My name. It’s Misfit.”

Her lips part, “Oh. That’s…not really a name.” She finally says.

“You get used to it. There’s a bunch of us Fetts around here with names like that.” Misfit replies with a shrug, “You get used to it.”

She frowns slightly, and then her smile returns, “So, you take care of all this land on your own?”

Misfit pulls a cigarette from behind his ear and lights it, “Pretty much.” 

“The previous owners told me that you hand carved the railing in my home,” She bubbles excitedly, “Is that true?”

“Yeah. I make furniture and stuff for a living. Never been much for farm work.” Misfit pauses, he looks at her eager face, and then sighs, “Would you like to come in?”

“Only if it’s not too much hassle,” She replies sheepishly, “I’ve never met someone who can make furniture with their own hands.”

Misfit sighs and pushes the gate open, moving to the side to let her into his yard. “How do you think furniture gets made?”

“Uh…in factories?”

“Sure, if you want cheap things that’ll break in a year, I guess.” Misfit motions to Bull, “My dog, Bull. Let him sniff your hand before you try to pet him.”

He waits until Bull decides that she’s boring, before he leads her around to the barn. “This used to be an actual farm, then?” She asks as she looks up at the, recently painted, barn. “I thought these came in red?”

“I painted it because I don’t like red.” Misfit says as he slides one of the barn doors open, “And yeah, it was a farm for years. It’s only in the last couple of years that there haven’t been animals living here.” He moves to the side as three cats sprint out of the barn.

“You have cats too!” She asks, excited.

“They’re strays. They keep the mouse population down, so I’m happy to feed them.” He pushes the other barn door open, and gestures vaguely towards his workshop. 

“Oh, it smells nice!”

“That would be because that shelf is made of cedar.” Misfit replies as he steps around her and goes over to his workbench, “It’s for my brother. His bookshelf collapsed because of too many books.”

“You’re a good brother,” She sounds marveled. 

“Nah. I’m making him pay me for it.” Misfit says, “He’s a professor at an Ivy league university, he can afford it.”

“So if this used to be a ranch and now isn’t, what are you doing with all of the land?” She asks, curious.

“Planting trees.”

She laughs, and then pauses, “Wait, really?”

“Yeah, really.”

She blinks at him, twice, and then she grins. “Wow, you’re like, the whole package, aren’t you?”

“...what?”

“It’s just,” She flushes, “You’re handy,” She gestures to the shelf, “You’re good with animals, you care about the environment and you’re close to your family-”

Misfit stares at her, blankly, “I have a dishonorable discharge from the military, and am in recovery for both alcohol and drug addictions.” He says flatly, “The only reason I’m allowed to live here is because no one else wanted to, and they don’t care what I do with it.”

She shakes her head, “Addiction is an illness! Not a moral failing! And your brothers clearly love you enough to give you all of this.”

“...you’re very kind, but I promise I don’t deserve it.”

She scowls at him, and takes several large steps towards him, and wraps her arms around his waist in a tight hug.

Misfit’s hands raise to hover over her shoulders, unsure what he’s supposed to do in this situation. “Um…”

She doesn’t pull away, “I don’t know who told you that you’re not deserving of basic kindness, but they’re wrong.” She tightens her arms around him, “You’re a good guy. Bad guys don’t take care of animals or worry about the environment or take time out of their busy day to humor someone’s curiosity.”

Misfit sighs and lightly places his hands on her shoulders, and pushes her away gently, “Thank you. I’m not the best at taking compliments, but…thank you.”

She smiles at him, her face slowly turning red in embarrassment, “You’re welcome! But you must think I’m so weird-” She says with a sheepish laugh.

“Weird isn’t so bad.” Misfit replies as he turns his attention away from her. He hesitates for a moment, considering something, before he looks at her again, “So…I’m holding a cookout this weekend, with my brother and my cousins and their partners. There’s going to be a bunch of people here, if you want to come over and meet some people.”

“Ah! Really?”

Misfit shrugs, “It’s not easy being the new person in town.”

She beams at him, warm and wide, “And you think you’re a bad guy.”

And Misfit looks away from her, his ears burning.  He’s not sure if he’s a good guy, exactly, but…maybe he could try to be. If only to keep her smiling at him like that.

[percontaion-points]

5 Survive chapters 27 & 28

Click to see the rest of the snark & image descriptions

Click here for the rest of the series!

Chapter 27

“Oliver, we have to,” Reyna replied, hardening her voice, a warning in there too. “We have to. This could be about us. About what we did.”

Chapter 27 summary: They start fighting about there being an inside person, helping Mr. Sniper. However, it’s pretty obvious that everybody thinks that Oliver is off his goddamned rocker with this one. He starts talking less and less sense. Eventually, he demands that Red strip in front of everybody to prove that she’s not wearing a wire. Simon and Arthur tell Oliver to knock it out. Then Oliver demands that everybody put their phones into a pot, which he then secures in place using tape, before putting the entire thing inside of the oven. 

Finally, Reyna says she thinks that this could be because of “what we did”. So probably not pregnancy. 

Chapter 28

“It was in January,” Reyna said, burying her hands inside her sleeves. “When we went back to college for the semester. We—” 

“—I’ll tell the story,” Oliver cut her off. “You won’t tell it right. You won’t…I’ll do it.”

[...]

“And he’s bothering Reyna,” he said. “He’s up in her face, talking to her. He’s even holding her by the arms. And Reyna’s trying to break free, push him away.” 

A silent tear fell down Reyna’s face, pooling at the crack in her lips. 

Oliver: Stop talking! You don’t tell the story right!

Oliver: *proceeds to mansplain about how a woman got sexually harassed by another man*

“So, of course, I run over and tell this random guy to get lost, to stop bothering my girlfriend. And then this guy, he turns to Reyna and he says, ‘Am I bothering you?’ So Reyna, of course, says that yes he is.” 

Red was watching Reyna, and maybe she was wrong, but she thought she saw the slightest movement in Reyna’s head, moving side to side. Reyna stopped when she noticed Red’s eyes. 

“So I pull Reyna away from the guy and I tell him to leave her alone,” Oliver said. “And then this guy loses it. He shoves me and I’m asking him what his problem is. And then he hits me, punches me right in the face.” He paused, sharpening his focus on Maddy. “He hit me first, that’s very important. He hit me first.”

Okay, now Reyna gets to tell her version of events.

Something tells me that it’s going to be a VASTLY different event. 

“I’m sorry, Oliver,” Reyna said, voice croaky and raw, a new tear dancing down the lines of her face, in and out of the other tracks. “He wasn’t a random guy. I knew him.”

Chapter 28 summary: Reyna begins to speak, but then Oliver silences her. Thinks that she’s too stupid for her to properly tell a story in which something happened TO HER. Oh, Oliver doesn’t say it like that, but he heavily implies it. Which I think makes it worse.

Anyway, one night in January, he and Reyna were chilling at a bar (which they can do because they’re over 21 and in college). There’s this guy who’s been eyeing Reyna all night, but Oliver is like “But she’s hot, so I get it.” The night goes on, and they forget about the guy. 

As they go to leave the bar, Oliver realises he forgot his scarf inside, and goes back to get it. It takes a while, since somebody had turned it into the lost and found area. When he comes out, he finds the same man from the bar talking with Reyna. 

Oliver obviously freaks out and gets into the man’s face. Insists that the man hit him first. So Oliver swung back. But hit him too hard, and he went down. They were debating calling 911 when the man woke up and got up. Oliver and Reyna leave. 

A few days later, Reyna was doing a tour of the hospital (I guess she’s pre-med, or maybe in nursing school? The narration is unclear about this), when one of the nurses told them that a patient died earlier. It was the guy from the bar. He’d died from a brain-bleed. 

Oliver says that since nobody came to talk to either of them, they figured that there hadn’t been any security cameras around the bar to show the fight. That he was hardly going to confess when he himself had a good law career ahead of him. Notably absent is Reyna’s future, and how this would make her look bad, too. 

Maddy randomly asks how old that this guy had been, but Oliver doesn’t know, nor does he seem to care. However, Reyna says that he was 22… And that she knew him. Which… I figured that Reyna had a completely different event than the one Oliver described. 

[kryptonitejelly]

a flyboy! blurb - pre-flyboy!era, something more from Jake’s POV. where jake goes on a mission and you always notice when he is gone.

-

Jake runs a hand across his face as he settles back onto his bed in the small windowless ship cabin, his body leaning against the cool wall that flanked one side of his bed, legs dangling over the edge. His body was tense, tired from the ruthless flying of the day. He had taken a shower to cool off after the debrief, but his body still felt warm, overheated to the touch. Every mission they went on was physically demanding, exhausting - because it was a literal fight for your life and the lives of everyone you went with, but more so, it was often mentally taxing. Jake loved flying, loved the thrill, but every now and then there would be one mission that got to him more, that tired him from the inside out.

He reaches over, sticking a hand under the single pillow at the head of his bed, pulling out his phone which he had flipped face down and hidden - a strange ritual of his before every mission. Jake wasn’t entirely sure why he did that, but there was something about the thought of someone walking into his cabin if he didn’t make it back alive, picking up his phone and gaining access to every facet of his personal life that bothered him. It was stupid of course, because in the event he didn’t make it back, they would find the phone, it would have just been a matter of time - but hiding it, as childish as it was, made Jake feel as if allowed him to keep what was personal to himself personal for longer.

The phone screen lights up as soon as he flips it over, and Jake’s thumb swipes along the notifications that litter the brightly lit rectangle. It hadn’t been that long since he had seen his phone, from pre-mission briefings to post-mission debriefs it had been a little over 12 hours, give or take, but it had felt like an eternity. Jake’s thumb pauses when he finds what he is looking for, clicking into the chat which he has with you. He had never stopped texting you no matter where in the world he was, but his replies had been more sparse in the days leading up to a mission, as they always were. He allows himself a small smile as your chat with him fills the screen, the last picture you sent him, which he had seen before heading out, coming into view - one of your freshly manicured nails painted in a light, almost nude shade of pink. His eyes flicker to the new messages below, eyes devouring your words which pepper his screen.

Thank the heavens. They are finally making blueberry muffins again.

I see mister-wears-a-fancy-watch-to-workout in the gym again. He has his eyes on a new target again today; one of those yummy mummy types it seems. Will he succeed? Stay tuned.

Update: He made a move, they are talking by the smoothie bar.

She’s left, but she made it a point to wave goodbye. I guess we wait for episode 2.

Hey. I think you are out one of those missions now. You know, those things you do. You never tell me when (I know, top secret), but I can always tell - you don’t respond as much in the lead up, and then you go completely silent for a day. You think you’re sneaky, but you have patterns Mr Seresin.

The sentence makes Jake chuckle before he reads on.

I just want you to know - I know when you are gone, I miss you during the time, your lack of annoyingness becomes a painfully obvious quiet.

Oh and you better make your way back to me each time.

I hope you know that.

It isn’t an option.

So don’t even think you have a choice in this.

The chuckle on Jake’s lips morphs into something else entirely, a soft smile, which is accompanied by a deep throb in his chest and the feeling of butterflies twisting themselves around in his stomach. His eyes run over your words again, the phrase “make your way back to me” playing on repeat in his head in your voice. Jake knows exactly what he is feeling - it is exactly the same thing he has felt around you, with you, and for you, all these years.

“Oh baby,” Jake mutters to himself lowly, words mushed together - it wasn’t something he had ever called you out loud, and yet uttering it like this, having the words fall off his tongue felt so natural.

He brings his fingers up to the screen, tapping swiftly away at the keyboard, before he sends a message back.

J: I didn’t know you were the boss of me now.

His words at joking, and Jake doesn’t expect you to reply, but he sees three moving bubble float across the bottom of the screen - a signal you are typing. He glances at the top left of his phone screen, doesn’t even need to calculate to know that you are up way too late (or early) in your time.

I’ve always been the boss of you Seresin. Always will be.

He smiles, heart warming as your reply pops on screen.

J: You should be asleep.

You don’t get to order your boss around Seresin.

He starts to type a witty response, but you beat him to it.

I’m glad you’re back and safe.

Jake feels a warmth burst through his chest, escaping like a rush of water from a dam, flowing through his veins.

[no-phrogs-in-hats]

If I Could Turn Back Time

Larissa Weems x Fem!Reader

A/N: This fic is cross-posted on Wattpad and Ao3

Chapter 3

“You don’t have to see the whole staircase, just take the first step.”

— Martin Luther King, Jr.

First period had started ten minutes before as I rushed into the building. The halls were void of students and staff, and the only sound was the squeaking of my coffee-sodden shoes on the white tiles. 

Every head in the classroom shot up from their phone as I burst through the door, setting my bag down and taking out the soaked papers to dry. “I am so sorry, guys!”

“Miss Foster,” one kid said. “Is that coffee on you?”

I paused and stared at them like a deer in headlights. “Um–uhh…yeah.” I began to set up my desk–booting up my computer, filing away papers, trying my best to not cry at the feeling of wet socks–while simultaneously trying my best to form a coherent response. “Little accident at the Weathervane. I ended up spilling all of my latte on me…and another customer.”

I took a deep breath and fixed my shirt, sighing as I tried to gather my thoughts, but something–her–she lingered in the back of my head. Larissa. Not even ten minutes together and her eyes, her smile, her very person was already imprinted in my mind. “Okay–uh…what class is this again? First period? Right, okay. Where’d we leave off yesterday?”

“The intro to the Russian Revolution of 1917,” a girl in the back answered.

“Right!” I moved to the white board and took a marker, drawing a long line with dashes here and there. When the timeline was built, I began to lecture the students, smiling to myself when turned away from them, knowing that they had no clue I had first hand experience with the subject at hand.

“Okay, the Russian Revolution…” I started. “As we learned yesterday, the revolution was initiated in February of 1917. The first revolt was centered around the capital at the time, Petrograd. This would later become Saint Petersburg. Tsar Nicholas II eventually stepped down from the throne after being convinced by the high ranking military officials that in doing so, the mutinies and turmoil would subside. This would allow the new government, led by the Russian Duma, to take over, and this becomes the Russian Provisional Government.” 

I looked across the sea of students all looking at the board, some taking notes, and one trying to not fall asleep. “Can anyone tell me what was a major contributing factor to the 1917 revolution?”

A girl in the back shot her hand up quickly. “Oh! The Russian Revolution of 1905.”

“Good!” To know that at least one of my students was paying attention and that I wasn’t talking to the wall always filled me with hope–especially in a town like this. “As we learned last week, the events of Bloody Sunday caused a lot of upheaval. If you turn to page 276 of your textbook you can see a primary source image of propaganda from 1905, and if you turn to page 301 you can also see a comparison of the multiple revolutions Russia had pre-World War One and throughout…”

The soft glow of lamplight encases the living room as the TV plays quietly in the background. I scan over tests, marking each incorrect answer and unfortunately recording more D’s than A’s. 

I glance at my phone. It had been an entire day since I spilled coffee on Larissa. I had no idea who she was or what she did for a living, but scenarios crossed my mind as to why she hadn’t reached out yet.

What if she was just being polite?

What if she wants nothing to do with me?

I barely know this woman and I’m already craving her approval and attention.

What the hell is wrong with me?

I don’t even know her last name and I’m already clinging to her.

It had been three days since the incident and now I was convinced Larissa wanted nothing to do with me. I stood in line at the Weathervane, staring off into space. As I stepped up to the counter, I smiled and placed my order before moving off to the side to wait. But once again I was a complete idiot.

“Wow, I really need to start looking where I’m going,” I huffed after running straight into her.

The softest smile from her sent butterflies through my chest. It was incredible, the effect this woman had on me. “Well, at least there was no coffee this time.” 

Larissa’s giggle was the sweetest sound to grace my ears. 

“Oh, by the way,” she continued. “I just wanted to apologize for not messaging you sooner. I’ve been quite busy recently.”

I smiled back, relieved it was all in my head. “That’s fine! I completely understand. I’m a history teacher at Jericho High School, so I’m well acquainted with ‘busy’.”

Larissa paused for a moment. “Would you want to sit down with me? I have some free time so I didn’t order my coffee as takeaway.”

“I would love that,” I said after taking a second to think. “But, unfortunately, I have to be at work in fifteen minutes.”

I could’ve sworn there was a look of disappointment in Larissa’s eyes. The blue hue grew ever so slightly darker and her smile faltered briefly before widening. “That’s quite alright. Your students come first.”

“Well,” I chuckled. “More like my need to pay the bills comes first. The students can be a pain in the rear, but you do have a point. The students are our future. And to have a better future they need a good education.”

The entire day I couldn’t stop thinking about her. It got so bad to the point where I actually had to give one of the classes a free period. “I need to catch up on grading,” I told them. 

What a lie.

I spent the entire time thinking about Larissa. How her hips swayed when she walked. How her perfect red lips would curve into the sweetest smile. And how her eyes could tell you every emotion she ever had. 

“Miss Foster?” 

“Miss Foster?”

A voice brought me from my trance and I looked up at the girl. How long had she been standing there? “Oh god. I’m sorry, Macy. What can I help you with?”

“Well, I just had a question about this section of the assignment you gave us yesterday…”

As she explained her problem it was hard to focus. Out of the corner of my eye I could see my phone screen light up with a text. My heart practically burst at the unknown number and suddenly, for the time ever, I didn’t want to help a student. 

But, I did. I answered her questions, and I helped her answer an essay prompt about the early civilization lesson we were going over. As soon as she sat back down I picked up my phone, and sure enough it was Larissa.

