#tellie and silver I am looking at you

[skyward-floored]

WHY WERE YOU ALL AWAKE AT 3 AM LAST NIGHT

#tellie and silver I am looking at you #and anyone else who happens to read this and was awake at 3 am #SLEEEEEEP #rambles from the floor

[cherrycheridarling]

cherry | h.s.

harry styles x famous!reader

warnings: sad? it's a rollercoaster

summary: how 'cherry' came to be

wc: 2.5k

a/n: can be read w/ baby or on its own

are we rlly surprised abt this? look at my user;)

'Don't you call him baby.'

Harry sat on his plush couch, telly on volume 11 as interviews from The Emmys went live.

"Here we have Y/N Y/L/N! Looking as gorgeous as ever! How are you?" the man asked as he kissed both of your cheeks.

Harry had to agree with the man. You were a stunning picture in a skintight iridescent gown that somehow left little and just enough to the imagination at the same time. The dainty silver accents adorning your ears and wrists, chest bare with a slight shimmer of something that wasn't sweat or glitter, but just pure radiance in Harry's eyes.

You adjusted your stance before answering, "Good, good. And yourself?"

"Fantastic! I hear you're nominated for three awards tonight! Congratulations! How do you feel about all of that?" Harry wasn't surprised by your achievements seeing as he kept his tabs on you ever since the breakup.

You nodded with a timid smile, "I am, yes. It's all a little nerve wracking if I'm being honest with you."

The man grinned before it looked like his attention had been stolen by someone else, "Oh look, there we have your knight in shining armour!"

The camera panned to Tom Holland walking in your direction. Harry forced himself to watch as Tom came to stand beside you and kissed your cheek with an arm around your waist. Even with the microphone being unable to pick up your voices, your small interaction could be read off your lips.

"Hello, darling." Tom's lips moved as he winked.

"Hi, baby." your smile was warm as you spoke.

Harry abruptly turned off his telly at that moment. Memories of that name being used to address him flooded his brain. He threw his head back against the cushions and let the sting wash over him. It'd been a little less than a year since you guys called it quits, but the wounds still bled.

'We're not talking lately.'

"Do you remember that promise we made?" you asked as Harry rested his forehead against your knees while your fingers ran through his hair.

You felt him nod as a tear rolled down your cheek for the hundredth time. "We'd always stay friends and support each other even if we don't last." he replied from below you on his knees while you were sat on the couch.

You swallowed the lump in your throat, "Can I adjust that promise?"

His movements seize the second the question left your lips. He lifted his head and met your glossy gaze with an equally bloodshot one.

"What do you mean?" his voice quivered in a way that made your heart shatter.

You slid your thumb along his cheekbone, "We need time apart to move on, ange. No communication while we deal with this. We can still support each other and love each other, but we need space in order to let each other go. Wouldn't you agree?"

Harry pondered on it for a moment before slightly nodding, "I guess so."

Neither of you said a word after that, just continuing to hold each other until the morning light came in and reminded you that everything still moves on even if you haven't.

'Don't you call him what you used to call me.'

July 23rd 2017:

"Baby, can you grab my purse for me, please?" you semi-shouted from the bottom of the stairs in your home.

Not a minute later, Harry came waltzing down towards you, "I wasn't sure which one you wanted today, so I took it upon myself to choose this one." he held up the Prada shoulder purse with a proud smile.

October 17th 2017:

"No." you deadpanned, but at his immediate frown you continued "Baby, I'm not dressing up as a socket so you can be the plug." you laughed incredulously at his suggestion.

Harry threw his hands in the air, "Come on! That would be the best costume ever!"

December 25th 2017:

"Happy Christmas, baby." you smiled at the man on your phone screen.

His lips turned down into a frown that somehow still looked like a smile, "Happy Christmas, darling. Wish we were together today."

January 1st 2018:

"Happy new year!" Harry screamed along with the room before turning to his love, "No one else I'd rather enter the year with." he smiled softly at you before meeting your lips with a kiss.

Confetti fell around you, champagne broke through the cheers with a 'pop' and yet, to you, it was silent, and there was no one there but him.

You broke apart still grinning, "Happy new year, baby."

'I, I confess I can tell that you are at your best. I'm selfish so I'm hating it.'

"And the Oscar for Best Actress goes to...!" Kevin Hart unfolded the envelope and immediately broke into a wide grin, "Y/N Y/L/N!"

The applause was immediate and deafening. You barely registered the first syllable of your name being called as everyone around you began to congratulate you and shower you with hugs.

You slowly made your way to the stage, being careful to not trip. You greeted Kevin with a hug as he handed you the award and your hands shook. As you stood in front of the mic, your mouth opened and closed like a fish.

"I-I- what?" you finally managed to sputter out as everyone chuckled.

You managed to get your wits about you and began to give out your thanks, while failing to notice the man in the audience who was holding back tears for you.

Jeff leaned over to Harry, "I know this is tough, but there will be cameras on you. Be careful of your expressions." he whispered as Harry momentarily shut his eyes and inhaled deeply.

Harry managed to plaster on a faux smile that would fool anyone else except you. He was ashamed of himself; he should be happy for you, he should've been on his feet cheering for you. But he couldn't. He refused to do that from 12 rows away when he should've been sat beside you. The smile on your face, the glow in your skin. All of it was something he hadn't seen since you were together and seeing it now only brought pain and sorrow to him.

He wished he had stayed home, but Jeff had convinced him that moping around in his home was only fuelling the rumours surrounding your break up, so he watched as you took your seat again and only when the next category was being announced did he excuse himself to the washroom and let the tears flow.

'I noticed that there's a piece of you in how I dress. Take it as a compliment.'

"Darling!" Harry's voice came booming from your temporarily shared home.

You sat on the couch in the living room and threw your head back, "Yes?!"

"Where's your striped jumper?!" he replied from your walk in closet.

You chose not to reply and instead left your seat to see what chaos he had caused. Upon entering your closet, there were piles of clothes on the floor and shoes tossed in every direction.

You chuckled, "What is going on?"

Harry's head snapped towards you, "I have an interview in 30 minutes and I need that jumper. Please, darling, help." he pouted at you.

You laughed a little more before walking out of the closet and pulling the sweater from a chair next to your bed. You cleared your throat while dangling the sweater from your finger and smirked, "Really should wear your glasses more often."

He covered his face with his hands as he realized he made a mess for no reason. As he took the jumper from your hands with a kiss to your lips and a thank you, you spoke again with a smile, "And get your own clothes."

"Why do that when I have you?" he grinned, "And don't touch any of the mess. I will clean it when I get back." his tone was serious but you struggled to hold in your laugh.

"I'll ju-"

"-No. Pinky promise you won't clean any of it." he held out his pinky with a raised brow.

You rolled your eyes before locking your finger with his. "Fine." the metal of the ruby ring on his finger that used to be yours was cold on your skin

He smiled as he kissed the place where your fingers interlocked and dashed out of the room with one last warning, "You pinky promised! No breaking it!"

"I, I just miss. I just miss your accent and your friends."

"Okay, Your Majesty." Harry mocked your RP accent for the thousandth time as you sat at Beachwood Cafe with Mitch, Sarah, Hazel and Max.

You gasped, "Would you stop that?! I do not sound like the Queen."

He was about to argue before Mitch chimed in, "Sorry, Y/L/N, but you kind of do." he giggled as he spoke.

Your jaw dropped as Harry started to laugh, "This is so unfair. I introduced you guys! You were my friends first! You're supposed to be on my side!"

They all started laughing together at your outburst as you rolled your eyes with a small smile.

"Did you know I still talk to them?"

Hazel was escorted to Harry's dressing room before his show in Vancouver while Max was in charge of finding parking.

Since it was her's and Max's hometown, Harry offered them tickets and backstage entry. It took a lot of debating with himself before he sent the text to Hazel, but his reasoning ultimately came down to not wanting to lose two friendships due to one relationship.

She took a moment to pause before knocking, and sighed a little when Harry looked up through the mirror with red, glassy eyes.

"What's going on, H?" she spoke softly as she entered the room and closed the door behind her.

Harry fully turned his chair around and felt his shoulders deflate, "Just miss her." he rolled his lips in between his teeth as a few tears managed to escape.

Hazel's heart fractured a bit in that moment as her phone started buzzing in her pocket with a call from you, "It's Y/N. Give me a minu-"

"-No. Please. I won't say anything. Can you put it on speaker?" he begged and although Hazel knew it was a bad idea she sighed before answering your call and following his request.

"Hey, Y/N/N!"

"Hi, are you at the show?" your voice ran through the room and Harry subconsciously leaned towards to the phone as if it would bring him closer to you.

Hazel suppressed a sigh from watching Harry before replying, "Yeah! It was really nice of him to invite us. What are you up to?"

"About to catch a flight to LA. Just wanted to make sure you got there safe." you laughed lightly through your lie and Harry's eyes automatically shut, trying to savour the sweet sound.

Hazel could hear your lie in your voice, but chose not to address it, "Yeah, Max is just finding parking right now. Why are you going to LA?"

Harry fought the urge to answer her question, forgetting that he wasn't supposed to know the answer.

You sighed slightly, "House hunting. Can't stay at Harry's anymore, so time to find my own place there."

Hazel nodded, forgetting that you couldn't see her before replying, "Oh. I see. Have you talked to H at all?"

Harry's head snapped up at his name being brought into the conversation.

"No, it's best if I don't." a mans voice was heard in the background before you spoke again, "Well, we're about to take off now. If you see him, wish him luck for me, will you?" your sadness was evident throughout your words.

Harry buried his head in his hands again as more tears escaped while Hazel replied, "Of course. Have a safe flight, Y/N/N. Love you, miss you."

"Thanks, love you and miss you too. Bye!" you blew a kiss into the phone before the dial tone was heard.

And for a moment, with his eyes shut, Harry allowed himself to imagine that those words were meant for his ears only.

"Does he take you walking 'round his parents gallery?"

"Hey, Haz," Tyler spoke up from the silence of the recording studio. They had just finished a long session and the rest of the team had already departed for the night, leaving Harry, Sammy and Tyler. "There's a new gallery opening on Saturday. Only there for a few nights. You wanna come with me and Sammy?"

Harry slowly turned in the spinning chair, "Sure. Whose gallery?" he bit into an apple as he finished speaking.

"Nikki Holland? Don't know who she is, but she's got some sick photos on Instagram." Tyler shrugged not noticing how Harry nearly choked on his fruit.

"Holland? As in Tom Holland's mum? Tom Holland as in Y/N's boyfriend, Tom Holland?" Sammy's eyes widened before he pulled out his own phone and went to Tom's instagram page. And sure enough, there was a post and a story of him promoting his mum's new gallery opening. "Just answered my own question." he rolled his lips between his teeth before chancing a glance at Harry.

Harry stared blankly at the floor before clearing his throat, "Probably not the best idea for me to show up there." he paused at their somber expressions, "Honestly, it's fine." he laughed lightly.

"Nah, we won't go either. Probably start rumours if we-"

"-Wait." Harry abruptly announced before reaching for the acoustic guitar on his left.

Tyler and Sammy shared a concerned expression with one another while Harry nervously fumbled with the strings of the instrument.

"Let me just- I just need to-" he struggled to find the right words to say, but there was no need.

Tyler shook his head and put his phone down, "Let's write it."

'Coucou!'

"Tu dors?" you frowned when your friend answered your call with a groggy voice.

She laughed lightly through the phone, "Oui. J'étais sur le point d'être."

"Oh, j'suis désolée."

She chuckled, "Ne t'en fais pas. Que s'est-il passé? A-t-il fait une demande en mariage?"

You sighed with a smile, thinking back on the day you spent with the lovely man behind you, "Bah non-"

"Je peux entendre le sourire effrayant dans ta voix. Que s'est-il passé?" she cut you off while mocking you.

You laughed loudly, "Nan, c'est pas important."

"Qu'avez-vous fait alors? Êtes-vous allé à la plage?"

You turned to look at Harry as he played a soft melody on a guitar. His eyes looked up to meet yours and he offered you a small grin that you returned, "Ouais, on a été à la plage, et maintenant on—"

She cut you off again with a loud laugh, "Allons prendre un verre et discuter. J'ai besoin de voir le sourire effrayant en personne."

You couldn't even deny her accusation. You were at the happiest you could be.

'Parfait! Allez!'

#harry styles #harry styles angst #harry styles au #harry styles boyfriend #harry styles blurb #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x reader #harry styles x actress!yn #harry styles x you #harry styles x singer!reader #harry styles x famous!reader #harry styles x fem!reader #harry styles comfort #harry styles drabble #harry styles fic #harry styles series #harry styles edit #harry styles friends to lovers #harry styles headcanon #harry styles imagine #harry styles instagram #harry styles social media au #harry styles moodboard #harry styles news #harry styles one shot #harry styles x 1dmember!reader #harry styles prompts #harry styles quotes #harry styles request #harry styles reader insert

[names-for-alters]

Hello one and all, alters and headmates! I am Charlie! I like to make lists! I also hoard names! Are you looking for a name? GREAT! You can send an ask and request a specific aesthetic or origin of name, or you can look at my list!

With that said…

…Cracks knuckles…

Findo Tach Tails Flicker Tracer Kat Iris Blu Brick Arlo Sammy Artie Finn Stein Aleksandr Vora Olive Luna Nyx Cyrus Qrow Orian Cello Onyx Skye Grim Opal Dawn Azure Fish Bones Poppy Bronze Eggs Sparky Specs Snickers Trout Navi Bingo Chili Bandit Stripe Busker Socks Brandy Frisky Winston Lucky Chucky Bently Judo Rusty Max Honey Indie Calypso Striker Merle Moxxie Vex Ant Bugger Bee Spider Tails Hook Indigo Amber Coco Coral Scarlet Ivory Jade Ruby Emerald Chuck Loden Copper Hamelin Neo Shepard Cinnamon Visor Macalister Soul Hack Hiccup Flynn Rider Astrid Jay Raven Robyn Bolt Dagger Viper Tracer Cornwall Flock Sapphire Crystal Ghost Mochi Trick Catra Rose Raven Flip Chani Racket Red Crimson Dragon Runt Scotch Tellie Gator Croc Crow Goat Duck Creeper Kuma Jet Jeep Draco Poppy Sombra Raine Squish Spike Blaze Ender Drake Sandy MK PJ DJ CJ MJ King Creak Shadow Clay Dusty Miles Dart Willow Antonius Husk Moth Cypher Jin Yin Yang Daisy Gray / Grey Alistair Halo Angel Cake Fennec Fox Null Lull Bastion Lucky Sun Star Cosmo Tweety Vox Nerys Sonic Bark Birch Oak Cherry Blossom Peaches Velvet Shell Coffee Valley Fang Moot Redpath Pudding X V Jr Ether Fig Trunk Joy Frogger Snowflake Snowball Snow Jumper Racket Flare Vendetta Loonie Coin Six Eleven Tropica Stelina Mojave Ink Sud Fender Zero Pollen Wysteria Page Ozias Rex Tortch Buck Nickel Stripe Lynch Tramp Wolf Pup Tank Jhariah Kharma Zenith Sparrow Prism Lemon Mune Lamb Pyke Diamond Parker Graves Fizz Nugget Melody Tink Blight Fangless Ambress Vulture Eclipse Luka Bangle Constance Constantine Sommar Babble Clank Bobble Chipper Aidan Slate Tin Twire Zephyr Silver Misty Faunus Atlas Birdie Brook Cedar Chip Coal Daisy Ember Faye Fate Fern Flint Harmony Helios Ivy Junx Kit Lyria Phoebe Piper Lady Beacon Elos Rumble Ida Cross Zed Scootie Smidge Clauger Happy Sonny Hath Soldier River Song Clawtor Videl Legen Onen Chunk Reid Pop Cobra Cash Clover Saris Volante Donna Belladonna Gale Chopper Morphias Vidia Loft Kape Levi Licker Howl Dustin Newt Creek Breezy Polaris Blight Archer Sirius Warren Dream Goon Cookie Ranger Amity Jericho Viggo Besko Asra Alice Olaf Mossfeld Issic Missy Rascal Creasy Nonya Hex Pita Miguel Manuel Rayburn Daisy Dash Lucky Becky Steele Cylo Featherstone Kingston Netherfield Reacher Saltburn Quick Rubble Dust Brimstone Humble Ado Grover Norvanos Leshy Blade Cooper Calcium

Leo

Leonardo

Lebony

Silver

Linzier

Pearl

blackberry

Tatin

Bud

Raphael

Pebble

Mina

Linda

Oolong

Daeo/Dayo/Dao

Inco

Ketlyn

Risa

Ines

Lora

Flock

Lux

Rix

Reah

Destinty

Bet

Ange

Krixa

Lalien

Gloom

Bug

Rozy

Mars

Screech

Jenny

Robert

Patrick

Pierre Rosemary

Henderson

Mayfield

Sinclair

Sullivan

Hart

Solace

Daughtler

Stoll

Gatlin

Yearwood

Amos

Graves

Rothschild

Halley

Spektor

Presley

Redd

Blackwood

Notvletti

Valerie

Milo

Marian

Lychee

Aiden

Nova

Vel

Bel

Yuri

Puro

Pluto

Ramona

Angel

Nada

Shen

Mog

Hania

Udge

Kinetic

Kikos Wathel

Dupa

Sierre

Jimor

Teddy

coc

Scara

River

Shade

Foenem

Duck

Emily

Toast

Reunna

Ichigo

Rae

Sonic

MoonL

Lennus

cabaran

Marto

Leveer

Granite

Tongle

#alter names #names for alters #osdd #did #endo neutral #names #list of names #random names #good names #introjects #osddid #fictives #need names? I got names #name hoard #name requests #names for you

[minetteskvareninova]

Ranking Magnificent Century (Kösem) Wedding Dress

Welcome to Another Frivolous Post About Magnificent Century, from yours truly Minette! This time about... Well, you've read the title. Really, if you accept the show's highly anachronistic aesthetic, there aren't that many outright bad dresses in either show; most of them range from decent to absolutely stunning. The functionality isn't always so great, for example the show always goes so hard for bling in every situation it's not always easy for it to convey unusual splendor in terms of, like, dresses for special occasions and so on. With that said, most wedding dresses do a good job of standing out from the rest of the woman's wardrobe. Either way, I am going to exclude people who just put on their regular dress, like Fatma sultan, as well as Armin and Huricihan, for whom I couldn't find any good pictures (and in any case, Armin would be excused on account of just being poorer than the rest of the brides, or placed near the bottom for the awful dress that also has the audacity to be white).

RANKING PROPER

18. Hürrem

Yeah, sorry to all of the fans out there, this one is actually kinda awful. The show absolutely loves its wacky headdresses, and this is one of the undoubtedly worst ones. It has been dubbed "Micky Mouse ears" by my sister, and you can absolutely see why. The dress at least is merely boring instead of actively offensive to one's sight. Like, seriously, is there literally any difference between what the great Hürrem sultan put on for her wedding night and just... What she always wears?! Disgrace, I tell ya.

17. Akile (wedding night)

I might be more generous towards these if we saw them for more than five seconds and had any idea what they were going for. Like, from afar they almost look like a wedding nightgown similar to the one Mihrimah wears, except Mihrimah wears it in her own bedroom and doesn't have to move trough any corridors in it (as far as we can), and also the golden belt, styled hair and headdress make it seem like these are actual, proper dress??? Either way, decent nightgown, shitty regular dress that also just happens to be white. For shame.

16. Dilruba (secret wedding)

This one almost seems like a regular dress, except there was some attempt to make a proper wedding gown out of it (that goes beyond a single red shawl thrown over her head - hi, Nigar). Really, it seems Dilruba here just put on the nicest red dress and tiara she owned, added a wedding veil, and that was about all she could do in this situation. Which in context seems actually plausible. Either way, this one is decent, but it sadly suffers from its provisory nature, so it goes here.

15. Akile (arrival in the palace)

This one just looks too normal for me to put it very high. Yes, even bellow most white wedding dresses. I mean, at least as far as the normal dress go, it's very pretty? It just doesn't stand out, is all.

14. Telli Hümaşah

I really, really dislike all the white sparkly dresses of MCK season 2. The red wedding dress aesthetic of MC/MCK is more unique than the stereotypical white, plus the white dresses tend to be extremely tacky. This one actually isn't that bad, I love the the silhouette and the fact that it doesn't use TOO much silver embroidery. However, the hair tinsel brings it all the way down. One of the ugliest headdresses in the show hands down, only to be beaten by Hürrem's micky mouse ears.

13. Atike

Tacky. As. Fuck. It looks like something a modern very nouveau riche bride would pick. The headdress leaves me especially cold. That said, it's not downright ugly, so I'll give it a pass. And, hey, Atike is just a one tacky bitch, so what gives.

12. Gevherhan

This one isn't really that pretty, but it has earned my forgiveness over Atike's by virtue of being marginally less tacky, and also recognizably a Gevherhan dress. Falling in line with its wearer's personal style, while also going the extra mile as the wedding dress should is always the gold standard in my eyes. Also, the headdress is decent (and something Gevherhan wears just this once, which is nice). Still, nothing to write home about. It's not even bad enough for tasteless jokes about Gevherhan killing herself because she has to wear it and junk.

11. Fahriye

I am mostly just puzzled by the choice of colour here. I mean, I wouldn't like white, but at least I'd understand it. Is it just because it's the last of her God knows how many weddings? Well, no, since there's clearly no consistent custom on these things. Nigar and Fatma wear their normal dress (and I'd like to just comment here on just how fucking unfair it is to Nigar; like, if you're going to lowkey ruin her life, you might as well put her in some nice dress), Gevherhan has proper wedding dress, and I guess what they put Hatice into is also normal dress but also looks like a wedding dress, because that's Magnificent Century for ya, things don't always make sense here. Anyway, Fahriye's dress is confusing colour-wise, but at least it has the decency to be very, very pretty. I dig the more traditional silhouette, reminescent of an Aslanger painting, and the embroidery is decent in patter, the overabundance of sparkliness notwithstanding. Also, I absolute adore the headdress.

10. Mihrunissa

In isolation, this is pretty underwhelming. I strongly suspect this is just a regular dress Mihrunissa found at the bottom of her wardrobe. BUT. You absolutely cannot accuse it of not being in her her very distinct style! Now, Mihrunissa's very distinct style with her dubshit stiff bodices is ugly and I hate it, but this dress fits into it pretty neatly! Also, Mihrunissa's kickass turbans kinda balance the bodice out. Not to mention, the necklace contrasts with the simplicity of the rest of the outfit very well. One of the most effective accessories in the show hands down.

9. Farya Bethlen

Oh, look, a white wedding dress with silver embroidery that ISN'T tacky as fuck! And it fits into the rest of Farya's wardrobe (even if it does remind me of the pain that Farya's tricorn look caused me)! And it has a very pretty headdress! My only complaint is that it's white, but I guess you can't get everything you want.

8. Mihrimah (wedding dress)

This one is... Fine. Decent. Standard. Just about what one imagines when it comes to Magnificent Century wedding dresses. We're definitely in the "good" part of this ranking. Also, I like this one's headdress too. I have absolutely nothing else to say about it.

7. Dilruba (public wedding)

This one is just, like, step above Mihrimah's, mostly because the buttons absolutely SLAP. This despite the fact the tiara is... Kinda not good? Like, it looks fine from the profile and with a veil, but on its own is definitely one of the worse tiaras in the show. Other than that, it's just as standard as Mihrimah's.

6. Hatice (wedding to Hüsrev)

I wish this one wasn't reused into oblivion, except maybe during that one conversation with Süleyman, so that people can appreciate just how much it slaps. Like, I don't know if that was the intention, but the shadow of Hatice's first wedding dress looms large over this one, and I for one am here for it! The tiara looks like if someone took out most elements from the first one, embroidery is silver instead of gold, and much less splendid, the colour is a much darker shade of red... Just. One of the standout costuming moments in this show, hands down.

5. Mihrimah (wedding night)

I wish wearing a super sparkly nightgown was a thing for more brides on the show! Or, at least I assume it's a nightgown. Like, Nurbanu later wears it as regular dress... Whatever. The important thing is that it's kinda hard to compare it to the rest of the wedding dresses, but it's undoubtedly the best nightgown, so...

4. Mihrimah (wedding procession)

"This dress is my funeral shroud" - Is that a complaint, because gurl, I would indeed die for that dress. I don't even care about its strange colour, or that Mihrimah, the spoiled princess that she is, gets a special dress for her wedding procession AND a special nightgown. This one is just too damn iconic, to the point that it even stands out in the sea of iconic looks Mihrimah's wedding contains in spades. Everything about it falls into place so well - the stunning embroidery, elegant jewelry, even the strange headdress has its own charm. We are entering the iconic looks territory here, folks. Things will only get better.

