#I am of course missing many parts to their toys because the toys I rescued from my dreaded toy closet was stench up in dog urine

[glitterhoof]

uhm okay IF i had a YouTube channel would u guys watch me maybe. im thinking of showcasing my ponies and / or toy rescues and giving general info on them AND cleaning them up or just maybe i dont know, playing with it!???

[fallen-gravity]

Aftermath

A whole summer later, and Mabel's still having nightmares about being trapped in her bubble. One unfortunate morning, Ford just happens to be the one who overhears her crying in her sleep.

Notes:

A huge, huge shout out to @ariasofelegance

A little white ago I reblogged a silly post that said something like "come into my inbox and tell me what my writing brand is", and without hesitating she dragged me into the dirt. Got me so on the nose that it backfired and whoops, I wanted to write it.

Said ask can be found here

Hope you’re happy with the results, Rin ;)

AO3

It’s the sound of sugary pop music seemingly wafting in through her bedroom window that wakes Mabel first. She assumes it’s just an alarm she doesn’t remember setting, and frantically waves her arm out for her nightstand so she can turn it off and go back to sleep for another minute or ten.

Then it’s the fact that her hand smacks something that squeaks, and okay, maybe Waddles accidentally left one of his toys in her room. He’s got plenty, so she can shrug off that as long as it’s not his favorite then he can go another few minutes without it. She’ll bring it downstairs to him when she wakes up, or if Dipper rises before her he can bring it downstairs instead.

It’s fine. She can brush those things off, and to prove it to herself she turns over on her other side and brings her blanket up to cover her ears. If anyone needs her they’re gonna have to climb the stairs all the way up to the attic and tell her themselves. She smiles to herself at the thought, and settles easily back into her sleep.

It doesn’t really click that something’s…off until the sun shines in through her window. Despite knowing that she’s facing away from her window, the sunlight still pierces through Mabel’s blanket and lands right into her eyes. Even for the mid-summer Oregon sun she’s gotten accustomed to, it’s uncomfortably warm and unreasonably bright for so early in the morning.

…Stranger still, she’s sure that Dipper would’ve already complained about it before she did, or at the very least, she’s sure she already would’ve heard him shuffling around the room by now.

Mabel takes it to mean that he must already be awake and downstairs, and groans. It still doesn’t explain why the sun is so painful in her eyes, but she guesses that could be a result of her sleeping in later than she’s used to.

“Alright, universe, you got me” Mabel mumbles, and stretches as she finally pushes herself into a sitting position. Opening her eyes is a bit tougher with the sun still harshly shining into them, but it’s manageable, and…

…This doesn’t look like the attic.

She attempts to rub the sleep out of her eyes, in case she’s still not fully awake yet, but no, the image in front of her still doesn’t change. She’s about to try standing up to see if walking around will help snap her out of her haze, but before she can even kick her feet over the edge her bedroom door swings open.

“Oh, thank goodness!” Mabel sighs. “Can you close the window? I can’t see a thing”

“Sure thing, Miss Mabel!” a cheery voice that is decidedly not Dipper’s replies, and with a snap of their fingers the lights go out. Now that her eyes finally adjust, Mabel’s able to glance around her room, and…

Oh no.

Oh no no no no no no no.

There are stone statues of her face in every corner of her room, piles of rainbow plushies stacked all over the floor, a collage of sweaters all over the wall, inflatable furniture scattered everywhere, and most notably, a large rug with a bright shooting star embroidered into the center.

“Miss Mabel?” the strange voice asks again, and a bright pink hippo steps into view towards her bed. “Is everything okay?”

Mabel frantically scoots backwards in her strange bed. “Stay back!” she tries to shout, but everything comes out as more of a panicked waver. “Stay back or I’ll grapple hook you in the face!” she frantically pats all around her body for any sign of her trusty weapon.

The hippo tilts its head in confusion, a squeak emerging from it. “Oh, Miss Mabel, you’re a riot! Don’t you remember?”

Mabel freezes in her frantic patting. “Remember what?”

The strange hippo laughs. “Our volleyball match! You promised you’d play with me, but then you took a suuuper long nap instead!”

Mabel shakes her head. It can’t be. It can’t be. She knows Dipper already came to rescue her, she knows they already took the bus back to Piedmont together, she knows they promised to stick together through thick and thin.

Or…did they? What if that was all part of this sick fantasy too? What if Bill just made her believe that Dipper came to her aid, when he’s actually been captured, or hurt, or worse, and Bill is still pacifying her for as long as he can to keep Weirdmageddon going?

She can’t breathe. She tugs at the collar of her turtleneck, but that only makes things worse, because it’s not until she notices the hot pink of her collar that she realizes she’s wearing her shooting star sweater. She wants to rip it off and claw at it until it comes apart thread by thread.

“M-Miss Mabel?”

She has to get out of here.

“Of course!” she replies, just to avoid suspicion. “Let’s go play some volleyball!” She claps loudly, and the pink hippo grins, seemingly unfazed by her behavior.

“Great!” it beams, and bounces happily out the door. Mabel follows more slowly, casting nervous glances everywhere she looks for any signs of creeping yellow eyes.

“Oh, shoot!” the hippo shouts once they’re outside, and Mabel nearly jumps a mile out of her skin.

“What is it?”

“We don’t have enough players,” the hippo pouts. “I can go see if I can find anyone who-”

“No!” Mabel shouts, and a few beachgoers freeze to cast glances her way. She blushes, and tries again. “I...I mean, we could always get my brother to play with us! Where’s my good ol’ twin brother?”

For the briefest of moments the hippo’s eyes flash yellow, but they’re back to normal just as quickly.

“Over here, sis!” Dippy Fresh waves, approaching them on his skateboard.

Mabel steps back, shaking her head. “Where’s my real twin brother?”

The crowd of beachgoers begins murmuring uncomfortably to each other.

“Aww, c’mon sis, don’t be like that!” he grins, jumping off of his skateboard and taking a step closer.

“You’re not my real brother” she hisses. “None of this is real! I know it isn’t!”

She’s shouting now, but she doesn’t care. “Come out and face me yourself, Bill! I know you’re out there! I don’t want to take part in this sick fantasy anymore!”

Everyone around her gasps, and between one breath and the next she’s painfully tackled to the ground.

“Mabel Pines!” an unfamiliar voice shouts, mixed seamlessly with the shrill echo of Bill’s. “Not only have you broken the one and only law of Mabeland, you have also spoke up in defiance of Bill Cipher, the true creator of this land. A simple court trial will not be enough. For these transgressions, you will be taken straight to the Fearamid for proper punishment”.

Mabel’s face pales. “W-wait! I was only just kidding!” She pleas, but a strong pair of arms is already lifting her into the air. She kicks and thrashes, but no matter how much she fights back, more pairs of hands seem to grab onto her and keep her in place.

“No!” she shouts. “I’m sorry! I won’t do it again, I promise! I’ll do anything you guys want! I’ll never leave you again!”

“It’s too late!” Bill’s voice finally separates itself from the crowd, and he manifests himself in front of her. He lifts her into the air, and she starts thrashing even harder, but nothing she’s doing is working to free herself from her grip.

At the very back of her mind, she thinks she can hear someone shouting her name. But she’s sure that’s all just part of the illusion, that Bill’s using the sound of her own family against her to torture her one last time before she never sees them again, and-

Something brushes against her forehead.

Something soft, and warm, and comforting, and so humanlike compared to everything else around her that it’s enough to make the every single aspect of the illusion disappear into thin air all at once, even Bill himself.

Everything’s black, and then, with a blink of her eyes, she’s staring into Ford’s eyes, soft and loving and pooling with worry. It doesn’t take long for her to piece together that it’s his hand on her forehead.

“Mabel?” he asks, and she realizes quickly that it had been his voice shouting her name in the bubble.

She gasps, bolting upright, and does her best to recover her breathing. Ford doges out of the way to avoid smacking heads, but stays right where he is beside her, rubbing soothing little circles into her back.

Her throat hurts. She must’ve been shouting in her sleep. She wants to cry, but she can’t even do that right, because  the moment a sob tries to escape her throat her chest feels like it’s closing up, and she can’t take a breath anymore, no matter how much air she inhales.

“It’s okay,” Ford whispers to her. “Deep breaths”

Mabel shakes her head. “I…I can’t”

“Yes you can,” he replies, firmly but kindly. He scooches closer to her, slowly as not to re-startle her. “Mabel, look at me”

She does. His eyes are so soft, conveying so many grounding, human emotions that the single moment of eye contact alone is almost enough to completely ground her back to reality. “You’re okay,” he murmurs, once she’s finally able to maintain eye contact without her eyes trembling. “You’re awake, I promise” he offers his hands out to her. “Reach out and squeeze my hands if you need to, but I promise that I really am right here”

Mabel reaches out and takes his hands in her own. They’re so much bigger than hers, and they’re rough with calluses and there’s quill ink stuck under his nails, but they’re so comfortably the hands of her great uncle, all the way down to the extra sixth finger on each hand that the sob stuck in her throat finally breaks its way through. He’s not just another illusion, he’s not a perfect copy that Bill sent to keep her complacent, he’s just…Grunkle Ford.

Mabel throws herself into his arms as her sobs overwhelm her small body. She buries her face into the collar of his turtleneck, and forces her eyes to focus on a little loose strand sticking out at the back of his neck. It’s just a tiny little imperfect detail that could easily be snipped or sewn back into place, but a little imperfection like that to let her know she’s home is more comforting than she’s willing to admit.

Ford wraps his arms around her and holds her closely. He gently runs a hand through her hair, whispering I know and it’s okay over and over again into her hair, and she just buries her whole face into the crook of his neck, inhaling the scent of coffee and ash and ink coming from his sweater like it’s a lifeline.

She stays in his embrace until her sobs finally calm, and they pull away gently. She wipes at her nose with her wrist.

“I’m sorry”

Ford shakes his head. “You’ve got nothing to apologize for, dear. I know firsthand just how awful it feels to suffer through a panic attack alone”.

Alone?

She glances to the other side of the bedroom, and finds Dipper’s bed empty. Her heart drops to her stomach. “Wh-where’s..?” she starts, but Ford places a gentle hand on her shoulder before she can finish that train of thought.

“Dipper’s okay, he’s outside with Soos”

“Grunkle Stan?”

“He ran out to the store, but he’s okay too”  

Mabel buries her face into her hands. “You didn’t…come in here because you could hear me from downstairs, did you?”

Ford shakes his head, a fond smile itching to spread across his face. “I came upstairs when I’d heard you were still asleep and didn’t want my favorite niece to miss out on such a beautiful morning,” he pauses, the smile on his face vanishing just as quickly as it had appeared. “But then when I came in to wake you up, you looked like you were having a panic attack in your sleep, and…” his voice trails off. “You started…crying out names.” He winds a protective arm around her shoulder, and gently squeezes her arm. “I’d never want to make you recount something so awful, but if you want to talk about it, I’m not going anywhere anytime soon”

Mabel sighs. It isn’t even close to being the first dream she’s had about the bubble, so she should be used to all of these strange feelings by now. But this particular dream felt the most based in reality, and it’s the first time Bill’s actually shown up and threatened to hurt her to her face.

She returns his gesture, winding an arm around Ford’s back and giving his arm a gentle squeeze. She scooches just a tiny bit closer to him and rests her head on his shoulder. “I…” she begins, squeezing her eyes shut to brace herself. “I was trapped in Mabeland again. Except it wasn’t like all the other times I’ve had nightmares about it where I knew something was off and I hit the ground running as soon as I realized where I was, it was more like…I felt like I’d always been there.”

With her free hand, Mabel brings the collar of her sweater all the way up to her nose. Anything to distract her from her uncle’s worried expression burning into her. “It was like everything we did last summer was for nothing. I woke up in my bed in the castle, and everyone was acting like it was peachy keen. I tried asking someone about where Dipper was, just for some sense of normalcy, but all that did was summon that dumb clone Mabeland created of him so I wouldn’t get too lonely. I know it’s dumb, but the whole thing just felt…too real. Like I was still stuck there, and the apocalypse was still going on out here, and the whole rescue mission was just a sick dream that Bill put in my head to trick me into believing everything was okay”

Mabel squishes her face into Ford’s sweater and just forces herself to focus on his scent, on the soft material of his sweater, on the gentle pattern of his breathing. “Everything was ripped away from me, Grunkle Ford, and I couldn’t do a thing about it. I tried speaking up for myself, but that only made things worse, because Bill showed up, and he-”

She’s suddenly painfully aware that she’s trembling again, and can’t help the tears building in her eyes. She tries burying her face even further into Ford’s sweater to collect herself and keep going, but before she can she feels Ford’s hand at the back of her head, gently holding her in place as she cries.

“It’s okay,” he tells her, his voice a soothing presence among her racing thoughts. “You don’t have to keep going.” He’s back to gently petting her hair, and the gesture is consistent and familiar enough to ease Mabel’s crying. “I’m so sorry that you’re still having nightmares about this”.

“It’s okay,” she sniffles, and finally finds the strength to pull herself away from his sweater. “It’s not your fault”, she says, and her eyes drop to the hardwood floor of her bedroom. “I’m just so scared, Grunkle Ford.” She grips onto the edges of her skirt. “I know that I shouldn’t be, because I know Bill’s been gone for a year and I know everything’s okay now, but I just can’t help but feel that everything’s not.”

Ford nods solemnly, and for a moment he doesn’t respond, until he shifts in his sitting position so he’s facing directly towards Mabel rather than beside her. “Mabel, may I show you something?”

Mabel blinks, her head tilting slightly in confusion. “Sure, Grunkle Ford, what is it?”

Ford rolls the sleeves of his turtleneck up to his elbows. His wrists are covered in faded white slits, and the rest of his arms are covered in burn scars, scratches, gashes, and decades-old bruises that never healed properly. Some of them are still red and blistering, and others look so faded that she could just as easily mistake them for birthmarks.

It hurts Mabel’s heart just to look at them. Her hands hover cautiously over them, and she glances at the wonderful great uncle that they’re attached to. “C-can I…?”