‘I was just wondering if you’d be available to go to dinner tomorrow night? A new restaurant opened up in the square, and I’ve been meaning to try it.’

Dinner. She does want to go to dinner. 

‘And what about the dry cleaning?’

‘The lady said she couldn’t do anything about it. The fabric was too light.’

Figures. 

‘I’m available anytime after 4.’

‘Is 5:30 okay?’

‘Sounds perfect. I’ll see you then.’

I don’t think I had ever been so impatient in my life until then. It was less than a day away and my heart was already fluttering uncontrollably, and it felt like years before the final bell of day had rung, dismissing the students from class.

[lucacangettathisass]

How The Light Gets In 2.0 (3)

SUMMARY: After your home is ransacked by a group of strange men, you and your cousin are taken in by a group of outlaws. And that’s when the trouble really starts.

PAIRINGS: John Marston x Fem!Reader, Arthur Morgan x Fem!Reader

CHAPTERS: One, Two

Tagging: @ghastlyrider @rommies @janebby @wedonttalkabouthenry if anyone would like to be tagged lmk!

NOTES: So this where more major edits will be happening as I try to actually match events in the game with the events in the fic, as I got some things mixed up last time. You will all also get to see a pretty big change from the original story *eyes emoji*, I hope you all like it! I highly recommend installing the Interactive Fics chrome extension if you haven’t already so you can use it to change ‘[Name]’ and ‘[Last Name]’ to your actual name! Shout out and god bless to the maker(s) of that extension!

“Now, let’s see how well these clothes fit.” Miss Grimshaw said, holding up the garments.

The men politely turned around, in order to better preserver yours and Sadie’s modesty, but the idea of being undressed in the presence of strange men still made you flush terrible, and that feeling of mortification more than the cold made you rush to get dressed.

In the end it turned out that Miss Grimshaw had guessed rather well, as Sadie had a similar body type to Miss Gaskill. Unfortunately, while she no doubt went with Miss Jones for you as it appeared the two of you had similar proportions, it turned out that your bust was heavier and your hips wider, which only served to cause you embarrassment.

“We’ll have to get you somethin’ that fits better once we’re off this mountain.” Miss Jones said, handing you a coat to make you warmer, and to cover up the rather embarrassing amount of your chest that was on display.

“I’ve always had a little trouble finding clothes that fit.” You said, wrapping the coat around you. “It’s just one of those things.” You smiled, doing your best to hide just how insecure this frustratingly persistent issue made you. As a child you were “awkwardly shaped”, as so many put it. Of course you knew what that really meant, and the phrasing only served to make you uncomfortable whenever going to get clothes.

You settled back down beside Sadie, feeling much better now that you were wearing something warm. You truly were surprised at the kindness these people were showing you and Sadie, considering that they were meant to be outlaws, and you felt awful for prejudging them, especially since you’ve had to deal with people’s pre-convinced judgements of you all your life.

“So, if you don’t mind me askin’…” Miss Gaskill looked between you and Sadie. “What…what happened?”

Immediately you looked over at Sadie to gauge her reaction, and see if she wanted to speak. But she just continued to stare into the fire, face empty.

You gently placed a hand on hers and squeezed it. “Those men, the O’Driscolls, they said they just wanted some shelter. So we, well, Jake and I, we let them in.” You paused as a lump started to form in your throat and a startling realization came to you.

You were partly at fault for what happened.

If you had been as skeptical as Sadie and vetoed Jake’s decision with her, then none of that would’ve happened. You would still have a home, and Sadie would still have a husband.

“And, well.” You tried to swallow the lump in your throat down, but it refused to move, forcing you to try and speak around it which only resulted in you sounding strangled. “I’m sure you can guess the rest.”

There was a heavy silence after you spoke, and you could feel the pity radiating off the others, and even noted the Reverend crossing himself. Even little Jack seemed upset, although you weren’t entirely sure if he understood just what was being discussed. If he did, that would just make it all even worse.

‘Lord Jesus have mercy me.’ You silently prayed. ‘On all of us.’ You would need to get a new prayer rope.

“We’ve lost some people too.” Miss Jackson said sadly. “We don’t even know where two of them are.”

“I’m sure Mac and Sean are fine.” Miss Jones said. “They always find a way.”

Knowing that some of them had hope made you smile and warmed your heart. You looked up at one of the windows and saw that the snow had eased up a little, and it looked like you would actually be able to walk through it without much difficulty.

“I’m going to check on Gladys.” You told Sadie. “I won’t be long.”

She only nodded, and you squeezed her hand before excusing yourself and venturing outside.

The stark contrast between the shelter and relative warmth of the house you had just been in and the open cold of the outside immediately made goosebumps form all over your body, but you ignored them and trudged your way to the snow to Gladys, who had remained hitched to the hitching post, much to your surprise.

“How you doing girl?” You asked gently, stroking her dark mane.

She whinnied, gently nudging your face.

“I know.” You said softly, doing your best to soothe and ease her. “I don’t know how much longer we’re gonna be here, but hopefully it won’t be too long.”

Gladys snorted, sounding a little skeptical to you.

“It never hurt to have hope.” You pointed out. You stroked her long face, fingers gliding along the black patch that formed a mask like pattern around her eyes. “Things are going to be different from now on girl.” You said softly. “These people were nice enough to take us in and it looks like we’re going to stay with them for a while, so you behave, ok?”

Gladys snorted again and stomped a hoof, but she still nuzzled her nose against your cheek, making you giggle. “Thanks girl.”

After a few more minutes of bonding, you returned to the house, and upon entering saw Miss Roberts engaged in what appeared to be a pressing conversation with Mr Morgan.

“Arthur please!” Miss Roberts pleaded, clearly desperate. “It’s been too long already!”

But her pleas fell on deaf ears as Mr Morgan warmed his hands by the furnace.

You looked up and noticed another man leaning against the window. He was wearing a rather charming bowler hat and what appeared to be a thick shawl of some kind that covered his shoulders and chest. He brought a lit cigarette to his mouth, pausing when he spotted you.

His dark eyes slowly raked over you, starting from your feet, all the way to the top of your head, before going back to your face. His gaze was hard to read, something you’re not used to, but you could still feel the intensity. He brought the cigarette to his mouth again, slowly, eyes never leaving yours.

You felt your face flush with nerves and you looked away, back at Miss Roberts and Mr Morgan.

“I’m sure Marston is perfectly fine Abigail.”

Marston?

The name sent a jolt down your spine, and you could feel all the hairs on your body standing up.

“Just-please Arthur.” Miss Roberts clasped Mr Morgan’s arm, face desperate. “Please.”

Mr Morgan held her gaze, stoic and impassive.

“Come on Arthur.”

You looked back at the other man as he crushed the cigarette with his boot. “If it was the other way around, I know he would look for me. And you.”

That seemed to get to Mr Morgan, as he sighed heavily, closing his eyes. “Fine.” He grumbled. “Gonna need a horse though.”

“You can take Gladys.” It took you a moment to realize that the words had come out of your own mouth. You cleared your throat as all eyes fell on you, and you felt yourself flushing again. “I-I don’t mind. And she’s confident with this environment, she won’t let you down Mr Morgan.”

The older man looked just as surprised as you felt at your offer. “Ya sure?”

“Of course.”

He seemed to consider this, before sighing once again. “’Preciate it.” He looked back at Miss Roberts. “We’ll be back.”

And with that he and the other man left, with the latter giving you one last glance.

“Who was that with Mr Morgan?” You asked as soon as the door closed.

“Javier Escuela.” Miss Grimshaw replied. “He’s from Mexico.”

“And seemed awfully interested in you young missy.” Mr Uncle chuckled with a warm smile.

“Oh I very much doubt that.” You replied.

“Who’s the Marston they were talkin’ about?” Sadie asked softly, startling all of you.

“John Marston. Jack’s father.” Miss Roberts sat down by the furnace, pulling her son into her lap. “He’s been missin’ for two days, and, well...” She cast her gaze downwards. “I just want to know if he’s ok.”

You tried to tell yourself to remain calm. John Marston is a perfectly common name, it doesn’t mean anything. Not in the slightest.

You glanced over at Sadie, only to find that she was already looking at you, face hard. “I suppose we’ll find out, one way or another.”

You looked away.

[yasminxmoreno]

"You act like Kendall is going to be mad at little ole me," Yasmin teased, placing a hand over her heart as if she was absolutely offended by his statement. "Honestly if it hasn't been thirty years yet, it feels like it," she laughed with a shake of her head. "Okay, wow, way to make me feel super, super old." Yasmin wrinkled her nose with the thought. "I cannot believe that. I'm still convinced she's just a baby." Time really did fly by. "Good choice," she smiled a thank you as he ordered two of the martinis.

"If we get too drunk tonight, I'm blaming you when Kendall gets upset with me" he joked, smiling back at her. "You really should, it's been what- like 30 years?" he exaggerated, but it honestly wasn't too far off from the truth. "Pretty soon my daughter is going to be the same age that you were when I met you- isn't that crazy?" he said, finding that statement hard to believe himself. "Ooh raspberry martini, that sounds good" he said before ordering two of them, one for her and one for him. He was usually more of a wine drinker at home, but when he went out he liked to treat himself to something different.

[vendettaparker]

What a Dumbass [P.P]

Summary: Peter’s mistake leads to you being injured. 

Pairing: Peter Parker x Avenger!Reader

Word Count: 2.1K

Warnings: Swearing, like a substantial amount, suggestive content kinda, gun shot wound, and flustered!Peter 

a/n: I really liked writing this. I couldn’t stop laughing at some of the dialogue. and the mistake peter made to cause the whole set-up of the story is so funny to me. like i can legit see him making this mistake. also, i’m gonna make a permanent tag list, so please send me an ask or message me if you want to be on it! <3

        ─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

     Peter Benjamin Parker is a fucking dumbass. All the time mostly. Most of the time his dumbassery leads to a lot of annoyed avengers, a lot of clean up, and a lot of spilled secrets. Hence why like three people who definitely shouldn’t know he is Spider-man do. But every once in while his idiocy can lead to an unexpected happily ever after, at least until he fucks something up again. 

     This particular fuck up has yet to be determined as a happy accident or your new 13th reason. It all started when that spider bitch decided it’d be a good idea to watch some explicit content on his laptop. Now, this wasn’t particularly an unknown activity for him to partake in, since we all know about his little impromptu purchase in Germany, but unbeknownst to this dork, his aunt was in the next room over working on a tear in his suit. And to make matters worse, he accidentally just so happened to purchase a subscription using said aunt’s credit card that was pre-setup in his laptop. 

     Now May is a very understanding woman. Very sex-positive, very loving, and inclusive; the whole shebang really. So when she happened to catch this idiot doing what he most certainly shouldn’t have been doing, she wasn’t mad, just thoroughly disturbed. Then she got the notification about the purchase. That was a bit more taboo in her eyes. So Peter was grounded from patrolling for a week and his laptop privileges were revoked for two weeks. That was fucking merciful compared to what this whole fuck up put you through. 

     At the school that following Monday, Peter spent the whole first, second, fourth, and lunch period trying to convince you to take over patrol for a week. Sure, you could definitely handle it, not to pat yourself on the back or anything, but you were significantly stronger than Peter, so it shouldn’t have been that big of a deal. But you just really didn’t want to. Peter had his ‘Peter Tingle’ to help him find danger, while you’d actually have to look. It just seemed harder for you to do than it would be for him. 

     “Why are you even grounded?” You sighed after Peter's 3rd time bringing up the possibility of you patrolling for him at lunch. 

     “He got caught watching and buying p—” Ned started laughing.

     “Ned! Shut up!” Peter yelled, slapping his hand over his friend's mouth. 

     “How has your identity not been leaked yet, Jesus Christ.” You mumbled, giggling. You flipped through your chemistry textbook, writing notes to prepare for Friday’s quiz. 

     “Yeah, and how come you didn’t know May was home?” Ned pushed Peter’s hand away. “Where was your ‘Peter Tingle’ then?” 

     “She’s not a threat, dude. But shit, I really wish my tingle detected her.” Peter groaned, a deep blush covering his features. “Please (Y/N). I really, really don’t wanna leave Queens without any protection for a week. I’ll try to convince May to let me go out on the weekend, so really it’s only five days.” 

     “I guess I could help you out, but you owe me. I should really spend this time studying for my chemistry test. Iron bitch is gonna have my head on a spike if I fail another chem test.” You said, highlighting more notes. 

     “Okay! Delmar’s for a week, anytime, anywhere.” Peter said putting his hand out for you to shake. 

     “Make it a month, I know my worth.” 

     Peter hesitated, but eventually gave in, “Fine, but you better do a good job.” 

        ─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

     So now you were stuck patrolling from 8:30 to 11:00 every night. It wasn't bad per se, and nothing too eventful happened. You stopped a small convenience store robbery, gave a few kids some tips at the skatepark, ran some errands for an old lady, and saved a cat from a tree. Thursday night was the real kicker though. Your night had barely started and you accidentally got in the middle of a drug deal between some smaller mob and a real messed-up junkie. This should’ve been an easy takedown, only six people in total that needed to be taken out, but like was mentioned before, you don’t have Peter’s goddamn, stupid fucking tingle. So after taking all six of the perps out you started to walk away after alerting the police. Unfortunately, one of those assclowns had come to, and grabbed the gun a few feet away from him and shot it towards you. The bullet went through your thigh and out the other side. Screaming in shock and pain, you used your own throwing knives and knocked the gun out of the mobster’s hand, then you proceeded to knock him out again with a few good punches to his noggin, maybe a few more, just for good measure. But this wound would need to be cleaned and stitched up. And if you went back to the Tower, Steve and Tony would give you an earful about “watching your surroundings” and “being more careful”. So in a moment of pure adrenaline and desperation, you texted Peter. 

You: are you home

Spider-Dork: Yeah, why?

You: i’ll be there in 5 

Spider-Dork: What? Why? Is everything ok?

Spider-Dork: Hello??? (Y/N)????

(Y/N) declined (3) calls 

Spider-Dork: Answer my calls idiot. 

     Peter’s texting and constant calling was cut short from a crash in his room. 

     “(Y/N)? Is that you?” Peter called from the couch in the living room. 

     “Yeah, can I borrow a t-shirt?” You called, fumbling around accidentally knocking over another lamp. “Oops, sorry!”

     “Uh, yeah sure. In the closet!” Peter called back pausing his show, prepared to make his way over to you. 

     “And some sweats?” You called back, blood dripping all over Peter’s hardwood floor. 

     Peter got up to make his way to his room. “Yeah, second drawer on the left side.” He said as he made his way to his bedroom. Knowing you were in there, most likely changing, he knocked. “You decent?” 

     “Nope, not really. I need a pair of your boxers too, though.” You called through the door, now seeing that the blood splattered on your underwear as well. “Also, bring the first aid kit when you come in.” 

     ‘What? Why?” Peter said in a more stressed tone, pushing his way into the room, completely ignoring the fact that you were very much not decent. “Holy shit.” He said seeing you out of your suit, in your bra and underwear, blood dripping down your right leg, pooling onto the floor. Your hand, red and bloody, pressed onto what he only assumed was the wound and blood seeping through your fingers. 

     “Bring a mop too.” 

     Peter ran out of the room to grab the first aid kit, plus some extra bandages and a cleaning solution. When he came back in he found you in the same state, standing in the middle of the room, eyebrows furrowed in pain, clutching your right thigh. 

     “What the hell happened?” He gasped, motioning for you to sit on his bed. You hesitated, not wanting to mess up his sheets. He seemed to notice your thought process quickly adding, “I have to wash my sheets anyway.” 

     “Gross.” You mumbled, scrunching up your face in disgust and finally settling down on his bed. 

     “Move your hand and tell me what happened,” Peter said kneeling on the floor next to the bed, positioned right at your hips. You removed your hand, bloody instantly seeping onto the bed. Peter winced looking at the hole in your leg, quickly grabbing the peroxide and dumping heaps of it onto your leg, much to your distaste. 

     “I got shot.” You stated as he cleaned the blood around the hole with alcohol pads.

     “Well, no shit. I mean by who and how?” 

     “Mobster. Sneaky bitch got me while I was walking away.” You winced as Peter inspected the wound further. 

     “I need to stitch this up. Did it go all the way through?” He said lifting your leg to look underneath for an exit wound. 

     “Yeah.” Peter found the exit wound and held your leg up with one hand, pouring peroxide on the back of your thigh with the other. 

     “You have to be more careful, (Y/N)! This looks really nasty.” Peter scolded, setting your leg back down and prepping the needle and sutures. “What if this was in your chest? Or—or if you didn’t get here in time? You could’ve bled out!” 

     “Well sorry that I don’t have your stupid tingle to help me out when I’m being fucking shot at!” You yelped, gripping the bedsheets. 

     “You don’t need spidey sense, you need fucking common sense,” Peter mumbled, stitching his first suture.

     “What the fuck did you just say?” You looked at him incredulously. 

     “I— uh, nothing.” Peter huffed, focusing back on stitching you up.

     “This is your all your fault, to begin with!” You accused, shifting uncomfortably, due to the needle constantly being stuck into your leg. “You’re the one that begged me to go on patrol for you! You’re the dumb bitch that got caught watc—” 

     “Ok! Shut up! For God’s sake, you’re never gonna let me live that down.” Peter groaned, finishing up the last stitch. “Flip over.” He commanded, pushing at the side of your waist to help with the movement. 