3. Nigar

Aside from Armin's, this one is the only wedding that doesn't concern top 1% percent of society (although it probably does about a percent bellow that, after all, this is still a society in which like 90% of people are subsistence farmers). But it blows wedding dresses of actual princesses (with one exception) out the water. It checks all of the boxes - it's red, fits Nigar's personal style while going the extra mile, and of course, it's real damn pretty! I even considered it for the first spot, if you can believe it. An absolute waste for a fake wedding, I tell ya. But great wedding dress is the least our best girl deserves.

2. Kösem

I hate that Kösem the super special Mary Sue got to marry Ahmet when even Nurbanu didn't, but at least we got this beauty out of it. It's not that spectacular on its own, but the headband, earrings and especially the absolutely epic cape together create a cohesive, truly unique look that I just can't get enough of. Also, Beren is super mega hot here, fucking sue me.

1. Hatice (wedding to Ibrahim)

...I have no justification for this one. Objectively, it's very solid, even a top 5 material, but is it really THE best wedding dress in this show? And the answer is yes, because I fucking said it and this is my list. I love everything about it so much! The gorgeous embroidery! The amazing jewelry set! The stunning tiara! Is it all a bit too much? Maybe. But too much is just enough for me in this case. Also, Hatice is by far the most beautiful woman on this list, so eat your heart out. This dress is an absolute icon, a gold standard that most of the rest had failed to live up to.

That's all dresses I could remember. If you have any complaints about this very objective and scientifically rigorous list, address it kindly to Minette!

#magnificent century #magnificent century: kösem

[dull-c]

okay! i have finally managed to catch up on some sleep and am gonna talk further s5 thoughts under the cut.

overall - i had a really good time watching it. i had talked myself down over the last week to a point where my expectations were more or less in the gutter, so it exceeded my expectations, in some ways it met them, and on one occasion it was even worse than i had anticipated.

the great: -as i said last night: C H O Z E N. chozen was a dream. all of you can go home this is the only good man. god, the way he just showed up every time and loved and protected and supported the larussos and miyagi do and et al unequivocally. his daytime telly, patrolling the house, fucking with silver and his instant connection with tory when he was undercover at cobra kai (i so so wish there had been more of that), his egg training sesh and his running into the barnes furniture store to save his ride or die. i am not exaggerating in the slightest when i say i was squeaking and kicking my legs and muttering i love you almost every time he was on screen.

-related, DANZEN. danzen season was better than I had hoped for. the way they like totally unabashedly hyped each other up, smiled softly at each other, clothed each other, went on underover ops and bought each other $2000 couches and pat pat patted each other and generally just loved all over each other like, constantly??? it was amazing. they were giving each other the love and support they deserve and i was fucken thrilled -the lack of kreese redemption. that was honest to god so sexy. kreese redemption was something i have been anticipating/fearing ever since they started rolling out that insane backstory. ymmv about this and that’s cool, but i didn’t like the idea of it for many reasons. so, i thought it was going to happen and i was ready to slog through it while rolling my eyes and sighing long-sufferingly and when johnny and daniel showed up at the prison i was like, here we fucking go i guess. so i cannot tell you the elation that coursed through my body when the camera focused on that note and i realized what was happening. i yelled. i have had sex less satisfying than johnny telling kreese to eat shit and then daniel putting a fullstop on it with no mercy motherfucker.

(daniel and jlawz 100% practiced their good cop bad cop routine in the van beforehand) -no one died!!! lucille was fine (if nonexistent!) chozen was fine!! daniel got punched in the heart metaphorically and hawk got punched in the heart literally and they were both fine!!! yeah!!! fuck you for making me worry for months hayden s you fucking troll!!!! -was personally thrilled that the one time an australian has made an appearance in the show it was a grifting hemsworth knockoff   -daniel in the sauna. it was terrifying sure, but i was also just distracted by how utterly beautiful he looked in there. he looked amazing the whole season but especially there. daniel daniel daniel. i am still processing my thoughts on his s5 arc but i loved most of it. I wish that there had been more time to explore certain things but i love that his trauma and tendency to overreaction (or to be seen as overreacting) was addressed to an extent. i loved that we saw him receiving some of the love and generosity he had given out for once. that filled my heart -jessica!! i loved the way they wrote her into the fam, and the macaroni shoutout. i loved the way she pointed out so plainly what happened to daniel, in a way that couldn’t be handwaved or diminished. i would have loved to have seen her and daniel actually interact, but for now that pic robyn lively posted on twitter of her and ralph will have to suffice -reluctantly i must admit that mike barnes was not that bad. like i’m not about to ship him with my blorbo or anything, but he was fine. his storyline was fine and he even made me laff. i guess most of my mike animosity is based in animosity towards SK, not the character so much (also: the way mike apologized to daniel literally minutes after running into him again and jlaw is still crickets aha ha welp) -also reluctantly, i must admit that the running gag where daniel tried to break up fights over him between his old bullies and kept ended up getting beaned himself did made me laugh. baby boy!!! i’m sorry but my sense of humour is very low brow :(( -despite the valiant attempt to /no homo/ everything this season (see ‘the nah’ below), it was still extremely homo sorry about it. danzen i have already mentioned but lawrusso also gets a mention obviously for that butt slap, for “get your hands off him”, for we’re miyagi do / no we’re eagle fang, for the sudden uptick in touching generally. for the way daniel showed up drunk and dishevelled on jlawz’ doorstep and tried to start a fight/make himself feel something and johnny’s calm in that moment. for “i pushed him off a cliff” and that extremely beezee-esque double slap on daniel’s chest when they were singing eye of the tiger. (and i also now ship louie/anoush) (basically your no homo sign cannot work on me because i cannot read) (wont read) (refuse to)  -sam and tory’s arcs. both individually and together. the scene where sam walked into tory’s apartment made me cry. them both working out what they were fighting for. they’re lawrusso vibes but like 35 years ahead of the curve and I was rooting for them so hard. -that corny little love-in for daniel at the dojo. mr miyagis room. the paint the house sign!! (immediate tears) acknowledgement of his grief and regret. the stuff between him and robby - i was p much convinced that we’d never see any further reference to robby’s time being mentored by daniel now that he was making things up with jlawz, and i was so soft for those two. so it really really made me happy to see a bit of something there -eli and demetri teamwork always always gets me. actually, the whole group/protect the egg teamwork stuff was great (that’s the point right? stronger together is the point) and i liked that they leaned into anthony’s strength not being physical like his sister and dad. something something captain planet -i liked that amanda actually got some meaty stuff this season -terry was deliciously evil. just off the wall batshit and i respect it. i mean, i was also very happy to see chozen and daniel beat tf out of him, don’t get me wrong, but he is a good villain

the nah: -oh carmen got did SO FUCKING DIRTY this season (rip in peace to her and shannon’s characteristions apparently). 

unfunny story, this was a thing i said couple of weeks back in a post about the j-man:

so i had at least a half-sense that this was coming. however, i did not anticipate the do-over baby nor the fact that the no homo overcorrection would extend to pretty much everyone else as well. uh that’s on me i guess!!

-like. i adore chozen and kumiko. i love those pretend ppl so much it’s embarrassing and listen (despite my initial WHAT and damiko basically owning my heart and soul) I would not even be against the two of them kissing necessarily if it made them (and daniel) happy, but this just really felt like another deeply gratuitous no homo moment. what is wrong with them both being single anyway in their late middle age? they’re fine?? it’s not a curse to not be in a relationship. are we really doing this to try to stop people writing chozen luvs daniel online? bc folks will definitely still do that* so you are just diluting your story peeps *i’m currently writing ‘mr chozen larusso’ in cursive repeatedly in my diary -johnny’s entire will to live/fight back hinging on the photo of the fetus. who wrote this, the us supreme court??? i understand it was about what the photo ~represented~ rather than the actual scan itself but i dunno, maybe they could have used a photo of his actual outside-the-womb bigger than a potato child?? that turning point was genuinely so insane it startled a laugh out of me in what was meant to be a poignant moment (btw he’s soooooo hetero u guys) -in no time in the history of the world has any child or teenager responded to the news that their fifty something year old alcoholic dad knocked up his gf the way robby did btw. literally never. never ever ever. there was more nuance in daniel’s reaction lmao -the turnaround generally with miguel and robby from beating each other senseless to hugging and being like YAYE A HALF SIBLING was stupid fast. they are both deeply earnest babies so i absolutely believe they could get there, but there was literally no awkward teenage in-between time. they were fighting (johnny being like ok yeah fight it out was….. a thing that happened) and then they were 100% fine and. like. i liked their individual stories actually, but their interaction fell so flat. little steps in the right direction would have been just as moving and more believable, i think.

the i guess??? dot jpeg -CGI young johnny. cursed. if they ever try to cgi mr miyagi into this show i will literally nope out and exit the building so fast my head will spin off

-ok but chomiko really?? idk guys -daniel doing the crane kick was a lil bit cringe for me. in fact the pacing of his and silvers fight generally felt little off? i don’t know if it was just bc i was distracted worrying about chozen at that point?? but it didn’t quite hit. -the kreese ‘death’ didn’t quite hit either because i knew exactly what he was doing. did anyone not realise what he was doing?

//

anyway, that got long. i’m sure there are more things i have forgotten but they’ll out eventually.

apologies in advance for the imminent like-spam, i now have to backtrack through the last 48 hours worth of posts and catch up on what all you folks’ thoughts were. i have some snacks and i am Ready

#ck s5 #ck spoilers #thinking aloud hours

[muffindaddystyles]

Summary: Y/N's feeling icky about her body, but Harry loves her to bits and pieces, through thick and thin, in health and sick — and he always waits for her to come back to him.

TW: Body dysmorphia.

Y/N's healthy.

All she sucks in is having a sane sleeping schedule due to her UNI otherwise she eats natural goodies, cook and bake home because it comforts her more that way and she works out every evening to stay fit.

Sometimes though, she’s lazy and lacks behind which’s proper humane but deep down it effects her and her mental health more than she admits and she isn’t able to start over again – it mostly happens after her periods.

Harry loves her the way she’s.

Even if she’s clumsy, bumbling, procrastinating, overly enthusiastic to mend her life at 3 am, snotty and sloth-y in her periods, confident and positive around people, kind and loving whenever she comes to meet him, whiny and cuddly when she’s sick, jealous and grumpy with his attention not on her —- he loves her in every way possible, to rivers and to sea his love could never stutter for her ever.

He loves how she’s not overly toned, having soft squishy spots which Harry undeniably wants to admire and kiss shamelessly amount of times -- like -- her plummy pretty thighs that Harry likes to nestle his head in-between making her wriggle and squirm under his grasp, her overly cute tummy that Harry dies to pepper sweet adoring kisses and petal his lips round her belly button, everytime they’re cuddled up his bicep’s always looped her around her tummy to feel it rising up and down in calm rhythm, and oh! her tender titties, they’re actually his favourite babies and he loves to fondle them in his big calloused palms brushing his thumb over the sensitive perky nub and basks in the glittery whimpery mewls of hers.

He loves that she’s curvy and gives zero fucks if she’s skinny or not.

He thinks his baby’s perfect.

So perfect he actually feels the bubbling of devotion and affection filling to the brim of his heart’s chambers and leaking out and upon his ribs tickling him.

Y/N's his person and he worships her with his whole heart.

From some days though, she’s feeling devastatingly insecure about all her things Harry’s in love with and she has no-control over it how much she tries.

Harry’s observing that all with optimism (one of his great quality's that like a lion sly about his prey, he keeps an eye on everything but pretends otherwise). He has his intense gaze fixed on her when she’s taking a look of herself in the mirror for rather too long, running her hands down her body and practically shuddering.

He glances from over his laptop and drops everything he's doing watching her go monkies, sweating buckets and over exercising than her usual time.

He brings her closer and infront of him, pressing her to his chest and coiling his forearm around her shoulders whining a, “Baby..!” when they were brushing their teeth and despite of standing beside him and teasing him occasionally like she usually does she stuffs her face into the crest of his back and hides herself there to have minimal contact with her reflection in the mirror.

Her body dysmorphia spiking dangerously high.

“Deprived me of your cuddles. woke me up so early, granny.” She huffs lying through her teeth and how much his embrace was strong enough to keep her in place she still managed to wiggle out taking her previous cosy position, but he could feel her muscles tensing and an awkward silence falling over them.

He didn’t pry much. He wants to give her as much space as she requires to come back to him hale and hearty, as she always does and whatever happens he never forgets to remind her how much he loves her every night.

..

They were watching rom-coms on Netflix back to back with her curled up into his side with a spongy white wool knitted blanket thrown over them and his cheek was smashed atop her head popping in peanuts every now and then when out of certain she spoke pointing at the actress, “You know she got her ribs removed to get that shrinky waist.” Harry frowned at that. His face itching into disbelief and concern under the bouncing glow of telly.

He affixes his gaze down at her trying to read what’s cooking up in that genius brain of her's which isn’t being very rational and genius right now, they immediately turns soft and caring when she blinks up at him purely.

She squeaks, nose crashing against his collarbones when he scooches her up in his lap grabbing onto her knees to make her straddle his torso and he grumbles cutely when she tries not put all of her weight on him and doesn’t melts into him as his sweet lovie would used to do receiving a smack on her bum on his end.

He’s afraid that an evil version of her chomped onto his dear baby alive.

“Nothing else matters if all ye’ organs are packed safely and healthily inside you,” He tells her brushing loose frays of her hair behind her earlobe and rubs his thumb in gentle strokes over her treacly pulsing point, “Was just telling you ...” She mumbles, dotting touches on his knuckles and playing with his bare cold fingers.

It’s true, she was rambling out facts about the movie and cast out of habit because no-way she’d ever go through any surgeries to change herself to become someone she isn’t.

“Swear!” She yawps out in convincing high pitch when Harry squints down at her with his lips scrunched, one eye twitching in doing so.

“Alrighty. I believe you.” He cradles her cheeks in his palms and brings her mighty close to him to peck her cupid bow, then her bottom lip and the corners of her smiling mouth to suckle generous amount of whines from her and then kisses her lovingly – hands streaming down her spine and then resting atop her dip.

He thought she was ready to come back to him, to share her problem with him and Harry really wanted to bug in, to not let her fight her battle alone and take half of her hardships from her fretting self but guess not.

They were about to have sex when panic seeped in Y/N's eyes and her cheeks blazed up in that of embarrassment as she rushed to switch off the lamps that were the only source of light in their room.

“Moppet.” Harry sighed, knowing exactly what’s happening and she isn’t as foxy in covering it up as she’s thinking herself to be.

“Why wouldn’t y'want me t'see gorgeous self of yours?” His tone punctured and hurt, feeling useless for not knowing how to cheer her up and break her worries down. He smoothens his hands behind her to lock his arm around her waist, fingertips making grape sized indents into the flesh of her hip-bone as she streaks the tip of her nose up and down the crook of his neck, murmuring meekly against his salty skin while he hugs her warmly.

“’M just feelin’ shy.” He giggles at her response puckering his lips against her hairline to pet tiny, tiny kisses there as she fists her hands against his taught chest.

“Not somethin’ I haven’t seen before, love bug.” He blows raspberries against the underside of her jaw and their mouths meet into a messy, giggling, teeth clanking kiss when she sinks into pillows allowing him to cocoon her in his heat.

“I love you, Y/N. No matter what.”

.

The last dam breaker for them was this little get together at Sarah and Mitch's baby shower.

She matched her outfit with Harry. Cute lavender coloured little sweater blouse that was familiar to the baggy baby yarn cardigan Harry was wearing, it accentuated her curves and her bosom so prettily -- her midriff peeking from where the buttons weren’t closed and their jeans were painted (they did it themselves one Sunday when it was extra boring and inactive).

Y/N felt uncomfortable in her own clothes. A bitterness spreading inside her for herself and all she wanted was to escape away from her own skin.

She knows she’s loved and welcomed and cherished by her friends and family and the love of her life, most importantly. Then why was she feeling so icky about herself? Why everything's draining her and exhausting her?

Harry obviously could see through the gloomy tenebrous energy overshadowing her as he stood in the corner of the room grabbing the sorbet he poured in two glasses for them.

A sour guzzle of tears choking his throat and his limbs weakening letting the painful heartbreak seep into him when he watches her being fidgety and fiddling with the loops of her jeans, tugging her blouse every passing second and he’s sniffling a hiccup deep in his lungs when she shrinks into herself in dejection staring out of the window without any purpose.

Harry feels awful to startle her when he plops down beside her, coodling her closer to himself and tucks her head beneath his chin subtly and cups his palm under her jaw to make her look in eyes his eyes.

“Hi beautiful,” His tone had a saddening waver in it and his irises mossed bleak when Y/N remains unresponsive, zoning in and out of her own head feeling herself prisoned into her own invasive thoughts.

“You w'na go home darling?” He gives her a wet smile clearing his throat and blinking the stubborn moisture in his eyes away when Y/N nodded without any vivid expression.

All the way back home he denounced himself of not making her feel loved enough, to not to pest her soon about what she’s feeling and letting her slide deeper into the dark hole.

He thinks he’s a piece of shit.

.

Y/N wanted to dig the earth with her own nails and hide into it and never show her face again, she was overly ashamed of herself.

His hand was holding onto hers tightly, never letting it go as he led them through the hallway and his head perked up in confusion when she stopped them abruptly and lunged to wrap herself around him like he’s the last silver of her hope and the reason to live.

“I’m so sorry, so sorry.” There comes the first sob after ages of suffering and bottling it all in, not shocked at all he was expecting it to happen. Gently he picks her up and wraps her legs around him, keeping his support firm under her bum as she cried into his soft white t-shirt.

Carefully he sits them on the edge of the bed and tries to pry her soaky flushed face in his cradle but she refuses to show him, clutching onto his cardigan and whimpering brokenly.

“I just feel so disgusting,” Her sob scratches out of her throat and for a second he thought he heard her wrong, that her feeble crying’s playing some kind of a sick game with his heart.

“Harry do something I don’t want to feel disgusting.” But, when she pleaded helplessly a cold shiver settled in his bone marrow spreading an agonising burn in his stomach.

Gently he stirs her away from his chest to look at her, meeting their foreheads together while his thumb wiped her tears away and smoothed over her wabbly lips in profound tenderness.

“My beloved,” He whispers fondling his nose against hers and her eyes flutters into realm of calms, shaky breath falling over his lips as he brings her trembling fingertips towards them and pecks them feverishly.

“The love of me life, me heart.” He continues, “Shhh. Shh baby ‘s okay to cry but don’t tire y'self.” He hushes her when she whimpers loudly at his coy affirmation.

“I’m here with you, waiting f'you, watching y’goin’ through a stony path so I could be there to hold you whenever you trip –-,” He pets her hair, cupping the back of her neck to plant his lips bitten red from worry to her puffy damp eyelids and Y/N becomes a gooey lax of candle that’s been burning for tiring amount and finally her lover came to blew the agonising flame away putting her to peace as he coos snuggling her in his cordial embrace, “You’ve been so strong to yourself and ‘m so proud of me baby.”

“I’m always here. Never away from you, always right by y'side.” His palms bending around her ribs to smush her as intimately close as possible.

“How d'ya want your huggies babylove?” He simpers down at her darlingly, huffing out in relief seeing her relaxing -- her shoulders sinking from him massaging the knots in them.

“Tight.” She mumbles timidly. The gleam in her glossy eyes returning when Harry hugs her as she wished, squishing her in right places and not suffocating her at all – their breaths in sync chests flushed against eachother.

“I love you cuddly, and care f’you.” He kisses her on lips then goes to hug her right back.

“I love you too, Har. Thank you.” She sniffs in his woodsy scent grazing her touch up and down his back, smooching a soft kiss at his cheek.

#ME WRITING AN OVERLY EMOTIONAL AND SELF DESTRUCTING PIECE #yahoooooooo yipeee #soft tender harry lives in my heart rent free #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles imagines #harry styles dirty one shotsssss #harry styles one direction #harry styles blurb #harry styles smut #harry angst #harry styles #cute harry #dirty harry styles imagines #harry styles fluff imagine #harry smut #fluff #hsh #dom harry

[mycrofts-gunbrella]

Caring is the Greatest Advantage- Mycroft Holmes x Reader (Part Six)

AN- Two chapters in one night... hope you like them! Soft Holmes Brothers scene at the end because, especially after the Eurus situation, the boys truly do love and care for each other! Not proof read either of these yet so apologies if there are mistakes!

Word Count- 4405

The younger brother's eyes had flicked over you both only momentarily, the tiniest flick up of his lips at the side of his mouth that disappeared so quickly it could have been misinterpreted for a twitch.

"Ever the delight, Sherlock." Mycroft spoke, standing straighter, his chin poking up a little higher. Sherlock glanced over his posture and rolled his eyes.

"Oh for God's sake don't start that Mycroft. Had I blamed you for everything I can assure you I wouldn't have bothered opening the door, don't make it so obvious that you care about my opinion of you- it's embarrassing for both of us." And with that he spun around and headed up the stairs to 221B, leaving the door to the flat wide open and disappearing into the bathroom.

"Well that was.."

"Easy? I told you that you shouldn't worry." You nudged Mycroft into the building before ascending the stairs.

"Sherlock Holmes, possibly the only man in the world to forgive somebody for nearly killing him in a heartbeat, but held a 6 month grudge when I took the last custard cream from the biscuit jar when I was 12.." Mycroft muttered, making his way into the flat and sitting beside you on the two seater sofa. John walked into the room from the kitchen shortly after, a tray of tea and biscuits in hand as he said his hellos.

"Figured I'd stick the kettle on when you said you were on your way.. Greg shouldn't be long now." He gave a smile, taking his place in his own armchair. "How have.." He glanced at Mycroft. "How have you been? He won't admit it, but Sherlock's been worried about you." Mycroft took a breath, sending a polite smile in the direction of the army doctor.

"Doctor Watson, I can assure you that I am fine and have been perfectly well looked after." His eyes flickered to you for a moment and then back to the doctor. "I presume the pair of you have held up well as I haven't heard any reports of gunfire towards the wall for a fair bit of time." John grinned, casting his eyes over to the smiley face on the wall that had thankfully been left alone.

"Good. Yeah, uh, things here have been.. good.. too." A blank stare matched with a more thoughtful raise of lips. ".. Very good, actually.."

"Catch." Sherlock came stalking into the room, a damp flannel thrown in Mycroft's general direction which he caught expertly, not allowing a single moist patch to appear on his clothing.

"And this is.."

"A flannel? Christ Mycroft has trauma affected your brain cells that much?" Sherlock quipped, flopping down into his armchair and lazily holding his hand out for his tea that was a mere few inches away from his fingers. John placed the mug in his hand without thought or argument, his fingers brushing over Sherlock's slightly before moving away. A biscuit soon followed, John holding out the digestive while Sherlock partly opened his lips, and shoving the food between them. It was your turn to raise your brow now, but you didn't say anything, instead just nudging Mycroft with your knee to make sure he had seen it too. Of course he had. "It's for your face, Y/N's lip balm is all round your mouth and it's making me feel a bit sick." John's eyes widened as he looked between the pair of you. You shrugged your shoulders and smiled, Mycroft simply sweeping away the slightly pink balm from underneath his lip and folding the wet cloth back up to place on the side. At least he hadn't picked up that you did it on purpose. Before anybody else could speak, the sound of someone bounding up the stairs filled the flat.

"Sorry I'm late, Ms Hudson let me in an- what did I miss?" Greg stood breathless at the door, satchel slung over his shoulder and a carrier bag in his other hand, staring at the apparent awkward glances shared between half the room. You stood from the sofa and headed over towards him, swiftly wrapping your arms around him and placing a small kiss on his cheek to say hello. He made his way into the room and perched on the arm of the sofa closest to Mycroft, casting another look at everybody when his question still hadn't been answered.

"Nothing of importance. Mycroft and Y/N have obviously decided to stop moping around each other like lovesick teenagers and finally admitted they've been infatuated with each other for years.. Now you're all caught up, can we get these papers sorted out so I can be more productive with my time?" Sherlock huffed.

"Nothing of importance? Don't be an arse Sherlock, that's excellent news." Greg clapped Mycroft on his shoulder and shot you a toothy grin. "Declaration in the park was it? Might be a good enough reason for me to not punch you for closing off St James'.." John's eyes widened more, if it were possible.

"You just.. closed off St James'? Can you even do-" The look Mycroft shot John made him cut his sentence short. "Right, yeah. British Government." He nodded, standing to go fetch Greg a coffee (yourself and Mycroft still held a shared judgement against Greg and his hatred for tea) and continuing to ask questions about your newly confirmed relationship. Mycroft sat awkwardly through the encounter- briefly talking about his emotions in front of you was one thing, a whole flat full of people was entirely different- so you gave his knee a quick squeeze and answered for him. "Who bit the bullet then?" John sat down. "Christ I know I mistook the pair of you being together when I met you, so surely these two have been waiting longer for you to get on with it." Greg grinned, nodding in agreement at John's assumption. Sherlock, on the other hand, stay lying on his chair completely unphased by the conversation going on around him.