He nods. “Sure.”

Mabel gently runs her fingers along each of them so lightly that it’s almost as if she isn’t touching them at all. She knows that he’d been hurt in the past, and she knows that it couldn’t have been easy roughing it out in the multiverse for thirty consecutive years, but it breaks her heart to see the evidence of it all up close.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Ford sighs, cutting into her thoughts. “But most of these don’t come from the portal” he pauses to rub at the back of his head. “Or, rather, they do, but not in the way that you probably think”

Mabel pauses. “What do you mean?”

“I mean…sometime after Bill betrayed my trust, but before I was able to get the metal plate in my head to keep him out, he’d take advantage of our deal that let him into my mind whenever he pleased,” he taps at his forehead. “He was furious that I shut down the portal, so any time I fell asleep he’d use the opportunity to hurt me as much as he could. He never wanted to kill me because he was convinced I’d change my mind in due time, but he felt the need to torture me so I’d never act against him again. He’d slit my wrists, he’d burn me, he’d do just about everything he could to make sure I could feel the repercussions of his actions when I woke up.” He rubs awkwardly at the back of his head. “Thankfully he was never able to break a bone before I woke up in time to stop him, but…” he trails off, and for the briefest of moments he looks as though he’s lost in thought.

“I’m getting ahead of myself,” Ford blushes, snapping himself from his own thoughts before Mabel has any time to ask if he’s okay. “The point is,” he says, “Just because you know he’s gone now doesn’t mean that he never hurt you. Your nightmares are your scars, and they’re just as real as the scars under my sweater.”

Mabel wants to respond with a proper thank you, because she’s genuinely touched by the validation, but there’s a part of her that just can’t move past all the gashes and scars on Ford’s arms. She knows she’s seen similar cuts elsewhere, maybe not nearly as dire, but she knows in the back of her mind that’s just because she was just barely able to stop them from becoming much, much worse.

“I don’t think it’s just the nightmares” she mumbles, just barely loud enough for Ford to hear.

“Hmm?” Ford hums. “What do you mean?”

“I mean…” Mabel runs two fingers gently around the white scars on Ford’s wrist. “I don’t think it’s just that he hurt me, I think it’s that he hurt a lot of people that I love, too.” She shakes her head. “I know there isn’t a lot I could’ve done to prevent it, but…I was so oblivious to it, Grunkle Ford. I had no idea he was hurting so many people until it was almost too late”.

She keeps rubbing gentle circles into his wrist, like she can make the scars and all of the memories of the pain he went through vanish into thin air with her loving touch alone. “Dipper’s got these scars too. I know he’s okay now, but…” the sigh that escapes her is broken and shaky. “I know that much worse things could’ve happened to him, too”.

Ford frowns. “He…did tell me about being possessed, yes. But he also told me that he couldn’t have gotten his body back without your help. Bill’s a master at trickery, Mabel, it’s not your fault you couldn’t recognize him in Dipper’s body”.

…But she also knows that the reason Dipper was possessed in the first place is because he was up all night trying to crack a code that she told him she’d help him with, and she also knows that if she found out that it wasn’t Dipper controlling his body until it was too late, then…

“He wrote a letter”

The words slip out of her mouth before she can stop herself, and she slaps her hand over her mouth, tears building in her eyes again.

“Who did?” The soft smile slips off of Ford’s face. “Dipper?”

Mabel shakes her head. “Bill wrote a letter when he was still in possession of Dipper’s body. I’ve never shown it to Dipper before because I didn’t wanna freak him out, but I just…couldn’t bring myself to throw it away, because I was so afraid that if I did, Bill was going to find out, and wait until the moment my back was turned so he could…” her voice trails off, and she can’t finish the sentence no matter how badly she needs to get it off of her chest.

“Mabel?” Ford asks, his voice dripping with worry.

She shakes her head, and hops down from her bed to reach underneath. She grabs a seemingly useless crumped up piece of paper, and carefully unfolds it and pats down all the wrinkles before she offers it to Ford. “Before he could do this,” she replies, her voice barely rising above a whisper.

Ford takes the letter from her, and Mabel takes her seat back on the bed beside him. All she can bring herself to do is just watch as Ford’s expression becomes more and more horrified as he reads further down the letter, and the hurt in his eyes when he looks into hers when he finishes reading is palpable.

“I’m scared, Grunkle Ford” she repeats, her mouth continuing to speak before her brain can stop her. “I know Bill’s gone for good, but how can I be so sure that everything’s okay when I know that this is what he could’ve done to my brother?”

For a few painfully short moments Ford says nothing. Mabel’s sure he’s at a loss of words, or that it was a mistake showing him the letter because he’s freaking out now too, but much to her surprise  Ford’s next move is pulling her into his arms again and hugging her so tightly it’s as if he never wants to let go again.

“I’m so sorry,” he murmurs into her hair, but doesn’t give her enough time to respond before he keeps going. “Mabel, I’m so sorry you’ve been burdened with this. You’re the last person I would ever wish to feel so unsafe that you can’t even trust the quiet moments.”

His breathing sounds broken and shaky, but if he’s tearing up at all he’s doing a really good job at hiding it.  “You don’t deserve any of this. You’re too young to feel like you have any responsibilities over anyone’s life or death. I’m so sorry that he made you feel this way”

She knows he’s not the kind of person to use his words carelessly. She knows that he’s phrasing it this way because he recognizes his own behavior in her. She doesn’t respond verbally, but she reciprocates the hug best she can, and a heavy sigh escapes Ford when she does. They stay there in silence for a few short minutes, just reveling in the comfort and safety of the other’s arms.

When they finally pull away, Ford seems to have gathered his composure again.

“I promise, Mabel” he takes one of her hands into his own. “I promise you that he’s gone. He can never hurt you or me or Dipper or Stan ever again. It doesn’t mean he hasn’t, and it doesn’t mean that recovering from that sort of pain will be easy, but if there’s anything I know for sure, it’s that he’s never showing his face here again”.

Mabel finally crumbles in his arms. She’s sobbing again, but it’s a cathartic kind of sob, and she’s gripping onto Ford’s shoulders like he’s the only thing keeping her together.

“And even if he does, I know just the grappling hook to scare him away”.

Between her sobs, Mabel can’t help but giggle.

[thecomposerofstories]

Information on Amy.

(Be warned it's a ~little bit~ long, any other pieces of information you want to know I'll gladly answer if you ask.)

~General Information~

Fandom: Toy Story.

Name: Amy the Ragdoll.

Nickname, if any: Amy, Ames, and Doll-Face(usually by more villainous characters or used in a joking manner).

Gender: Female.

Sexuality: ??? (I mean I know the gender of who she has a crush on, but I'm unsure on what her actual sexuality should be tbh)

Age: Mentally, mid-twenties in the first story second movie, thirties to forties in the third and fourth. Physically, she doesn’t have an age, but in regards to when she was made (the 1950’s) makes her fifty to sixty.

City they currently live in: San Francisco, apparently that’s where Toy Story takes place.

Any pets: Would Rex count? He just follows her around like a nervous puppy.

Current occupation: I mean she’s practically a therapist, but she’s a toy and she only treats Rex so it probably doesn’t count lol

~Physical Appearance~

Height: 10 inches.

Body type: Stocky, but a bit gangly too, similar to Sally from The Nightmare Before Christmas.

Eye colour: Black.

Skin tone: Light.

Clothing style: Pale green/turquoise shirt with short puffed sleeves, with a denim dungaree dress with a daisy print in the centre over it. She wears yellow rain boots.

Hairstyle: No style, it’s just there. It’s messy and gets in her face easily and is made out of dark brown thin string.

~Speech/Language/Communication~

Amy speaks quietly and politely, rambles a bit if left without a reply or under pressure, very nervous in front of intimidating characters.

First language: English.

Learned languages: A bit of Spanish (Ya’ll remember Toy Story 3!)

Accent: American.

Pitch of voice: High, but soft, not quite annoying, unless she’s stressed, then it gets very pitchy and shrill.

~Behaviour/Habits~

Amy tends to just stand there when she can’t find anything to do, and will immediately try to find Rex, Hamm, Buzz or Jessie if surrounded by strangers (Though she’s not sure if it’s for their comfort or her own) Amy is very polite.

Spending habits: She doesn’t like to be made a fuss of at all, the very fact of someone giving something to her is unnerving (even if the thing never costed anything at all) and she feels compelled to give the giver something in return.

Morning routine: She gets up same time as the others, but wishes she could stay in bed a bit longer though. Before she came to Andy’s room, her sleep pattern was all over the place.

Bedtime routine: Similar to above, now she goes to bed the same time as the others, but before she just slept and got up willy-nilly.

Nervous habits: Amy will try to find Rex if she’s nervous, and she’ll pretend it’s because she’s worried for him, which is quite true, but she also just feels most safe with him. Speaking of, Amy will let Rex hold her hand and squish it whenever he or Amy is nervous, it’s calming to the both of them.

Bad habits: Not a very good exerciser, but then again, she’s spend basically half her life in a small attic, so I’ll give her a break.

Skills/talents: She’ very logical, mind-over-matter, (mostly, very good at calming others down and/or convincing them. She’s very good at spelling and knows quite a lot of words, some of which others haven’t even heard of.

Hobbies: Reading, talking (especially with Rex, Jessie or Hamm), and generally just lazing about or walking around somewhere, on her own or with a friend.

~The Past~

Amy’s first owner was a little girl called Alice. Alice loved nothing more than to read Amy stories (Mostly fairy tales), but of course, Alice grew up like all kids do, and she left Amy in the attic for someone else to have her.

Amy waited for many years, and all that time she’d never given up that someone would find her.

She thought she’s hit the jackpot when Andy and his family move into Alice’s old house, but they don’t go up into the attic to collect her. Some weeks later, though, Andy’s mother brings a set of boxes filled with junk into the attic and leaves. Woody, Buzz, Slinky, and Rex were trapped in one of the boxes (Call me a cheater but this part was actually inspired by a Toy Story comic, where those four toys get stuck in the attic that way and have to escape. It struck me odd that they never met at least one new friend there, so I made one. It was also my first story, I needed some inspiration!)

Amy, in a fit of panic, goes and hides.

But then she’s found by Rex as he and the others try to find a way out.

They then decide to let the strange, dust-covered ragdoll come back to Andy’s rom with them. (well, Rex did, anyway.)

Home town: Would Alice’s old room count? But it’s now Andy’s Room, so it won’t count will it?

Happy or sad childhood: Pretty normal to be honest, as normal a life as a toy could have anyway. And as for sadness, having spent all that time on her own for all those years, having missed out on so much, is a little sad. But Amy made sure she never became bitter over it or used it as an excuse for anything.

Earliest memory: Waking up in her toy store, with a friend of hers for company (a ragdoll Prospector, a much as she remembers) and as she gets bought by Alice’s Auntie, she says she hopes he gets picked up by a kid. (Unbeknownst to her, she would meet him again in a while to find out he never got to experience it)

Saddest memory: One, being left by Alice, yet being so happy for her and how much she’s grown up, if she could cry tears of joy for her owner, she would. Two, some (or most) of the days she spent waiting for a new owner to arrive. And three, watching Rex have a mental breakdown of anxiety.

Happiest memory: One, the time she and Alice went to the park, (Amy absolutely adores nature) Two after sliding down a drainpipe to get to Andy’s room, and three, having known she’d helped her friend out.

Significant events: Being bought, being left in an attic, being rescued from the attic, while gaining some new friends.

~Family~

The entirety of Andy’s room, whether they like it or not, they’re all in this together and are some kind of mish-mash, found family in a sense.

Siblings: I’ve been thinking of giving Amy a brother (since I based her on Raggedy Ann, a matching bootleg Raggedy Andy seems reasonable) bur I’m unsure about it, since I’ve already mapped out Amy’s entire series of stories (Around six or seven all together, so far I’m currently writing only the third) and I can only fit him in the fifth or sixth if I can.

~Relationships~

Romantically? I’d like to say she has a crush on Rex, I don’t know why I thought of it, I was contemplating it one day as I sketched a rough (and terrible) sketch of her, and I drew Rex too because he’s just so fun to draw and I wanted to make a scale for Amy’s size, and one of my friends (who had been watching me) immediately said “I ship it!” and well, the rest is history, I made the decision to ship it too.

Friends: Jessie, Hamm, Buzz, and Rex are her closet friends, but she’d like to say that all the Gang are her friends. Later on she becomes good friends with Mr. Prickle Pants, Buttercup, Trixie and Totoro, and she absolutely loves the peas and Forky.

Best friend(s): Hamm, Mr. Prickle Pants, Jessie, and Rex.

What do people like about them? Amy’s pretty easy to talk to, she’s polite and attentive and will sit in companionable silence with someone if they need it. But she won’t hesitate to give hard truths and advice if it’s needed.

What do people dislike about them? Amy is quite a doormat, if someone is rude to her or breaches anything she just lets it happen, and sometimes she’s too indecisive about her own stuff, unsure whether she’s going to offend others or not over the smallest things, which annoys others quite a bit.

~Mentality/Personal Beliefs~

Amy is a toy of logic, and though she believes others can do it if they set their minds to it, she doesn’t quite believe in herself. She believes she must follow the rules of being a toy at all times, no matter what.

Phobias: Dust. She hates it. It took a good five weeks to brush all the dust out her hair and clothes, and even so there’s still some in her pockets and places she can’t reach. And being alone, too. Now she can’t be alone for more than an hour before she starts to get antsy and nervous. And for a short time books gave her a strange tiredness, after reading them for so long and for so many years she couldn’t even stand the sight of them.

But of course, not for long, since Amy found out Andy had a copy of Red’s Dream by a Mr. William Reeves.

Optimist or pessimist: Depends on the situation really, if her mind can’t come up with a solution, then there’s no point in trying anymore. Unless someone else can think of something, that is.

Personal philosophies: “You are here to make good things happen. No person here is made for one reason only, or even only one. There’s no point in pretending to be someone you’re not just for the attention of others, no matter how cool they are. We should find are own meaning, as we’re the only ones who have control of it.