     “Well, it was fucking dumb. Don’t you check to make sure nobody’s home? God, we all know you’re a vocal bitch too.” You said, fully situated on your stomach. 

     “What the fuck is that suppose to mean!?” He gasped, prepping another needle. 

     “You’re a sensitive boy.” You shrugged, wincing when Peter started his next stitch. 

     “I-I am not sensitive! I’m emotionally and physically staunch!” He defended, going in for another stitch. 

     You just raised an eyebrow in amusement. “Sure, whatever you say, babe.” You winked at him, blowing an exaggerated kiss. 

     “You're a jerk,” Peter mumbled, finishing up his stitching job. “A jerk with a fucked up leg.” 

     You hummed, quite amused. Peter got up and started to collect his medical supplies. He shuffled out of the room to put everything away. When he returned you were trying to get up and walk, wincing at every slight movement. 

     “Here, let me just—” Peter lifted you up, bridal style. A small yelp coming from you when a sharp pain shot through your leg. “Sorry.”

     “It’s fine. Can you help me get dressed?” You said as he walked you over to his desk and set you down in his desk chair. 

     “Sure.” Peter blushed, painfully aware of your lack of clothes. He picked out some clothes from his closet and drawers. He helped you into them, wallowing in the uncomfortable silence, taking in each whimper and wince from you whenever he brushed against your thigh. 

     “Fuck, I’m so sorry.” He sighed after you were all dressed. “This is my fault.” 

     You looked at his distraught face, feeling bad for initially blaming him for the events of tonight. “No, Pete. It’s fine. I should’ve made sure all of the guys were knocked out.” You put a hand on his shoulder, giving it a comforting squeeze.

     “No, I should’ve been more careful when I was watching that stuff. I have my spidey sense, I would’ve been able to avoid getting shot. It’s not your fault that you didn’t get bit by a radioactive spider.”

     “Pete, really, I’ll be better by next week anyway. It’s fine.” 

     Peter shook his head, sighing. “I just feel so bad, I shouldn’t have forced patrolling on you.” You hugged him and rubbed his back soothingly. “It’s my fault you got hurt.” 

     “Peter stop. It’s just an unfortunate accident.” You mumbled, hugging him closer. “It could’ve happened to anyone.”

     “But it didn’t happen to just anyone (Y/N), it happened to you. And I caused it. I-I don't know what I’d do if something ever happened to you. What if it was worse?”

     You sighed, pulling away from Peter and cupping his face, seeing the regret and shame pooling in his eyes. Without much thought, you pulled him closer, slowly connecting your lips in a sweet kiss. Truly getting lost in the feeling of his lips against yours, the feeling of perfection. 

     Peter’s eyes widened in shock for a moment, before he was kissing you back, reveling in the feeling he’s been dreaming about for months. You finally pulled away to catch your breath. Peter flushed at your actions, unable to stop the wide smile crossing his features. 

     “Sorry,” You mumbled sheepishly, “just needed to shut you up for a second.”

     “Maybe I should talk more, just to see what happens,” Peter smirked, pulling you in for another shorter, but just as sweet, kiss. 

     You hummed against his lips. “I really like you. Even when you're a dumbass.” You sighed against his lips.

     “The feeling is mutual.” 

     “Rude. I’m not a dumbass.” You gasped in faux offense. 

     “You’re the one with a bullet wound.” he deadpanned 

     “You’re the one who got caught watchin—”

     “(Y/N)!”

[sirsleeps]

typical occurrence pre-movie nights. | sbi & gn!reader

Hi 😈 anon!! I hope that this satisfies all of your conditions, and that there were enough sbi chaos for you…. though I think I stuck to Mr Blade a bit too much (to which I’d just like to apologize for :(() thanks again for requesting this! It’s been a lot of fun writing it (though I’m not gonna lie, the movie of choice really gave me so much freedom I really couldn’t choose which hence) hope you enjoy the fic! :D

request: [by 😈 anon] “Hello! Do you think you could do a SBI x Gn! Reader! The SBI have a movie night and invite the reader! You can do any type of movie! (Maybe a horror one!) I just think it would be chaotic! You can do a one shot, Hc, or small scenarios! Whatever you want to do!”

pairing: sbi & gn!reader

warnings: swearing, potentially ooc sbi, not beta-read

word count: 1.4k

There were a few unspoken traditions that took place every Friday evening.

It was a time where everyone within the SBI family would put down their work and rest to get together for their weekly movie night. Whether they were far away from home, busy with work, or doing some laborious, mundane task, their chores would be held on pause for that evening. And if, for some apparent reason, one is unable to physically attend the gathering, then they would all host it on a computer so that one could watch along.

As per usual, (name) was in charge of bringing the drinks to the weekly movie night. This was typically because (name) didn’t live with the formerly mentioned, nor were they a household member of the SBI despite being given the decision to move in with them. With a couple bottles and cans of assorted drinks in their tote bag, they unlocked the front door.

Walking in they were greeted by Techno, who looked like he was anticipating their arrival, and the sound of squabbling. ‘From Wilbur and Tommy, no doubt,’ (name) thought.

“Hey Techno, I assume we’re going to spend the next half hour arguing about which movie to play again?” They asked, handing a couple of cans and bottles to him.

The rhetorical question emitted a laugh from Techno. By the number of times (name) was invited over for their movie nights, arguing over the movies to show is a habit that never changes. At this point, it’s become such a common occurrence that it would feel weird if neither Wilbur nor Tommy bickered over which movie to screen.

“Ehh… it is what it is.”

“So, how are you?” (name) laughs as they hauls the bag of drinks over to the table near the bickering duo.

“We met up not even two days ago, I don’t think much would’ve changed since,” Techno rolls his eyes, “but s’alright, I’m doing well.”

Though their attempt to drown out the bickering in the background was futile as Wilbur turned his head towards (name) and Techno demanded for their input on the movie choice, which made them sweat, anticipating the flurry of questions that were bound to be sent their way.

“(name)! Tell Tommy that we shouldn’t watch Into The Spiderverse, because we always play it every movie night!” Wilbur exclaimed, pointing a finger to Tommy.

“We do not!! Stop exaggerating, Wilbur!” Tommy cried in retaliation, “(name), tell him that we aren’t watching the Fantastic Beasts Series because it’s shit!”

With a dramatic gasp, Wilbur quickly turned back to Tommy. A series of ‘how dare you’, ‘take that back’, and further incessant shouts of why either movies of choice is-good-and-should-be-watched-again, were exchanged. (name) quickly glanced between the two, their hands up to grab any stray jabs as they tried to break up the ‘fight’.

A wave of exhaustion soon came upon them as the two subconsciously ignored the peacemaker, trying to one-up the other with their playful insults. Letting out a heavy sigh, they took a step back seeing their fruitless attempt to settle down the squabble. They looked at the two with tired eyes, Techno right behind them, cracking open his beverage, enjoying the show.

“So how long has this been going for?”

“Uhhh, about twenty minutes or so, give or take.”

“..Rright. Where’s Phil? I thought he’d be here to break up this uh.. soap opera…”

“He’s microwavin’ some popcorn,” Techno took a big gulp from his drink, “wait, isn’t this his turn to choose the movie?”

“I… think so??”

(name) furrowed their eyebrows, turning their head to Techno, before looking back at the two infront of them. Their hand reached in their pocket to bring out a phone, sending a quick message to Phil about the query. A few seconds had passed between them before a reply was given.

‘Yepp’

‘What are we watching tonight?’ (name) asked once more.

‘We’re finishing off whatever we have left on IT… then onto its sequel’

‘K’

Moving over to the couch, (name) whispered, “Should we tell them that neither of their movies are going to be played?”

“…Nahh,” Techno dragged on, pleasantly amused by the ‘soap opera’ as (name) puts it.

“Well as fun as it is, I’m gonna need them to stop screamin’ their lungs out—”

“What?! No, why would you do that—”

“—before we get our asses busted.”

(name) finished, getting up from their seat on the comfortable couch, before moving over to Tommy and Wilbur, to once more attempt to settle the trivial argument. They gave Techno a side eye, gesturing to help them in case anything ends up broken.

“Tommy, Wilbur,” they started, only to be cut off by Wilbur mocking Tommy with a squeaky voice.

It didn’t end there, no, in fact, anytime they tried to start or complete their sentence, they got cut off either by Tommy’s shouting or Wilbur’s imitation of what the latter sounded like. With a heavy sigh and a facepalm, (name) went back to Techno, drink in hand, and plopped down on the couch. This time, absolutely done with the mess in front of them.

“That was hilarious.” Techno commented.

“Oh shut up, smartass,” they grumbled, taking small sips from their bottle of coke, “I’d like to see you try.”

“Is that a challenge?”

“I dunno bro, is it?”

“Oh, are you seriously askin’ me that bro?”

“Well let’s say that it is, what are you gonna do about it?”

In the midst of their back-and-forth bantering, and with Tommy and Wilbur who now have migrated from their place over to the table of drinks near them, none had noticed Phil, who had entered the room with two bowls of popcorn in his hands.

Looking at the sight in front of him, Phil rolled his lips, oscillating and producing a ripple-like sound. He stomped down one foot, grabbing the attention of the other four in the room, who turned their heads towards his general direction.

“Okay chill mate, I could hear you all the way from the other room, and you know how thick these walls are.”

“Sorry Phil—”

“Yea, ‘m sorry.”

“Sorry, this wouldn’t’ve happened if someone didn’t suggest such a horrible movie to watch—”

“OHH! You take that back Wilbur!!”

“Oh? What are you gonna do about it?!” Wilbur exclaims, crossing his arms, raising a brow as if to challenge the younger male.

“YOU B—”

“Ohhh-kay, how about we put those movies up, it’s my turn to choose the movies anyways.”

Phil interjects, evoking a laugh from both Techno and (name) as Wilbur froze in shock from the statement. Tommy’s finger dipped along with his shoulders, jaw dropped as he turned to look at Phil once more.

“What?” the two sputtered.

Handing a bowl over to (name), Phil moves over to the laptop hooked up to the projector, and scrolls through the horror section to find IT. While he was scrubbing through to find the timestamp of where the family had last left off, (name) walked to Wilbur to hand him his bowl of popcorn.

“You knew about it?” Wilbur asked, coming out of his shock.

“Yep,” they confirmed, popping the ‘p’, “I was gonna tell you and Tommy, but the both of you kept cutting me off every time I tried.”

“Oh…”

“S’alright, all in good fun,” they let out a small laugh.

Placing down the bowl on the coffee table, they moved to dim the lights in the room. Techno, finished with his drink, got up from the couch to get his second, pulling Tommy along with him back to the couch. A soft, “Let’s go Tommy,” was heard from the pink haired being.

With arms crossed, and an exaggerated frown, Tommy silently grumbled to himself, disappointed that they weren’t able to rewatch the incredible Spiderman animation. Wilbur, on the other hand, vocalised his disappointment to Phil.

“Phiiil, why’re we watching horror movies? That’s like… that’s so cliché.”

“Well it’s my turn to pick the movie, and I want to watch some spooky movies, so that’s what we’re watching.”

“I mean… he’s got you there Wilbur,” Techno gave his two cents.

“Oh shut up, Techno,” he retorted.

(name) came up to the group, quietly laughing to themselves as they handed a can of coke to Tommy and a caprisun to Wilbur, a small smile plastered on their face.

“Well, that was eventful… and the movie hasn’t even started.”

[dontjudgemeimawriter]

Ten Random Lines Tag

Tagged by @ceph-the-ghost-writer ty!

Rules: Pick any ten of your fics/writing projects, scroll to the midpoint, pick a line (or three) and share it. Then tag people (ten if you want to follow the theme).

Tagging: @theramwrites @puzzleddragon02 @saltysupercomputer @aether-wasteland-s @lexiklecksi and anyone else who wants to!

Okay I really only have 2 main WIPs but sure we can see snippets of some tiny things......

Second Chance I don’t even have to explain to Hayln why I am actually still alive, because it’s a null day (that really is a good name for it. On the Base we call it pre-day and post-day, in reference to when the reversal occurs). Except here’s the funny thing: Turns out, since I didn’t exist, the most natural thing to occur is for me to simply not exist for about 16 hours. When I explain to the Spirit that No, I am NOT okay with that, it says that if I really want to, we can resist that natural couse of events.

Syndicate He flashed a smile. “Morning, sleepyhead,” he said and came over, picking up mugs from the desk that I hadn’t noticed and bringing them over. He handed me one. “Got you coffee.” A string and tag on the side of his mug showed he was having tea. 

Drake Knight I look to the sky, pausing three-quarters down the alley to catch a breath and attempt to wipe some of the coffee off the front of my shirt. It’s empty for a bit, just a gray sky, but then a shadow passes over us and I see it clearly for the first time. Nothing special, the dark gray scales indicate it’s probably from the mountains. But it’s smaller than I expected. Most dragons you fight are adults, but this one isn’t much larger than an elephant. I think it is anyway, hard to tell from the flyby.

Angie & Eddie So Angie stood up and made her way to Target. Passed the cart return, the shampoo bottles, the spa day bins with images of thin women relaxing. She went down the band-aid aisle, the cold medicine aisle, the muscle relaxants. She paused, facing a wall full of pads. She’d been in a slight daze, half convincing herself this wasn’t real, but not she had to focus because where the fuck were they? God, she wasn’t going to have to ask someone, was she?

Creative Nonfiction Portfolio In my dorm, the top left dryer doesn’t work. I’ve put wet laundry inside and returned to find wet laundry. After that, I avoided that dryer for weeks, until it was the only one available so I let it run through, figuring if it didn’t work there would be an open dryer by then. Lo and behold, my laundry remained wet. Have I reported it to the conveniently posted number hanging on the laundry room wall? Nope. Everyone seems aware it’s broken, someone must’ve reported it. And ultimately, we’ll live. But, that’s just a dryer. No one’s in any danger.

Immortal Souls The rain picked up. Back home, inside, I loved rain, but now I hated it. I pulled my hood up to cover my head and swung my backpack over my shoulder, moving off the bench and under an awning of a corner store. It was the kind of building that looked like it had been passed down between different owners, none of which bothered to change the old sign. An ancient hand-painted sign that said “Collier’s” was faded and mounted above a newer, stenciled sign that said “Watkin’s Market.” A glance around told me that Watkin’s was the name of the street, so, definitely not the most creative. It was advertising cheap cell phones and beer, so not much of a market either.

The Snow Queen Retelling "What’you suppose they are, demons or something? Goblins? Nothing like the ones at the church. That one looks like he can fly.” He stared at it, getting lost in the red of the glass, a color that stood out in the colorless castle. He hadn’t noticed it before. Or, he remembered, he’d thought it was stupid, that the colors gave him a headache. He’d never stopped to take them in, to look at how pretty the colors were when light shone through them.

Faye & Myra-- Summer Hangout I felt like crying, but that would be way worse right now and I couldn’t face it. I took a deep breath and pushed it away. I grabbed the few tintypes I’d taken out of the box, brought the box back, and purchased them. I went over to Olivia.

Layla In an instant, the numb feeling of being disconnected vanished, and panic rushed through me. Twitches underneath my eyes warned me that tears were coming, and then they did, filling my eyes and blurring the message. My mouth quivered, my breathing was speeding up. What was he doing? Couldn’t this be over? Hadn’t he gotten what he wanted?

Lialyn Lialyn was a kingdom of Mages. Every part of their lives had been shaped around the fact that everyone, from the rich to poor, learned magic. As the prince, he and his sister were expected to master as soon as possible. They were supposed to be superior in magic the way other countries had their royalty superior in swordfighting. Which meant that Sam had failed his family from the start.

[somewhatgreatexpectations]

Leave Your Lover (Wanda Maximoff/ Reader)

Hello! So, this was going to be one really long part, but it kind of got away from me and I had to split it into two. Don’t worry the next part is going to be very long either way because that’s the half that got away from me. This takes place pre-Infinity War. Inspired by Sam Smith’s “Leave Your Lover”, mainly the line featured. 

Summary: A brief glimpse into life on the run. Will Wanda be able to find Y/n? 

“If I can't have you I'll walk this life alone, spare you the rising storms and let the rivers flow.”

Being on the run was difficult to say the least and being on the run while trying to find someone who was actively trying not to be found was even worse. Despite being told by the rest of the group that it may be in her best interest to just move on and let you go, Wanda knew that wasn’t an option. She had made a promise to herself that she was going to keep fighting for you, no matter the cost. Wanda had let you go once and she wasn’t going to let it happen, not if there was a part of her that knew you still had love in your heart for her.

The only one who knew where you were at all times was Steve and he had spent the last few months absolutely refusing to disclose your exact location. That never stopped her from trying though. 

Eventually though, he gave in. Steve wasn’t sure if it was her sheer determination that impressed him or the fact that he had never seen you happier than when you were with her. If she thought she could create happiness in a terrible situation, Steve thought she at least deserved a true chance and he wouldn’t stand in the way. 

When she received the location, Wanda quickly packed what little she had and booked the next train ticket to Rennes, France. Feeling hopeful for the first time since long before the events of Lagos. _________________________________

For the majority of the time you’d been on the run, you stuck to the idea that hiding in plain sight was the best course of action. Which is why you were currently at a poorly lit bar, trying to live as normal a life as you possibly could under the circumstances. The only unfortunate thing was that you couldn’t interact with anyone due to the risk of being discovered. So, when you felt someone tap your shoulder, you knew it would be time to go.