"To cut a long story short, we were watching telly, I said Stephen Fry was a bit sexy, Mycroft informed me that he used to get told he had a slight resemblance to him, I realised I'd stuck my foot in it and had a ramble.. Went from there. Nothing too exciting, sorry." You left out the parts where the night before you had handled a broken Mycroft to the shower, how he had gripped onto you, how you held him as you slept. You also left out the way he had allowed himself to cry, how you held him while he wept- and, for that, Mycroft was incredibly thankful. Sherlock probably knew though, somehow, in his Sherlock way of knowing things- but he was either too kind to announce it to the room, or didn't care enough to waste his breath.. probably the latter.

"That's disappointing. You've mentioned about fancying Stephen Fry for years, this could have happened ages ago." John teased.

"Nothing compared to Hugh Laurie though. I'm pretty certain that I'm straight but I'd let him-"

"The papers!!" Sherlock's shout cut Greg's ramble off, making the silver haired man jump and grab his satchel, handing out the reports in a way that reminded you of a teacher with test papers.

"Right, yeah. Sorry. Basically the proper forms aren't ready for another week or so so these are just a few basic questions- nothing too in depth yet since I wanted to give you guys time to... yeah just basic for now." Mycroft chose to read through all the questions before answering them, whereas Sherlock  hastily scribbled his response to each question as he went along- the smaller details in the Holmes brothers' differences are always interesting to stumble upon. As he held the page in his hands, you carefully leant over to have a glance at the questions, your hand resting lightly on his shoulder and your cheek resting just against your fingers- blissfully unaware at the 2 sets of eyes openly staring at your movements, and the one set that watched from the side. Greg was right, in a way, the questions definitely weren't as overbearing as they could be- but that doesn't mean it was an easy task. The questions targeted Mycroft a lot more than it did John and Sherlock, asking things about scenarios and situations that had occured before they were taken, how long it had been since they had any contact with Eurus prior to that evening/ what they discussed, and a few basic questions about any incentives Eurus may have had, and anything that aided her into her plan. Of course the papers weren't labelled with the sister's name, they were generically printed and typically handed out to anybody involved in any kind of criminal behaviours, but that didn't make it seem any less like these were questions that targeted Mycroft in particular. Mycroft took a deep breath and laid the papers back onto the coffee table in front of him, pulling a pen out of his pocket and beginning to write. In this moment you had noticed the small bounce of his left leg, a movement only ever shown by him in times where he had a particularly stressful day at work, or a troubling encounter with his brother- it was a movement that let you know his brain was running a mile a minute and he felt a little more overwhelmed that usual. Without making a point of it, you move your right hand to rest on his mid thigh, allowing your thumb to rub small shapes into his leg to show your support.

Turning your gaze to the rest of the room, you noticed Greg's eyes on you, a grin on his face that practically stretched to his ears. You rolled your eyes at him, using your other hand to flip him off and smiled.

It had taken just under two hours in total for the boys to finish completely (well, an hour and twenty minutes for the Holmes siblings, an extra forty minutes for John whose brain simply didn't work as fast as theirs to convey the information on the paper). The time had passed fairly quickly, with yourself and Greg not wanting to disturb the silence and instead just drinking your hot drinks and stealing a couple of biscuits from the tray. You gave Mycroft's leg one last squeeze before sitting back against the sofa, stretching a little after finally getting out of that position.

"Thanks again for getting this done today." Greg spoke, taking the papers in and putting them in a plastic folder. "I'd better be off anyway, get these filed in." He stood, heading for the front door and tripping over the carrier bag he had brought in with him earlier. "Shit, yeah I almost forgot." He picked up the bag and handed it to you. "Got your coat, and I may have accidentally read your mind if you had been talking about Stephen and Hugh.." You dug through the bag and grinned as you pulled out the box at the bottom.

"You, Gregory Lestrade, are a bloody legend. God I could kiss you!" Your boxset of 'A Bit of Fry and Laurie' rested in your hands and you showed it to Mycroft, beaming at him. His lips raised at your reaction, showing a small glint in his eye, as you explained how now the pair of you would have to binge watch it since Mycroft had never got round to watching them before. Greg barked out a laugh.

"I wouldn't. I don't fancy being hunted by Mycroft's secret services." Mycroft let out a small laugh himself. And with that, Greg was gone and left the flat to the four of you once more.

***

You hadn't stayed at the flat long before you all made your way to Angelo's restaurant, even managing to convince Mycroft to just take a cab rather than bothering his chauffeur for a 5 minute journey.

"Ahhh Mr Holmes, Doctor Watson!" Angelo greeted, pulling the aforementioned men into an awkward half embrace, half headlock. "Back again so soon? I shall get your usual table set up, grab some candles. Anything for you!" The pair of men awkwardly shifted out of the hold and Sherlock offered a smile.

"Not today Angelo, we need a table for four if that suits your capacities here?" Sherlock peered round at the tables inside.

"Of course, a double date, very lovely to see! Come, come!" He led the four of you inside, you grinning at Mycroft at Angelo's casual mentionings of Sherlock and John's usual 'romantic' set up. You were all ushered inside of a small booth and handed menus, the benches were small but tolerable, your thigh just brushing against Mycroft's, him offering a shy smile at the close contact. "You stay here, I'll get to work on those candles. Just for you, Mr Holmes." Angelo spoke again, clapping Sherlock on his shoulder and disappearing into the back of the restaurant.

"He's.. uh.. a bit enthusiastic sometimes." John spoke, his cheeks burning a little at the memories of previous encounters here.

"Quite. Seems a pleasurable fellow." Came Mycroft's response, glancing over the menu. It had taken no time at all for the restaurant owner to appear back with a handful of small tealight candles in glass jars, and a single flower resting in a vase to lay on the table, taking everybody's orders and leaving once again. Then as the food turned up, Sherlock began to prod at the chips on his plate with his knife.

"What are you doing? Eat your bloody food, Sherlock." John quipped, elbowing the man to his side.

"Don't want it.. whoever decided that dessert was only customary after a meal? I'd much rather wait." John gave Sherlock a look and he spoke again. "Don't give me that look, this was your idea. Who even suggests 'late lunch' as a valid meal time? It's impractical. I didn't eat breakfast because we didn't get out of bed until well past the respected breakfast hour.." 'We'.. you didn't press. "So I had a sandwich at lunch which has ruined my appetite for this. Then I'll be hungry again later, but later than dinner time because of how late this lunch is." Sherlock childishly squashed his chip with his thumb. "It's just ridiculous.. they keep adding new names for new meals at new hours, I feel like we're becoming Bobbits."

"Hobbits, brother mine." Mycroft corrected, the faintest smile playing at the side of his mouth as Sherlock's words sounded alarmingly like the ones he had told you only this morning- it was nice when they just got along.

"That's what I said."

"No, you said Bobbits."

"Boys!" John warned, and you broke out into a small fit of giggles.

"We really can't take you anywhere, can we?" You chimed in. Sherlock just huffed, stabbing a chip and eating it as John gave him a stern look. It was quite sweet, actually, watching them be all domestic. By the time you'd finished your meals, yours and John's plates were clear, Sherlock's leaving only a few chips and a mouthful of burger as he found, after starting to eat the food, that he really enjoyed it and wanted more. Mycroft, on the other hand, had managed to leave little over half of his spaghetti bolognese, making comments about the pasta being far too rubbery, or the sauce being too thin, crossing the cutlery over in the centre and making a dismissive comment about making something to eat when he got home- you all knew he wouldn't.

Sherlock had practically jumped for joy when Angelo came out with a tray of chocolate fudge cake, offering slices around the table which you all, bar Mycroft, accepted happily.

"I shan't spoil my appetite for when I get home." Was his small excuse, raising a hand to prevent Angelo from spouting his claims that he had the best cake in London and that he must have a piece, and instead asking for a coffee. Without words being spoken, John cast his eyes over to you and you offered a small sad smile. Nobody had told John of Mycroft's past, but he was a doctor and always knew when signs were displayed. You had taken an extra fork from Angelo just in case and took a small bite with your own fork, unable to let out the (embarrassingly erotic) moan that had escaped you.

"Christ he wasn't lying, this is incredible." You praised, taking another small piece on the second fork. "Mycroft please give it a try." You offered your hand out towards him, the sliver of cake resting on the tip of the fork's prongs. He looked over at it, his mind telling him to give it a go, at the very least because it had been offered by you, but the image of himself in the mirror this morning came back to mind. He declined the offer and you sighed. Mycroft truly did love cake, and any sweet things, so it was heartbreaking for you to see him turning it away because of the thoughts that ran through his brain. Sherlock had already cleared his plate by this point and stood up abruptly, hoisting his coat back over his shoulders.

"I'm going to go out for a cigarette, care to join me Mycroft?" He had asked, walking past the table. Mycroft creased his eyebrows into a frown.

"Sherlock, the pact? I haven't smoked for three years."

"Neither have I, let's go." Sherlock spoke back quickly, hoisting his brother from the booth and taking the pair of them outside. You raised a brow at John who simply shrugged his shoulders.

"I stopped questioning the pair of them and their motives a long time ago." He reasoned, the pair of you turning your heads to see the two Holmes boys outside resting against the restaurant's window.

"I try my best to.. they just still fascinate me." You spoke back, your eyes lingering on Mycroft a little longer before turning back to the table.

"So.. you and Mycroft. Going well?" John asked, his mouth raising in that side smile he often displayed when he was teasing somebody. "I can count on one hand the amount of times I've seen Mycroft Holmes smile in a non-threatening way, and over half of those were from since you walked into the flat earlier. I think I can only just about count on two hands times where he's pulled an expression that isn't stoic and emotionless."

"Yeah.. I didn't expect it to happen, if I'm completely honest with you. We've spent so many years just avoiding the subject, but after.. Eurus.. I don't know. It flicked something in Myc that made him regret not doing something about it sooner." John nodded, understanding where you were coming from. "You also don't give him enough credit. Everybody just assumes he's this 'iceman' persona, but it's all a front.. I've watched him laugh so hard that tears fall from his eyes, he's one of those people who throws their heads back and lets out an absolute belter of an infectious laugh. I've seen him get angry at the telly if I came over and some stupid reality show came on the telly.. He shouted at Kim Kardashian once on there for some reason or another. I've stayed up all night with him after he had gruelling days at work, him offering to do the same for me if I had a bad case and couldn't sleep. And then, very recently, I watched him cry." You continued on. "Mycroft Holmes is one of the most emotional, caring people I've ever known, he is just incredibly particular at who gets to see it. You're a doctor, John. You know how experiences in life can shape one's emotional stability, how it alters their mental health. Had you grown up without very many people being kind to you, you'd be scared to let somebody else in too." You finished.

"Sorry.. I didn't mean it to come out in a bad way.. I just meant.. It's nice. Seeing Mycroft acting like that, it's.. nice." He apologised. You waved it off. You knew John didn't mean any harm.

"Mycroft and I are old news anyway.. What about you and Sherlock? When did that surface?" You asked, beaming at the deep red John's face had become as he choked on a sip of his drink. "Oh come on, don't act like that. We've all been waiting for this one to happen since you moved in."

"I.. I don't know what you-" Glaring at him, he stopped himself. "Yeah fine, okay. When we got back to the flat that night we went into the front room and Sherlock lost it. I'd never seen him anything like it before, he just.. he just sobbed into a heap on the floor." He explained, the nervous tapping of his fingers against his glass trying to distract him from his eyes watering. "I didn't know what else to do, so I scooped him up and put him in his bed. He begged me to stay with him and I did. Then he apologised to me, for dragging me in all of that mess, for almost getting me killed and he just wouldn't stop apologising.. So I stole the stereotypical movie move and kissed him. Just kind of went from there. I think that night made us realise that beating around the bush all these years wasn't helping either of us, and the thought that we could have lost the other only a few hours beforehand woke us up." He coughed, his voice breaking slightly.

"God look at us.. All the people in the world and we've landed with the Holmes'" You grabbed John's hand from across the table and laughed. "Makes you feel quite special though, doesn't it? That, equally, there were all the people in the world and they chose us?" John grinned, giving your hand a squeeze.

"Could never tell them that though, their egos would go through the bloody roof."

***

"They're talking about us." Sherlock mused, breathing in the London air.

"It seems people do little else." Mycroft returned, casting his glance to you smiling with John at the table.

"She really does like you. I've spent years deducing everything about her to make sure she wasn't a secret Russian spy sent with the motive to kill you." The younger spoke playfully. "You could have eaten the cake."

"Hmm?"

"The cake. I know you wanted it, but you're going back to how you used to be. Now that you're together, you're nervous." Sherlock's voice was nonchalant, simple observations, which didn't ease his older brother at all. "It's pointless. She's entirely infatuated. I thought the childish doe eyes disappeared after being attracted to somebody for a few weeks, but she still looks at you like I look at a triple homicide."

"Resulting to similes now?"

"You need to stop that too. Dismissing it whenever somebody is trying to be... kind... to you. That's just annoying and not a good defence mechanism for insecurities, like a mask made of clingfilm, it's too obvious." Mycroft didn't speak in turn and Sherlock huffed. "She worries for you, she seeks for you to be comfortable in trialling situations, her eyes do that little light up thing every time you open your bloody mouth. Since standing here she's looked over 3 times and smiled to herself seeing you stand here with me without us arguing. I caught her 4 times on the way to the cab from the flat looking at your arse and your legs in that damned suit. You don't have to worry about anything with her- the way she looks at you is so lovesick it makes me queasy."

"And you know this how, Sherlock? Or is this another one of your cruel schemes to embarrass me?"

"Because, Mycroft, it's the same way you've looked at her for as long as I can remember you knowing her. Jesus, Mycroft, I haven't seen you smile this much since we were children.. before we did everything that led us to believe we were any better than anybody else, that we deserved more than sentiment. And it's the same way I.. the same way I look at him." Sherlock's eyes now locked onto John.

"Always did say there would be a happy announcement between the pair of you. Good to see I'm correct once again." Mycroft mused. He remained stoic, but his brother's words were whirring in his brain, leaving him in a state of shock at the curly haired man even displaying this form of kindness towards him.

"You told me once that caring isn't an advantage. But these last few days, no matter how short it has been, have already led me to believe that caring is perhaps the greatest advantage of them all. And I strongly believe you feel the same way, no matter what bull you make up to argue against it." The pair of them watched through the window once more, the image of you and John laughing at whatever joke had been shared between you. "We both have wasted many years fighting against this, and I don't want you to screw yours up. Y/N will remain by your side and feel the same way towards you, whether you wear a bin bag, lose your job, put on weight- she's in it for the long haul. She's spent so many years pining after you that she deserves the best from you and to be happy. And you, brother mine, have been through enough with not good people; you deserve the happiness too." Sherlock trailed the last sentence. It's incredibly rare for them to show it, but Sherlock and Mycroft would always have a particularly close bond, they've been through too much together not to- and so times like this were precious to them. Mycroft simply let out a small cough, reaching his arm over to rest on his younger brother's shoulder to give it a quick squeeze, before patting it twice and letting his arm rest back by his side.

"Sentiment appears to be dwelling well on you." Mycroft spoke, heading back to the door of the restaurant to head inside, holding it open for his brother.

"As it is on you, brother. As it is on you."

#mycroft holmes #mycroft #bbc mycroft #bbc mycroft holmes #mycroft x reader #mycroft holmes x reader #bbc mycroft x reader #bbc mycroft holmes x reader #bbc sherlock #mycroft holmes x you #mycroft x you #bbc mycroft x you #bbc mycroft holmes x you #x reader #reader insert #john watson #moriarty #jim moriarty #james moriarty #greg lestrade #gregory lestrade #lestrade #mycroft x reader smut #x reader smut #smut

[russianredassassin]

Helena Bertinelli x Reader - I Love Your Stuffed Animals:

​(Not my gif)

Thank you for the request :) really hope this is somewhat what you wanted and you’ll enjoy it also sorry it took a while.  

Word Count: 1,171

A/N: Fun fact Fred is the name of my favourite teddy bears :)

George, Bonzo, Mandy, Floppy, Gerry, Huggsy, Fluffy, Fred, Patchy, Smiley, Buttons, Sunshine. Those were just a few of your stuffed animals you have in possession at the moment in your bedroom with every single one on your bed, with you lying on the bed with all of them next to you. Gerry, Mandy, Sunshine at the back as the tallest and getting smaller ending with the smallest Floppy, Fluffy, Bonzo sat up at the front. You were currently watching King Kong on the telly when out of nowhere, the news popped up.

‘We stop your regular scheduled programming with an important news flash. Gotham Mob Boss Salvatore Maroni is dead.’ The female news presenter said ‘He was found just a few hours ago in his state home in Upper East Side Gorham still in bed with what seemed to be a crossbow bolt lodged through his neck and was presumed to have happened in the early hours of the morning by the mysterious crossbow killer of the Birds of Prey...’ 

You turned your attention away from the news and glanced around to Helena now switched from her huntress gear to her purple and black pyjamas. Looking so adorably proud, with that sleepy little grin on her face. 

“Been busy?” you said sharing your own grin

“Yes,” Helena said before moving over to you on the bed “Very”

“And you didn't think to let me know that you were off to kill one of the biggest mob bosses in Gotham?” you said trying to make room for Helena on your bed without disturbing the teddies.

 “No offence Y/N but if I told you about every criminal I go after I wouldn't have time to do anything,” Helena said with a chuckle. The both of you were in your fairly sized purple and silver styled bedroom lying on the smooth silk bedding now watching the film. Helena was sitting with her back slightly against the headboard and you now laying your head on her stomach while Helena has an arm around yours. Occasionally stroking and gently rubbing your stomach and glancing down and just staring at you with her eyes as if to say `may I?’ before she leans down to place kisses on your head. The movie, now gearing towards its end with Kong quickly losing his grip before falling to the ground. When out of nowhere you heard a thud. Instantly Helena shot up and quickly analysed the surroundings to find the source of the sound. You meanwhile thought it was just Kong, but you crawled to the side of the bed to see that one of the teddies had fallen off the bed.

“FRED!” you shouted and realised it wasn't just Kong who had fell. So you swiftly bent down to pick him back up. Meanwhile, Helena just turned around confused.

“Fred?” Helena said, leaning over to see you reaching for Fred “Who’s Fred?” 

“Fred,” You said, smiling as you got back up on the bed and showed Helena “He’s one of my many teddies” Helena observed Fred before glancing over to the rest.

“One of your teddies...” Helena said staring at the teddies “Right erm, I don’t mean to insult or anything I really don’t but w...why?” Helena questioned, gesturing to your group of stuffed animals

“Oh well there all the animals and teddies I’ve had since I was a kid,” You said putting Fred back into his spot all comfy like “although 1 or 2 I may have bought as an adult because of how cute they were” turning back to Helena you smiled at her as she just frowned in confusion 

“Right,” she said getting back up onto the bed “Sorry it’s just being a mafia daughter and training to be a vigilante doesn't leave room for ‘teddy bears’ so...” You simply nodded and turned your attention to the telly, but out of the corner of your eye you saw Helena side-eyeing Fred 

“What is it?” you said looking at Fred then at Helena who looked at you before opening her mouth 

“Why do you like them?” She said slowly while again gesturing to the group of teddies

“Oh well they're fluffy for one, they're also warm, soft, and on a cold day there is nothing better than cuddling with one with the fire crackling and my favourite movie playing and wrapped up in my fuzzy blanket making me feel like the most comfortable person in the world and....” As you were talking, listing all the reasons you loved them, Helena realised something. When cuddling with you, right now for instance she is warm, soft with your fluffy hair and right now. She has never felt more comfortable in her life. 

“Helena?” you said, bringing her back the present. 

“Hmm yeah sorry,” Helena said flashing back to reality “What?”

“Are you ok?” you asked Helena, readjusting yourself in front of her “what’s on your mind?”

“Eh, nothing I was just...I was just thinking, about those things you said” Helena said takes a breath before continuing “you know about how soft and comfortable the teddies make you feel well...” she huffed and bowed her head the struggle of what to say written on her face. but you didn't say anything. Wanting her to clearly get out what she had on her mind. Instead of speaking Helena lay back on the bed and patted her side for you to which you instantly agreed, you went to put Fred back down, but Helena stopped you and motioned for you to lie down and have Fred join. So Helena was laying on the bed, you laying on her stomach, and Fred laying on your stomach. 

“Fred makes you feel warm and soft and comfortable, that's what you said” Helena softly spoke “Well when I am with you, I’m warm and soft and since my family, you are the only one who makes me feel comfortable” Helena looked down at Fred the teddy then up at you “The same reason you love all these teddys are the same reason why I love cuddling and hugging with you and also why I love you Y/N” Helena smiled at you with an expression one could only describe as pure adoration. Unbeknownst to you small tears started to build in your eyes. It isn’t that Helena didn't ever tell you I love you, far from it. But she never said anything like this, Open, poetic, beautiful. 

“Oh, well... Thank you Hel,” you said as your cheeks blushed bright pink 

“Was that... that ok or? Helena said shifting upwards “Shouldn't I have said....” 

“No, no, no it’s ok,” you said smiling leaning up and raising your hands to cup her cheek “Thank you, thank you very much, That means...the world to me” You then lay back down and placed your head on Helena’s stomach and cuddled Fred, Just as Helena cuddled you. You may have had more than your fair share of teddies, but Helena only had one soft, cuddly teddy. You. And she loved it. 

#helena bertinelli #huntress #helena bertinelli x reader #huntress x reader #helena bertinelli imagine #huntress imagine #Birds of Prey #Birds of Prey (And The Fantabulous Emancipation of One Harley Quinn) #birds of prey x reader #bop

[yellowocaballero]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jon stared blankly at her. 

“There was an invite?”

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

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

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

“Have you tried talking to -”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Gesundheit.”

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

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

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

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

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

“What’s that?”

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What is performance art -”

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

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

“I am made of bugs -”

Jon checked out after that.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re being too loud,” Jon said. 

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

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

“Vetoed,” the Lonely woman said. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

They knew this. Didn’t they?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Or his puppet,” Sarah Baldwin muttered. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jon couldn’t reign this in. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Awkward silence loomed. Jon sighed. “Sorry.”

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

“Yeah.”

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

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

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

“Goodbye, Manchester,” Annabelle muttered. 

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

Oliver shrugged, conceding the point. 

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

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

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

“I would never,” Annabelle said innocently. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hairbrush? What was that for?

****

Six months after time resumed its course

Jon opened his mailbox, only to find mail.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you going to go?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Gerry shot her an unimpressed look. “Okay. Yeah. Sure. Because that’s a thing that makes sense in an inherently corrupt system with an inherently unethical existence that exists to be profitable at the expense of the marginalized.”

“I don’t understand anything children these days even talk about,” Jon said. 

“I’m surprised you don’t remember it,” Agnes said to Jon. But she had a strange expression on her face, one hard to decipher. “It’s where we met.”

Jon stared at her blankly. “I don’t remember talking to you.”

“I was sitting next to Jude?” Agnes hinted. “Teenager? Red hair?”

Wait. Jon snapped his fingers. “Annabelle’s idiot thing! Right! Right, of course, Oliver made me sit still for five hours afterwards, it was insufferable.” 

Wait. Jon abruptly remembered the rest of that day. It seemed like so long ago, even though it was probably objectively only about three years. It must have been about...yes, a few months after Daisy had gotten stuck...

He barely remembered those tepid and awful months. He had been on a bit of a hair trigger back then. It had been really tough, with Daisy leaving and his terrifying encounter with Jonah. He remembered everybody had been annoying and mean and made him feel bad…

“First time I ever remember feeling fear, honestly,” Agnes said to Gerry. “Scariest moment of my life. Remember when we first met Jon? All I could think about was that he was going to melt us like he melted that building.”

Hot shame flared in Jon’s gut. Right. Other people were real, and existed, and were probably more important than his...what had he even been upset about? He didn’t remember. 

He melted a building and he didn’t even remember why. 

“I’m going too,” Jon said, and both kids startled. “I’m coming with you.”

Agnes and Gerry stared at each other with wide eyes. 

“Uh,” Agnes said finally, hesitant, “there’s about a 50/50 chance Annabelle said not to tell you about this, and you definitely didn’t get an invite, so statistically you probably aren’t -”

“She can’t exactly stop me from coming,” Jon said, and both kids quieted. 

Power-tripping had lost all appeal for Jon - assuming role as a conduit for global and absolute power did that to you - but he couldn’t deny it was useful sometimes. The world probably could have stood a little more power-tripping from him, actually. At least, it would have been helpful if he had ever done anything helpful with it. But he had never really bothered. 

But Agnes still looked perturbed, almost worried. “Annabelle’s like one of two people you used to ever listen to, so if you don’t really care what she thinks anymore -”

“I think Annnabelle knows better than to complain these days,” Jon said. 

