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tnystrk-exe · 4 years ago

Text

Estocolmo

Hannibal x Reader

Masterpost

Warnings: Smut 18+ thigh riding, fingering, oral, daddy kink, plot to make up for my first attempt at writing smut.

Word count: 6.8k

Chapter One

“Fucking hell.” You sighed as you looked at the still tall stack of essays that needed grading. “I’m never getting through this.”

Your stomach grumbled, signaling it was time for a break. Stretching, the quiet was interrupted by the sound of your bone’s protest from sitting in one position for hours. It was nights like these you had regretted your choices. Sure you had known Professor Jacob loved to torture his students with too much work, but when you took the job as his assistant you assumed that he’d shoulder some of the weight. A ridiculous thought now that you’ve experienced working with him. Why should he even think of grading an assignment when he had a perfect little lackey doing it for him? That was a non question. He had been strict about the work not leaving his office, which meant you had accidentally fallen asleep in his office more than often than you would have liked. The pile of work never seemed to diminish.

Walking out the office, you thought briefly of the joy you would feel when you’d never have to see it again. These long corridors would be a thing of the past in just a few, short months. Then you’d probably go to the city and struggle for a while but at least you would be free from here. As much as you prided yourself for getting through the first round of college, the walls of the building gave you more of an annoyed feeling than anything.

Pushing open the door to the teachers lounge, you made a beeline for the fridge. The leftover pizza already seemed like a feast until you noticed it was nowhere to be seen. “Hannibal,” you whined to the empty room as you closed the fridge.

“Yes, darling?”

You startled, immediately turning around to face him, a mischievous smile was plastered on his lips. Usually your missing dinner meant to head over to his office. It wasn’t typical, but the two of you had managed a comfortable friendship between the shared late nights. Though, you suspected he’d stay longer than necessary to accompany you in the empty building. “Would you mind telling me where my dinner went, handsome?” You asked, raising a brow at him.

“Old pizza can hardly be considered dinner. Come,” he motioned to sit next to him at the table, “I’ve got a better meal prepared for you nonetheless.”

“Or maybe you just need to learn to appreciate the simple things,” you quipped as you took your seat.

“And you, the finer.”

You gave him an obvious look over, “I’d say I appreciate you plenty enough.”

Being so forward wasn’t usually in your cards. However Hannibal had always been a gentleman and it had been fun to tease at him a bit. He never complained, often just acknowledging what you said with a raised brow or chuckle. Still there was always some truth in jokes and you’d be lying to say that he was anything less than tempting. Especially in the dark grey suit and dried blood red shirt of his. ‘No’ wouldn’t come to mind if he ever offered.

“Naughty, Miss LN,” he chided you, “What shall we do with you?”

“What do you want to do with me?”

“Eat your dinner,” he said, humor in his voice as he shook his head.

You choked back a comment about him just wanting to see your mouth stuffed, deciding it was too much of a push. Instead you just opened the lunchbox he placed in front of you. Hannibal watched you expectantly as you took a bite of the meat.

Closing your eyes, you savored the bite. It had been a while since you had something home cooked. “Han... I’m going to miss you most. I don’t know what I’m gonna do without you. Delicious, as always.”

“I’m sure you’ll do just fine.” He went back to work on his own stack of papers as you ate. “Though, I’m not sure I’m ready to allow you to live off street food once we part.”

“Guess we’re gonna have to find me another man that insists on throwing away my perfectly good food to serve me home cooked meals.”

Hannibal left some remarks on a paper before pushing it to the side. “You could always come learn a few things. Maybe I’ll rest better knowing you know how to make yourself a couple of decent meals. Any guesses for the meat?”

It was a strange guessing game, but you indulged him, he was just eccentric. “Oh, definitely human,” you teased, making sure to pick up some spinach and artichoke in the next bite, “Probably had a boring name like David.”

“Close. It was Richard,” he corrected.

“Beef, it was the Rolex of all farm animals hand picked by you and I’m very grateful you shared some with me,” you smiled at him, “So how are things going with Baltimore?”

“I’ve found a beautiful home. The office, however, seems to be harder to find.”

“I’m sure you’ll find the perfect one.” Your phone started ringing. Grabbing it from your pocket, you looked at the screen. Mom. “They’re making this unnecessarily difficult,” you sighed to yourself.

Hannibal looked at you with peaked interest as you shut off your phone and pushed it away. “Is something troubling you?”

“My parents aren’t taking too kindly to the no contact rule. It’s the tenth call today.”

“You’ve cut them off?”

“I thought about what you had said,” you shrugged, “I’m tired of always having to get them out of troubles and be their ATM when I don’t have enough for myself. It’s just too much on me right now. Between school assignments, Jacob’s work pile, and my other part time, it’s all just suffocating. They keep trying to use my grandfather’s death as a leverage to make me feel bad about not talking to them now, but they just want some money. I don’t want to feel guilty about this but I can’t help it.”

“Don’t,” he placed his hand over yours, “You deserve to feel taken care of and appreciated. They aren’t providing you with that now. Especially now when they use the death of the person who raised you as leverage,” he shook his head, making a disgusted sound, “It’s for your own well-being that you take some time to breathe and be young. They provide too much stress…” Hannibal fell silent. “I’ve suggested this before but i-“

You gave his hand a gentle squeeze before pulling away. “I’m not taking your money. We’re friends. Money complicates things. Muddies the waters.”

“Friends help each other,” he reminded you, “I’ve already told you I wouldn’t want any payment.”

“But I’d still feel like I owe you.” You shook your head, “It wouldn’t feel right to me. I’m fine. I promise. Though, if you’re so willing to help me with something, I wouldn’t say no to those cooking lessons. They could be fun.”

He spared you a smile, “It would be my pleasure to teach you what I know.”

“And I’d never deny your pleasure,” your mouth spoke before you could think about it, “Sorry.”

“I don’t deny myself pleasure either,” he said, amused. “You’re fine. Now, how about we meet on Sunday? I’ll have time to figure out a full meal and gather all of the ingredients.”

“Great!” You ignored the heat that still lingered on your face, “I- um, do you need me to bring anything?”

“Nothing at all, I’ll make sure to take care of everything. All you need to do, sweet girl, is bring yourself and an appetite.”

You stifled a pleased smile at the term of affection. “I’ll make sure to do that,” sparing a glance to the clock, you frowned, “I should probably get back to work on those essays.”

“Why don’t we work on them together?” He suggested. “My colleague is notorious for drowning you in his work. I can help you sort through it all and you can have a restful Saturday without Micheal’s added stress.”

“I really can’t ask that of you. You already have enough work as it is.”

“We’ll work together. First your work, then mine. What happened to never denying my pleasure?”

Your eyes widened, but you laughed all the same. Maybe a while more in his company wouldn’t be so bad. “Fine. Hold me to my words, but it’s only going to cause you a headache. Don’t say I didn’t warn you. These new kids are… something else.”

“They’re nothing,” he stood, grabbing his papers in one hand, “Meet me in my office. We can be more comfortable there and I may have stowed away a bottle of wine.”

“What would I do without you Doctor Lecter?”

“You have arrived at your destination,” the robotic voice informed you as you parked.

You took in the mansion of a home. It was too big for someone that lived alone. The thought made you shiver. Homes should be filled with life, not empty space. Then again, he was a fan of dinner parties, extravagant ones at that, so you supposed there was life in those walls on occasion. The home itself reminded you of the houses in old movies. Ones where the lightning would strike at just the right moment as a warning to stay away. But this was real life and there was no lightning, just a sun setting on a near perfect day.

Without a warning telling you to keep away, you grabbed the gift bag and stepped out of your car. He had said to bring nothing, but you couldn’t resist a simple gift. The ties in the bag had taken out a decent chunk from your pocket, but he deserved them. Between agreeing to give you cooking lessons and helping you out with grading every so often, the simple pieces of fabric meant nothing. Besides, it was a two way gift, he’d get more of the patterned ties he was fond of and you’d get to see him in the darker colors you liked on him, knowing he’d feel compelled to wear them to show you his gratitude.

Knocking on the door, you waited a couple of minutes before he emerged. “YN, just in time. Please, come in,” he stepped to the side, “I’ve looked forward to this all day.”

You smiled and stepped past him. “I have too. Entertained myself a bit today by finding you a gift.”

“Darling, you shouldn’t have.”

Nervousness bit at you slightly, a bit self conscious they’d be too cheap for his taste. Too late to back out of it, you handed over the bag. “You’ve always been so kind and I really appreciate everything. Let me do something for you.”

He set the bag on the nearby table, laying out the ties to get a better look at them. “They’re all lovely,” he ran a finger across the fabric of a maroon one, “Fond of me in darker colors, YN?”

“What can I say?” You shrugged, “We catch ourselves spending a lot of time together. Why not make you a decent piece of eye candy?”

“Inappropriate,” he chided you, before signaling you to follow after him.

“You just wear them so well, Doctor Lecter.”

Shrugging off his navy suit coat, he draped it over a chair, making quick work of rolling up his sleeves. “Ready to get your hands dirty, my little sous-chef?”

“What are we making?” You asked, looking at his kitchen wide eyed. It was definitely bigger than your measly studio apartment.

“Frisee aux lardons, duck with a pomegranate-citrus glaze. I took the liberty of preparing a blood orange sorbet for dessert.”

“I have a proposal.”

“Yes?”

“We don’t do any of that and just have dessert for dinner.”

“No,” he gave you an amused glance, “There’s more pleasure in waiting for things. Why don’t you start washing up the vegetables and I’ll start preparing the duck?”

You stuck your tongue out at his back but set to your work. “This is what I get for befriending a charming old guy.”

“Keep going the way you are and our next meal together will be langue d’Agneau en papillote.”

“That can’t be a threat if I don’t know what that means,” you quipped, setting aside an endive.

“It means, darling,” he pointed his knife at you, “The fondness I feel for you is an inconvenience. Nonetheless, it’s welcomed.”

You smiled at him brightly, as you brought the washed vegetables over to him. “I’m fond of you too, but you gotta stop flirting and teach me how we’re gonna cook Daffy here.”

He motioned for you to grab a cutting board and a knife of your own. The two of you worked in quiet harmony, occasionally he’d tell you exactly why he was doing something a certain way or just give you simple instructions and let you have a hands on feel of exactly how to prepare something. It was nice to see him in his element. Hannibal seemed much more content in his kitchen than any where you had seen him at the college. Eventually he set his work to the side and washed his hands.

“You’re cutting them too thick. Thinner is better for this dish.” He stepped behind you, “Do you mind?”

“Go ahead.” You attempted to move to the side, but Hannibal had already caged you in between himself and the counter. His cologne was different from the one you were accustomed to him wearing, but the subtle spice of it gave a more homey feeling to him.

Hannibal grabbed your hand that had yet to let go of the knife. He made sure to show you how to cut them the right thickness. “See? A little thing can unbalance everything.”

“Hm,” you hummed, catching yourself relaxed against the man, his frame strong against yours, “I don’t see much of a difference. Pretty sure this is just your variation of a putter.”

“You assume I have hidden motives,” He acknowledged, looking down at you, “And if there were any?”

Taking the bait, you pressed a kiss to the side of his jaw. “I wouldn’t be too upset.”

His head dipped into your shoulder, taking in a breath. “What happened to not wanting to bring on complications in our friendship?”

“We only have weeks left with each other,” you shrugged, “There wouldn’t be any complications. Not really.”

“We really should get back to making our dinner, darling,” he sighed, almost seeming reluctant to pull away, “What else did you did you do today?””

It took you a second to respond, still shaking off the embarrassment. You weren’t sure what had compelled you to do that. When you looked up at him you grimaced. Grabbing a napkin, you carefully wiped away the lingering lipstick. “The ties were the more interesting part of the day, I didn’t plan anything eventful. Honestly most of my day was taken with trying to recall the shop you mentioned that carried the ones you liked.”

He hummed in appreciation, “You also managed to pick out two I have had my eye on. I’ve got new suits coming in soon that will pair perfectly.”

You beamed at that, happy he did actually like what you had chosen. “Lucky guess. It was difficult remembering the ones I had seen you wear.”

Hannibal made to grab some ingredients and set them on the counter near the stove. “Have your parents tried calling you this weekend?”

You sighed, sure you didn’t have to tell him the truth but you wanted to, he had a compelling thing to him that made it easy to just speak. “I sent them money for rent. Which was honestly the dumbest thing I’ve done in a while.”

“It wasn’t idiotic,” he stated, setting to work on making the pomegranate sauce as you watched, “They’re you’re parents. It’s only natural you worry about them. Though, I do worry they’ll think of you as a person that doesn’t stick to her word.”

“I know, I really meant to, but the thought of them out on the street. It’s not my responsibility, but I’m just so used to being their adult.”

“It’s difficult to detransition. You worry for them as they should worry for you.” He checked over a pan he had been heating, “That’s perfect. If you could please..” Grabbing the plate with the duck you set them on the pan. “With duck it’s important to render off the fat. A low heat is necessary.”

You nodded, “Low and slow, got it... You know, I’m not sure they worry about me at all. I mean- I know they don’t. It should hurt, but it’s just a fact of life.”

“They didn’t give you an opportunity to be a child. When you were supposed to be in the most carefree moments of your life, they burdened you with the responsibilities of an adult.” He held out a spoon with some of the pomegranate sauce for you to taste. “Any pain the notion inflicted on you has been killed with time.”

“There are still moments though. Suppose that’s common enough, isn’t it Doc?” You leaned in, allowing him to feed you, “That tastes amazing. I really should have paid attention.”

“It’s simple, I’ll write it out for you later.” Casting the sauce aside, he set a pot of water to boil. “Very common. We aren’t too dissimilar when it comes to how quickly we had to grow up. Very different reasons, but the fall out isn’t much different. Our paths left us in places where we’re very much alone.”

“What happened?” You asked, realizing that he had known a great deal of your family and you had known nothing more past how his day had gone or his preference of coffee. “If you don’t mind me asking.”

“I don’t.” Hannibal went to fill two glasses with wine. “I was very young when my parents died. My father had implemented in me that, if anything were to happen, I was to take care of my mother and sister. Which meant I had grown fiercely protective of Mischa when the time came. Soon I was acting more as her father than a brother.”

“Where’s Mischa now?” You asked, knowing at the very least she had to be in her late twenties.

His lips set into a frown, he took a quick drink. “Lost her sometime after. There was a lapse of judgement on my part and she suffered because of it. My days have often been shrouded by the thought that I could have done better by her. The ways I failed burdens me significantly.”

You rubbed his arm sympathetically. “I couldn’t even begin to imagine that pain.”

“It’s something I never wish to experience again. Losing someone you love so dearly, it changes a person.”

“I’m sure you tried your best. You’re a good man. I’m sorry you had to go through all of that when you were so young.”

“You think too highly of me,” he patted your hand on his arm, “Far better than I deserve. Still if my childhood had taught me anything, it’s to value those I hold dear. Such as yourself.”

“I’m glad we found each other. Even if it is for a short while.” You watched as he stepped back into the rhythm of cooking. Maybe you weren’t any help to him but watching him work was comforting.

He raised a brow, “Just because the amount of time we physically see each other will diminish, doesn’t mean we need to completely break apart. I’d like to have you at my dinner table later in life.”

“I’d like it if we kept in touch,” you replied, looking at a small box on the counter. The small black beads glimmered in the light, calling at you to take a peek. A neat row of recipe cards in his impeccable penmanship, numbered as high as 120 but there could have been more. “That’s sweet,” you mused, looking at the back of a card, noticing a couple had business cards on them, “You keep track of your friends’ favorites like this?”

“Friends, acquaintances, business partners. It’s difficult remembering everyone’s preferences. When I have dinner parties I like to make sure there’s a bit of something for everyone.”

“Hm, well I’m sorry I don’t have a card for you to have.”

When everything was said and done, you helped Hannibal set up the plates to have dinner. The conversation became light as you laughed along to the better memories of Mischa. From his smile it was easy to see he adored the usually shy girl. You never pressed on to find out how she died, simply choosing to bask in his soft smiles and laughter instead of entertaining curiosity. It was easy to see he rarely talked about her and you were grateful that he found that much comfort in you.

Some time later he was sitting at his harpsichord, playing a self composed melody as you browsed his shelves. There was an almost familiar calm in the air, like this was a usual happening and it would simply just happen again. A naturally reoccurring moment. You found comfort in his presence too.

You looked up from the shelves when you heard his sigh. “I can’t seem to master this melody,” he stated, “The ending never sounds right.” The annoyed demeanor contradicted his lax look. At least lax for him. His vest and suit jacket had been discarded a while ago leaving him with a popped button, loosened tie, and rolled up sleeves. “I may just leave this one in the air.”

“Sounds perfect to me,” you said, walking over to him, “Though we can be our own worst critics. I know I’m mine.”

“It sounds… forced. Almost as if it’s reluctant to work with me.”

“Forced things just need time.” You placed your hand on his shoulders, digging in your thumbs to relieve the tension you felt. A soft groan as he let his head lull back to rest against your stomach. “Time is all you need sometimes. I thought you would have learned that already, old man.”

He opened his eyes, raising a brow at you. “Always with that mouth.”

You smiled down on him fondly, something- probably the wine in your system -thought about pressing a kiss to his forehead right then. “What can I say? It has a mind of its own.”

“I do prefer when it’s otherwise occupied,” he stated, closing his eyes again.

Your fingers dug a little deeper at that, caught off guard. “And yet.”

Hannibal played a couple soft notes, seemingly testing the waters for his next attempt at getting it to sound right. “And yet.” The first melody seemed almost innocent, but was followed by a second seemingly stalking after it. “Would you mind putting on a record? It seemed I’ve grown bored with music of my own.”

“Sure thing, Han.” Giving his shoulders one final squeeze you pulled away from him. At the record table you browsed through his selection. Hannibal was still composing as you decided to go with a record that looked more worn than the others, figuring something well loved would help him out of his frustrated state. Setting it on the platter, you gave it a brief once over with the anti static brush, knowing he’d probably be attentive to that type of thing, and dropped the needle. The music filled the air as you took in the melody. “Very you.”

He let out a soft chuckle, abandoning the harpsichord, in favor walking over to you. “Very me, indeed.” Hannibal took the record sleeve out of your hand, setting it down on the table. The music’s build up reached. “Would you give me the honor?” His hand was stretched out toward you.

You gave him a sheepish smile, “Afraid I’m going to have to disappoint. I’m not much of a dancer.”

“I’ve been told I’m a wonderful teacher,” he pressed, a charming smile on his lips, “We all start somewhere. Let me be yours.”

A soft laugh bubbled from you as you took in his look of boyish excitement. “You’re not allowed to complain when I step on your toes.” You placed your hand in his.

He gave a gentle squeeze to your hand. “If you’re too terrible, I’ll show you the way I taught Mischa. You can stand on my toes as I try to help you commit the movements into muscle memory.”

“Handsome and a comedian.”

“I try my best.” Hannibal gave you a gentle spin as he pulled you closer. A kiss was pressed to your hand before he placed it on his shoulder. “Now, just follow after me,” he instructed, placing his hand on your hip.

The moment could have made you fall for the man as you danced with him throughout the room. Toothy smiles and teasing winks were sent your way the couple of times you stepped on his toe. Soon enough, you figured out the pace and learned how to follow through with his unspoken plans. Still, ever the novice, you managed to place your foot in a way that sent you both stumbling to the floor.

Hannibal held you close to his chest, ensuring you didn’t get hurt in the fall. “Oh my sweet girl,” he laughed, “we are going to need more practice.”

You hid your face against his neck, ignoring the fact that he could feel how hot your face was getting. “You want more of that?”

“You were doing perfect, YN,” he stroked your hair sympathetically, “One misstep isn’t something to be embarrassed about.”

Taking a deep breath, you shifted off of the older man, opting to sit beside him on the floor. Hannibal followed suit, leaning back on his elbows. “I really am going to miss seeing you regularly,” you admitted, reaching out your hand to push back the hair that had fallen in front of his eyes.

“We spend much of our time together,” he acknowledged as he looked at you curiously. “In the kitchen-“

Your eyes widened slightly, “We don’t need to talk about that i-it’s fine. No hard feelings.”

“Romantically or physically?”

“I’m sorry?”

“Do you see me as a romantic or physical conquest?”

“I, um,” you opted to look at your fumbling hands, “I’m honestly not sure about romance… especially considering… everything and my experience when it comes to romance. Never really thought past- I’m talking too much.”

Hannibal’s hand tilted your chin up, forcing you to look him in the eye. “Oh? What happened to the confident girl in the kitchen? Don’t go shy on me now.”

“I was high on your cologne, you can hardly blame me,” you rambled, “It pairs with mine nicely I think.”

His thumb stroked absentmindedly at your jaw. “Such a sweet little thing you are… Now, tell me, YN, what couldn’t you think past?”

“You,” you offered lamely, “Mostly nights when I needed to relax. You’d cross my mind. I’d wonder how you felt. How’d you do things. Maybe you’d like to leave bruises only you’d ever know about…”

“There’s something special in knowing what others don’t,” Hannibal acknowledged, “I do enjoy my lovers wearing my marks, hidden from others view and only acknowledged by myself. As it should be, I’m certain you agree.”

You swallowed thickly at the implication of being marked as his solely. The idea of having normal conversations with him at the college with evidence of him knowing you well burned against your skin. Maybe you’d see if you could convince him into one particular fantasy Friday night had conjured.

He rested his thumb against your bottom lip, bringing you back to him. “I’ve had thoughts of my own… I wonder… Have you ever wrapped a hand around your own neck?” Hannibal smirked at the way your lips parted in surprise as he felt the heat rise to your face, caught in a way you hadn’t expected. “Sweet girl, were you desperate for me?”

You went to lick your bottom lip out of habit, instead finding the pad of his thumb. “Yes, sir.”

“Darling,” he sighed out softly, almost disappointed, “we could have sorted you out this entire time, if you’d only ask politely. There would have been no need for you to imagine, creative as you might have been. You always put everyone’s needs before yours, but where does that leave you?” Hannibal his thumb pressed against your lips lightly, humming in satisfaction when you let him in, already so compliant. “All you have to do is ask. What would you have me do tonight?” A soft pop sounded in the room as he pulled his thumb back, smearing your spit onto your lips and chin.

“Just tonight?” The words rolled out of your mouth thoughtlessly.

A soft laugh. “Maybe more, if you behave.”

Hannibal threaded his hand into your hair, pulling your head back slightly. Leaning closer he took a deep breath, taking you in, before leaving a simple kiss against your neck. His warm breath fanned across your face as he kept you in anticipation. Finally he graced you with a feather light kiss, so quick you weren’t sure you even noticed. You didn’t have time to feel ashamed of the whine that had escaped when he started to move away. Following after him, you caught him in an urgent kiss, threading your own hands in his hair to make sure he’d stay close. Hannibal bit at your bottom lip, his tongue sliding in the second you gasped. You ignored the sting and slight coppery taste.

Sure you had had your fair share of ventures. It was only natural to crave the attention for the night or a couple hours. However, Hannibal didn’t feel like any of your past partners. His kiss was unrelenting and passionate. Quickly he learned exactly how to kiss you to ensure you’d moan into his mouth. You weren’t sure how long had been spent like this. Lips on lips. Someone’s wandering hand trailing down the other’s body. The growing need. Every movement slowly became bolder. Hannibal took the time to pull you onto his thigh, closing the distance between you even more. He kissed along your neck until he found a spot that made you buck against him.

“Please,” you sighed out, not really knowing exactly what you wanted, but having faith that he’d give you just what you needed.

Hannibal leaned his forehead against yours, “Are you sure about this, darling?”

It wasn’t time for contemplation though, everything was already set into motion. He had just asked out of politeness. His hands moved to your hips, he dragged you against himself in a way that clouded your mind. “You’re very convincing,” you said with a shuddered breath. Leaning your head against his shoulder, you matched his rhythm. At the moment everything in the world was him and you couldn’t find it in you to mind.

“You came to me,” he pointed out. His hand tugged at your shirt and you allowed him to pull it off. Fingers raised goose bumps along your skin as he followed the fabric of your bra to unclasp the material.

“Could you blame me?” You kissed the side of his jaw for the second time this night. The lipstick mark left behind wasn’t as embarrassing when you were half undressed on his lap. A blush blossomed in your chest as you watched his darken eyes take you in.

Hannibal kissed along your chest. His hand made its way into your pants, drawing slow circles on your clit. Your soft moan and jut of your hips urged him for more. Before you could ask, he thrusted two fingers inside of you, the pace changing every so often as he took in your reactions. You leaned your head against his shoulder as you grinded against his hand. Soft whimpers were muffled by the fabric of his shirt.

“Come on sweet girl,” he used his free hand to pull you off of his shoulder by the hair, “you shouldn’t be hiding. Look at me when I’m touching you. Don’t you want to be my good toy?”

You nodded meekly, unable to make a smart comment when you saw a smirk settle on his lips as a too loud moan took its place.

“That’s it, no one can hear you,” he teased as he worked at the spot harder, his thumb rubbed at your clit. “You seem very close, what if I…”

As he went to move his hand, you grabbed his wrist to stop him. “No, no, no. Please, I’ll be good for you.”

He chuckled, but didn’t say a word as he brought his pace back up. Instead he chose to revel in your soft sounds and the way you had to focus to keep your eyes on him. Finally, he decided keeping you on the edge was enough and allowed you to cum on his fingers.

“Clean up your mess,” he said as he thrusted his cum coated fingers into your mouth, “There you go, good girl.”

You watched him as you sucked his fingers clean. Bringing a hand down you palmed cock through his pants, fully intending on returning the favor. “You’re wearing too many clothes.”

“I’m afraid that status isn’t going to change anytime soon.” Hannibal kissed your pouted lip. “Don’t worry, I fully intend on taking care of you. Come, let’s make you more comfortable.”

As he stood, Hannibal offered you his hand to help you up. You followed him through the home to his bedroom, a place you didn’t think you’d end up but were more than pleased to see. Still you weren’t exactly taking in the sights when you were pulled into a rougher kiss as he led you toward his bed. A not too gentle push to your chest landed you on top of it. Leaning back on your elbows, you watched as Hannibal took his time undressing you fully.

“You don’t play fair,” you complained, shifting yourself higher on the bed, away from him, “I like a pretty view too you know.”

He smiled, looking down at you fondly, “Very well, but only as a reward for earlier. I know you struggled.”

You smiled at that, shaking your head, “Come here won’t you?”

There wasn’t any time wasted when he settled on top of you, you didn’t have his patience. Your hands worked on his tie and buttons as his lips and teeth trailed across your chest. A subtle grind against your pussy had your thighs squeeze his waist. Pushing his shirt off, you felt down his chest, still surprised by how muscular he seemed to be underneath it all. You wondered if he’d stop you as you reached for his belt.

“That’s enough. I don’t think you’ve earned it just yet.”

An annoyed huff was all you could manage.

“All in its time, darling.” A surprisingly gentle kiss was dropped on your cheek. “Can you manage waiting a while longer for me?”

You resisted the urge to nuzzle against him, unused to such soft displays from past partners. “Yes, sir...”

“Always such a sweet, polite thing.”

Hannibal kissed and bit his way down your body, ensuring there would be evidence of him the next time you saw yourself in the mirror. He allowed you to thread your fingers in his hair, giving him a soft push down when he took too long marking you in one spot. It wasn’t much longer until Hannibal was level with your thighs, he pushed them further apart. A moment passed without anything before you remembered his rule. Willing yourself up you looked down at him, catching a wink before you were rewarded with a broad lick. Hannibal sucked your clit, pressing your hips down when you grinded against him.

A helpless noise was the most you could do.

He bit your thigh, his fingers immediately making their way back inside of you, targeting the spot he had quickly learned turned you to putty.

“You really are beautiful like this,” Hannibal acknowledged, “Completely at my mercy. Desperate for anything I’m willing to give you.”

There wasn’t any time to think up something to say as Hannibal’s mouth replaced his fingers, silencing any words that weren’t his breathy attempts of his name and pleas. Teeth grazed against your clit and a soft moan of his own was enough to pull you closer.

“Please, daddy,” you begged, too far gone to be embarrassed by your slip, “I’m close…”

Hannibal was merciful, helping you finish as quickly as you had asked. Maybe at another time he would have teased and made you hold on longer but there was only so much patience he had. Especially when there was such an eager lover begging him. You watched him, dazed, as he came back up, his hand gripping at your jaw.

“Open.”

Doing as he wanted, you opened your mouth, instantly receiving a mix of the still lingering wine he had drank at dinner and you. He watched as you swallowed.

He let out an almost dreamy sigh. “So pliant.”

Hannibal kissed you, finally allowing you to get your way as you pushed off the last clothes. You pumped him in your hand, working up the courage as you shook off the daze he had left you in. He was definitely the most talented partner you had had.

“We don’t have to go any further,” Hannibal reassured you, kissing the side of your mouth, “I’m perfectly sedated watching you.”

You shook your head immediately, not wanting him to think you were hesitant. “I want to, college guys aren’t so giving, just needed some time to clear my head.” As if to prove your point you gave him a squeeze, that made him thrust into your hand on instinct. “I just feel bad you’re doing all the work.”

“I prefer it,” he groaned quietly, as you thumbed at the slit. Hannibal rolled so that you could be on top of him, “But if you insist…”

A soft laugh. “That was hardly the fight I was expecting,” you muttered teasingly, kissing his jaw.

“My patience is running thin.”

At that you straddled him, your hand lining him up with you. His hands held you steady as you sunk onto him. The both of you moaned softly when he was fully inside. Hannibal slowly grinded you against himself as you adjusted to his size. Hands against his chest, you started riding him in earnest.

“That’s my good girl,” he praised you, his fingernails digging harder into your hips.

“Yours,” you whimpered, too enthralled in the feel of him to pay any attention to the weight of what you were saying. His groans underneath you encouraged you more than anything. “All yours.”

Hannibal sat up, wrapping an arm around your waist to keep you firm against him. His soft kiss was a contrast to how roughly he was working himself into you. You couldn’t find it in you to care that he had taken control again. Instead you wrapped your arms around his neck, letting him do as he pleased, just enjoying the way his hands and lips would travel across your body. Teasing, pinching, biting everywhere he could reach. Your chest alone would be covered in marks left behind by Hannibal. That would be a problem for the future you to deal with at the moment you were too preoccupied with begging him for more. He’d slow his thrust whenever he felt you close to the end, chuckling lowly at the whining sounds you had made.