Before turning, you downed your drink to prepare yourself to either get hit on by a random drunk person or convince them you weren’t who they thought you were.

Neither options were what you got when you turned around though. You tilted your head in pleasant surprise at the sight before you.

“Long time no see, stranger.”

Without thinking and perhaps partially due to the alcohol coursing through your veins, you wrapped yourself tightly around the woman in front of you. She laughed in surprise and gladly returned the embrace. You couldn’t help but revel in the contact, touch deprived from all the time you had spent in solitude.

For a while, you both just stood there, wrapped in one another’s embrace. Ignoring the occasional odd look from random passer byers. With one final squeeze, you released her but kept your hands on her shoulders. “You have no idea how good it is to see you, Nat.” you admitted to her with a smile on your face.

Natasha easily returned the smile. “It’s good to see you too. I was passing by outside when I thought I saw you sitting here and I had to see if it was really you.”

“What are the chances?” you asked with a laugh as you signaled the bartender over and ordered drinks. “Let’s celebrate.”

After drinking for a bit and catching up slightly, you both agreed that staying longer would be too much a risk and decided to take a walk outside. 

“You dyed your hair.” You noted as you reached over and took a strand of her hair gently in between your fingers before letting it go. “It looks good.”

A playful smirk spread across Natasha’s lips. “Yeah, well, I figured the red was a dead giveaway for me, so… blonde it was.” She nudged you playfully. “A better disguise than a beanie and glasses at least. You’re no better than Rogers.” 

A boisterous laugh escaped your lips, “What can I say? That man taught me everything I know.” Natasha shook her head but laughed despite herself. 

You knew you would have to separate soon, but you tried not to focus on that. The pair of you walked in contented silence, enjoying the comfort of not being alone, even if it was temporarily.  Eventually you both come up on the street where your hideout was located and for the first time you didn’t feel the need to rush in. Thankfully there was a small bench located across the street and you both wandered over and took a seat, enjoying the cool air.

“How have you been?” Natasha eventually asked, her eyes on yours as she attempted to analyze you.

You pondered the question for a moment. “I’ve been… lonely.” You finally breathed out, turning your gaze skyward. “I feel alone. I miss real connections. I miss just being able to walk down the street without fear of corporal punishment. I miss human contact.”

Natasha’s hand fell to your knee and squeezed lightly. You turned your head to meet her eyes. “I know what you mean. You’re never really alone though, Y/n. You know we’d all be there in a heartbeat if we could, if we have to.” 

The touch and the knowledge that you weren’t alone was something you had missed. Again, whether it was the alcohol in both your systems or the deprivation of another human’s touch, but you both found yourselves leaning forward and connecting lips. 

It was gentle and nice, but you couldn’t help but compare it to Wanda. Kissing Wanda always felt powerful and right. The way your whole body felt like electricity was coursing through your veins at the simplest of touches. Kissing Wanda always felt like coming home. You could’t help but think you needed this to realize that the one you still wanted was the one you shouldn’t want.

Despite this, you didn’t pull away, tangling your hand in Natasha’s now blonde locks as her hands fell to your waist. You allowed yourself this small moment of comfort.

Across the street, Wanda had been approaching only to stop in horror at the sight before her. Her mind rushing and heart breaking at the sight. If she felt a fraction of what you did that night on the roof, she couldn’t imagine how you got through it. As much as her heart ached in her chest, she didn’t allow it to stop her. She just hoped it wasn’t too late. That you hadn’t already given your heart to another. 

After some time, both you and Natasha pulled away. Laughing when you met one another’s eyes. “That was… nice.” You said lightly.

Natasha rolled her eyes and pushed your shoulder. “Yeah, we’re drunk. We will never speak of this again.” She chuckled and looked at her watch. “My train leaves in a little over an hour, I should probably go.” You nodded in understanding and she hugged you once more before beginning to walk away.

“Hey, Nat?” you called after her. She turned. “Take care of yourself, okay?” She nodded and blew a teasing kiss your way before walking off into the night. With a sigh you leaned into the bench and closed your eyes for a moment, taking in the fact that you were alone again. 

It had to have been less than a few minutes when you felt someone sit next to you, your eyes shot open and met with stunning emerald eyes that used to be your world. “Wanda?” you whispered, feeling the air leave your lungs at the sight of her. 

Wanda quirked her lips up slightly, but there was melancholy in her eyes. “So, you and Nat, huh?” There was no accusation in her tone, just sadness. Possibly even acceptance. You quickly realized that she must have seen the kiss.

“And if we are? Together, I mean. What will you do?” You probed challengingly.

Pain flooded her eyes as she dropped her gaze to her lap. “Nothing. I’m not going to interfere if you’re happy, but… but just know that I won’t stop fighting for you. I’ll be here waiting because our love is destined and I’m not going away. I’ll still love you even if you chose to love someone else. You have all of me. Always.” She paused slightly. “You are my only direction.” She added quietly, repeating the words you once told her back to you. 

Your heart clenched at the referenced moment, of one of your formerly favorite moments. 

Staring off into the distance, you could feel the numbness begin to fade as the alcohol started to leave your system. “Why?”

She lifted her gaze up to you curiously, but you didn’t meet her eyes. “Why what?”

“Why do you keep trying?” 

Wanda took a deep breath and turned so she was facing you completely even if you wouldn’t look at her. “Love.” She stated simply, “I’m in love with you, beyond all rationality. Even if you don’t believe me. I want you to have everything you want, even if its Nat, even if that destroys me.”

Even in Spain you had never heard her speak so passionately. It terrified you. Terrified you so much that you wanted to get up and run far, far away from her. Far from the feelings that her words stirred within you.

Wanda wasn’t done though, she needed to get everything off her chest. To lay all her cards out. “When you love someone, you don’t stop. Even when everyone on the team calls me crazy and tells me I should just move on and let you go. I won’t stop or give up because if I could give up…” She risked taking your hand in hers, sighing in relief when you don’t pull back. “If I could give up and listen to everyone’s advice and move on and find someone else that wouldn’t be love. That would be some imitation that is not worth fighting for.”

“Wanda…” you whispered finally looking up at her, noticing the way her eyes shined with unshed tears.

She squeezed your hand again. “But you… You are more than worth fighting for. You will always be worth fighting for. And if I can’t have you I’ll be alone because no one else can hold my heart. This is love.”

“I’m not with Natasha.” You admitted softly after Wanda’s declaration, watching the way relief filled her eyes. “I think we were both just lonely and comforting each other.”

The relieved smile that took over Wanda’s features was contagious as you couldn’t help but smile hesitantly back at her. 

Wanda’s heart fluttered at the sight. That was the first time you had smiled at her since the night on the roof. 

“What does that mean?” she questioned hopefully.

With hesitation, you interlaced your fingers with Wanda’s. “It means that I’m still not sure I trust you and I’m not ready to be with you again.” Her head dropped in dejection. “But. I’m not going to ask you to leave if you want to stay and work on that.”

For the first time in a long time, Wanda felt a semblance of happiness blossom in her chest. Unable to stop herself, she surged forward and took you in her arms, melting when you held her back. “I promise I’ll earn your trust back. I’m not going anywhere. I’d follow you to the ends of the earth, Y/n.”

Part 10! double digits! Pre-Infinity War and Infinity war was supposed to be one chapter and in hindsight that was probably overly ambitious of me. That means there will now be 13 parts instead of 12. Anyway, as always let me know what you think, and hope you enjoyed! :)

[the-darklings]

Heyyy, I honestly love your writing and was wondering can we have more Clara x reader, please??

what if I told you I have an entire E-rated mini-series half done for clara x reader set in an original world???

but yes, always, always yes for her.

pairing: clara (v) x f!reader

wc: 1.3k+

verse: coa; post the hunt, pre-john's wedding

notes: reader is part of the continental staff

“You’re back.”

Words slip past your lips without you meaning to say them; more of a strained exclamation of surprise than a casual greeting.

The woman halts in her tracks (is she limping?) and rotates her neck. Lips pressed in a bloodless line, the Vipress’ wan expression slices into you like a dull knife. Her chestnut hair hangs limp and soggy with water around her face. Her jaw rigid and her body tense.

Dark eyes squint at you, scanning, and you note the way her deft fingers twitch against her thigh, fighting back an impulse to reach for a weapon. You heard about the Hunt. Heard about all the awful things she was put through before eventually settling with Camorra. There were rumours about their protection being extended towards her. Some say she slept her way into it, namely through Santino D’Antonio who you have to admit has an intense interest in her. Others say she agreed to be Giovanni’s spy, others believed it was all a ploy by Viggo Tarasov to unleash a snake inside the Italian ranks.

Truth is you don’t believe any rumours you’ve heard about her. You recall a woman who used to shadow John Wick with a grin sharper than her blades. But she never struck you as conniving or cruel. She’d been… kind. Kinder than most people you’ve dealt with. In such subtle, unexpected ways. Gratitude few extend for those beneath them, inquiring about your day, or idle conversation. You often wondered if she was lonely. As lonely as you. If that’s why she was so kind.

Everyone wears a mask, but the Vipress always allowed you to see more. Or used to.

A permanent cloud of restless misery seems to hang over her since her ill-fated trip to Tokyo—another pool of rumours swirling around that particular event—and you can’t recall seeing a single smile since.

You miss it. Crinkled eyes and scrunched nose. Rare but potent joy. Infectious in its intensity. She…

Swallowing, you venture closer, risking a soft, “Are you injured?”

Her black clothes drip with water but you don’t comment on the steadily growing pool of water beneath her feet. Her expression doesn’t so much as shift. Stony and untrusting.

“Is Winston in?”

Rough words, her voice scratchy with tension. Her eyes scan briefly behind you, anticipating a danger she shouldn’t. You doubt Winston would ever allow anyone to disobey the Continental rules, much less when in relation to her.

“No, he…” you trail off, still staring at her. “He has your room key. I’m afraid you can’t get in until he returns. You need a change of clothes. I have some spares if you like? You’ll catch a cold otherwise. You’re soaked to the bone.”

A mirthless, half-smile crosses her face, twisting her expression into a pained grimace you hate. She doesn’t suit it. When was she bled of her fiery, snarky humour you always admired? Found secretly hilarious?

“Figures,” she mutters under her breath, glancing behind herself. An empty hallway greets her but you note how her shoulders loosen slightly, forcing a soft sigh out of her lungs. “Sure. I appreciate it.”

Giving her a weak smile, you gesture for her to follow after you. You count to five before her light footsteps register behind you. Your skin tingles as you walk, feeling her intent stare at the back of your neck. Your heels make it even harder to keep an even gait but you succeed. Charon taught you better than that.

Spine straight, you walk proudly ahead, one of the deadliest women in this city trailing after you. Questions bubble in your chest, tingling your tongue but you bite your cheek to keep them locked away. Vipress looks no better than a caged animal right now—the last thing you want to do is add to her troubled, exhausted state.

It’s not long before you reach the staff wing, unlocking the spare laundry room connecting with your new office. Your heels click while you move across the space, pulling out a new pair of jeans, a jumper and undergarments. Simple, standard clothes Continental provides free of charge to its patrons in case their previous clothes are destroyed beyond repair.

You can’t hear her while you shuffle around, but you certainly feel her presence. Prey is always aware of predators even if they can’t see them.

“You’re no longer working in housekeeping,” she speaks suddenly, a question there.

You nearly jump out of your skin, tightening your hold on the bundle of garments in your hands. Inhaling deeply, you turn to her with a slight smile, a little frail around the edges but present all the same.

The assassin leans against the wall opposite to you, bright fluorescent illuminating her features, giving her a near gaunt appearance. When did she lose so much weight? Her usually soft freckles stand stark against her too pale skin.

“I got a raise,” you tell her, pride colouring your voice and you move in her direction with a shy smile. “Just last week.”

Her eyebrows quirk, searching over your new attire of tailored dress pants, white shirt and polished heels.

“I told you, didn’t I?” she says after a pause, and you falter under her piercing stare.

Yes. Yes, she did. She told you repeatedly it’s only a matter of time before you get a raise. She thought you were a great worker and oftentimes joked about putting in a good word to Winston about you. You always wrote off her words as nothing more than jokes, meaningless conversations you have with someone when you want to be polite. John Wick certainly never got involved in your banter. His dark eyes unfailingly trailed after her smiles and laughs instead.

You could understand his appreciation, his secret hoarding of those rare instances. He wanted something—someone—he couldn’t afford to have. Couldn’t permit himself to reach for.

Staring at the Vipress you think you understand him better than you would care to admit.

She’s beautiful in a way a wild flame is beautiful. Get too close and you know you will suffer for it. But you want to.

God, you really do. Crave her in secret because… well. What are you? What can you give to a woman like her? When she holds the interest of so many above your stature. The things they say she did during the Hunt. People who are dead because of her.

She’s one of the most horrible people alive.

Yet her smiles are more blinding than the sun, and you selfishly want every single one of them.

“Yes, you did,” you agree weakly, holding out the bundle of clothes to her.

Her hands are cold when they touch yours but a tingle rushes up your spine all the same. Electric current hums under your skin when her guarded eyes do another searching sweep over your expression.

“You know my sizes?”

Your heart quivers in your chest, unsure how to proceed. Does she think you stranger, wrong, to have remembered such a thing?

“I… your laundry,” you splutter, then exhale, calming yourself to give her a steadier, “When you lived here. The dry cleaner. I… sorry, I realise this might be uncomfortable for you.”

Her hazel eyes drag over you again, hard and unyielding. Your breaths slow when she takes a few steps closer—close enough for you to scent the flowers, herbs and soil that forever seem to cling to her smooth skin. You’ve never wanted to nuzzle into someone’s neck more, feel their warmth beneath your lips. Taste and savour the exquisite familiarity of someone’s very being.

“My sizes have changed,” she says and you tell yourself you imagined the slight smile you glimpse for a split second. “But you’re welcome to learn them again.”

She brushes past you—flowers and poison and death—and you force yourself to breath, ignoring the heat crawling up your neck.

an: she. that's it - that's the message. but thank you so much for asking for her!!! I think Clara deserves a soft sapphic romance, as a treat.

[moiraineswife]

Innocence Died Screaming - An Adolin & Jasnah Fic

I RETURN. I RETURN WITH EMOTIONAL KHOLINS TO MAKE YOU ALL EMOTIONAL TOO!!! ENJOY!!!!!!

Title: Innocence Died Screaming

Rating: T  Content warnings: mentions of accidental mother murder

Summary:  Set loosley pre-Rhythm of War. Jasnah requests some duelling training from her expert duelist cousin. Adolin sees it as a way to spend more time bonding with his cousin. He gets a little bit more than he bargained for when Jasnah calls him out as only Jasnah can for always putting himself down. They have a good heart to heart and I have Emotions.

Teaser:

'“Truthfully?” Adolin said, stalling for time.

“Always,” Jasnah said, with aching sincerity, because she was Jasnah.

“You suck,” Adolin replied bluntly, unable to find a fancier way of saying it to soften the blow.

Jasnah just smiled at that, then gestured at him, “Hence the reason you are here with me presently.”'

Link: AO3

Wit answered the door to Jasnah’s chambers with a flourish when Adolin knocked. Uncharacteristically, there was no quip. Probably because he’d seen Adolin bracing for one, and didn’t want to seem ‘predictable’. Though how anyone was supposed to predict someone like Wit was beyond him. 

“Jasnah, your beefy cousin has arrived to demonstrate the intricacies of hitting people with large metal sticks,” he announced to the room behind him where Jasnah was no doubt working. 

He made to sweep out after that declaration, but Adolin caught him by the arm and raised an eyebrow, “Beefy cousin?” he repeated, incredulous. 

“Well it couldn’t be handsome cousin, Adolin,” Wit replied smoothly, “That’s how I announce Renarin!” 

Adolin opened his mouth to reply to that, then closed it again, grinning, imagining Renarin’s face if that was, in fact, how Wit announced him. 

“What’s wrong with ‘Adolin’?” he asked instead, scratching his head. 

“Well it’s just so boring,” Wit said conversationally, lounging against the door and grinning at him. “Jasnah has a very difficult, taxing job,” he explained, with an almost conspiratorial air, “I need to seize any opportunity I can to inject a little humour into her life.” 

If rumours were to be believed, humour wasn’t the only thing he was injecting Jasnah with at the moment. 

Adolin didn’t say that. He did note, however, as his cousin approached them, that the two of them were alone, without a chaperone. 

That wasn’t entirely surprising. Jasnah had always just kind of done things her way. And she was a woman nearing her fortieth Weeping. But still. There were some rules you just shouldn’t bend, even if you were Queen.

Though Pattern wasn't exactly a model chaperone for me and Shallan, so I probably shouldn’t be judging Jasnah that harshly, he admitted ruefully to himself, grinning a little, then immediately hoping Wit hadn’t noticed.

Wit, fortunately, had eyes only for his queen at that moment. 

“Enjoy yourself, Brightness,” he was saying, waving an elegant hand at Jasnah, “Try not to hurt him too much.” 

He clapped Adolin on the shoulder, winking, then withdrew at a nod from Jasnah. 

Clearly his departing when Adolin arrived was a prearranged agreement between the two of them.

Adolin wasn’t entirely sorry about that. He liked Wit, might even be storming fond of him at this point, but he would be more relaxed without him in earshot of his every word. 

“Cousin,” Jasnah said, nodding to him in greeting. 

“Jasnah,” Adolin returned, grinning and stepping forwards to embrace her. 