It probably was for the best that Jon didn’t listen much to Annabelle anymore. 

****

Jon hadn’t really told the others about Annabelle’s worse-than-murder attempt. 

It didn’t really seem like any of their business, and he had spinned a vague explanation of how the situation happened. He didn’t lie, just - withheld information.

For the first time, the truth didn’t seem so important. He had the feeling it would have just upset them. It wasn’t as if he would take revenge against Annabelle. The world needed her, and Jon was a little tired of murdering everyone who upset him. The others (Daisy) would insist on the little murder attempts if they knew, but that was probably part of why he didn’t tell them. If they never knew about the one unselfish thing he had done in his life - well, one unselfish thing didn’t make up for three years of selfishness, so there was very little point.

Martin suspected. Actually, Martin seemed to know, which terrified Jon slightly. It was impossible to get anything past Martin. Jon was deeply intimidated by the man. Sasha laughed very long and hard when he told her that, for unknown reasons. 

Besides, it wasn’t as if he felt betrayed. Even if the last time he had attended one of Annabelle’s little council meetings he still trusted her, that had faded quickly in favor of complete apathy. Even then, as young as he was, he had never expected the truth from her. Just friendship. Whatever she was doing, it probably wouldn’t affect him, so there was no use in worrying. Even if Annabelle slightly terrorized every other person in the United Kingdom - well, Jon was fine, so what did it matter.

Jon couldn’t decide if he was stupid or naive. Or, even worse - if he was just lazy. 

Jon didn’t listen to Annabelle anymore. 

Unfortunately, he still listened to Sasha James. 

Two weeks later, the date of the actual meeting, Jon was stuck explaining himself to his entire house, who doubted all of his decisions. Which was just unfair. Jon made good decisions! He had made tons of good decisions, like -

Anyway!

“I think it’s a great idea,” Sasha said, freaking out Jon. “Displaying interest in your local government’s fantastic! Did you do any research on the relevant issues?”

Jon, in the middle of pulling on his trenchcoat, started sweating. “I was just planning on showing up.”

Agnes, who was wearing a gauzy skirt and blouse as Daisy helped a whining Gerry with his court buttons, gave Sasha the thumbs up. “I’m going to propose motions and Jon’s going to say ‘yeah what she said’ and it’ll be great.”

Jon let Agnes believe that.

“Well, you’ll have to share Jon’s political weight,” Sasha said cheerfully. She was in sweatpants and one of Jon’s pilfered t-shirts again. She had recently designated herself a writer, and had joined some sort of recent artist and activist collective where they did mysterious things that Jon didn’t understand. There’s a zine involved? Jon didn’t know what a zine was and he was scared to ask.

Georgie and Melanie had spent a week teaching Jon in laborious detail what exactly the internet was - information Jon could have just downloaded, but they had been intent in their mission of creating ‘the perfect internet’ and had gone through great effort in teaching him what the ‘good’ internet was (Ravelry, Spotify, r/HobbyDrama, YouTubers but only a very specific list) and what the ‘bad’ internet was (social media, the rest of Reddit, every other YouTuber). Jon wasn’t sure if the new internet was to their specifications, and he hadn’t quite been able to avoid parts of it spiralling into nightmare dimensions and hellish breeding grounds for violence and trauma, but Melanie assured him that Twitter had always been like that. 

Jon also secretly added a nightmare filter to Melanie’s screen reader, after he made sure every inch of it was accessible, after he roughly recreated screen readers. Melanie said that the voice sounded uncannily like the aunt she had hated, but that it was no big deal. 

Anyway, Sasha was a blogger now. After a few meltdowns to Sasha’s computer he had to install a nightmare filter for her too, which made her complain about feeling like an old woman whose grandson had to install AdBlock on her browser. Jon was a little scared of the whole blogging thing, but everybody seemed much happier, so maybe that was the important thing.

“Wait,” Jon said, finally recognizing what Sasha said. “Share with who?”

There was a knock on the door. Jon felt intense fear.

“She’s here!” Sasha said cheerfully. “Come in!”

Jon watched in horror as Basira Hussain casually strode into her house. He knew he couldn’t stop her. She had a key to the place, because Jon had no control of his life. 

“Hey honey,” Basira said, intimately. 

“Hey honey,” Daisy said lovingly, releasing Gerry from her clutches.

They stared at each other, as if this was any kind of greeting whatsoever, before ignoring each other. Jon did not understand so many things. 

Basira, terrifyingly, was dressed like she was about to go defend her client in court. She had a briefcase, and Jon recognized her most important looking crimson hijab. Very abruptly, Jon had a flashback to the way Annabelle had dressed when she had picked him up in his old office. They even had the same expression: determined and resolute, in a way that Jon could never understand. 

Basira nodded at Jon. “Hey. Sasha invited me to this thing. She told you I was coming, right.”

“She did not.”

“Whatever. Are we going to get going? We’re going to be late.”

Jon looked at Sasha pleadingly. Cold and resolute stone, Sasha showed no mercy. She smiled brightly, giving Agnes a final hug and pushing her forward. “You kids have a great time! Terrorize the bourgeoisie!”

“I am the bourgeoisie,” Jon said blankly, but the situation had already spiraled out of his control. Agnes and Basira were already comparing lists of notes, seriously discussing the motions Agnes had raised and how she was going to help Basira. 

That was it – how Agnes could help Basira. How Agnes, and the role she had in the council hall, could help Basira and the people Jon knew that she intended on representing today. 

They hadn’t even looped him in. Had they assumed that he wouldn’t care? That he wouldn’t help? Agnes hadn’t even wanted him there. Only Sasha -

He felt a cool, small hand grab his arm, and he turned around to see Daisy. Gerry was already enthusiastically capturing Sasha about the concert he and Agnes were going to later, and Jon knew that they weren’t listening. Daisy’s expression was somber, her body tense. Daisy wasn’t one for facial expressions at the best of times – not even a new development – but something about this…

“I should go with you,” Daisy said. 

“I already told you no,” Jon said, miffed. “I can handle this by myself.”

“I shouldn’t have let you go by yourself last time,” Daisy said. Jon could admit that things probably wouldn’t have spiraled out of control if she had been there, but that didn’t mean – “Don’t terrify yourself just because you feel guilty.”

Daisy hadn’t aged any more than the rest of the world had. As an Avatar, she likely never would. She even looked young for her mid-forties, with her short stature and broad, unlined face. Sasha had assured him that she was ‘Kristen Bell-ish’, whatever that meant. But she always seemed so old to him: larger than life and not even reaching his shoulders. Wise and world-weary even when, as Jon was beginning to see, she didn’t know what she was doing any more than the rest of them did. 

It scared Jon, almost: if Daisy wasn’t the person who could swoop in and make it all better, then who could? 

If Jonah wasn’t the omnipresent god, then who was the most powerful person in the world?

Jon shook her off, fighting the pull in his gut. “I’m not scared of them anymore.”

She didn’t look impressed. “You’re always scared.”

“Look at the time, going to be late, gotta go!” 

He still couldn’t win an argument against her. 

They took a taxi there, as Jon had cheerfully informed them that the Tube was delayed due to infernal leaves on the line (Work-from-home was the hot new thing these days). Basira was clearly on edge, tense and constantly keeping an eye on the taxi driver (a friendly skeleton) and the street. Agnes wasn’t any more relaxed, reading her notes over and over. 

Jon leaned back in his plush seat, closing his eyes. What would Martin say? He would probably be cuttingly pointing out how Jon was in denial over how he really was secretly afraid of the Avatars and now it was even more dangerous because he was much more willing to power-trip. 

Forget about what Jon wanted. Forget about his fear, his insecurities, and every rationale he had constructed for himself as to why Jon deserved a life free of these worries.

Jon was above politics. The Avatar with no need to defend their territory, who held no fear of death or failure, had no need. Jon could not lose the affection of his patron. His domain was the world, and it could not be attacked no matter how hard he tried. Jon was not a politician, so of course that meant he could not be manipulated by politicians -

“What’s your plan,” Jon asked, without opening his eyes.

They told him. Basira was clinical; Agnes excited. Jon didn’t say anything about it, and let the conversation die down until the taxi was rolling in front of 10 Downing Street. Didn’t the prime minister live here? Boris...something? Jon quickly downloaded the information, before he found that Boris Johnson had been the world’s most convoluted psy-op by Annabelle and had never exactly existed. Thank goodness.

Right as the taxi idled in front of the building, Jon opened his eyes. He let them flare up, an intimidating spark of toxic green. “You two follow my lead.”

“Excuse me,” Basira said flatly, as Jon waved at the driver in lieu of payment. He hadn’t found out that you were supposed to pay taxi drivers until...a few months ago. In his defense, they never asked. “This is our operation.”

Jon glanced at her, and something relaxed around the corners of her eyes. He wondered if his expression was familiar to her. He couldn’t help but smile weakly, and that softened her expression even more. “Will you trust me?”

Basira stared at him for one long beat, then two, before grimacing. “Don’t make me regret this.”

“Do I usually make you regret it?” 

“Literally, every single time,” Basira said. 

“Then it’s a pretty stupid decision to trust me again,” Jon pointed out. “You don’t seem the type to make stupid decisions.”

Basira stared at him for a long moment, before leaving the car. 

Jon and Agnes silently watched her leave, before glancing at each other. 

“And I thought you ran from your feelings,” Agnes said finally, before following her. 

Jon, left with nothing else to do, followed Agnes.

10 Downing Street, Jon quickly found, was just like every other pretentious old British home. With lots of grandiose rooms with furniture shoved into corners so everybody could appreciate the gold-plated tile, or sitting rooms with the most uncomfortable places to sit Jon had ever seen. Each wall hosted gigantic portraits of famous British figures, who were all so ugly that Agnes incinerated one for fun. Jon respected her choices: he had been wearing a stupid wig. 

Jon, unfortunately instinctively aware of the layout and history of this sordid place, led them through the halls. He opened his mouth, instinctively about to funnel a Statement regarding the decades of human suffering and imperialism, before forcing his mouth closed. Basira wouldn’t appreciate it. Besides, the Statements had been easier to ignore lately - like curious dogs nosing at his hands rather than insistent children demanding to be fed. 

Instead, he settled on casually updating them on the choice of location. “A year ago, this location wouldn’t have been safe for Basira at all. This building was a nightmare pit of despair.” He led them up the ridiculous flights of stairs watching carefully as Agnes jumped up them. Trick steps, you know. Basira proceeded far more cautiously. “It’s...no less a nightmare pit, but like the rest of London it’s now safe to navigate. I’d keep clear of the residential rooms, however. The Prime Minister and his family haven’t escaped their nightmares since the apocalypse, and they never will.”

Basira’s eyebrows skyrocketed up. “David Cameron’s stuck in hell? No surprise there. What’s he having a nightmare about?” 

“Well, there’s this pig, right, and you’ll never guess what he’s doing -”

“Never mind,” Basira said quickly. “Not interested.”

“I’m interested,” Agnes said. 

“I’d rather you weren’t.”

Jon, who also wished he didn’t know this information, quickly directed them towards the conference room.   

But he found himself stopping in front of the intricately carved oak double doors. The wrought golden handles were grimy and dull with dust, but Agnes and Basira did not hesitate to open the door and walk in. They didn’t hesitate; they weren’t frightened. Or, if they were, they didn’t let it stop them.

But Jon stopped. He felt like Annabelle, in that moment. Annabelle, standing in front of that conference room door so long ago, unable to admit that she felt any fear at all. 

She had been desperate. Jon saw that now. Only a desperate person would have ever concocted that plan against Jon. He was the sole person capable of murder in this world, and the sole person who was so vindictive and petty that he would kill anybody who said something that he didn’t like. 

Annabelle was arrogant. She thought herself the most intelligent person in every room. She was petty, manipulative, and power-hungry. She thought that the world was so broken that somebody had to fix it, and that she was the only one who could. She was desperate. 

Jon didn’t particularly want to do this. But Jon really, really had to grow up. 

Jon opened the door. 

It was a far cry from the nice, professional conference room in City Hall. The floor was some ugly light brown hardwood color, and the walls were tudor-like and panelled. Old man ribboned curtains, an intricate rug woven from human rights abuses, and a claw-foot long conference table with an array of chairs made up an incredibly ‘antique’ room. The British found ‘antique’ and ‘wealth signalling’ to be the same thing. It made for some very ugly buildings and very uncomfortable chairs.

 Nobody else had entered yet. Jon checked the time with his extradimensional psychic powers and realized that Sasha had hustled them out the door fifteen minutes earlier than necessary. She was so intelligent. 

Agnes was already moving to her uncomfortable seat, and Jon tapped Basira on the arm and silently pointed to the seat with the ‘EXTINCTION’ placard. She raised an eyebrow at him, but followed his direction. Maybe that was what her trust looked like. 

There was a placard stamped ‘BEHOLDING’ in big letters. Gone unoccupied since the last time Jon had been here. 

He ignored it, and sat down at the head of the table. Likely where Annabelle usually sat, as director of the meetings. Historically, where the leader of Britain had once sat and directed the affairs of the country.

Jon kicked up his heels on the polished antique wood, pulling up an episode of The Twilight Zone in his brain. He identified with Rod Serling. 

The other Avatars filtered in, one by one. All of their eyes widened when they saw Jon, but none of them said anything. Jon wondered what had filtered through the Avatar grapevine. They always knew all of the gossip on each other. It was impossible to miss the Earth’s paradigm shift, and Agnes mentioned that they had convened an emergency meeting on it. Doubtlessly, his name had come up. They likely knew he was the instigator. Who else could?

Annabelle was the fourth in, as fashionably on time as usual. She was the only one who stopped in her tracks when she saw Jon. A surprise, to a woman unused to surprises. Jon’s house didn’t have insect problems. 

Her eyes widened. Her jaw clenched. That was all it took. And Jon Knew, in the way that he Knew things, that she was wondering if this was when he finally killed her. 

She didn’t know why she was still alive. It was stressing her out. It was a move that made no sense - an unforeseen reaction. Jon was predictable. When Jon wasn’t predictable, and when Jon’s actions weren’t being very precisely controlled, then she was left with a vindictive and irreverent steam train on her hands. She hadn’t predicted his presence here. 

Jon was also sitting in her chair. Scuffing the wood. Leaning back in the chair, and definitely scuffing the floor too. 

He pointed to the chair at his right, with a placard that now read ‘WEB’. Annabelle sat down in it. Everybody noticed. 

Everybody also noticed Basira. She was receiving some glares, or some pointedly unwelcome expressions. But Basira’s glares and unwelcome expressions were more powerful than any demon could ever offer, and one by one each Avatar looked away in shame.

Only Oliver actually talked to him. Which made sense, as Oliver feared neither life nor death. When he walked in he was just as surprised to see Jon as everyone else, but he offered Jon a smile too. Jon smiled back, which made several of the other Avatars lean back.

“Hey, Archivist. I thought you hated these things.” 

“I do!” Jon said cheerfully. “I wasn’t even invited.”

Annabelle busied herself with her notes and agenda. 

As usual, Helen didn’t show up. Jon waited patiently for everybody to filter in. Sarah Baldwin didn’t show up either, and Jon searched for the information before realizing that he really didn’t want to know. He saw some other new faces, as well as some faintly familiar ones. It wasn’t that strange: no position of absolute power was forever. Where was that bloke Wakely?

Wait. He was the Avatar who had talked for too long about burying people alive at a party in a ridiculous skyscraper. He had upset Daisy. Jon had seen red and lost his temper. Jon had...tossed him over the side of the roof. Let him keep falling. Left him to waste away. He was probably gone now. 

The entire room had been at that party. Whoops. 

Now uncomfortably reminded that Jon had murdered two people at this table, that everybody was aware of that, and that Jon had completely forgotten about one of the semi-accidental murders because, in Sasha’s words, he was “a bit of a psychopath, what the hell”.

This distressed her, because apparently Jonathan Sims had always been a “sensitive boy” with a “tender heart”. Daisy had said that he was still a sensitive boy, just prone to power-tripping. Sasha said that this was also very consistent behavior. Martin said -

Martin said that Jonathan Sims had been a good person. And, more importantly, that Jonathan Sims had wanted to be a good person. That was one thing that Jon didn’t want to change. 

Who just buried people alive -

Jon waited until everyone was settled down. Nobody was chatting or talking to each other: just sitting silently, avoiding eye contact. 

He could see Annabelle preparing herself to say something. Better get this ball rolling, then.

“Jonah Magnus is dead.”

The silence suddenly became oppressive. 

Jon didn’t stop to savor the looks on their faces. That wasn’t the point. Enjoying this wasn’t the point. Jon had all the power he wanted and - and he didn’t want it at all. He hoped that nobody here would make him have to prove it. 

Jon did not want to melt anyone. He wasn’t going to melt anyone. Life had started feeling a little valuable lately. These people, the soulless demons surrounding him, weren’t any different than he was. Humans with delusions of grandeur. Infighting and power plays weren’t going to fix it. 

But Annabelle had been right, as she always was. Jon couldn’t keep ignoring this. If he could do something, he had to. Even if it was something he didn’t like doing. 

Or something he hated that he enjoyed doing. 

“Jonah Magnus is dead,” Jon repeated pleasantly. “The world has changed. These two events are related, of course.”

He didn’t elaborate. Jon didn’t lie, but he didn’t have to say everything. 

“The chains which bind this Earth have loosened,” Jon continued. He folded his hands over his stomach, relaxed and casual. “We now exist in the third age of life. I ask that you do not resist.

“The seasons have begun to change, our eternal placid summer ripening into fall and sinking into winter. Our world turns yet again. Babies are born, grow old, and die. The apocalypse as we’ve always known was rooted in its stagnancy. Life and growth has bloomed, and will continue to subsist. Change is once again thriving, and we must adapt with it.

“You’ve noticed that your power has weakened. You will have to fight harder than ever to maintain your food supplies. What was once a conquest is now a battleground. The playing field is far from even, but the enemy and harvest now have a fighting chance.” Jon smiled brightly. “Of course, I’m sure that this was all discussed during your emergency meeting. Great job with your repeated warfare attempts against humanity during the last six months, by the way. How’s that working out for us?”

Silence loomed. Of course, their repeated attempts to quash the new human uprising had not gone very well. At the end of the day, for every one Avatar there were thousands of humans. 

“You are no longer strong enough to allow these divides into factions,” Jon continued. “We must present a united front if we’re going to maintain the ground we have. We can’t continue on the way we have. And I’ve realized…” Jon glanced at Annabelle, catching her eye. “I’ve realized that I haven’t been helping the situation. There’s more I can do. That’s why Annabelle has handed over moderation of these meetings to me.”

Nobody looked impressed. 

He could see it: the way Jon had become an unpredictable, dangerous nuisance towards them. Almost everyone in this room would be much happier if Jon dropped dead. Nobody had really liked him because nobody had ever felt safe around him. Only Annabelle and Oliver - the person who had nothing to fear from him and the other person who did not feel fear - called themselves his friends. 

But they would have preferred it if Jon was hostile or dangerous. If he had even admitted his power. But Jon play-acted at harmlessness, unwilling and afraid to make enemies, and in that way he became a nuisance rather than an enemy. He couldn’t even pretend that it wasn’t on purpose. No matter how many Avatars brushed him off or ignored him, it was better than feeling their eyes on him. Or feeling the fear rich on their tongues. 

 “Also I invited a human to work with us on human affairs,” Jon said cheerfully. “Diversity hire! Any questions?”

There were a lot of questions. Basira didn’t look very pleased at his remark, either. 

Simon leaned forward first, pale and watery eyes intent for the first time. “What happened to Jonah Magnus?”

“Natural causes,” Jon said cheerfully. “Next?”

“What does this mean for us?” the Lukas matriarch said. Her eyes skittered away from him. “Are we in danger?”

Jon shrugged. “Only if you’re incompetent at feeding.”

“What caused this?” Manuela demanded. “The children are running wild, we can’t control them. We’ve lost a major food source.”

Jon scratched his temples. “What caused it...sustainability efforts.” He sobered abruptly. “You could never control the children, anyway. This is the generation of the apocalypse. You’ll find that very little frightens them now.”

“Does this have to do with those humans you’ve been running around with?” Jared asked, scratching his chin as Manuela’s expression contorted in rage. 

As usual, a frighteningly insightful observation from such a brute. “It is actually directly their fault!”

Everybody turned to look at Basira, who was completely unapologetic. She crossed her arms. “Don’t ask me. First I’m hearing about this too.”

“Did you kill Jonah Magnus?” Oliver asked, morbidly fascinated. “How?”

“We humans didn’t kill him. We showed up at the Panopticon to kill him, only to find Jon there and Jonah Magnus already dead.” Basira scowled as Jon and Annabelle glanced at each other. Jon subtly shook his head. Annabelle’s lips thinned. “It looked like he’d been dead for years.”

An unfamiliar young man with a thick mop of clumped black hair peered at Jon, expression contorted in grotesque interest. He was one of the Avatars who had been born in the Apocalypse, who were all recognizably weird. His name was - right, Geoff Anjou. Some French man who had made his mark in the Parisian Underground before moving to London and conquering his next terrain. A Parisian to the bone - or, a great deal of bones, as the case may be. So many bones. Jon had always meant to take Daisy to that wonderful little nightmare and let her run loose. Chase people through the tunnels. Munch bones. Perfect vacation. 

“So did the Archivist kill him?” Geoff asked, in the same way you would ask who won the World Cup. “Steal his Watcher’s Crown or whatever?”

“Are you the new queen bee?” a young woman asked Jon. The new Slaughter Avatar, Henrietta Something-or-another. A Cambridge legacy college student, Annabelle had intoned, and Jon had been afraid to inquire further. She was cyberbullying someone on her mobile, which seemed to be bleeding. “Cuz, like, you don’t seem qualified.”

“I did not kill Jonah Magnus,” Jon said, for the five hundreth time in the last six months. “And I’m uninterested in filling his shoes. That’s enough questions, I think.”

“Are you as weakened as the rest of us?” Amherst demanded. “Surely this destruction has affected you worst of all.”

“He probably ate Jonah Magnus,” Henrietta said. “The Archivist’s probably god now.”

Geoff snorted. “No way. He brought a human as back-up.”

“Why is there a human?” Another woman asked, with long brown hair and a broad face. Something about her was unquestionably severe, from her bulging muscles to her incredible height. Jon had never seen her before in his life. Her name was Julia Montauk. Something about her stank of life and undeath, same as Amherst. “We can’t exactly work with the prey, here.”

“I’m proposing an emergency motion,” Amherst said suddenly, shutting up the rapidly overlapping voices. “I vote that a leader is elected democratically. And that representatives are limited towards loyal patrons of the Forces.”

“I second that motion,” Geoff said immediately. “We can’t afford a chaotic uprising in our government right now -”

“This really isn’t a vote,” Jon said. 

“Isn’t this a democracy?” Henrietta asked, with the self-righteous assurance of a twenty year old. “We vote on things in a democracy. And leaders.”

“Annabelle was voted in last spring,” Julia agreed. “No reason to change things.”

Well. Basira said that she trusted him. He’d have to rely on that.

Jon pressed down. 

It felt just like that: pressing down. Reaching out a hand and squashing. Sometimes it was like ripping someone into shreds, and other times it was like plunging your hand into their chest and ripping out their heart. But this was just a press: a heavy static, bearing down over your shoulders like a ten ton weight. A sight so horrible that it was too eldritch to even look at. The realization that the hideous sight was you, and that it was all you would ever be.

Some - Geoff, Amherst - gasped, as if they were choking. Others - Lukas, Henrietta - gasped at their hearts, as if they were having heart attacks. Jon carefully kept it off Oliver, Annabelle, Basira, and Agnes. He couldn’t help but remember what she had said a few weeks ago, about being so frightened - 

But Basira winced anyway, clutching her temples, and Jon carefully released the static until the inhabitants of the room could breathe again. His eyes did not stop glowing, and Jon didn’t bother to turn off the light show. 

Jon put his feet down on the floor and rested his elbows on the table, leaning forward. As everyone shuddered and gasped, he spoke slowly and pointedly. “This is not a democracy. It never was. It is a monarchy, and the line of succession is clear.”

Annabelle’s eyes widened, and she abruptly clenched her fists before loosening them. An uncharacteristic show of emotion from her.

“This coalition has never been a democracy,” Jon said severely. “This is a house of lords. You are uninterested in representing any needs but your own, and I know Jared failed level eight government, but I’m sure all of you know that democracy represents elected officials. Nobody here has ever lived in a true democracy, and in your human fallibility you have recreated the only system you have ever known. The seats at this table are determined by power - all of you, the most powerful conduits for your Entity. I am the inevitable consequence of this system. I am your natural disaster. All of you bought me. Now you have me. And you are no longer powerful enough to make me leave.”