It’ll take a while, but I swear, it’ll be worth it.”

Biggest dream/wish: Amy wants nothing more than to find meaning for herself, but finds it rather hard to do so. Of course, that doesn’t mean she’ll settle for someone else’s meaning. As cheesy as it sounds, she just wants an adventure. She doesn’t necessarily want to be the hero, though, she’s just happy to go along with the ride so long as it gets her out the house for a few hours. She also, above all else, wants Rex to find meaning too, even if she never does, it would be nice to know that he had.

Greatest strength(s): Persuasion, story-telling, logic, and good grammar.

Biggest flaw: Despite being a ragdoll, Amy can’t sew because of her fingerless hands, which are just soft mittens in shape. Amy is also quite a doormat, as I said before, so if her calm persuasion and reasoning doesn’t work, she’s left to be walked all over.

Regrets: Staying in that dratted attic too long, the window was open, she could’ve just climbed out, but no, she had to stay there for some mind-rotting decades. But if she had just escaped, she would never have met her new friends. Amy just wishes she had met them a lot sooner.

Achievements: Escaped the attic, slid down a drainpipe, leapt onto the windowsill (though nearly knocking Woody and Buzz over in the process) stopped her friend from having a panic attack, and managed to remember the entire Dictionary and is able to recite it down from A to Z, and even Z to A.

Secrets: Not much, just strange feelings for one of her friends, but it’s not much of a secret, Bo knows, and Mr. Potato Head and Hamm could see it from a mile away, and the others have their suspicions.

Goals: Read the entirety of Andy’s (and later Bonnie’s) bookshelves, become more confident in herself, have her own book-worthy adventure, and figure out what those strange feelings for her friend is.

~Likes/Favourites~

Favourite colour: Even before meeting Rex, Amy’s favourite colour was always green. Every time Alice had taken her to the park, Amy adored watching the sunlight pour through the leaves with a golden-green glow.

Favourite book(s): Because it’s sentimental to her, being her owner’s favourites, she loves Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland, Peter Pan, and The Wizard of Oz. They all hold similar plots (a little girl in a blue dress goes to a fantasy land, has a few adventures, and then leaves said fantasy land to go home to her family and responsibilities) but it reminds Amy of her old owner Alice (who was actually named after Alice from Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland) and their playtimes together.

Favourite Book Quotation(s):

“Green is the prime color of the world, and that from which its loveliness arises.”

“There is no living thing that is not afraid when it faces danger. The true courage is facing danger when you are afraid.”

Favourite movie: Amy does much prefer books, since they allow her to imagine the setting and characters in her own way, but doesn’t mind movies, and isn’t picky on what they watch, though she does quite like horror films.

Favourite song: Amy likes any kind of music, new or old.

Favourite game: Amy never really cared for games, the competitiveness always bothered her and stressed her out. But she’s more than happy to watch Rex play his video games and cheer him on.

~Relationships with other characters~

~Rex~

- Hit it off pretty quickly.

- Amy helps him with his anxiety, and helps him find confidence in himself, she acts as a certain therapist to him.

- Both become very stressed without the other around.

- Rex will hold and knead at Amy’s hands sometimes; it calms him down.

- Rex will let Amy ride on his back if she’s tired or needs to see something (Because she’s so short).

- One of them can basically be talking about the most boring-est things ever, yet still the other will hang on to their every word.

~Jessie~

- Became friends pretty quickly.

- Will drag Amy along anywhere.

- Get along fairly well.

- Jessie does the talking and Amy does the planning.

- Jessie always pranks the other toys and makes Amy tag along (along with Hamm).

- Introvert/Extrovert dynamic for sure.

- Both were left in alone for years so like to find solace in each other.

~Hamm~

- Hamm begrudgingly warmed up to the timorous ragdoll.

- Surprisingly good pals.

- Have full conversations without saying anything.

- Like to sit and look out of the window together.

- Hamm makes Amy laugh when she really shouldn’t (mainly when he makes fun of the other toys, mainly Woody).

- Hamm makes fun of Amy having a crush on Rex every once in a while, though he doesn’t mean any harm.

~The Potato Heads~

- Mr. doesn’t really interact with Amy much, but finds her surprisingly tolerable, if a bit high-strung and annoying.

- Like Hamm, Mr. makes Amy laugh at the most wrong moments.

- She and Mrs. Are quite good friends, and she sometimes lets Amy take care of the aliens if she and her husband are busy.

~Woody~

- Are aquianteces.

- Don’t exactly interact much, even though the whole room practically revolves around him, in Amy’s opinion, though she would never say it to his face.

~Buzz~

- Amy thinks he’s super cool (then again, he is Buzz Lightyear, he practically invented coolness)

- Both are just as clueless as one another when it comes to social cues and interactions.

- Amy helps him with vocabulary and spelling every once in a while.

~Mr. Prickle Pants~

- Are absolute BFF’s.

- Go back and forth with book quotes to the point of driving the other toys insane.

~Bo Peep~

- Amy's not exactly sure if Bo has befriended her or not.

- (She has)

- They later become good friends.

- Amy misses their talks, Bo was one of the only toys she could talk to that could keep a secret.

[possiamo-andare]

Man’s Best Friend: JJ Maybank

JJ x Reader (Female)

MASTERLIST

word count: 4.2k

a/n: ok so this has not been edited but it literally came to me in a dream. Of course, it was not JJ but another boy that I know (you could say my crush) but I can’t use my crush’s name and I thought this would be a good JJ fic. I might go over it later, but I wanted to get it out because I love this idea way too much. Anways, I hope you enjoy!

summary: JJ Maybank was devastated after he lost one of his best friends. To protect himself, he turns away even his best friends. In an effort to fix JJ, Kiara and Pope get JJ a dog. At first, JJ hates the idea and doesn’t want a dog but soon enough, Apollo brings him joy and solace in so many ways.

~

JJ Maybank had never been the same since John B. and Sarah's disappearance. For all he knew, they were dead. John B. had been a part of his family. The nights where his father was intoxicated were the nights John B. took him in and let him sleepover. Although they had grown close in middle school, sharing the same science class, JJ felt as if they had known each other for their entire lives. JJ knew this was rare. He didn't have to read thousands of books to know what love was and although he would never admit it to anyone, he loved John B. like a brother. So, that fateful night when John B. and Sarah risked their lives to escape and Shoupe gave them the heart breaking news, JJ broke down. Nothing prepared him for the news that his friend might as well be dead.

The months after John B.'s death, JJ might as well have been dead. Looking back, he doesn't remember much of those months he spent couped up in John. B.'s house reminiscing. It all was a blur. If he wasn't going to court for his trial, he was crying himself to sleep. He suspected Kiara and Pope had done the same but he wasn't sure. He hadn't spoken to them since that night and although they tried to reach out to JJ, he never let them in. They would stop by John B.'s house, bringing food and water, and knock on his door. They waited for many minutes, calling out for JJ, but he never answered. Kiara and Pope, although suffering from the same loss, knew JJ was in a rough place when he wouldn't even talk to them. There was no topic too taboo enough for JJ not to discuss with his friends. He could even openly discuss his father's abuse Now, when it seemed he needed a support system the most, JJ shut down.

Then, three months later, Kiara had enough. She, along with Pope, missed their friend. Although their group would never be the same without John B, JJ's absence seemed to make Kiara and Pope miserable. JJ was the glue that held them all together. When something abysmal would happen, whether it happened directly to JJ or not, JJ made a joke about it. His father beat him? Well, he’s got a mean right hook. Sheriff Peterkin is dead and the entirety of OBX is after John B? Well, if John B. showered and stopped smelling like shit, maybe he would be harder to find. JJ’s jokes cleared the fog and allowed anyone who would listen a little peace during whatever hard time they were going through. But now that JJ was no longer himself, Kiara knew he needed his friends the most. Along with Pope, they devised a plan to slowly integrate back into JJ’s life. They were all still crushed over their friend’s death but they needed to mourn together. They were always stronger together. That afternoon, Kiara and Pope went to Figure 8’s shelter with only an idea in their head and a wad of cash they saved in their hands.

As they walked through all of the kennels, they examined each pet. They knew JJ couldn’t have just any regular dog, he needed a friend. This was JJ Maybank they were talking about. JJ could barely look after himself right now. An hour into their shopping for the perfect dog, they were about to quit. None of the dogs seemed good enough for JJ. That is, until they got to the last kennel. Laying on their back, with his tongue out, was a staffie. Unlike all of the other dogs, this staffie didn’t not run to the fence and try to lick Kiara or Pope. Instead, it continued to lay on it’s back and watched as Kiara and Pope tried to call it over. When it wouldn’t come, Kiara looked to Ms. Conway, the vet at the shelter, and asked what was wrong with the dog.

“His name is Apollo.” Ms. Conway started, crouching down and sticking her finger in the fence. Still, the dog continued to lay on his stomach. “He’s a rescue. His previous owner mistreated him and he’s scared, but he’s a good dog. He can tell if you’re a good or bad person right away.”

Pope’s brows lifted, a confused look written over his face. He looked to Ms. Conway. “What do you mean?”

Ms. Conway shrugged. “I had this new nurse, who was wonderful with all of the dogs, except Apollo. He seemed to hate her. He never barked at her or bit her, just was extremely cold to her. It was as if his tail stopped wagging whether she passed him. I thought it was nothing, but then, when some money was stolen out of the register, I had a sick feeling that maybe it was her. So, I reviewed the security tapes and it was. I’d like to think Apollo knew she was a bad person before anyone else did.”

Pope looked back to Kiara, who was already smiling. “Why hasn’t he been adopted then?” Kiara asked, looking at Apollo who was now perked up at the mention of his name.

Ms. Conway frowned. “He’s an older dog. Not many people want older dogs.”

Kiara and Pope smiled, both of them looking at Apollo. Kiara could never be sure, but he seemed to be smiling too. Without having to discuss it privately, Kiara looked back to Ms. Conway and said, “We’ll take him.”

Kiara and Pope left that shelter that day with a dog on a leash and a smile on their lips. Apollo was the perfect dog for JJ. He could be the dog version of JJ. Although it may not fix what was broken in JJ, they knew that this dog could be the start in repairing the version of JJ that both Pope and Kiara needed.

At first, JJ wasn’t pleased that Kiara and Pope had gotten him a dog without his permission. In fact, pleased would not be the correct word. He was down right angry. How dare they try to fix him? He didn’t need fixing, he needed his best friend back and no dog in the world would replace his friend. He made this very clear to Kiara and Pope, but they would not take no for an answer.

“We miss our friend JJ.” Kiara frowned, watching as Apollo obediently sat on the lawn. Kiara had tied his leash to the tree, thinking he may run off but that wasn’t the case. Apollo seemed to already know that this was his home.

JJ scoffed. “I’m sorry you miss me but trying to replace John B. with a dog is not gonna make me feel better.”

Pope rolled his eyes, stepping closer to JJ. “That’s not what we’re trying to do and you know it.” JJ had not let them into John B.’s house yet so they were forced to wait on the porch as JJ leaned against the threshold of the door.

JJ looked over Pope’s shoulder, watching Apollo as he just sat there. He seemed to just be content, sitting there with nothing to do and it made JJ smirk. Maybe having a pet to help him through his friend’s death wouldn’t be so hard. He looked back to his friends. “I know. I just can’t even look after myself, how the hell am I supposed to look after a dog?”

Kiara shook her head. “Apollo is well trained. All you have to do is show him some love. I think it would be good for you to have some company JJ.”

Pope agreed, nodding his head. “There’s this thing called therapy dogs, JJ. They help people with numerous traumatic events that have happened in their lives. This dog could bring you some solace.”

Kiara stepped forward this time, wrapping his arms around JJ. At first he did not hug her back but when he was sure she wouldn’t let go until he had hugged her, he returned the gesture. “And when you feel a little bit better,” Kiara said, still hugging JJ. “Then you can call your friends.”

The first night JJ had Apollo was the hardest night of his life. Apollo, still not entirely warmed up to JJ, barked the entire night. JJ had laid out a blanket and a newspaper for him and thought that it would be enough. But, just like JJ, Apollo was traumatized and scared to be in such a new environment alone. Until midnight, Apollo barked and barked, calling out for god knows what. JJ, who was only in a good mood if he had enough sleep the night before, was getting restless. He hadn’t slept a wink since he laid on the pullout couch and was getting angrier by the minute. Finally, as the clock struck midnight, JJ got out of his “bed” and stormed to the other side of the room where Apollo was supposed to be sleeping.

“Dude,” JJ grumbled, rubbing his tired eyes. “Stop whining.”

The second Apollo realized JJ was talking to him, he stopped barking. He sat up, his tongue out and panting. JJ knew what that face meant, he had seen it in many dogs before.

“No,” JJ shook his head. “We’re not playing at midnight.”

JJ could’ve sworn he saw Apollo smile. But dogs couldn’t really smile, right?

“No.” JJ stomped his foot. He glared at Apollo, his tail still wagging. As much as JJ didn’t want to admit it, this dog was beginning to grow on him, as annoying as he could be. With a deep sigh, JJ nodded. “Fine, but only for half an hour and then we sleep.”

Apollo instantly barked and scurried to the front door where his only toy sat. In an instant, he had the poor tennis ball in his mouth as he patiently waited for JJ to open the front door. JJ walked to the front door, unlocking the door before opening it. He looked down at Apollo, watching as the staffie made no effort to leave.

JJ frowned. “What? Go.” JJ pointed to the lawn, confusion evident on his face as he watched his dog just sit there, wagging his tail with a tennis ball in his mouth. JJ rolled his eyes. “Ok, or I’ll go.”