All of them had had to get used to more hugs from him in the recent months. His father had been the one who had always rebuked him for it, while his mother had always encouraged him. Given recent events, he found himself more inclined towards listening to his mother. 

Besides, since losing Elhokar, he’d had his eyes opened to how precious his family was. He had loved his cousin, and his king, but he hadn’t felt as close to him as he’d wanted. 

He’d felt similarly towards Jasnah, and was determined not to let that happen again. She was his family. And as his family, she got a hug when he saw her. And had been forced to get used to him dropping by more often to spend time with her and get to know her properly. She seemed more comfortable with that than the hugs.

She was used to them by now though, and tolerated it, awkwardly patting him on the back to indicate she’d had enough of his affection for the day. He drew back, grinning. 

“Shall we get started?” Jasnah said briskly, stepping into a large section of her chambers she’d had cleared of furniture. 

She was also wearing a messenger style havah - shorter than the traditional garment, with high slits in the sides to allow for swift movement, and leggings underneath for dignity’s sake. Very practical, very Jasnah. 

“Sure,” Adolin said, following after her. 

He’d been surprised when she’d sent him a note requesting some training from him in dueling, but had been eager to accept. It would help with his new cousin-bonding goals. And he was always happy to help someone learn how to properly use their blade. 

“I’ve seen you fight a little with your Shardblade before,” he said, as they moved into position, “During the battle of Thaylen City. You were mostly Soulcasting, but you used your blade a couple of times, too. So I know you’re not totally useless.” 

“Thank you for that assessment, Adolin,” Jasnah replied coolly, though there was a hint of a smile in her eyes when she said it. 

Adolin blushed slightly, “What I meant was that you at least have some idea what to do. So I thought it might be best if you summoned your blade and showed me a few stances and movements that you know already? Do you know any katas?” 

“A few,” Jasnah replied, “Though they may be unfamiliar to you.” 

“Pick one,” Adolin said, leaning against the wall, well out of the way, “Go through it as you normally would. I’ll observe and see what needs to be corrected from there.” 

“Very well,” Jasnah said, nodding her assent at this plan. 

Adolin folded his arms across his chest, feeling a little odd. He’d given instruction to Shardbearers before. Zahel had sometimes had him help assist in the training of men on the practice grounds. Zahel didn’t much care that he was a prince, he’d been there, and that had been enough. 

He’d also given Shallan and Radiant extensive training now in the use of her blade. He wasn’t a stranger to being a teacher, and he found that he enjoyed it, especially as something productive he could do for the new Radiants in the tower. 

He’d just never expected to be doing it with Jasnah. 

Though, as she summoned her blade, he did feel there was something appropriate about the image of Jasnah Kholin standing there with a glimmering sword in hand. A completeness to the picture. Shallan would have wanted to sketch it, he was sure. He’d have to invite her along to one of these sessions, if they became a regular occurrence. 

“Very nice,” Adolin said, nodding approvingly as he examined the gleaming length of her weapon. 

He’d seen it before, but never up close or with the ability to take in the details. It was an elegant weapon, like Jasnah herself. Long and slender, with a slight curve to it. 

Jasnah held it comfortably. Because how else would the storming woman hold it? No one had yet managed to discover something Jasnah Kholin was objectively just bad at.

She frowned at this comment, “I haven’t started yet,” she pointed out.

Adolin grinned at her. “That’s a bit arrogant of you, Your Majesty,” he teased. She raised an eyebrow at him, and he added, “I was talking about your sword," he nodded to it, "Very nice indeed.” 

Jasnah glanced at the blade and her usually impassive features displayed a look of momentary surprise.

“Ivory says thank you,” she informed him. A pause, then she continued, “He says that he worked hard on perfecting the design and shape of this form.” 

Adolin nodded his approval. The attention to detail was obvious, and told him a lot about Ivory, and why he worked so well with Jasnah. Jasnah was all about the details. 

A slight crease formed between her eyes as she added, sardonically, “He also wishes me to pass on that he is pleased someone has taken notice. Finally.” She pursed her lips.

That made him smile again. He raised a hand and faked a cough to cover his urge to laugh at his cousin's expression. 

He had never met, or even glimpsed, Jasnah’s spren, except when he was summoned as a blade. According to her he was a private individual, who preferred not to be seen where possible. He sensed there was something deeper to it than what she’d said, but hadn’t pressed the issue.

Still, it was hard not to find Jasnah’s long-suffering tone oddly endearing for what it spoke of regarding their relationship. 

“I see Ivory is a man, uh, spren,” he corrected hastily, “Of fine taste, like myself," he said, with a small bow.

“Yes,” Jasnah replied, with a slight roll of her eyes, “Well if you’re both finished admiring swords for the moment, perhaps we could begin?” 

Adolin blushed slightly at the innuendo, which wasn’t something he was used to hearing from Jasnah. 

“You’ve been spending too much time around Wit,” he muttered, before he could think better of it. 

Fortunately, Jasnah only smiled at that, and made no remark. 

Adolin hastily gestured for her to continue, and concentrated on observing her form, rather than considering the tangled rumours of her and her wit. That was not why he was here. 

There was clearly something practiced about the motions of the kata, but it was obvious she hadn’t trained much, and that whoever had trained her previously hadn’t been very good at correcting small, but obvious, mistakes. 

There was nothing overtly wrong with what she did, but there were obvious improvements to be made that he could spot straight away. 

“Not bad,” he said, moving away from the wall, summoning Maya as he went, so that he could demonstrate, “Your stances have the right shape, but you need to commit to them more.”

He gave her a slight nudge with his elbow as he reached her and she wobbled, which illustrated his point, though she seemed displeased by it. Not at him, he sensed, but at herself.

“Sink down into them,” he said, showing her, “Anchor yourself, like a tree, roots planted deep into the ground.” 

Jasnah studied him for a moment with a critical eye, then replicated what he’d shown her, exaggerating the stance she’d chosen as demonstrated. 

“Good,” Adolin said, nodding in approval, “Alright, your grip, don’t overlap your hands like that, there’s room on the hilt for both hands to rest comfortably. Ivory’s not a bastard.” 

He chuckled to himself at the joke. Jasnah just raised her eyebrows. 

“A bastard sword is another name for a hand-and-a-half,” he explained with a shrug. 

Jasnah sniffed, “I think perhaps you might have been spending too much time around Wit.” 

There was no danger of that. If he wasn’t with Jasnah he was nowhere to be found these days. Adolin didn’t point that out either. Not while Jasnah had a shardblade in her hands, anyway. 

Instead he cleared his throat and carefully corrected the placement of her hands on Ivory’s hilt. 

“Alright, try that,” he said, gesturing for her to repeat the kata she’d just completed. 

“Better,” he said, nodding, “You’re right, by the way,” he told her, as she continued to implement what he’d just shown her, “I don’t recognise this kata. Who taught you?” 

She glanced at him as she turned, then grunted, “Swordmaster Katar," before continuing the sequence.

Adolin frowned, “Elsecalling lets you jump between here and Shadesmar, right?” he said. 

“Yes,” Jasnah replied slowly, seemingly confused by the question. 

“Does it let you jump through time, too?” he said, “Because otherwise I don’t see how Swordmaster Katar trained you. Since I’m pretty sure he’s dead.” 

“He lives on in the books he left behind,” Jasnah said, “As do all great historical figures.” She added, with a slight smirk, "I'm glad at least some of them made enough of an impression for you to take note of them."

Adolin put his hands on his hips, and snorted with laughter, unable to stop himself, “Only you would try to learn dueling from a book, Jasnah,” he said, shaking his head. 

Jasnah drew up at that and replied, blandly, “When I first bonded with Ivory eight years ago, there weren’t a lot of living swordmasters who were willing to train a heretic woman displaying ancient, forbidden powers steeped with negative connotation after the original Knight’s betrayal." She met his eyes and half-shrugged, mildly "I improvised.”

Adolin scratched his nose awkwardly and coughed to cover his momentary embarrassment, “Fair enough,” he muttered, “Given that, you’ve done pretty amazingly, I’m impressed.” 

“And without the context of my…Unorthodox education?” she asked, seeming genuinely curious about the answer. 

“Truthfully?” Adolin said, stalling for time. 

“Always,” Jasnah said, with aching sincerity, because she was Jasnah.

“You suck,” Adolin replied bluntly, unable to find a fancier way of saying it to soften the blow. 

Jasnah just smiled at that, then gestured at him, “Hence the reason you are here with me presently.”

“You have done well on your own,” Adolin told her, honestly, wanting to clarify his words. He hadn't expected her to agree with him, and that had thrown his response a little, "But-”

“But context can only excuse one’s lack of skill so far,” Jasnah supplied smoothly, “Before relying upon it simply becomes an awkward crutch to attempt to justify your inability.” 

“Sure,” Adolin agreed, nodding at her. Did she always have to talk like she was writing a new academic text? Storms. “Let’s get back into it, okay?” he suggested.

Jasnah nodded at once and complied with his instruction without a word. 

It felt very strange to be giving Jasnah orders. Stranger still to be instructing her, and correcting her. And even more strange that she deferred to him on everything and took whatever he said on board without question or hesitation.

After a little while of this, he paused in the middle of a sequence, shaking his head, bemused. Jasnah drew up, noting his expression. 

“What is it?” she asked, straightening up and raising an eyebrow at him. 

“This is just...Weird,” he said, running a hand absently through his hair, unable to find a more eloquent way of putting it. 

“Because I’m a woman?” Jasnah guessed evenly. 

“No,” Adolin said, waving a dismissive hand, “I got over that months ago with Shallan.” 

Jasnah smirked slightly at that, but made no comment. 

“It’s just-” he struggled to find the words to explain his emotions, “It’s you,” he said finally, which he knew wasn’t entirely helpful. “You’re Jasnah,” he added. Which was about as useful as his earlier sentiment. 

“I’m aware of that,” Jasnah replied, slowly, clearly struggling to piece together what he was trying to say. 

“It, well it-” Adolin stammered, feeling as lost as he would have if she'd asked him to summarise Aunt Navani's fabrial lecture for him, grappling with fitting his unwieldy emotions into insubstantial words. 

“It feels strange for me to be teaching you anything," he managed finally, "You’re Jasnah storming Kholin. The world famous scholar. This fantastic thinker, and historian, and all of that," he said, gesturing expansively before he said, voice and hands falling flat, "I’m Adolin, the family idiot, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

Silence stretched between them for a long, uncomfortable moment. 

“I think that we should take a short break,” Jasnah announced abruptly, dismissing her blade. 

Adolin decided not to point out that they’d barely been going for an hour, and with Stormlight, there was no way she actually needed a break. If he’d been Zahel he’d have laughed at this suggestion. But he wasn’t. And he knew better.

Jasnah would do what Jasnah wanted to do. She was already heading towards the seating area of her chambers. The easiest thing to do was to thank Maya, then dismiss her and follow his cousin.

Jasnah was pouring them both wine, orange for her, yellow for Adolin, and pushed the cup towards him, settling on the couch and gesturing him to the seat opposite her. 

Sighing, Adolin accepted the cup, and the chair, and sat down as indicated. 

Jasnah was eyeing him over the rim of her own cup, considering him like some dusty historical treatise she was trying to pry secrets from.

“I’ve noticed that you do that a lot, Adolin,” she remarked finally, lowering the cup. 

“What? Drink?” Adolin joked, rather feebly. 

Hastily he raised his own cup and taking a gulp of the wine. It was good. Jasnah had appropriately fine taste. But there was a bad taste in his mouth. Less from the wine, and more from the memories that rose at the mention of indulging in it too often.

“Put yourself down,” Jasnah said bluntly, ignoring his attempt at humour. “Particularly with regards to your own intelligence. You seem overly fond of comparing yourself negatively in that regard to those around you.” 

Adolin shifted uncomfortably in his seat and took another sip of his wine before he answered.

“Kind of hard not to,” he said, aiming to keep his voice light, “I mean there’s you. Aunt Navani, Shallan, Renarin. Wit’s never normally far from you, either. Even the Storming Bridgeboy-” He caught himself, realising he’d probably slipped into sounding more resentful than he’d intended. 

No doubt Jasnah had noticed. But he lounged back in his chair, giving her an easy grin to try and smoothe over the sticky moment.

With a shrug he said, “I’m just surrounded by a lot of really smart people all the time. It’s natural to make comparisons.” 

“Hm,” Jasnah replied, in a way that suggested she didn’t at all believe him, “Yet I don’t see you comparing yourself in other areas. You never remark on your lack of ability to draw while around Shallan, for instance. You don’t talk about the fact you can’t set a fracture when you’re around Kaladin. You’ve never once mentioned not being able to play the flute while around me.” 

“You still play the flute?” he deflected, while actually being vaguely interested in the answer. 

Jasnah, again, ignored him. Which was getting annoying. Shallan was a lot easier to distract and divert off course whenever she mentioned things like this. Which he did every time she tried.

“And you also don’t seem to point out the areas where those around you are lacking, either,” Jasnah continued, with characteristic unavoidable intent. “Even if they also form easy points of comparison. I don’t hear you disparage my lack of ability in the areas of personable conversation. Nor Kaladin’s inability to process failure. Or Shallan’s lack of focus. The only person whose perceived flaws you feel the need to accentuate are your own.”

She raised her eyebrows pointedly at him and settled back in her chair, raising her cup to her lips again, watching to see how he reacted.

Storms. He’d forgotten how sometimes conversing with Jasnah could feel like going to battle. Usually his head hurt less after the actual battles, too. 

He sighed and ran a hand through his hair, trying to process what she’d said, and the point she was driving at.

“I guess,” he said, not looking at her, “I guess it’s just...Easy to feel less than surrounded by a bunch of genius Radiants all the time. And you are all smarter than me, you can’t deny that,” he said quickly, pointing at her in accusation.

“No,” Jasnah agreed slowly, “But it’s also not something you should seek to highlight in nearly every conversation.” 

“I don’t-” he began. 

“You do,” Jasnah interrupted, voice surprisingly gentle, yet unyielding as ever. “You always find some way to mention your lack of comparable academic capability. Even in situations where it has little to no relevance. Such as our dueling practice earlier”

Adolin sighed, “I suppose you’d take exception to me pointing out that my lack of, what was it, ‘academic capability’ is really hurting my ability to properly argue with you right now?” 

Jasnah smiled thinly at that, “It would serve to highlight my point rather well, actually. So on this sole occasion, feel free.” 

He groaned, “No offence, but I really hate talking to you sometimes, Jasnah.”  

She inclined her head as if to say she understood, and agreed, with that sentiment. He found that curious about her. Most people shied away from criticism or insults. Jasnah seemed to welcome them, like a rockbud opening up to gorge itself on storm rains. Maybe because so few people were ever brave enough to tell her what they really thought. 

“You could point out that this is an area where I am not particularly skilled,” she said, swirling her wine thoughtfully, “Talking with others. Connecting. Encouraging them to open up. Empathising with their emotions and struggles.” She met his eyes again as she said, lightly, “An area in which you excel, I might add. Perfectly reasonable grounds for one of your comparisons.” 

“I would never say that to you,” he protested without thinking. 

Only after he caught the triumphant glimmer in Jasnah’s eye did he realise that she’d maneuvered him into that to make her point. He glowered at her. 

“Can we get back to dueling again?” he growled, “I have a sudden urge to start hitting you with Maya.” 

She just smiled at him. 

Adolin flopped back in his chair, running a hand through his hair again, “It’s just. It’s hard, Jasnah,” he admitted, his voice softening a little, though he avoided her penetrating gaze as he spoke, “I feel like I blinked and the entire world was pulled out from under me like a rug. I’m still struggling to get back to my feet while the bridgeboy is soaring in the sky, and my wife is infiltrating cults. Oh, and my brother has visions of the future, and my father is communing with the Storming Stormfather. And you’re the most powerful Radiant we have and I’m...Still just me.” 

“I understand,” Jasnah said quietly. 

Adolin snorted before he could stop himself. 

She raised an eyebrow at him.

“I’m sorry, Jasnah,” he said, sitting up and putting a hand on her arm, “I just find it hard to believe that you of all people can possibly understand what this feels like.”

Jasnah was quiet for a moment, tapping her finger on the side of her cup, then she said, “I spent years researching the Desolations. I collected hundreds of fragments from ancient texts detailing everything I could find related to the Radiants, Urithiru, the Voidbringers, and the events that had nearly destroyed mankind. I barely slept, barely stopped, barely rested for years to accumulate all the knowledge I could.” 

“I know,” Adolin said, scratching his head, unsure why she was telling him this, “Shallan told me.” 

Jasnah nodded, then continued, “I was the newest Radiant, I have achieved the highest Ideal of any of the people we’ve found. I am the most practiced with my powers, the most accomplished. At one time I had more knowledge, and more experience, with the Radiants, and the Desolations, than almost anyone else on Roshar.” 

“Isn’t that what I said?” Adolin asked, bemused. 

“Then the Ghostbloods sent assassins after me on the Wind’s Pleasure. I was stabbed through the chest and almost killed and ended up Elsecalling accidentally for the first time and became trapped in Shadesmar,” she went on, tone barely changing, even as she described this traumatic event.

Adolin winced at that. He remembered the reports that had come in claiming the Wind’s Pleasure lost with all hands. At the time he’d been so worried about Shallan he’d barely spared a thought for Jasnah. 

Of course, Aunt Navani’s insistence that she was fine had been a little distracting, but… He should have been more distressed at the news of Jasnah’s presumed death. Even if it had turned out to be false. 