Agnes’ hand was covering her mouth. Jon dearly hoped Basira was holding onto that trust. He dearly hoped that he wasn’t speaking from anger. 

But he couldn’t stop. It boiled and bubbled. It was an anger and a powerlessness that had subjugated him for thirty two years of his life. It had served as the cloud hanging over his head for three more. 

“If you want someone to blame for the Archivist who now moderates this meeting,” Jon said, his voice the thin lid over this boiling pot of hurt and anger, “I now know their names. Jonah Magnus. Jude Perry. Nikola Orsinov. Twice. Breekon and Hope’s coffin. Peter Lukas. Jane Prentiss. Maxwell Raynor. A strategic book.” Jon tilted his head, having effectively made his point. There were others, but he had forgiven Daisy and Melanie a long time ago. And Jared had been polite about it. “Bring up your complaints with them. Good luck with that.”

Jon clapped his hands, closing the lid on those memories. Maybe one day the pain would leech from them like a sun-bleached painting, but that day hadn’t come yet. “Now! If you have any further complaints about my position here, or if you want to continue debating political theory, feel free to stand up and tell me so. We’re all interested in you regurgitating your life story until you die. Anyone?” Crickets. Jon leaned back in his chair, making himself comfortable. “Can we go onto the motions now? Ms. Hussain first, then clockwise from her.”

As if they had planned this, with the air of a well-choreographed actress, Basira stood up and spread out her papers in front of her. “The human contingency requests neutral zones in essential areas. Maternal wards in hospitals are highly vulnerable locations, and when assaulted by parasites the mortality rate of children is very high. If you want a self-replenishing food source, you have to allocate space for safe living. The next essential zone is a daycare and a school for children -”

And she was off. Jon had nothing to say, nor was anything necessary. Raging debate sparked after she finished speaking, and Basira effectively crushed the opposition. Agnes spoke up in her defense, and to Jon’s surprise even Manuela contributed a solid understanding of the necessity of children. When the debate started spiraling in an unhelpful direction Jon cut in and shut it down, before forcing the vote. 

It did not pass, obviously. 

“By the way,” Jon said. “Ms. Hussain proposed five different motions today. At least two of them have to pass. This debate is about picking which two you want.”

Then that started up all over again, and Jon tried not to fall asleep.

Moderating was hard. He actually had to pay attention and focus, and he hated focusing. He was effective enough at shutting down conversations, but sometimes shutting down conversations wasn’t helpful - he just needed to steer them in a more productive conversation. And Agnes’ political theory and Basira’s almost-definitely-made-up statistics started flying so thick and fast above his head that Jon was starting to almost completely lose the plot.

Jon chose his moment as the Lukas woman was complaining extensively about how Henrietta’s digital bullying was intruding upon the Loneliness of her adherents. Henrietta had argued that social media made people more lonely. Jon was afraid that Henrietta was his fault. Maybe the Eye’s fault, holistically. Jared wanted to be friends with Henrietta and co-host Instagram events, which Jon enthusiastically supported despite Basira’s glares.

He leaned over to his right, gesturing slightly at Annabelle so she would lean in closer. She raised an eyebrow at him. Annabelle’s eyebrows were crushing. 

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” Jon whispered to her, as quietly as possible. 

Annabelle mouthed very clearly at him, ‘Wow, really? Shock!’. 

“I was making a point,” Jon hissed. “An important point. But I don’t - I still -” Jon faltered, uncertain, as Henrietta began sneering something about Lukas’ hairdo. Finally, he weakly said, “You care. They need you.”

Annabelle stared at him for a long, silent moment, before turning away from him. 

For the first time that day, she spoke to the room. “Let’s keep ad hominem attacks out of this,” she said sharply. “Madame Lukas, if you’ll make your closing remarks we can bring this to a vote.”

She really was good at it. Just like she had always wanted. She had never directly admitted it, but Annabelle had always wanted to be the kind of person in rooms like this. 

A politician sitting in an uncomfortable chair at 10 Downing Street. Rich, successful, important. Powerful and respected. Back then, she had wanted to be famous. Now, she was content to be controlling famous people. A dream out of her reach in life; laughably attainable in this stagnant after-afterlife. 

The dream had crippled her. In her search for a functional world, one that achieved and grew and provided a comfortable world, she had ended up recreating a world that hadn’t been functional at all. A world that was slow to change, and seemingly impossible to improve. A world passed down from the hands of the greedy and bloodthirsty into the hands of the uncaring and apathetic. 

The apocalypse had been inevitable. Humans driving themselves to extinction. And Avatars, possessed of human weakness, had been eager to do the same. Just a pathetic room of sour and bitter people power-tripping. 

For all that Sasha calls us bougie, Jon thought, we’re such deeply unhappy people. 

There had once been a young man, desperate for attention and acknowledgement. Dreaming of importance. He would stay up late at night, planning out his life as a famous researcher and well-respected philosopher. Everyone would tell him how smart he was. He would prove it all - with a scholarship to Oxford, with a sneer and a haughty air, with a boss who said that he had so much promise, here’s a job that will let you realize your potential. 

I deserve this job -

Something in Jon’s mind flared, a hot poker rammed behind his eye sockets. Jon hissed, one hand reaching unconsciously to his temple, and Annabelle glanced at him in alarm. She had - Jon had been thinking about her, and - what had he been -

Together, they managed to wrangle the meeting into something half-way productive. Most importantly, Basira had gotten three of her proposals passed, and Agnes’ arguments were stirring the other Avatars into serious discussion. Conversation itself would be stilted by his sheer presence, and they weren’t quite all working together yet, but they would. 

It was really all the same to Jon if the Avatars or humans won the war. He should care a bit more than he did, so he didn’t vocalize this to the others. But this conflict sparked life, a strange and frantic energy. Experiences and growth. That was what Jon had always fed on.

It seemed that Jon’s skill at prioritizing himself over all others was as sharp as ever.

Eventually the two hours wrapped up, and the other Avatars were eager to leave. Jon waved them off cheerily. 

“Meeting adjourned. Try not to do anything stupid until next time. And if any of you break the boundaries of the human safe zones, I’ll know! Annabelle, will you stay behind?”

The others filtered out quickly, uncharacteristically unwilling to see whatever carnage would be wrought. Agnes and Basira lingered. 

“That went so well!” Agnes shouted, the minute the last Avatar left. The room was now empty save for Agnes, Basira, Annabelle, and - Oliver, who was leaning against the doorframe. “I can’t believe you actually did something useful!”

“Ouch,” Oliver said. 

It was fair, though. Jon smiled weakly at her. “Hopefully I can help out a little more often going forward. But I’m not going to give any favoritism to you, Agnes. I’ll intervene to give humans a fair shot, but I really don’t want to be...king of a ruined world or whatever.”

“I know,” Agnes said firmly. She reached out and squeezed his arm, round and gentle face creased in determination. “You’d be terrible at it. So just be you, okay?”

Jon saluted her, before gesturing to the door. “Will you steal a historical British artifact from this garbage building for me? Daisy needs more targets to shoot.”

Agnes nodded eagerly and ran off. Jon silently hoped Basira would follow her, if also out of interest for also seeing British things destroyed, but she just looked at Jon intensely instead. Not quite a glare - just a searching, intense look, as if she was finding her own Statement from deep within him. It had always been disconcerting. Jon was still convinced she hated him.

“It’s not as if I knew you very well before we rescued you from the Panopticon,” Basira said crisply, pressing a folder to her chest, “but you’ve changed. What happened? What did Annabelle have to do with it?”

Jon and Annabelle glanced at each other. Oliver lifted an eyebrow. 

“Basira -”

“Don’t ask me to trust you.”

“I didn’t betray that,” Jon asked, “did I?”

Her expression didn’t soften. “You didn’t. We’re going to continue needing your help. But an ally with inscrutable motivations who does everything on a whim is a bad ally to have.”

“I’m trying, Basira,” Jon said, impossibly exhausted and just a little disappointed. “Please be patient.”

“I’ve been patient for three years,” Basira said, before forcibly cutting herself short from whatever emotion she was about to display. “What happened?”

A phantom pain pieced Jon’s arms, like chains threaded through bone. Jon fought the urge to wince, unconsciously reaching up to rub at a spot on his forearm. Everyone noticed. “It’s...family business…”

“Did you kill Jonah Magnus?”

“Jonah Magnus killed me,” Jon snapped, far louder than he intended, “so he would have deserved it, wouldn’t he!”

He felt a little lightheaded, more than he intended. It felt like a hand was clenching inside his chest, more than he wanted. No, Basira is fragile, you can’t just - no, Agnes is a kid, Daisy said that we can’t -

“Basira Hussain,” Annabelle said, hands folded tightly in her lap, eyes serious and intent. Jon started, surprised to hear her speak again. “You should go catch up with Agnes.”

Basira stared at Annabelle for a long moment, lips thin, before she abruptly whirled on her heel and stalked out. Jon watched her go, exhausted. He waited for her heels to click down the hall, far away enough that he knew she wasn’t eavesdropping, before groaning and dropping his head down onto his desk. 

“They hate me.”

“They’re scared of you,” Annabelle pointed out. She leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms. “Frankly, Basira could stand to be a little more afraid of you. She’s going to get herself in trouble one of these days.”

“She’s practically my sister in law, I’m not going to hurt her,” Jon snapped. “Your stupid plan relied on me never hurting people I love.”

 “Sorry,” Oliver said pleasantly, “is anyone ever going to tell me what’s going on? I feel like an NPC in Jon’s Dungeons & Dragons game.”

“You want to be an NPC, I found you working at Taco Bell.” God, whatever. Jon could tell Oliver. He wouldn’t give a shit. Jon sighed, lifting his head to twist around and look at Oliver instead. “You remember when I was asking around after Sasha James? Annabelle had put me up to it.”

“Obviously. And then Sasha James started following you around? You terrorized Annabelle’s party again?”

“Yeah, it was this whole big thing.” Jon waved a hand expressively. “Anyway, then Annabelle tried to trap me in an eternal limbo that would shred me from inside out so I could act as purveyor of the world, and probably also use her connection with me so she could take over affairs here, and probably either nudge me into shaping the world back into order or into sinking it deeper into hell. I broke out and now I’m mad at her.”

“I had at least twenty other reasons,” Annabelle said, “but that’s the gist.”

Oliver stared at them.

They all sat in awkward silence. Jon found himself winding a finger around a stray coil of  hair and letting it spring back into place. He had kept it the same the last three years, never bothering to change the style. A loose and bouncy cloud of hair, sometimes brushing against his shoulders until Annabelle kidnapped him to cut it again - him, as much as the trenchcoat was. So much as anything had ever been ‘him’. 

“Well,” Oliver said diplomatically, “I see that you skipped a lot of steps there. So why are you here, then?”

Was it just to spite Annabelle? Screw her out of her work? Did Jon genuinely care? Did he want to organize the other Avatars, get them mobilized and going? Did he want to protect the humans? 

Did he really only care about himself, and the people he called his friends and family? Did he really only care about himself, and those he possessed?

“There’s a person I want to be,” Jon said quietly, “but I don’t know how to be him.”

Annabelle stared at him, with dark and glittering eyes, expression as implacable as always. For a sudden, stupid, intense moment, Jon wanted to know if she cared about him. If one of the few people who had always helped him, who was always in his corner, had seen him as anything more than a tool. 

Like Basira, who didn’t like him as a person, but found him too valuable to alienate. But Basira was - she was deeply good, if not always kind, and Jon had the sense that she had fought to turn herself into that good person. It was something she chose. She was trying to push Jon into making that same choice. 

Jon clenched his hands in his lap, his fingernails digging into his palm. “There’s people I respect, and who I want to respect me. This person I want to be...I’m worried that I only want this because that’s what they want. They’ll deny it, but they want my power. Everybody just makes me into whoever they want. Whatever’s useful to them.” Jon’s gaze snapped to Annabelle, and he fought hard to keep the compulsion from his voice. It was difficult, when he wanted to know so badly, but - “The kind of person I used to be. That person I’m ashamed of. Is that the person who was useful to you?”

He didn’t want to force the answer from her. He wanted her to choose to say it. 

Annabelle didn’t react. She didn’t show anything on her face. Much less what Jon wanted from her. She just tilted her head, one of the few unafraid to meet his eyes. “I never made you be anyone, Jon. All I ever did was put you in the right place at the right time.”

“That wasn’t my question,” Jon said, and this time he couldn’t help the static creeping into his voice. “Answer me.”

Annabelle sighed. “Of course it was useful. Is that what you wanted me to voluntarily say, Jon? I didn’t bring you to the first meeting because I thought it would be educational for you. I needed your power to keep the others in line. I needed everyone else to see that I controlled your power. That’s the only reason why any of this worked. We both got something out of it. Don’t pretend that you weren’t happy with the arrangement.”

It...it wasn’t a surprise, but…

“So that’s why you didn’t bring him to any of the other meetings,” Oliver mused. “He wasn’t as controllable as you liked, not when there’s more than ten other idiots around needling him. There’s never been anybody who can always predict when Jon’s going to lose his shit. Besides the biggie, I guess.”

The biggie, which was his past. 

No wonder he had stayed so childlike, innocent, and cruel for so long. Jon took responsibility for his own laziness, but - but he had been most useful that way. Annabelle had liked him best that way.

Daisy had liked him best that way too. That cruel child - Daisy had wanted him, because he made her feel needed. Annabelle was just the same.

Everyone had liked him best that way. And if Jon became the kind of person who he wanted to be, nobody would like him at all.

“If you’re going to kill me,” Annabelle said, exhaustion seeping in through her voice, “just do it.”

Jon closed his eyes. He could feel it - Annabelle’s exhaustion, the way that she had just been waiting for him to do this. Everything she knew about Jon led towards an obvious course of action. Even though you nobody knew everything that set Jon off, certain things were pretty guaranteed that he wouldn’t forgive. 

Annabelle had never accounted for Sasha. She had brought Sasha into his life, and she had no idea the effect she would have on it. Sasha, who had been the first to tell Jon that she chose to care about him for him. For a brief, hot flash, Jon was jealous. He wanted to be someone unpredictably kind. 

If he only wanted that because he had found yet another person to give his wind-up key, then…

“You won, Annabelle,” Jon said finally, and he only knew it as he said it. “Congratulations. You played the perfect manipulation. You took a vulnerable, afraid man, who had been violated in the worst possible way and left to die.” He stood up, already uncomfortable with what he was about to say. “And you arranged him so that he loved you. I chose to love you. I’m making the choice never to hurt you, because I still love you. ”

He left the room. Oliver stood aside just in time, letting Jon brush by. 

As Jon met up with Agnes and Basira, summoning a smile and a wave for them, he felt uncomfortably as if he had grown up. 

He wasn’t sure that he liked it.

#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!

[jerakeenc]

many kidfics i’ve read and loved

look who’s reccing a million year old fics now. kidfics, very many. posted to dw for snowflake, thought I’d copy here as well. will be reading most, if not all. if you don’t hear from me again, this list is the culprit.

101 Ways To Get Lucky (In Love) by lenore

18,200 words | SGA, McKay/Sheppard

Rodney McKay is rich, gorgeous and at the top of his game—except someone just moved the goalposts! Now Rodney realizes he is sorely lacking the one status symbol that everybody seems to have…the perfect family. Rodney needs help, so he hires a relationship coach. Single-dad John Sheppard may be an expert, but not when it comes to his own relationships! And every day he spends with Rodney makes him wish that he could be the one to fill the vacancy in Rodney's life…

A Beautiful Lifetime Event by astolat

29,000 words | SGA, McKay/Sheppard

Life is what happens when you're busy making other plans.

An Earlier Heaven by regann

67,400 words | X-Men, Erik/Charles

In the wake of Cuba, Charles and his students are ready to pick up the pieces and work toward achieving Charles's dream of a safe haven for young mutants. Those plans, however, take a surprising turn thanks to a very unexpected complication. As he slowly builds a future for his students and for his child, Charles struggles with the loss of Erik and the secrets he's willing to keep to protect his family, but those strides are shattered when Erik makes a startling reappearance into his life. [mpreg, kidfic, ensemble]

And everything nice by noelia_g

30,200 words | Social Network, Mark/Eduardo

The one where Mark somehow ends up with a child and of course needs a nanny for the amount of time he spends at the office. Only problem is a string of nannys keep trying to get into his pants for what he assumes is his money. Cue Mark's assistant hiring a male nanny, enter Eduardo.

asking to be born by longtime_lurker

26,500 words | Bandom, Pete/Patrick

"Don't worry, it's probably just his big gay freakout," Andy yells cheerfully and unhelpfully into Patrick's ear as they're hustling Pete over to the nearest private clinic.

Better with You by harriet_vane

38,100 words | 1D, Liam/Louis

Based on this prompt at the kinkmeme:

Single parent and solo artist Liam Payne hires Louis Tomlinson to be a full time nanny to his four year old son Sammy. Although the two men don't quite click from the start it's love at first sight between Sammy and Louis. Eventually Louis and Liam warm up to each other and get on like a house on fire, in fact the two become a little too fond of each other.

I refuse to apologize for how sweet this ended up, okay? It's kidfic, I am forever writing kidfic, and this one is even kid-fic-ier than usual.

Can't Get Enough of You (Baby) by eternalbreath

22,100 words | Inception, Arthur/Eames

Eames vanishes from dreamshare and Arthur goes a little crazy looking for him until he stumbles across him -- with a baby.

Chelsea, Chelsea, I Believe by empathapathique

300,800 words | Hockey, Kane/Toews

Patrick meets a girl his rookie year.

Don't You Shake Alone by dsudis

62,180 words | Generation Kill, Brad/Nate

Nate looked exactly like Brad always pictured him: exhausted in the full life-in-a-combat-zone sense of the word.

Dude, what's a bulwark? by kellifer_fic

12,150 words | Teen Wolf, Derek/Stiles

Beacon Hills is the kind of small town where everybody knows everybody, and what everybody knows is that surly diner owner Derek Hale and free spirited single dad Stiles Stilinski have been in love with each other for years. If only they knew it too.

Every Other Beautiful World by rhiannonhero

43,280 words | SGA, McKay/Sheppard

Some things are unexpected but still inevitable in every beautiful world.

Forever, Now by harriet_vane

227,100 words | Bandom, Frank/Gerard, Jon/Spencer, Brendon/Ryan, Brian/Greta

Brian rescues kid!Gerard and Mikey from life on the streets, and eventually everyone finds a family.

here comes the sun by oflights

56,600 words | Social Network, Mark/Eduardo

This is a story about growing up, sad 70's rock songs, too much hair gel, "Maxwell's Silver Hammer", a baby with curly hair, a Geiger counter, a dog that isn't named Max, the Chicken Dance, Cheerios, pepper-spray, drugs, sex, and a stuffed chicken named Cluckerberg, nicknamed Cluck. or: Mark raises Sean's accidental baby, and I write the fluffiest thing ever.

I Got a Love (That Keeps Me Waiting) by svmadelyn

163,700 words | Hockey, Kane/Toews

There's a lot of different ways this summary could go, like:

Patrick Kane gets more than a gold medal in Sochi.

Or, the classic: It's too late to pull out now.

Or: Patrick Kane continues to thrive in high pressure situations.

Or: Patrick Kane gets knocked up, goes to White Castle, and finds love, not necessarily in that order.

But, ultimately, all that really matters is this: Patrick Kane is keeping his baby.

I Would Be by cathalin

20,290 words | American Idol, Kris/Adam

AU. Adam and Kris meet a few years down the road, when down-on-his-luck Kris and his young daughter Katherine show up to rent a room from Adam, who never made it to an Idol audition.

Ice Ice Baby by uraneia

51,340 words | Hockey, Claude/Danny

A gold medal isn't the only souvenir Claude brings home from Prague.

OR: The one where Claude gets drunk, gets pregnant, and gets convinced to move in with Danny, whom he's been secretly in love with for years. What could possibly go wrong?

my heart is bigger than the distance in between us by estrella30

15,000 words | 1D, Nick/Harry

Nick chuckles quietly but grabs the remote and follows Emma, Aimee coming up close behind him. It’s indeed Harry on the telly, singing along to his latest radio hit and smiling slowly into the camera far too seductively for half eight on a Friday morning, if you ask Nick. He presses the volume just in time to catch the crowd’s roaring applause and see the pink flush Harry’s cheeks. Nick watches him duck his head as he gives a small wave to the audience, and it hits Nick that Harry is still the most humble and appreciative billionaire Nick’s ever met.

Good job, popstar, Nick thinks to himself.

or, Nick is a single dad and Harry is his bff and it's a bunch of years into the future and they fall in love

Once Upon a Furry Octopus by skoosiepants

11,270 words | SGA, McKay/Sheppard

He was an intelligent, intuitive pet, but he wasn’t going to start sniffing out ZPMs or hidden Ancient weaponry or detailed instructions on how to kill a Wraith with a common household item. A pen, for instance.

Reconcilable Differences by astolat

40,000 words | Smallville, Clark/Lex

Luthor Family Values.

Shelter by harriet_vane

63,500 words | Social Network, Jesse/Andrew

From the kinkmeme prompt: Some sort of AU vaguely based on Shelter! For whatever reason, Jesse has to take care of Hallie and give up his dream of being an actor. He ends up working in a dead end job when former, now successful friend (Andrew) returns home. They fall in love, etc, only Jesse can't go away with him because he has a responsibility to his family. CUE ANGST.

Show Me The Way Back Home Baby by stilinskisparkles

15,000 words | Teen Wolf, Derek/Stiles

In which Lydia and Jackson produce the world's cutest baby, and the pack goes crazy-- the good kind of crazy. Except for Derek, who is afraid of tiny cute babies and Stiles who plans to be the best Uncle ever. Even if Danny called dibs on Godfather.

Skybird by windsweptfic

33,785 words | Inception/White Collar, Arthur/Eames

Arthur and Eames adopt a kid and raise that kid into Neal Caffrey.

Small Cells and Fibers by sevenfists

7,830 words | Bandom, Frank/Gerard

Tuesdays were finger-painting days. Frank made sure to wear his oldest pair of jeans, because even with his full-length apron and his constant reminders that paint belongs on paper and not on clothing, he always ended up with tiny, multi-colored handprints all over his clothes. There wasn't a thing he could do about it, so he just wore pants from 1995.

Small Primes and Square Roots by liviapenn

12,500 words | SGA, McKay/Sheppard

"I hope you picked someone really intelligent, otherwise it seems like it would be kind of a waste. Of incubation time, if nothing else."

So Wise We Grow by deastar

81,250 words | Star Trek Reboot, Kirk/Spock

"Commander Spock, we have located your son," the Vulcan lady on the screen says, which would be great, except Jim can tell by the look on Spock's face that he's never heard of this kid before in his life. "If it is expedient, the child will be sent to join you on the Enterprise within the week."

Something Better by lovelypoet

18,350 words | Bandom, Frank/Gerard

"We all have to take jobs we don't like sometimes, you know?"

The Next Time You Say Forever by Thistlerose

27,300 words | Star Trek Reboot, Kirk/McCoy

After his ex-wife's death, McCoy is forced to leave the Enterprise to look after his teenage daughter. Under normal circumstances, this would be the end of…whatever it is he has with Kirk that's more than friendship, but less than what he wants. But the universe has other intentions.

The Reeducation of Misters Kane and Toews by jezziejay

15,900 words | Hockey, Kane/Toews

In which Kaner sort of has a kid, and Mr. Toews doesn't know which of them is the bigger brat.

AU featuring teacher!Jon and hockey-player!Kaner. With bonus 'Hawks characters, love notes, pasta jewelry, Be Better Pizzas, pirouettes, a sprinke of angst and guest appearance by Derek Jeter.

The Road Delivered Us Home by keelywolfe

117,430 words | Hobbit, Thorin/Bilbo

In the years since Bilbo left Erebor, he has lost his respectability, gained a nephew, and gotten on with life at Bag End.

He'd left aside adventure for the comforts and peace of his little Hobbit hole, and for the love of a child who needed him. Though perhaps, adventures can yet find him.

This Story Was Brought to You by Our Sponsors by scaramouche

29,500 words | Supernatural, Dean/Castiel

Dean's post-apocalyptic life is a friggin' soap opera. Romance! Angst! Separations! Reunions! Pizza Dinners! A Child Dean Never Knew He Had! It's all very dramatic.

throw a little sparkle all over it by etben

26,000 words | Bandom, Frank/Gerard

"Hey, Ma," Mikey says. "No, everything's fine—well, I mean, Gerard accidentally adopted a baby—no, he's changing her now, he can't talk."

Tiny Houses by ohmyjetsabel

77,130 words | Teen Wolf, Derek/Stiles

"So this is what Stiles does. He lies in Scott’s bed and waits for Melissa to say she’s found someone to get it out of him, to cure him of the wrongness and the bad, and he dreams.

God, he dreams.