The second JJ stepped over the threshold of the door, Apollo was right behind him. JJ watched as the staffie stayed at his side, never running past him to play on the lawn. JJ was puzzled. He wondered why this dog wanted to be by his side all day. They had only known each other for one day yet Apollo seemed to love JJ like he would if he had been his owner for 15 years. JJ thought back to Kiara’s words. She had said Apollo was very intuitive. He could sense if someone was a good person or not. JJ was sure that was full of crap. If Apollo was so intuitive, then why did he love JJ? JJ knew who he was. He was a delinquent. He had thought of the idea of the boat which had gotten his friend killed. JJ had pointed that gun in the air at the beach which only got Topper more pissed off at the Pogues. JJ got arrested. JJ stole money. JJ was a terrible student. So, if Apollo was so intuitive, why could he not sense how bad JJ was? As JJ sat on the stairs on John B.’s porch throwing the tennis ball for Apollo to catch, he wondered that maybe if this dog couldn’t sense any bad, many he wasn’t actually that bad. This realization made JJ both sad and happy. Angry because he should feel guilty and anyone who said he shouldn’t was lying to him. Sad because he wished he wasn’t such a screw up. Maybe if he wasn’t John B. and Sarah would still be alive. JJ let a tear slide down his face before wiping it away. Soon, there were too many tears for JJ to wipe away in time.

JJ threw the ball onto the lawn again, waiting for Apollo to run and catch it. Except Apollo didn’t. He stopped in his tracks, watching JJ intently as he cried. JJ felt embarrassed to cry on the first day of getting this dog. “What?” JJ blubbered.

Apollo stayed quiet, slowly moving towards JJ. His tail wagged slower as he approached JJ and he was no longer panting so hard. JJ said nothing, watching in awe as Apollo approached him. JJ couldn’t believe it. Kiara was right. This dog would tell when JJ was sad and wanted to comfort him. Slowly, Apollo lay his head on JJ’s lap, looking up at his new owner. He had a frown on his face, his tongue still out. Apollo nuzzled his head in JJ’s lap, his breathing now even as he emitted a type of warmth JJ had never felt before.

JJ looked down at his dog, finally smiling through his tears. Apollo, taking JJ’s smile as a good sign, smiled back, his mouth open and his tail wagging. JJ shook his head, petting his dog on his head. “Well buddy,” JJ finally said, wiping the remaining tears from his cheeks. “You saw me cry. Now we have to be best buds.”

JJ and Apollo spent every moment together. It didn’t matter that JJ was doing, Apollo was right beside him. What they enjoyed most was going to the beach and swimming. JJ even let Apollo stand on his board, riding more calm waves than the ones deeper in the ocean. Apollo made him happy. He knew Apollo could never replace what he had with John B. but that was not what he was trying to do. Apollo was there not to replace John B., but help him come to terms with his death and fill the hole in his heart. The more time JJ spent with Apollo, the more he realized that it was not his fault that John B. and Sarah were dead. It was Shoupe’s fault and Ward’s. It was the fault of the greed in OBX. JJ couldn’t predict the future. He wouldn’t have known. And he knew John B. would not have wanted JJ to blame himself. Weeks passed and JJ felt better. Kiara and Pope were right; getting a dog would make him feel less alone. When he was ready, he finally allowed himself to spend time with Kiara and Pope. They spoke about John B. and Sarah’s death and, for the first time, JJ looked back on their adventure with a smile. They hadn’t gotten the gold, they had lost two friends, but they healed. They would never be whole again but JJ had his friends and he had Apollo. He was content. He seriously believed life could not have been better.

Then, a year later, as it approached the one year anniversary of John B. and Sarah’s death, JJ’s life got better. It was a place where nothing monumental ever happened; the convenience store. He was there to pick up dog food for Apollo. They were running low and JJ was supposed to go grocery shopping with Kiara the next day so he decided to go to the convenience store to buy a small package of dog food that would last Apollo a day before he went tomorrow with Kiara. It was supposed to be a quick and easy pick up. He was late anyways. He had promised to meet up with Pope at the beach and now, this little stop made him even more late. His intention was to be in and out but Apollo made that difficult.

“Which one is it again?” JJ joked, holding two small bags of dog food in front of Apollo. Apollo barked, watching his favourite bag of food be dangled in his face. JJ smirked, nodding. “Ah yes, Blue Buffalo. Great choice pal.” JJ turned back to the shelf and put the other one down.

He always pretended to let Apollo choose, just as a joke. It seemed like him and Apollo seemed to have the same sense of humour. Whenever JJ made a joke that Kiara and Pope didn’t understand, Apollo barked happily. Sometimes JJ thought it was only because Apollo didn’t want JJ to feel that no one found him funny, but other times JJ wholeheartedly believed Apollo understood his humour. When he turned back around, he frowned. Apollo was gone. JJ looked through the aisle and the aisle to the right but he didn’t see his dog. Sometimes Apollo would get distracted by simple things and wander but whenever JJ called him, he would always come back.

“Apollo!” JJ called, his eyes looking out for the familiar patter Apollo’s paws made when he ran. There was nothing. JJ’s heartbeat picked up. Where was his dog? He had just turned his back for a moment. If something happened to his dog, he’d never forgive himself.

As JJ exited the first aisle, his eyes scoured the peered down another aisle. His eyes instantly saw his dog, licking the face of a complete stranger. JJ sighed, thinking about how stupid his dog could be sometimes. That loveable idiot, JJ thought, almost gave me a heart attack. Although JJ was upset, he was also confused. As he made his way to the stranger and Apollo, JJ couldn’t think of an instance where Apollo ever approached a stranger. Apollo had been traumatized by his previous owner and was always skittish around new people. They always approached him before he approached them. He even remembered a time when Pope was gone for school for a month and when he came back, Apollo didn’t recognize him at first and wouldn’t go near him. Did Apollo recognize this person? If so, why did JJ not recognize them? He only saw the back of her back but he already knew he couldn’t have known her. She was a Kook.

“Apollo!” JJ shouted as he got closer to his dog.

Apollo finally stopped licking the girl’s face and perked up at JJ’s voice. When Apollo’s eyes met JJ’s, his eyes perked up and he ran away from you and towards JJ. JJ crouched down, petting his dog behind his ears. Apollo panted, smiling at his owner.

“He’s so cute.” You said, finally standing in front of JJ.

JJ stopped petting his dog but continued to look at him and not you. “He is.” He stood up, watching as his dog turned around and struts back to you.

This time you don’t crouch down and only pat his head. JJ frowns. Apollo really likes you. When JJ finally looks at you, he understands why. You’re gorgeous. The smile on your face is sweet and your eyes sparkle as you look down at Apollo. JJ realizes the air has been knocked out of him. He looks to Apollo, who just relishes in your petting. JJ smiles. That scoundrel, he thinks.

“I’m Y/N.” You say, looking up at JJ again and extending your hand.

JJ reaches out and takes it, shaking it quickly before shoving his hand back in his pocket. He tightens his hand in a fist. It aches as soon as he touches your skin. “JJ.”

You nod, your hand still petting Apollo. “He’s so good with strangers.” You comment, watching as Apollo flashes you a smile. Your eyes widen and you chuckle to yourself. You can already tell this dog is special.

JJ thinks he might have a heart attack. You’re absolutely breathtaking and he can’t help but think Apollo thinks the same. Why else would he have befriended a total stranger? “Actually, he’s not. He must really like you.”

You look at JJ again, your hand moving away from Apollo and going to the ends of your tank top where some threads are loose. You can’t help but admit to herself that JJ was handsome, but you doubted it was the appropriate time to ask a boy out. Besides, you hadn’t really ever asked a boy out. And you weren’t sure if he would even say yes. You couldn’t take that kind of embarrassment.

“Really?” You ask. When JJ nods, you continue. “I used to have a dog so maybe that’s why.”

JJ smiled at you, watching as Apollo looked up at you with a frown. He liked you a lot and wanted you to keep petting him. JJ whistled, causing Apollo’s head to turn JJ’s way. “C’mon Apollo. Let’s not bother this girl.”

You smiled, shaking your head. “It’s no bother. I love dogs.”

JJ nodded, taking a deep breath. He was battling whether to ask you out or not. He hadn’t been out on a date with a girl in almost a year, for good reason, and he almost felt guilty for trying to be happy again. He knew that if John B. were beside him, he’d tell him to ask you out but JJ couldn’t. He felt too guilty. Maybe, next time he would. For now, he was too nervous.

JJ whistled again, trying to get Apollo to move away from your side. “Apollo.” Apollo only looked at JJ, not moving an inch. JJ frowned, reaching out his arm and beckoning Apollo to him. Usually, this worked. Not this time. Apollo didn’t want to leave.

This time, you tried to help JJ. “Apollo,” You said sweetly, looking down at the staffie. Apollo looked up at you, eyes full of joy. You smiled, pointing to JJ but still looking at him. “Go to JJ.” JJ smiled, hearing you use his name. He wished he had more confidence because he wanted to ask you out so badly.

Apollo looked to JJ, then back at you. Finally, he moved but not in the way you or JJ thought he would. He moved from a seated position to laying on his back, waiting for you to scratch his belly. He laughed, covering your mouth. You bent down to scratch his belly for a moment, then looked to JJ. JJ was smiling now. He couldn’t believe this dog. What did he want?

JJ made his way to you and Apollo, crouching down beside you and rubbing Apollo’s belly. Apollo looked so happy, JJ started to laugh along with you. This dog owned both of you and he knew it. “I’m so sorry.” JJ continued to laugh. “I don’t know what’s wrong with him today.”

“He’s adorable.” You insisted, looking to JJ who was now only a foot away from you. You took a deep breath through your nose. He smelled like the ocean. He smelled like home.

JJ looked at you as you spoke, realizing now that your faces were not that far apart. Feeling flustered, he looked back at Apollo. You did the same, feeling embarrassed. JJ watched as Apollo looked at JJ, a smile on his face. Suddenly, it clicked. Apollo was trying to tell him something and he had been so blind by his lack of confidence to realize it.

With a surge of confidence, he looked back at you and said, “I’m actually going to the beach right now to surf. You surf?”

You made eye contact with JJ, smiling. “I live in Figure 8. Of course I do.”

JJ chuckled, nodding. “Well, Apollo really wants you to come.”

You looked to Apollo, who was wagging his tail because of all the petting he was receiving. “Apollo wants me to come?”

JJ shrugged. “And me.” He felt his cheeks burning and he hoped you couldn’t notice.

You looked at JJ, flustered. “Well, since he won’t leave without me, I’d love to come.”

JJ grinned, finally getting up from his crouch position. He extended his hand for you to grab. Once you did, he helped you up. Once you were standing, you looked back to Apollo. He was watching your hands hold each other and smiling. JJ shook his head, in disbelief. Apollo, the matchmaker. He would thank him later.

JJ didn’t let go of your hand and you didn’t want him to. Instead, you both walked towards the checkout, hand in hand, as Apollo walked beside you both. JJ couldn’t believe how much of his life had changed since Apollo came into his life. He was truly man’s best friend. He helped JJ get through the toughest part of his life and now he had given him what JJ was sure to be his wife. This dog continued to give JJ more love and JJ never knew if he could ever return the favour. As he watched Apollo follow beside you, wagging his tail, he realized that maybe JJ being happy was enough for Apollo. This is the best dog ever, JJ thought.

“So,” You started, looking at you and JJ’s hands intertwined. “What’s this guy's story?”

JJ looked at Apollo once again, smiling. “Do you have time?”

You nodded, butterflies in your stomach. “All the time in the world.”

JJ nodded, looking back to you as you spoke. “Good.” And so, JJ talked. About getting Apollo and all the crazy stories they had during the one year JJ had him.

And you listened, adding quick witted remarks here and there. You didn’t mind if JJ talked, you were sure that there would be more conversations between the two of you for many years to come.

[inevitably-johnlocked]

Hi :) I... really wanna read a fanfic or two but I can't find one I vibe with xD So... do you know one that's not too long (around 100k words maybe), has hurt and comfort, smut (am I allowed to ask about that?? Ahhhh) and a happy ending? Top!lock would be a bonus but it's not necessary. And if it's a nice AU (like... any kind but no crossovers pls), it would be perfect! :D By the way, I found your blog only a few hours ago and I already feel really comfy and Idk, kinda at home here ^-^

Hi Nonny!!!

Welcome to my corner of the Tumblrsphere!!! I’m so happy you’ve found me, LOL, because I love all my followers and friends! <3

First of all, I think it’s super cute that “not too long” to you is “around 100K” LOL LOL LOL!!! <3 That said, I’d argue all my fic recs are fabulous, LOL. But again, I’m stupidly proud of the wonderful lists I’ve accumulated, because it satisfies my organization kink LOL. And yes, you’re ALWAYS allowed to ask for smut here LOL. 

ANYWAY, so I’m gonna use this ask as an excuse to post up a long-overdue part two to my 50 to 100K fic list! But first, here’s some past lists for the genres you’re looking for:

FIC MASTER PAGES: PG1 || PG 2 || PG 3

Toplock (Mar 2020)

Omegaverse

Please Check PG 3 for all my AU fic lists. There’s a lot :)

Hurt / Comfort Pt. 1: Under 5K Words 

Hurt / Comfort Pt. 2: 5K to 10K Words

Fandom Favourites / Popular Fics

I hope those will get you started! So now, here’s the main event!! Hope you enjoy them!

50 - 100 K WORDS Pt. 2 (Novel Length)

See also:

Fics Under 2000 w.

Fics Under 2000 w. Pt. 2

Fics Under 2000 w. Pt. 3

E-Rated Johnlock for Newcomers Pt 1 (Short Fics under 20K)

Novella Length Fics: 25 to 50K (Aug. 2019)

Novel Length Fics: 50 to 100K (Nov. 2018)

Novel Length Fics: 100K+ w. (May 2019)

Long S3/Post-S3 Fics (20K+ w.) [Apr 2020]

Top 20 Fave 40K+ w. Fics (April 2017)

Smut-Free Fics Over 50K (Aug 2019)

The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse by SilentAuror (E, 50,635 w., 1 Ch. || Post-S4/S4 Divergence, Case Fic, For a Case / Reverse Fake-Relationship, Conferences, Marriage Equality, Travelling / New York, Pride, Homophobia, Bottomlock, Marriage Proposal, John POV, Sexuality, Love Confessions, Emotional Love Making, Public Hand Jobs, Blow Jobs, Passionate Kissing, Needy/Clingy Sherlock, Virgin Sherlock, Touching / Hand Holding, Bed Sharing, Little Spoon Sherlock, Intense Orgasms) – John and Sherlock go to New York to attend a conference run by the National Defence of Traditional Marriage Coalition in order to investigate the potential bombing of the annual Manhattan Pride parade. As the conference unfolds, John finds himself repulsed by the toxic ideology being presented, which becomes relevent to his own unacknowledged issues and his friendship with Sherlock...