She was family. Even if she was a little odd, and they had never really spent all that much time together or gotten to know each other that well. He was working to change that with her. 

After Elhokar’s death… Well, he had realised how precious his family was. He wanted to make the most of the people he had left.

“Having been lost there yourself, you’re aware it’s not exactly easy to get out. Or to navigate through, particularly without supplies or Stormlight.” 

Adolin nodded, grimacing at the memory. It couldn’t have been easy for Jasnah, trapped there, alone, with no preparation or warning. She’d never really spoken about it to him. Or, as far as he knew, to anyone. 

She’d published accounts of what had happened to her there, and he’d had Shallan read them to him but… They were put across with Jasnah’s usual academic slant. There wasn’t any mention of how she had felt, or how it had affected her. That wasn’t really Jasnah’s way. 

Her voice was softer when she continued, with a sigh, “When I emerged at last it was to find that the Desolation had already come. The Everstorm had been loosed across Roshar, the Singers had awoken. All of my fears had been realised without my even being there to witness them. 

“In my abseence my uncle had refounded the Knights Radiant, with him as the Stormfather’s Bondsmith. My cousin was a budding Radiant, my ward was another, and then there was the bridgeman strutting around like a prized Rhyshadium with my family, seeming to fit more with them than I ever did. It was somewhat overwhelming.” 

Adolin gaped at her. He had never heard Jasnah admit to anything overwhelming her. Ever. Well, except perhaps Aunt Navani. But she could overwhelm a highstorm at times, so that didn’t really count. 

Jasnah was always, well, Jasnah. The model of Alethi regality and dignity. Always composed, always assured, confident, never in doubt or afraid, or any of the things he seemed to feel so often these days. 

She smiled, a little sadly, and said, “I went from being one of the most knowledgeable people to having everyone know the things I had worked so hard to discover. I’d spent years struggling alone. I’d written to leaders across the world and received only scorn, and mistrust. 

“Ivory and I had been alone, struggling to comprehend our powers and our bond. At first I feared that I was going mad. No one else understood. No one else could understand. And so I had to. Then suddenly Radiants were popping up everywhere like rockbuds after a storm. 

“I thought that I was so prepared, and so informed, and in a moment all of that had been for nothing. Everything I had done had been wasted time. It had made no difference. Everyone knew. Everyone knew more than I did, in fact. Everyone had moved on to a world I had feared was coming for so long. And I was left feeling lost and utterly out of my depth.” 

She took a sip of her wine, and her eyes grew more distant, more pained. He had never seen her like this before. As open, as vulnerable, as human as she continued, very quietly.

“Then Kholinar fell. And Elhokar died. And just like that, I became Queen of an empty, broken nation. A scattered, fragmented people. As lost and overwhelmed as I was. But they looked to me, their Queen, their most experienced Radiant, a ‘genius’ as you name me, and expected me to have answers, to be a shining light of salvation in the darkness of the thing I had dreaded for so long. They wanted me to save them, without ever realising I had already tried to do just that. And that I had failed.” 

So looked up and met Adolin’s eyes, her gaze steady, in spite of what she’d just shared with him and said, with a little humourless smile on her lips, “So yes, Adolin. I think I have some idea of what you have been feeling since all of this began.”

Adolin sat, feeling somewhat stunned, as if he’d just been cracked over the head with a Shardbearer’s warhammer again. 

Then he found himself leaning forwards, taking Jasnah’s hand and nodding to her, “Yeah,” he murmured, voice a little hoarse now. “Everything changed so much so fast. Everything except me.” 

She squeezed his hand. Just a brief pulse of her fingers around his, but it somehow gave him courage to say things he’d never been able to properly voice aloud before. 

“I was one of the most important people on Roshar. Shardbearer. Expert duelist. Heir to a princedom. In line to the throne of Alethkar itself,” he reeled off dully.

He shook his head, and downed the rest of his wine. Jasnah wordlessly refilled his cup for him, and he nodded his thanks to her before continuing. 

“Then the world ended. And there were Storming Knight’s Radiant again. And my father was one. And my brother was one. And my fiancee was one. And my returned-from-the-dead-cousin was one,” he said, gesturing emphatically towards her, “And my bridgeboy was one, too, because of course he storming is.” he went on, waving his cup around so much that a little of the wine slopped over the rim. They both pretended not to notice. “And I was just...Some guy with a dead spren and no place in this new ending world.” 

He met Jasnah’s eyes and gently squeezed her hands as he added, “Then Elhokar died. I failed him. And I failed Kholinar. We only got out of that mess because of my father-” he broke off, clenching his fist and turning away. 

Jasnah let him sit quietly for a moment, gazing vaguely off into space, brooding. There was darkness inside him. No one ever seemed to see that. He never wanted to let it show. But it was there. And it was swirling to the surface now, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to stop it. 

“My father,” he said, very quietly, still not sure if he wanted to fall into this chasm, “Who killed my mother.��� 

His voice caught and he was forced to swallow hard to clear the sudden lump in his throat so he could speak again. And when he did he found that he couldn’t stop.

Because he met Jasnah’s eyes again and knew that she, too, had dark thoughts she never wanted the world to see. There was a strange connection being forged between them. An understanding he’d never thought to find, or even look for, with her. But he felt that she understood, and would not condemn him for the words that started pouring out of his mouth like poison.

“And he wrote a storming book about it and told the world what he’d done. How he- What he-” He broke off again, but made himself keep going, “What he did. How he visited the Nightwatcher and she took his memories of her. Or, or a god took his memories of her, because they hurt him so much after what he’d done and I-” 

He balled his hands into fists and pounded them against his knees as the teras pressed behind his defiantly closed eyes. 

Through clenched teeth, he forced himself to get out, “As though he was the only one suffering. As though I was fine. As though I wasn’t in agony every storming day after she died.” 

Something broke in him then. Something that had been fraying for a long time. And he couldn’t hold it back anymore. 

“And it was his fault! He should have felt pain. He should have felt guilt. He should have felt every storming thing that was killing him after what he did because he deserved it. I didn’t. Renarin didn’t. But there was nothing there to take our pain away. We didn’t even have him. We lost both of our parents that night, and he didn’t even seem to care. Still doesn’t. He only thinks about what it cost him. What he lost. What he took away from the world. And from me.”

“I’m sorry, Adolin,” Jasnah said quietly, “I know that you still miss her.” 

“Of course I still miss her!” Adolin snapped, then winced at how loudly he had said that. He sighed, clenching and unclenching his hands several times, like a heartbeat, then said, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap at you.” 

Jasnah just nodded, wordless acceptance of his apology.

He set his jaw, then took another sip of wine, finishing his second cup. But when Jasnah made to refill it again he shook his head. He kept the cup in his hands so he could fidget with it, but he didn’t want more wine. He didn’t want- He didn’t want to be the man who needed it to get through something difficult. He didn’t want to be his father. Not anymore. 

“I still love him,” Adolin mumbled, “Even after what he did. He’s my father. And he- I can see that he’s trying to be a better man. She saw that in him, you know.” 

He looked up and saw Jasnah frown slightly, struggling to follow his confused, meandering thoughts. He didn’t blame her. 

“My mother,” he explained, wiping his nose on the back of his hand without really noticing what he was doing. “She was a good person. And she saw a good person in him, too. And she was right. She just-” 

He was crying now, jaw gritted against it, unwilling, but the tears were still coming. He wasn’t sure when he’d started. He supposed that it didn’t really matter. And with that realisation came the freedom to just..Cry. 

His mother would never have chided him for that, for his emotions. She would have welcomed them. Even angry, bitter, grief-drenched tears. The bad feelings couldn’t be kept inside of him, they would make him sick. And they would. They had made his father sick. So sick he’d had to beg a god to heal him.

“Why did she have to die before he listened to her?” he blurted, not expecting an answer from Jasnah. Not expecting an answer at all. Just needing to put voice to the things that had tormented him for so long. “Why did he have to storming kill her before he could become the man she always knew that he could be? Why couldn’t he have been that man for her? The man she deserved? Because she- She deserved better than the man that he was. There. I’ve said it.” 

He turned away from Jasnah, rubbing at his eyes, hoping, stupidly, that she might not have seen his tears. That was pretty impossible, given that she’d been staring right at him, and she was more perceptive than a skyeel spotting rats on the crowded streets of a city sometimes. 

And given that he was doing nothing short of openly weeping at this point. But Jasnah made no comment. Just silently handed him a silk handkerchief she had in a pocket.

“She was a good person, Adolin,” Jasnah agreed softly, “And you are her son. As much as you are your father’s.” She paused, then said, “More.” 

Adolin cleared his throat and sniffed several times before meeting her eyes.

She nodded, answering his unspoken question, confirming for him. 

Then she said, “She used to do the same thing that you do now, you know.” 

He frowned slightly at that, “What?” 

“She would compare herself to the other women of the court. Say how she was not as smart, nor as cunning, as they were, that she lacked their skill in politics, and Alethi scheming.”

“She was a better woman than all of them,” Adolin whispered, wiping his eyes again, “She had a good heart. She was gentle, and kind, and loving. She saw the best in everyone, and everything, even when they’d shown her nothing but the worst parts of them. She always believed things could be better, that we could be better. That’s what she taught me, and Renarin. And she was right. She-” 

He broke off, meeting Jasnah’s eyes again, and found that glimmer in them. She nodded slowly to him, and he swallowed, but nodded back to her, understanding passing between them.

“You are more like her than you allow yourself to be, Adolin,” Jasnah observed quietly. “You have her heart. But you hide it behind your own perception of all the things you’re doing wrong. All the things you aren’t good at. You ignore your greatest strengths to dwell upon your flaws. Until that becomes a flaw itself. It’s holding you back from the man that you could be. The man you should become.”

“When I was younger, I wanted so badly to be like my father,” Adolin said quietly. “I wanted to be the Blackthorn. I wanted to fight alongside him on the Plains. I wanted to see the greatness that everyone spoke about when they talked about him. The unstoppable Shardbearer. The undefeated warlord. I thought he was the best a man could be, the best thing I could ever aspire to be.” 

“And now?” Jasnah prompted gently. 

Adolin clenched his fist in his lap and stared into the candle flame flickering on the table between them, “Now that’s the monster who killed my mother,” he whispered, with a naked condemnation he hadn’t dared approach before. Not even in his own thoughts. “And thousands of other innocent people. And the less like him I am the better I’ll be. The better Alethkar will be, too.” 

He paused, then looked up at Jasnah, realisation sparking in him.

“That’s what’s wrong, isn’t it?” he said quietly, “What we are, what we do? We- We focus on the wrong things. On how good we are at killing and conquering. Or how accomplished our women are at scheming, and manipulating people.” He met Jasnah’s eyes and said, “That’s what you’re trying to change, isn’t it?” 

“No, cousin,” she said, actually reaching out and taking his hands, “That is what we are going to change,” she said, firmly. 

Adolin squeezed her hands and nodded, “We will,” he agreed. 

Jasnah smiled at that, not her usual, small, guarded little smirk, a full smile, her eyes dancing, her intent clear. And Adolin found himself smiling with her. 

As one, they stood, and embraced. Without any reluctance or ginger back patting on Jasnah’s part this time.

As they drew away, Adolin eyed her. “I think Wit has been rubbing off on you,” he observed, giving her a wry smile. 

Jasnah pulled back, frowning at that, “What do you mean?” 

“This feels like the kind of thing he’d do,” Adolin said, shrugging, “From what Shallan and Kal have said to me about the times he’s popped up to give them cryptic advice when they’ve needed to talk about stuff.” 

Jasnah sniffed, “I don’t think anything about that conversation was ‘cryptic’, Adolin. Nor was it intended to be.” 

“That’s true,” Adolin said, nodding, “If it had been Wit he’d have told me a three hour story about how chulls shouldn’t judge themselves on how good they are at flying by comparing themselves to skyeels or. Something.”

Jasnah smiled at that, and her expression softened in a way Adolin had never seen from her before. 

He paused, wondering if he dared ask her if the rumours surrounding her and Wit were true. 

Then the softened expression dropped from her face as she turned back towards him looking decidedly more business-like, and he decided that he didn’t dare. 

She might be his cousin, and they might have just bonded over things he’d never dreamed she of all people could have the experience to understand. But no.

Adolin Kholin might not be able to name all seventeen varieties of fingermoss, or have any idea how fabrials worked, but he was not stupid.

***

[shinygoldstar]

Midnight Snack

DannyMay Day 11: Midnight

(Also DannyMay Shadow, Scars, Power, Nature, Seasons, Teeth can you find them all?)

Word Count: 2271 (not beta’d. experimental writing)

Warning: mentions of ghost cannibalism, nothing explicit

@floralflowerpower ​ – for that ghost cannibalism post

(it’s 1 am so i’m gonna sleep now. might post on AO3 later)

Edit: AO3 Added!

.

It was mid-October. The leaves are starting to turn yellow heralding the approaching autumn. Danny was happy because that meant the unusually hot weather is almost over. It wasn’t that he’s melting from the heat- quite the opposite, he’s probably the only person in Amity that isn’t sweltering under the sun with his cold core. But due to this exact same reason, his cooler body temperature also drew in water vapor which condenses on his skin, pooling into beads of water dripping down his shirt, making him appear extra sweaty. He can’t wait for the temperature to be cool enough to not change clothes every few hours. Good thing his clothes are purchased by the dozen; no one really noticed him wearing new sets of clothes throughout the day.

.

It was the contaminated fridge foods that disappeared first. No one missed them. At least until they can’t find the mutated turkeys for their annual Thanksgiving hunting event.

.

Danny yawned as he and his friends entered Fenton Works. Autumn is comfy. Just the right temperature where he can wear loose clothing and not be stared at for being underdressed for the weather. No ‘sweating’ either. His mouth closed with a click, a bit too fast on his new fangs. Danny winced. The fangs seemed to have grown longer overnight again. At this rate Danny won’t be able to pass them off as normal pointy canine teeth for much longer. It didn’t hurt but the itch is annoying. Danny took a detour to the fridge, grabbing an ice cube from the freezer and popped it into his mouth, absentmindedly chewing on the cubes to take the edge off the itch as they walked down to the basement lab. His parents are at a paranormal convention at a nearby city and won’t be back until tomorrow. Danny and his friends gladly took the opportunity to do their ‘Danny’s quarterly fitness test’.

Danny flipped on the light switch and walked to the center of the lab, transforming into his ghost form. “Okay I’m ready. What’s first on the list?”

Tucker dropped his bag and took out a piece of notebook paper, “Okay, first we gotta do the baseline measurements. Height, weight, temperature, and the ecto reading.” Sam dug through her sports bag, pulling out the measurement tape. She held it against Danny, eyes scanning the tape measurement numbers. “Still the same height.”

Tucker nodded, noting down the measurement in Danny’s health notebook. “Next, weight.” Danny stood over the scale. “Yup, still the same weight too.”  

.

Then it was the ecto-samples that Jack misplaced in the kitchen fridge. Jack warned everyone a few days later (everyone knows to avoid glowing food on normal basis so the delayed warning is mostly just courtesy), but no one could find where it went and assumed it grew legs to join the other tiny ecto-samples lurking as their equivalent of household pests. (No matter how often Maddie tried to patch up the mouse hole it keeps reappearing in the same shape but in a different part of the house as if the original mouse hole got transplanted from its original location)

.

“Lunch Lady’s right. You need to eat more. You’re still as skinny as ever.” Sam remarked as Danny took the thermometer out of his mouth. “76 F. The ghosts keep attacking me all day and night. You’d think my parents would notice when a ghost sneaks pass them while they work in the lab but I triggered all their ghost alarms just by being in the house so they deactivated the system when I’m around. They must’ve kept it turned off during the day too.”

“Tough luck dude. Ecto scan next.” Tucker passed the scanner to Sam while Danny stood still for her to scan. The machine beeped, “Wow 6.8, that’s quite a jump from last quarter’s 5.1”

“Maybe it was from all the ghost fighting I did over the summer?”

.

As the leaves began to fall from the branches, ghost attacks lessened in frequency. Not looking the gift horse in the mouth Danny happily enjoyed the lack of ghost attacks to focus more on his studies. If he did well enough, he might even get Bs for his efforts. He also managed to avoid getting detention for the entire week much to the relief of everyone involved.

.

Two days before Thanksgiving, the Fentons finally remembered their turkeys. But by then it was gone. In a rush, they quickly purchased a pre-made turkey instead. While Danny enjoyed the fact that they’re having a normal family dinner for once, he can’t help but feel like there’s something off about the chicken. As if it’s missing a particular tangy or zingy flavor that would’ve made it richer in flavor. ‘Must’ve been because it’s overcooked.’

.

"Honey? Have you seen the new ecto-samples I placed in the basement lab fridge?" “Again Jack? This is the third time this month. Have you checked the upstairs fridge?” “I-ah was pretty sure I placed them in the correct fridge this time. Must be some no-good thievin’ ghost.” “I’ll set up the ecto-anti-theft, that’ll get ‘em good! No ghost can escape Jack Fenton for long!”

.

*Intruder Alert* *Intruder Alert*

Red lights peppered with robotic voice and alarm noises lurched Maddie into full alert mode. She quickly took stock of her surroundings and tried to wake Jack up. But Jack had his earplugs on and continued to snore blissfully. A loud knock on the door caught her attention. “What’s going on mom?” Jazz’s voice floated through the door. Maddie quickly rose to open the bedroom door, swiftly pulled Jazz in and locked the door. “Jazz dear, try to wake your dad up. I’ll go check on the intruder.” Maddie strode quietly to the door then paused, “Have you checked on Danny?” Jazz bit her lips and looked away for a moment “-ah yeah! Danny’s snoring so loud he can’t hear the alarm.” Maddie twisted the doorknob but paused, hesitating. “He’s fine mom.” Jazz reassures her. “If Danny wakes up, he’ll come here first. I’ll let him know what’s going on.”