He dreams of fire and swollen bellies and that scene in Alien, of giving birth to jackals through his urethra, the whole horrific nine yards. His head is a terrible place to be, he can’t imagine his stomach is much better, why anyone would want to put a thing inside of it."

Tip, Slide, Tumble by j_s_cavalcante

42,900 words | due South, Fraser/Kowalski

Ray knew when he found the body in the alley it was going to change someone's life. He just didn't expect that life would be his.

Turn by saras_girl

306,000 words | Harry Potter, Harry/Draco

One good turn always deserves another. Apparently.

Unless it's lies or it's love by sprat

25,300 words | American Idol, Kris/Adam

In which Adam (a rock star) meets Kris (a single dad) at an Emergency Room in Arkansas at the end of a particularly shitty night. Also features: San Francisco, fresh starts, baked goods, OCs, cameo appearances by Matt and Megan, pirates, monsters with garbage heads and a recording studio.

What Child Is This by lamardeuse

30,150 words | Merlin, Arthur/Merlin

A modern AU with Merlin, Arthur, mayhem, a baby and a jingly elf hat.

What to Expect by arsenic

29,200 words | Bandom, Bob/Mikey

Mikey has his band, and his little girl, and that's enough. Really, it is.

Winter's Children by neery

66,890 words | Marvel, Bucky/Steve

When their attempts to recreate the super soldier serum failed, Hydra started trying to breed Captain America clones from his genetic samples. Unfortunately, the serum's effects aren't passed down genetically, so instead of an army of tiny Captain Americas, they get a bunch of tow-headed, asthmatic, allergic, immuno-compromised little Steves.

And then the Winter Soldier stumbles across Hydra's failed experiment...

With Six You Get Eggroll by speranza

31,000 words | due South, Fraser/Kowalski

"Kick 'em In The Head: A Guide To Parenting."

ETA: Bonus! Because I apparently lost my bookmark for this one but have the memory of an elephant for kidfic, so it came to me eventually. :D

A Farm in Iowa 'Verse by sheafrotherdon

166,000 words | SGA, McKay/Sheppard

John inherits a farm, Rodney ends up entirely out of his element, and there is much ado about baseball.

#kidfic #recs

[markcampbells]

20 Questions: Writer Edition

@jenjiy tagged me; thank you lovely!

This is pretty ao3-focused but my fandom past also stretches back into FFN and Livejournal; goddammit 😂

How many works do you have on AO3?

30!

What’s your total AO3 word count?

97,939. Very exciting to be close to 100k!

How many fandoms have you written for and what are they?

I have nine fandoms on ao3: Star Trek AOS and TOS, White Collar, The OC, One Tree Hill, Sherlock, Home Fires, Doctor Who, and Being Erica. My fandoms stretching back to FFN were Rent, Grey's Anatomy, Little Women, and a few others where I wrote one piece and found I didn't have ideas for more, LOL.

What are your top five fics by kudos?

your hands can heal, your hands can bruise (Star Trek AOS, McKirk): 197 kudos (SO CLOSE)

absolution (Star Trek AOS, McKirk): 103

but we just haven't mastered the fall (Star Trek AOS, McKirk): 102

it's the heart in you, i know it in my bones (Star Trek AOS, McKirk): 101

And... and what's this? It's my Sherlock fandom past with a steel chair! Crap Telly, my earliest and most successful Sherlock/John fic, sits at 99 kudos.

Do you respond to comments, why or why not?

I do! God help me but I've always loved responding ever since it was long bolded author's notes at the end of chapters on FFN. 😂 I really, really enjoy hearing what connects with people about my work, and I always at least want to say thank you to folks who have taken the time to read and comment. I have had people want to talk about the books I've referenced in a story; I have had people share personal stories with loss on my stories about heavier subjects. It's really meaningful to me and I always appreciate what readers have to say.

What’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending?

Doctor Who is a tossup between There Is a Light That Never Goes Out, an Eleven/Rose fic, and The Time is Out of Joint, a fic I wrote to explore my vision of Amy, Rory, and River's life as a family, that was later rendered moot by canon, LOL. Light was born partly out of a line from one of Eleven's Christmas specials that a lot of shippers caught on to ("One last day with your beloved. Which day would you choose?"). Time is a story I've always been extremely proud of, as I tried to deal with the emotions of a very difficult situation that canon completely glossed over. The sadness comes from the readers knowing what River's eventual ending will be in a way that the characters do not.

Star Trek is two different kinds of angst. pack up the life that's left has hope towards the end, in Jim starting to reclaim his religious faith and some family mementos about his late father, but is still melancholy. (at least out loud) i won't say i'm in love, uh... ended in a much angstier place than I anticipated when I started. Good ol' I can't be with the person I want to be with angst.

What’s the fic you’ve written with the happiest ending?

our silver lining is a proposal fic so that probably wins! But there is also my absolutely wild AU fic for the premise "everything is the same but it rains ducks" that I am very proud of, LOL.

Do you write crossovers? If yes, what’s the craziest thing you’ve written?

Back in the days of yore, I wrote a Fright Night / Secret Diary of a Call Girl crossover for an ostensibly-Doctor/Rose ficathon that was a prompt about Peter Vincent and Belle called One Night Only. It's probably a little embarrassing to look back on now! But it was a very fun prompt and a cool way to take the other work of those performers and pull it together into something plausible.

Have you ever received hate on a fic?

I've been in fandom a long time and I might have and don't remember it, but my most vivid memory by far is the person who graded my Little Women fic on a RUBRIC that scored me on "use of character, addition to story, faithfulness to Alcott's writing style, and substance/relevance." The person literally gave me ratings in those categories on a scale of 1 to 5 and then a five-paragraph breakdown of their reasoning. They closed by saying that they felt my story was "the cream of the crop" of other Alcott fanfiction, so it wasn't even a bad review! But the sheer audacity of GRADING FANFIC ON A RUBRIC as though it were some kind of homework assignment is what's made that review stay in my brain since 2008!

Do you write smut? If so what kind?

I did in the past, but these days I don't write any I publish. In general I've shifted away from including much on-page sex in my work partly because I personally find I'm not super interested in writing that kind of thing anymore and partly because I find that as I've gotten older, my understanding of my sexuality has changed and a combination of working through compulsory heterosexuality and allosexuality has made me realize sex isn't as important to me as it could be, so I focus my work on other things. There is definitely a place for smut in this world; it just happens to not be written by me!

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I'm aware of, but for all I know, maybe. I've never been a widely-read author and have always moved in fandoms with much bigger fish, so I'd probably be an easy person to steal from.

Have you ever had a fic translated?

Also not that I'm aware of! I would LOVE if someone wanted to.

Have you ever co-written a fic?

I did, in a Doctor Who challenge community, and I didn't super love the experience as partners were assigned to us and the style of my partner and my style did not mesh well at all. I looked back on it this year and I feel like anything that made my style distinctive is overriden by the style of my partner. I have written, and continue to happily write, original fiction in a roleplay style with partners, and I haven't fully dismissed the idea of cowriting in the future! With firm rules on who does what and styles that mesh well together, I think it would be a fun thing to do properly.

What’s your all time favourite ship?

Two of my oldest, all-time favorite OTPs are Nathan and Haley (One Tree Hill) and Mulder and Scully (The X-Files). I never read much Nathan and Haley fic, but there's a Mulder and Scully high school AU on FFN that I read and loved years and years ago that actually had a significant influence on me! I've only started writing for McKirk recently, but they had been a comfort ship I would return to periodically ever since the first AOS film came out, and are definitely one of my favorite dynamics in fiction.

What’s a WIP you want to finish but don’t think you ever will?

I will definitely not ever finish this, but I remain pretty proud of Surviving, which was an AU Ryan/Marissa story and my first fanfiction for The OC. It was premised on Marissa not dying like she did in canon, instead moving away to live with her father at some point, and her and Ryan reconnecting as adults in a grief group after significant personal losses and finding that they still have a romantic spark.

I was a college student when I wrote it and some of the realism is probably lacking, but I wrote it out of a deep desire to rectify the injustice of canon and let Marissa grow up and find her own way once she was out of the messy environment she'd been stuck in during her teen years. I've been through some significant deaths in my life myself, and that made me interested in writing a story about coping with the trauma of loss with the help of another person and moving forward into a new life. I'm no longer in the fandom and I am hopefully a more mature writer now, hence why it'll be left unfinished, but I really liked my concept for it and had received some nice responses from readers about it on FFN; I'm grateful for that.

What’s your writing strengths?

I have always had an ear for dialogue! I'm a dialogue heavy writer and I focus significantly on interpersonal dynamics, romantic or not. I work really hard to build out relationships and explore ways characters could connect with each other and bond.

What’s your writing weaknesses?

I am so fucking bad at descriptions. Poetic language is not my strong suit and I consider my style in general a little plain, but hopefully effective. And I tend not to write longfic.

What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in fic?

If I absolutely had to do it, it would only be if I knew someone who fluently speaks that language on tap to correct my surely grievous errors.

What was the first fandom you wrote for?

Not counting the fandoms I mentioned earlier, my first forays into fanfiction were horrible video game self-insert fics for Spyro and Kingdom Hearts. (I'm SO OLD.)

What’s your favourite fic you’ve written?

Of my McKirk fics, probably a tie between your hands can heal... and it's the heart in you... YHCH started as a prompt fill for a bingo square and just grew into a really personal story that partly reflected my acceptance of my sexuality after a long struggle with bi erasure and partly reflected how much I value my queer community and the friends who have shared their experiences with me. It's also the first fanfic of mine that ever generated fanart, since @lokilenchen and @excavatinglizard almost killed me by surprising me with fanart in the space of, like, a week. <3 it's the heart in you... has surprised me so much with the kind things people have said about it and the angle I took on Bones connecting with Winona. I loved writing it and got to use some of my favorite tropes, so a win win!

Tagging the folks I know who weren't tagged already and who I know use ao3--please don't feel obligated if you don't want to do it! (Also, anyone I missed who wants to do this, please steal!)

@tinybowties @nadja-antipaxos @afterthenovels

#long post for TS #i'm such a wordy bitch jesus christ ask me about myself and i don't shut up #about me #my writing #my fanfiction #meme tag

[renee-writer]

The One Night Stand Chapter 25 Intentions

AO3

He is nervous. She can tell because his left hand keeps up a steady rhythm on his thigh. As she drives, she tries to reassure.

 

“He is a fair man. Will listen to us. He doesn’t judge and he has never liked Frank.”

 

“Points in his favor there.” His fingers keep tapping against his thigh.

 

“I get you are nervous. Really. But he won’t kill you are anything.”

 

“Wonderful.” His sarcasm bleeds through.

 

She grins and touches his tapping hand for just a second. “I love you so he will too.”

 

“Even with how we started?” They have discussed it and Claire has convinced him that full honesty is the way to go. As she knows her uncle, he is willing to go along with it. But it does make him more nervous.

 

“I believe that reflects more poorly on me then you.”

 

“I saw your ring.” His tapping gets faster.

 

“Yes. Look Uncle Lamb has seen all types of different cultures. He is quite open. Please don’t worry.”

 

“Trying, but we are about to tell your dad, for all intents, that we are pregnant while you are still married.”

 

“True.”  She bites her lip. “But I think he will be relieved that Frank is out of the picture and happy about the baby.”

 

“Pray so.”

 

They pull up and a gentleman with long silver hair lifts Claire up as soon as Jamie helps her out of the car.  “Claire Bear!”

 

“Lamby!” As they hug, Jamie stands awkwardly to the side.  “Meet Jamie. My love. Jamie, my Uncle Lamb.”

 

He has set her down. “Quentin Lambert Beauchamp.” He offers his hand. His grip is form and commanding.

 

“James Malcolm Fraser, your servant sir.”

 

“Nice manners Jamie. It is nice to meet the man who got Claire away from that horrid man.”

 

“She had decided that before we meet but I agree with your feelings about him.”

 

“Eh, let’s go in and have a drink. A spot of whisky in honor of the occasion.”

 

“Aye.” He follows them in. 

 

Lambert’s house was a true man’s space. With leather furniture and a huge telly. They take a seat on the couch as he sits across them on the leather recliner. He pours for himself and Jamie. Claire has her avian water and explains she isn’t drinking today. Driving is an acceptable excuse, for now.

 

“So, how did you two meet?” Claire tells him of Frank’s shirt, the decision to go get wasted, meeting Jamie, the instant attraction, going back to his place, kicking Frank out the next day.

 

“So, do you think me a bad woman?”

 

“No. I think you a brave one. You meet someone you couldn’t live without and were courageous enough to claim him, for I assume you aren’t just Introducing me to your one night stand. You did call him, you love?”

 

“He is. We fit together so much better than Frank and I ever did. He fills up spaces I didn’t know were empty. I have started divorce preceding and Frank is in jail.”

 

“What’s this now?”

 

They tell him, about his drunk visit, heading to Lallybroch, the message from Geillis,  her rescue, and his charges.

 

*It is a blessing you were about”

 

“Aye. I will always do my best to see her safe.”

 

“Good man.” A pat on his back and they know it is time.

 

“I hope you still feel the same about both of us after we tell you…ah… we are pregnant.” Claire stumbles out. She doesn’t look up as the silence drags on.

 

Finally, as she is about to break it with anything, he replies, “How extraordinary! You are sure it isn’t Frank’s?”

 

“No,” she looks up, stunned. “It is definitely Jamie’s.”

 

“Wonderful. I am glad my grand- niece or nephew wasn’t sired by such a bastard. Yes, I know,” he adds as they exchange looks, “that this isn’t the best time to be entering parenthood, with a divorce from him and all. But, babies are blessings. You do intend to have it?”

 

“Yes, she recovers her voice to answer. “we do.”

 

“Brilliant. A divorce before you start showing, is the plan.”

 

“Aye, we hope not to involve Frank in any of this, of we can avoid it.”

 

“Grand plan. So, is your intentions to marry her?”

 

“I would love to. Would as soon as I legally can. So, you give permission?”

 

“Permission and blessing. She loves you in a way she never did him. Carries your child. You have already proven you will see to her and to those close to her. You are a good man. I would be honored to see her wed to you.”

 

“Wow Uncle Lamb, I thought you might wish to, I don’t know, question him a bit more.”

 

*Do I have need or can I trust the one you have given your whole heart too?”

 

She smiles as tears of joy gather in her eyes. “You can trust. Thank you.” She comes over and he enfolds her in his arms.

 

“This time I will be really given you away. Won’t be easy but you are finally getting a good one.”

 

He looks to Jamie over her shoulder. His glance is clear, hurt her and you will answer to me. Jamie nods. He fully understands. Now to get a ring and give her the proposal she deserves.

#my writing #outlander fandom #the one night stand #intentions #outlander fanfic #cannon divergence #jamie and claire #modern au

[vanchlo]

The Partner / Chapter Seven, "The Recovery"

Word Count: 7.6k words /  Story Masterlist /  Read The Assistant /  Read on Wattpad / Song: Bloom by The Paper Kites (click to listen)

P.S. Please ignore any weird formatting stupid Tumblr did to the chapter. I just copy and paste from Google Docs and for some reason, Tumblr doesn’t like it. Sigh. 

"He touched her face gently with the back of his hand. 'You disappear so completely into your head sometimes,' he said. 'I wish I could follow you.' 'You do,' she wanted to say. 'You live in my head all of the time.”

- Jace and Clary, City of Ashes

“Ree, you need to eat something.” 

I had heard it again and again, and still, I was ignoring it. For better or for worse. It comes again, and another time as the bleep of the car locking behind us sounds. 

“You know what he’s going to say,” she continues. Of course, I do, it’s going to be if I’ve eaten breakfast, but he’s not himself right now. Yet, he’s still there, deep down. So is the way I don’t want to disappoint him, or our baby. 

“Fine, give me the damned granola bar then,” I relent, swiping the object from her hand and tearing it open. Luckily, my stomach doesn’t roil at the sight of it or the taste, and I chew hungrily. 

“I’ll just be out here then- well, in the waiting room, but not the same one, of course.” 

“Yeah,” I mumble absently, listening to her departing footfall. They echo in my ears amongst the busy sounds of the hospital floor, the Surgical Intensive Care Unit, or something like that. Only a minute off the lift and I couldn’t remember. 

The tips of my ears still felt numb with cold, another sensation nudging against the hammering of my heart in my chest. It grew faster and louder when I reached his door, the number still burned into my memory. This time, I don’t linger, walking right into the sounds and sights I didn’t miss. But there’s the man lying in the hospital bed I ached and longed for all night and this morning as I moved around our house without him. Thought about our baby without him, and saw the memory of him proposing on the balcony by myself. 

My heart slows its ticking and swells when I find his face, only to have it squeeze at the remembrance of the stitches and colors interrupting his beautiful skin. A pallor still clings to him and within moments, my lips are singing from kissing his warm forehead. Soft breaths escape his lips and sitting down in the chair beside him, my heart falls at his absence. There hadn’t been a second since the last time I was here that my thoughts didn’t overrun with missing him, wanting him. It’s unsuccessful when I attempt to nudge the disappointment away, trying to tell myself that he needs the sleep, no matter how much I want to see those eyes open and be warmed by his sunshine smile. 

It’s a few episodes of some Gordon Ramsay show on the telly before my eyes lull shut, awakened sometime later by something stroking my palm. Yawning, I open my eyes regrettably, that is until I see the tired pair looking at me. Searching for me, just like I do with him. 

“Becks . . yer back.” 

“Harry,” it’s a rushed sigh, and so are my movements that bring me to hug him. 

“Mmm, careful, bug.” 

“I’m sorry,” I apologize, pulling away to look at his glassy eyes through my wide-awake ones. 

“‘s okay, c’mere,” he almost smiles, surprising me with the strength he uses to pull on my arm until I’m back in his. “Missed you.” 

“I missed you more.” 

“You sleep okay?” he murmurs against my hair, lips sponging a kiss to my temple. 

My lips part with the buzzing excitement I feel to get to talk to him, feeling as if I missed him all over again sitting in that chair. They fall with a doubt, and I’m grabbing for words, not knowing what to say. 

“Fine,” is what I decide on, albeit the fact it’s a lie, but his comfort is more important. The last thing I want to do is worry him, and I try not to think about if that’s what he would want, because once I start I know it’d be a slippery slope. 

“Happy t’ hear.” 

“How about you?” I wonder aloud, stroking my fingers through his hair, unable to ignore the way strands are caked together with blood. The sleep had left my body at once, and suddenly, all I wanted to do was to take care of him. Bathe him. Feed him. Make him all better. 

“Alright . . didn’t wake up as much . . How’s baby?”

“Good. I didn’t get sick this morning.” 

The happiness is clear as day in his little wheeze, and the words that follow, “Makes me so happy . . Don’t like seein’ you sick.” 

I have to blink hard and long to push them away when I hear those words, knowing that not an ounce more of truth could stick to them in my head. I don’t like seeing you sick either, but that doesn’t even begin to cover it. It passes, but I don’t know for how much longer. I have shed how many tears now, how can there be any left? Then, I remind myself that I had thought we’d climbed the mountain and gotten to the other side, but no, it still felt as if we were on the peak, unable to know how to find flat ground again. 

“Skye told me . . ,” they’re out and unable to be dragged back in. Neither am I after he coaxed me into bed beside him, his neck warm against my forehead. 

“Told you what?” he murmurs, a raggedness still abrasive in his wonderful voice. My lips still, not knowing how to say it, but that’s not it, as I lace my hand with his. Imagining a gold band on his ring finger, or whatever material Mr. Creative would come up with, surely with diamonds inlaid and all. He’d said silver one day and then gold the next, so it beats me what he’ll end up picking. 

“About giving you my letter.” 

His eyebrows squishing together still was as adorable as could be, despite the way it’s slower and so is his blink. It pains me each second the cogs slowly spin behind his eyes until the wrinkle between them smooths. 

“Ya, I remember now,” Harry admits, lips spreading into a smile that imbues me with light. “Ya didn’t know?”

“No, she didn’t tell me until the night . . of your accident and . . “

“What, bug?” he hums, sending goosebumps down my arm when his thumb begins to draw circles against my knuckle. 

The words are there and I know how to say them, but they refuse to line up nicely. No, they won’t gather on the tracks that guide to my lips, because I know how they’ll sound. Silly as can be. I know the way they’ll make him feel, and with the rock in my gut, I think that’s what I fear most of all. The last thing I’ve ever wanted to do was to hurt Harry, and those words couldn’t ring truer as I lie in the hospital bed beside him. 

“Becks? What ‘s it?” his question comes in a hushed whisper, one marked by a sigh when a wetness meets my cheek. 

“I told Skye th-that-,” I stop and he waits, patient as ever before, perhaps even more so. “I was afraid you didn’t know how much I loved you a-and how badly I wanted a family with you-.” I can’t get any further before my voice is entirely swimming with the dryness of tears, and the subsequent sob. 

“Buggie,” Harry huffs with a voice likened to mine, struggling for breath and a reprieve from the pain. I find my relief in him when he presses me against his front, and already, I’m tired of being careful. I wish things didn’t have to be this way, and that it could come true just that easily. “Ya never need t’ worry . . I know, always have.” 

“B-But what I said-.” 

“It don’t matter . . know ya love me so much. Know you’ve always had tha biggest crush on me,” at that, I think I hear the smallest of titters grace his lips. With it, one almost leaves mine at seeing that slice of him. “Had tha biggest one on you since ‘bout day one . . don’t worry . . I know.” 

“Thank you,” it’s a whisper that I’m sure he hears. A quiet sigh makes its way out when I feel his lips against my wet eyes, once and then twice. “Did it surprise you at all, the letter?”

“Sure did,” he rasps with a slight nod, taking care to rid my cheeks of the tears riddling them. “‘s ‘bout tha sweetest thing ‘ve ever read . . . saddest too . . and flatterin.’” 

“And you kept it?”

“‘Course . . How’d y’know?” he asks with his eyebrows, like always. His expressions lack originality though, because they just won’t move that way. They’re likened to a dough that’s too tough and won’t mold how you’d like it to, but once it has a good rest, it’s ready to. 

“Skye said she saw it in your wallet the other day, it looked like you’d read it a few dozen times.” 

The faintest of light shines in his eyes before the slightest of nods comes, “Sure did . . Befo’ I proposed . . When we broke up . . While you were in hospital still . . I couldn’t lose that, but . . ‘s one o’ tha hardest things . . ‘ve read. Cried loads tha first time and afta that . . . hearin’ all tha pain ya went thru’ ‘cos o’ me.” 

“Harry-,” I begin, urgency on my tongue. 

“Doesn’t matter now,” he shushes with a finger to my lips, hand still laced with mine. His blinks are growing longer and eyes glossier, I can already tell his cues. 

“I’ve made you tired again, you should rest.” 

His lips are lazy in their smile, but beautiful as can be. They’d benefitted from the lip balm I’d found in my purse, or what Harry called ‘lathering that crap on his lips,’ which I admittedly probably overdid. Now, at last, they were supple and him, again. 

“Hate t’ agree, but I am . . wanna stay with you, but . . need sleep.” 

“I’ll be here when you wake up.” 

“Good,” he grins, pressing his lips to mine before I slide out from under the covers. The faint dimple in his cheek melts away as the covers reach his shoulders, a calmness draping over him. 

I sit there at first for just a moment, one that slowly turns into a few, and then many more, just watching him. He stirs at first to get comfortable until a sigh drops from his lips. The tense space between his eyebrows relaxes as the rest of him does, and for a second, I think that I couldn’t be happier. That is until every reason that I have to not be happy comes rushing back to me. Until I tell myself that’s not true, because for the longest of time, all I had wanted- needed to be happy was to get to love him, and to have him love me back. Something I had spent so many tears and time on, and now, it was mine. The weight on my left-hand tells me so, first with the knot ring secure on my middle finger, and the handed-down coils of gold and diamonds to its left. A calm settles over me when my hand comes to lie on my stomach, and my lips turn up into my cheeks as I watch the first snores leave his lips. 

Harry. 

My Harry. 

My Sunshine, because we’ve been through thick and thin, and I know that he’d always be that for me. A light in the darkness. He hadn’t failed to be one, yet. 

The skin above his brows is silky as a ribbon and saved from the ruin of the bruises and the like that clung to him in other places. It was hard to decide whether or not he was looking like himself again. As the bruises deepened, this swelled and that went down, and as his stubble grew, it was hard to find him in there, but I did. 

A scuffle met my ears, lifting my head up and around. Freezing in my shoes, everything stills as I stare ahead, my fingers in Harry’s hair. Across from me , their lips wobble and still, parting just a second later, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-.” 

I automatically stop him with a terse shake of my head, already recognizing his cues of worry blur in front of me. They shake with more uncertain words as he holds up the vase of yellow daffodils. 

“I hope he likes flowers,” he insists with a shrug of his shoulders, but I can tell there’s more. First, by the way his Adam's apple bobs, and then the way his eyes the same color as mine grow wet. “I’m so sorry, Ree,” Robbie sighs in a choked voice. I never knew how much I had needed a hug from my brother until my arms were around him. 