“Give daddy one more sweet girl. I know you can.”

You moaned loudly, giving Hannibal exactly what he wanted. When he wanted. Drained, you fell limp against his shoulder. Every small sound you made broadcast directly to him as he used you for all your worth. His arms tightened around you when you tried to pull away from the over stimulation.

“Daddy’s close,” he promised, his accent thicker than usual, “I’ve taken such good care of my girl. Be good for me.”

Nodding, you dug your nails into his shoulders. You could be good. He had been so good to you after all. Still your vision blurred and it had taken a while longer for him to finally go still inside of you.

Hannibal kissed the side of your head, before pulling you to lay down against him. His thumb wiped away the stray tear that had managed to fall. “You did so well for me. Are you alright? Do you need anything?”

You sighed sleepily, curling into his side more comfortably, “I’m alright. Just want you.”

“We’ll take care of you later,” he promised, seeing how tired you were, “You should rest, darling. I’ll be right here.” His hand rested on your hip, thumbing at forming bruise gently. Between the soft touch and his quiet humming, it didn’t take long for you to find sleep.

NextChapter

#hannibal lecter #Hannibal Lecter x reader #reader insert #smut #hannibal #Hannibal nbc #Hannibal x reader

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hotdamnhunnam · 3 years ago

Note

Congrats again on 2K. i’m so happy for you ❤️

For the emojis: 🔥☕️🚧

For the character: Jax, i feel like those emojis have a Jax vibe

Thanks for your request for my Emoji Fic Fest! And thanks for the congrats! 💗

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Roadblocks Don’t Suck

Pairing: Jax Teller x F!Reader Warnings: smut, swearing, car sex (quick & rough, light choking, Jax’s leather gloves (they’re a whole kink)) Word Count: ~1.4k Emoji Prompt: 🔥☕️🚧 (key words are in bold)

Jax Teller is a lot of things. Pussy-whipped isn’t one of them, but somehow when you ask for things he gives in to a ton of them. On some level in his alpha male soul that sort of stings.

He’s in the driver’s seat grumpy and grumbling like a five-year-old. You’re really in the driver’s seat with all the power that you hold, over the prince of Charming, destined to be king.

He lights a cigarette. The little flame matches his mood flickering sharply with resentment and regret, that he had caved to what you said.

“How’s your goddamn coffee,” he snaps, bitter and full of sass. Gruffly, to hide the fact that you can turn him into such a goddamn softie.

“It’s fucking lovely,” you proclaim, taking another sip and gloating without shame. This morning you’d asked Jax to drive your car to where the two of you are headed, rather than taking his Harley as he typically prefers instead. You wanted to sit comfortably with your coffee and finish up the book you’ve almost fully read.

He doesn’t know yet you were also hoping you could give him road head.

“Fuck!” Jax suddenly rasps as he steps on the brake just when you reach the end of your book, causing you to look up out the windshield in shock. It’s just a bit of bad traffic but your man sounds as furious as if your car was hit by a damn truck. “Ugh, there’s a fucking roadblock. This shit fucking sucks.”

Jax really just can’t deal with traffic at a standstill. He is seething, heavy breathing, living proof that looks can kill.

Glimpse flashing lights and obstacles with slanted black and yellow stripes to mark construction that’s in progress up ahead. Prince Fuming grits his bright white teeth around his cigarette like he wants someone dead. Possibly you. “See, bitch if we were on my bike I could’ve just driven right through…”

“Would you just stop? Here, I’ll give you a handjob,” you decide, casting your finished paperback off to the side. Sometimes—a lot of times—you’d rather make Jax Teller cum than hear him talk. “Shut up, just sit back and enjoy your smoke and let me stroke your cock.”

“What are we, fifteen-year-old kids? You’ll grab my dick and let me grope your tits?” he laughs, as you reach in his jeans to grip and squeeze his massive shaft. “Get down and suck.”

You take your hands out of his pants and cross your arms over your chest tightly, to tell him no such luck. “Maybe I would have if you’d asked nicely, you bossy little fuck.”

“You love it when I’m bossy.” Jax is well aware that his dominance gets you wet and juicy. “Know it hits you in your kinky little pussy.”

“You don’t know shit about my kinks,” you lie.

“You think?” he challenges with a dark glimmer in his eye. The heat of hell behind his smile. Glances out the window at the standstill traffic and decides to put the car in park so he can make this goddamn ride worthwhile.

Asking nicely isn’t really Jax’s style.

You can act like you don’t want it but there’s no point in denial. Every goddamn thing about him drives you wild.

When he wants something he takes it—bends your will to fight him off and fucking breaks it—snaps a finger and you’re naked—he makes sure you want it wholeheartedly too—but that shit’s never hard to do.

He always has you spouting off a senseless stream of oh God Jesus Christ Jax yes fuck yes in two seconds or less. Knows he’s your ever-living weakness. Face you see when you scream Jesus. Knows you’re his to play with any way he pleases. Knows just what buttons to press, to get his girl to be a wet whimpering mess.

Has you spread out on the backseat, shaking in heat, as he strips off your summer dress. Stays fully clothed because he knows it’s fucking torture when he doesn’t let you cleave against the smooth skin of his chest. Settle for clutching at the leather of his vest. The leather Jax Teller wears best.

Or is it…? Though you’ve never mentioned this before, Jax saw the sparkle in those pretty eyes of yours, when you watched his hands on the steering wheel clad in his leather gloves and thought that shit’s fucking exquisite.

To be honest it’s ridiculous that he’d wear leather gloves to drive a car. Today’s ride isn’t even far. You know it’s just so he can feel more like he’s riding on his Harley and it’s dumb as fuck but you don’t care about that given what a slut you are. Jax in the leather of his kutte is hot enough—but these damn gloves… they have you seeing fucking stars…

You’d wanted him to push your head deep in his lap while you bent down to suck him off. Feeling the smooth warmth of the leather in your hair and on your cheeks as you devoured his enormous cock and showered it with love.

He’d like that very fucking much, without a doubt, but in this moment he would rather see your gorgeous glowing face than have it buried in his crotch. More in the mood to fuck your pussy than your mouth. He wants to watch, the way your inner slut is spinning out—surrenders to his touch… the way your features melt, descending into ecstasy past anything you’ve ever fucking felt… as he traces his thumb across your bottom lip with one hand while the other frames your hips—taking you in his leather grip—tight as a belt, sharp as a whip.

And it’s insane the way it makes your pussy drip. Your brain is on a fucking trip. Can leather get you fucking pregnant? On the road the traffic’s still completely stagnant, but your man will have to get back in the driver’s seat again soon once the cars begin to move. There’s not a lot of time to get into the groove. No time for fun and games and foreplay—just a frantic feral fuck here on the freeway—love and lust one and the same to make and take when you two have nothing to prove.

Outside of sex, you know that it’s your job as Jax Teller’s old lady to continually kick his ego down a couple pegs. But it’s a different fucking story when he’s hovering above you and all set to shove his meat into the aching soaking heat between your legs.

A piece of prey for him to eat. To read your body as it breaks and burns and begs. Jax is the undisputed king when he has you spread in his bed or the backseat. And as his leather-clad hand wraps around your throat you gasp at how it feels so sweet because you know what’s coming next…

He applies just the perfect pressure and oh fuck you’ve never felt such perfect pleasure.

You can feel his power pouring through the leather. You can feel it pounding through your blood, as he plows deep inside your pulsing cunt, that fucking instant, with a savage fucking grunt, rock hard as he drives home and hits a flood, ‘cause you’ve never been wetter. You’re his fucking slut. Forever.

Two or three bucks of his hips—he sucks the prayer of his name off of your lips—tightens that leather fucking grip—your grip on consciousness begins to fucking slip…

Just came undone, though this had only just begun. He spills inside you that same second and you’re both sprawled on the seat sex-dumb and drunk.

Two seconds later all the cars outside decide to fucking honk.

He really doesn’t give a fuck. You’re both so bulldozed by the love you made you probably wouldn’t notice if this steamy little car of yours got totaled by a truck. Honk all they want for all you care—the two of you are far beyond the world out there—you’re stuck in heaven with no plans to come unstuck.

Maybe try fucking one more time to piss off everyone outside and push your luck.

Jax reads your mind because it’s his. Leather glove soft around your throat now as he smiles through a cigarette-and-coffee-flavored kiss. “Maybe roadblocks don’t suck.”

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Emoji Fic Masterlist

Emoji Fic Tag List – below; if you’d like to be added or removed, just let me know!

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auramindedd · 4 years ago

Text

I Like You - SMAU*

Part 10

CorpseHusband x FemReader - Y/N

warnings: cussing

notes: uhhh,, idk where to take this series, but ima just go w the flow igs 😭 also,, i completely give up on adding the small details like the likes, comments, replies, and the times on tweets so i’m super sorry if it bothers you lmao

it’s also pretty long,, mostly writing rather than the smau, butttt i really like this one 🥺

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“When’s Rae gonna be home?” Corpse asks, playing with his hands.

“She’ll be home tonight, I just don’t know at what time. Why?”

“Uh... I- I just... I don’t know? I’m kind of nervous?”

“Corpse, Rae is your friend. But if you don’t feel comfortable, I can get a hotel room for you not too far away from here?” You suggest, 100% willing to pay for a hotel room for him if he wouldn’t feel comfortable being here with Rae here.

“I wanna stay here- with you... If that’s okay with you, of course.” There’s a slight blush on his face, it makes you smile a bit.

“Yes, I want you to stay here, too. You can take my bed, I’ll sleep on the couch.” You grab his plate, stacking his on top of yours, taking them to the sink.

“No, no. I can be on the couch tonight, I don’t sleep anyway.”

“Corpse, I’m not gonna have you sleep on that uncomfortable ass couch. Come on, we’ll figure something out. Wanna watch a movie?” He nods his head. You grab his hand, or more so his fingers, leading him to your room.

You turn the lights off, turning your fairy lights on instead. You tell Corpse to get comfortable, fluffing pillows for him, letting him lay back.

You know Corpse would be a bit anxious and nervous, not something you’d ever blame him for. You’re surprised you’re not being awkward or nervous. You’ve been trying your best to keep Corpse comfortable here, making sure he isn’t getting too nervous.

“Can we watch High School Musical? I have the stupid ass songs stuck in my head, childish me is coming...” You ask, not wanting to torture him with such a movie. Well, it’s not a bad movie, but you’d understand if anyone’d want to shoot themselves in the head while watching.

“Of course, baby.” You can’t help the butterflies that erupt in your stomach from the nickname. You sit closer to the TV, wanting Corpse to be comfortable rather than you.

Suddenly, you feel a hand around your waist. Corpse pulls you to him, letting you lay next to him. He looks at you, smiling. You smile back.

“Corpse, can I ask you a question?” He hums, indicating for you to go on. “That one time, you didn’t answer me for two days... You told me it had been because I was too ‘pretty.’ I didn’t believe you, and I still don’t. Why didn’t you answer me, like for real?” You don’t ask this in a bad way either, you’re just genuinely curious.

“I- uh... I’m going to be 100% honest, Y/N, but I don’t wanna scare you away.” He says cautiously, hesitating to go on.

“Corpse, you could never. I’m too attached already.” He chuckles, letting out a sigh.

“I like you. Like, like like you... I liked you before even seeing your face, but after, wow.” Silence. Deafening silence. But honestly, you can hear your fucking smile. You don’t think you’ve ever smiled so hard in your life. “Y/N, baby, say something, please.”

“Corpse,” You look up at him, probably scaring him with your smile. “I like you, too. Like, like like you.” He chuckles, but it’s more of a chuckle of relief. If that’s a thing?

He pulls you close to him, letting your head rest on his chest. You listen to his heartbeat, his breathing, trying to match yours with his. You slowly drift off, your eyelids getting too heavy to keep open.

———

You wake up in Corpse’s arms. He’s gently stroking your side, looking down at you with a small smile.

“Good morning,” His voice is raspier and deeper than it already is. You didn’t know that was possible.

“Good morning,” You say, yawning softly. You bury your face deeper into his chest, snuggling closer to him.

“So fucking cute.” He mumbles, softly chuckling.

After a while of just laying there in Corpse’s arms, you decide to check social media and your messages. Already, Twitter is going crazy, assuming quickly that you and Corpse are dating. It’s not anything you didn’t expect, but it’d be nice if people didn’t jump to conclusions.

You decide to tweet a good morning, feeling good about today. And sadly, very unfortunately, you decide to text back the group chat - something you’ve been dreading to do.

Corpse is there, reading the messages, but you don’t mind.

You kind of, accidentally, and very stupidly put yourself out, but it’s all good, nobody said anything besides Brooke. You all have a drunk Among Us lobby to get to.

After getting ready, Corpse getting his laptop and mic ready in another room, you join the Discord call. Corpse joins quickly after. Surprisingly, nobody says anything about you two being in the same apartment while greeting each other. You don’t doubt that someone will say something soon.

“Let’s all take a drink - to Corpse and Y/N holding hands!” Alex exclaims, clinking his glass on his mic. The rest cheer, pretending to clink their glasses as well. You sigh and laugh a bit, but nonetheless, you’re gulping down a glass of champagne.

“Alex,” You say, catching his attention.

“Yeah?”

“Fuck you!”

“Hey, hey, hey. No fucking.” Karl says, and you can hear him slap his hand to his mouth after realizing what he just said. The lobby bursts into fits of laughter, but the one you’re trying to listen for, Corpse’s. It’s silent on his end.

“Karl, how much have you had to drink?” Dream asks, slurring his words. Didn’t this game just start?

“I had like 3 beers?”

“You fucking lightweight.” You tease. “Dream, you’ve been drinking too...”

“Yeah, we might’ve pregamed an Among Us game.” He admits shamefully.

“Didn’t expect less from you two,” Rae says, adding a disappointing tone to her voice for effect. She starts the game, despite the sad protests from Karl and Dream.

Crewmate.

You pout, wanting so badly to be Imposter. You’re a good liar to say the least, and people easily fall for your sweet, innocent voice. It’s funny, pathetic even, which is why you want at least one good Imposter round.

“Whaddup, baby,” Corpse greets you in Nav. Dream follows behind him, Karl coming in shortly after.

“Hey, my beautiful alcoholics!” You greet cheerfully, earning groans from them both. Oh, how fun it’s going to be teasing them.

“At least she called us beautiful.” Karl says, walking out of Nav with Dream, leaving you and Corpse alone again. You get back to doing your task, connecting the ship with the dotted lines and whatnot.

“Am I beautiful?” You can hear the pout in his voice, it’s cute.

“Gorgeous, stunning even.” You say before walking out of Nav, smiling to yourself.

This round is pretty uneventful, along with the next few. But after about five rounds, you’re all incredibly drunk after playing some drinking games.

“No balls,” Rae dares. You’re Imposter this round, and Rae’s made you her personal hitman. She’s telling you to kill Karl, but he’s innocently doing his tasks.

“I have three actually.” You defend yourself, not making any sense at all.

“Three what?” Sykkuno comes in.

“Three balls,” Rae answers.

“Okayyy then...” Sykkuno drawls, leaving you two alone. Corpse comes along, the second Imposter. Oh, how convenient.

“Hey, Corpseee,” You greet, making it so fucking obvious.

“Oh my God!” Rae exclaims. You sigh, facepalming yourself. “Corpse kill Karl, Y/N kill Sykkuno.”

“Woah, since when did we become your hitmen?” Corpse backs his astronaut up.

“I’m not killing Syk!” You whisper-yell.

“Okay, then you kill Karl and Corpse can kill Sykkuno.” You can hear her shrugging as if it’s no big deal, but literally, Karl and Sykkuno are the sweetest people to you.

“No, I’m not doing it, Rae...” Corpse still hasn’t said anything. He’s watching you and Rae go back and forth, whisper-yelling even though anyone would be able to hear you.

“I’ll call you two out.”

“You’d never,”

“The emergency meeting button is looking real sexy right now.” Ugh, fuck the stupid smirk you can just hear in her voice.

“Fine, we’ll do it.” Corpse says. He goes and kills Sykkuno. You hesitate killing Karl, but he already watched Corpse kill Sykkuno so, unfortunately, you have to.

You and Corpse run away, leaving Rae to report the bodies.

After you and Corpse vouching for each other the whole round, nobody putting sus on you two because well, you sound so innocent and sweet even while being shitface drunk, you two win, earning groans from everyone in the lobby except from Rae.

“To be fucking fair, Rae had me and Corpse be her hitmen sooo, you can blame her if you died.” The lobby starts yelling playfully at Rae.

———

After finally finishing streaming, Corpse comes into your room, plopping down onto your bed.

“Gosh, I’m gonna have the worst fucking hangover tomorrow.” He murmurs into your pillow, hugging it close to him. You jump onto the bed, sitting next to him, playing with his hair. He doesn’t mind, or you don’t think he does.

“It was fun,” You say, smiling to yourself. You love spending time with your friends. You can’t imagine how much fun it’d be if all of you got together in real life.

“It was,” Corpse yawns, looking up at you, smiling as you keep playing with his hair. He gets up, settling himself into your bed again, pulling you into him, letting you rest your head on his chest. You wrap an arm around him, snuggling yourself closer to him.

“We should probably eat something... And get ourselves some water.” You say, knowing that tomorrow’s hangover is going to be a bitch.

“I don’t wanna let go of you.” Corpse whines. You try getting up, but he almost throws a fucking tantrum. Quickly, you get out of his arms, running out of your room, giggling like a fucking maniac.

“Y/N! Please!” He shouts softly, trying not to wake Rae. He runs after you, following you into the kitchen. You run to the other side of the counter. He goes left, you go right - vice versa.

“Corpse, we need food and water.” You say, trying to grab pans out of the cupboards while he’s trying to get you. You can’t help yourself from giggling. Rae will kill you if you two wake her up.

“I wanna hold you,” Corpse pouts. Gosh, he’s going to be the death of you.

“In a sec, I can make us something real quick.” Drunk Corpse obviously equals Clingy Corpse.

“Fine,” He sighs dramatically, sitting on a stool. You grab pans from underneath the cupboards, pulling out some bread and cheese. Grilled cheese is easiest and it’ll take the least amount of time.

As you’re plopping bread into the toaster, Corpse snakes his arms around your waist, snuggling his face into your neck. There’s the slightest stubble, making you giggle.

“Corpse, I can’t cook with you on me.”

“Yes you can, I’ll help.” So stubborn...

You take the bread out of the toaster before it gets too toasted, putting it on the buttered pan.

It was a mission to finish the food to say the least. Corpse demands you eat in your room that way he can hold you. You put on The Promised Neverland, watching the TV as Corpse watches you. But honestly, you don’t mind.

You two fall asleep in each other’s arms again. And you don’t think you’d ever be able to fall asleep without being in his arms again.

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Taglist - comment or message me to be added.

Sorry for not updating, I have to go through a bunch of posts. I’ll update in the next post.

* if you’re name is in bold, i couldn’t tag you. *

@letsloveimagines @liljennyx3 @youretheonlyonewhomakesme @blackheartemojivibes @lo-manburg @walkingonchairs @strawberrydonkey @tayloryorkscurls @bluepancakemix @prettylittlealiengirl @yeetmymood @victoria-a567 @loraleiix @moonlightsimp @jades-bullshit @teenloves @greenie-of-shield @fanworrior @thefvckvp @bigdaddysatan @mirahg @rosy-feels @arossebyanyothername @kitsamii @lollipop0605 @happyyyandcrazyyy @maraudingmarauder @stickystrawberrysyrup @majasophieanna @ilovejjmaybank @starstruckllamapuppy @owl-llie @thurstyforholland @thatsouthernblondewiththeass @in-fucking-deed @a-dot-dev @rjsmochii @boiled-onionrings @neenieweenie @vvenusblue @bellomi-clarke @smiithys @londonskies @16marie @leah-0207 @officiallyunofficialperson @wineandionysus @fanficlover99

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Tags - ignore::

#corpse #corpse fic #corpse husband #corpse husband fic #corpse x reader #corpse x y/n #corpse husband smau #corpse husband social media au #corpse husband imagine #corpse husband scenarios #smau #social media au #imagine #among us #cute

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the-kingshound · 4 years ago

Note

ROs reactions to MC becoming a cold and calculated killing machine because of the torture with RO now being their only soft spot?

Ohh, anon, I love this ask and since in game action will have permanent consequences I will make a follow up of this scenario so every RO's MC has been through a different kind of torture. It got a bit long, sorry, I kept writing and writing!

Arthur

When the Knights see you, they bow.

"Your Majesty."

You nod in their direction, signing them to raise. You then unsheathe your sword and stare at them with a pragmatic, focused glance "follow my lead."

You join the battle only after the second wave, attacking from the side and rapidly gaining the upper hand. When no more opponents stand in the field but injured and dying fighters, your chest heaves and your sword drips crimson blood from the tip.

"Your Majesty, a couple dozens of rival soldiers are retreating in the woods."

Your voice betrays nothing but a cold type of control when you answer "get the heavy chivalry to chase them. If possible, we take prisoners."

"Yes, your Majesty."

Arthur will be here shortly, you think just before you start metodically cleaning your sword to sheathe it. Your King, as you predicted, reaches your small group of knights shortly after. He seems to glow like a majestic, regal vision in the bright daylight. You can never get enough.

As you approach his knights, between rigid strides you crouch down briefly to pick up something from the grassy field. You have most of the knights eyes on you as you get near your husband and offer him a daisy.

He takes it with a radiant light in his eyes, you know that the softness there is more than reflected in yours. You plant a soft kiss on his cheek before you retreat.

"For you, my King."

And when Arthur keeps you close at night in your shared bed, holding your hand and kissing your knuckles one by one, you know you you could lose you fingers and your ability to wear his ring, but never his unrestrained, blinding love.

Evaine

Arthur strides through the castle's halls with his usual composed demeanor, exhuding a reflective sense of peace that is only exterior. Inside, he is worried and scared. Ever since the kidnapping, you've been cold and distant. More focused, in a way, calculated when you would have hesitated before. No matter the thin scar that marked your face or the limp that now slowed you down in combat, you were merciless. Arthur just wants you to feel safe again.

He rounds the corner and stops in front of his knight's door. He knocks and recieves no answer, probably because of the sound of more than one voice inside. Slowly, the King opens the door, calling with a soft voice "Evaine?"

The sight that greets him is... unexpected.

Evaine's room is drowning in garments, dresses, robes and cloaks are all over the bed and the large vanity. You're standing in front of the mirror, Evaine is just behind you, their finger ghosting on your skin as they tie a golden neckerchief around your neck.

As soon as Arthur's presence is noted, you clear your throat, molding your expression back in a neutral one, but not quite as closed off as the one you always wear.

"So, how do I look?"

You turn around to let him see the dress in its entirety, the wip scars quite visible on your back. Arthur's pained grimance fades quicky in favour of a soft, sincere smile "you're stunning."

His attention is then on his knight. Evaine is radiant, more relaxed than he's seen them in a very long time. More... present. They've not been well for the past months.

"You wanted to talk to me, my King?"

"Yes," Arthur nods "since I had to reschedule some of today's appointments, your schedule has been rearranged. You have the rest of the afternoon free."

If that's not entirely the truth - Arthur was in need of a Knight for the squire training, but it was also true that it has been too long since he's had fun with the younglings - no one needs to know.

And with a cheeeful "have fun" he's out of the room.

You look at the dress you're currently wearing in the mirror one more time, than turn back and take another robe, soft and tighter fitting, from Evaine's wardrobe.

"How about this?" you ask them.

"Mh," they hum, giving it a very serious assessment "it would compliment your eyes perfectly. And it's not that heavy compared to the previous ones."

You send them a blinding smile, trowing your arms over them in a playful hug, than you let them help you hastly put it on.

Sometimes you forget yourself to the memories and the freezing phantom of a long gone pain, but everytime Evaine is there to bring you back, offering distractions that bring you joy and happiness. That night Evaine tells you you're the most beautiful and bright star in the sky and, for the first time since the kidnapping, you believe them.

Morien

Whispers of the King's hound gone rabid have all but taken hold of the settlements near Kev, the last town to know your uncontained fury as your informants found some dissidents nobles. You made sure not to leave the town unscathed to be of warning for whoever next dared to conspire against the King.

There are frightened voices murmuring of an heartless punisher, what they recount are mostly exaggerated distortions of true events, but they do get right the almost lifeless glint in your eyes as you write down orders.

At this point, even some knights are scared of you, of the seemingly merciless way you stare down at them without ever breathing a word. There is only one person able to get past the coldness that replaced your lost tongue, and it's the court physician.

You are currently in Morien's arms, buried in the familiarity of their scent that is secure and grounding. This feels like a rare privilege for how much Morien usually shyes away contact. With you they have reached a level of comfort, through, that sees you gifted with the warmth of their body whenever you need it and you couldn't be more grateful for that.

"Plans for today?" they ask you a rough but comforting tone of voice.

Frighten the knights, you sign and instantly they let out a humored chuckle.

"Alright, you have my attention. How do you want to proceed?"

Just tell them I want to see them all in the courtyard. They skipped training yesterday and went out drinking to celebrate. you let out a voiceless hum I'm not really mad but they don't know that.

Morien's laugh is brief but sincere "well, let's go then."

And as you get ready, you tie a red ribbon to your wrist, very alike the ones that sometimes Morien themselves ties to their cane. The physician looks as it and then their eyes are fixed on your face with a mixture of emotion that is both fondness and tender adoration. You shrug, then offer them your arm as you walk in silence through the halls in the courtyard's direction.

Gwyar

The mark has made very difficult for people to meet your eyes and watch you in the face. You don't hold it against them, though, you know you're not an easy sight. The only ones in this room who can actually stomach it are Arthur and Gwyar, and while the King can hardly suppress the guilt, your manservant has managed to push it down in favour of their usual attentive posture.

With a fluent movement they are beside you, refilling your cup of whine and whispering in your ear with a bland tone.

"Lady Deva is under the impression that a necklace has been stolen by the less than reputable Lord Havet."

Your interest piqued, you arch a brow in their direction, only to catch at the corner of your eye the sparkling of jewelry.

Careful to mantain a neutral expression, you subtly extend your arm in their direction with the open palm facing upwards. Gwyar lets the necklace fall in your possession with an effortless movement, then they fall back behind you with the grace of a liquid shadow they've always possessed. No one seems to have noticed the brief exchange.

It does take the meal to finish before finally some action unfolds. You register Lady Deva bringing her fingers to her empty collarbone and instantly her eyes snap to the Lord at her side.

"How dare you" she hisses, low enough not to make a scene but with enough vehemence to make him reel back.

"My Lady, I sincerely don't know what-"

"My necklace."

"What of it?"

By now the altercation has managed to attract most of the other nobles attention. The argument gets heated quickly and as the situation unfolds you fail to contain a wicked grin. Arthur, to your left, is surprised by it ony for a second, then he catches the feral glint in Gwyar's eyes, just behind you, and he has to bring a hand to his mouth to suppress a laugh of his own.

Taking pity on them, you clear your throat, your voice steel cold but not unkind "did it have by chance an engraved pendant?"

The scraped sound of your voice, a bit rough from unuse, is enough to snap the entire room to silence and attention. The lady's eyes widen as she watches you extract the necklace out of your robe, her eyes immediately falling off your face as her expression contorts into a mixture of embarassment and fear.

"I found it just outside of the chamber, in the hall."

"Ah, I- I probably lost it" the lady stammers and you have to figh your lips from curling upwards as another wave of hilarity hits you.

That night, Gwyar is so undeniably proud of your performance you can only laugh with them and take them in your arms as you both fall on the bed. They let their gaze wonder on your face and they breathe out a raspy praise. You are motionless as they kiss your mark and you think in that instant that you'd let it happen only with them. Only with them - and the phrase holds a strange type of comfort.

#ask #ROs #Arthur #Evaine #Morien #Gwyar

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aio-rya · 4 years ago

Text

Heartslabyul Kabedon Headcanons

Fem!Reader SO x Heartslabyul

「Requested by: Anon」

Ace ♥️

・You know this boy is a mess. He's always in a rush, not necessarily because of school but to make disaster along Deuce and you; the trouble trio. And finding a way to avoid punishments. That's exactly what's getting on your way for this plan.

・You have tried many, really, many times to do it and each one of them you fail or fall or get caught by Deuce. You must make Ace being quiet and that's an impossible task; until today when he was feeding the flamingoes alone.

・You jumped into him on his way back to the dorm building, clinging onto his tired back, falling over him and pinning him down to the floor. Yeah, you caught him into the less conventional way, somehow the angle you chose was perfect to make him unable to move —almost.

・He could swear he heard the flash of a camera between the sound of your laugh. As you made fun of him, he spotted a weak point in your position and used it to turn positions, holding you against the floor as you stopped laughing to realise he won this round.

・"C'mon, sweetie, keep on laughing", he mocked with a cocky smirk, though you could keep on laughing just by the sight of his pink clothes, you pouted. You started complaining about how hard was to catch him off guard and alone just to fail, not just that, to be humiliated by him!

・Successfully, you made him feel guilty. Even so, he wouldn't move, he will just keep you there and apologise –unfortunately for you, he knew very well how your mind worked and he knew you were not really sad. So, Ace assure it would be very easy for him to catch you off guard now that he used your own move against you.

・He can be a bitch when he wants to, that's why you asked Deuce to send you the pic he took of Ace on his pink clothes with you. Every single time he tries to pin you into a wall, you show him the evidence and blackmail him with that. You'll post it on Magicam if he dare to do that again.

Deuce ♠️

・You expected him to be shy, flushed, quiet, speechless; to get red as a tomato as you mischievously giggled at him and talked about your intentions with a teasing tone even though these were completely innocent. Oh, how wrong you got it! You did it with your best intention, unintentionally awakening his badass mood.

・You didn't even got the chance to make his back touch the wall, you had barely gripped his hands when he escaped from your touch, held your waist and pulled you against his chest, turning around to slam his free arm into the wall. The shocked one were you.