Repairing the Broken Things by BakerTumblings (M, 75,252 w., 15 Ch. || S4 Compliant, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Medical Trauma, Hospitals, Big Brother Mycroft, Misunderstandings, Realizations, Severe Accident, John Whump, Pneumonia, Medical Procedures, Bed Sharing, First Time, Healing, Happy Ending) – "I'm calling today to notify you that there's been an accident."

Points by lifeonmars (E, 53,791 w., 42 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || HLV Rewrite / Canon Divergence, Married Life, Pregnancy / Baby Watson, Drinking to Cope, Boxing / Fisticuffs, Clueless John, Angst, Minor Medical Drama, Tattoos, Christmas, First Kiss/Time, Eventual Happy Ending, Love Confessions, Doctor John, Sexuality Crisis, Slow Burn, Case Fic, Drugging, Blow/Hand Job, Emotional Love Making, Parenthood, Passage of Time) – What if His Last Vow never happened? This fic picks up a few months after John and Mary's wedding, in an alternate universe where Magnussen doesn't exist, but Mary is still pregnant. Life continues -- just in a different direction. And slowly, Sherlock and John find their way to each other.

Never Change a Running System by Lorelei_Lee (E, 54,246 w. || Pre-TRF, Romance, Humour, Drama, Sex Toys, Anal, Rimming, Masturbation, Frottage, Blow Jobs, Public Sex, First Kiss / Time, Virgin Sherlock / Loss of Virginity, Accidental Voyeurism, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Experiments, Naive Sherlock, Pining Sherlock, Jealous Sherlock, Possessive Sherlock, Straight With an Exception John, Hand Jobs) – Sherlock discovers his sexuality – with far-reaching consequences for John.

A Hundred Crimson Sols by elldotsee (E, 55,536 w. || Astronauts AU || Mars Exploration / Space Travel, Slow Burn, Shy Sherlock, Scientist Sherlock / Biomed Engineer John, Alternating POV, Mutual Pining, UST, Angst with Happy Ending, Domestic Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Injuries, Suicidal Ideation, Zero-G Sex) – Will Holmes is a chemical researcher recognized widely for his contributions to the new Mars exploration program. Thanks to his ground-breaking developments, the IMMC (International Mars Mission Corporation) is one step closer to Martian colonization. Will and his team of scientists are headed out on the first of three manned missions before the first group of settlers arrive. Three days before launch, one of the crew has to be replaced. Will panics because...new people. The replacement is of course one John Watson, biomedical engineer and space hottie who was pretty sure he had retired from actual space exploration and was now content to work in the nice, quiet research lab. Can the crew survive this TOTALLY ROUTINE trip? Will they be able to endure each other for the looooooong trip in close quarters? Gonna be a wild ride... prepare for blast off. Part 1 of the SpaceBois go to Space series

The Thing Is by TSylvestris (E, 56,743 w. || Case Fic, Dev. Rel., Anal/Oral, Blow Jobs, Meddling Mycroft, Drama, Romance, Humour, Casual Encounters, Pining Idiots, Possessive Sherlock, Orgasm Delay, Rough / Alley Sex, Public Sex, John Whump, Drugged John, Emotional Love Making, Awkward Relationship, Marriage of Convenience, Switchlock) – The problem with living with Sherlock, John thought, was that you never, never, ever knew the significance of anything. Like your flatmate's nose buried in your hair. Whilst you're in bed. Part 1 of Nitroglycerine

One Little Change by jadztone (E, 58,312 w. || ASiB Divergence, Fake Relationship, Bed Sharing, Mutual Pining, Friends to Lovers, First Kiss / Time, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Bi John / Gay Demisexual Sherlock, Switchlock, Alternating POV, Jealousy, Misunderstandings, Case Fic, Angst with Happy Ending, Emotional Love Making, Butt Plugs, Cuddles) – Our story begins right after John and Sherlock's first meeting with Irene Adler in September. It splits off into an AU that imagines them taking a case where they act as bait to hook a killer targeting closeted gays in secret relationships. In the weeks leading up to Christmas, many things happen that have our boys wondering if maybe they have a chance with each other. Then Irene fakes her death on Christmas Eve, and things get a lot more complicated - especially since they still have a killer to catch.

floating through a dark blue sky by Lediona (M, 58,966 w. || Notting Hilll AU || POV John, Celebrity Sherlock, First Date / Time / Kiss, Past Drug Addiction, Angst with a Happy Ending) – Of course, I’d seen his films and always thought he was, well, brilliant -- but, you know, a million miles from the world I live in. Or, when John is the owner of a travel book shop and the famous Sherlock Holmes stops in one day.

The Burning by SrebrnaFH (M, 60,658 w. || Reverse Reichenbach, Suicide, Depression, Hurt Sherlock / John, Separation, BAMF John, Good Big Brother Mycroft, Angst, Implied/Referenced Torture, Fake Character Death, Rescue Mission, Reconciliation / Reunion, Hospitalization, Marriage Proposal, Illnesses, Physical Therapy, Happily Ever After) – Something went very, very wrong. John had seemed, if not happy, then reasonably content with his life. Sherlock had never predicted something like THIS might have happened. Not in his worst nightmares. He was the lousiest friend ever, apparently. At least Mycroft found him something to occupy his mind with, so that he didn't have to go back to 221B and stare at the walls and the chair, where John Watson would never sit again.

This Thing All Things Devours by cypress_tree (E, 63,844 w., 15 Ch. || In Time AU || Science Fiction, Dystopian Universe, First Meetings, Action / Adventure, Romance) – In 2169, time is money—literally. Humans are genetically engineered to stop aging at 25, when the numbers on their arm start counting down from one year. When that time is up, they die. The only way to get more time is to earn it, borrow it, or steal it.John Watson lives day-to-day in the crowded slums of Zone 13. He never imagined living any differently—until he meets the practically-immortal Sherlock, and helps him on a case to track a local time-thief...

The Bells of King's College by SilentAuror (E, 64,019 w., 5 Ch. || Post-S4, Missed Opportunities, Angst with Happy Ending, Fake Relationship, Case Fic, John POV, Jealous John, John in Denial, Travelling / Holidays, Virgin Sherlock, Wedding Proposals) – It's only been two weeks since Eurus Holmes disrupted their lives when Mycroft sends John and Sherlock to Cambridge to pose as an engaged couple at a wedding show in the hopes of solving six unsolved deaths...

Hell Sent, Heaven Bound by ConsultingHound (M, 64,381 w, 16 Ch. || Angels / Demons AU ||  Fallen Angel Sherlock / Angel Cop John, Alternate First Meeting, Slow Burn, Case Fic, John & Lestrade are Friends Before Sherlock, BAMF John, Mind Palace John, Friends to Lovers, John in Denial, Sherlock Picks Out John’s Clothing, Clubbing / Dancing, Mildly Jealous John, Awkwardness, Kidnapping, Sherlock’s Mind Palace, Sacrifice, Worried / Anxious Sherlock, Angst with Happy Ending, Immortal to Mortal) – Ex-War healer and current angelic guard John Watson is not having the best day. He overslept, he’s underpaid, and now there’s someone tagging the Council’s building walls. However things may be about to get interesting: there’s an unusual stranger hanging around (the definition of tall, dark, and handsome), a literal underground cult is brewing, and rumblings are coming from hell. Can he keep his neighbourhood safe, how and why is he being connected to all this, and who the hell is Sherlock Holmes?

White Knight by DiscordantWords (M, 69,840 w., 13 Ch. || S4 Compliant/Post S4, Marriage For a Case, Jealous John, Pining John, Janine / Sherlock Fake Relationship, Serial Killers, Case Fic, Undercover as a Couple, Weddings, John is a Mess, Misunderstandings, Wedding Planning, Jealousy, Drunkenness, Love Confessions, Angst with Happy Ending) – Green. The word green was used to convey a great many things. Illness. Envy. Inexperience. Standing there amidst Janine's chattering bridesmaids, watching Sherlock furrow his brow and study fabric swatches, watching him smile and simper and flirt, John thought it a remarkably apt colour choice. Because he felt quite sick to his stomach, he feared the source of said sickness might very well be jealousy, and he had absolutely no idea at all what to do about it. Or: Sherlock needs to fake a relationship for a case. He doesn't ask John.

Being John Watson-ish by elwinglyre (E, 69,902 w., 17 Ch. || Bodysnatcher AU || Author John, Cranky Sherlock, Angst, Sexual Tension, First Kiss / Time, Falling in Love, BAMF John, Past Soldier John, Feelings, Inside Someone’s Brain, Shy Sherlock, Sherlock Loves John, POV Sherlock, Switchlock, Slow Burn, Internal Dialogue, Mental Turmoil) – When consulting detective Sherlock Holmes steps on one toe too many at a crime scene, he's consigned to a desk job in an archaic office on the seventh-and-a-half floor of the New Scotland Yard. It’s in this bleak office that Sherlock discovers a portal into the mind of renowned author John Watson. Grander than his mind palace, this new wonderland affords Sherlock new vistas of experimentation. To learn more about the mystery behind the portal, Sherlock seeks out and befriends Watson. But then it all goes wrong when others find the secret portal door—including the man whose brain he visits.

Just To Hold You Close by sussexbound (E, 70,841 w., 18 Ch. || Alternate First Meeting, Sherlock POV, ASD Sherlock, PTSD John, Demisexual Sherlock, Bisexual John, Cuddling/Snuggling, Platonic Cuddling, Enthusiastic Consent, Bed Sharing, Love Confessions, First Kiss/Time, Sexual Tension, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Cuddle Negotiations, For a Case Until It Isn’t, Hair Petting, Sexual Negotiation, Anxiety, Trust Issues, Slow Burn, Panic Attacks, Frottage, Hand/Blow Jobs, Referenced Self Harm / Abuse / Suicidal Ideation, First Kiss/Time, Anal) – When a woman is murdered and the last person to see her alive is recently invalided army vet turned reluctant (and prickly) professional cuddler, John Watson, Sherlock Holmes is pulled into a world of intimacy and intrigue he never could have imagined. John is a conundrum and mystery: frank yet reserved, tender yet angry, open yet afraid. Sherlock is instantly drawn into his orbit, and begins to feel and desire things he never has before.

The Vapor Variant by 88thParallel (M, 72,684 w., 18 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Post-THoB, John Whump, Protective Sherlock, Guilty Sherlock, Anxious/Worried Sherlock, Virgin Sherlock, Angst with Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, PTSD John, Slow Burn, Mutual Pining, Suspense, Virus, Sickfic, Big Brother Mycroft) – They stood face to face in the middle of a clearing. The dim light of the moon barely allowed Sherlock to see the glassy terror in John’s eyes and the sweat that glistened off his forehead. His nose was bleeding again, blood dripping in a slow stream from his right nostril. They were both gasping for air, John’s eyes locked on Sherlock’s. There was no recognition there, just wild animal fear. Time stood still for an eternal few seconds, and Sherlock took a shaky breath. “John—”Spell broken, John spun and bolted back into the woods. Still heaving for air, Sherlock took off after him.

Summit Fever by J_Baillier (M, 78,802 w., 18 Ch. || Mountain Climber AU || POV John, Angst, Tragedy, Suicidal Ideation, The Himalayas, Mountain Guide / Doctor John, Mount Climber Sherlock, Loneliness, Drama, Suspense, Slow Burn, Injured Sherlock / Sherlock Whump, Pining John) – After graduating from medical school, John Watson followed his heart to the Himalayas. Ten years later, he's a haunted cynic working for his ex-lover's trekking and mountaineering company. Will leading an expedition to Annapurna I—the most lethal of all the world's highest mountains—shake John out of his reverie, and who is the mystery client added to the group at the last minute?

The Monument of Memory by J_Baillier (M, 79,663 w., 14 Ch. || Post S4 Fix It Fic / S4 is Canon, Angst, Family Drama, Guilt, Case Fic, John Loves Sherlock, Complicated Feelings, Mentalism / Hypnosis, Murder, Grieving John, Sherlock is a Bit Not Good, Team Work, Trust Issues, BAMF John, Psychological Trauma, Protective John, Autistic-Spectrum Sherlock, Parentlock, John POV) –  A genius traumatised by a past he's only beginning to recall. The psychopath sister that time forgot. A missing woman and a mentalist who may or may not be a murderer. And, in the middle of it all, stands John Watson.

Thermocline by J_Baillier (M, 83,557 w., 14 Ch. || Scuba Diving AU || Adventure, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Marine Archaeology, Asexual Sherlock, Horny John, Relationship Drama, Technical/Scuba/Wreck Diving, Slow Burn, Underwater /  Medical Peril, Doctor John, Hurt Sherlock, Anxious Sherlock, John POV, Protective John, Body Appreciation) – John "Five Oceans" Watson — technical dive instructor, dive accident analyst and weapon of mass seduction — meets recluse professor of maritime archaeology Holmes. As they head out to a remote archipelago off the coast of Guatemala to study and film its shipwrecks for a documentary, will sparks fly or fizzle out?