“Thank you,” it’s a whisper regretful of words I don’t know how to say. 

“‘Course, Ree. God, when Dad told me-,” this time he cuts himself off, but we’re both shaking our heads when he pulls away. He’s chalk full of surprises, starting with his appearance and what I see in his eyes. It may not be the same, but there’s a reflection of the misery that wrenches my insides. 

“It’s okay- well, it’s not, not what happened, but . . .” 

His usually shaggy locks barely move as his head shakes quickly, covered by a maroon beanie. 

“I had this feeling something was up with you, and I tried to call but I didn’t get an answer. I was worried, but then Dad came by to stay and told me.” 

“I haven’t been answering my phone much, sorry,” it’s unremarkable, the sound of my voice and how I try to hide everything sitting inside of it. It’s for nothing when I look over my shoulder, assured Harry’s still sleeping. 

“Shutup, you have nothing to be sorry about,” Robbie tuts, growing quiet. Without looking, I know that his eyes are on me, and on Harry. “How is he?”

“Okay, now . . But it’s still an uphill battle. Concussion, managing pain, therapy, being bloody shot twice . . Everybody is so happy and I just- I don’t understand- of course, I am th-that he’s still here, but-.” 

“It’s okay to feel that way, Ree, whatever way,” he says, not interrupting. A dryness swallows any words in my throat. His hand on my arm startles me, pausing the way I wring my own, but probably for the better. “Maybe it’s because people don’t know. They don’t have to be here every second, knowing how it really is. I don’t mean that-.” 

“I know you don’t mean it that way, Robbie. He’d never be a burden, but it can be s-so hard,” it comes out in a stammer, lips wobbling as Harry’s breaths grow in volume with my proximity. “I’d never wish this upon anybody, t-to go through what Harry did when I had . . my accident- for him to get hurt like this. H-How could somebody do that to another person, Bee?” he smells like the indescribable scent of tears. No, not like the real vanilla extract my grandma would use when we baked, or those woodsy candles I’d see at the shops. Harry’s breaths remain even and slow, despite my lips pressing to his cheek, painting his skin with my tepid tears. The anger burns behind my eyes, filling my being like it has whenever that thought invades my mind, until it melts away unspent. “M-My person.” 

“Ree . . I wish I knew.” 

“Me too,” the whisper rebounds off of Harry’s still lips. I’m only reminded of the way my own taste metallic against the vice of my teeth. “We s-should let him sleep.” 

I barely hear his hummed reply, watching how Harry’s eyelashes flutter against his skin. His color was starting to come back, but it was slow, and I think I was the only one who’d noticed. Was it because I wished it so badly, or because it was the truth? I wouldn’t put it past me to see things that weren’t there, because I wanted so badly for him to be better- no, if I was being honest, I wanted this all to be over. But as I combed his hair back with a feather of a touch before leaving him, I wasn’t sure of the next time I’d ever feel okay again. 

“Ree,” the voice begins behind me, but I’m already turning around. They were the arms I ran to when I was hurt, the pair I pushed away after a fight, and the ones that were always there. “I’m so sorry I wasn’t there.”

“It’s okay. You didn’t know.”

“Still, I should’ve. I’m sorry.”

Hiccuping, words seem like an impossibility whilst it ravages my body again. The ‘it’ that is never that far away, always ready to strike when I think I’m starting to feel put together again. 

“Stop apologizing,” I barely manage, surprised that I allow him to lead me from the room. Out in the hall, he spots a familiar head of rainbow hair, just seconds before I do. 

“Heya, Bee. I didn’t see you come in,” Skye announces in a hushed whisper, sharing a hug. My eyes wander over their shoulders and to Harry. “I can keep an eye on him, if you want.”

I get by with a nod, savoring one last glance of his matted curls and peaceful face before following Robbie down the hall. 

“If something happens, text me. Okay?” I manage at the last second, turning around, making her do the same. 

“Nothing will, Ree, but sure thing.” 

A shiver courses through me as I turn back around, pulling my hands back into the sleeves of this jumper, one of Harry’s. The line between our clothes had bled into the other long ago, and it was hard to remember whose jumper or shirt was whose anymore. He notices, rubbing circles into my back as an almost awkward silence settles around us. 

“I’d ask how you’re holding up, but-.”

“Not good,” it’s a frog-like croak, making me wish for water. His nod can be seen from the corner of my eye, passing nurses and visitors too.

“Damn, have you two been through the ringer or what.”

All my lips can produce is an agreeing hum, but they begin to buzz from his next words. 

“I’m glad you two have each other to hold on to during shit like this, though.”

“Yeah, me too. I don’t know what I’d do without him, I really don’t because . . I’m pregnant too.”

“Wait, what?!” his exclamation is short and brings his feet to an abrupt halt. It’s there, the wanting to laugh at the astonishment freezing his features but I can’t. Instead, I let myself be happy for a moment, because I want that more. 

“Yeah, just found out . . a few days before Harry . .”

“Well, holy shit, you really do beat me to everything. God, would you come here and give your big brother a hug?” I think I feel it coming, and when his arms come around me excitedly, I think maybe I could laugh so I try. “Bloody hell, I’m gonna be an uncle, imagine that. Uncle Robbie. I like the ring to that.”

It dances on my lips, but it’s stolen away by a thought that blossoms into a sentence, “It’s not how I wanted to tell you,” I admit quietly before he releases me, wiping a hand over each of my cheeks quickly. “Or thought I would be.”

“It’s still pretty fucking exciting. You’re gonna be a mum, Ree, you’ve always wanted that. You must be so happy,” Robbie coos, squeezing my arm. I wasn’t aware of where we were going, seeing as how I didn’t know the place either, even Harry’s floor. “Well, would you look at that. Aren’t they something?”

“Harry’s over the moon,” I murmur, stopping at his side. 

“Figured that much. You still haven’t told me if you are, but I’m assuming so seeing as how you played with bloody dolls until we were nearly  thirteen.”

My snarky comment is overdue, but then again, so is his. I’m not sure if I have any left in me nowadays. They’re especially miles away as I watch the squirming pink faces on the other side of the glass before us. 

“I am, but . . “

“Which one ya reckon?” Robbie speaks up, nodding his head.

“Back right corner.”

“Evidence, Attorney Styles?”

“Dark curly hair and chubby cheeks. They’re the cutest one, and they’re not crying, even though the rest are. That would be my baby. And you?”

“No, this was you and Skye’s game, picking out which baby was yours in the nursery and naming them. I just watched you two goofs dreaming of being mums one day . . Where’s it gone, Ree, that dream of yours?”

“I’m scared to be a mum, Robbie. Not as much as when I first found out- I mean, it still doesn’t seem real, but I’m afraid . . afraid that I’ll be a bad one. Especially after Mum told me so.”

“What?” I already know they’re there, waiting on me, even with my eyes fixed on the few rows of squirming babies behind the glass partition. 

“Yeah, she always just has impeccable timing. Called the other day to bitch about me not showing up for lunch, then about not telling her I got engaged, and that I was such a terrible person because of it all that I shouldn’t be a mother,” my voice caught on the last word, like a sock on a loose nail head on the floor. Gulping, I take a moment to breathe before going on. “I haven’t answered a text since I’ve been here or a call, but I see them. I told her to never talk to me again and she keeps texting me. I guess I forgot to block her number, but I don’t really feel like I know how to do anything anymore, but worry about Harry and think about him. And throwing up.”

“Give me your phone,” he doesn’t need to say it twice and nor do I ask, handing it over. Trusting him, I look back to the nursery. 

“God, they’re so tiny. Look at that one, Bee, she’s going to give them a bath . . I can’t believe they’ll be that small- mine and Harry’s baby.”

“Don’t listen to Mum, she has no place to speak. I’m on my last straw with her too.”

“You don’t have to drop her just because of me, you know. I know you two were different, she was nicer to you and didn’t have a piano to abuse you with too,” the nurse unwraps the wailing baby, exposing their small pink body to the cold air. My heart clenches at the sight, amazed at how small they are, and cute. I already for the hundredth time wonder what Harry and I’s baby will look like, just half of those times being in the last few days. 

“How do you not know I can tell when you’re lying? Been able to since we were like, four. Here, I blocked all of her numbers that I know of, work and otherwise, and emails too. Complete radio silence, which is what you need right now . . And I mean it, Ree, there was never anything there with Mum and I. After a while, I figured out she just used me to get to you and Dad, and I’ve had enough of giving her third and fourth chances.”

“Welcome to the club,” I chirp, feeling a corner of my mouth raise watching the little fists of the baby clench and fingers spread. 

“You’ll be a great one, there’s nothing else for you to be. Bloody hell, we were in nursery, not even in school quite yet, and you’d already decided you’d wanted to be a mum,” Robbie remarks, swinging an arm around me. I lean into him, eyes glued to the newborn baby the nurse was washing up. 

“You better not tell Harry about the baby dolls.”

Glancing up, I look into his eyes, watching his lips spread mischievously.

“Thanks for the idea, and you best bet I’ll be getting that kid on a motorcycle before Harry can.” 

“Good luck with that. I doubt he’ll let you beat him to it,” my remark comes. 

My lip burns when my teeth press down into it again, reminded of my old habit once again, the way I tend to take my stress out on it. Just like somebody I know. The thought of Harry on a motorcycle scares me for just a split second, until I remind myself that he’s rode one for how many years? How many times had I ridden on it with him too? Regardless, it doesn’t calm the flare of worry inside of me, not wanting to worry about Harry getting hurt ever again. 

God, please no. 

I wasn’t sure how long we had been away when our feet brought us back to the room, and there I found him awake. 

“There’s me girl,” he whispers with a warm grin, eyes finding me first. They continue to brighten softly when Robbie appears behind me.

“Hey, Harry,” my brother greets softly with a weak wave. 

“Hey t’ you too.” 

“How are you doing?” Robbie asks, stepping up to him and patting him on the shoulder gently. 

“Been better,” Harry suffices. “Think tha worst me ‘s me wrist ‘s fractured . . Can’t have a good wank now.” 

The laugh I’d grown up hearing floats around the room now, and like always, mine joins it. I’m shaking my head in the doorway, watching two of my favorite guys in the entire world. 

“Harry, you’re right handed, silly.” 

“I know, but sometimes ‘s fun t’ change it up . . Right, Robbie?” my fiance quips, somehow his humor is still so present. My brother murmurs a confirmation, and then the room grows silent. 

“I hear you two are going to be parents next year.”

“I see Becks ‘s havin’ fun . . tellin’ ev’rybody,” Harry comments. Walking around Robbie’s side, it takes a moment to catch those green eyes. They raise an eyebrow at me in question. “‘ve only got t’ tell Myles so far . . no fun.” 

“You can take the credit, if you want, mate,” Robbie snickers, stuffing his hands into his pockets awkwardly. 

“Sure can, ‘s me swimmers that won tha race.” 

“Oh my god, Harry,” my words collapse into a laugh. I almost stop when I hear his, wanting to savor his trademark wheeze that I’ve always found so endearing. 

“It’s good to see you’re still giving everybody a run for their money.” 

“There’s no stoppin’ me,” Harry comments, meeting my eyes and winking. Too soon. 

/

All of the Halloween films had been gone from the telly for a few weeks now, but one or two lingered here and there. I had found one of The Addams Family’s on the tv in Harry’s room. It was welcomed, the respite from reality for a little longer. Visitors had been in and out of his room all day, hence why he was fast asleep when I looked over to check on him. Again. It was the family who hadn’t come the day before, an auntie and uncle of his I’d only met once. The hardest of them all was his grandma Claire, because her tears came as soon as she saw Harry, and so did mine. It had gotten easier to talk to his mum and sister, but it was still difficult to talk at all. Even to Harry, who still wasn’t all of the way there. 

I wasn’t sure how long it’d been since the movie finished, except that the clock was ticking faster than I thought. He wasn’t waking up any time soon by the sounds of his loud snores, and I was conflicted about wanting him to. It had grown dark outside long ago and the halls were growing quieter. An anxious warmth was building inside of me, knowing that with each dreaded tick of the clock, I was closer to having to leave. I thought that if maybe, just maybe he didn’t wake up for a while that I could talk my way into staying the night here. Still, part of me knew that I couldn’t do that- that I shouldn’t do that to him. Harry was right that I needed the sleep, we both did, but a heavy knot formed in my stomach when I thought about leaving his side for longer than well, ten minutes. 

A hushed sound pulls me from my thoughts, and I lift my head to find what it is. The image before me roots me to the spot and I don’t dare blink. For what reason, I don’t know. A hiccup spreads through my chest as I stare back, suddenly aware of the wetness gathering on my cheeks. 

“Buggie.” 

“I’m sorry, didn’t mean to wake you,” my whispered words came in a hasty string. My quick work of the wet trails on my cheeks is next, wondering why I’m suddenly self conscious. 

“Don’t gotta apologize,” he insists. There isn’t a smooshing of his brows together or a glazed look to his eyes. His jaw isn’t clenched and if anything, I fill with happiness at finding him waking seemingly without pain, for one of the first times today. “C’mere, Becks.” 

His hand is firm around mine and so is his tugging, but the shake of my head is even more. I try not to dwell on the disappointment lingering in his eyes, knowing that I couldn’t handle that among everything else. I can’t. No, not when I’m going to have to get out of that bed to just get into another, one that’s empty and cold. I know too well that I wouldn’t be able to leave it once I slide under the covers with him. 

“Ev’rythin’ will be okay again,” he hums, voice still thick with sleep. From the corner of my eye, I can see his there, vying for my attention. What I focus on instead is my hand enclosed in his, and the feeling of his skin under my circling thumb. Then, there’s the still shocking appearance of his naked fingers, instead covered with scrapes and crusty cuts. To my surprise, they lift and he struggles to wipe at my cheeks. I can’t stop the smile that lives on my lips for a moment. 

“I don’t wanna go home. I don’t . . want things to be like this anymore.” 

“I know, bug . . Me too.” 

“I don’t want to worry about you getting hurt again, l-like this,” the words are a jumble flowing from my lips. “I-,” struggling to articulate well, anything, my words are lost in another pool of tears. 

“Becks,” Harry coos but I’m shaking my head. 

“I don’t wanna do all of this without you . . any of it, Harry,” lifting my head, I find his tired greens with my own. My heart squeezes at the invading thought of when will there be a time when they’re not glassy and full of exhaustion? “I can’t.”

“Neither do I, Becks . . ‘d never wanna leave you . . and our baby,” his reply arrives in a sigh, and my head is nodding up and down. His words are felt in my heart and in the way he squeezes my hand emphatically. 

“That case it . . it was too high profile, Harry. Neither of us knew it at first until it was too late, but-.” 

“But was too risky, I know . . Whole world was watchin’ . . Nasty people involved, obviously . . I won’t do it anymo,’ Becks.” 

The alarm paints my body in seconds, and then my voice, “What?” He only looks back at me, blinking long and slowly. “Harry, you don’t mean stopping practicing.” 

“God, no,” he disagrees quickly, swiping his tongue out across his lips. “‘d never, y’know that . . I won’t be back fer a while from tha sounds o’ it . . But, ‘ll make a promise t’ you . . No mo’ big cases like that, dangerous ones . . No, we’re startin’ a family now, and I wanna be ‘round . . fer ev’ry second o’ ours kids’ lives . . yours . . . my whole life with you.” 

He had gotten me where he had wanted me by now, close enough to kiss and I couldn’t resist. The last place I wanted to be was away from him, and afterwards, I found my head resting on my arm laid by his side. 

“Thank you.” 

“‘Course, my bug,” his smile warms me like sunshine on a brisk winter day. That and the way he pinches my cheek between his fingers, bringing a similar lift to my lips. It’s moments before I speak again, a few blissful ones of watching him. 

“Does this still mean I have to go back home tonight?” 

The regret comes in a sour wave when I watch the happiness fade from his face, guilt arriving inside me soon after. My eyes fall from his when his answer doesn’t come right away, telling me it then and there. 

“You should, bug . . ‘s fer tha best,” his words still smell of the orange jello he’d had with his dinner, something he had made so many jokes about. He was almost as bad as me, making me spoon feed him and cut his food up like a little baby. But he was my baby, my first one, I guess. “They say ‘ll be able t’ go home in a week or so, that’s good news . . We’re one day closer . . You’ll be okay, ‘ll see you ‘gain in tha mornin.’” 

“Yeah, it’s fine,” I murmur, my head lowering to rest my chin on my arm, replicating the action of my heart. But I’d be lying if I said it hadn’t fallen into the pit of my stomach long ago, unable to find a way out yet. 

/

“Please?”

    “No,” he huffs, a high pitched whine attached to his words. “‘m full, can’t eat another bite.” 

    Clutching his tummy, Harry stares back at me with eyebrows furrowed. 

    “Don’t you pout at me, mister,” I challenge him, waiting for a flicker of something across his face. “Just one more bite, Harry.” 

    “No.” 

    “Harry,” I sigh, dropping my hand and giving him a look. His head slowly shakes from side to side. “God, I hope our baby isn’t this stubborn.” 

    “With you as ‘s mum, I dunno.” 

    “Hey!” I exclaim, words pouring into a laugh when I catch his playful eyes. If I look close enough, I can find the dimple there in one of his cheeks. The little shit. “Eat your jello, for God’s sake.” 

    “Fine, woman,” he relents, face relaxing when I guide the spoon towards his lips. The sound of his chewing fills the quiet room. “Yer gonna be a wonderful mother, y’know.” 

    I don’t know why, but it pulls my head up in surprise. His dimple falls deeper when I find the sage shade of his eyes again. 

    “‘m so happy yer gonna be tha mum o’ me kids.” 

    “Stop it, you’re going to make me cry,” it’s an almost whisper, but the dryness of my throat speaks truth into the words. 

    “I mean it, bug.” All abashed, I feel the heat paint my cheeks as I fold the napkin to stuff into the empty Jello tin. “Who’d have thought it’d be you and me . . Huh, Becks?” 

    “Yeah, talk about mad,” I sniffle, lifting my head as a tear falls down my cheek. “My old boss, Mr. Styles, the best lawyer in all of London.” 

    “Tha lawyer and tha assistant,” his voice is soft as a feather against my skin, and so is his thumb against my palm. Glancing down, the tears stuck to my eyelashes blur the sentiment of his thumb drawing circles on my skin. 

    “And their baby.” 

    “And tha baby,” he almost giggles, it’s so close. But there it is, his trademark wheeze, and I couldn’t be more thankful. “Not sure I can keep it from me mum anymo’ . . ‘s almost came out a few times.” 

    “I know, me too. When do you think we should tell your mum?”

    “What’s this you have to tell me?” somebody says from the doorway. A prickly warmth spreads across my insides at their voice. It disappears within moments when my eyes glide over to his, and he’s calm as a cucumber. 

    One of his eyebrows raises with that always tired smile, and I nod. “C’mere, mum, ‘ve got somethin’ t’ tell you.” 

    “What’s that?” Harry’s mum says, and we meet eyes when I turn to watch her walk in. She sets down a soda cup from the cafe downstairs, and I watch a look of Harry’s come over her face. “Everything alright? You two are crying, it’s scaring me,” she tries to laugh but it doesn’t go very far. 

    “Would you like to do the honors?” I nearly croak, bringing my attention back to Harry. Despite the energy he was slowly getting back, he still looked pooped. But for a second, the sunshine glowed across his face, and because of that, on us too. 

    “‘Course,” Harry smiles and with a clearing of his throat, announces the news. “Yer gonna be a gran again . . well, in ‘bout eight months or so.” 

    “What?!” at her exclamation, I’m suddenly not sure who to be looking at, and there I find myself glancing between the two. My almost mother in -law and soon to be husband. “Harry- Becky-,” she struggles with the words, turning to look at the both of us before a hand comes to her mouth and she’s crying. 

    “Bloody hell . . why d’you women cry so much?” he says, and we both turn to find his eyes welling with tears too, making all of us laugh. 

    “Oh, loves, I’m so happy for you. You’re both going to be wonderful parents,” she blubbers, almost squeezing the air out of me when it’s time for a hug. Her familiar floral scent and trademark coffee smell surrounds me as I laugh through the tears. “And, Harry, it took you long enough.” 

    “Hey!” 

    “That’s what I told him, he’s getting old,” I snicker, finding his perturbed look makes me laugh, again. I’d laughed more in the last few minutes than I had in days, and it felt . . good. 

    “Double hey! Watch it, wifey.” 

    It comes with a grin and a drink of sunshine, “Okay, husband.” 

    I feel it fill me when the annoyance on his face is washed away by a content smile, one that only grows bigger when his mum turns to me with questions, and a notch wider when her hand comes to my belly. His not too far away. 

/

    I finally packed a bag, but you couldn’t have gotten me to go in our bedroom for any other reason besides that. Not even Skye could for more than the five minutes that took me. It had to have been a packing record, and one Harry would have been proud of. It didn’t get easier, the leaving him every night and coming back to him every morning, but we found a routine. That didn’t mean the difficulty disappeared at having to unwrap my hand from his at nine o’clock when he was already sleeping, knowing that I wouldn’t be able to once I slipped under my covers. It was the hardest thing I’d ever done, and I did it again and again, day after day. 

    The tears crept up on me at times, like when Myles brought Rose and Jennings to see him, and Harry cried the second they walked in. They painted my cheeks like a waterfall when Asher showed up in the first few days, and once again when my dad returned before going back home. I wondered if they’d ever stop as I sat hunched over the toilet for what, a tenth morning in a row, wishing he could be there to rub my back like before. 

But we were so far from before, and still lengths away from the after. 

I still didn’t know if I could do this, despite the instructions, both printed and oral, and that I wasn’t alone. It felt like a rerun, knowing that I was supposed to be happy, but knowing nothing besides fear. Finding its place the second I got in the car, I doubted myself through and through. Not even reminding myself to be happy had helped, because the fear stole it away. 

He was home. I got to bring Harry home, snuggle him up on the sofa where the new headquarters was, and never have to go back to that hospital again. Well, not for a while, anyway. 

“Whatcha thinkin’ ‘bout?” a voice murmurs, yanking me from my ever-consuming thoughts. Blinking, I find myself back in the present and in front of the television. Harry’s feet were cold in my hands despite the fuzzy purple socks I put on them before we left the hospital this morning. 

“Nothing,” I lie, leaving my eyes set on the news channel where I’d left them before zoning out. 

“You lie,” he sighs with a slight giggle, shifting on the sofa. “You look tired, bug. Why don’t we go and take a nap?”

“I’m fine.” 

“Again, you lie,” Harry huffs, his toe brushing against my hand. “I know ‘s already been a long day, Becks. Tha throwin’ up this mornin’, all tha instructions, and you haven’t had much t’ eat- well, that you’ve kept down,” Getting the cue, I drag my eyes over to him, failing to ignore how heavy they feel. 

The splashes of color across his face, and entire body, had faded in the last nine days. A few stitches had already been removed for more superficial cuts, but others still remained as well as the bandages taped to his shoulder and thigh. I’d been shown time and time again over the course of his hospital stay how to change them, and somehow, I still dreaded it. His mum had volunteered to do it if I couldn’t, but that only made me feel worse, as if I can’t say no. 

His name for me tickles my ears and I blink, his tired face focusing in my view. His cheeks were pink again, but only a dusty shade and so were his lips. It confused me, how they could send him home and he still didn’t look like himself. Yes, he did, but not really. I almost wanted to tell the doctors that they couldn’t, and what if I mess up taking care of him, but how could I say any of that? 

“Bug,” he tries again, voice holding more fervor now. 

“What?” I mumble, massaging my thumb against the arch of his foot. 

“I wanna go and take a nap with you.” 

There was another thing. He took care of me when I had my car accident, before I even came home. But, I’m smaller than him, and well, he’s quite larger than me. Getting him up off the sofa and to the downstairs guest bedroom took two of us, his mum and I. She had been cooking and cleaning since the minute we got Harry settled after coming home. I still didn’t know how to talk to her after everything, especially now with the baby at the front of my mind. It’d opened this door to tell her about them, but I felt as if it closed for me now with this new hurdle in the way. I had a feeling it wasn’t going to get any better with her staying in the upstairs guest bedroom. Don’t even get me started on how it was driving me up the wall the way the both of them worried about me and the baby. 

“I like tha name Renley. What d’ya think o’ it?” 

Slowly, he was coming to do most of the talking. For the first time in ever, I’d grown annoyed with it and how he wouldn’t shut up sometimes. But then I reminded myself that means he’s getting better and was improving. Guilt leached any happiness anyway when a thought came from nowhere, telling me I should be happy that he’s talking, that he’s alive. He sure was, making strides during physical therapy and being able to walk on crutches unassisted. It frightened me more than it excited me, and I wasn’t sure why. I felt as if there was a switch inside of me that I needed to turn on, flick it back to ‘normal’ instead. 