・Well, that doesn't mean he weren't surprised. In fact, he blushed when he realised it was you who tried to attack him from behind. Deucey is not a rough or teasing person, but the way you reacted to your own trick was too much for him, you looked so cute and defenseless. The mischievous was him, smirking at you after the impression.

・His payback was sweeter than you could have imagined, a torture though: thickles. Yeah, he pressed you against the wall and started moving his fingers on your sides ans your stomach, sometimes messing with your neck, but never letting you take a break. Laughter after laughter until some small tears fell from your eyes, he stopped to hug you.

・"Make some noise next time, just your steps or something like that. I don't want to hurt you with my defensive reflexes", he says with soft voice, lending you a handkerchief to dry your eyes and clean your sweat. It was so romantic, you were surprised he was one of those guys. Don't get fooled by his kindness, you still owe him an explanation.

・That's exactly what you do, explain. Yes, some way because you wanted him to know what was the original plan on surprising him all of a sudden. Also, there was the fact that he was not letting you go until he knew the reason why he almost hurted his SO.

・Rest assure. He will keep in mind what you have done today. He's not the kind of person who seeks for revenge, he is actually the kind of person who enjoys learning from others and helping others learn from him. And now, my dear, you are going to learn why is bad teasing on Deuce's bad guy side.

Cater ♦️

・Nice moment you chose to take your phone out for a selfie, Diamond! Your movements were perfect, silent, extremely well planned to be ruined by his phone camera! But, of course, you didn't realise about it and that's why things ended up like this...

・How? You may ask. Well, you're sitting over one of the Light Music Club's stools, leaning your back against the wall as your lover's arms lay at each side of your head, hands on the surface behind you. A huge, pleased smile on his face staring at your blushed self, holding his phone on one of his hands.

・"My, my! How daring of you! Jumping into me from behind~", he laughs melodically, winking at you as cheerful as always. His method for making you talk is just asking. Yeah, easy, right? And you bend. He's just so lovely.

・You confess to him that you waited patiently behind the door until Lilia and Kalim left to surprise you. He has been so busy to visit you, so it was time for you to come to him. He just laughs and agrees with you, it was a nice movement he will definitely keep in mind.

・But you are both cheerful and playful with each other, pranks are never missing in this relationship and this moment deserves its own reminder. The photo he took when you were about to jump into him —let's just say it wasn't your best angle. And it was indeed his payback.

・Ace and Deuce will make fun of you for a long, long time thanks to Cay's post. Specially since he catches your body against the wall every single time you visit his dorm... Without failing.

Trey ♣️

・You over thought about attempting it, there wasn't a chance you could catch him, at least not without a sense of silence and discretion. Your lover was a clever and wary man, every movement must be precise and flawless —in fact, they were. Until you stumbled.

・There wouldn't have been any trouble, unless you have chosen the worst possible location: the kitchen. So, maybe your fall could have been stopped by the imminent weight of Trey's body on the wall helping you to trap him perfectly between your arms but now, he was holding you since you tried to pin him into the kitchen's bar. You felt even smaller.

・"Are you all right?", he will ask with concern. Your affirmative answer relieves him, slowly letting you go until he realise you are not supposed to be in his dorm, or in the kitchen. His grip around you strengthen as he "gently" ask what brought you there; he knows you as well as you know him, there's no way you could lie to get out of this. He discovered immediately you were planning something.

・The interrogation was not completely necessary, Trey's eyes had that power of persuasion which made you speak immediately. Yes, you could try resisting but it would not be a very smart alternative; so, when he took his glasses away and placed them behind you, there was nothing to do on it. You started explaining the situation, giving him and advantage since now you were the one between his arms.

・Oh, no. You are being pressed against the fridge door now without any option than looking back at him, that was a dirty move of him, wasn't it ? He has now another good reason for scolding you, not only the place but the true intention behind your deeds. With a deep breath and severe voice, he asks for an excuse for not applying any punishment on you.

・You beg to him not to forbid you of entering to that room of the Dorm, he knows how much you love baking with him on your free time, or helping him with the food for Unbirthday Parties. He could not be so evil with you, less when you use that puppy eyes of yours, a weakness he have always had on you.

・He seems to forgive you, becoming insistent about giving you a farewell kiss. It's not like him to be that insistent on affectionate greetings but you give in... Just to get an awful, still hilarious surprise: he used his Doodle Suit on you to change the taste of the kiss into the food you hate the most. Sweet revenge.

Riddle ♔

・His immediate reaction would be flushing. An intense crimson staining his face as he was looking for an answer inside his memory, searching over the 810 Rules of the Queen of Hearts in vain since none of them stated how to react when your lover trapped you over a wall.

・To be honest, you though you have broken him. He just stared into the void as you blushed in front of him, retracting your arms to set him free. Did you scare him that much with your sudden action? Well, not really since he held your arms before you could separate from him. A smirk slowly appearing on his face.

・You didn't even realise when he made you give an elegant turn so now you were at his mercy. Still, the blush remained on his skin as he found your actions lovely, but now he was delighted with your confused expression as your move resulted against you.

・He lifted his head, watching from above, leaning over you dangerously near to your lips, passing off them to whisper in your ear. "Where you trying to misbehave, my beloved rose?", he ask with a teasing tone as he pronounced your nickname. "You know my beliefs about breaking the rules", he continues, placing his finger under your chin and his hand behind your back to make you straighten and avoiding you looking away.

・For a second, just a second, you are truly intimidated. He's always a gentleman, though he loves games and that was the reason why you did this in first place —you're aware that he was teasing you. From one second to another, you giggled and your eyes softened, throwing your arms into his neck, burying your face into his coat to silence your laughter.

・Well, you knew he had been busy and worried so you tried to surprise him. In the end, you made him get a bit relaxed, he followed your game as you tried to turn places, he kept refusing to let you go. The fun of the moment relied on how you managed to make him laugh.

・"It's off with your head, darling", he laughs in a mischievous tone, caressing your cheek before walking away. Oh, no, he was planning his payback. Yes, he would never "chop" off your head, as a couple, that sentence was part of your intimate code and you knew that meant... You had to be careful and watch your back. Riddle will pin you into the wall when you less expected so and he won't be "gentle".

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whump-a-la-mode · 4 years ago

Note

this is such a general thing but defiant villain whumpee slowly breaking pls :)

Thank you so much for the ask!! I hope this is slow enough. It's not exactly the traditional whumpee breaking, but I hope it's interesting nonetheless! Feel free to send in another ask if you want something different ^^

CW//Talk of mass destruction, sleep deprivation torture, brief pet whump mention, forced to eat gross food

"It's over."

There was a weariness to the newscaster's voice-- the kind that those in the profession were never meant to display. The sheer essence of bone-deep exhaustion. A body squeezed dry of adrenaline, until fight or flight turned to fatigue.

But, the fight was won.

"For the last three days, we have been running twenty four hour coverage of the battle occurring downtown. The battle began when Villain's forces attempted to overrun an R&D lab, following the occupation of their original headquarters by our city's heroes.

The destruction has been uncountable. But, it's over.

After a final assault at three in the morning, today, the last of Villain's personal guard fled the stronghold, and were taken into captivity. An hour later, the menace themself was captured.

It's over.

What exactly will be done with Villain is unclear, but Leader has assured us that appropriate measures have been prepared for their secure containment.

As for us? At long last, goodnight Metropolis."

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

"And good morning, sleepyhead."

Villain could not help but wince as light washed over them in a boiling wave-- the warmth of darkness torn away from them-- as the back doors of the truck were swung open.

"You're making the biggest mistake of your life." They snapped back, hoping the venom in their voice reached its recipient, standing at the truck's mouth.

Hero.

Of course, of all people, their welcoming committee had to be fucking Hero. The biggest asshat Metropolis had to offer. The worst, most stupidly noble, stupidly loyal, stupidly-

Their fury reached a boiling point to which enraged thoughts turned incoherent. It did not matter why they hated the idiot standing before them. It mattered only that anger alone made their veins feel as though they were overflowing with magma.

"Am I?" The noble fool cocked their head to the side, mocking and arrogant. "Or are you just upset that you've lost?"

"You think I've lost?" Villain let out a hearty chuckle. "All this effort, and you've caused me a minor setback, at most."

"Well, which one of us in the cage?"

They narrowed their eyes to slits. Hero was right. They were both staring through the bars of a cage, but Villain was very much the one contained. It was a tiny, steel construction. Large enough to stand up in, and take one step in each direction, but such was all.

Loaded into the back of a truck like some kind of zoo animal. They wanted to scream!

But, unlike the heroes, they could hold back.

"Me staying here to amuse you does not equate to defeat, Hero."

"Is that all you're doing? Humoring me?"

"Do you have any reason to believe otherwise?"

"Plenty." They smirked. "For one, sitting in the back of a truck for fourteen hours doesn't exactly seem like something you'd do to humor me."

Fourteen hours...

"Have you considered that I'm simply playing a long game?"

"It'll be the longest game of your life, then. Don't plan on getting out of here anytime soon. Or, y'know, ever. That's kind of the whole point."

"You really think you can hold me forever?"

"Oh, I know so. If you knew what was coming for you, you wouldn't be taking this so lightly."

"Oh, I'm so scared. What are you gonna do, give me a donut and tell me to hug this whole thing out?"

Hero chuckled, at that.

"Why don't you come and see for yourself?"

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"You're sure this will work?" Leader cocked a brow, hoping that the teeth marks in their lower lip weren't visible. It was a nervous habit, chewing like that.

"Certain." Scientist had a chipper tone to them-- a student having solved a math problem. "We've been developing this method for months. Trust me, they have no chance."

"None?"

"None. Even better, this technique is more than a simple containment method. It has a progressive weakening effect. Within a few months, they'll be like putty in your hand."

"You know we're talking about Villain here, right?"

"Precisely!"

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Villain had expected high security.

Of course they had. They'd quite frankly expected something ridiculous. A cell suspended over a pit of lava. Or a shark-infested pool. Or maybe they'd simply contain them through the power of sedatives.

None of the options sounded particularly enjoyable. But, all three sounded better than the room they stood in front of at that moment.

Six guards stood around them, each heavily armed, and not afraid to display this fact. Two stood on either side of them, each holding a chain attached to one of the twin manacles that adorned both their wrists-- they'd expected handcuffs, but two shackles per wrist seemed a little excessive. The two remaining guards stood with one in front and one behind. Their chains were those connected to Villain's feet. One tug, and they'd be face-first on the tile.

The restraints didn't make them want to flee any less. Not when they saw that room. Even chained as they were, they squirmed at the very sight of what stood before them.

It was rather large, though not ostentatiously so. Though, its size was accentuated by the complete lack of furniture lining the walls.

No. There were only two things inside the chamber.

The first stood at the center. A massive, metal ring, perhaps ten feet in height and the same in width. Four cylinders of the same material extended into the circle's center, looking terribly like hungry mouths.

One for each wrist, one for each ankle.

They were going to be splayed out like a bearskin carpet. Not to mention the vulnerability... With their limbs spread in every which direction, everything would be exposed. Their stomach, their back, their head. And they would be without a hope of retaliation.

It was a terrifying thought, but the elaborate restraint was nothing compared to the other thing inside the chamber.

Light.

There must have been a thousand of them. Shimmering, dazzling lights. On the ceiling, on the walls, some even on the floor.

It had not been since Villain's childhood that light had truly affected them. The manifestation of their abilities had coincided with the appearance of their acute sensitivity to the sun. Such was to be expected' a supernatural ability to move through places dark and shadowed, to control the shroud as though it were a thing rather than an absence did not exactly leave one looking forward to the sunrise.

Yet, they were not a vampire. Through gradual acclimation, they had learned to become comfortable with normal levels of light exposure. Spending a few hours under the sun's rays was not a problem, nor was existing within an indoor space, dominated by artificial lamps and LEDs.

But that room...

Villain could not take it. In desperation, they pulled, tugging on the restraints that dangled around them like tails. But, even they were no match for six men.

And, thus, they entered.

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"Now, I can see you weren't lying!"

The voice startled Villain, sent a jolt through their chest, but it did nothing to raise their head or open their eyes. Not immediately. Lifting their gaze was a task accomplished with a considerable amount of effort, and unveiling their eyes from their lids made their corneas feel to have been pierced by searing blades.

They could hardly see Hero, through the blazing lights.

"You really were trying to humor me. This is hilarious!"

It was with a terribly uncomfortable feeling that they felt fury overtake their fatigue.

"It's only been six days. I can play the long game."

"Is that why you've been hanging around?"

Though they tried, in their manacles, it proved impossible to ball their fists. The metal fit too closely around their fingers, contoured to not allow the slightest shadow of movement.

"Maybe it is, Hero. Maybe it is."

"Maybe." The Hero took a step forth, then another, until they were mere inches from their captive nemesis. "They've really done something here, huh? Ya' can hardly move an inch."

"There's a difference between not being able to and not wanting to."

"Is that so?"

Hero placed a chilled hand on their nemesis' side-- just above their hip, where their range of movement was the most limited by their splayed limbs.

Villain's heart leapt as they felt a tiny spark, jolting through their chest.

Suffering a direct blow from their nemesis was a fate they had only endured a handful of times. Now, there was nothing to protect them from it. Not even the adrenaline of battle.

"They say you're gonna give up, y'know." Hero trailed their hand, up and down Villain's taut skin. "I think they're betting on it, up in HQ. It's only a matter of time. We can all see you're getting weaker. Tired. You aren't great at hiding it."

"What I'm good at is acting."

"You're saying this is all an act? So you won't mind if I do... this?"

That time, the feeling was more of a spark.

Villain's scream echoed throughout the chamber, but there was no one to hear them but the light.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

"Hey! Get up. Can't you hear me?"

Of course Villain could hear Hero. They'd been hearing their stupid voice every single one of these last...

How many days had it been?

They couldn't remember. Too many.

"There's a difference between hearing and listening."

"I thought this whole breaking you thing would be more fun."

"I'm sorry that I'm not entertaining you."

"Nah, I don't think seeing you strung up like this will ever get old." Like a child, Hero laughed. "Anyways, I brought you some food. It's fish!"

Villain hated fish.

But, struggling would mean opening their eyes. Looking at the light.

And, thus, they ate.

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"Come on."

A sharp vibration rattled through the restraint frame, and, consequently, to the cores of Villain's bones. But, they did not move.

"I know you can hear me. So get up!"

Hero kicked the frame again, but received the same reaction.

"I thought you were playing the long game. I'm looking for some payoff, here. This new Villain is boring."

Maybe.

Maybe they were boring.

But they didn't have the energy to be anything else. Not anymore.

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"What did I tell you?" Scientist smirked. "Like putty in your hand!"

"I still don't understand how you did it." Leader shook their head. "The biggest threat to the city..."

"Oh, it was easy. They've got those weird dark powers, yeah? So they aren't hurt by the light. Not exactly. But, when there's lights on, they can't sleep! Not a wink. You could leave 'em outside and give 'em the keys to your own car, and they still wouldn't be able to escape."

"You really think so?"

"I know so. By the way, who won the betting pool?"

"Engineering department. They said three months, they were the closest. You're saying they haven't slept in three months?"

"Yep! There's not much left of the old Villain anymore, though. So... I mean, now, they can be whatever you want them to be. Do you have any ideas?"

"Hm..." Leader drummed their fingers against the wall. "I have always wanted a bodyguard."

"I thought you always wanted a dog."

"True, true."

"So... why not both?"

"You have a technique for that too?"

"Yep!"

#villain whumpee #pet whumpee #hero whumper #hero villain whump #whump #whumpblr

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kalee60 · 4 years ago

Note

i wish you would write a fic where jock!bucky seduces twink!steve, maybe he hits steve with that pec flex guys do that is both dick-ish and insanely hot at the same time?

Oh Manda - you absolute gorgeous gem! I very much like what you're asking me to create here 😘 I also love, love, love that you sent me a prompt!

I immediately think of sun, summer, ice cream, boys at the beach playing frisbee and our gorgeous Smol!Steve and Jock!Bucky as friends mutually pining (Ha - it's me, it was never going to be anything but this story!)

Once again, my quick little drabble (that I wrote today when I woke up {thanks to my sprinting buddies in discord}) turned into a 4k fic... But I mean - I think that's okay (more stucky for us - right?)

I hope you like where I took this, maybe in a slightly different direction than intended - it's also on ao3 here (with all tags necessary) if you prefer to check them out and read there instead, it'll be part of my stucky bingo fills - Beach and rated M for mild sexual content 😉

If you'd like a fic - here's the post - I wish you'd write a fic... (It might take me a little bit to write - but I will get there!)

Steve was in hell, literally. It was hot, he was sweaty and he was being tortured. Honestly, Steve really loved summer, but at the same time he loathed it. And most of that had to do with the fact he had to sit around in his large group of friends and watch Bucky fucking Barnes sans top and wearing only a small pair of running shorts frolic over the sand at the beach.

Life was unfair.

How could somebody like Bucky actually exist in real time? He was a complete jock for starters, his looks and size perfect for being naturally great at sports, earning him a football scholarship of his choice (of course). And Steve, well Steve Rogers was as far from a jock as anyone could get. Not that he was horrible in the fitness and muscular department, but he was too little and his asthma still played up to join rugged contact sports. Being 5’4 also didn’t particularly endear him to any of the coaches at college who were scouting for star players. Plus studying to be a high school teacher probably wasn’t sporty enough, and he was leaning towards a specialist English role, not Gym.

So Steve joined the campus gym instead of a sporting team, did weights and classes and enjoyed it immensely. It was where he met Natasha, and that fateful meeting brought him to Bucky and his dickish jock ways and friends.

Though if Steve was to be fair (of which he was - usually) not all jocks were dicks, even if Steve had preconceived notions from high school what college boys would be like. He'd been pleasantly surprised to find that the captain of the football team was not only gorgeous, cocky and a bit of a douche, but also very smart, kind and had a smile that could make Steve’s legs turn to jelly with only a small half tilt.

But it was as he sat on a towel under the shade of a large umbrella that Carol had stolen from her parent’s garden shed, that Steve really felt the heat, and it had nothing to do with the blazing sun above him and the burning sand beneath his feet.

It was all Bucky Barnes and his chest, his slim waist, his tanned olive skin, the breadth of his shoulders, the thickness of his sinewed and muscled thighs that tapered down to calves that bunched up as he jumped and landed to grab the frisbee aimed at him.

Steve sighed heavily as his gaze lingered on the brunette. Bucky Barnes was every mans wet dream, every girls perfect prince, and Steve pulled his dark sunnies over his eyes again, ignoring the pounding in his chest, the throbbing in his groin as he watched Bucky behind dark lenses spring up and prance over the sand, laughing with a wide mouth that could do sinful things to Steve’s body. The worst part was that Bucky was doing all of this with no knowledge that Steve harboured the biggest crush of his life.

It really was unfair.

Sitting back to lean on his hands, stretching his legs out, he saw Bucky glance over at him, and gave a smile. Bucky grinned back and then grappled Sam to the sand to yank the frisbee from his grip. Life wasn’t unfair because Bucky didn’t date guys, he did, very much so, and girls too from what Steve had seen, it was just the guys Bucky dated were typically more like… jocks.

Steve hunched over, trying to not stare too long and inadvertently get turned on, finding it an impossibility as his eyes wouldn’t tear away from Bucky’s frame as he bounded effortlessly over the soft sand, something Steve couldn’t do. He’d almost lost a lung from the trek over to their secluded spot earlier that day. Soft sand was the enemy - that was fact.

“Heads up.”

Startled from his thoughts by Bucky’s deep voice urgently calling out his way, Steve looked up only to see the frisbee coming straight for him. With a reaction that even surprised himself, Steve raised his hand and caught the flying disc with nary a blink of an eye.

Bucky was skidding to a halt on his knees before him a second later.

“Shit, Steve. That was epic, you sure you don’t want to play? You can be on my team - my secret frisbee weapon.”

Steve’s mouth went dry as he tried to listen to the words leaving Bucky, because the delectable man was less than two feet away and the smell of sunscreen, sweat and something virile and uniquely Bucky entered his senses. Steve knew that if sitting next to Bucky in the dining hall was torture when Bucky was wearing his spicy cologne, he’d keel over being enveloped in his sweaty beach scent for longer than a minute.

God he wanted Bucky to fill him, everywhere. Make him forget his name, take him over and over.

He realised that he still hadn’t answered and heat crept into his cheeks, managing to blurt out, “I’m good for now. Nat’s grabbing ice creams and I don’t want to get a stitch.”

Steve then gave Bucky what he hoped was a soft and cheeky winning grin, but the way Bucky faltered, swallowed tightly, face impassive made Steve wonder if he’d missed the mark on trying to be flirty.

He really was as hopeless as Darcy continually told him.

Steve’s eyes trailed down to Bucky’s broad and lightly haired chest, finding himself breathing quicker, wondering if he’d remembered to pack his inhaler. No, he was sure it was in the pocket of his backpack. Thank god, he might need it in the face of Bucky’s glorious muscles moving in his vision all day.

“If you’re sure,” Bucky finally said in a deep steady voice.

“Maybe later,” Steve stammered, holding up the frisbee with a shaky hand. He had to get a grip.

“Alright, later then, I’m holding you to that.” And Bucky took the disc from Steve’s grip and was off bounding towards Sam, Carol, Thor and Maria.

While Steve recalibrated his thoughts, Nat came back holding only one ice cream cone, licking it slowly with a sparkle in her eye as Clint trailed behind, wearing Nat’s beach bag and carrying the rest of the ice creams, and Steve worried she’d overestimated his balancing skills. But if Nat asked, Clint would do - it was kind of amazing the power she had over him without even trying. Although they weren’t dating (yet), Nat was never cruel, she was playing the long game and really liked Clint, but had been hurt before by some Russian asshole, and Steve knew that Clint, when Nat finally agreed to go out with him would never be the same man again. He’d be lost in deep shock and joy. They were perfect for each other.

A pang went through his gut as Steve watched them, taking a cone from Clint, wishing he had someone that wanted him as much as they wanted each other.

“Vanilla,” Nat commented with a scrunch of her nose at Steve’s choice as he took a lick of the creamy goodness, the chill on his tongue welcome under the heat of the day. “You’re so very basic, Rogers.”

“Hey there is nothing wrong with that. I happen to love vanilla.” A rich voice said from right in front of Steve as Bucky flopped down on the sand, kicking up little grains that stuck on Bucky’s thighs where he was sweating. Steve shut his eyes against the picture before him, once again pleading to any God or Goddess that would listen that it wasn’t fair, that they had to find him someone one day. He just hoped it would be soon, else his dick drop off from Bucky unwittingly giving him blue balls.

“You’re one to talk, you didn’t even want ice cream, just a soda. And a club soda at that.”

Bucky looked over to Nat, flashing her a wide grin, and Steve immediately started to lick his ice cream just to do anything but stare at the crinkling in the corners of Bucky’s eyes, or to watch his lips as they wrapped around the bottle tip. He only half listened to their banter as they kept teasing each other, Nat and Bucky having been best friends from childhood, the reason how Steve inadvertently fell into the group of jocks, for a lack of a better term to encompass all the fit people he was now surrounded with.

Nat had introduced him to everyone after they’d hit it off at the gym in first semester, and Steve had waited for the inevitable teasing to commence about his small stature, but it never came. He was always included, never mocked (unless it was called for, because he was a facts man and couldn’t help correcting people when they were clearly in the wrong) and it was such a novel experience, so how could he not fall immediately in lust with the football captain? One who had smokey blue-grey eyes, sinfully full lips made for kissing among other fun activities and a personality that you could fall into and live inside forever.

“Err, Steve… your ice cream, it’s ummm, dripping.”

“What?” Steve asked, realising that he’d been swirling his tongue over the top of the soft confectionary and that his fingers were now completely sticky as the ice cream dripped over them on to his thigh. “Oh shit.”

Steve immediately switched hands and started to lap at his fingers, tongue darting between them to catch all the creaminess, sucking them into his mouth one by one, only looking up when he heard a muted groan. Bucky was moving before him, squirming in the sand, and as his eyes landed on Bucky, he startled, surprised to find Bucky’s hooded gaze directly on Steve. But his eyes hadn’t landed just anywhere, they were trained to Steve’s mouth, and as Steve swiped his finger through the sweetness that had dribbled on his thigh, Bucky’s gaze followed that finger's movements. Steve without thought, heart thumping hard, confusion and awe flowing through his veins, stuck the digit in his mouth, licking off the stickiness.

Thankfully, Steve had his sunglasses on, hiding his expression, but he knew his face was burning red at the brash and overt display. Bucky was watching him intently, the rise and fall of his gloriously thick chest heaved, and Bucky’s skin flushed from the exercise or maybe the sun. Steve wasn’t sure.

But it was as Steve licked around the base of the cone again, the ice cream melting quicker in the heat than he could swallow, Bucky’s pecs twitched.

Steve stopped all movement, caught at the tick of flesh, the way it bounced taut, watching with abject lust and desire as Bucky did it again - knowing exactly where Steve’s eyes were trained.

It was such a fucking dick move, a power move to get attention and Steve hated jocks who flexed like that, but on Bucky… on Bucky it was god damn mesmerizing. And it was after the third time Bucky’s pecs jumped, Bucky stood up abruptly and fled saying in a higher pitch than usual that he was jumping in the water, that Steve realised he might not have been doing it on purpose.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Bucky was dead, he was going to die from being hard for... how long had he known Steve Rogers, six months maybe? Well, that was how long he’d survived with a non-stop boner for the blonde man. And he was at the end of his tether.

Steve was everything Bucky ever wanted in a partner, smart, strong, intense, funny, handsome and a person that he could fall into, spend time with - love.

So it didn't help his little issue to be at the beach that day, watching Steve sit under the huge umbrella on brightly coloured towels in his swim trunks and a loose tank with arm holes so big he could see all the way through to his muscular chest and pink nipples. It was driving him fucking insane.

Sure he’d seen Steve wearing an array of items at the gym, but he’d never witnessed him so carefree as he was at the beach. He was smiling more, relaxed, joking while big sunglasses hid those gorgeous eyes that would give the ocean a run for its money as to what was bluer.

But what killed Bucky that particular day over every other day he lusted after Steve, what made him clench and twitch all over was watching Steve lick up his ice cream. It was downright obscene, Steve shouldn’t be allowed to do that in public, or at least he should have a warning sticker on his person.

Steve had a mouth made for sucking cock, and Bucky wanted, no, he needed to know what having those lips wrapped around him felt like. Christ, he wanted to know what it felt like to be buried in Steve, maybe even have Steve press into him. Fuck.

There was only one thing for it.

He had to seduce Steve, and he had to do it soon.

But that begged the question - how?

How did Bucky capture the attention of the smartest, funniest, quick witted and grumpiest man on campus? Not only that, but to have Steve take him seriously? Bucky was aware that people thought he was only a dumb jock, that all he had to offer the world was to play ball and shit talk other teams and work out in the gym. Which, yeah of course he did all of those things - but he really was so much more. He was studying economics, was thinking about trying to specialise and work as an international trade specialist after college, and although Bucky really loved playing ball - it wasn’t his whole life. He’d never go pro - well, not without a hell of a lot of luck and persistence, and he wasn't sure he really wanted to take something he enjoyed and make it a living in that way. He’d seen how broken some sports stars bodies were after a career, and he still wanted to be able to walk at forty without having had three knee reconstructions.

But Steve, Steve saw through all of that, he spoke to Bucky like an intellect, like he had something worthy to say, to add to the conversation. Even at the gym after Nat had introduced them (Bucky begging to know who the gorgeous guy she was chatting to on the rowing machines was) Steve and he worked out together, had fun catcalling each other for being weak and helped each other with their forms - something Bucky largely did just to get hands on Steve even though Steve’s form was perfect.

Bucky had been taken with the slight man from the first moment he’d seen him, always under the impression that Steve was too smart to even think about dating a meathead like him, even if he truly wasn't what his physique made him. So he stuck with friendship, but now he wanted more. Was going to ask for more.

“Whatcha thinking?” Nat asked as she swam out to float in the water next to him.

“Nothing much,” He replied, ignoring her knowing hum. He hated that they’d been friends forever and she knew all his tells.

The much needed cold water had soothed his itching skin, and from his vantage point he could look back at their rag tag group of friends, able to stare unabashadly at Steve as he laughed with Clint and Thor about something, staring up at Thor as he... as he fucking flexed in front of Steve.

“Easy boy,” Natasha grabbed his bicep that was taut from clenching his fists, “Thor’s with Jane remember? Steve’s not interested in someone like Thor anyway.”

Bucky’s eyes swung to her immediately. “What do you mean? Because he's a jock?”

Nat let out an exasperated sigh. “No you idiot. Because he’s interest lies elsewhere.”

“Oh,” Bucky’s chest squeezed tight, wondering who had Steve’s undivided attention. And he couldn’t help but watch Steve as Carol held out a hand to pull him to his feet, and suddenly Bucky forgot his disappointment when Steve pulled his tank off, revealing a gorgeous toned body in all its glory. Bucky’s dick stirred. Thank fuck he was hidden in the water.

“You are a colossal idiot. You know that right?” Nat deadpanned.

“I have to ask Steve out,” he blurted. “I need to… I need to be with him.”

“I know,” Nat said with a smirk, and Bucky looked at her gratefully, if she helped he would be fine. “But that really sounds like a you problem. Have fun with that.”

“You horrible cow,” Bucky sniped back, ready to splash her, but she was already under the water stealthily swimming up behind Clint, only to dunk the unsuspecting man.

Bucky’s attention suddenly caught on movement on the shoreline as Steve stood knee deep, testing the water and with no further hesitation, dove in, coming up for air not far from where Bucky floated. Bucky watched mesmerized as the sun glinted off Steve’s wet eyelashes, before he wiped the droplets from them, smiling at Bucky.

“Oh god, this water feels amazing.”

“So would you,” Bucky whispered.

“Huh?” Steve asked.

For a long moment, Bucky stared at Steve, realising that sound carried over water differently and Steve most likely caught what he said. Seducing someone was hard, even though he hadn’t even tried yet.

Instead of answering, Bucky ducked his head so his mouth went underwater and swam towards Steve like a shark, deciding that he just had to ask him point blank, no messing around with seduction. Slipping up out of the water at the last moment he put on his most predatory smile, Steve’s eyes widening and he looked around, face flushed and Bucky hoped he wasn’t looking for an escape.