The Summer Boy by khorazir (T, 94,706 w., 6 Ch. || Post S3/Post TAB/Alternate S4, Friends to Lovers, Flashbacks, Sussex, Bullying, 1980′s Kid Sherlock, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Inexperienced Sherlock, Grief/Mourning, Pining Sherlock, Background Case Fic) – About half a year after the fateful events at Appledore, Sherlock and John embark on a private case in Sussex. For Sherlock, it’s a journey into his past, bringing up memories both happy and sad that he has locked away for almost thirty years. For John, it means coming to terms with the present – and a potential future with Sherlock. Part 1 of the The Summer Boy series

Northwest Passage by Kryptaria (E, 95,157 w., 27 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Canadian AU ||  BAMF!John, Canadian John, PTSD, Anal / Oral Sex, Rimming, Emotional Hurt / Comfort, Drug Rehab, Falling in Love, Pining Sherlock, Love Confessions, Sherlock’s Violin, Panic Attacks, Switching, Anxious / Protective Sherlock, Hugs for Comfort, Suicide Mentions, Healing Each Other) – Seven years ago, Captain John Watson of the Canadian Forces Medical Service withdrew from society, seeking a simple, isolated life in the distant northern wilderness of Canada. Though he survives from one day to the next, he doesn't truly live until someone from his dark past calls in a favor and turns his world upside-down with the introduction of Sherlock Holmes." Part 1 of Tales from the Northwest

31_Days_of_Porn_Challenge_2017 Series by distantstarlight (E, 96,540 w. across 31 stories || Prompt Ficlets, Assorted Kinks, PWP) – A collection in response to the 31 Days of Porn Challenge issued by AtlinMerrik! Thanks for doing that because this has been buttload of fun (that joke never gets old). All stories will be brief stand-alone one-shots.

The Baker Street Nativity by SwissMiss (E, 99,662 w., 23 Ch. || Nativity! AU || Teacher Sherlock / TA John, Pining, Sherlock POV, UST, Angst, Christmas, Music/Song Fic, Anal / BJ’s, First Kiss / Time) – Fusion between Sherlock (BBC) and Nativity! (2009 movie starring Martin Freeman). Sherlock is a primary school teacher and John is assigned to be his classroom assistant. Together, they are charged with putting on the school's Nativity play. What could possibly go wrong? Part 1 of The Baker Street Nativity Verse

Given In Evidence by verityburns (M, 97,884 w., 19 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Post-TRF, Angst, Drama, Case Fic, Romance, BAMF!John, Submissive Sherlock, First Kiss, Humour) – Coming back from the dead can be a complicated business. With a new case on the horizon, rebuilding a life is one thing... rebuilding a friendship quite another. For Sherlock and John, things may never be just the same...

[vgckwb]

ML: Isolation Chapter 20: Real Emotions

Adrien spent the next three days splitting time between his friends, his extracurriculars, and taking on a few more Noir Notes requests. While a lot of them were simple and easy to just talk through, some of them were challenging. However, they weren’t so challenging for Adrien who was pretty physically adept to handle some strenuous activity.

However, on Wednesday after fencing, Adrien took a look and saw a rather odd request on Noir Notes. “What’s this?”

“Hi there, Mr. Cat Noir. Before you read this message, I must assure you that I am perfectly safe. Now, I would like your assistance. You see, my friend is preventing me from seeing his other friends again, or even from leaving the house. I miss his friends. He says I can’t visit them anymore because ‘they aren’t ready’, but I have evidence that suggests otherwise. Please come to the following latitude and longitude to help: …”

Adrin looked this over. No matter how many times he read it, he was still confused. So he figured the easiest way to solve this would be by doing as the message said. He changed into his disguise and went off, using his phone to get the precise coordinates.

Adrien looked around once he got there, but nothing stood out to him. On a whim, he checked Noir Notes again. He saw a new message. “Ah, you’re here. Perfect. Now, from where you are currently, turn to your left.” Adrien did and continued reading. “Look in the windows. When you see a claw waving at you, go to that house.” Adrin looked. He found the aforementioned claw and headed over.

Adrien knocked on the door. He was completely flabbergasted to see his new friend and classmate Max answer the door. Max was equally surprised. “Cat Noir? What are you doing here?”

“Uhhhhhhhhhhhhhh” Adrien said. Again, he felt like the best course of action was to be direct. “I got this odd message on Noir Notes.” He presented it to Max. “I just wanted to follow up on it, due to the confusing nature.”

Max looked at the message. “Oh, son of a bitch” he said. He sighed. “Fine. Come in, I guess.” He handed the phone back to Adrien, who was still thoroughly confused. They walked to Max’s room. “Markov! Why did you post something to Noir Notes? Now Cat Noir is here.”

Markov, a floating robotic orb, popped out from the woodwork. “Because I WANTED him to show up. I asked him for help, and he’s here!”

“Are you that starved for attention?” Max asked.

“Max, don’t get me wrong, you’re amazing, but…” Markov began.

Max sighed. “I’m sorry.” He said down.

“Uh, so…” Adrien said, interrupting. “You posted on Noir Notes?”

Markov turned to him. “Why yes. I am Markov” he said, waving the claw Adrien saw beforehand. “And this right here is my best friend, Max.” Max waved half-heartedly.

“Well, I guess that explains a few things,” Adrien said. He pulled up a chair and sat backwards in it.

“I just… I kind of wish you would have told me beforehand” Max said, rubbing his head.

“Why?” Markov asked. “You would have said ‘no’. Besides, I made my own account, and hid any trace of you.”

“Except that I live near the coordinates you posted.”

Markov processed a little bit. “Deleted.”

Max grinned but was still a bit upset. “Well, I guess that’s fine.”

“So, let’s just get everything on the table,” Adrien said. “Markov, you are a robot created by Max?”

“Well, technically, I’m an A.I.” Markov said. “I can inhabit any robotic form, so long as my chip is there.”

“I see,” Adrien said. “And you want to meet with Max’s friends again.”

“Correct!” Markov answered.

Adrien pondered for a second. “What happened the first time you met them?”

“Ah, how astute,” Markov said.

“Not really,” Max said. “You did say ‘again’.”

“Well, what had happened was,” Markov began to explain, ignoring Max, “one day there was a virus overtaking the school’s computers. Max offered to help, and I helped Max. With our combined efforts, we put an end to that pesky virus.”

“Wow,” Cat Noir said.

Markov turned grim. “Afterwards, Max introduced me to everyone. It was a nice little celebration. However, Ms. Mandeleiev thought of me as nothing but a toy, and said I needed to be put away.”

That tracks Adrien thought to himself.

“However, someone tried to argue that I wasn’t just a toy,” Markov continued. “They went to the principal’s office, where I was taken, and told the principal that I belonged. However, the principal wouldn’t listen.”

“Why not?” Adrien asked.

“Because” Max explained, exacerbated, “that person was only interested in making fun of me…”

Adrien was concerned. “Allow me to elaborate,” Markov said. “The person who wished to see me come back to class was a girl named Marinette.” Adrien was shocked, but not surprised. “Max tells me that she is a bully. Or at least became one after she grew jealous of another girl named Lila. Because she was the one who wanted to rescue me, Max is now more ashamed of me than ever,”

“I’m not… ashamed…” Max tried to protest.

“Hmmmm” Adrien said, thinking. “I think I have a solution.”

“You do?” Max and Markov said at the same time.

Adrien nodded. “Believe it or not, this is not the first time I’ve heard about this Marinette person. Now, correct me if I’m wrong, but she no longer goes to school with you, correct?”

“Correct…” Max said, disheartened.

“Well then there should be no problem, right?” Adrien concluded. Max and Markov were confused. “If you were worried that Marinette would bully you, she's not there anymore. She can’t bully where she isn’t.”

“He does make an excellent point,” Markov pointed out.

Max continued to hold firm. He then let out a sigh of desperation. “Can I be honest?”

“I’d prefer it that way,” Adrien retorted.

Max rolled his eyes. He got serious once more. “...As much as Marinette bullied Lila, I don’t think she actually stole Lila’s necklace.”

“Huh” Adrien replied.

“And I think it’s only a matter of time before the school figures it out and reinstates her as a class member” Max said.

“I will say, I disagree with Max’s assessment a little bit,” Markov said.  “I think it seems odd that the person who would so valiantly try to save me would also have such a notorious mean-streak” Markov pondered.

“It’s just…” Max began. “I’m not sure what will happen if and when Marinette comes back and I have Markov. I don’t want her to pick up where she left off.”

“If she was leaving off there to begin with” Markov corrected.

Adrien had to think. He knew Marinette wouldn’t do such a thing, but he could also understand Max’s point of view. Max was unsure after failure last time. However, being unsure was a place Adrien was familiar with.

Adrien smiled. “I’m going to let you in on a secret,” Adrien said. “As Cat Noir, I have access to all kinds of information. That information led me to a possible lead on a missing item. On Friday, I’m going to pull out all the stops to find it. The thing is, I’m unsure if this plan will work, or even if I’ll find it.”

Max was curious. “Huh? But how can you go through with it?”

“Faith,” Adrien said. “I believe in my plan, and that I’ll find it. Come what may, you have to be bold enough to try. Otherwise you’ll end up going nowhere.”

Max had to let that sink in for a bit. Markov was puzzled. “So, what does that mean?”

“It means he wants me to bring you in regardless of Marinette,” Max said. He sighed.

“Do you not want to otherwise?” Adrien asked.

“Of course I want to!” Max yelled. “It’s just… Last time was a mess. I don’t know what will happen and I don’t like that.”

“Max…” Markov said.

Adrien tilted his head slightly. “Did you know what Markov was going to be like when you created him?”

Max looked at him. “Well, no…”

“And do you think that turned out alright?” Adrien continued.

Markov looked at Max, awaiting his response. Max smiled. “Well, in all honesty, he’s better than I could have imagined.” Markov lit up. “I have no regrets in his creation, or his continuing friendship.”

“Max!” Markov squeed.

“I think that’s your answer” Adrien said

Max smiled. “Thanks Cat Noir. I guess my head was clouded by everything else going on. Because of this talk, I remembered working away on Markov; Always worried about what was going to happen, but always saying to myself this is something I need to do.” Max turned to Markov. “Thank you too Markov.”

“Me?” Markov said, surprised.

Max nodded. “If you hadn’t contacted Cat Noir, I would probably still be in my own head about this. You saw that something was bothering me, and did what you could to help.” Max reached out his hand. “That’s what a true friend does.”

Markov was still confused, though shook his hand. “Well, truthfully, I just did it for my own reasons. I don’t think I should get credit here.”

“Well, I guess that’s part of what makes you human,” Adrien said. “While it’s true that acting in one’s own self-interest all the time is cause for concern, people indulge themselves all the time. So long as it doesn’t hurt anyone, it’s fine. And sometimes it could be helpful.”

Markov looked at him. “You sound like you’re speaking from experience.”

“What can I say? I’m only human” Adrien responded. I mean, I did don this getup as a way to start a conversation with my fashion idol, and now it’s turned into me helping people.

Max thought about something. “Maybe I can negotiate with the school about bringing you in.”

Markov looked at him. “And what will you do if the school says no?”

Max smiled. “Well, we can always meet outside of school.”

“Max,” Markov said.

“Well, it sounds like my work here is done” Adrien said.

Max nodded. “Thank you Cat Noir.” Adrien began to leave, but was caught slightly off-guard by what Max told Markov next. “Oh right. There’s a new student in my class. I’d love for you to meet him.”

“What’s his name?” Markov asked.

“Adrien. Adrien Agreste” Max answered.

“The fashion model?” Markov responded.

“The same,” Max confirmed.

“Wow” Markov awed.

Max continued. “And he’s actually a really cool guy. I know you’ll love him because everyone loves him.” Adrien blushed and quickly left before he could overhear more of that conversation.

Once he got home, he went to his computer and messaged Marinette. “So, apparently you have another admirer out there.”

“Well of course. A lot of people admire Ladybug.”

“I mean someone admires you as Marinette.”

“Really?” Marinette asked. “What kind of person would admire me at this point?”

“They aren’t a person, but they will tell you they aren’t a toy.”

“...Wait, Markov? Max’s little robot buddy? You met with him?”

“Yup. The little guy posted on Noir Notes, and he, Max, and I had a bit of a heart-to-heart.”

“What happened?”

“Well, Markov wanted to meet with Max’s friends again, but Max was hesitant. He was nervous people would make fun of him.”

“What made him think that?”

“...Well, it’s kind of a mixed bag. See, while Markov thinks of you as valiant for trying to save him from Principal Damocles, Max is worried that you only did that to make fun of him.”

“But I’m not there anymore. Why would that worry him?”

“See, there’s the silver lining. Max believes that you didn’t take Lila’s necklace. His concern comes from the idea that the school will learn that truth and reinstate you.”

“Huh… That is something I guess…”

“Yeah…”

“...”

“Hey, it's OK. We’re going to get through this.”

“...Yeah. You know, it’s crazy. I never used to believe that. I used to believe my place was in the shadows. But you showing up out of nowhere, and doing all this, and telling me things will be alright… It kind of brought back my faith in that…”

“That’s all I could ask for.” Adrien saw another message pop up. “Uh, I’m getting another message. You wanna hang on for a bit?”

“It’s fine. I have a message as well.”

“Great. Thank you.” Adrien switched over to the other message.

It was from Chloe. It was short, but very demanding. “Adrien. My house. After school. Tomorrow.”

“Huh” Adrien said to himself before responding “OK.”

Meanwhile, Marinette got a message from Kagami. “Hey, can I come over tomorrow and pick up my stuff? You do have it, right?”

Marinette giggled to herself. “Of course I have it. Ladybug is a designer of her word. Stop on by tomorrow.”

“Thanks,” Kagami answered.

“No problem.” Marinette switched back to talking with Adrien. “That was Kagami. She wanted to come pick her stuff up tomorrow.”

Chloe messaged me. She wanted to meet with me tomorrow as well.”

“I see. Do you think she’s nervous about Friday?”

“Maybe. I know I am. I’m going to have to talk to Lila for a whole evening.”

Mariette chuckled to herself. “Be serious.”

“Yeah… It’s a lot. But I think we can pull it off.”

“...Me too. Good night Adrien.”

“Good night Marinette.”

They both logged off. Adrien laid down on his bed. He did wonder what Chloe wanted to discuss. However, those thoughts drifted away, as him laying down brought him to him and Marinette lying on the grass staring at the sky together. He went back to that every night going to be since then, and it helped him fall asleep.