“I know yer not sleepin’ yet,” his voice is warm and slow against my cheek. “Rebecca.” Opening my eyes, they find him only a kiss away. 

“I think it reminds me of Renley Baratheon from Game of Thrones.” 

His breathy laugh dances across my cheek, and somehow, I smile. I think I manage one at seeing the dimples fall into his cheeks. 

“I think ‘s unique and pretty. Fer a boy or a girl.” 

Nodding replaces my voice and closing my eyes pulls me away from the eyes that I can’t lie to. 

“I thought you wanted to name them Annie if it’s a girl, like after your mum.” 

“I do, but what if ‘s a boy, Becks? We need some boy names too,” Harry muses, words swallowed by a yawn. “Mmm, think I like Eleanor too. There are so many nicknames you can make out of it, and I like those old names.” 

“Me too,” it’s a lazy murmur as his fingers start to comb through my hair, and then I know that I’m screwed. But I think for one of the first times in a long time, I fall asleep feeling safe, because of him beside me, with the smallest inkling of being okay. 

/

The night is still and so is the darkness that sounds of Harry’s soft snores. I’d woken up every night since that nightmare of a call, and even now, when he was finally back in the bed beside me, it happened again. Sure, it was the same bed I’d called my own for the last week and a half, but why now? That one word had been popping into my head often recently and punctuated with a question mark that was never answered. Why? My stomach was fine, so it wasn’t that, but what was it then? I hadn’t even had a nightmare- well, not yet, anyway. 

It was taking me awhile to believe that maybe my life didn’t have to be one anymore. Just maybe. 

#harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles wattpad #harry styles au #harry styles fic #wattpad #fanfiction #fanfic #harry #harry fanfic #harry fic #one direction fanfic #lawyer!harry #boss!harry #asshole!harry #ceo!harry #attorney!harry #enemies to lovers #friends to lovers #slowburn #love #romance #fic #writing #chapter book #new chapter #update #hecky #becks holte #harry x becky

[ginnympotter]

tbh this is audacious of me but you did ask for prompts and I loved what you wrote for my other jily lives! prompt so here I am asking for a sequel or another jily lives! one shot 🤠 if it's not a sequel i'd love to see harry with a sibling, especially a younger sister? I think it'd be fun to see his sister and parents tease him about ginny or his sister and ginny thick as thieves leaving him slightly irritated but mainly amused 😼 love your writing!!

i always hc that if james and lily lived harry would have younger sisters so you’ve come to the right place :) name is after james’s mom euphemia :) let’s pretend that in the last fic she was at a friend’s house or something. also i turned this into another harry birthday fic...leo season is drawing nearer i cannot be stopped. 

original Jily lives AU to which @blattgefluester is referring

“For the record, I have always firmly been Team Ginny.”

“And that’s why you’re my favorite, Mia,” Ginny told her as they hit the ground.

Harry rolled his eyes at his girlfriend. “She’s your favorite? Really? Then what am I?”

“A close second. Which is more than what I can say for your standing in this match.” Ginny flashed him a smile as she and Mia high-fived in their victory. 

Ron laughed as he threw his broom to the side and plopped down on the grass next to where Hermione, who was supposed to be playing ref but was really engrossed in a book, was sitting. “It’s nice seeing her team up with someone against you instead of me, for once,” he said to Harry as he stretched out.

“Oh, shut it,” Harry retorted, putting his Firebolt to the side. “She’s going after you, too. We both just lost.”

“Lighten up,” said Ginny, sliding up to Harry and wrapping an arm around his waist, lifting herself up on her toes to plant a brief kiss to the corner of his mouth. “At least you have us on your side for actual matches at school, otherwise you’d never lay your eyes on that silver Cup.”

“Need I remind you,” Harry began, putting his arm around her shoulders. “You are looking at the youngest Seeker in a century, who also happened to win the Cup in my third year, before you were on the team,” he looked pointedly at Ginny, before turning his attention to his little sister, “and a year before you were even at Hogwarts!”

“Merlin, you’re sounding like Dad,” Mia noted with a scoff, running a hand through her shoulder-length, jet black hair. Her facial features mostly resembled those of her mother, especially when they were sharp and narrowed at her brother in annoyance, but she got her father’s dark hair and hazel eyes. “And Mum thought she knocked the arrogance out of this bloodline!”

Harry scowled as they all laughed. “It was a mistake to allow you two to be teammates. You’re lucky I even let you on the team, Mia. I was accused of nepotism!”

“You’re lucky to have her,” Ginny came to her defense, pinching Harry’s side. “She was the only Beater who could fill Fred and George’s shoes, and you know it.”

Harry sighed playfully, having to give that to her. “Perhaps.”

Mia stuck out her tongue at her brother, then said, “Thanks, Ginny” as she beamed at her. “But seriously, it wasn’t just me who was Team Ginny for Harry’s romantic pursuits. Do you know how annoyed Dad was that Harry became a Seeker and I became a Beater? The audacity of his own genetics to not produce him another Chaser.”

“I’m sure he wasn’t annoyed,” Hermione said, closing her book. “He’s proud of the both of you.”

“To an extent,” Mia corrected her. “But Ginny graciously allowing Harry to date her-”

“Hey, she fancied me first!” Harry interjected proudly, pulling Ginny closer to his side. She looked up at him and smiled.

“-opens up the possibility for a Chaser to marry into the family, and then Dad will finally be able to have the pride and joy of which he’s always dreamed.”

Harry’s face turned bright red, but Ginny just snickered, unfazed. “Your Dad does have some good Chaser tips, I have to give him that.”

“Why thank you, young Weasley.” They all turned to see James Potter walking through the screen door into the yard, floating five cold bottles of butterbeer in front of him, flicking them lazily into each of their hands. “Lily and I were watching from the window while preparing lunch. Boys, that was utterly pathetic.”

“Be fair, Dad,” said Mia, taking a sip of her drink. “It’s not their fault they were so unevenly matched against us.”

“You have a point,” he agreed.

Harry groaned, lifting his arm off Ginny’s shoulders and using the back of his hand to wipe the sweat off his forehead. “Whose side are you on, anyway?” 

“The winning side, of course,” James responded. “But I love all my children equally.”

Lily came out next, sending a platter of sandwiches towards the outdoor table. “Why don’t you lot eat before you bite each others’ heads off. And don’t worry, Ron, no corned beef.”

“You’re the best, Mrs. Potter,” Ron told her, jumping up and quickly perusing the sandwich selection. 

“Good way to refuel for the next time you get your arse kicked,” Ginny smirked at Harry as she strode towards the table, Harry following closely behind her.

“What if you did a Potter versus Weasley match?” James suggested, amused. “Unless you want in on this one, Hermione.”

“Oh, no, I’m fine,” Hermione insisted kindly. 

“What do you think, Harry?” asked Mia. “It pains me to turn on Ginny, but I think we could take them.”

Harry smiled at his sister. “They’ve got no chance.”

Ginny crossed her arms. “So you have no problem turning on me?”

“I would never turn on you,” Harry proclaimed, feigning innocence.

“We’ll see about that, big shots. Right, Ron?”

“Hm?” Ron mumbled as he took another large bite out of his turkey sandwich.

Hermione gave him a look of disgust as Ginny groaned, grabbing her own plate.

Lily came up next to them and sighed. “Hermione, why don’t you take a break from refereeing for this lot?”

“Oh, I don’t know...”

“Forrest Gump is going to be on telly in five minutes. We could watch inside with air conditioning.”

Hermione smiled, finally standing up. “Ooh, I love that film!”

“Grab a sandwich and come to the living room.”

Hermione obliged but Ron objected. “Hey, that’s our ref you’re taking!”

“I can ref,” James volunteered eagerly. 

“You’re not impartial,” Ron pointed out.

“Yeah, he’s partial in your favor,” Mia said begrudgingly, sitting down next to her father, leaning her head against his shoulder. “Didn’t we just tell you? He likes Ginny the best.”

James ruffled his daughter’s hair then tugged her to his side. “Oh, stop being ridiculous.”

“I get it from you.”

“Yes, yes, ridiculousness runs in this family,” Lily said impatiently, ushering Hermione into the cottage. “Sirius should be here in about fifteen minutes, so eat your lunch and once you finish, your actual impartial ref will have arrived. By the time Hermione and I are done watching the film it’ll be time to set up for the party, so you have until then, but maybe try finishing up a bit before so you can all shower.”

“Sounds good, Mum,” Harry told her, smiling. “Thanks for lunch.”

“Of course, my love,” she replied, walking over to him and kissing the top of his head. She turned around and entered the house with Hermione. 

As soon as the door closed, Harry turned excitedly to his father. “Is Sirius coming on the bike? Do you think Mum will finally let me ride it on my own? She always said when I turned 17...”

“You have my permission, but I don’t know if that really counts for much,” James said. “I’ll fight for you, though.”

Mia snorted next to him, jealousy written all over her face. “Anything for the birthday boy-”

“Excuse me,” Harry cut in. “Birthday man.”

Ron and Mia chortled, and he looked to Ginny for support. She looked him up and down and put a consoling hand on his shoulder as she said, “Eh. Debatable.”

#hp #hp fanfic #hp fanfiction #harry x ginny #harry potter x ginny weasley #harry potter #ginny weasley #hermione granger #ron weasley #lily evans #lily evans potter #james potte #sirius back #au #jily lives #harry has a sister

[lucadina]

One Bedroom

A/N: ereannie modern AU, wherein Annie gets drunk

Annie isn’t used to living alone anymore.

She's often left to her own thoughts, which she (un)surprisingly has no control over. Try as she might to distract herself, it's simply impossible; flipping on the telly to watch one of those mindless penguin documentaries, working out until she feels like her legs are going to snap— none of that lasts. Her mind always, always goes back to Eren.

The final kick was when she decided to do some deep cleaning earlier in the afternoon. She started emptying out all her drawers until she came across that one drawer that still had the red velvet box with her engagement ring inside of it. As if on autopilot, she took it in her hands. And like an idiot, she opened it.

Pale, sparkling blue mounted on white gold; because he said it reminded her of how her eyes stood out against her skin.

Her rejection was sharp. Eren's face had fallen, and he reminded her of a kicked puppy with how disappointed he looked. He had asked for an explanation and when she gave none, he demanded to know if she ever had intentions of committing to him or if she'd just been stringing him along all these years. Unable to properly communicate her insecurities, Annie had said, I just don't think of you that way before running out the door to drink herself half to death in her car. She had parked far, far away— by some convenience store an hour out.

When she returned home, it was to an empty flat. All that remained of his was that ring.

At the time, Annie didn't cry.

Initially, it was funny to observe him flail. Kind of like watching a fashion show; every other week showcased a different girl on his arm, but they were all blonde and blue-eyed and it was just so obvious how desperate he was to replicate her and what they once had. And each time their eyes locked, the darkness rimming the green of his eyes was a telltale sign of who he really wanted.

Knowing he was pining after her helped her sleep at night. Until one day, the warmth returned to his gaze and the perpetual grin on his mouth made her want to punch all his teeth out. Then she saw her— and it doesn't matter what that woman looks like because it's clear that she encourages Eren to be the best, happiest version of himself.

So now, Annie can't sleep at all.

So now, she's in so much pain that she can't think straight.

So now, she's sitting on the floor of her bathroom with an empty pint of bubblegum ice cream and a half-finished bottle of that 2000 Chateau Latour she'd been saving for Eren's birthday last week, had he been around to celebrate with her. Her (their) bedroom feels like a mausoleum of his unkept promises, so she'd rather hang out here for a while.

She's flipping through her phone, hoping to distract herself with a stupid video of Reiner doing stunts at the gym or another one of Armin's philosophical ramblings. The universe must be conspiring against her because the first thing she sees on her feed is her ex-boyfriend's progress picture; shirtless, hair tied in a bun, and a gracious side-view of those big arms he'd been working on for months.

Ha. He actually did it; he got super jacked.

Annie laughs, and cries, for reasons she doesn't understand. She tries to take the ring off of her finger, but her gut coils and she bawls harder.

Fed up with her pity party, she goes through her messenger list until she sees his name. He probably changed his number, but his social media channels remain. Never thought she'd say this, but: thank goodness for the relative permanence of the internet.

It's a surreal experience to actually click that call button. Connecting, connecting... OK, maybe she should hang up, but no— it's ringing! Her bravery is replaced with a sinking dread. Might be the alcohol, but she feels like vomiting. The room's spinning, ah fuck— time to hang up—

'Annie?'

Shit.

At the sound of his familiar voice, Annie melts, forgets how to breathe. She doesn't know whether to slam her head to the wall or smash the bottle on her neck. Before her nerves settle so she can make a decision, Eren repeats: 'Annie? Are you there?'

'Eren,' she blurts, sounding way too sober, 'I'm here.'

'Yeah,' a pause. Then, less confidently, 'So, what's up?'

Annie screws her eyes shut; it is so, so good to hear his voice again. If she shuts out the world around her, will she be able to delude herself into thinking that he's right here, next to her? Nah... she's missing his warmth, his unique warmth that melds with his patchouli cologne.

'Annie.'

'I am so fucking lonely without you,' her tone climbs— what is she doing? 'You know that?'

Of course he does. He just won't say it.

'I told myself to be happy for you,' she chokes, 'But I'm a selfish bitch, remember? Can't leave you alone,' she takes a languid drink, tries not to gag. She sets it down with a loud click and she swears she can feel Eren jolting at the sound on the other end of the line, 'I bought you something for your birthday. But you're not here, so I'm having it all for myself,' she waits for him to respond and when he doesn't, says, 'I don't even like red wine.'

'I know.'

Her eyes snap open, the tears she'd been holding back trickling down her cheeks. She wipes them away with trembling fingers.

'Got some ice cream to go with it?'

Annie laughs. He knows her so well. 'Yeah. Bubblegum.'

'Yuck. Chocolate's the way to go.'

'Fuck you,' but she's smiling. 'You don't know what you're missing out on.'

An awkward silence ensues.

'I'm sorry. For everything.'

'Mm.'

'Please forget I called.'

He whispers, 'It's fine,' and means it.

'Yeah. Belated happy birthday, Eren.'

Beep, and poof! He's gone.

Annie sighs heavily, crumpling to the floor on her side. Her face is pressed against the cool tiles, which is beyond gross, but she really doesn't care. It feels good on her feverish cheek. 

A shower might be of more help, but... just five more minutes. Five minutes to reminisce about the way he'd beam at her when she'd hop in there with him. Clean freak that he is, if he saw her in her current state, he'd probably scrub her down till she sparkled like newly polished silver. She wouldn't remember how she'd make it to bed, but she'd always wake up in his embrace.

Men like that shouldn't exist. It's unfair when they leave, no one will ever match up.

Her phone buzzes by her waist. She groans, hoping it isn't work or Hitch because she absolutely cannot deal with either at the moment.

She brings her phone up to her face, immediately sits up— magically alert, rabbit-heart threatening to punch right through her chest.

Caller ID: Eren Yeager.

#ereannie #ereani #eren x annie #my writing

[sincerlypadfoot]

Comfort And Death (6)(Part 1)

~After the death of Regulus Black, you take confinement in Sirius who cared for you like a sister after Reguas died, becoming each other's person, you stay at the black house, after having a hard time griefing one night, you go to the place Regulas died.

A/N- So I decided, the next couple chapters will be long because they have meaning and a turn around for the whole story, so chapter six and chapter seven will both be split up into two parts. Im super excited to be writing this.

Word Count-1875

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                                       December 24th 1994

“We’re going to be late aunt Stella,” Harry mumbled walking into my room shaking his head, waking me up in the progress.

“Late for what?” I asked unamoused and still tired, only going to sleep a hour before Harry had walked into my room, fourteen and still not knowing how to knock.

“The Weasleys are coming over for christmas don’t you remember, and Hermione too and a bunch of my other friends, they’ll be here anytime and everyone in this house is still asleep,”

“Cricket don’t panic,” I croaked remember how Remus had thought it was a good idea inviting Harry's friends over for christmas. “Sirius and Remus planned this, go bug them and I promise i’ll be ready when you come back,”

Harry walked out of my room, watching him the passed couple years growing up almost made me feel old, smiling at all his achievement, dumb pranks and detention he’s gotten himself into, and the trouble he had caused, expressly Remus and Sirius last year, pulling a whole prank on the school, almost sending the two of them to Azkaban.

I used my wand, bringing out some clothes from my closet, letting the magic pick as my clothes followed me into the bathroom across the hall. 

“I’m answering the door, someone's here!” Harry called out, I smiled knowing it was the Granger girl, she was always the first one here to any party Harry had suggested we host.

I quickly slipping on a nice apparently green dress, almost tearing up but stopping as I looked at myself in the mirror. I used my wand to put my hair up in a bun neatly, I opened a little box that sat in the corner of my section of my sink, pulling out a silver flat ring and slipping it onto my finger.

“You know i’d think Harry gets this from Lily,” Sirius croaked walking into the bathroom, only wearing boxers. “It’s nearly twelve and people are already showing up, he totally gets this from Lily,” I let out a low laugh looking at Sirius.

“Put some clothes on you monster, we have guests,” I crooked still half asleep, walking passed Sirius and out of the bathroom taking my gaze down the stairs where Harry stood talking to Hermione and a ginger boy filled with freckles top to bottom. Ron Weasley.

I waved my wand in the air, turning the lights on his the house, the red and green christmas lights turned on and decorations came to life.

“This is a lovely house Miss Black,” Hermione said watching me as I walked down the stairs, looking at the three kids.

“You can call me Stella Hermione,” I chuckled taking a glance around the room. “Come on, I’ll make you something to eat,”

“My mums already in the kitchen, my brothers and sister are around her somewhere,” Ron said shrugging his shoulders looking at me, taller than Harry and I both.

“Harry, why don’t you and your friends great the rest of your guests then gather everyone in the living room, i’ll help Ron's mother in the kitchen,” I gave Harry a pat on the back then walked passed towards the kitchen where I could already smell Mollys cooking.

“Hello dear,” Molly was turned around mixing something in a pot, she had enchanted our whole kitchen into making a feast.

“Hello Molly,” I said with a smile walking towards her, her spoon kept spinning as she let go and brought me into a hug. “How are you doing?” She whispered in my ear.

“Good, I feel old, Harry's already fourteen, Sirius and Remus I think are planning to get married, but you can’t tell anyone I told you,” I let out a low laugh letting go of Molly.

“Your telling me you feel old,” Molly laughed shaking her head. “My oldest is working at Gringotts and my other is fighting Dragons, i’m surprised my hair is still red,” 

“Good morning,” Remus cheerfully said walking into the kitchen. “Molly this smells delicious,” 

“There are so many people here,” Sirius cried out walking into the kitchen. “I didn’t know how many friends Harry’s gotten, but he’s got more then I thought,” a chair was pulled out and Sirius sat on the table, ignoring the chair.

“We’ve got more than enough room for a whole village Sirius,” I chuckled tapping his shoulder and walking out, I looked at Harry who was standing around in the living room, a bunch of teenagers sat in our living room.

“Cricket, come here,” I whispered aiming my head for the door and walking into the hallway. Harry followed me out. “Are you having fun?” 

“Yeha yeah I am auntie Stella,” Harry said smiling from ear to ear. “Come on, I wanna introduce you to all my friends,” Harry grabbed my hand and dragged my bag in the living room, I was shocked but smiled gratefully.

“This is my Aunt Stella everyone,” Harry introduce at we walked into the room, I gave a shy smile to the pile of teenagers that looked over at me. 

“Hello Stella!” The twins called out raising the hands, I let out a small laugh looking around the room.

“Aunt Stella, this is Cedric Diggory, Dean Thomas and Neville Longbottom,” Harry said pointing around the room at the three boys who sat together on the couch.

“Longbottom eh?” I asked walking over to the nervous boy who looked at me as I just smiled. “Nice to meet you,” I put out my hand, shaking Nevilles then Deans then Cedrics. “Dinner is cooking by Molly, enjoy yourselves and make yourselves at home, there are more then enough rooms for whoever will be staying for the night,”

“And,” Sirius said standing at the door, I looked at him who had a smirk on his face. “Not like we have a whole firewhisky stash hidden for when Molly goes to sleep,” Sirius whispered making the twins laugh.

“Sirius,” I tapped walking towards him and shaking my head. “He’s telling the truth,” I said to the kids then pushing Sirius out of the living room.

“I’m sure they could have a few drinks, their parents obviously let them stay over, i’m sure that's enough of a confirmation,” Sirius joked shaking his head.

“Make sure the house doesn’t burn down, I have some things to do,” I said to Sirius walking away up the stairs.

“The ring,” Sirius said stopping me. “I get it,” 

I looked down at my finger, looking at my ring. “We were gonna get married I hope you know, when the war was over we were going to get married, I found it under my bed with a note,” I paused holding my tears back. “He knew what he was getting himself into Sirius,”

“Hey Uncle Sirius, Aunt Stella, I was wondering if we could watch some telly,” Harry asked walking into the hallway, I walked up the rest of the stairs, tears finally fell down my face as I passed my room, walking to the end of the hall and closing myself into a empty room.

The room Sirius and I enchanted to be soundproof. I let out a scream and fell to the ground, leaning against the door and holding the ring in my hand.

“Why did you do this Regulas,” I whispered looking down at the ring that laid in my palm. “You planned a whole future then left me!” I screamed tossing the ring across the room in anger.

“Fuck,” I choked out grabbing onto the door to help myself up, walking to where I tossed the ring in angry, picking it up.

“Are you okay Aunt Stella?” Harry asked behind me. I whipped my tears away quickly and turned around with a fake smile on my face. “You usual don’t come in here when your happy,”

“I’m fine cricket,” my voice choked up as I walked over towards him. “Just having a hard time with something right now,” I placed the ring back on my finger. “Why aren’t you downstairs with your friends, I thought you were watching telly?” I asked pushing my problems back and pushing Harry in my head forward.

“I wanted to come check up on you, were you married?” Harry asked looking down at my finger. 

“We were gonna get married, Regulas and I, but Harry I think you should go downstairs, you have guests,”

“Not without you aunt Stella,” Harry said grabbing my hand, I smiled letting out a low laugh.

“Okay,” The both of us walked downstairs, Harry letting go of my hand as we walked out of the room and downstairs, Sirius not in the hallway anymore. 

“Are you sure your okay?” Harry asked before we walked into the living room. “I know your my aunt and you should be telling me this but we can talk about stuff,”

I laughed at Harry's cheekiness. “Another night Harry dear,” I paused hearing a faint noise, the familiar noise of Sirius shouted. “I’m gonna kill your uncle,” I mumbled opening the living room, looking at Sirius who had the twins on the floor as he poured to bottles of firewhisky into each other the mouths well Ron and Ginny were keeping look out.

I closed the door and looked back at Harry who had a big smile on his face. 

“Guess someone's gotta go make sure your uncle doesn’t give anyone alcohol poisons before dinner,” I let out a belly laugh, Harry and I walked into the room and Sirius looked at us, finishing the bottle.

“Hello,” Sirius said dropping the bottles on the ground and looking at harry and I with a smile, the twins stood up without a double whipping their mouths with the firewhiskey.

“It’s not even dinner Sirius,” I laughed grabbing the bottles of empty firewhisky that laid on the ground. “The rules were after supper,”

“What fun are rules if they aren’t meant to be broken,” One of the twins winking at me, sitting down on the couch, Cedric, Dean, Neville, Hermione and now Ron and Ginny were all sat down on the couch watching telly. Harry joined them and I sat down beside Sirius, who had a flask his his hand, oddly, passing it back and forth from the twins.

“You want some?” Fred asked pushing the flask towards me, I looked around the room, then took the flask from Fred. “So hotstuff, how are you?” 

I rolled my eyes looking at Sirius who just bursted out laughing, taking the flask away from me.

“You are not my type Fred Weasley,” I laughed making Sirius laugh even more. “Besides, I haven’t dated anyone in almost nineteen years, I don’t plan on starting with a sixteen year old,”

“Nineteen years,” George pipped up behind him. “Not one man has caught your eye in those nineteen years?”

“Who wants some food,” Remus asked poking his head out of the of the kitchen, immediately getting the smell of fire whisky. “Sirius. Stella, we agreed to wait tell after supper,”

“Sorry,” I put my hand up in the air catching his attention. “It was my idea, got a little two recluse,”

“Well come on, dinners ready, you four take a breath mint and sober up in two seconds,” Remus signaled the kids to walk into the kitchen and the four of us sat on the couch longer.

“Thanks,” Sirius said putting his hand on my shoulder reaching into his pocket, pulling out four tiny breath mints. “I always got them in my pocket for these emergencies,”

#RegulasBlack #Regulas Black #Regulas Black x y/n #Regulas Black x you #Regulas Black x oc #SiriusBlack #StellaBlack #RemusLupin