He quickly darted behind Steve, wrapping his arms tight around his lithe body, trying not to linger too much as Steve was the perfect fit, felt so good against him; and when he heard the small gasp from Steve’s throat he launched him into the air. Flinging Steve into the water a few feet away.

“You fucker,” Steve exclaimed laughing as he came up for air, and Bucky smirked.

Suddenly with a smirk of his own that made Bucky inhale sharply, Steve disappeared under the water, Bucky feeling him come up underneath his body and with a strength that belied Steve’s small stature, completely turning Bucky on more than it should, he was pushed up out of the water, throwing him completely under as well.

“Jesus, Steve. You should join the team.” Bucky spluttered when he came up for air.

Steve grinned back, pushing wet hair out of his eyes and Bucky stared, lost in how stunning Steve looked in the sunlight, that he was there before him alone in the ocean full of people, “I mean they already have you and Sam as Captains. Wouldn’t want to put either of you out of a job.”

Bucky laughed, “I don’t doubt you’d do it too, Stevie.”

And when Steve stopped smiling, Bucky realised what he’d said.

“Shit, sorry - you don’t like that? Nicknames?”

“No I... I do…” Steve answered softly, and Bucky became lost in a blue that matched the water they were treading.

“Would you get out with me?” Bucky blurted.

“Sorry? Get out of the water?”

Bucky internally facepalmed himself. “No, I mean go out.”

“Out. With you?”

Bucky nodded.

“Err, why me?” Steve asked in a small voice lost on a gust of wind.

Looking at Steve, who stared back at him with questions in his eyes, Bucky wanted to explain how much he’d desired it for months, to tell Steve all the ways he wanted to make him happy, and as a multitude of words sat on his tongue, Bucky suddenly understood Steve might not listen to his reasoning, might not believe him. So he decided to show his intent instead, and swam closer. Steve’s eyes were wide, guileless, Bucky seeing a small spark of something more, and hoping he wasn’t triple jumping over a line, he swam up behind Steve. He felt Steve tense up, anticipating to be flung into the water again, but instead, Bucky pulled him closer so that Steve’s back slotted against his front and leaned in, mouth only an inch away from Steve’s ear.

“Why you? Oh Stevie, you have no idea how gorgeous you are. How much I want you.” Bucky pressed his nose against the back of Steve’s ear and inhaled deeply, sunscreen, salt and Steve’s shampoo filled his senses and he lost his head for a moment, especially when Steve let out a high pitched groan and wriggled back into Bucky. “I want to spread you out beneath me, I want to lick all the sweat off your body, sweat that I'm going to cause from working you hard, making you work extra hard for my dick, because Stevie - I want you, I want you bad, and I think you might want me back just as much.”

Bucky hoped he wasn’t completely off base with his desires, that Steve really was just as interested, and when Steve ground back against him, skin sliding against Bucky’s, letting out another moan at the friction when he felt Bucky hardening up underneath him, Bucky knew it was going to be ok.

“Yes…” Steve whimpered as his shorts caught against Bucky’s dick, pushing backwards.

“You want that baby?”

“Fuck. Yes, I do.”

“How much?”

Steve spluttered, and Bucky couldn’t help chuckle at the noise. “What do you mean?”

“How much do you want it?” Bucky knew he was being a prick, making his pec’s tense against Steve’s back, pulling him onto his lap as they floated in the water, before wrapping a leg around one of Steve’s pulling it to the side, making Steve gasp gorgeously.

“A normal amount,” Steve husked back.

“Oh, you want me a normal amount - is that all?” Bucky smirked before licking a sloppy stripe up Steve’s neck at the same time as he snuck a hand down the front of Steve’s swim trunks, gripping his dick tightly, feeling the impressive length and girth for the first time. Fuck, he was definietly not taking switching of the table. But not anytime soon. First, he wanted to take Steve apart in every way conceivable.

Steve meanwhile, was liquid in his arms, going slack as Bucky took his time to explore while they floated in circles not far from the shore, but far enough out they wouldn’t get in trouble. He hoped.

The moans tearing from Steve’s throat were getting louder though, Bucky loving every noise punched out of Steve as he stroked harder under the water, the friction and pressure of the water making him slower and more languid than usual. And Bucky wanted to make Steve call out with no thought or boundaries, nothing to stifle his pleasure, he needed Steve coming in his arms, again and again.

“I think you might just want me a little more than that.” Bucky rasped against Steve’s neck, sucking a bruise onto his pink skin, giving Steve’s dick another sharp tug and before he knew what was happening, Steve was shaking in his arms, whimpering out a release and Bucky was speechless. Utterly speechless as he continued to stroke Steve slowly, carefully as he jerked in his hand.

“Holy fuck, you’re stunning, gorgeous, the absolute best,” Bucky rambled into Steve’s neck, nipping kisses and pressing his lips against him in absolute awe at what had just occured.

Suddenly Steve moved, spinning himself around to straddle Bucky and he went under for a moment as their weights shifted and came back up spluttering, only for Steve to launch himself so his lips pushed against his. Steve took over, devouring his mouth, and although Bucky was the one in control, holding them both up, he’d never felt so out of control as Steve writhed and ground down as best he could in the water. Shit, Steve was going to be a handful and Bucky was there for it.

As he kissed back, grabbing the back of Steve’s head, holding him still as he pressed his tongue in deeply, a huge beach ball smacked into the side of his face. They jumped apart with a gasp.

“Don’t make me go get the hose!” Nat yelled out as she and Clint swam around nearby. “It’s about time you dolts wised up, but this is a public beach with you know - families.”

Bucky watched as Steve’s face flushed a perfect shade of red, and he couldn’t help but grab him again, giving him a quick intense kiss, claiming Steve until he struggled for breath, to show Bucky’s intent was clear and true. It was pure perfection.

“We’ll pick this up again later.” Bucky promised.

“Later.” Steve replied breathlessly.

Suddenly Steve pushed himself away from Bucky, grabbing and throwing the beach ball, hitting Clint dead on the nose. The surprised yelp from both Clint and Natasha made Bucky laugh.

“Oh it’s so on, James,” Nat yelled out.

Steve piped up from his side, “you wish, Romanoff - we’re gonna take you down!”

Bucky beamed.

“Yeah!” he called over to them, dodging the ball that came directly for him as Nat and Clint shit-talked. And as he and Steve swam out to retrieve the ball floating behind them, Bucky turned to Steve and gave him an overtly salacious wink. “And once we take them down, I’m going to take you home and show you what going down is all about.”

Steve burst out laughing. “Really? That was incredibly lame, especially for a savvy sex-crazed jock.”

“You’re not interested in my proposal then?”

“Oh I’m interested,” Steve grinned, licking his lips and Bucky caught his breath. “But if you’re going to use dad jokes on the regular - I might have to start calling you something else in the bedroom.”

Steve then threw the ball, Nat ducking at the last minute, and Bucky didn’t even feel when the returning pitch slammed into his head; Steve’s words creating a delicious cacophony of images and filthy thoughts in his mind instead.

Bucky had always known that Stevie Rogers was going to be both the life and death of him, and as he rubbed his head, grasping the ball in one hand, ready to throw it, he couldn’t wait to see where their adventure would take them.

But first - Clint had to pay.

#stucky #mywriting #friends to lovers #college #bottom Steve #implied switch #beach and fun #melting ice creams are a real issue for libidos #gift for Manda - the best and brightest of them all #prompt game #kalee answers

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c-is-for-circinate · 4 years ago

Text

Post-ep 123 Reaction

Wow, y’all. What a ride.

You know, I used to do these after every single CR episode. Every single one, 2 AM, exhausted and dazed, trying to pour out smart thinky thoughts onto tumblr because I’d be so overflowing with ideas and feelings.

I haven’t so much, lately, and I think part of that is just the fact that I have not been enjoying this Aeor arc. I’ve hated the traveling along with Lucien in a way that’s made it unpleasant to watch, instead of fun. (For me, personally! Many people have been enjoying the tension, and I know the players have been enjoying the tension, and that’s fine! Yay for them!) Some of the ancient ruins explorations, too, have gotten just a little too creepy-horror-game for sitting alone in my apartment at one in the morning. I’ve had less to say. I’ve wanted to say it less.

And that’s not true tonight. I can’t remember the last time I got excited about a CR episode like I was tonight. Oh, there’ve been bits and moments I loved all throughout, there always are, that’s why I’m still watching live even in an arc that hasn’t thrilled me, but I loved the whole episode today, all five and a half hours of it, and god that feels good.

So in celebration, some specific bullet points:

The start of the episode, the discovery of the eyes on Beau and Caleb. The attempts at science. The fear, and yet, also, the glimmers of...okay but what if we could use this? (The moment in the second half, after the Tombtakers ran off, when Beau suggests going into her dreams to ask for help to find them--yes. Yes. I still don’t have a lot of interest in evil wizard plotlines when you doom yourself/the world/etc out of curiosity, but the willingness to dive into this terrifying thing that might change you, might break you, because you need what it can give you in order to save a thing you love (your friends, the world) more than you need to be whole or sane or even, necessarily, alive--that is my GOOD SHIT.)

Guys, I just loved every single minute of that white dragon fight, okay? It was such a mess. It was such a mess! And look, there’s a very specific kind of frenetic energy that the table gets when they find themselves in the middle of a terrifying boss battle, and there’s a different very specific kind of wild ‘this may as well happen’ energy they get when things go terribly wrong entirely due to random chance, and getting the compound of both of those things at once is always glorious. Nobody is prepared for anything! Everybody is freaking out! There’s good reason to suspect that, even if someone dies a bit, everyone’s going to make it out alive, but shit’s wild in the middle there and it’s just such a joy to watch.

Likewise, I know that final fight was really stressful for both the cast and a lot of viewers, but honestly in so many ways I watched it feeling so much less stressed than the past few weeks have made me? Yes, it was a horrible, horrible fight, the team in so far over their heads, so low on sleep and spells and any resources at all. But, god, thank god, at least it was finally over. There’s no going back to fake amity with the Tombtakers after this, no more playing along and trying to plot treason while the person you’re plotting against is probably hearing every word. Enemies can be faced! They can be fought, or fled, or defeated, they can be destroyed or put off for another day, but at least nobody’s pretending any more while trapped in wary uncertain fear of their own houseguests. At least now it’s done.

The fucking Iron Shepherds parallels. Just. Yes. I have hated the trapped feelings of traveling alongside Lucien and his crew, but the Iron Shepherds parallels are, while stab-me-in-the-heart painful, so fucking good. The very best moments with Lucien have been the ones that mimic Mollymauk, not even because they bring hope that Molly could come back to us someday (although that’s there, that faint shimmering thread), but because it is always the best, worst, most glorious twist of irony. Molly died trying to save his friends, saving his friends, from the violence of a monster who was so very like him in all the ways he was terrified to know. Lorenzo and his ragtag group of multiclassed minions, full of loyalty, arrogance, unexpected powers, here to torture and enslave. The Nein have more power now, a little more negotiated control, they are different--but so much of it is just window-dressing as they’ve been dragged along on this pell-mell journey against their will, told when to walk and when to sleep, headed towards a place they would’ve gone anyway at the behest of someone they really do not give a shit about any more. It’s so much the same. And the thing that is beautiful, and the thing that I love, the one thing for which I do love Lucien, is just--god, the irony. The irony! Because it’s not just that Lucien is like Lorenzo, that Molly turns out to be like the man that killed him after all; it’s not just Lucien, all unknowing, rebuilding old grudges and replaying old scenes without even knowing them. It’s the fact that Molly’s death is the only reason this can happen in the first place. Mollymauk Tealeaf, murdered and buried, wanting only to protect his teammates from a megalomaniacal killer--sacrificing himself on a hope and a chance that maybe, maybe, he and his friends could all survive, and they’d all be fucked anyway if he didn’t--he died to do it. And it worked. They were safe, for a little while, for long enough to rescue Jester and Yasha and Fjord. Long enough to keep going, to leave part of the world better than they found it, to canonize him in his own way. Except now here they are again, worse and deeper into the same shit than ever before, and it never could have been like this if Molly had survived. He derailed Lorenzo long enough to save them then, and created the forward path for the Lucien they’re facing now. It’s terrible. It’s beautiful. And that’s some damn good storytelling.

The start of the next episode is going to be very very hard for the Nein! In so many ways, they’re back exactly where they were episodes ago when they first started traveling with Lucien’s crew to begin with: one threshhold crest in their possession, beat to hell and almost entirely out of spells, exhausted, in desperate need of a long rest, with a probably-pursuing enemy that doesn’t seem inclined to let them have one. It’s as untenable now as it was then.

They have so much more knowledge now (was it worth it?). They have their own connection to the city now (will it cost them more than they’ve gained?). Maybe they have a direction. Probably they’ve got options. They’ve got an angel, an owl, a wooly mammoth, and a destination. Maybe, if they’re very fast and very lucky, maybe, if Caleb uses a teleport spell or they somehow manage to navigate through the snow in their exhaustion with all their luck, they’ll make it to Essek in time to collapse almost safely. They’ve needed backup so badly. They’ve needed someone, anyone, to keep them safe for just a few hours so they can plan, and think, and sleep.

And they’ve been so busy trying to play nice, giving in to their fear, trying to avoid the fight they just dove into (with half the team exhausted and half their spell slots gone!), that they haven’t let themselves go and get those things. And now they’re out the other side of that fight. Now they know, just a bit more, what Lucien and his team are made of.

Now they can finally, maybe, maybe, start finding ways to take back their own control instead of keeling over with the fear. I hope. I hope, I hope, I hope.

#cr spoilers #episode 123 #critical role

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yellowocaballero · 4 years ago

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The Crow’s Funeral Snippet: Jon Gets Involved In Local Politics, Regrets It

Annabelle, of course, was standing on the other side of the door.

Slightly less obviously, she was dressed in a finely tailored suit, complete with high heels and a gorgeous dripping silver chain-link necklace. Her hair was tied up in an up-do of braids piled neatly on top of her head, and there was even a briefcase.

She looked Jon up and down critically. He was wearing sweatpants and a holey shirt.

“You forgot,” she condemned, “didn’t you?”

“No I didn’t,” Jon said reflexively. He paused. “Forgot what?”

Annabelle pinched the bridge of her nose. Jon noticed that she was even wearing her usual all-black lipstick and winged eyeliner. “The council committee for London I planned for today. Remember? The one with a representative for each Entity?” Jon stared blankly at her. “There was an invite?”

“Oh, that. I don’t check my mail.” Jon looked at Daisy, who was now pressing aggressively against Jon. “Did you open up any mail recently?” Daisy barked. Jon looked back at Annabelle. “She ate it.”

“...of course she did.” Written for no real reason besides for the fact that I know too much about my own AU and I care about Annabelle. This story takes place both pre- and post- story: six months after Jon enters London, and six months after the events of the story. We talk about childhood/adulthood, stagnancy/growth, good/evil, and the inherent metaphor of a Nintendo DS. Sometimes...found family...is bad. Rest under the cut.

In the third month, boiling and bubbling over, someone knocked at Jon’s door.

Not the door to his office. The door to his flat, which had a very large ‘EMPLOYEES ONLY’ sign on it, and was always locked. The employees were, granted, Jon and Daisy, but the message was conveyed. Jon saw the sign in stores and copied it, as he copied many aspects of business models. Jon didn’t quite understand how to run a business, but he had read both ‘What they teach you in Harvard Business School’ - whatever a Harvard was - and ‘What they don’t teach you in Harvard Business School’, so he figured he was set. Daisy had also grabbed him a Girl Scout book on starting your own lemonade stand, which helped more than the other two books combined. Harvard Business School could take notes.

Jon rolled off the bed, where he had been downloading knowledge of string games and trying to figure out how to do them. Omniscence was closer to reading an instruction manual than actually knowing how to do something, but at least that left Jon with plenty of time to learn skills. Even if it wasn’t necessarily his favorite activity - he was bad at a lot of them, which would frustrate him and make him wreck the craft. Daisy kept on saying he needed a hobby other than reading but what did she know, anyway -

Daisy, from where she had been sleeping at the foot of the bed, lifted her head and barked sleepily.

“I’ll get them to go away,” Jon promised. Or eat them. Maybe just eat them.

But when Daisy bristled and jumped off the bed, barking heavily, he knew who it was. Jon sighed, hastily shoving a shirt over his head, and undid the three deadbolts before unlocking the door.

Annabelle, of course, was standing on the other side. Slightly less obviously, she was dressed in a finely tailored suit, complete with high heels and a gorgeous dripping silver chain-link necklace. Her hair was tied up in an up-do of braids piled neatly on top of her head, and there was even a briefcase.

She looked Jon up and down critically. He was wearing sweatpants and a holey shirt.

“You forgot,” she condemned, “didn’t you?”

“No I didn’t,” Jon said reflexively. He paused. “Forgot what?”

Jon stared blankly at her.

“There was an invite?”

“...of course she did.” Annabelle glanced down at Daisy, whose fur was standing on end as she growled lowly. “Have you had any success?”

“You would have noticed if I did,” Jon said shortly.

“Have you tried talking to -”

“Yes,” Jon snapped, “but apparently some of us have better things to do than attend meetings and cure dogs.”

Annabelle intelligently dropped the matter, instead frowning at Jon. He crossed his arms, fighting the urge to hunch over away from her dark and perceptive stare. But instead of pushing him, she said, “Go get dressed in something a little appropriate, please. You look like you crawled out of the Buried.” Daisy barked, which Annabelle ignored. “What are you doing to your hair?”

Jon hunched defensively. It was a little matted and frizzy, but who was counting? “Daisy can’t exactly shave it anymore, and I don’t really...know what to do with it...am I doing something wrong? I bathe.”

It was very important to Daisy that he bathe and brush his teeth. Jon didn’t know what the big deal was, but if it was important to her then he did it.

Annabelle just pinched the bridge of her nose again, checking her wrist-watch. “Buzzing your hair is a crime against God, and letting your hair look like that is a crime against me. I’ll take care of this later. Just get ready in the next five minutes, or I’m filling your fridge with spiders again.”

Jon got ready in four. Annabelle didn’t joke around with that stuff.

He didn’t really know what a council committee was. He didn’t know why he had to go to one either, seeing as Jon only tended to concern himself with Daisy. Daisy had been taking up a lot of his concern lately. Then his mood had plummeted again, and in the last month they’ve both been recalcitrant to leave the flat for anything but eating, and he was capable of noticing when he was hunting a little vindictively, and - anyway.

He downloaded the knowledge, and then made a face when it didn’t really help. One of those nasty little political things. What was with his fellow Avatars and politics? Just torture anyone who bothers you. If they were one of those freaks who liked being tortured, then just smite them. Life was easy and very simple once you remembered that basic rule.

But Annabelle was really into it - she kept on saying something about ‘order’ and ‘regulation’ and ‘first dibs’ - and she tended to drag him along into these things. She thought it was ‘important’ that Jon ‘know what was going on’ or something. Jon liked Knowing things, but once you know everything you realize that some things aren’t really interesting enough to know.

When he asked Daisy if she wanted to go with, she feigned sleep. She had been hyperactive lately, compensating for her months of starvation with unbridled and frantic Hunting. Jon had taken her to one of those little pockets where people were running around and screaming all the time, and let her run wild in the rainforest for a while. It was the kind of fun bonding experience they hadn’t had in ages, and Jon had the opportunity to pluck his own grapes from the vine too.

There had been an old man who really hadn’t been happy to see Jon, which had freaked him out a bit. He had started going on a little bit about how Jon had ruined his life, but he only got a few sentences in before a giant, carnivorous plant had eaten him. That was lucky.

Jon had ripped the dimension apart as he left. Nasty little place. Nothing good there.

So Jon left the house without Daisy for the first time since she had been well enough to move around, and with Annabelle. Daisy had been waiting at the door with a rucksack packed with his favorite book and his Nintendo DS, which made Annabelle ask her where the juicebox was. Daisy tried to bite her again. Jon didn’t know why everybody couldn’t just get along.

There was a cab waiting outside, driven by another skeleton, and Annabelle quickly bundled him into it. Jon slouched in the corner and started playing WarioWare as Annabelle leafed through typewritten documents, lips pursing and making notes on the margins of each one with a red pen. She was muttering to herself, somewhat entertainingly.

“My fourth arm for a computer, I swear to Jesus. My fourth and fifth arms. My sixth arm for a computer…”

“Are those the internet machines you told me about?” Jon asked, scribbling his stylus on the screen. Ashley cheered him on. He loved Ashley. “Do council committees need the internet?”

“The internet’s for a lot more than council committees Jon,” Annabelle said tightly. “They’re for video games. Ememoharepeegees -”

“Gesundheit.”

“ - bitcoin mining, instant messaging, online dating, freaking Google Docs -”

“Do you want it back?” Jon asked, bored. “I can make you the internet.”

Annabelle’s pen froze on the paper, hovering over a bullet-point list. “The entire internet? You can just do that?”

“Yeah, sure, whatever.” Jon poked his tongue out his mouth in concentration as he pressed the monkeys in a rhythmic order. Rhythm games were his jam. “That’s, like, the pocket nightmare dimension from Tron, right? I can do that. Addictions are easy. Put people inside, trap them inside a video or something. It’d be mostly for torture but you could probably use it normally.”

Annabelle stared at him, expression blank, for so long it made Jon a little uncomfortable and defensive. What had he said wrong? Daisy was usually good at interpreting these things for him, although sometimes when people went on about ‘violence’ she was just as confused as him. Finally, she said, “No, that’s alright. I always hated Black Mirror anyway.”

“What’s that?”

“It’s a telly - never mind. I don’t want you getting any more ideas.”

***

The council committee was held in the stupidest building Jon had ever seen in his entire life. And he had been in London for six months. He knew stupid buildings.

‘London City Hall’ or whatever was this awful giant, lopsided, obloid monstrosity. All glass and windows, with nary a brick in sight, Jon hated it instantly and severely. He was immediately filled with the urge to turn to somebody and commiserate with them about shitty architecture, but there was nobody else in the cab but Annabelle - and, well, she seemed to have other things on her mind.

The neighborhood around it was filled with a mix of equally stupid buildings and perfectly respectable buildings that looked as if they had been made a long time ago. The sidewalks were relatively abandoned, and the streets were empty of everything but the endless rotation of tourist double-decker busses. Jon knew that this wasn’t one of those districts where people actually lived and roamed - instead, it was one of those business districts that people only stepped inside for work or city business. Like that silly little Palace of Westminster building that Annabelle had taken him to months ago when she was showing him the city.

That building Annabelle had especially loved. It was filled with old white men with sagging jowls and liver spots, looping in endless routines and miniature atrocities. Annabelle had asked him to take as many Statements as possible, and Jon had needed no encouraging.

That had been a strange trip. Normally people found his little monologues boring, because they were idiots with no taste, but Annabelle had listened to every single one. She had been enraptured, excited and triumphant. She had dragged him into some “Lord’s Chamber” or something and posed on the throne as Jon obediently took polaroids. Well, so long as she was happy.

Jon was already seeing that London City Hall was no better. Annabelle dragged him through it, anxiously checking and re-checking her files, as they effortlessly weaved between shambling zombies of old white men in suits. Jon tasted the ripe air of trauma from them - a similar taste to that spiralling academic building, but rather a little more tart - but Annabelle dragged him away before he could stop and eat them.

There were parts of London that were safe. Maybe even most of London - although nowhere was truly safe, not really, not every location was absolutely haunted. The grocer’s was the grocer’s; the chemist still sold your medication. Not that you really needed it anymore, but habit was habit.

But some buildings, which were entrenched so firmly in hundreds of years of evil, could not be dissuaded from their nightmares. In that respect, the safest city in the United Kingdom became the most dangerous. Some buildings had been nightmares even before the end of the world.

Jon, of course, gave very little shits about this beyond in the academic sense. Annabelle refused to let him duck out of her meeting to go snack, and she ended up dragging him in front of what looked like a smallish conference room.

Annabelle stopped in front of it, taking a second to breathe in and out and check her makeup. She seemed to be hyping herself up for it, shaking out her arms loosely. Jon slouched behind her, hands jammed in his trenchcoat pockets. Annabelle had asked him to put on a less raggedy suit, but - well, he sometimes had nicer suits, but they got raggedy very quickly. She had also asked him to leave the trenchcoat at home, but no way. It was part of his Look.

“You’re frightened,” Jon noted with interest. Annabelle was scared of less than he was, and she had much less of a reason. “What about this room scares you?”

“It’s not the people in the room,” Annabelle snapped, flashing her compact shut. “It’s what I’m trying to do. If this world’s going to last more than a few years before it devolves into fuckin’ Mad Max we need leadership. I didn’t put all of this work in just to -” At Jon’s blank look, she sighed. “Never mind. You don’t care. Just - try to trust me, Jon.”

“Of course I trust you,” Jon said, baffled. “Why wouldn’t I?”

She stared at him, expression inscrutable, for a long moment, before opening the door and pulling him in.

It was a nice conference room, all wood panelling and that specific green shade you only saw in lawyer’s offices. There was a large rectangular table in the center, and more than a dozen luxurious chairs arranged around it. There was a big pull-down screen on the far wall. Jon didn’t know what it was for, but he knew that if he downloaded the information it wouldn’t help. Omniscence was so useless.

In a move that horrified Annabelle, most of the attendees seemed to be there. They had been chatting - talking, actually, quite loudly - before Annabelle strode in and Jon slumped in after her. But in the second that they both stepped in, an abrupt hush swept the room, and every eye swiveled to them.

If Jon was honest with himself, he’d say that they didn’t quiet when Annabelle stepped in. He’d say that they quieted when Jon stepped in. That it was Jon who they were looking at.

But Jon didn’t particularly feel like engaging with that. He didn’t like being stared at by people he didn’t know, and he didn’t like being out in public with people he didn’t know. He didn’t enjoy being in buildings or meeting new people, much less going to boring meetings. Jon decided all of this instantaneously, as every eye swiveled to him.

Rooms full of humans were fine. It was just humans. Nothing even vaguely intimidating about that, unless the humans were teenage girls. But these were Avatars - Jon could taste their nature in the air, a sharp and electric tingle - and when they stared at Jon he felt something heavier in their gaze. Oh, lord. There was a teenage girl here.

Jon tried slumping to the back chair, but Annabelle grabbed his collar and dumped him in a comfortable chair to her right. Jon saw a little placard in front of it that read ‘THE BEHOLDING’. Great.

“Thank you all for coming today,” Annabelle said crisply, and suddenly every worry was gone. She was calm, poised, confident, and professional. A perfect imitation of the officials and politicians who once really walked these halls, who passed laws and rubber-stamped policies. She could have passed for an assistant or junior staff member, bright and intrepid and ready to climb her way up the ladder. “Are we all accounted for?”

It seemed so. Every chair but one was filled. When Jon peered around at the placards, he saw that each one had a different Entity on it. One of the seats had no placard, and was occupied by said teenage girl. Four were unoccupied: the Spiral, the Slaughter, the Hunt and the Extinction.

Annabelle sat down in the head chair, which seemed just a little fancier. She put her folder in front of her, eyes flickering down the room. “It seems that Helen couldn’t make it. The Hunt duo seem to have...recently met unfortunate ends. The Slaughter Avatar called ahead to say that they couldn’t make it - it was high school picture day? And...I suppose the Extinction Avatar still doesn’t exist.”

She glanced at Jon, who shook his head. “Do you want one?” Jon asked. “I can go find a climate change denier in this building and make one for you.”

That also disturbed Annabelle, as well as everyone else. Jon abruptly felt awkward, and hunched in his seat. He defensively pulled out his DS, his plans to fall asleep in the back of the room already foiled.

Above him, Annabelle continued droning. “Still, I appreciate you all coming. I know that we haven’t all gathered since a bit after the apocalypse began -” Wait, they had? Since when? “ - but I hope we can agree that further coordination is necessary. We’ve already begun having serious territory and jurisdiction disputes, and it’s best that they’re resolved sooner rather than later.” Nobody looked very impressed, but Annabelle looked seriously at them all anyway. “I want us all to have an equal voice at this table. Save the fighting for another time. And please try to keep your powers out of here. I’ve already sworn to avoid using any of my Mother’s gifts in this room, and I hope you all can do the same.”

“Yeah?” A woman drawled. She was unfamiliar to Jon, like most people in the room, but she had a teenage girl sitting next to her who seemed to be paying rapt attention to Annabelle. “How are you going to enforce that?”

Annabelle stared at him for some reason. Jon jabbed at his DS and won the Mona minigame. Nothing more was said.

“Alright, then. I’ve already collected motions from all of you prior to this meeting.” Motions? Annabelle hadn’t said anything like that. Maybe it was on the invitation Daisy ate, but somehow he doubted it. Annabelle looked down and traced her finger down to her first point. “Many of you suggested this, so I would like to introduce it as a general discussion. Territory disputes, apparently, are a point of contention between many of us.” She opened her briefcase and pulled out a large map, and if Jon looked over the top of his DS he could see that it was a map of London. She also pulled out a red marker, uncapping it. The sheet was laminated, and there were already circles and markings all over it. “We’ll go one at a time. Amherst, you’ve motioned that the Stranger is intruding within Camden.”

A foppish looking man on a dumb little top hat scowled, as the young woman sitting behind the Strange placard looked annoyed. “It is gentrification. Every apartment complex occupied by artist studios are stealing food from the plate of my insects.”

“You haven’t had Camden for a decade,” the Stranger woman said, rolling her eyes. The Omniscience informed Jon that her name was Sarah Baldwin. Vaguely familiar - had he seen her at a cafe? “Nobody lives in those rat-infested tenements anymore. Now all the rats are performance art. Which is us. Get over it.”

“What is performance art -”

“Motion for no more Avatars over the age of 40,” Sarah Baldwin said. “I hate how Amherst and Wakely are in this room.”

“I wish I could second that,” Annabelle said, to the great affront of two grimy old men, “but unfortunately we do have to deal with this. Amherst, I’ve heard several complaints from other council members that you’re infiltrating their territory.”

“I am made of bugs -”

Jon checked out after that.