[drunk-onsunlight]

Day #12 of Promptmas

Chapter 12: Baby, It's cold outside

Summary:

The gang wish you all a Merry Christmas. Enjoy some presents unwrapping and some final battle with a few villains

Notes:

Merry Christmas!!!! Hope you all enjoyed this fic as much as I enjoyed writting it. All your love and comments are hugely appreciated. Finally, thanks @spiderman-homecomeme for being huge part of why I’m back at writting. Hope you know you inspire a lot of people! Keep shinning :D

Concept: Opening presents

Dialogue: “Merry Christmas” & “Do you like it?” “I love it” & “Why are you staring at me?” “Nothing… you just look really cute right now”

December 25th

Peter is awakened by a knock on the door. He can hear someone speaking but he is too sleep to comprehend what it’s happening. He snuggles further into the warm and goes back to sleep but a few moments later someone kept knocking on the door.

“Damn. Who’s not getting the idea that I want to sleep late?” MJ said and pulled Peter closer

“PETER! MJ! WE NEED TO OPEN THE GIFTS!!!! COME ON!! WAKE UP!!!” Now Peter got who was calling their door

“We should go, Em. She is going to throw that door if we don’t go out” Peter yawn and MJ stretched out on the bed

“Hey peanut” Peter opened the door and Morgan ran to the bed and started jumping on it

“WE CAN OPEN THE PRESENTS NOW! LET’S GO! MJ WAKE UP”

“I’m awake. We can go!” MJ did her best getting out of bed with Morgan jumping on the bed

Peter took a hoodie from his bag before joining Morgan and MJ to the living room. Everyone was already there but nobody looked fully awake, just Morgan.

“Morning everyone” Peter said hi and everyone mumbled a few things back at him

“Do we have coffee?” MJ was looking at everything on the coffee table

“Yes. We have some here” Happy offered them two mugs with warm coffee and they took it

“Can we open the presents now mom? We are all here!” Morgan was jumping next to the tree. Peter haven’t noticed but the tree was actually full of packages

“Yeap. You can distribute them and open yours” After Pepper gave her approval, Morgan grabbed the gift that was closer to her.

“This one is from Peter to my dad” Morgan handed the package to tony and he started opening it

“Aww. This is so cute! Thanks Pete. I’m putting them on the lab” Tony placed the Iron Man and Spider-Man plushies next to him on the couch. Morgan picked a second package

“This one is for Uncle Happy” He received the big present and opened it

“Morgan this is amazing! Thank you little one” Happy started to show May all the bakery supplies Morgan got him. Then she grabbed two presents and hand it them to May and Pepper. They opened broke the paper and opened the shoe boxes Morgan got for them. May gasped at the heels and Pepper kissed Morgan’s check to thank her

“This little one is from Peter to Betty” Betty took the little box and when she opened she found a blue bridal hair comb. The comb was silver with little silver and sapphire blue leaves

“Peter this is beautiful. Thank you so much!” When Ned tried to look at what was in the box Betty closed it “You can’t see it yet, Ned”

“Morgan helped me find it. I thought you would need something blue” Morgan lifted another package and announced that it was from Tony to Pepper. Pepper took the letter size package, everyone was expecting Pepper to open it and when she did, two plain tickets to India

“India?” Morgan read and asked her dad

“India like Uttaranchal because your mom haven’t stop talking about how much she would like to go to that amazing place where they have yoga and meditation classes and a beautiful spa. So yes, India”

“You were actually paying attention to my rambling about Uttaranchal”

“I’m always paying attention to you. No matter what you’re doing or what I’m doing” Pepper kissed Tony and thanked him for the trip. They do needed to relax a little bit

Morgan kept grabbing presents and giving them to their respective owners. Happy gave May a beautiful pearl necklace and May gave Happy a gastronomic tour for New York. Betty gave Peter a new lens for his camera and Ned gave Peter a new intercom for the suit. Morgan gave his dad her present and he totally loved it and even told Pepper he was going to wear those Iron Man shorts to their trip. Pepper gave Tony a free pass to get as many cheese burgers as he wanted over the year. Then Morgan found one of her presents

“This is for me!!” She started to tear the wrapping paper and found the Rescue helmet she used to wear a few years back as a toy

“We talked and decided it’s time for you to have it” Pepper explained to Morgan when she looked at them trying to find an explanation “You are always with your dad on the lab, you played with this a few years back. We think it’s time for you to have it. I can’t take that away from you”

“That doesn’t mean you can start using it now. You will need training and mentoring. It’s just an approval of what you can and eventually will do” After Tony and Pepper talked Morgan threw herself at them and kissed their checks

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!!!! Peter can be my mentor, dad? And you of course!”

“I would love that peanut” Peter offered his help and Morgan blew him a kiss. Morgan went back to the gifts. MJ gave Betty a swimsuit and Ned gave her tickets to the Philippines to meet the rest of his family. MJ also gave May and Happy and Pepper and Tony some spa reservations. After a while, Morgan noticed there were missing presents

“Peter. Where is MJ’s present? Please tell me you didn’t forget to pick it up”

“No I didn’t forget it. It’s on my pocket” He pulled a small round box from his hoddie and gave it to MJ

“Merry Christmas, Em” MJ opened the box and found a necklace. A black glass Dahlia was between a soft fabrics. She took it out of the box and the Dahlia shinned in front of her. She didn’t say anything and Peter was starting to worry about it, maybe she didn’t like it

“Do you like it?” He had to ask or he was going to die of embarrassment right there in front of everyone. Peter was overthinking about the necklace until MJ finally spoke

“I love it” MJ moved her eyes from the necklace to Peter and without another word gave him a soft kiss on the lips. “My present for you is quite confidential so I have it in my bag” Everyone was looking at them with soft eyes and Morgan was too focused on the last gifts there were under the tree. All of them were for here. May gave her a dress Morgan saw on internet and wanted to get. Pepper gave her the same free pass she gave to Tony so they could go together without Tony sharing his pass. May and Happy gave her some science equipment she could use to not monopolize his dad’s lab and start her own.

After they finished open all the presents, Peter noticed MJ didn’t gave Morgan a present

“Morgan, can you come with me please? Peter, come with us?” MJ called Morgan and the two girls walked out of the living room with Peter close by. MJ lead them to their room and closed the door behind them

“Morgan, remember what I told you about trusting people with big secrets?” MJ asked Morgan while looking for something on her bag

“Yeap” Morgan nodded while looking at MJ

“Well, I have something to tell you. For me trust is a huge gift that I don’t give to everyone. And what I’m about to share with you, I hope will be part of your new journey with the nice suit your parents gave you” Right there, Peter understood what was on her bag

“Have you heard something about someone people is calling Black Cat?” MJ asked and Morgan turned to look at Peter

“She knows who I am Peanut” Morgan showed how surprised she was at the information and nodded to MJ

“I know she was stealing some money and things from other people but I saw her on the news a few days ago. She wasn’t hurting anyone and she left with you Peter” As much as she talked, Morgan started to realize what was happening “You are Black Cat, MJ”

“I am. And I know you have seen some things but I’m doing it to help” While MJ spoke, she pulled her leather suit out of her bag along with a folder full of papers “This is your present Peter” She handed him the folder and he found a way of ending Prowler along with his fellows.

“This folder has all the documents you need to put them in jail. I can’t do it or they will link all of this to Miles but you can do it. If you knock them like last time and enough time for the police to get them, they are going to jail and we will be fine, Miles will be save” Peter overlooked the papers and found bank statements, mails and chats with Dr. Ock’s plans.

“Who’s Miles?” Peter and MJ forgot that Morgan was still with them until she spoke. When they looked at her, she was wearing MJ’s Black Cat mask and wig

“A friend. The reason behind all I did. The equipment and money I stole, it was all to keep him save”

“Thank MJ. This will be really helpful. Maybe I can take it to the lab and tell Karen to scan this and send the docs to the cops once I get them” Morgan was going to say something more but Peter and MJ’s phones started ringing. They shared a look and took their phones out of their pockets

“Manhattan. Rhino’s back and not alone” Peter showed MJ someone’s photo from Manhattan that showed Rhino and Prowler together. They were trying to destroy a building

“You have to go Pete?” Morgan took of the wig and mask and handed them to MJ

“Yeah Peanut, I’m calling the helicopter for my venom formula and letting Karen scan this files”

“I’m going with you” MJ grabbed her leather suit and got to the bathroom to change

“You have your suit here, right Peter?” Morgan walked to the door and after Peter gave her a confirmation she closed the door behind her. Two minutes later MJ came out of the bathroom with her suit, mask, wig and belt on.

“Ready?” Peter looked at her and he froze. He always looked at Black Cat in the dark and the last fight let him so shock he didn’t take a close look at her. The suit embraced all her curves, her long legs were even longer with the high heels she was wearing and now the mask did nothing to hide her brown eyes. MJ noticed he hadn’t said anything in a while snapped her fingers in front of him “Peter? Spider-Man?”

“Sorry. I’m ready. I called the helicopter, we let the file on the scanner, take the web formula and we will be in Manhattan in five minutes by far”

“Then let’s go. No time to waste” Peter took his mask from the bed and took MJ’s hand before going out of their room. Their went down the stairs and found everyone on the living room looking at the TV

“Tony we are leaving. Ned I need you on the intercom with me. May, everything it’s going to be fine. I promise. We have a plan” When Peter and MJ looked at everyone Peter found lots of shocked faces

“MJ?” Betty was looking at MJ with big eyes, like she couldn’t believe what was in front of her. MJ froze and looked at everyone on the living room, the only normal faces were Tony, Ned and Morgan

“I can explain, but not now. We have to go. Betty I promise I will tell you everything when we come back”

“I knew about Peter, but you?” Peter looked at Ned with lots of questions between them “He didn’t tell me. I’m a journalist, I’m not blind and you guys don’t speak as soft as you think”

“Now I’m offended I didn’t find out being your roommate” When they left the house, the helicopter was already waiting for them.

Once in the helicopter the facilities were a few minutes away from them. MJ had the folder and as soon as they landed, they took it to lab and while Peter grabbed the formula and the special web shooters, the chemicals were strong enough to damage his normal web shooters, MJ put the files into the scanner and told Karen to send the files to the police when Peter told her to.

“Peter, doesn’t someone need to change the files or pages on the scanner? Karen can’t do that”

“Karen can’t, but Dum-E can” Peter ran to the lab next to his and brought some mechanical arm with him and gave the arm the order of changing the pages or flick the pages if needed “Don’t mess this up Dum-E. I trust you!” The arm did a few bip sounds and started working. Peter walked to the front door and MJ followed him close by.

“Should we arrive together?”

“No, you go first. I need to make sure they don’t see me coming. You will be fighting Rhino and Prowler but we still have to go after the others. If Dr. Ock shows up, I will tell you” Peter gave MJ a short kiss before putting his mask and swing away from her. She waited a few minutes and started moving between building too.

Peter asked Karen for Rhino’s location and as soon as he got it, he swayed faster to the point a little map in his mask showed him. There weren’t a lot of citizens on the streets, but cops and reporters were everywhere

“Rhino, seriously? I was having a good time. Let me guess, Santa didn’t bring you a present and now you are mad” All Peter got was some grunts from Rhino. He took the opportunity to shoot some of the venom webs at his mouth and face. The chemicals started to ruin Rhino’s armor just like Peter had expected

“Michelle is dealing with Prowler, Peter” Karen spoke in his mask and Peter tried to shoot some webs to weak points that Karen showed him

“Ned?”

“Right here Peter” Ned spoke clearly in his ear. The new intercom worked pretty well

“Can you see what MJ is doing?”

“My girl’s kicking some asses” This time Betty was the one to answer him

“Ned where are you?” Peter was swinging between some buildings to avoid Rhino’s punches.

“Living room. Everyone can listen to you” Perfect, he didn’t want May hearing one of his fights, she worried too much and probably Tony will have an opinion on the fight or something he would say, Tony always had an opinion. And Morgan will definitely make fun of him for something later. Pepper and Happy just supported him through everything

“Is Dr. Ock somewhere?” Peter asked Karen and Ned in case one can see it and not the other

“Nope. MJ is with Prowler and you take care of Rhino” Peter had Rhino’s armor almost fully covered in webs and he could barely move

“Karen, tell MJ I’m almost done with Rhino”

“Yes, Peter”

Rhino was covered in the webs and the chemical began to interfere with the mobility of his arms and legs. Rhino started to rip some armor off him. When he took his helmet off, the face of a redhead man appeared and Peter told some cops they had to be careful when they captured the man. He started looking for MJ and saw her and Prowler on the rooftop of a building. He moved fast climbing a wall and arrived when Prowler shoot compressed air blasts at MJ. She fell back and Peter shoot some webs at Prowler

“Let me handle him. This is between us” MJ told Peter over the intercom and he took a few steps back. He knew she needed to do it on her own terms but he wasn’t letting her get hurt either

“Look who’s here, Cat. Don’t you want to take part Spider?”

“Nop. I’m here for moral support or just make fun of you” Peter pretended to check his nails and he was just watching his gloved hand. MJ saw that Prowler was distracted and threw the loop at him. Linking his arms to his body, with the restriction, he couldn’t move or throw more things at her

“Sorry you missed the fight, you made it till the end” MJ moved to Prowler and tied more ropes on his body to make sure he wasn’t moving or escaping. Peter surrounded him with a web and moved him to where Rhino was on the ground.

“You ok, MJ?” Peter asked Michelle after he saw some scratches on her right arm

“Yeah, all good. He decided to use his new titanium claws on me but nothing to worry about. Tell Karen to send the files to every precinct in New York and we can go home” While he spoke to Karen, Peter grabbed MJ by her waist and took her to the rooftop they were minutes ago.