The alarm rang loudly in her ears as she walked down the stairs to the basement lab, its loud ringing noise effectively covering up the sound of her footsteps. Reaching the basement floor, Maddie quickly crept over to hide behind the shelf on her left, eyes scanning the lab for the intruder.

The glass jars clinked as a shadow moved about the fridge. A very familiar shadow. That didn’t glow. Maddie turned on the lab lights. “Danny?” she started, carefully walking over to face him, her eyes still scanning him to check if he’s really her Danny. The faint, barely noticeable scar on his eyebrow from his attempt to fly off the tree when he was five is there confirming his identity.

“What are you doing down here-?” Maddie noticed the glowing jar in his hand, “and what exactly are you doing?” Danny hazily stared at her; eyes half-lidded. Maddie snapped her fingers to get his attention. Danny didn’t blink. “He's still not awake, Danny come on wake up!”, she shook his shoulders. “Huh? Wuzzat?” Danny groggily woke up. He blinked in confusion.

Finally aware of his surroundings, Danny looked down at his right hand that still held the glowing sample. “Aah!” Danny yelped dropping the sample, then realizing he dropped the sample, tries to catch the jar, fumbling clumsily. Maddie would’ve laughed if it was anywhere else but in this situation. “Danny, do you remember what you were doing?”

“I was doing my homework and was craving for a good cheeseburger?”

---

“And the half-opened jar of ectoplasm?”

“Pickles?”

---

“Dude are you for real? That was priceless!” Tucker crowed with laughter. Sam leaned away from Tucker to avoid the meat spittle, “Urgh! Gross Tucker! Swallow it before you speak!”

Danny grumbled into his glass of milkshake, “’s not funny Tuck. you didn't see her face. She was about ready to scan me for signs of ecto-possession. Good thing my lie about craving cheeseburger and opening the wrong fridge worked. Otherwise I’d be in big trouble if she scanned me now with my latest ecto-reading. Anyways I'm banned from the lab now.” Danny bit into his burger.

“So what really happened there dude? Did you seriously sleepwalk into the basement lab?”

“I think so? I don’t really remember anything before Mom found me in the lab. Only that I was feeling a bit hungry.”

.

The ghosts stopped coming. Everyone in Amity held their breath when there were no ghost attacks for two weeks straight, then a month. Then two months, three. No ghosts. They let out their collective breath. It might be too soon to hope but for now they will enjoy their ghost-free, perfectly ordinary life. It feels a bit strange to not have ghost related interruptions as part of their daily routine but they didn’t miss the ghost-related reconstruction expenses. The local insurance company employees received a nice bonus for the ghost-free month.

.

By the time March rolled in, Danny is restless. “Guys, there's definitely something big going on.”, he waved his hands for emphasis. “The Fenton portal is still open yet no ghost came through? Not even Boxy since the North District warehouse thing last month. There’s definitely something big going on. I've been taking the ghost-free break for granted for a while now and it helped save my grades but this is too big to ignore.”

“Dude, maybe it’s because you’re much more powerful now? Your latest reading last week is 8.2. None of the ghosts we’ve met so far is above 6 except for Vlad and the Ghost King.” Tucker suggested.

“You might have a point there, Tucker. We haven’t seen any of the ghosts bothering Vlad so far and he’s definitely higher than 6.” Sam added.

Danny frowned, “Maybe you’re right but I just have this nagging feeling that that’s not quite it.”

.

Danny entered the Zone with little fanfare. The area around the Fenton portal looked normal enough, the usual rocks and clouds of debris are still floating around in their usual areas. Danny aimlessly passed through the nooks and crannies, ducking under the endless spiral staircase, not entirely sure of what to look for. The Zone felt a bit quiet today but Danny haven’t been to the Zone that frequently to be certain about it.

.

The Ghost Zone, while still filled with random bits of odds and ends felt empty somehow. It wasn't until he sighted Skulker that he realized he hasn't seen any of the tiny blog ghosts nor the occasional passerby ghosts through his trip.

.

Luckily or unluckily, Danny quickly spotted someone he knew in the distance. As if called, Skulker turned his head towards Danny, then veered sharply to the left and flew fast in Danny's opposite direction, a first for the self-proclaimed hunter to not hunt his favorite prey. ‘Something's not right and Skulker definitely knows something.’ Danny thought.

Danny quickly chased after him; Skulker could never beat Danny at speed chase even at his best, and he won't be winning today's unplanned race either. “Hey Skulker! What’s going on?” Danny yelled over the gap between them but Skulker gave no reply, diving down deep into the reddish forest ravines of the island below. Not to be deterred, Danny did a quick aerial flip, adjusting his flight angle to follow down Skulker’s path. Danny soon caught up to Skulker and launched him into a nearby rock with sticky ectoplasm to hold him still long enough to talk. Skulker ejected from his metal suit but Danny was faster and caught the real ghost before he can escape.

.

(Why is Skulker fleeing?)

.

"Hey Skulker, not hunting me for once?" Danny asked teasingly.

Skulker paled (Danny never knew ghosts can turn pale) and squirmed even more. Danny's smile dropped.

"What’s going on Skulker?" he asked worriedly. “None of the ghosts have appeared in the human world and the Zone looks empty somehow”

Skulker squirmed a bit more but realizing he’s stuck finally said, “Ghost Child, haven’t you ever wondered why the Infinite Realms is never overcrowded?”

Danny frowned, puzzled as to where this leads to. “How is this related to this situation?” Skulker stared at Danny stunned.

“What?” Danny asked, suddenly self-conscious, “-was there something I was supposed to know about?”

Skulker sighed, unconsciously loosening a bit of his tension, “You’re so young. So very young. We Ghosts don’t fade as fast as Newcomers arrive from your world. In the Realms, there's a natural system that keeps the population under control. An ecosystem. There's predator and there's prey. And then there's the Apex Predator. There's a reason why Dark was feared. It wasn't just for his harsh rule. It was because he was the Apex Predator.”

Danny struck at the odd wording, "’Was’? Was that because he got sealed?” Danny paused, “But wait- if he's sealed, he would still be the Apex predator. So how-? Wait. Did I?"

Skulker nodded, "Good you're catching on fast. By defeating Pariah Dark, you have proven to the Realms that you're the best candidate for the Apex Predator. And with the new status comes sets of conducts, one your body instincts know well. You've been culling down the uncontrolled excess from Pariah Dark's sleep quite fast. Your hunger would settle down soon of course once balance has been re-established in the Realms."

“But- How- Wait- What-?” Danny looked down at his hand “Hey Skulker--!” but his hand is bare.

.

Danny’s lips tasted oddly tangy, energized.  

.

.

.

-----

(Skulker might've slipped out of Danny's slack hand while Danny is in shock. Danny might've bit his lips hard enough to bleed. It's not that hard with his new fangs. But this is just speculation...)

[xpeachesncream]

acquainted | six

> series masterlist | series playlist <

summary: the biggest goal of a grad student is to get through school in one piece - no petty drama involved, no sweating over the little things. however, that plan almost always never follows through. sometimes, you can’t help but fall into the most unthinkable, unexpected traps and learn the hard way. like, exhibit a: being unable to resist your engaged, substitute teacher, kim seokjin.

pairing: jungkook x reader x engaged!teacher!seokjin

genre: grad school au, student life au | fluff, angst, smut

words: 4.7k

warnings: unprotected sex, begging, rough sex, doggy style, hair pulling, very slight dirty talk, slight hints of jealousy, very brief moment of spit play, oral (f. receiving), breast play, cum eating, fingering, multiple orgasms, marking/hickeys, cussing/mature language, angst, cuddling/after care, mentions of car accident/death, insecurities, unanswered questions, dont really know wtf this is or where it’s going, love triangle mess

tags: @laurynne5 @yiyi4657 @miinoongi @teamtardis-notdead @bluesharksandfish @photographic-girl @yonkoghan @moonchild1​ (pls msg me if you would like to be added to the taglist!)

The Uber ride is silent, and part of you started to question whether or not you should continue. But, before you could really talk some sense into yourself, you had arrived at Jin's house.

You remember him dropping his address into your text thread after Chance's death anniversary, in case you ever needed anything. For which specific reasons, you had no idea what. Maybe for times like these? You were beginning to think this is what he planned all along.

As you slowly walked up to the front of his perfect family sized home up in Orinda, you felt a little weird seeing his car and what you assume is Grace's car. You also remember him briefly saying Grace would be in New York, but you double check your receipts just to make sure [on some serious hoe shit]. If anything, you could just make up some weird, bullshit excuse and run away, right? Pull the drunk student card. Hopefully, you wouldn't have to.

You ring the doorbell once and stand there awkwardly. You didn't hear any movement in the house, although the lights were on, so you hit the doorbell once more, the cold settling into your skin as the minutes go by. This was the moment you started to really question your decision. Like what the fuck, Y/N? What are we—

Lo and behold, Jin answers the door. He looks like he had just hopped out the shower since he showed up in sweats, a white longsleeve and damp hair.

"Sorry, I just hopped out the shower." He steps aside to let you in, almost like he already expected you to show up.

"It's alright." You fiddle with your fingers.

"It's freezing, are you cold? Do you want a sweater?" You look down at your leggings and the thin sweater you grabbed.

"I'm good, thanks." You say softly as you follow him deeper into the house. It's quiet for the most part, and you feel incredibly awkward walking behind him like a lost child. He stops in his kitchen, pouring himself a glass of water.

"Water? Or anything to drink? Eat, even? I might have something I could whip up for you really quickly." You chuckle.

"No, don't worry."

"Soooo, wanna tell me what you're doing here Y/N?" He chuckles at you.

"Don't flatter yourself, Jin."

"Can't help it since Jungkook doesn't seem to live here." He smirks, his hands now dug deep into the pockets of his sweats. You can't help but marvel at the sight of his long, veiny arms and the way his collarbone is poking out from his longsleeve. Oh, the thought of his hands wrapping around your neck.

"Ha-ha, very funny." You say sarcastically, crossing your arms.

"Just going along with your game." He's now closer and towering over you, subtly biting his bottom lip as he looks down at you. "You have fun with my stepbrother tonight?"

"And if I did?" At this point, your knees are buckling and you're about ready to pounce on this man with the way he's been acting.

"So then let me ask again - what are you doing here, Y/N?" His voice slightly deepened as his finger rose your chin for you to look him in the eye.

"Why ask when you know?"

"Cause I wanna hear it."

"You really wanna hear why?" You say, almost at a whisper.

"Yeah, I do." He edges his face closer to yours, the lust very apparent and strong as hell between the both of you. "Or you can show me." You suddenly can no longer hold yourself off, forgetting the events that played out until this moment. You instantly throw your bag aside and jump onto him, kissing him as he wraps his arms tightly around you to hold you up. He doesn't break the kiss as he's making his way up to the bedroom.

He gently lays you on the bed, taking off his shirt before aiding you with yours. You bite your bottom lip as you gush at the sight of his upper body, your panties feeling more soaked by the minute. You wanted every bit of him, and you were ready to get filthy, fulfilling every need Grace couldn't. He snatches your leggings off, tossing them across the room. His large hands are feeling down your entire body as he deeply kisses you. His lips move down to your jaw, then down to your neck, his tongue swiping across your skin before nipping and sucking on the surface to leave his mark. You let out a moan while your hands are in his hair.

"Fuck me, Jin. Pleeeease." You mewl as he's sucking on each breast, his tongue toying with your nipples before gently sucking and nibbling on them. He makes his way down your stomach and to your inner thighs, his long fingers hooking onto your panties and shoving them aside.

"God, Y/N. You have no idea how bad I've been wanting to fuck you." He says lowly before he lowers his mouth onto your wet pussy. He instantly swipes his tongue down your folds, sucking all the wetness that leaks out. You let out a breathy moan when the sensation hits you, sending chills and goosebumps down your body. He inserts two digits, biting his lip at the sound your pussy makes every time he curves upwards and picks up the pace.

"Ohhhhh my god." You moan as you slightly arch your back and palm your breasts, toying with your own nipples as he continues to finger you and suck on your clit like no tomorrow. "Mmmmmm, fuck!" You almost yell as one hand is gripping the sheets, trying your hardest to hold on for as long as you could, but this man was really about to make you cum right at this moment.

And so he does. He makes you cum so fucking hard your body needs to be held down from how bad you're trembling. All you want is more, and he knows you want more. He pulls you to the edge of the bed, ready to line himself up with your entrance but you take his cock in your hand and jerk him off for a bit. His cock is long, and the perfect thickness. His tip red and angry, pooling with pre-cum that your thumb is swirling around and playing with. Your free hand is grabbing his other hand and inserting the two digits he used to finger you into your mouth, sucking each digit slowly. He can't even fucking bear this sight right now, or else he'll probably blow his load right onto you. His eyes are rolling to the back of the head and all he can think about is fucking you so hard that the headboard almost breaks the wall.

He wanted you so fucking badly, and you were being the biggest, dirtiest tease.

You finally insert the tip into your entrance, gasping and smirking at how good it'll feel when he completely fills you up. He wastes no time pushing himself into you, completely bottoming out until he's thrusting into you harder than you imagined. Your body is moving upwards, titties shaking and bouncing from how hard he's going. One hand is gripping your thigh tightly as you wrap your legs around his torso, the other is around your neck.

"Jin! Fuck, you're gonna make me cum again." He groans, closing his eyes as he continues to thrust hard, going deep every time he pulls back, hitting your core with the sudden movement.

"You think my brother can make you feel this way?" He lets out breathily.

"N-no." You whine, tears streaming down your face at the overwhelming sensation.

"Seemed like you thought so earlier." He has this look in his eyes, the same look he had when he was hungry for you at the club. Except this time, it was ten fold more being he was in between your thighs, fucking you until he couldn't anymore. And honestly, this shit was boosting his ego because Jungkook had you wrapped around his finger all night and he hated it. Jungkook was a really good looking dude, who was good at a lot of things, and Jin couldn't help but feel a little competitive against his own sibling.

But here he was, getting you all to himself.

"N-no!" You beg. "Only you. Only you can make me feel this way. Please make me cum." He groans, his thumb now working circular motions onto your clit until you're letting your climax take over your entire body once again. You're so out of breath at this point, but Jin doesn't stop and instantly gets you on your fours. He swipes his hand down your pussy, making you suddenly jolt at the sensitivity. You feel his spit dribble down your folds, causing your breathing to hitch. It was obvious Jin was letting out this pent up sexual tension or whatever the hell it was, but you honestly couldn't care less. He could use you all he wanted, especially if he made you cum the way you did just these past two times.

At first, he was gripping your hips, holding onto you as he hammered into your pussy from the back. You started following his movements with his, making him pause just to feel you move along his cock. He gives your ass cheek a good smack, causing you to yelp at the heat pooling at the spot. He grips your ass, spreading it just enough to continue burying himself deeper into your core.

"Just like that." You moan. "Hohhhhhgod, just like that!" You're almost crying. He grabs a hold of your hair, tugging it back so that he can see your face.

"Let me see you play with yourself." He spits out. You reach down for your clit, your hands rubbing in circles as he continues to fuck you and tug on your hair. You let out a loud moan, the headboard really damn near about to create a dent into the wall. "Yeah, that's it. You're fucking naughty." He says in your ear. You feel yourself spiraling for the third time tonight, and this third time has you weak, causing you to collapse down onto the bed as he continues to thrust into you and fill you up with his seed, his hand pressing your face down against the bed ever so slightly.

"Ohhhhggfuck!" You groan, twitching at the last minute aftershocks running through your body.  The only sounds filling the room are you and Jin catching your breaths. He slowly slips out of you, grabbing a tissue on the nightstand to clean you up before cleaning himself up and throwing on his sweats and shirt.

"You okay?" He slightly chuckles, handing you one of his shirts to slip into. You weakly get into it, running your hands through your hair and fixing yourself up. Your panties and bra are still off to the side, along with the clothes you came in.

"You wanted to know why I was here, right?" He smiles, his cheeks tinted a rosy color.

"I'll get you some water, but is there anything else I can get you?" He asks, holding onto the door frame, fine as fuck doing the bare minimum. You shake your head and he disappears out of the room.

You can't believe this happened. So much for keeping distance. But did you regret it? Honestly -absolutely not.

Jin comes back with two glasses of water and sets yours on the nightstand next to you, which also has a picture of him and Grace. Ironic. He sits right next to you on the edge of the bed, watching as you yawn before sipping some water.

"Tired?"

"Yeah, it's been a really long night."

"Tell me about it, Miss 'I'm trying to keep my distance from you.'" You shake your head.

"Yeah yeah, keep it up. It's exactly what I want." You sarcastically joked.

"I'm kidding." He places a hand on your covered leg and gently gives it a squeeze. "For the record, I'm happy you swung by."

"I am too, but I should probably make my way home soon."

"What? No, stay. It's late. Plus, you're tired."

"A-are you sure? I-I mean, I don't wanna--" He shakes his head to cut you off.