Instead, he surveyed the room a bit. Nobody in it was really interesting, just a meaningless collection of self-important people. The only person in the room other than Annabelle who he recognized was Oliver, who was sitting at the very back doing his best to fall asleep. When Jon Stared at him a bit he took notice and subtly waved. Jon shyly waved back. Jon liked Oliver.

Oliver mouthed something adjacent to ‘what is wrong with your hair’, offending Jon grievously. He didn’t look that bad, did he?

He glanced to his left, then down, to ask Daisy’s opinion, but he realized too late that she hadn’t come with him. Stupid. She could have come as part of the Hunt - they didn’t have anybody, it wasn’t as if they could complain. Not to Jon, anyway.

But she wouldn’t have wanted to. Daisy hated being an Avatar, for reasons that Jon had just never understood. She tried explaining it to him a long time ago, trying to talk about how guilty it made her and how much harm she had done, but it had just confused him more. She had tried to explain up until the end, as Jon had grown more and more angry at her for her refusal. He had never understood.

She had stopped talking about it lately, though. Which was good. Jon didn’t know what he’d do if she starved herself twice. He wouldn’t have tolerated it.

Daisy had told him that the most important thing in the world was to make your own choices. So he let her make hers. No matter how much he hated it.

The others weren’t familiar at all. There was a woman with wild dark hair sitting behind the Dark placard, which confused Jon slightly until he decided that they likely hadn’t wanted to send the thirteen year old. There was this really wrinkly and gross old man for the Vast, a younger looking but older feeling man for the Buried, a deathly pale woman for the Lonely, the muscular woman and the teenager for the Desolation...why did they have two…

The teenager was staring at Jon. She had intense orange eyes, the kind that bored into you and never blinked. She looked away every few seconds, as if she was being subtle, but when her gaze drifted back to him again he met her eyes with an unimpressed stare. She squeaked and looked away firmly, hiding behind her curtain of long red hair.

Okay. Whatever. Kids were weird. Jon was glad he had never been one.

Jon swapped out WarioWare for Pokemon SoulSilver, opening back up where he left off catching another MissingNo. His entire team was full of the things. He wanted a Mareep, damn it.

Finally, Annabelle rapped the table sharply and said, “It’s agreed, then. Everybody submit specific written documentation of your territory by city block, and fax it to me by our next meeting. Please abide by the resolutions to the conflicts we discussed here. Any objections to moving onto our next order of business?”

“I have an objection to the Dark’s questionable behavior,” the Buried guy rumbled. He was dripping dirt everywhere. Why didn’t anybody complain to him about his hygiene? “In the words of the lad Brody, they are kill stealing. If they do not withdraw their nightmares from our embrace of the Earth, we will unleash retribution with extreme prejudice. The dirt is a holy place, and we will not be polluted by -”

“Oh, stick your shovel up your fat ass, Wakely,” the woman with wild black hair said. “People aren’t afraid of the fucking dirt, they’re afraid of the darkness in the tombs. Walk into a mausoleum sometime.”

“You poach the End’s territory now too, wench?”

“Please leave me out of this,” Oliver said.

“If you call me wench one more time, you’ll be watching the back of your eye sockets for eternity,” the woman said pleasantly, “so royally fuck you.”

“Um, not to interrupt, but that’s not really how it works,” the teenager said, and the death glares between the two turned on her. She hunched her shoulders, but her expression stayed firm. “The terror is going to overlap. That’s just how it is. The Buried and the Dark are not entirely...separate things, they’re gradients that overlap. If you get all finicky about what belongs to who, then you’re just going in circles…”

“The last thing we need is the coward Messiah of the Eternal Flame telling me how to worship my god,” the woman snapped.

“Watch your fucking mouth, Manuela,” the muscular woman said flatly.

Then they were glaring, and Wakely was saying something else snide, and Manuela was making another dig at the teenager as the muscular woman bitched, and Jon abruptly wanted them all to shut up.

“You’re being too loud,” Jon said.

The entire room shut up immediately. The teenager opened her mouth, but the pale woman caught her eye and shook her head.

Annabelle clapped her hands in the silence. “Onto the second motion, then! Infrastructure! Right now we are sorely missing a great deal of essential city infrastructure, and it’s becoming a huge problem. We’re still figuring out what’s mystically maintained, and what’s just being maintained because the humans haven’t figured out how to stop doing it yet, but there’s some work that’s being neglected. The Vast has motioned to reinstate the postal system.”

“Vetoed,” the Lonely woman said.

“You can’t do that,” Annabelle said blankly. “We need to vote.”

“I’d like to make an argument for the motion, dear,” the Vast man said, making Annabelle’s eye twitch. “My argument is this: Amazon Prime is so convenient!”

“We have every Amazon warehouse under our control,” the representative from the Flesh said. He was...very fleshy. “It’d be no issue to go back to production.”

“Jared has a point. The Eye’s been feeding through Amazon for years,” Annabelle said thoughtfully. The mention of the Eye piqued Jon’s attention, but then he finally ran into a Mareep and he stopped paying attention again. “We can tap into the people who are living 1984 and get them back in industry.”

“Can we begin producing again?” the Desolation woman asked, interested. “We have all these people miserable at work, but nothing’s actually being made. If we let a little reality break into the nightmares…”

“Wouldn’t that be dangerous?” the Lonely woman asked sharply. “It’ll make it easier for them to escape.”

“They all escape eventually,” Sarah Baldwin said. “They all break out in days to months. We can afford a little more permeability if we actually get things working again.”

Then conversation was off and running about something that Jon didn’t really care about, so he checked out again. He didn’t know what all of this production and infrastructure stuff meant. Going Postal meant that he had a very good understanding of a mail system, but he didn’t have a personal interest. Who he would send letters to?

Jon quickly downloaded what Amazon was. Oh, that would be useful. Wait, he could get any book delivered to his door? Without having to go out hunting for it? How would this work without the internet - a catalogue?

Everybody seemed invested in getting the internet back up, except for the two hundred year olds. Jared kept saying something about porn, whatever that was. If enough people felt like Annabelle, then maybe they would make it a priority. Jon didn’t know how he felt about that.

He didn’t know how he felt about the fact that it was impossible.

But everybody - or most people - genuinely seemed excited about it. They even seemed to be working together, intent on the same goal.

Sarah Baldwin wanted to know if we have enough people constantly under camera to have footage for television. Maybe we could get cable back up? DVDs were a lost cause, but if we could just start airing the VHS tapes…

Annabelle had a look of hook-ups (literally) in the film industry, maybe they could do something like that?

The Hahns are highly involved in production and distribution, Jared pointed out. There was no need to produce food, but if we wanted to increase access to goods it might be possible.

Why? Why did they care? This world provided them everything they needed.

For some reason, Jon felt a little defensive. What did they need all of these things for, anyway? All of this entertainment - cable and movies and internet. The world had books. What was so wrong with books? There were even old VHS tapes liberated from charity stores if you really wanted to get fancy. The most high-tech electronic Jon had ever found was the DS in his hands and a couple of games, which Salasea had given to him as an exotic artifact. Only Salasea owned these things now: trinkets and curiosities, hallmarks of an antiquated time.

What was the point of these supply lines? People didn’t need to eat or shop or consume. Nightmares provided the facsimile, and since they got a little crazy if they never ate they were provided the security of food. Buying towels and shoes and toys...it was a waste of time. People had towels. Nobody outgrew their shoes or wore them out. Children’s toys didn’t break, and anything that made happiness a little easier to come by was discouraged.

Nothing was ever subtracted. Nothing was added. The world was frozen, captured in the amber of time, and it would never move backwards and forwards.

They knew this. Didn’t they?

“We have to make this place livable for us,” Annabelle was saying. She spoke oddly intensely, with a fervor that Jon had seen in her a few times before. Annabelle didn’t like to give off the impression that she cared about things, but once you knew her it was hard to miss. “It’s easier than ever to stay powerful and feed our Forces, but that doesn’t mean we can grow complacent. We have to work together to eat sustainably. To live sustainably. If we don’t try to rebuild, at least enough to get the world moving again, then we’re sentencing ourselves to a boring and decrepit eternity in a world we will all see die within our immortal lifetimes.”

Everyone at the table was nodding. They looked determined. United. Almost...they held an expression that Jon just couldn’t name. An emotion he didn’t understand.

He had seen it in Daisy, once. She had called it hope. He hadn’t understood back then. He still didn’t.

“Liar,” Jon said, as his minigame timed out and the game over music tinkled across the tinny speakers.

Annabelle looked at him, expression inscrutable. “These problems are legitimate, Archivist. The writing’s clearly on the wall, and -”

“You’re all so stupid,” Jon complained, and Annabelle abruptly stopped talking to glare at him. Whatever. Jon had lost all patience. He closed his DS and dropped it on the table, resigning himself to talking. Jon hated public speaking, especially in front of so many people he didn’t know and, frankly, creeped him out. “You can’t build anything in this world. If you try to impose a cute little government then it’ll break down into cannibalism or something.”

“Would you know, Archivist?” Jared asked evenly.

“Jonah didn’t enact this world through myself for living,” Jon said, bored, and everybody stared at him with wide eyes. “We created it for suffering. Suffering isn’t living.”

“One might say the opposite,” the Vast man said, somehow twinkingly. “Suffering is an unavoidable side effect of living, isn’t it?”

“Is that philosophy? I don’t understand philosophy.” Jon wasn’t very good with anything that required extensive and complex thought. Which made sense - Jonah hadn’t exactly created him to think. “Humanity has clouded your minds. Makes all of you irrational and sentimental. Release your attachment to the old world. Just accept the way things are now.” Jon shrugged. “It’s not as if you can do anything about it.”

“Nobody in this room is exactly human, Jon,” Oliver pointed out placidly.

Jon snorted. “Wanting free porn back? You’re all dripping with it.” It was honestly a little sad. “The only ones in this world free of that weakness are Jonah and I. And he’s the only one who could do any of this.”

“Then where is he?” the Desolation woman snapped. She leaned forward, hands gripping the table in anger. The teenager watched her anxiously. “Why doesn’t he come on down from his high tower and explain what’s going on? We’re in the fucking dark here!”

“I’m sorry,” Jon said coldly, “who are you?”

He rubbed his bad hand. For some reason, everybody watched him do so. He stopped, self-conscious.

“Prejudiced remarks aside,” Manuela said. She had been hostile all day, but she now spoke cautiously. “Jonah Magnus needs to take responsibility for this. We don’t even know how the world ended.”

Several people glanced at Annabelle, whose lips thinned. “I shouldn’t say.”

Of course she knew. And of course she wasn’t about to tell him. Whatever. Jon didn’t care. Past was the past.

He found his hand clenching. There was a strange tension in his throat. He didn’t care. He didn’t. Rehashing the worst pain he had ever felt in his life, even now, wasn’t really worth the time or energy. He didn’t care.

“No use crying over spilled milk,” the Vast guy said lightly. “But it is a relevant question. Jonah frequently spoke of his plans, and I realize now that he had never truly shown all of his cards. But he had always held an intention to...well, rule. It’s only in this moment of his victory that he shows no interest.”

“Jonah’s busy,” Jon snapped. “Trust me, you don’t want that arse around. He never even gives me directions, and I’m his right hand.”

“Or his puppet,” Sarah Baldwin muttered.

It was fair. Probably even true. So why did an intense and burning fury shoot through Jon?

“What gives this child the right to dictate us?” Wakely demanded. Jon’s hands clenched on the table until his knuckles turned white. “What gives Jonah Magnus the right to rule us?”

“He’s not much of a ruler,” Amherst grunted. “My vote’s that we rule this world in a council.”

“Administration is important,” Annabelle said, impossibly terse, “but unless anyone here actually has the means to seize control, then there’s no use voting on it.”

“There’s only one Avatar here who has those means,” Manuela said darkly, crossing her arms and looking straight at Jon. “So why doesn’t he do anything?”

They were feeding on each other. They wouldn’t have said these - these treasonous things by themselves. But when one person spoke up, the next felt empowered, and they felt as if they outnumbered him. Jonah Magnus was hardly there to press him into obedience - why buckle under his oppressive gaze? What could he do?

The stupidest people in this world all gathered in one room. It took a special level of arrogance, pride, and stupidity to assume that one was more powerful than Jonah Magnus.

“I’m not in charge of anything,” Jon said tersely. “I don’t even have a domain. I’m just trying to live my life.”

The Desolation woman snorted. ��Typical. You’re rolling over for Jonah.”

Jon’s eyes widened - not in surprise, but in anger.

The teenager seemed a little uncomfortable. “Jude,” she hissed, “I don’t think -”

“Jude,” Jon breathed. “So that’s your name.”

He was standing up. Jon didn’t remember standing up. Everybody was leaning away, their own eyes wide. Some just looked confused, slightly perturbed - Wakely, Amherst. Others looked ready to bolt - Manuela, the old man from the Vast. Jon knew, in a flash of insight that grew hotter and hotter, that he preferred to be called Simon.

“Sit down, Jon,” Annabelle said, as authoritative and no-nonsense as ever. Normally he’d listen to her, respecting that she usually knew what was going on far better than he ever did. But the words barely reached him, drowned out by the rushing in his ears. “Look, we can talk about this rationally, alright?”

“Oh, fuck off,” Jude said. She snorted, burning red eyes never leaving Jon’s. “As if I’m scared of this baby prick.”

“Maybe we can move on from Jonah Magnus,” Simon said quickly. “A discussion of airspace rights, perhaps -”

“Jon,” Oliver said, voice creased in worry, “are you okay?”

“This is the all-powerful demigod you all warned me about?” Amherst said. He was dripping with condescension, just like - just like everyone else - “He’s little more than a child.”

“Guys!” the teenager’s voice rang through the room, close to scared. “The walls are melting!”

So they were. It was as if the stone and wood was made of wax, sent guttering by a sputtering candle. Wood and finish were already pooling on the floor, melting the rolling wheel of Jared’s chair and forcing him to jump up from it.

“Jon!” Annabelle said sharply. “Don’t throw a tantr -”

The table cracked sharply. It was warping, twisting in on itself as if it was a wrung towel. Jon realized, too late to care, that his hair was rising. He knew his eyes were spinning, an eternal churning wheel.

“Fuck this, meeting adjourned.” Manuela stood up sharply, pushing her chair back into a melting bubble. The floor was beginning to bubble and warp. “See you all next month.”

“I’ll walk you out,” Simon said quickly, standing up too.

“You have two minutes,” Jon said, voice heavy with static. “Don’t bother me about this shit again.”

The signal was clear enough. Jude rose from her chair, grabbing her teenager’s elbow and pushing her out the door. The others followed in their wake, expressions carefully neutral. It was useless: Jon could taste their fear, their trepidation. Even better: their anger, barely brindled fury, and disgust.

They couldn’t do anything about it, Jon thought giddily. No matter how much they hated or were scared of him, they couldn’t do anything about it. Jon was powerful. Jon couldn’t be hurt. Jon couldn’t -

Jon couldn’t reign this in.

Before he knew it, the conference room was empty. Only two other people remained: Annabelle, expression as inscrutable as ever, and an uncomfortable Oliver. His hands were stuck in the pockets of his pea coat, and he was looking around with disaffected interest - as if he was standing in line at a Starbucks in rush hour instead of in the epicenter of a melting building.

Jon knew. The entire building was dissolving. It was teeming with humans, lost and trapped and defenseless. He didn’t want to kill them. Jon didn’t like hurting people. He heard a voice speak in his head, foreign and familiar. Bring it in, Jon.

But he couldn’t. His hair would fall back around his shoulders, and the static rushing through his ears just wouldn’t abate. It felt like everything was pouring out of him, a relentless faucet that wouldn’t stop churning out thick streams of putrid water.

Jon fisted his hands in his hair, groaning. “Where’s -”

“She’s at your flat,” Annabelle said calmly. “Do you want me to get her?”

No. No, this was too embarrassing. He was an adult, he could handle this. Jon groaned again and sank into his seat, saved from the toxic waste of glass and brick. “No. Focus on getting the humans out of here.”

“What do you care?” Oliver asked, vaguely curious. “You don’t seem that fond of humanity.”

“Just do it!” Jon snapped, instead of admitting that he didn’t know either.

Eventually, the room stopped melting. Jon didn’t even want to think about how difficult it would be to leave the building. He could probably straighten out the hallways just enough to help Annabelle and Oliver get out.

Ugh. This place had sunk straight into Helen’s domain. He could taste it in the air: any future human who wandered in would be stuck in an endless spiral of twisted, melted hallways. Probably flavored with...powerlessness and fear. Feeling very small, as someone very large loomed down on you. Tories.

At least he hadn’t sucked flattened the building into one plane again, robbing it of all spiritual and metaphysical dimensions. Jon had done that to a graveyard once. The place was putrid now. He had accidentally fallen into a grave and panicked and - anyway.

He rested his forehead on the warped and splintered conference table, waiting for his throat to open back up and the rushing in his ears to die down. Finally, after what felt like forever, his hair floated back down and he felt his eyes resume their normal shape.

Awkward silence loomed. Jon sighed. “Sorry.”

“I worked hard to arrange this, you know,” Annabelle said.

“Yeah.”

“I am not happy with you, Jon,” Annabelle said.

“Sorry,” Jon said miserably. “I didn’t mean to.”

“I mean,” Oliver said, after a beat, “that’s kind of terrifying. That you can melt a building on accident. Like, what would happen if you got really pissed at Manchester or something?”

“Goodbye, Manchester,” Annabelle muttered.

Jon lifted his head, glaring blearily at Oliver. “If you think that’s crazy, you should have been there the one time I opened up an extradimensional gate and unleashed nightmare terrors into the world, rendering all of humanity immortal and eternally trapped in endless infernal hellscapes.”

Oliver shrugged, conceding the point.

But Annabelle just looked thoughtful. Probably reworking five billion plans, knowing her. Jon didn’t want to know, because he didn’t care. Let her do whatever she wanted. None of his business. Hopefully, after this disaster, she’d keep it out of his business.

Finally, she asked, “Was that true? That there’s no moving us forward?”

Jon sighed. He really didn’t want to talk about this anymore. But if he didn’t tell her then she’d just bug him about it later, or find some way to get the information out of him that would be both convoluted and unpleasant. “I’m not saying that people can’t...live their lives. They’re obviously still going to work and typing in every digit of pi into their spreadsheets for eight hours and then going home to stare, hypnotized, into cable television. But I am saying that there’s no achieving more than that. There’s no going backwards, and there’s no going forwards. The past is closed to us, and so is the future.” He eyed her warily. “If you have any cute time travel ideas, forget it.”

“I would never,” Annabelle said innocently.

Yeah, sure. Liar. Jon scowled. “You’re all hampered by your humanity.” When Oliver opened his mouth, Jon just shook his head. “Even Avatars are still people. We’re all conduits for eldritch Forces, hollowed out to serve as a live wire for their power, but we - you all remember a human life. You care about things. You have relationships. You love. It makes you weak. Some of you don’t even like your lot in life - some part of you aching for something familiar, when you felt genuine happiness instead of the cheap facsimile induced by causing pain.” Jon looked down at his hands, reflexively picking at one of his many scars. “You should be more like me. You’d be more focused.”

“Are you capable of...changing, Jon?” Oliver asked curiously. “Or will you be this way forever?”

“Most of Annabelle’s plans hinge on that not happening,” Jon said, not even aware it was true until he said it, “so I suppose we’ll find out.”

Of course, Jon knew what Oliver had tactfully not said. He had wanted to know if Jon would ever grow up. They all thought he was a child, even Annabelle. Jon had the feeling even Daisy did, sometimes.

It was stupid and they were wrong. Child would imply adult, would imply birthday parties and learning to talk and learning geography. Jon didn’t have to learn geography. He knew geography. He didn’t age. He was born being able to talk. Jon was above all of these things. He was mature. And even if he wasn’t, who cared?

But Annabelle just smiled at Jon, a polite mask. Annabelle hadn’t made a genuine facial expression in - well, longer than Jon’s memory. Or maybe that was the wrong way to put it. Maybe it was more accurate that she never expressed an emotion that she didn’t mean to. “Well! That wasn’t entirely a disaster, was it? I think next time could go really well. Don’t worry, Jon, I won’t drag you out of bed again.” She propped her hands on her hips. “Now, the three of us are going back to your flat and doing something about your awful rat’s nest.”

Oh, lord. This was going to be terrible. “Do we have to?” Jon whined.

Annabelle smiled again, but this time it was so dangerous that Jon couldn’t help but quail. “My spiders are collecting the avocado oil and coconut oil now. My best friend in secondary had 3C hair too, I think I know what to do. Oliver, bring the buzzer, scissors, and satin wraps.”

“Three cee?” Jon asked, confused. “What’s that?”

Oliver grimaced. “Why am I involved in this?”

“Because I don’t know what to do with a guy’s hair, and you’re probably the only guy I’ve ever met who knows what to do with hair? Keep up.”

“I’m feeling pigeonholed, but fine. But we are not buzzing that hair. It’s a crime against god.” Oliver looked thoughtful for a second. “I think Jon would do a nice, loose afro. I think I still have some hair masks and vinegar rinse -”

“Why is this so complicated?” Jon asked, completely freaked out. “What are these things?”

But Annabelle just smiled sweetly at him, reaching out and squeezing his shoulder. “Don’t worry, Jon. I’ll teach you what you need to know.”

Well. It seemed easier than figuring things out for himself. Jon didn’t like responsibility. Today was his first taste of responsibility in ages, and he had already decided that it sucked. Better to let somebody who actually cared take care of it.

That way, he didn’t have to be powerful. Didn’t have to be anybody’s demigod on Earth, capable of murdering whoever he liked. He could just be Jon, Private Detective, Archivist. He could have fun. Just live. Didn’t he deserve that, despite everything?

He stood up too, summoning a shaky smile for Annabelle. “So you aren’t mad about me ruining your meeting, then?”

“Water under the bridge,” Annabelle said. “Now come on, we have to stop by the chemist’s and pick up a decent hairbrush.”

Hairbrush? What was that for?

****

Six months after time resumed its course

Jon opened his mailbox, only to find mail.

Suspicion immediately loomed. Jon didn’t get mail. Not due to any kind of impossibility, but just because he didn’t pay bills and none of the mimic junk mail was brave enough to try their luck with him. Maybe invoices, sometimes, but mostly those were dropped off in person. The invoices were scarier than the finger-biting mimics: he still didn’t quite know how they worked. Sasha kept insisting they were important, but Sasha also insisted face masks were important. She didn’t know everything. That was Jon’s job.

He grabbed the singular envelope anyway, elbowing his door back open as he inspected the envelope. Thick, rich, and creamy, it reminded Jon uncomfortably of Annabelle’s party invite from a while ago. In the front, he saw that it was addressed to...Agnes?

The living room was noisy and busy, entirely due to the recipient of the letter and her brother. They were playing Mario Kart on the Wii, and apparently disowning each other. Jon watched Agnes hit Gerry with a blue shell, slightly bemused, and saw Dry Bones spin out into the center and make a pitiful noise. Baby Peach loomed supreme.

Jon almost felt bad interrupting. An opened bag of chips scattered dust around Gerry, and Agnes had a half-empty pack of uncooked hot dogs next to her. They had both been at this for a while. “Agnes, you got a letter. And try to keep it down, Sasha’s working and Daisy’s sleeping.”

Agnes turned around, half a hot dog hanging out of her mouth like a cigar. She swallowed it quickly, holding out one hand and letting Jon give her the letter. She frowned down at the front, ignoring the way Gerry craned his head to take a look, and when she checked the back she frowned deeper. There was a wax seal, its details out of sight to Jon.

“Is it that time already?” Agnes muttered, putting her controller down and letting the parade lap on the screen continue.

Gerry frowned too as Agnes carefully broke the seal. “Is that from…?”

“Yeah. Weird, though. Guess it’s about time for the follow-up to the emergency meeting.” She pulled a letter out of the envelope, embossed on creamy paper. She scanned it quickly. “Downing street this time…”

“Are you going to go?”

“Well, it’s not as if Jude can,” Agnes said diplomatically, refolding the paper.

Jon cleared his throat, making the kids jump. They had half-forgotten he was there. Far too late, Agnes hid the invite behind her back. “Care to explain?”

“Oh, you know,” Agnes said vaguely, casually tossing the invite behind her shoulder and letting Gerry snatch it out of midair. “It’s the invite to the Avatar council meetings. I think they’re held once every three months, but since months are a theoretical concept it’s occasionally hard to tell..”

“Not these days,” Gerry said excitedly. “It’s cold! The leaves fell!”

“The leaf thing is dope,” Agnes agreed. “Anyway, I should go. I have, like, serious words. I already submitted ten motions. I want to run for Treasurer, but Jared keeps saying that anybody who isn’t old enough to open her own bank account shouldn’t be treasurer.”

“What on Earth are you talking about?” Jon asked blankly. Was this some kind of youth league? Baseball? Was this baseball?

Abruptly, Agnes looked very sketchy. “I...it’s really nothing you’d be interested in.”

“I am interested in everything,” Jon said. He was offended beyond all belief. “Don’t keep secrets!”

“Jon’s not a big fan of secrets,” Gerry stage-whispered. “Did Annabelle say that we shouldn’t tell him or did she just say not to bother him about it?”

Agnes abruptly started sweating wax. “I can’t remember.”

“Now you have to tell me,” Jon said flatly.

They gave up very quickly. Teenagers loved hiding things, but they also loved drama and spilling secrets. “It’s the Avatar council meeting thing,” Gerry said eagerly. “You know, where you guys all get together and re-enact the British empire by making government decisions and imposing made-up laws on the people you’ve conquered and are currently subjugating under your big stompy boots?”

“I’m changing the system from the inside,” Agnes said proudly.

Gerry shot her an unimpressed look. “Okay. Yeah. Sure. Because that’s a thing that makes sense in an inherently corrupt system with an inherently unethical existence that exists to be profitable at the expense of the marginalized.”

“I don’t understand anything children these days even talk about,” Jon said.

“I’m surprised you don’t remember it,” Agnes said to Jon. But she had a strange expression on her face, one hard to decipher. “It’s where we met.”

Jon stared at her blankly. “I don’t remember talking to you.”

“I was sitting next to Jude?” Agnes hinted. “Teenager? Red hair?”

Wait. Jon snapped his fingers. “Annabelle’s idiot thing! Right! Right, of course, Oliver made me sit still for five hours afterwards, it was insufferable.”

Wait. Jon abruptly remembered the rest of that day. It seemed like so long ago, even though it was probably objectively only about three years. It must have been about...yes, a few months after Daisy had gotten stuck...

He barely remembered those tepid and awful months. He had been on a bit of a hair trigger back then. It had been really tough, with Daisy leaving and his terrifying encounter with Jonah. He remembered everybody had been annoying and mean and made him feel bad…

“First time I ever remember feeling fear, honestly,” Agnes said to Gerry. “Scariest moment of my life. Remember when we first met Jon? All I could think about was that he was going to melt us like he melted that building.”

Hot shame flared in Jon’s gut. Right. Other people were real, and existed, and were probably more important than his...what had he even been upset about? He didn’t remember.

He melted a building and he didn’t even remember why.

“I’m going too,” Jon said, and both kids startled. “I’m coming with you.”

Agnes and Gerry stared at each other with wide eyes.

“Uh,” Agnes said finally, hesitant, “there’s about a 50/50 chance Annabelle said not to tell you about this, and you definitely didn’t get an invite, so statistically you probably aren’t -”

“She can’t exactly stop me from coming,” Jon said, and both kids quieted.

Power-tripping had lost all appeal for Jon - assuming role as a conduit for global and absolute power did that to you - but he couldn’t deny it was useful sometimes. The world probably could have stood a little more power-tripping from him, actually. At least, it would have been helpful if he had ever done anything helpful with it. But he had never really bothered.

But Agnes still looked perturbed, almost worried. “Annabelle’s like one of two people you used to ever listen to, so if you don’t really care what she thinks anymore -”

“I think Annnabelle knows better than to complain these days,” Jon said.

It probably was for the best that Jon didn’t listen much to Annabelle anymore.

****

Jon hadn’t really told the others about Annabelle’s worse-than-murder attempt.

It didn’t really seem like any of their business, and he had spinned a vague explanation of how the situation happened. He didn’t lie, just - withheld information.

For the first time, the truth didn’t seem so important. He had the feeling it would have just upset them. It wasn’t as if he would take revenge against Annabelle. The world needed her, and Jon was a little tired of murdering everyone who upset him. The others (Daisy) would insist on the little murder attempts if they knew, but that was probably part of why he didn’t tell them. If they never knew about the one unselfish thing he had done in his life - well, one unselfish thing didn’t make up for three years of selfishness, so there was very little point.

Martin suspected. Actually, Martin seemed to know, which terrified Jon slightly. It was impossible to get anything past Martin. Jon was deeply intimidated by the man. Sasha laughed very long and hard when he told her that, for unknown reasons.

Besides, it wasn’t as if he felt betrayed. Even if the last time he had attended one of Annabelle’s little council meetings he still trusted her, that had faded quickly in favor of complete apathy. Even then, as young as he was, he had never expected the truth from her. Just friendship. Whatever she was doing, it probably wouldn’t affect him, so there was no use in worrying. Even if Annabelle slightly terrorized every other person in the United Kingdom - well, Jon was fine, so what did it matter.

Jon couldn’t decide if he was stupid or naive. Or, even worse - if he was just lazy.

Jon didn’t listen to Annabelle anymore.

Unfortunately, he still listened to Sasha James.

Two weeks later, the date of the actual meeting, Jon was stuck explaining himself to his entire house, who doubted all of his decisions. Which was just unfair. Jon made good decisions! He had made tons of good decisions, like -

Anyway!

“I think it’s a great idea,” Sasha said, freaking out Jon. “Displaying interest in your local government’s fantastic! Did you do any research on the relevant issues?”

Jon, in the middle of pulling on his trenchcoat, started sweating. “I was just planning on showing up.”

Agnes, who was wearing a gauzy skirt and blouse as Daisy helped a whining Gerry with his court buttons, gave Sasha the thumbs up. “I’m going to propose motions and Jon’s going to say ‘yeah what she said’ and it’ll be great.”

Jon let Agnes believe that.

“Well, you’ll have to share Jon’s political weight,” Sasha said cheerfully. She was in sweatpants and one of Jon’s pilfered t-shirts again. She had recently designated herself a writer, and had joined some sort of recent artist and activist collective where they did mysterious things that Jon didn’t understand. There’s a zine involved? Jon didn’t know what a zine was and he was scared to ask.

Georgie and Melanie had spent a week teaching Jon in laborious detail what exactly the internet was - information Jon could have just downloaded, but they had been intent in their mission of creating ‘the perfect internet’ and had gone through great effort in teaching him what the ‘good’ internet was (Ravelry, Spotify, r/HobbyDrama, YouTubers but only a very specific list) and what the ‘bad’ internet was (social media, the rest of Reddit, every other YouTuber). Jon wasn’t sure if the new internet was to their specifications, and he hadn’t quite been able to avoid parts of it spiralling into nightmare dimensions and hellish breeding grounds for violence and trauma, but Melanie assured him that Twitter had always been like that.

Jon also secretly added a nightmare filter to Melanie’s screen reader, after he made sure every inch of it was accessible, after he roughly recreated screen readers. Melanie said that the voice sounded uncannily like the aunt she had hated, but that it was no big deal.

Anyway, Sasha was a blogger now. After a few meltdowns to Sasha’s computer he had to install a nightmare filter for her too, which made her complain about feeling like an old woman whose grandson had to install AdBlock on her browser. Jon was a little scared of the whole blogging thing, but everybody seemed much happier, so maybe that was the important thing.

“Wait,” Jon said, finally recognizing what Sasha said. “Share with who?”

There was a knock on the door. Jon felt intense fear.

“She’s here!” Sasha said cheerfully. “Come in!”

Jon watched in horror as Basira Hussain casually strode into her house. He knew he couldn’t stop her. She had a key to the place, because Jon had no control of his life.

“Hey honey,” Basira said, intimately.

“Hey honey,” Daisy said lovingly, releasing Gerry from her clutches.

They stared at each other, as if this was any kind of greeting whatsoever, before ignoring each other. Jon did not understand so many things.

Basira, terrifyingly, was dressed like she was about to go defend her client in court. She had a briefcase, and Jon recognized her most important looking crimson hijab. Very abruptly, Jon had a flashback to the way Annabelle had dressed when she had picked him up in his old office. They even had the same expression: determined and resolute, in a way that Jon could never understand.

Basira nodded at Jon. “Hey. Sasha invited me to this thing. She told you I was coming, right.”

“She did not.”

“Whatever. Are we going to get going? We’re going to be late.”

Jon looked at Sasha pleadingly. Cold and resolute stone, Sasha showed no mercy. She smiled brightly, giving Agnes a final hug and pushing her forward. “You kids have a great time! Terrorize the bourgeoisie!”

“I am the bourgeoisie,” Jon said blankly, but the situation had already spiraled out of his control. Agnes and Basira were already comparing lists of notes, seriously discussing the motions Agnes had raised and how she was going to help Basira.

That was it – how Agnes could help Basira. How Agnes, and the role she had in the council hall, could help Basira and the people Jon knew that she intended on representing today.

They hadn’t even looped him in. Had they assumed that he wouldn’t care? That he wouldn’t help? Agnes hadn’t even wanted him there. Only Sasha -

He felt a cool, small hand grab his arm, and he turned around to see Daisy. Gerry was already enthusiastically capturing Sasha about the concert he and Agnes were going to later, and Jon knew that they weren’t listening. Daisy’s expression was somber, her body tense. Daisy wasn’t one for facial expressions at the best of times – not even a new development – but something about this…

“I should go with you,” Daisy said.

“I already told you no,” Jon said, miffed. “I can handle this by myself.”

“I shouldn’t have let you go by yourself last time,” Daisy said. Jon could admit that things probably wouldn’t have spiraled out of control if she had been there, but that didn’t mean – “Don’t terrify yourself just because you feel guilty.”

Daisy hadn’t aged any more than the rest of the world had. As an Avatar, she likely never would. She even looked young for her mid-forties, with her short stature and broad, unlined face. Sasha had assured him that she was ‘Kristen Bell-ish’, whatever that meant. But she always seemed so old to him: larger than life and not even reaching his shoulders. Wise and world-weary even when, as Jon was beginning to see, she didn’t know what she was doing any more than the rest of them did.

It scared Jon, almost: if Daisy wasn’t the person who could swoop in and make it all better, then who could?

If Jonah wasn’t the omnipresent god, then who was the most powerful person in the world?

Jon shook her off, fighting the pull in his gut. “I’m not scared of them anymore.”

She didn’t look impressed. “You’re always scared.”

“Look at the time, going to be late, gotta go!”

He still couldn’t win an argument against her.

They took a taxi there, as Jon had cheerfully informed them that the Tube was delayed due to infernal leaves on the line (Work-from-home was the hot new thing these days). Basira was clearly on edge, tense and constantly keeping an eye on the taxi driver (a friendly skeleton) and the street. Agnes wasn’t any more relaxed, reading her notes over and over.

Jon leaned back in his plush seat, closing his eyes. What would Martin say? He would probably be cuttingly pointing out how Jon was in denial over how he really was secretly afraid of the Avatars and now it was even more dangerous because he was much more willing to power-trip.

Forget about what Jon wanted. Forget about his fear, his insecurities, and every rationale he had constructed for himself as to why Jon deserved a life free of these worries.

Jon was above politics. The Avatar with no need to defend their territory, who held no fear of death or failure, had no need. Jon could not lose the affection of his patron. His domain was the world, and it could not be attacked no matter how hard he tried. Jon was not a politician, so of course that meant he could not be manipulated by politicians -

“What’s your plan,” Jon asked, without opening his eyes.

They told him. Basira was clinical; Agnes excited. Jon didn’t say anything about it, and let the conversation die down until the taxi was rolling in front of 10 Downing Street. Didn’t the prime minister live here? Boris...something? Jon quickly downloaded the information, before he found that Boris Johnson had been the world’s most convoluted psy-op by Annabelle and had never exactly existed. Thank goodness.

Right as the taxi idled in front of the building, Jon opened his eyes. He let them flare up, an intimidating spark of toxic green. “You two follow my lead.”

“Excuse me,” Basira said flatly, as Jon waved at the driver in lieu of payment. He hadn’t found out that you were supposed to pay taxi drivers until...a few months ago. In his defense, they never asked. “This is our operation.”

Jon glanced at her, and something relaxed around the corners of her eyes. He wondered if his expression was familiar to her. He couldn’t help but smile weakly, and that softened her expression even more. “Will you trust me?”

Basira stared at him for one long beat, then two, before grimacing. “Don’t make me regret this.”

“Do I usually make you regret it?”

“Literally, every single time,” Basira said.

“Then it’s a pretty stupid decision to trust me again,” Jon pointed out. “You don’t seem the type to make stupid decisions.”

Basira stared at him for a long moment, before leaving the car.

Jon and Agnes silently watched her leave, before glancing at each other.

“And I thought you ran from your feelings,” Agnes said finally, before following her.

Jon, left with nothing else to do, followed Agnes.

10 Downing Street, Jon quickly found, was just like every other pretentious old British home. With lots of grandiose rooms with furniture shoved into corners so everybody could appreciate the gold-plated tile, or sitting rooms with the most uncomfortable places to sit Jon had ever seen. Each wall hosted gigantic portraits of famous British figures, who were all so ugly that Agnes incinerated one for fun. Jon respected her choices: he had been wearing a stupid wig.

Jon, unfortunately instinctively aware of the layout and history of this sordid place, led them through the halls. He opened his mouth, instinctively about to funnel a Statement regarding the decades of human suffering and imperialism, before forcing his mouth closed. Basira wouldn’t appreciate it. Besides, the Statements had been easier to ignore lately - like curious dogs nosing at his hands rather than insistent children demanding to be fed.

Instead, he settled on casually updating them on the choice of location. “A year ago, this location wouldn’t have been safe for Basira at all. This building was a nightmare pit of despair.” He led them up the ridiculous flights of stairs watching carefully as Agnes jumped up them. Trick steps, you know. Basira proceeded far more cautiously. “It’s...no less a nightmare pit, but like the rest of London it’s now safe to navigate. I’d keep clear of the residential rooms, however. The Prime Minister and his family haven’t escaped their nightmares since the apocalypse, and they never will.”

Basira’s eyebrows skyrocketed up. “David Cameron’s stuck in hell? No surprise there. What’s he having a nightmare about?”

“Well, there’s this pig, right, and you’ll never guess what he’s doing -”

“Never mind,” Basira said quickly. “Not interested.”

“I’m interested,” Agnes said.

“I’d rather you weren’t.”

Jon, who also wished he didn’t know this information, quickly directed them towards the conference room.

But he found himself stopping in front of the intricately carved oak double doors. The wrought golden handles were grimy and dull with dust, but Agnes and Basira did not hesitate to open the door and walk in. They didn’t hesitate; they weren’t frightened. Or, if they were, they didn’t let it stop them.

But Jon stopped. He felt like Annabelle, in that moment. Annabelle, standing in front of that conference room door so long ago, unable to admit that she felt any fear at all.

She had been desperate. Jon saw that now. Only a desperate person would have ever concocted that plan against Jon. He was the sole person capable of murder in this world, and the sole person who was so vindictive and petty that he would kill anybody who said something that he didn’t like.

Annabelle was arrogant. She thought herself the most intelligent person in every room. She was petty, manipulative, and power-hungry. She thought that the world was so broken that somebody had to fix it, and that she was the only one who could. She was desperate.

Jon didn’t particularly want to do this. But Jon really, really had to grow up.

Jon opened the door.

It was a far cry from the nice, professional conference room in City Hall. The floor was some ugly light brown hardwood color, and the walls were tudor-like and panelled. Old man ribboned curtains, an intricate rug woven from human rights abuses, and a claw-foot long conference table with an array of chairs made up an incredibly ‘antique’ room. The British found ‘antique’ and ‘wealth signalling’ to be the same thing. It made for some very ugly buildings and very uncomfortable chairs.

Nobody else had entered yet. Jon checked the time with his extradimensional psychic powers and realized that Sasha had hustled them out the door fifteen minutes earlier than necessary. She was so intelligent.

Agnes was already moving to her uncomfortable seat, and Jon tapped Basira on the arm and silently pointed to the seat with the ‘EXTINCTION’ placard. She raised an eyebrow at him, but followed his direction. Maybe that was what her trust looked like.

There was a placard stamped ‘BEHOLDING’ in big letters. Gone unoccupied since the last time Jon had been here.

He ignored it, and sat down at the head of the table. Likely where Annabelle usually sat, as director of the meetings. Historically, where the leader of Britain had once sat and directed the affairs of the country.

Jon kicked up his heels on the polished antique wood, pulling up an episode of The Twilight Zone in his brain. He identified with Rod Serling.

The other Avatars filtered in, one by one. All of their eyes widened when they saw Jon, but none of them said anything. Jon wondered what had filtered through the Avatar grapevine. They always knew all of the gossip on each other. It was impossible to miss the Earth’s paradigm shift, and Agnes mentioned that they had convened an emergency meeting on it. Doubtlessly, his name had come up. They likely knew he was the instigator. Who else could?

Annabelle was the fourth in, as fashionably on time as usual. She was the only one who stopped in her tracks when she saw Jon. A surprise, to a woman unused to surprises. Jon’s house didn’t have insect problems.

Her eyes widened. Her jaw clenched. That was all it took. And Jon Knew, in the way that he Knew things, that she was wondering if this was when he finally killed her.

She didn’t know why she was still alive. It was stressing her out. It was a move that made no sense - an unforeseen reaction. Jon was predictable. When Jon wasn’t predictable, and when Jon’s actions weren’t being very precisely controlled, then she was left with a vindictive and irreverent steam train on her hands. She hadn’t predicted his presence here.

Jon was also sitting in her chair. Scuffing the wood. Leaning back in the chair, and definitely scuffing the floor too.

He pointed to the chair at his right, with a placard that now read ‘WEB’. Annabelle sat down in it. Everybody noticed.

Everybody also noticed Basira. She was receiving some glares, or some pointedly unwelcome expressions. But Basira’s glares and unwelcome expressions were more powerful than any demon could ever offer, and one by one each Avatar looked away in shame.

Only Oliver actually talked to him. Which made sense, as Oliver feared neither life nor death. When he walked in he was just as surprised to see Jon as everyone else, but he offered Jon a smile too. Jon smiled back, which made several of the other Avatars lean back.

“Hey, Archivist. I thought you hated these things.”

“I do!” Jon said cheerfully. “I wasn’t even invited.”

Annabelle busied herself with her notes and agenda.

As usual, Helen didn’t show up. Jon waited patiently for everybody to filter in. Sarah Baldwin didn’t show up either, and Jon searched for the information before realizing that he really didn’t want to know. He saw some other new faces, as well as some faintly familiar ones. It wasn’t that strange: no position of absolute power was forever. Where was that bloke Wakely?

Wait. He was the Avatar who had talked for too long about burying people alive at a party in a ridiculous skyscraper. He had upset Daisy. Jon had seen red and lost his temper. Jon had...tossed him over the side of the roof. Let him keep falling. Left him to waste away. He was probably gone now.

The entire room had been at that party. Whoops.

Now uncomfortably reminded that Jon had murdered two people at this table, that everybody was aware of that, and that Jon had completely forgotten about one of the semi-accidental murders because, in Sasha’s words, he was “a bit of a psychopath, what the hell”.

This distressed her, because apparently Jonathan Sims had always been a “sensitive boy” with a “tender heart”. Daisy had said that he was still a sensitive boy, just prone to power-tripping. Sasha said that this was also very consistent behavior. Martin said -

Martin said that Jonathan Sims had been a good person. And, more importantly, that Jonathan Sims had wanted to be a good person. That was one thing that Jon didn’t want to change.

Who just buried people alive -

Jon waited until everyone was settled down. Nobody was chatting or talking to each other: just sitting silently, avoiding eye contact.

He could see Annabelle preparing herself to say something. Better get this ball rolling, then.

“Jonah Magnus is dead.”

The silence suddenly became oppressive.

Jon didn’t stop to savor the looks on their faces. That wasn’t the point. Enjoying this wasn’t the point. Jon had all the power he wanted and - and he didn’t want it at all. He hoped that nobody here would make him have to prove it.

Jon did not want to melt anyone. He wasn’t going to melt anyone. Life had started feeling a little valuable lately. These people, the soulless demons surrounding him, weren’t any different than he was. Humans with delusions of grandeur. Infighting and power plays weren’t going to fix it.

But Annabelle had been right, as she always was. Jon couldn’t keep ignoring this. If he could do something, he had to. Even if it was something he didn’t like doing.

Or something he hated that he enjoyed doing.

“Jonah Magnus is dead,” Jon repeated pleasantly. “The world has changed. These two events are related, of course.”

He didn’t elaborate. Jon didn’t lie, but he didn’t have to say everything.

“The chains which bind this Earth have loosened,” Jon continued. He folded his hands over his stomach, relaxed and casual. “We now exist in the third age of life. I ask that you do not resist.

“The seasons have begun to change, our eternal placid summer ripening into fall and sinking into winter. Our world turns yet again. Babies are born, grow old, and die. The apocalypse as we’ve always known was rooted in its stagnancy. Life and growth has bloomed, and will continue to subsist. Change is once again thriving, and we must adapt with it.

“You’ve noticed that your power has weakened. You will have to fight harder than ever to maintain your food supplies. What was once a conquest is now a battleground. The playing field is far from even, but the enemy and harvest now have a fighting chance.” Jon smiled brightly. “Of course, I’m sure that this was all discussed during your emergency meeting. Great job with your repeated warfare attempts against humanity during the last six months, by the way. How’s that working out for us?”

Silence loomed. Of course, their repeated attempts to quash the new human uprising had not gone very well. At the end of the day, for every one Avatar there were thousands of humans.

“You are no longer strong enough to allow these divides into factions,” Jon continued. “We must present a united front if we’re going to maintain the ground we have. We can’t continue on the way we have. And I’ve realized…” Jon glanced at Annabelle, catching her eye. “I’ve realized that I haven’t been helping the situation. There’s more I can do. That’s why Annabelle has handed over moderation of these meetings to me.”

Nobody looked impressed.

He could see it: the way Jon had become an unpredictable, dangerous nuisance towards them. Almost everyone in this room would be much happier if Jon dropped dead. Nobody had really liked him because nobody had ever felt safe around him. Only Annabelle and Oliver - the person who had nothing to fear from him and the other person who did not feel fear - called themselves his friends.

But they would have preferred it if Jon was hostile or dangerous. If he had even admitted his power. But Jon play-acted at harmlessness, unwilling and afraid to make enemies, and in that way he became a nuisance rather than an enemy. He couldn’t even pretend that it wasn’t on purpose. No matter how many Avatars brushed him off or ignored him, it was better than feeling their eyes on him. Or feeling the fear rich on their tongues.

“Also I invited a human to work with us on human affairs,” Jon said cheerfully. “Diversity hire! Any questions?”

There were a lot of questions. Basira didn’t look very pleased at his remark, either.

Simon leaned forward first, pale and watery eyes intent for the first time. “What happened to Jonah Magnus?”

“Natural causes,” Jon said cheerfully. “Next?”

“What does this mean for us?” the Lukas matriarch said. Her eyes skittered away from him. “Are we in danger?”

Jon shrugged. “Only if you’re incompetent at feeding.”

“What caused this?” Manuela demanded. “The children are running wild, we can’t control them. We’ve lost a major food source.”

Jon scratched his temples. “What caused it...sustainability efforts.” He sobered abruptly. “You could never control the children, anyway. This is the generation of the apocalypse. You’ll find that very little frightens them now.”

“Does this have to do with those humans you’ve been running around with?” Jared asked, scratching his chin as Manuela’s expression contorted in rage.

As usual, a frighteningly insightful observation from such a brute. “It is actually directly their fault!”

Everybody turned to look at Basira, who was completely unapologetic. She crossed her arms. “Don’t ask me. First I’m hearing about this too.”

“Did you kill Jonah Magnus?” Oliver asked, morbidly fascinated. “How?”

“We humans didn’t kill him. We showed up at the Panopticon to kill him, only to find Jon there and Jonah Magnus already dead.” Basira scowled as Jon and Annabelle glanced at each other. Jon subtly shook his head. Annabelle’s lips thinned. “It looked like he’d been dead for years.”

An unfamiliar young man with a thick mop of clumped black hair peered at Jon, expression contorted in grotesque interest. He was one of the Avatars who had been born in the Apocalypse, who were all recognizably weird. His name was - right, Geoff Anjou. Some French man who had made his mark in the Parisian Underground before moving to London and conquering his next terrain. A Parisian to the bone - or, a great deal of bones, as the case may be. So many bones. Jon had always meant to take Daisy to that wonderful little nightmare and let her run loose. Chase people through the tunnels. Munch bones. Perfect vacation.

“So did the Archivist kill him?” Geoff asked, in the same way you would ask who won the World Cup. “Steal his Watcher’s Crown or whatever?”

“Are you the new queen bee?” a young woman asked Jon. The new Slaughter Avatar, Henrietta Something-or-another. A Cambridge legacy college student, Annabelle had intoned, and Jon had been afraid to inquire further. She was cyberbullying someone on her mobile, which seemed to be bleeding. “Cuz, like, you don’t seem qualified.”

“I did not kill Jonah Magnus,” Jon said, for the five hundreth time in the last six months. “And I’m uninterested in filling his shoes. That’s enough questions, I think.”

“Are you as weakened as the rest of us?” Amherst demanded. “Surely this destruction has affected you worst of all.”

“He probably ate Jonah Magnus,” Henrietta said. “The Archivist’s probably god now.”

Geoff snorted. “No way. He brought a human as back-up.”

“Why is there a human?” Another woman asked, with long brown hair and a broad face. Something about her was unquestionably severe, from her bulging muscles to her incredible height. Jon had never seen her before in his life. Her name was Julia Montauk. Something about her stank of life and undeath, same as Amherst. “We can’t exactly work with the prey, here.”

“I’m proposing an emergency motion,” Amherst said suddenly, shutting up the rapidly overlapping voices. “I vote that a leader is elected democratically. And that representatives are limited towards loyal patrons of the Forces.”

“I second that motion,” Geoff said immediately. “We can’t afford a chaotic uprising in our government right now -”

“This really isn’t a vote,” Jon said.

“Isn’t this a democracy?” Henrietta asked, with the self-righteous assurance of a twenty year old. “We vote on things in a democracy. And leaders.”

“Annabelle was voted in last spring,” Julia agreed. “No reason to change things.”

Well. Basira said that she trusted him. He’d have to rely on that.

Jon pressed down.

It felt just like that: pressing down. Reaching out a hand and squashing. Sometimes it was like ripping someone into shreds, and other times it was like plunging your hand into their chest and ripping out their heart. But this was just a press: a heavy static, bearing down over your shoulders like a ten ton weight. A sight so horrible that it was too eldritch to even look at. The realization that the hideous sight was you, and that it was all you would ever be.

Some - Geoff, Amherst - gasped, as if they were choking. Others - Lukas, Henrietta - gasped at their hearts, as if they were having heart attacks. Jon carefully kept it off Oliver, Annabelle, Basira, and Agnes. He couldn’t help but remember what she had said a few weeks ago, about being so frightened -

But Basira winced anyway, clutching her temples, and Jon carefully released the static until the inhabitants of the room could breathe again. His eyes did not stop glowing, and Jon didn’t bother to turn off the light show.

Jon put his feet down on the floor and rested his elbows on the table, leaning forward. As everyone shuddered and gasped, he spoke slowly and pointedly. “This is not a democracy. It never was. It is a monarchy, and the line of succession is clear.”

Annabelle’s eyes widened, and she abruptly clenched her fists before loosening them. An uncharacteristic show of emotion from her.

“This coalition has never been a democracy,” Jon said severely. “This is a house of lords. You are uninterested in representing any needs but your own, and I know Jared failed level eight government, but I’m sure all of you know that democracy represents elected officials. Nobody here has ever lived in a true democracy, and in your human fallibility you have recreated the only system you have ever known. The seats at this table are determined by power - all of you, the most powerful conduits for your Entity. I am the inevitable consequence of this system. I am your natural disaster. All of you bought me. Now you have me. And you are no longer powerful enough to make me leave.”

Agnes’ hand was covering her mouth. Jon dearly hoped Basira was holding onto that trust. He dearly hoped that he wasn’t speaking from anger.

But he couldn’t stop. It boiled and bubbled. It was an anger and a powerlessness that had subjugated him for thirty two years of his life. It had served as the cloud hanging over his head for three more.

“If you want someone to blame for the Archivist who now moderates this meeting,” Jon said, his voice the thin lid over this boiling pot of hurt and anger, “I now know their names. Jonah Magnus. Jude Perry. Nikola Orsinov. Twice. Breekon and Hope’s coffin. Peter Lukas. Jane Prentiss. Maxwell Raynor. A strategic book.” Jon tilted his head, having effectively made his point. There were others, but he had forgiven Daisy and Melanie a long time ago. And Jared had been polite about it. “Bring up your complaints with them. Good luck with that.”

Jon clapped his hands, closing the lid on those memories. Maybe one day the pain would leech from them like a sun-bleached painting, but that day hadn’t come yet. “Now! If you have any further complaints about my position here, or if you want to continue debating political theory, feel free to stand up and tell me so. We’re all interested in you regurgitating your life story until you die. Anyone?” Crickets. Jon leaned back in his chair, making himself comfortable. “Can we go onto the motions now? Ms. Hussain first, then clockwise from her.”

As if they had planned this, with the air of a well-choreographed actress, Basira stood up and spread out her papers in front of her. “The human contingency requests neutral zones in essential areas. Maternal wards in hospitals are highly vulnerable locations, and when assaulted by parasites the mortality rate of children is very high. If you want a self-replenishing food source, you have to allocate space for safe living. The next essential zone is a daycare and a school for children -”

And she was off. Jon had nothing to say, nor was anything necessary. Raging debate sparked after she finished speaking, and Basira effectively crushed the opposition. Agnes spoke up in her defense, and to Jon’s surprise even Manuela contributed a solid understanding of the necessity of children. When the debate started spiraling in an unhelpful direction Jon cut in and shut it down, before forcing the vote.

It did not pass, obviously.

“By the way,” Jon said. “Ms. Hussain proposed five different motions today. At least two of them have to pass. This debate is about picking which two you want.”

Then that started up all over again, and Jon tried not to fall asleep.

Moderating was hard. He actually had to pay attention and focus, and he hated focusing. He was effective enough at shutting down conversations, but sometimes shutting down conversations wasn’t helpful - he just needed to steer them in a more productive conversation. And Agnes’ political theory and Basira’s almost-definitely-made-up statistics started flying so thick and fast above his head that Jon was starting to almost completely lose the plot.

Jon chose his moment as the Lukas woman was complaining extensively about how Henrietta’s digital bullying was intruding upon the Loneliness of her adherents. Henrietta had argued that social media made people more lonely. Jon was afraid that Henrietta was his fault. Maybe the Eye’s fault, holistically. Jared wanted to be friends with Henrietta and co-host Instagram events, which Jon enthusiastically supported despite Basira’s glares.

He leaned over to his right, gesturing slightly at Annabelle so she would lean in closer. She raised an eyebrow at him. Annabelle’s eyebrows were crushing.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” Jon whispered to her, as quietly as possible.

Annabelle mouthed very clearly at him, ‘Wow, really? Shock!’.

“I was making a point,” Jon hissed. “An important point. But I don’t - I still -” Jon faltered, uncertain, as Henrietta began sneering something about Lukas’ hairdo. Finally, he weakly said, “You care. They need you.”

Annabelle stared at him for a long, silent moment, before turning away from him.

For the first time that day, she spoke to the room. “Let’s keep ad hominem attacks out of this,” she said sharply. “Madame Lukas, if you’ll make your closing remarks we can bring this to a vote.”

She really was good at it. Just like she had always wanted. She had never directly admitted it, but Annabelle had always wanted to be the kind of person in rooms like this.

A politician sitting in an uncomfortable chair at 10 Downing Street. Rich, successful, important. Powerful and respected. Back then, she had wanted to be famous. Now, she was content to be controlling famous people. A dream out of her reach in life; laughably attainable in this stagnant after-afterlife.

The dream had crippled her. In her search for a functional world, one that achieved and grew and provided a comfortable world, she had ended up recreating a world that hadn’t been functional at all. A world that was slow to change, and seemingly impossible to improve. A world passed down from the hands of the greedy and bloodthirsty into the hands of the uncaring and apathetic.

The apocalypse had been inevitable. Humans driving themselves to extinction. And Avatars, possessed of human weakness, had been eager to do the same. Just a pathetic room of sour and bitter people power-tripping.

For all that Sasha calls us bougie, Jon thought, we’re such deeply unhappy people.

There had once been a young man, desperate for attention and acknowledgement. Dreaming of importance. He would stay up late at night, planning out his life as a famous researcher and well-respected philosopher. Everyone would tell him how smart he was. He would prove it all - with a scholarship to Oxford, with a sneer and a haughty air, with a boss who said that he had so much promise, here’s a job that will let you realize your potential.

I deserve this job -

Something in Jon’s mind flared, a hot poker rammed behind his eye sockets. Jon hissed, one hand reaching unconsciously to his temple, and Annabelle glanced at him in alarm. She had - Jon had been thinking about her, and - what had he been -

Together, they managed to wrangle the meeting into something half-way productive. Most importantly, Basira had gotten three of her proposals passed, and Agnes’ arguments were stirring the other Avatars into serious discussion. Conversation itself would be stilted by his sheer presence, and they weren’t quite all working together yet, but they would.

It was really all the same to Jon if the Avatars or humans won the war. He should care a bit more than he did, so he didn’t vocalize this to the others. But this conflict sparked life, a strange and frantic energy. Experiences and growth. That was what Jon had always fed on.

It seemed that Jon’s skill at prioritizing himself over all others was as sharp as ever.

Eventually the two hours wrapped up, and the other Avatars were eager to leave. Jon waved them off cheerily.

“Meeting adjourned. Try not to do anything stupid until next time. And if any of you break the boundaries of the human safe zones, I’ll know! Annabelle, will you stay behind?”

The others filtered out quickly, uncharacteristically unwilling to see whatever carnage would be wrought. Agnes and Basira lingered.

“That went so well!” Agnes shouted, the minute the last Avatar left. The room was now empty save for Agnes, Basira, Annabelle, and - Oliver, who was leaning against the doorframe. “I can’t believe you actually did something useful!”

“Ouch,” Oliver said.

It was fair, though. Jon smiled weakly at her. “Hopefully I can help out a little more often going forward. But I’m not going to give any favoritism to you, Agnes. I’ll intervene to give humans a fair shot, but I really don’t want to be...king of a ruined world or whatever.”

“I know,” Agnes said firmly. She reached out and squeezed his arm, round and gentle face creased in determination. “You’d be terrible at it. So just be you, okay?”

Jon saluted her, before gesturing to the door. “Will you steal a historical British artifact from this garbage building for me? Daisy needs more targets to shoot.”

Agnes nodded eagerly and ran off. Jon silently hoped Basira would follow her, if also out of interest for also seeing British things destroyed, but she just looked at Jon intensely instead. Not quite a glare - just a searching, intense look, as if she was finding her own Statement from deep within him. It had always been disconcerting. Jon was still convinced she hated him.

“It’s not as if I knew you very well before we rescued you from the Panopticon,” Basira said crisply, pressing a folder to her chest, “but you’ve changed. What happened? What did Annabelle have to do with it?”

Jon and Annabelle glanced at each other. Oliver lifted an eyebrow.

“Basira -”

“Don’t ask me to trust you.”

“I didn’t betray that,” Jon asked, “did I?”

Her expression didn’t soften. “You didn’t. We’re going to continue needing your help. But an ally with inscrutable motivations who does everything on a whim is a bad ally to have.”

“I’m trying, Basira,” Jon said, impossibly exhausted and just a little disappointed. “Please be patient.”

“I’ve been patient for three years,” Basira said, before forcibly cutting herself short from whatever emotion she was about to display. “What happened?”

A phantom pain pieced Jon’s arms, like chains threaded through bone. Jon fought the urge to wince, unconsciously reaching up to rub at a spot on his forearm. Everyone noticed. “It’s...family business…”

“Did you kill Jonah Magnus?”