"I honestly would really like you to. Besides, I don't know why you expected me to let you go back home this late." It was weird. You honestly thought he'd fuck you then send your ass home, but here you were, cuddling into his sheets and getting warm. But this was Jin - the same guy who didn't go home until you had a chance to spill out your feelings and made sure you were okay. The exhaustion hits you, being that it's 3-4am or something like that, you don't even care to know.

"Okay." Is all you say, sinking deeper into the sheets that smelled like lavender Downy detergent.

"I just need to clean up a few things, alright? Go to sleep. I'll be back in a minute." You quietly nod as you lie on your side, examining the photo on the nightstand. Fantastic job keeping up with your end of the deal, Y/N. Although your friends would probably make jokes about it at first, they'd be so disappointed beneath the surface.

You shake your head and turn the other way to erase your thoughts. You start to feel comfortable, enough to the point where you find yourself falling asleep pretty quickly.

Meanwhile, Jin is cleaning up his kitchen and living room before shutting off the lights and heading back upstairs. By the time he's back in the room and shutting off the bedroom lights, he sees you fully asleep. He smiles to himself and slips into the bed, careful to not wake you, but he's unsuccessful as he feels you stirring and getting closer to his body. Jin welcomes it, throwing his arm around you and allowing you to snuggle up onto his chest, gently running his fingers down your sides. Your skin felt like butter.

"Are you not sleeping yet?" You mumble into his chest.

"I'll sleep soon." He says softly, flipping through the channels on the TV in front of him.

"It's late, though."

"It's a Sunday morning. I'll be okay." He smiles at how cute you were being. "Go back to sleep, cutie."

"Hmph, suit yourself." You say, making him silently laugh to himself. Attitude still on na-na even half asleep. He places a gentle kiss on the top of your head and brings the covers up to make sure your entire body is covered completely.

This.

This felt right for him, no matter how fucking bad or wrong this all went down. No matter how he tried to look at it, or anybody else. He felt deeply for you after tonight and there was really no way of hiding it. Why shit came about this way, he won't ever truly understand, but he always looked at you as some sort of sign. Some kind of blessing in disguise. He knew what he wanted for himself. He had to do what was right for him, whatever that meant. He was the only one who could truly understand.

You shot up from the bed, grabbing your chest as you tried to regulate your breathing. You had just experienced the worst nightmare you had ever experienced, the only part of it you remembered was seeing Chance behind the wheel as soon as the truck came head on first.

"Y/N? Are you okay?" Jin asks in a deep, sleepy voice, slightly raising his head and eyes barely open. You feel his hand against your back, gently caressing it.

"Yeah, sorry."

"Bad dream?" He's now yawning and sitting up against the headboard, his fingers still lightly caressing your hips.

"Yeah."

"Wanna talk about it?" You shook your head.

"I just saw Chance behind the wheel before the oncoming car came on head first."

"I'm sorry." He says softly as he pulls you in.

"It's no big deal."

"Wanna make sure you're okay, though." Is all he says. He doesn't press you for details, or anything along the matter and simply sits there in silence, caressing you and holding you close. He knew you and Chance had a strong relationship, just based off of the way you talked highly about him, and that it was taken away from you unexpectedly. He wouldn't expect you to be completely over it. He would never understand the pain or how it feels, but he could do his best to be here for you. "You know I'm here if you need me."

"I know. Thank you." He smiles.

"Would you like some breakfast?"

"Sure."

"I'll cook something." He places a small kiss on your temple before getting up to get this Sunday started. You took a couple of deep breaths, still a little shaken up from the dream you had. But, you brush it off and get up to meet Jin downstairs. You slip on your panties, still walking around in Jin's shirt, and pass by his walk-in closet only to see Grace's clothes against one wall. You suddenly start to feel weird, so you hurry on by and get downstairs before you could start falling into a rabbit hole about your feelings. Jin was already at the stove, whipping up some eggs and getting some waffles into the toaster. He looked good doing so, his shirt doing a damn good job of outlining his back muscles and broad shoulders. You honestly wouldn't mind another round of last night.

You sit on the stool in front of the kitchen island and fiddle with your bag to grab your phone. It was still pretty early, so it wasn't surprising to see no texts from either of the three. You were sure you were going to hear from Ryujin soon, and you were going to make sure you would be home by the time she called. Hopefully, at least. However, there was a text from an unknown number, and your heart slightly sank when you realized who it was.

[unknown number] 3:02am: had a lot of fun tonight. probably the best birthday yet. thanks cutie :) hope you got home safely.

Jungkook.

"Friends blowing up your phone?" He raises his eyebrow as he watches you stare at your phone. You slightly chuckle and tuck it aside, making a mental note to respond when you got home. Yup. This shit is messy already.

"Not exactly, thank God." You rest your chin on the palm of your hand. "Sorry about earlier, by the way."

"Sorry about having a bad dream? Y/N, don't worry about it."

"And thank you for letting me borrow your shirt and for cooking breakfast." Jin smiled as he began to plate your food. It was the little things that he appreciated, the little things like the way you said thank you for everything.

"Of course." He walks over to your side and puts the plate down in front of you. You raise yourself up a bit in order to kiss him on the lips, knowing you weren't gonna stop that kiss right away. "Your. food." He spits out in between kisses, making you laugh.

"Okay, okay." He chuckles as he sits next to you, digging into his own plate. The both of you start talking about plans for the day and week, with no mention of Grace even though you knew your alone time with Jin would come to an end. No discussion about what this was, or what you both intended for this to be, especially in the long run.

"Why don't you come and stay the night again?"

"I got some work to do." You pouted.

"Then bring it over."

"Bring it over and then what, get distracted by you all night?"

"Maybe." He smirked.

"Mmmm, we'll see." He pouts.

"Fine, I'll let you do your own thing." You chuckle.

"You're a baby."

"I just got you to myself." You shake your head and quietly poke at your food. Suddenly, you felt the need to ask the question. You were just dying to. Like.. what now? What happens when Grace comes back? Nothing? You didn't know what to expect, you should've known this couldn't be much with Grace being back soon.

"So." You poked at your eggs.

"Hm?" He continued to eat, his cute, bug eyes occasionally glancing at you.

"God, I really don't know how to ask this."

"Just ask, Y/N. It won't hurt." He gave you a small, reassuring toothless smile.

"So, what happens when Grace gets back?" He shrugged. Really? Just a shrug?

"Honestly, I don't know."

"Look, I know I can't ask for much right now but are we just going to continue living our own lives after all this? Are you just going to keep me here with Grace around too?"

"I know I can't promise anything but it's not my plan to keep both of you around like that. I'm going to talk to Grace because I just don't think this is working between us anymore."

"How are you so sure? What if Grace comes back and you realize how much you truly do love her?" You felt stupid for asking but you were also dying to know. Your thoughts were everywhere and right now, it felt like your mind was your biggest enemy. You really didn't know what to do, and part of you [majority of you, really] felt like this was completely and painfully temporary and that he was never going to leave her. He had no plans to. You were just filling this void.

You couldn't be mad at it though.

"Y/N, please don't worry about this, okay? I'll take care of it." You simply nodded, knowing you couldn't settle on this too quickly because you didn't even know what that meant. Maybe, this is what it was. Just this. You couldn't expect more. Besides, you still had Jungkook around. You didn't even know what you were trying to do with that either, cause he was fine as hell. A sweet soul too, with the way he handled you at the club, careful to not overstep boundaries and disrespect you in anyway.

Too bad you were too wrapped up in his stepbrother.

Obviously, these things were never easy.

"Okay." is all you say before you continue to finish up your food. Once finished, you do what you can to help clean up the dishes and the kitchen before changing back into your clothes so Jin can drop you at home.

On the way home, Jin has his hand on your thigh while you looked out the passenger's window. Last night replayed over and over in your head and you had to bite you bottom lip to prevent yourself from smiling too big.

"Oop." You say as you jump from the vibration of your phone. "Oh shoot."

"Everything okay?"

"It's just Ryujin, hang on." He nods silently. "Hello?"

"Girl, I'm hungover as fuck. Let's get coffee or walk around somewhere. I need fresh air."

"Sure, I'll be home in a minute, I can meet you up in the next hour or so."

"Where the hell did you go this early?"

"Run errands, workout." You lied. But did you really? You kind of did get a workout in early this morning.

"Run errands and workout after a late night at the club?" She snorted. "Okay. I guess we clearly handle the morning after way differently."

"Yeah, just wanted to avoid the crowd." You glance over at Jin, who's smiling and silently chuckling go himself.

"Mmmkay." She yawns. "Hey, did you ever get that guy's number? I forgot his name." You subtly roll your eyes because you know damn well she wasn't gonna try and make you say Jungkook's name right now. She was drunk as fuck and flirting with Jin's friends when you had given him your number. Of course she couldn't remember for the life of her.

"Yeah, he asked."

"What's his name though? It's bothering me, cause I feel like I knew it all night but now it's not coming to me."

"Does it matter?"

"Of course it does, especially if you're planning to continue seeing him and throwing your pussy at him." You deeply sigh.

"Jungkook." You take another glance at Jin, but this time his smile had slightly faded. "Look, I'm about to get home, okay? Just text me where to meet you."

"Alrighty, we're continuing this conversation though. See you soon." And with that, the call ended. It was silent for a minute and you were unsure if you should apologize, or bring up the whole thing about Jungkook.

"Ryujin doing okay?" He asks, giving you a small smile. You simply nod and look back out the window without saying anything else. Maybe you both just didn't know how to approach the Jungkook thing. You sure as hell didn't, not around Jin.

You finally get to your apartment building, with Jin sending you off with a quick peck on the lips. You take a long, hot shower before hopping into some warmer and more decent clothes for your walk with Ryujin. You also had just remembered to text Jungkook back now that you were alone.

[y/n] 9:47am: sorry, had such a long night and knocked out. but yes, got home safely. i'm glad you had a great birthday. :)

[jungkook] 9:53am: she's up! goodmorning beautiful. hope you're still down for our date.

[jungkook] 9:54am: (sends picture of him laying down in a hoodie and glasses which makes you smile to yourself cause he's cute as fuck)

[y/n] 9:56am: of course i am. just let me know time and place.

[jungkook] 9:58am: time? yes. place? no. i'll keep it a surprise. :-) is it okay if i call you later?

[y/n] 10:02am: sure!

[jungkook] 10:03am: k, i'll talk to you later then. gotta run errands and stop by my brother's spot really quickly. have a good day today!

Whew, just imagine if you had run into him at Jin's house. What would you do then? Lie and tell him you came over for some homework help? Bitch, please.

The heavenly being above was on your team right now, but you knew that wouldn't last long with all this sinning.

After getting a good, quick shower in, you hurriedly got into your car and drove off to your destination, making it just on time to catch Ryujin stepping out of her car. She already has coffee for you, so you both start walking around Lake Merritt, revisiting last night's festivities and the fun you both had. The cold air was still nipping at your skin, cause you to rub your hand on your neck to try and provide some warmth. Suddenly, Ryujin grips your wrist and furrows her eyebrows at your neck.

"Y/N, what is that?" She points. Then it suddenly hits you - the hickeys Seokjin left on your neck. "Are those hickeys?!" She gasped.

Well, fuck.

"Keep your voice down." You say as you zip your jacket all the way up.

"Did you and Jungkook fuck last night? Is that where you actually were? You didn't run errands or go to the gym early this morning, did you? You actually just ended up going back home from his spot early this morning?" She threw questions left and right, her eyes wide and very suggestive.

"No, no! I didn't go home with Jungkook."

"So, did you guys do shit in the club or something? I'm confused, but also impressed if that's the case cause it's bold. I didn't know you got down like that, but I kind of like it." She pinched your side.

"No." She raises an eyebrow.

"Then why the fuck do you have hickeys on your neck? Who else could you have—" She stops in her tracks, hand over her mouth as she slowly approaches you again. "Y/N, who gave you those hickeys?" You simply look at her, your eyes already giving off the answer. "D-did you hook up with Seokjin?" She pulls out his first name, knowing 'Mr.Kim' was not appropriate for this matter.

"Yes."

[ducknotinarow]

"Wait!! Your name is Valentina!" Brooklyn exclaims, shocked and mock-offended, "And you just didn't tell me until now?! What other secrets have you kept from me! Are you even my sister?!"

| muse interaction

Nina didn’t stay on the campus herself in all fairness the Avengers tower wasn’t too different from a whole dorm set up anyway. Expect her roommates were billionaires and Hulks over peers in other majors. That didn't mean Nina didn't still hang around her school's campus about as often as those that lived there. You could only take so much family at times and well she had to admit it was fun and a nice change of pace to break away from the Avengers from time to time as well. Though today was special though she had a guest with her to spend time with her. Her baby sister Brooklyn! Okay yeah, Brook just wanted to see the campus they didn't know a thing about schools so learning that colleges could be lived at had libraries, places to eat and do laundry, and such good learning seemed to interest them. Look Nina was going to fully knock her sister for not knowing this stuff cause she had a reason for not knowing all this stuff. She was going to razz them over thinking it was cool and exciting though like the giant nerd her baby sister was. But first, she had to show the campus off and in turn, show off her baby sister.

"This is my baby sister!" She went on to hug her sister from behind as she went about another introduction. Holding Brooklyn's arm to hold it out "Don't be shy Brooks say hello." as if Nina hanging over them wasn't why Brook couldn't in fact interact with one of Nina's classmates. Puppet her sister as they shook hands set her chin on Brook's head as she went to speak. "yeah, I'm towing her around todo she was curious so I'm giving her the grand tour of the joint. And getting to introduce her to everyone since I mention her all the time." Nina went on to explain ever the doting older sibling. Now if only Brook got that more nice side seeing as Nina mostly lived to prank and mess with her given every chance.

They soon said buy as Nina looked down to Brook "Let's see that was the scene building it's where most my day is spent. There are other buildings for classes but I don't know them much. Oh, I can take you to the gallery thinkin' about it. I think they got the mural up now to see?" She went on to speak not giving her sister much a chance to offer her two cents. Before Nina let go and moved out front to lead the way again "Or we can hit the dining hall they got tons of food in there. Like granted food at home is good but oh the food here is the shit!" She exclaimed "I won't even mind if you do weird stuff like make up your weird pmilk. Know what yeah! let's go eat 'cause I'm straving now."

Nina decided hey Brook might like the more buffet style of the area meant they could mix things up however they wanted. In one sitting, Nina sees guys pile up plates with pasta, burgers, and such. Nina was also sure Brook would find a way todo worse and put them to shame. And part of her was curious about that. As she took the lead to get them out of the current hallway they were in. Heading towards the side door it would take them to the dining hall fastest. But she paused a moment when something in one of the display cases they were passing stood by. Humming a bit in thought as she turned to look, seeing a photo of her class, It was from some Stark event they held at the school. A program to help encourage young kids into pressuring the science fields when they went to college. That wasn't why Nina stopped to look at it though. She quirked her red and black-painted lips a moment. Hands set to her hips as she went to speak "aw come on why they used this photo. I showed up in my pj's my hairs a mess even." She pointed it out to Brooklyn so her sister could see the crime committed against her. Nina set her hand to her own face. "I didn'it know Tony was gonna be there, but of course soon as they got wind of it out came the press and all the cameras. Man, how many photos are there of me looking like that?" She went on to complain but it seemed something else about the photo got Brooklyn's attention. It listed off the members of the class, so to honor them for giving back in a sense.

Nina looking to her sister who seemed confused by something, lifting a brow as she looked back to the display case there were a few projects in there as well from stuff shown off that day. But they seemed focused on the photo Nina brought up. "Look I know I ain't look best in there but I promise it ain't that bad jeez" was her take away till Brook seemed to piece her answer together at last. "Wait!! Your name is Valentina!"

Nina just stood there confused looking between the case and her sister. "Uh yeah I just don't go by my full name. I don't think i ever have just always gone by Nina." Nina went to try and explain.

"And you just didn't tell me until now?! What other secrets have you kept from me! Are you even my sister?!"

Nina rolled her eyes she had no idea why this was such a shock to Brooklyn "Technically spekin' I still ain't told ya that. You just happened to find out right now and are making a big deal outta it." Nina went to explain "I don't get why it's no different than you mainly going by Brook when your name is Brooklyn." Nina was more than happy to point out "Side's only pops calls me Valentina...when I'm in serious hot water but the point still stands." She went on to explain, but Brook stood there acting as if her whole world had just fallen around them and changed everything now. Nina sighed and gave another roll of her eyes before she reached over and lightly flicked her fingers against Brooklyn's forehead. Hye she was nice enough not to do with her metal hand at least but someone's hand to tap a bit of sense into her blonde sister's skull, emphasis on the blonde here. "Don't be an idiot." was all she said before turning to continue back on leaving the building now. "My name was always Valentina. Just took the end of it and ditched the 't' to get Nina for the nickname." Nina went to explain hands held up into the air as she shruged her shoulders. Down playing mostly to just get at Brooklyn since it was a big deal to her. Oh but that's when a smirk tugged onto the corners of her mouth as she looked over her shoulder at them now. "You clearly suck at your job if you only now found that out." She taunted with at thier expense "I mean you seeing all kinds of files and more hell even the mueamsue exhibit we went o yet only know you found out? eh I dunno all those running drills you didn't seem to help" she pointed to her own head to suggest her meaning just now without saying it she was just looking to razz them after all. "All those books and yet you are this dumb? man, maybe we should do the library next just sit you in the center maybe something will absorb into that empty space between ya ears." She laughed a bit at the last remark now. Hey if Brooklyn was going to be this dramatic Nina was going to pick on her for it.

[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.