“Jonah Magnus killed me,” Jon snapped, far louder than he intended, “so he would have deserved it, wouldn’t he!”

He felt a little lightheaded, more than he intended. It felt like a hand was clenching inside his chest, more than he wanted. No, Basira is fragile, you can’t just - no, Agnes is a kid, Daisy said that we can’t -

“Basira Hussain,” Annabelle said, hands folded tightly in her lap, eyes serious and intent. Jon started, surprised to hear her speak again. “You should go catch up with Agnes.”

Basira stared at Annabelle for a long moment, lips thin, before she abruptly whirled on her heel and stalked out. Jon watched her go, exhausted. He waited for her heels to click down the hall, far away enough that he knew she wasn’t eavesdropping, before groaning and dropping his head down onto his desk.

“They hate me.”

“They’re scared of you,” Annabelle pointed out. She leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms. “Frankly, Basira could stand to be a little more afraid of you. She’s going to get herself in trouble one of these days.”

“She’s practically my sister in law, I’m not going to hurt her,” Jon snapped. “Your stupid plan relied on me never hurting people I love.”

“Sorry,” Oliver said pleasantly, “is anyone ever going to tell me what’s going on? I feel like an NPC in Jon’s Dungeons & Dragons game.”

“You want to be an NPC, I found you working at Taco Bell.” God, whatever. Jon could tell Oliver. He wouldn’t give a shit. Jon sighed, lifting his head to twist around and look at Oliver instead. “You remember when I was asking around after Sasha James? Annabelle had put me up to it.”

“Obviously. And then Sasha James started following you around? You terrorized Annabelle’s party again?”

“Yeah, it was this whole big thing.” Jon waved a hand expressively. “Anyway, then Annabelle tried to trap me in an eternal limbo that would shred me from inside out so I could act as purveyor of the world, and probably also use her connection with me so she could take over affairs here, and probably either nudge me into shaping the world back into order or into sinking it deeper into hell. I broke out and now I’m mad at her.”

“I had at least twenty other reasons,” Annabelle said, “but that’s the gist.”

Oliver stared at them.

They all sat in awkward silence. Jon found himself winding a finger around a stray coil of hair and letting it spring back into place. He had kept it the same the last three years, never bothering to change the style. A loose and bouncy cloud of hair, sometimes brushing against his shoulders until Annabelle kidnapped him to cut it again - him, as much as the trenchcoat was. So much as anything had ever been ‘him’.

“Well,” Oliver said diplomatically, “I see that you skipped a lot of steps there. So why are you here, then?”

Was it just to spite Annabelle? Screw her out of her work? Did Jon genuinely care? Did he want to organize the other Avatars, get them mobilized and going? Did he want to protect the humans?

Did he really only care about himself, and the people he called his friends and family? Did he really only care about himself, and those he possessed?

“There’s a person I want to be,” Jon said quietly, “but I don’t know how to be him.”

Annabelle stared at him, with dark and glittering eyes, expression as implacable as always. For a sudden, stupid, intense moment, Jon wanted to know if she cared about him. If one of the few people who had always helped him, who was always in his corner, had seen him as anything more than a tool.

Like Basira, who didn’t like him as a person, but found him too valuable to alienate. But Basira was - she was deeply good, if not always kind, and Jon had the sense that she had fought to turn herself into that good person. It was something she chose. She was trying to push Jon into making that same choice.

Jon clenched his hands in his lap, his fingernails digging into his palm. “There’s people I respect, and who I want to respect me. This person I want to be...I’m worried that I only want this because that’s what they want. They’ll deny it, but they want my power. Everybody just makes me into whoever they want. Whatever’s useful to them.” Jon’s gaze snapped to Annabelle, and he fought hard to keep the compulsion from his voice. It was difficult, when he wanted to know so badly, but - “The kind of person I used to be. That person I’m ashamed of. Is that the person who was useful to you?”

He didn’t want to force the answer from her. He wanted her to choose to say it.

Annabelle didn’t react. She didn’t show anything on her face. Much less what Jon wanted from her. She just tilted her head, one of the few unafraid to meet his eyes. “I never made you be anyone, Jon. All I ever did was put you in the right place at the right time.”

“That wasn’t my question,” Jon said, and this time he couldn’t help the static creeping into his voice. “Answer me.”

Annabelle sighed. “Of course it was useful. Is that what you wanted me to voluntarily say, Jon? I didn’t bring you to the first meeting because I thought it would be educational for you. I needed your power to keep the others in line. I needed everyone else to see that I controlled your power. That’s the only reason why any of this worked. We both got something out of it. Don’t pretend that you weren’t happy with the arrangement.”

It...it wasn’t a surprise, but…

“So that’s why you didn’t bring him to any of the other meetings,” Oliver mused. “He wasn’t as controllable as you liked, not when there’s more than ten other idiots around needling him. There’s never been anybody who can always predict when Jon’s going to lose his shit. Besides the biggie, I guess.”

The biggie, which was his past.

No wonder he had stayed so childlike, innocent, and cruel for so long. Jon took responsibility for his own laziness, but - but he had been most useful that way. Annabelle had liked him best that way.

Daisy had liked him best that way too. That cruel child - Daisy had wanted him, because he made her feel needed. Annabelle was just the same.

Everyone had liked him best that way. And if Jon became the kind of person who he wanted to be, nobody would like him at all.

“If you’re going to kill me,” Annabelle said, exhaustion seeping in through her voice, “just do it.”

Jon closed his eyes. He could feel it - Annabelle’s exhaustion, the way that she had just been waiting for him to do this. Everything she knew about Jon led towards an obvious course of action. Even though you nobody knew everything that set Jon off, certain things were pretty guaranteed that he wouldn’t forgive.

Annabelle had never accounted for Sasha. She had brought Sasha into his life, and she had no idea the effect she would have on it. Sasha, who had been the first to tell Jon that she chose to care about him for him. For a brief, hot flash, Jon was jealous. He wanted to be someone unpredictably kind.

If he only wanted that because he had found yet another person to give his wind-up key, then…

“You won, Annabelle,” Jon said finally, and he only knew it as he said it. “Congratulations. You played the perfect manipulation. You took a vulnerable, afraid man, who had been violated in the worst possible way and left to die.” He stood up, already uncomfortable with what he was about to say. “And you arranged him so that he loved you. I chose to love you. I’m making the choice never to hurt you, because I still love you. ”

He left the room. Oliver stood aside just in time, letting Jon brush by.

As Jon met up with Agnes and Basira, summoning a smile and a wave for them, he felt uncomfortably as if he had grown up.

He wasn’t sure that he liked it.

#tma #the magnus archives #my writing #tma fanfic #jonathan sims #annabelle cane #oliver banks #basira hussain #agnes montague #and a ton more #tcf was about deciding to change #and this story kind of hits at how difficult it is deciding who to change into #and how difficult it is to trust your own decisions when you've been manipulated since the second you were 'born'#jon and his choices and agency is becoming a big thing for me!

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soukokuwu · 4 years ago

Note

what if chu's s/o escapes port mafia, leaving chuuya to think she left him like dazai did (but in reality, she was pregnant & didn't want the child to grow up in PM. though she has taken extra measures so her son will not be endangered, PM still managed to kidnap him and hold him hostage in exchange for her to come back to their ranks. it is when she comes to save their son that chu discovers that the child is his. you do your own take if you want, your writing, your choice! 💓💓

HIGH RISK, HIGH REWARDS. genre. hmmm,, i guess it’s fluffy synopsis. you reveal a secret you’ve kept to yourself for so long, it’s time you finally come clean. word count. 2,680 author notes. hi, thank you this was an interesting request, i tried not to make it too long. & i usually don’t put so much dialogue (if at all XD) so i hope you can still enjoy this <33

PRESENT.

“Boss, the VIPs are here to see you, they’re being held down at the lobby. Do you want to send them up here?”

The chair swirls around, revealing the man behind the table, a picture of perfect composure. A curt nod is all it takes for the goon to leave the room, ready to escort the guests up.

Once the doors are closed again, he puts the cigarette out on his ashtray, exhaling that last puff of smoke. Gloved fingers intertwine together as he ponders long and hard about how he should greet them later.

The man eyes the drawer under his table, the bottom leftmost one — the special drawer. He opens it languidly to unveil a stash of letters, too many to count at one glance. That’s not surprising though. After all, it’s twelve years’ worth of letters. He grabs the top one, beady eyes glossing over its contents. He folds it back along the same lines.

They all look the same. Made out to him, but with no return address.

TWELVE YEARS AGO.

“They found someone at the house. We have him right now.”

The man on the other line seems to still have something to say, but the redhead doesn’t allow him. It’s a matter that can’t wait.

“Keep him there, make sure he doesn’t leave.”

Chuuya leaves the rest of the torturing to his colleagues as he exits the premises. He recalls what his subordinate reported earlier. ‘Him’? He scoffs. It’s been six years since you left the mafia and basically vanished into thin air. Which is a considerably long time, but Chuuya still can’t wrap the possibility around there being a new guy in your life.

Besides, the redhead didn’t do anything wrong. Why did you have to leave without a word? Why did you feel the need to leave at all, even? It couldn’t be stress. No way. You worked at the Port Mafia casino, yes. You were in charge of it all, and it did anything but stress you out. You loved working there. You loved the gamble. You absolutely revelled in the risk.

They put you in charge of the casino for more reasons than one. You were very calculative, very meticulous. You always had your moves planned out beforehand and you were always able to tell your opponents’ hand without even having to cheat. The gambling was definitely one of the reasons why you were so good at manipulating people. It was also one of the reasons why even Mori asked for your help in some cases.

But your best quality as a mafioso?

Your unpredictability. Or, as Mori dubbed it, your insanity. In both gambling and in general. You had helped the mafia win favours over more than just a few officials by winning against them — be it in poker or any other games. You weren’t even below playing russian roulette. Sure, Chuuya had been worried at first, but after a while it was pretty clear you’d always make it out of it safe — was it luck or was it pure calculation, or a mixture of both perhaps? Chuuya doesn’t really question it. And when it came to planning missions, your unconventional methods always helped, because no one would ever see it coming.

That blew up in his face though. You left him without any clues pertaining to your whereabouts or why you left in the first place. He thought you left along with his ex-partner, that maybe it had something to do with him. But it was apparent that wasn’t the case. Not when you didn’t surface at all even when Dazai did. He couldn’t help but keep thinking of potential things that happened to you. Did you leave because you met someone else? Doubtful. But given how long it’s been, it’s certainly not out of the question that you already did meet someone else by now.

You’re beautiful, smart, fun. You’re everything anyone could wish for. You’re so understanding that sometimes Chuuya questions where you get your patience from. You were just perfect, in every sense of the word.

Chuuya groans just thinking of everything. Even after being kicked to the curb, why is it that now he is still attracted to you? Lucky he was, though. Because that’s the only reason he agreed with Mori’s plan to put all efforts into seeking you out. You were incredibly elusive, and a pain in the ass because of that. And had it not been for a certain intense war against an enemy organisation, they would’ve let you go on with your life, wherever you ended up. You’ve been very quiet, not spreading anything about the mafia, or else Mori would’ve picked up on it. Very well-behaved, and a pardon would’ve been your reward.

But even the best needs help sometimes. And Mori specifically wants yours. He probably figured Chuuya was the biggest factor that would tilt things in their favour, and he agrees. Which is why he heads this mission in the first place. Not only is he the biggest shot at getting you back, but he wants to see you. Wants to know exactly why you left him the way you did.

Closure. He wants closure.

Life is funny though. Because he ends up with more questions than answers when he opens the door to his office.

Suddenly all the idle chatter he passes by in the hallway makes sense. The ones that just skip past his ears because he’s too deep in thought about you. He remembers the gist of them though. Things like “he’s so cute, like a model,” and “right? I think he looks handsome” (to which Chuuya was slightly annoyed by because he thought it was referring to your new beau).

But no, he wasn’t greeted with a man. He opened his doors to find a boy with eyes as blue as the ocean sitting on his desk, fiddling with his pens. Eyes that remind him of the exact shade he looks at in the mirror everyday. Chuuya hurriedly shuts the door, locks it, and steps hesitantly toward the boy.

This boy… looks roughly about six years old. And Chuuya feels his breath hitching in his throat. That’s around the time you went missing. He feels everything closing in around him, the fear of why you left him finally being made clear to him.

Weirdly enough, the boy isn’t the tiniest bit scared. His head is tilted, fingers still fiddling with Chuuya’s fountain pen, and waiting for Chuuya to reach him. He blinks his little eyes, before finally smiling up at him after a while. He opens his mouth, a simple word leaving his delicate lips.

“Daddy!”

Chuuya isn’t even allowed a further minute to process it before he hears knocking on the ceiling and someone falls through the vent onto the floor; one with an all-too-familiar figure. And who flashes an all-too-familiar grin.

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

Half an hour later Chuuya finds himself struggling to process all the information you’ve unloaded on him. He observes as his son draws on a random piece of paper he’s found lying around, in the other side of the room.

“You let them think they’ve captured our son, when in reality you were waiting for them to?”

You nod. Chuuya internally facepalms himself. How is it that you’re able to gamble with this, too? With your — and his — son’s life on the line? You basically left him there to be abducted, knowing that they won’t do anything without Chuuya’s permission (who’s to say he wouldn’t have allowed them to torture the kid? Well, he wouldn’t, but still…) and then sneak yourself past security and into his office, all in the hopes of letting him know he has a son?

Then again, you wouldn’t bet something like that if you didn’t believe that things would absolutely go your way. He’s been with you for so long before, he’s familiar with your moves and the way you think. Not completely, but good enough.

It was so brilliantly simple. (Also, you used to sneak into his office through the vents when your relationship was still under wraps, so it really wasn’t a surprise to him that you chose to sneak in through there now.)

“Why now, after all this time? Why tell me now?”

For a moment he catches a brief look of guilt wash over your face. You lie back on the couch on your spot next to him, and close your eyes, as though bracing for an outburst as his response.

“I didn’t want to tell you at all, at first…” you trail off, the guilt completely taking over you now. “I only came now because… I want you to get Mori off my back.”

Now Chuuya understands why.

So, you didn’t even intend to give him a chance to meet his son, let alone let him be involved in any part of your life. But you only appeared because you knew Mori would come after you, demand for your help. The only reason you showed yourself today… was to convince Chuuya to help you. Because if there’s anyone who could convince Mori to back off, Chuuya could. And you understood that all too well.

Chuuya can just laugh at himself right now. How foolish is he, to think that you came back because you still harboured feelings for him. How pathetic of him.

He can sense his expression growing grim. Not that he’ll make any attempts to conceal it. His cerulean eyes travel from his son to you. You seem a little less guilty now, though. You look… at peace, somehow.

“What makes you think I’ll do what you want?”

“Because you want to prove me wrong.”

Your answer catches him off guard, and his anger is replaced by utter confusion. You take his silence as your cue to explain.

“I didn’t want to tell you because I didn’t think you’d make a good father and do what’s right for our son. Prove me wrong. Keep our son away from this. Do what a good father would and give him a chance to grow up normal.”

Chuuya scoffs. So that’s why you didn’t tell him anything. Never told him you were pregnant. Never hinted at a goodbye. You’d rather be branded a traitor like Dazai instead of having to make Chuuya choose between you and the mafia. He knows; if you set your mind on something, it’s hard to change it. And in other situations it might’ve been negotiable, but not with your baby.

You know Chuuya would never betray the mafia. That’s why you think he’d never make a good father. Because he can’t put you or the baby first. And now… Now you come with good faith. You’re trying to believe that he can learn to be a good father.

Starting with this choice.

This impossible choice.

Except not really. He knows what he’ll end up choosing anyway. You were right. If he knew you were pregnant he’d have convinced you to stay with the mafia, convinced you that he’d make sure the baby is well-protected. But then he’d be missing the point of your whole argument. You grew up in the mafia, and technically, so did he. You knew how it didn’t allow a chance at normalcy, and you didn’t want to strip your baby of that choice. You wanted your child to at least have a taste of what being normal is like, before you ultimately let them choose what they want.

Now, even if he gives an unfavourable reply, he knows you’d do anything to keep his son away from the mafia. It’s only a question of whether or not you’d have to struggle against Chuuya for it.

Silently, he stretches a hand out to you as he gets up from the couch. He can see the subtle surprise on your face. You’re impressed, aren’t you? He has on the best poker face since you’ve met him. You can’t guess what he’s thinking, this being the first of such instance since you’ve met him. He doesn’t say a thing when you ask him what he’s up to, only continuing to offer his hand to you, keeping mum.

A gamble, a risk you’d have to take. You can either take his hand and see where he leads you, which could lead to you getting your way or it could just lead to total destruction. Or, you can refuse, and then you’d have to figure a way out on your own. Which Chuuya doesn’t doubt you’d already have ingrained in your head.

But he knows you’ll choose the former. Why? It’s the only one where an inherent risk is present. Because you’d be totally in his mercy.

And that’s why you find yourself flown out of the headquarters, onto some random building’s rooftop. A perfect view of the setting sun and an even more perfect view of your old lover, striking crimson locks imitating the beauty of the orange sunset.

Looks like it paid off.

“Will you let me know where you’re staying? A child needs his father,” Chuuya asks you, your fingers intertwined in his, and you forgot just how much you missed this; him.

“And the mafia needs you.”

A swift rejection, but he’s not going to give up so easily.

“I have a right to know. He’s my son too.”

You inch closer to him and he feels like his heart is going to leap out of his chest. It’s been six years since he’s been this close to you, and he can’t believe he has to let you go again. With your son in tow, too. Without so much as a clue as to where you’re going to move to. No way to find out. Given that they only managed to find you in the first place because you wanted to be found.

“Maybe if you’re the boss or something.”

PRESENT.

Now here he is, sitting in the office, new king of the Port Mafia. And his two very important guests are making their way up here. Chuuya hurriedly puts the letters back away. They were how you communicated with him, updated him on you and your son. Though you never put any return address, so Chuuya couldn’t send one back even if he wanted to. Also, you didn’t include any photos, so Chuuya is curious how his son has turned out.

Your timing is impeccable, to choose to visit him just as he’s taken over the office. He suspects maybe you have your ways, what with the vast amount of officials you have wrapped around your finger.

But as the doors open, every other thought he has is thrown out the window. You enter first, and his face lights up, seeing those familiar pair of eyes, so warm, so inviting now. And behind you, your son, now slightly taller than you (and probably Chuuya but he refuses to think of that), greeting him with a polite nod and a smirk on his face.

A wave of understanding washes across his child’s face when he spots something hanging on the wall behind his father.

“Hey! You kept the drawing I did when I first came here!”

He had drawn the three of you together, with himself in the middle, his parents on either side of him, holding his hands and walking in a park.

Chuuya chuckles. “Of course, it was the only thing your mom let me remember you by.” He shifts his gaze over to you as your son gets the hint, moving to admire another far corner of the room.

You let yourself fall into his arms, and Chuuya hugs you tight. Because it’s taken eighteen years. A long, torturous eighteen years apart, which honestly was a run in circles, though it was a necessary one. But now finally, he can be together with you, and his son. Chuuya looks down at you with the warmest gaze you’ve ever seen, wet eyes threatening to spill with tears any moment now.

“Welcome home, my love.”

tags. @yokelish @gogolparadise @fyowyn-writes @animatedarchives

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pugh-bug · 4 years ago

Text

Scott Lang x reader slow burn Chapter 10

Warnings: none really just more angst and swearing but less than last week because i wanted to do a more light hearted chapter (this is just that by my standards lmao) I hope you enjoy … there is going to be smut VERY soon

The last week had been harder to manage than any ‘villain’ or threat to humanity that your friends had faced. Of course the physical and global destruction was lacking but your heart felt broken beyond repair. It had been a fucking disaster from start to finish and was not getting much better.

‘Come on Y/N, it’ll be okay.’

But Thor was wrong, it wasn’t. You had had to form a set of strict rules to get through each day. Number 1 (pretty obvious) :avoid Scott like the plague. Number 2: drink less and Number 3: try and stop crying over IT. None of them were proving easy and not at all fun but they did make you look a little less unhinged to your friends. Of course Thor and Tony knew how upset you were with Nat not far behind. The constant sympathetic ‘poor you’ looks were growing patronising and getting old. If they couldn’t treat you like a stable person how could you act like one?

Contact with Scott had been incredibly brief and tense to say the least. You just missed him. Who were you meant to fool around with? Who was going to hold your hand while you slept or make fun of Parker or drive you home to keep you safe? When you were alone and closed your eyes you could hear him: ‘I’m sorry if I’ve lead you on in anyway.’ But by Friday it didn’t make you cry anymore to recall it. It wasn’t sad it was frustrating. ‘Lead you on’ of course he’d lead you on and you wanted to call him out for it. Call him what your heartbroken self wanted to, a-

‘Prick!’

It was Monday: Thor’s weekly game night with ‘Noobmaster69’ and he was losing. Horrifically. Asgardians weren’t exactly fond of losing and there was, you had to admit, a lot of joy in witnessing someone so powerful fail so badly. Well you had to find relief in something. Although you did have one thing to be proud of: finally washing your greasy hair only to hear Peter singing as he got out. And you didn’t poke any fun at him because Scott wasn’t there to hear.

After deciding to stay on the couch with Thor, watching him being competitive, you continued your silent ‘soul searching’ that was so tiresome. You had become an expert on analysing every Scott interaction you had and without new ones to ‘study’ you were spent. Bored. Bored of waiting for nothing. Occasionally, you’d press pause on your self pitying to smile at Thor. Being so preoccupied with Scott had made you more neglectful of his friendship. All of your friendships really. You couldn’t remember the last long conversation you’d had with Tony that wasn’t about Scott.

‘Die! Die! Oh come o-ah Scott!’

You tried not to turn to look but it was unavoidable. Scott was stood beside the tv all of a sudden, looking dishevelled and out of place. It had been torture not to ask anyone and everyone what exactly he’d been doing the last week. ‘He’s out.’ ‘No ones seen him much today.’ ‘I dunno, maybe he’s partying.’ Fucking torture to hear. Although it was probably best he was out doing ‘things’ and away from you. At least you wouldn’t have to try and make eye contact without fighting tears. Except for that night. Of course he had to be in that night.

‘Thor…Y/N.’ Scott was almost worse than you for subtlety, his green eyes darted from Thor gaming happily to your pained eyes. And his were pained too. There was a guiltiness pressing down on him but Nat would have thought that was good. You didn’t want to be awkward around him or continue this ‘avoiding each other at all costs’ thing so you tried to end it the best way you knew how.

‘Did you hear Peter’s singing?’

It was the first thing you’d said to Scott that wasn’t ‘er’ or ‘hi’ in so long you could see relief wash over him. And you felt it wash over you in a smooth satisfying wave because his reply was:

‘Yes! It was Britney, so I had to listen.’

You both laughed, still feeling the need to to stay on opposite sides of the room for safety reasons. Thor looked amused for a moment but was invested in his game. Sweet.

‘Well,’ you leaned across the couch craving your neck closer to Scott. ‘If you like Britney maybe we should have a 00s themed party!’ Was it out of pocket? Probably. Did it feel forced to say? Yes. Did Scott look confused? Absolutely but he played along for both your sakes. It felt silly to suddenly be discussing pop star icon: Britney Spears to the man you’d been crying so heartedly over for so long. You couldn’t help feeling that he knew this wasn’t the two of you going back to ‘normal’. Not really. You had admitted far too much to ever have a ‘normal’ friendship. However it was a start.

‘Can the two of you discuss whatever nonsense Britney Spears is somewhere else?’ Thor looked as annoyed as you could be over something unimportant. Still the two of you shared a look meaning ‘Let’s leave him to it’ and walked together out of the living room. It didn’t hit you that this was the first time you had been alone with Scott since the car ‘incident’ until Nat saw you both and walked away.

‘Wow.’ You both scoffed at his strong words against Britney. ‘To speak of our lord and saviour in such a distasteful way.’ Scott dramatically put his hand on his heart and ‘fell’ backwards in agreement. ‘The horror!’ He exclaimed before you both chuckled.

‘Hey guys?’ It was Peter and he looked confused at the sight of you and Scott laughing. But who wouldn’t be after all the avoiding? You were just as confused as a participant. ‘Everyone’s kind of busy and I wanted to see B-‘

‘Back to the future playing in IMAX yes I’ll take you.’ The look in Peter’s face- bless him- he looked so pleased. Such a child. ‘Pff.’ You couldn’t help but laugh at how much of a dad Scott had just become (and the twisted part of you brain did find it a bit hot).

‘There’s a showing at 2:45-‘

‘Right. Well we’ll go to that one.’

‘Um,’

Whilst Scott was buying tickets he didn’t notice Peter’s anxious eyes flitting towards you in hopes you would offer to come. The truth was you didn’t know if one brief Britney discussion guaranteed an invite. It didn’t seem like enough but Peter looked concerned for you. Did he not want to be alone with Scott or did he not want you to feel left out? Which was it?

Your eyes moved from Peter’s to Scott’s but he chose not to give a verbal response so you let it be. ‘Enjoy yourselves,’ you smiled, overly enthusiastic as you walked away backwards. Something that didn’t escape your notice as you left was the sign of relief from Peter. There was your answer.

Mirroring Peter you let out a sign of your own, that Scott probably heard, and went to your room- but not before passing Wanda. ‘What’s wrong?’ Before you could think of a response she grinned and grabbed your hand. ‘Tony’s taking us to his pool. He’s had it redone- come on let’s go, come with us.’ Hmm. Swimming. Interactive. But she looked so excited- bless her- so you caved and returned her smile before getting changed.

Less than 15 minutes later you were sat in the passenger seat of Tony’s favourite car (you’d called shotgun of course) listening to Eminem. Poor Wanda was crammed in between Sam and Thor behind you, probably wishing she had just flown there. ‘Sam why couldn’t you have flown- to make room for Wanda?’ You asked. ‘I’m not gonna risk getting them wet. Do you know how difficult they are to re-‘

‘Look at her she’s squished though.’

‘I’ve not had enough sleep for this.’

‘I’m not arguing with you I’m just say-‘

‘Children children!’ Tony commanded the car, to no ones surprise. ‘This is not about flying. This is about getting Y/N to cheer up and for all of you to appreciate my architectural skills.’ He was driving over the speed limit but who was going to tell Tony to slow down? The man was overly caffeinated and overly theatrical.

Another 15 minutes later and you were in the ridiculously fancy changing rooms Tony had had built. ‘Why did you build so many if it’s private?’ You yelled over the door.

‘It was a strange week! Inspiration struck!’

Thor seemed to be struggling with the term ‘modesty’ because-

‘Jesu- fuck! PUT PANTS ON!’

The sound of Wanda being flashed by a God was enough to make you almost pee from laughing. They were all such children. That was a clear explanation for why you had admired Scott as soon as you’d met him. Yes he was silly but he’d actually been married. He was mature in other ways. You tried not to picture him in the cinema with Peter because what did you have to be jealous of? Peter was still dating MJ as far as you knew and Scott saw him the same way you did. You still wanted him there with you all even if it was going to be uncomfortable.

And then sadness clung itself to you like a rope with no slack. You forgot why you were even where you were in the first place. Why had you come? Oh for Wanda. But Tony said this was to cheer you up? You’d even forgotten how to swim properly, it had been so long. It had been too long since anything normal.

Tags: @supraveng @thottio @wandamaximoffshoe @aliceblxck @merleisapartygod

#marvel #marvel fandom #paul rudd #scott lang #antman #antman x y/n #antman x reader #Scott Lang x reader #Scott Lang slow burn #slow burn #angst #Scott Lang angst #Scott Lang x y/n #marvel x y/n #scott lang fluff #avengers

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bloomyn · 4 years ago

Text

you can be the cherry on top

Helloo! If its okay can I request prompts 16 and 27 from the random prompts with Ushijima where the reader introduces some spontaneity into his life, teaches him to take risks and go off a routined lifestyle like going for a drive at 2am to a convenience and like cheating a game at an arcade or something ? And he actually kinda enjoys the thrill of going out of his comfort zone and wants to get to know her more ! Thankyouu srry if it doesnt make sense😊

pairing: ushijima wakatoshi x reader

tags: fluff, strangers to friends to lovers, breaking records ; fixing hearts, learning to live a little

warnings: none

tendou screeched.

“wakatoshi! you’re never going to beat the high score.”

olive - colored eyes narrowed, focusing on the screen in front of him. it was stupid game, nothing more than something he would’ve played as a child but it was the score board that ticked him off.

1. ‘ur mom’

2. ushijima

3. ushijima

4. ushijima

5. miracle boy sa to ri!!!!

“wakatoshi let’s head back to the dorms. it’ll be fine, you can’t beat the high score so what.”

the taller man scowled.

you’ve grown to hate the oak brown of the desk in front of you. the imitation wood has glared at you every second of everyday for the past three years and you might throw up if you have to look at them for another second. when you drop your forehead against the desk no one pays mind, you’re sure their all bored out of their minds too. it doesn’t help that the sickly gray walls of the classroom love to tease the tangerine sunlight that’s blocked by the thick window curtains.

being a teenager is horrible.

being a teenager stuck in a classroom with possibly the most boring people in the world is catastrophic.

you could care less about modern japanese literature, you’re more worried about the sweat that’s pooling under your arms and the back of your thighs and..have they fixed the ac in your dorms yet?

outside of the window you could see a student jogging, it wasn’t surprising, he was always there. purple tracksuit, you had called him, always the same outfit at the same time, every single day.

how boring

“[l/n] please do not take my advice lightly, entrance exams are coming up and it is very important that-”

you nodded your head, “yes sensei i know, trust me, i’ll figure it out!”

your homeroom teacher sighed. “just, please. shiratorizawa wants to make sure that all our students succeed.”

plastering on a fake smile you started stepping backward slowly, “yep, mhm, i understand.”

“just go.”

“thank you bye bye!”

you rushed out of the hallway, passing through the classrooms and out of the gates of shiratorizawa academy. thankfully, the streets were pretty much empty save for the occasional student or cat making their way down the street.

the arcade was visible for miles. blinding lights that lit up the block and the smell of sweaty seats that lingered for ages.

yum.

you waved a hello to the attendant and made your way to the back, searching for your high score (you couldn’t help it, seeing ‘ur mom’ on top the scoreboard was almost intoxicating), only to find a boy (man? maybe.) pounding harshly at the keys. you almost wanted laugh, watching this mountain of a man get so frustrated at what was no more than a child’s game.

“you good there buddy?” you teased, making your way next to the boy. he only grunted in response, his fingers wrapping tighter around the consoles and eyes narrowing themselves, focusing solely on the screen in front of him.

leaning against the side of the game you sighed, pretending to flick dirt out from your fingertips.

“you know,” you drawled lazily, “ i have the high score.”

the boy froze, you could practically see his back stiffening at the sound of your words. a cold chill ran down your spine at the mere sight of his face (or more specifically the look on his face).

on the screen the “game over” flashed loudly, displaying the score board, and by the consecutive list of ‘ushijima’ underneath ‘ur mom’...

“oh, are you ushijima?”

he nodded stiffly. “you have the high score. how?”

you grinned cheekily, ignoring his obvious disbelief and disgruntlement, “wanna watch me play? i’ll blow your score out of the water. i promise.”

ushijima smirked, “show me.”

you started the game up, playing just as usual, you know; following the rules. behind you ushijima crossed his arms. you weren’t doing anything special, in fact he was pretty sure you were moving slower than him how could---

and with a quick flick of your fingers in an unknowable combination, the screen was cleared of the ‘bad guys’, and “NEW HIGH SCORE!’ bounced around on the screen. you licked your lips, whipping around to see his reaction and oh, it was so much better than you’d expected.

“good game right?”

slowly, the taller man closed his eyes, “how?”

should you tell him the truth? you wondered. it’d be so much more fun if you lied instead; leaving him frustrated and flustered over your effortless ability to wreck his scores.

“cheat code.” you breathed lazily, “it works for a lot of games actually, it’s really common.”

“you...cheated?”

you almost rolled your eyes, “it’s just a game ushijima, don’t tell me you haven’t cheated at a game before?”

his silence spoke for him.

had this man had any fun ever? at all? even a little?

“come on ushi-kun, live a little why don’t you.”

your persistence was refreshing. maybe it was because he had only just met you and you had no idea who or what he was like that you would push him like this. he knew was blunt, there was no point in lying or drawing the truth out. but you seemed to be immune to that.

so he held out his hand, asking for the coin.

“i can try to be more exciting.”

besides him you blew air out of your lips, “ i don’t want you to try and be more exciting, just like,” you paused, looking him up and down. “what do you do for fun?”

“volleyball.”

“and when you’re not playing volleyball...”

“i’m at school.”

you really had to think of different response besides groaning. begrudgingly you held out your hand.

“come on.” you huffed.

tentatively ushijima placed his hands in yours. “will i regret this?”

“i’d be insulted if you didn’t”

so you were breaking into your own school. well, it wasn’t exactly breaking, just sneaking into the closed volleyball gym.

“it’s locked.”

rolling your eyes you shoved your hands around in your pockets, hoping that somehow you’d have a bobby pin, and voila! you smirked, whispering a ��got it!’ before jamming it into the lock.

“this would be a lot easier with a key.”

suppressing the fattest eye roll you could possibly think of you turned around,

“obviously it-- oh.”

behind you ushijima held up a single bronze key, matching the same company as the one on the lock. oh.

“you play for the volleyball team?”

he nodded.

“wait you go to this school?”

this was not fun anymore. holy shit this was not fun.

a screech left your throat as you dodged another one of ushijimas serves. you thought volleyball was all fun and games, this was a nightmare.

“i thought you wanted to play?” he quirked, tossing the ball up one more time.

“yeah, play. not die!”

you dove to the floor barely dodging the ball. on the other side of the net ushijima was smiling, laughing almost.

at least one of you was having fun.

“god ushijima do you enjoy torturing yourself?”

ushijima tossed a towel to you, while continuing to sip from his water bottle.

“hm?”

grimacing, you wiped the sweat from your forehead onto the towel.

‘geez, this guy hasn’t even broken a sweat’

“why volleyball?” you breathed softly.

“my father taught me how, he used to play for shiratorizawa.”

you nodded along, “that’s cool.”

an icky silence spread over the two of you as cooled of from your unintentional work out. you smiled to yourself, it was fun though, even if your bones seemed to be in danger.

“something wrong?”

you blinked a couple times before looking up. had you accidentally made a face? (your mother had made it point to call you out whenever that ‘pinched look’ arrived)

“no? what do you mean?”

this time you were frowning, but of course ushijima didn’t notice (or simply just didn’t care).

he set his water bottle down, “you look disappointed.”

scoffing you tossed the towel back to him. “i’m not.”

“i don’t believe you.”

this man.

so you shrug. “ i don’t know, just feels like the day has so much potential and instead i’m going to end up laying by myself in a dorm where the ac doesn’t work.”

“it’s only 7:22.”

you sighed, “yeah but it’s too late to do anything and too early to go back to the dorms.”

in his mind ushijima had two options:

1. leave and maybe never talk to you again

2. stay and, not have any regrets about what you were going to do or if you were going to do anything because he wanted to be there, not to be with you, but to have fun, yeah to have fun, he needed to have more fun.

“come with me.”

ideally ushijima would’ve whisked away in his new car and driven you into the sunset while listening to your ‘don’t cry just vibe’ playlist.

unfortunately the two of you were broke third years who had no form of personal transportation and had to worry about missing volleyball practice the next morning.

so you were on the train.

“ushijima where are we even going.”

he hadn’t given you an answer for at least 15 minutes prior to asking so you jabbed a finger into his chest.

“answer me.”

peering down at your figure he nodded his head. “i can’t tell you.”

already you were starting to receive some stares from the others from the train so you dropped the subject. i mean you had been the one to tell him to live a little. god he didn’t even know your name! he wasn’t gonna kidnap you, no, but he could! especially with those serves--

“we’re here.”

“i only come here during school breaks but, i figured now might be an appropriate visit.”

the moon hung heavy over the dips and curves of the hills. the small lights flickered in and out, lanterns most likely, setting the scene. wonderful.

“well.” you huffed, “aren’t we just full of surprises today.”

smiling at your words, ushijima motions upward.

“step there. you’ll have a better view.”

ah, so he was going to push you off the cliff and they would never find your body. that’s how this was going to go down.

“just so you know ushi - kun, if any murderers coming running at us--” you take his hands, wiping a fake tear off your face, “i would die for you, i would sacrifice, my life so you could escape.”

“you just met me.” he deadpans.

stepping up on the rocks you extend your arms out. wind swept underneath them, the sounds of the hills working in tandem, your mind was gone, too absorbed in the view. “i know.”

“does it still feel like a waste?”

this time you shook your head, “here with you? absolutely not.”

two weeks later:

“you stole a car.”

those are the first words he speaks when he finally sees you again. after your little moment at the hills you’d disappeared for two weeks. he was starting question your existence. but here you, waiting for him at the front of the school swinging car keys between your fingers.”

“technically,” you start, “it’s my aunt’s and i’m just borrowing it.”

you can’t describe the look he’s giving you. you can but, it wouldn’t accurately describe whatever he was feeling. “so are you getting in or what.”

“i have volleyball practice.”

you hold up the little bronze you’ve stored in your pocket. “not anymore you don’t”

-- he forgets to ask if you even have your license yet. (it’s fine, it’s you we’re talking about)

you don’t immediately start dating after that. it takes three more spontaneous tokyo roadtrips and six almost ushi - abductions for him to ask you out. and when he does, you beat him to the punch.

“well.” you say, poking his chest a bit. “who else am i gonna drag to the arcade at 3 in the morning?”

(he says yes.)

#wow #um #i will be editing the ending 2nite #its so hot #ITS SO HOT AND I CANT THINK #bleh #ushijima x reader #ushijima wakatoshi #ushijima wakatoshi x reader #haikyuu x reader #hq x reader #haikyuu #ushijima #ushiwaka x reader

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toast-the-unknowing · 4 years ago

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first lines

tagged by @emmerrr and @flightspath, thanks!

rules: list the first lines of your last 20 stories (if you have less than 20, just list them all!). see if there are any patterns. choose your favorite opening line. then tag 10 of your favorite authors!

I’m including lil ficlets because why the heck not. Under the cut for length:

Ronan hadn't meant to drop his hand over the side of the boat. (rascals and scoundrels, villains and knaves)

“Whose turn is it to deal with asshole regulars,” Adam asks, “yours or mine?” (garden ficlet)

“I’m not going to smile.” (photo studio ficlet)

“You’re going to get a sunburn.” (beach ficlet)

Declan goes on the date, because what damn choice does he have? (not to put too fine a point on it)

“You’re not a dragon.” (high fantasy ficlet)

“What’re you in for?“ (arrested ficlet)

“Don’t know why anyone else is even here,” Ronan mutters after the fourth or fifth time he has to dodge to avoid running into someone. (aquarium ficlet)

“You haven’t posted a new video to the channel in three weeks.” (youtube ficlet)

“Would you say Sacrifice is what defined you?” (the mess you left when you went away)

The living room is empty when Adam comes home from work. (the years to come, the years behind)

Ronan gets a text from Adam on Friday afternoon. (we’re making the best of this world)

Ronan would love to say that he's paying attention when he runs into his soulmate, that his words were deliberate and well-chosen. (if love if just a game (then how come it’s no fun))

Gansey is beginning to think the AirBnB was a mistake. (hold me back, I don’t wanna be a drag)

"I found this in your refrigerator." (sailed my ship of safety ‘til I sank it)

“Fuck.” (sings the tune without the words)

They’ve been dating for one week, no matter what Ronan says about it, when Ronan takes him on a tour of the neighborhood. (our hearts are just made out of strings to be pulled)

"Howdy, pilgrim." (talk low, talk slow, and don’t talk too much)

Adam watches Ronan dance around the words I love you for a month before he says them. (like a moonlight mathematician I subtracted my concerns)

It's one of those dreams that tries to trick Ronan into thinking he woke up, but it's not very convincing. (loosen up and lose your mind)

Thoughts:

I was all prepared to go off my last 20 fics period, not limit it to Raven Cycle, and then my last twenty were all Raven Cycle anyway. Though if I hadn’t included the ficlets from that meme a little while back I think my Six of Crows fic would’ve snuck in there

Lots of dialogue without context (or even attributed speaker) as an opening sentence

Lots of SHORT sentences as an opening sentence

Tricking readers into thinking I don’t write torturously long sentences for my own fun with zero consideration of them or of punctuation, I suppose

I was set to blame this trend on that ficlet meme -- I noticed I was doing lots of short dialogue openings and kind of leaned into doing it on purpose -- but the trend continues on into other works, too

I think 16 takes the cake for this category of opening sentence

I actually prefer when the opening sentence manages to pack a lot of context in, versus the “here’s a line of dialogue dropped on you from out of nowhere" -- which, to be clear, I also think is fun, but getting a lot of information in, about who our POV character is, what their emotional state is, what’s happening, what the tone of the piece is going to be, while still being interesting and intriguing, that I think makes for the strongest opening sentences. But, obviously, harder to pull off.

On those merits, I think 5, 14, 17, and 19 are my favorites on the list.

this is already long and I’ve tagged people in something else today so I’m gonna hold off except to say, play if you want to!

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dragonseattofu · 4 years ago

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School Days (TWEWY Fanfiction)

Summary

As the gang prepares for the annual school cultural festival, Shiki's not hiding in Eri's shadow anymore, and other people are starting to take notice. At the same time, Neku learns that the line between more than friends yet less than lovers is starting to blur.

Notes:

So to try and somewhat contribute to the very smol neshiki twewy fandom, I wrote this self-indulgent piece. It might come off as OOC, but at the end of the day I hope it’s enjoyable to at least one person out there (even if that’s just me). Dedicated to @altorav and @trashcan-of-a, in their efforts to show the world how wholesome neshiki is, you’ve inspired me. I hope you like it! (Plus we needed some fluff post episode 3 angst).

Preview:

It was that time of year again, the annual school cultural festival. A time of ostentatious costumes, overly enthusiastic maid/butler cafe hosts/hostesses, and even more unnecessary social interactions that Neku would rather just avoid school all together.

What a drag, the teen thought as he drowned out his classmate’s debate on what theme they should do.

Looking at the window from his seat, Neku was grateful he listened to his mother this morning and grabbed an umbrella. The cumulus clouds hung low, their edges tinged grey.

“Okay everyone, that’s it for today. Make sure to sign up for your roles before the end of the day!”

Pulled out of his reverie by chairs scratching against the worn linoleum and erupting chatter, Neku stood up from his seat and walked over to the bespeckled girl two rows down.

“You weren’t paying attention, were you?” The petite girl asked before he even got out his greeting.

He picked at one of his spiked out strands of hair, “is it that obvious? Festivals are such a bore.”

“They are not! And this year we have Beat and Eri to celebrate it with. Even Rhyme’s coming! It’s going to be fun!” She was really enthusiastic about this, and not the false happiness she tried to pull during their time in the Reaper’s Game, but genuine excitement. He couldn’t help but mirror her smile.

“Yeah well, what are we even doing?” He turned his attention to the board and shuttered.

“Seriously? A play … Cinderella? Cliche much? Yep, this is going to be torture.”

“Oh come on, it’s not going to be that bad! Eri and I are going to be in charge of costumes, you could help us—“

“Hey Sakuraba!” Yuji shouted from the front of the classroom, “thanks for signing up for props and set, man! We’ll have a meeting after classes in the auditorium at 3!”

Neku looked at the class president as if he had sprouted reaper wings, “what the?”

“You signed up for set-up?” Shiki asked him, getting up with her books and supplies all gathered neatly in her bag.

“Hell no, who signed me up?”

“I did.” A streak of pink wandered over to the pair. Before the young boy could protest the predicament she put him in, the girl placed her arm around Shiki’s shoulders protectively.

“I found some of your sketches in Shiki’s notebook and I figured you’d be really good at making the sets. Plus, this way you can walk Shiki home after school when it gets late. Kill two birds with one stone, right? Eri ended her explanation with a wink, much to Neku’s chagrin.

Just as quickly as Eri appeared, in a blink she was gone, yelling over her shoulder, “see you later guys! Shiki, let’s get started on the costume designs after school today!”

“Come back here Pinkie!” The boy hissed at her retreating shadow.

Shiki laughed at their antics. She grasped Neku’s fist he was shaking at her best friend gently and smiled at him before repeating, “hey, it’ll be fun, okay?”

A slight pause and resigned sigh were her only responses.

“This never reaches my mother’s ears. I’ll never hear the end of it.” He threatens, knowing full well that Shiki and his mother had each other's numbers saved as favorites.

~~~~~

Reluctantly, Neku made his way to the auditorium after school. To his surprise, he learned that the play was going to be a parody of sorts, a “Cinderella in Shibuya” story. The sets would be modeled after iconic spots in their neighborhood, one of which would be inspired by CAT’s mural in Udagawa! Even though Neku was still sulking in his seat for having to stay after school, he didn’t hate the concept.

“So gang, we’ll need a couple of supplies to start with constructing the sets and painting them.” Yuji started speaking as he walked up the steps leading to the stage.

“Takeda-sensei mentioned that we have some spray paints left over that we could use to save on budget.” Taking a seat at the edge of the stage, the class president looked into the crowd of faces and asked, “Has anyone used spray paints before?”

The answer was quite clear from the deafening silence. Neku could just sit quietly in his seat, admire the ugly clock above the stage, ticking away at the wasted minutes he could be spending with his friends if he wasn’t stuck here…

Or he could take a page out of Mr. H’s book and expand his world. Push his horizons out as far as they'll go. If Shiki was trying to overcome her insecurities and expand her world beyond Eri’s, then maybe he should too. Plus, he could use the practice.

“... I have,” Neku hesitantly muttered, not used to voluntarily bringing attention to himself. The room suddenly felt ten degrees warmer as all the eyes in the auditorium turned to him.

Yuji’s surprised expression was replaced with a huge grin, “Sweet man, thanks for volunteering! You good with the Udagawa set? It’s the only one that would look wild spray painted.”

Like he needed to ask, “yeah.”

“Cool!” Yuji said, “now let’s move on to the Hachiko set. Anyone good with sculpting?”

The remainder of the meeting was spent dividing up the work. They’d start assembling the sets tomorrow, and painting would start in a couple of weeks depending on how long it took to build everything. Satisfied that he could finally go home and relax, Neku sauntered out of the auditorium, flipping open his phone to see if he had any messages. None from Shiki, huh, I wonder if she went home already?

He didn’t get a chance to dwell on why he thought of Shiki just now because he spotted the girl in question sitting outside under one of the awnings at the main entrance.

“What are you still doing here?” Neku asked, slowly approaching the brunette. Shiki turned to the sound of her name, recognition dawning in her eyes and she waved at him.

“Eri forgot she had a doctor’s appointment today, so she had to leave right after classes. I had to stay late with Mina and Ai for the costume supply list, and I wasn’t sure if you had left already.” Shiki looked up at the sky, watching the rain fall around the bench she was sitting on. “I’m waiting for the storm to let up before heading home.”

He had to stop himself from admiring her, she looked stunning surrounded by the falling rain, the setting sun reflecting off of the droplets that shimmered like jewels falling from the sky around her.

“You forgot your umbrella didn’t you?” He asked, seeing her flinch at the accusation confirmed his suspicions. With a sheepish smile, she nodded.

Neku pulled out the folded umbrella from his knapsack and opened it up, leaving room on his left. “Let’s go?”

“Yeah,” she replied, getting up to join her companion as the sounds of two pairs of footsteps splashing in a nearby puddle reverberated off the school buildings.

After a couple of blocks of comfortable silence, Shiki asked, “So how did your meeting go?”

He adjusted the umbrella before muttering, “Boring.”

“Oh.” Shiki wasn’t entirely surprised. The festival seemed like more of a nuisance to him.

“... The play’s going to be a parody in Shibuya?”

“Yeah! Isn’t it interesting? Eri and I decided to do a fusion of victorian punk for the costumes!” Neku could practically see the stars shining in her eyes, “fairytale gold with midnight navy, flowing dresses with chains and netting! It’s going to look awesome —“

So enthusiastic about the creations in her mind, Shiki didn’t see that she stepped into the bicycle lane beside her, with a cyclist approaching at an alarming speed. Neku tossed the umbrella from his left hand to his right and grabbed Shiki’s shoulder from behind, pulling her into his chest in one swift motion. Not a second later did the wind pick up next to the two teens, the bicyclist flipping the middle finger as he passed them.

“Watch where you’re going!” Neku shouted.

“You watch it kid!”

As his senses started the return to normal from the brush of danger, Neku asked Shiki if she was alright. He didn’t move away from her, only bringing the umbrella over to shield the rain that started to drip on his hand holding her shoulder. The rhythmic pattering of droplets hitting the umbrella slowed her heartbeat enough to reply.

“Yeah, a little shaken though. Thanks for the save,” Shiki said, their eyes meeting. The proximity of their faces caused their already flushed cheeks to redden a deeper hue, both quickly turning away in embarrassment. Shiki reluctantly removed her hands from his chest, and with a little hesitation, Neku released his hold on her.

Confined to the edges of his seemingly small umbrella, Neku cleared his throat and offered the girl his arm, “I-I think you should hold on to me, you know, in case I need to save you again.”

This time she pouted, “I saved you a couple of times too, you know,” Shiki commented, her nose held high defiantly. Without hesitation, she accepted the arm that extended out to her, cheeks dusted pink from frustration because he was teasing her, and that she was holding onto the person she may or may not have feelings for. With their arms now linked, the two continued their walk home as the rain started to get heavier.

“Yeah, you’re right. I’ll be sure to thank Piggy when I see him next time.”

“Ugh, gosh Neku, Mr. Mew is a cat!” She pulled the black stuffed animal out of her bag and shoved him in the boy’s face for good measure.

“Hey there Piggy, thanks for saving me back in the UG. Think you can save me from your master’s death glare?” Neku chuckled while guiding Shiki across the street. She was getting more annoyed with him by the second, but he couldn’t help himself. As they waited for the crossing signal to change, Neku took the time to admire the way she crinkles her nose when she’s arguing with him, and how she tightens her grip on his arm when they can proceed across the street. He’s staring too long at her, he realizes and he blushes because may or may not have feelings for her.

They were dancing around where they stood with each other for months now. Definitely more than friends, but a little less than lovers. Neku couldn’t deny that if he ever would be with someone, it would be Shiki, but they were both still learning how to be themselves. That was more important than being branded as something they weren’t yet ready for just to satisfy other people. Shiki was important to Neku, and vice versa because they were partners, and if anything was going to happen beyond that, would just happen on its own. Right now, Neku enjoyed having Shiki this close to him, talking about what the next couple of weeks would be like as they walked home together, and that was good enough for him.

~~~~~

A couple of days had passed since the shared umbrella incident, and yet again, Neku found himself staying after school, moving one of the newly constructed sets into the west wing of the auditorium. It wouldn’t be long before he could take the massive blank mural outside and start spray painting the design he had been ruminating on. With the last of the sets neatly tucked away, Neku silently nodded at Yuji to signal his leave, before picking up his things and heading out. The fluorescent “20:35” shined on his phone as he tapped it to life, lighting up the shadowed hallway as he walked further into the school.

Neku heard her voice on his way to the classroom. He knew she was probably still working, oftentimes the last person in her group to leave, but what surprised him was the presence of another, more masculine voice in response to her quiry.

“Most people don’t know about that collection, it sold out within a couple of hours after release.”

“Wow, did you manage to get anything? Oh, lift your neck a little higher.”

“Sure thing.” There was a pause and Neku took the opportunity to peer into the classroom through the silt in the door. He could see Shiki standing on a stool, intently working on the collar of their classmate’s costume. The voice belonged to Hiroshi Minaru. He was casted as the prince in their festival play, and it looked like most of his costume was complete, sans a couple details Neku knew Shiki would never overlook. She was so deep in thought that her face was barely inches from the boy’s neck. “It was a bloodbath at 5 in the morning, but I grabbed the limited edition mint polo before this other dude and I thought I was going to die!”

Neku heard Shiki giggle, and he subconsciously clenched his fists. He felt like he shouldn’t be there, eavesdropping on her. With another guy… She’s clearly still busy, and it’s not like they had planned to leave together. He debated whether he should just go, make up an excuse as to why he didn’t wait. He felt uncomfortable, and he didn’t know why.

“All done! How does it feel, too constricting?”

“No, It’s perfect Misaki-chan, you’re so amazing with a needle and thread! You really have a talent for sewing.”

“Thanks,” she said bashfully, “now, give me a good turn!”

The boy took a step back and spun around, his cape flowing around him, “how do I look?” He put his hand to his chin, and smirked at her with a lifted brow.

“Like a dashing prince charming.” Shiki replied with a friendly smile, the ones Neku had seen time and time again.

“I’m really glad we got to work together like this for the festival, it’s nice to talk to someone about fashion with an eye for clothes making.”

“Yeah, me too. Most of the time it’s just Eri and I…” Shiki looked down, steadying herself to step down from the stool. Hiroshi offered her a hand, which she gladly took.

“M-Maybe ... sometime I could show you some photos of my Mus Rattus collection?” Hiroshi said, looking up at her from below, their faces mere centimeters away.

The pair made eye contact and the next thing Neku knew, he saw her pitch forward.

“Misaki-chan!” “Shiki!”

Thankfully, she landed on her feet, still holding Hiroshi’s hand. Both heads turned to the door that was forcibly ripped open, leaving the orange haired teen standing alone, concern written on his face.

“Shiki, are you okay?” Neku asked, walking toward the pair. He saw her slide her hand out of Hiroshi’s as she redirected her attention to him.

“Yeah, a little shaken but I’m alright.” She turned to Hiroshi, “Thanks for catching my fall Hiroshi-kun.”

“No problem Misaki-chan. You sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” she beamed at Neku, “while you’re here, what do you think?” She asked, gesturing toward Hiroshi, to which their classmate posed with a smile.

After a second or two, “I think I see a button loose.”

“WHAT, where?!” She scurried to Hiroshi, who stiffened at the sudden scrutiny.

“...made you look…”

“Neku, jeez!” Shiki puffed her cheeks. He just smiled as she attacked him with a series of punches to the arm.

Clearing his throat, Hiroshi excused himself. It was quite late already, and he felt like he was intruding on what seemed to be a private moment.

“See you later, Misaki-chan, Sakuraba-kun.”

A comfortable silence soon fell upon them. Shiki moved to gather her belongings, tidying up her projects neatly to be continued tomorrow.

“Let’s go?” She asked, holding her bag behind her back.

He nodded as she walked out of the classroom, shutting the light, and closing the door behind them.

~~~~~

The evening air whistled in his ear, a chill nipping at his nose. The weather was getting colder, the days shorter, and staying in school longer for the festival meant commuting home when the sun was either gone or disappearing beyond the horizon. He pulled his scarf tighter around his neck in a feeble attempt to fight the shivers moving up his spine. He looked at Shiki to see how she was fairing.

He saw that her cheeks were pink, from the cold or something else he didn’t know. He moved to look at her eyes, surprised when his eyes locked onto hers. Shortly after both teens looked away in different directions, a little more flushed than before.

“So Hiroshi-kun’s costume is coming together really well. The gold accents Eri wanted really worked out better than I imagined,” Shiki said.

“That’s because you brought it to life.”

Shiki looked at him with wide eyes. Neku’s always been blunt to a “T,” never sugarcoating his thoughts regardless if they were well-received or not. When he says things like this, Shiki can’t help but feel elated. He believed in her and her abilities, it was just a simple truth.

“Thanks Neku.”

She heard a muffled mhmm from his scarf.

A couple steps later, “... what were you and Hiroshi talking about?”

She gave him a thoughtful look. “Hiroshi-kun is really into Mus Rattus’ recent fall collection. Some of the pieces had some pretty neat fabrics and we started talking about textiles and fashion. I didn’t know there would be someone else that liked fashion as much as Eri and I.”

Neku grunted a reply. Realizing that he was a few steps ahead of her, Shiki quickened her pace to match his.

“Is something … bothering you?” Shiki questioned the boy, subconsciously giving him the doe-eyed look he found both irritating and endearing.

Neku felt agitated; more so frustrated because he didn’t exactly know why he was agitated. Flashbacks from that rainy day came to mind, Shiki holding onto his arm under a shared umbrella, walking home side by side, more closely than before. The memories made him feel warm and excited. Then he remembered the princely-dressed Hiroshi holding Shiki’s hand as if she was his princess he had come to rescue, and he grunted in displeasure. He came to a stop, trying to sort out his emotions. It showed on his face enough for Shiki to raise an eyebrow in concern.

“Let me in,” Shiki said quietly, “trust me?” She placed a hand on his arm delicately.

It’s not that he didn’t trust her, it was more like he didn’t trust what would come out of his mouth coherently. He looked at her hands, and with great care, took her hands into his own, slightly larger ones.

“I … ugh … want to … hold your hands.” Neku mummered, so low and into his scarf she barely caught it. But after a couple of months of getting to know her partner, she knew how to really listen when he verbally or wordlessly communicated something.

Not exactly sure where this was coming from, Shiki just replied with the first thing that came to mind, “I want to hold your hands too,” she said with a soft smile.

That was a good sign, right? Neku was nervous, but an excited kind of nervous. They were going into a very delicate topic, one that they had been carefully tiptoeing around since they came back to the RG. He didn’t know if he was ready to take the next steps, but now’s a better time than never he reasoned. He slowly realized that he didn’t want to wait any longer.

“Can we talk about…this, us?” He said, looking down at their joined hands, giving hers a light squeeze.

A pregnant pause ascended, and Neku didn’t realize he was holding this breath before he heard her speak.

“Well, I like hanging out with you, being with just you.” She closed her eyes in thought, “and I like when you walk me home.” She gestured to their hands, “this is nice too, I would like to do this more often.”

Shiki opened one eye to gauge her companion’s reaction and took a leap of faith, “I guess I’ve kind of had feelings for you for a while now, since the first time you saw me in the RG, the real me. I was super embarrassed when you told me that I was prettier than Eri. I thought you were just trying to cheer me up so that Beat and Rhyme wouldn't worry, but then I remembered that you don’t say needless things, that you really believed it, so I started to believe it too.”

Looking him straight in the eyes, Shiki continued, “I like the way you make me feel, like I’m a better person than I think I am, and I want to be the person that you see in me…”

He still hadn’t uttered a word, slowly processing what he was hoping wasn’t a dream. His silence continued and Shiki was beginning to lose her nerve, “and you should say something now because this is super embarrassing with you just looking at me like that!” Gosh, she wanted to pry her hands away so she can bury her face in them!

So the feeling was mutual all along, Neku thought, and he couldn’t stop the goofiest smile that emerged on his face.

“Well … you were my entry fee,” he replied, trying to look everywhere but her. Neku had told Shiki and the gang about his three week experience immediately after they returned to the RG. He was so apologetic for dragging her back into the game again that he didn’t see her embarrassment about what being his entry fee really meant. If he didn’t want to dwell on it, neither would she. However his comment had greater weight now, and she blushed knowing what he was implying, but she still wasn’t satisfied.

“Geez, I just gave you a whole monologue! I want something more than that. Say it!”

“Alright, alright, geez stalker don’t get your undies in a bunch,” he chuckled, and with a little bit more confidence said, “Shiki, I like you too.”

It felt like a veil had lifted, like the metaphoric waltz they were dancing finally concluded and they just stood there, hand in hand. Neku swore he heard music in his ears, the Shibuya’s metropolitan sounds harmonizing with Shiki’s melody into a rhapsody only he could hear. One day he would tell her about it, her song that was playing in his mind when she told him that she liked him. But for today he would just burn her smile into his memory, the smile she had when he told her that he liked her.

Neku didn’t know what the near future would hold, neither of them doing well under the pressure of their friends that had been right about them this whole time, but he wanted to do this right, and take it slow. For now, all he just wanted was to be with her, and hold her hand a little longer.

“Let’s take the long way home, through the park?” Neku suggested, bringing her knuckles to his lips.

“Y-yeah.” She stuttered as he boldly gave them a chaste kiss.

So into their own world, hands laced together, setting a different course home, did the young couple not realize the chuckle in the wind at the bet he just won on who would confess first.

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