“Karen already send all the files. They are going to jail. I feel bad about Miles, he wanted to help his uncle to be a better person and now he is going to jail” Peter looked down at Aaron Davis, immobilized and covered in webs. His suit was damaged where the webs could touch the suit

“He understands. I hope he becomes a better man for all of those who have faith in him, like Miles and Jefferson” MJ grabbed Peter’s mask and moved it up above his mouth to give him a kiss

“Get a room!” Morgan shouted on their ears and Peter and MJ started laughing

“Ned is still in the living room” Peter explained MJ why Morgan was talking to them

“Yeah. We can see and hear everything. Also, there is a very nice shoot of you guys right now on TV with “Power Couple” as the headlight” Peter looked down again and saw a few cameras pointing at them. Thank God MJ didn’t remove his mask completely or his face will be all over the TV and Internet in a few seconds

“Let’s go back, Spider” MJ wrapped her arms around Peter’s neck and he shoot a web to another building to make them swing back to the facilities. Fifteen minutes later they were back on the cabin and everyone was waiting for them at the front door

“We are back and perfectly fine!” Peter assured them all

“MJ is hurt” Morgan pointed at MJ’s arm and May and Pepper moved back to the house quickly

“Let’s go inside” Happy lead them to the living room and turned off the TV that still had images of Rhino and Prowler being arrested. May and Pepper appeared with a first aid kit and MJ took of her wig and mask

“Can you take of that suit so we can clean the cuts?” Pepper spoke to her like a mother speaking to a little hurt kid

“I will need a little bit of help but maybe in the room” The three of them walked to the room on the second floor and Peter decided to go with them. He needed to be sure she was alright. May helped MJ with the zipper on the front of the suit and rolled down the suit from her arm. Pepper cleaned the cuts and then put some patches with a white cream MJ didn’t recognized on the area

“You should change those clothes. We will wait for you on the living room” May told them and she hugged Peter on her way out of the room with Pepper

“Better?” Peter closed the door behind him and walked to MJ

“Yeah. I think the adrenaline was holding back the actual pain but now I can definitely feel it”

“Want some painkillers? I saved a few from the other night” Peter walked to his night table and handed MJ some pills with a glass of water. MJ took them and drank the water

“I’m going to change on the bathroom” MJ grabbed some jeans and a shirt from her bag and walked to the bathroom but didn’t lock the door

Peter searched for his bag and took of his suit to change it for some jeans and a hoddie. When he was done he waited for MJ to go out of the bathroom

“I’m ready” MJ offered her hand to Peter and he took it. They walked together to the living room and Morgan threw herself at MJ with a big hug

“You are the best MJ!” Morgan said and everyone laughed a little. It was a big surprise for all of them to see her fighting someone on a leather suit “Can I show you something on my science lab that Uncle Happy and May gave me?” Peter saw MJ accepting Morgan’s offer and he decided not to go with them. Morgan had found a new role model in MJ and he wanted her to take the best out of it.

MJ sat on the floor next to the tree while everyone chatted and asked Peter about what was going to happen to Rhino and Prowler. Morgan sat on MJ’s legs and started showing her different things

“Why are you staring at me?” Peter didn’t notice but he was, in fact, staring at MJ with Morgan. They just fit together. He loved the image, his best friend and little sis bonding always amazed him, but this time it was different. MJ was now his girlfriend and the feeling of seeing them together was too much to handle

“Nothing… you just look really cute right now” Peter managed to say to MJ and she didn’t answer but blushed and a few second later, she kept talking to Morgan while the kid showed her some things from her little science lab

Now Peter could breathe more lightly. All his family and friends were together and save, no secrets between them and the future looked pretty good for all of them

“Hey Pete. Would you like to go out to watch the ocean with me for a little while?” MJ took him out of his mind

“Better if we see it from here, don’t you think? After all Baby, it’s cold outside”

----------------------------------------------------

Notes:

You know this all ended with many unfinished plots (Betty and Ned's wedding, Peter and Miles meeting for the first time, even Morgan and Miles interacting and more Black Cat/Spider-Man working together) and maybe I will do some second part telling how a few of this stories end up. Keep reading what makes you happy and have a lovely New Year :D

[all-hailtheking]

Hello King!! Can I ask for Soundwave x Human! Reader? Maybe a little bit of angst but ends with fluff? It can be any form you want (headcannons etc) Also! Congratulations on creating a blog!! Can't wait to see more lovely works from you!

(Hiya, thank you for the love! I’m glad you enjoy my writing so far. I hope you like this! 🌺💜🌺)

Imagine Soundwave’s S/O being taken by the Autobots

Standing in the middle of the Jasper, Nevada’s empty and rock-filled landscape would have been a whole lot nicer if the Autobots didn’t come when they did. You were supposed to be stargazing with Soundwave, but apparently, the world wasn’t in the mood for that. Standing on top of one of the many rocky columns found in the nowhere deserts of Jasper, Soundwave and you were enjoying some much-needed silence away from the boisterous Nemesis. Both of you recognized the sound of a ground-bridge opening and were then greeted by the roar of several engines.

Bumblebee, Arcee, and Optimus Prime we’re now aiming their blasters at the TIC. “Soundwave, leave the human child alone or we will be forced to take fire.” Soundwave simply shook his helm and opened a ground-bridge next to him. He then gently picked you up with his slender digits and casually walked through it as if nothing had happened. “We can’t just let the Decepticons keep that human. There’s no telling what they’ll do!” Arcee grumbles to herself and her teammates. “We will rescue the human, Arcee. Ratchet, we need a ground-bridge. Soundwave has returned to the Nemesis.” Optimus states. The only reply he had was an agitated mumble of, “I just sent you there…”

“Soundwave, I’ve gotta go! I can’t miss another day of work!” You say, attempting to persuade the silent mech. His only response was yet another shake of his helm as he continued to type away on his monitors. Of course, he knew you needed to go, but he had to be cautious now that the Autobots knew of his human. He wasn’t letting you out of his sights. No Autobot was going to take what he claimed as his own. He had lost too much already, so adding you to that list was a no go.

“Soundwave, I’m going to get fired if I don’t leave soon! They probably think I’m playing hooky and I need this job in order for me to have food. Please, I’ll be careful! You can even have Breakdown take me if you don’t feel comfortable with me going alone.” This time he stays silent and makes no movement to indicate his response. His digits stop typing and his helm raises up slightly. Soundwave then puts to digits to his helm and seems to relay a message to someone using broken audio fragments. Next, he turns towards you and nods, though he slightly flinches when he sees Breakdown make his way into the central command.

“You commed, Soundwave?” The bulkier blue mech spoke with a slight hint of confusion. “You shall- escort- (Y/n) to- her- work-.” Breakdown nodded his head and quickly transformed into his vehicle mode. “Sure thing. Hop on in, (Y/n).” You merely agreed and waved goodbye and blew a kiss towards Soundwave. A large blue and green ground-bridge opened before the blue-clad vehicle, causing said cybertronian to rev his engines.

After an hour of driving with Breakdown, you both finally arrived at work. “Thanks again, Breakdown. You’re a true blessing.” “Not a problem. Call me on my commlink, or contact Soundwave, when your shift is over.” He spoke, opening his passenger door. “Alright. See you later.” He then left as you began to head inside the KO Burger. Of course, being a manager had its perks, but you couldn’t abandon the fast food joint to your immature coworkers.

“Hey, Jack. I need you to man the drive-through. Amanda, I need you and Tim to man the registers. Everyone else, you know where to go.” As everyone began to make the way to their respective positions, you found Jack walking up to you. “What’s the matter, Jack?” The teen simply shrugged his shoulders. “I needed to talk to you, but I guess we’ll have to do that later. Is that alright?” You simply nodded and went to go talk to your boss.

After what felt like an hour, you were already done with your shift. As you were walking out of the burger joint, you find yourself without a ride. Darn your forgetful mind. “Hey, (Y/n). Remember how I need to talk to you?” ‘Nice, that’s two in a row.’ You thought to yourself. Quickly turning on your heels and made your way towards the black-haired boy. “Sure thing. Whatcha wanna talk about?” You ask, walking towards him and his motorcycle. “Where have you been recently? I know you don’t have to work every day, but you’ve nearly missed a week’s worth. Is something up?” He asks, concerned. “No, just had some family matters pop up that I had to deal with. My boyfriend was also being really protective. He had some stuff happen and didn’t trust letting me leave until he felt I would be safe.”

The Darby boy nodded. “Well, how about I take you home? Your ride doesn’t seem to be here.” I chuckle and shake my head. “Nah, don’t worry. He’ll be here soon. I just have to let him know that my shift is over.” The black-haired boy was then slightly pushed forward from some strange force. He then mumbled under his breathe towards the bike, “What the heck was that for, Arcee?” You tilted your head in confusion, only catching a few words. You didn’t trust this anymore; not when he made mention of an Autobot’s name.

“Well, I’m gonna go call him. Thanks anyway, Jack.” You say as you wave to the teen and walk back over to the fast-food building. “(Y/n), wait. I can stay with you until he shows up. I don’t wanna leave you alone; even though you’re an adult… I just don’t want you waiting alone.” He said, shaking his head from embarrassment. You rolled your eyes and shrugged. “Do what you wanna do.” His eyes then meet yours with a blushing smile.

Taking your phone out, you dial Breakdown’s commlink, knowing he’d be a better pick up than Soundwave because Jack is still present. “Hey, can you come and get me? My shift just ended. Yeah, take the back route. I know it’s safer for you that way.” You said, using your own code so that he knew not to ground bridge in close by. “Remember to wear your seatbelt, alright? I don’t need you getting caught without it.” “I’ll be sure to have it around me. See ya soon. BD out.” He replied. “Jack, my ride will be here in a few minutes. You can head home now.” “No, I said I’d wait until your ride got here.” What a hardheaded kid.

As you saw Breakdown pulling in, you saw a nice green Jeep following suit. You then begin to hop into the car, only to be pulled out of it by two teens. “(Y/n), it’s not safe!” Jack yells as he and Miko yank you back. “(Y/n)!” Breakdown’s holoform hollers, hopping out of his vehicle mode, only to be stopped by a tall black man in a green t-shirt. “We’re taking the human with us. She doesn’t belong with you, Decepticons.” The teens then put you into the back of Bulkhead’s vehicle mode. “Jack, you could be fired and reported for kidnap if you don’t let me out!” Jack only gulps and runs back over to Arcee.

Bulkhead then revs his engine as his holoform fizzles out and Miko climbs in. Your form gets wrapped tightly in your seat belt by your captor. Breakdown speeds after them, attempting to ram into the Green Autobot, only to completely miss as they take a sharp turn. “GIVE HER BACK, BULKHEAD!” The blue-clad Decepticon yells. “Never! Humans aren’t toys to be played with! She is safer away from you cons,” Bulkhead calls as he and Arcee enter a large ground-bridge, most likely heading towards their base. “Soundwave. They have her.”

Oh, he is beyond pissed. Soundwave has been through enough loss in his long life. Losing you is the final straw. He opens a ground-bridge and allows Breakdown to return to his hab-suite. He’s going to find you, even if it’s the last thing he does.

As everyone enters the Autobot base, Bulkhead is quick to get you out of his vehicle mode. “Stop kicking me! I’m trying to help you!” You kick his center consol one more time before being forced out. “You aren’t helping anyone! I was happy where I was and who I was with! You can’t just kidnap someone! Jack and whatever that chick’s name is could be facing time in a juvenile detention center for this!” You scream, pointing at the two teenagers. “Child, you are safer here than with the Decepticons-”

“Like hell, I am! I’m not a child! I’m a full-grown adult! You just kidnapped me from my workplace in broad daylight while my friend was trying to take me back to my boyfriend, and you’re telling me you’re safer?! So what if I’m friends with a Decepticon!? You have no right to take me somewhere without my consent!” Optimus then attempts to speak again, but you cut him off in a full rage. “I have been living with the Decepticons for the past three years and they have yet to do me wrong, yet! You haven’t even known me for two minutes and you’ve already kidnapped me and claim to be the better choice!”

“I understand your lack of trust in us after being taken here against your will. My teammates never meant to cause you any harm. They were trying to protect you from the Decepticons. We have been enemies with them for a long time now, so we wish not to have you harmed in a war you have no need in being apart of.” Optimus speaks, his voice gentle and sincere. “Then, I would greatly appreciate being returned to them. If you wish to see me safe so badly and have me take no part in this, then let me be with the Decepticons. Taking me away from them is causing more problems than I think you really see. I was happy and safe there. I was not their toy, as ludicrous as it sounds. ”

After speaking with Optimus more, you were able to have him let you go as long as he swore to leave me off the battlefields. “Just open a ground-bridge to a random location in Nevada. Soundwave will find me and take me back.” As unhappy as the Autobots are about your choice of sides, they seem to understand why you were upset. You had grown attached to the inhabitants of the Nemesis. They were family to you. Now, you need to return to Soundwave. Your energy was dropping quickly after the massive amount of emotional stress that today had brought. Maybe you could snuggle up against Soundwave’s neck? Just, resting close to him makes you feel so very comfortable and at ease.

Opening yet another ground-bridge, you have the Autobot Leader following behind you. Optimus Prime is the first to exit the swirling green and blue portal. Not two minutes later, Soundwave is found flying in. Mid-air, the purple, and black mech transforms and lands before both you and the Prime. “You will return- (Y/n)- to me-, Prime!” Different audio recordings speak for Soundwave. Optimus begins to walk forward, only to be forced to the ground by one of Soundwave’s tentacle-like appendages in a quick and harsh slam. “(Y/n) can- walk- to me- alone.” Optimus’ only reply is a groan of pain as he doesn’t struggle beneath the Soundwave’s grasp. You then begin to walk towards your beloved mech with a bright smile. “They didn’t hurt me, ‘Wave. It was all an attempt to rescue me from you all, but they know where I belong now.” Soundwave merely nodded and picked you up as he released Optimus. He then transformed around you and took you back to the Nemesis without another word.

As Optimus began to pick himself up, he questions in a mumbling tone to himself. “Why would Megatron send Soundwave to retrieve this human? What is (Y/n)’s importance to them?”

Once both of you returned to the Nemesis, Soundwave returns to his bipedal form with you in his servo. A quiet chuckle leaves your lips as his digits begin to gently press against your exposed skin. His visor turns to life once more, but a purple smiley face appears. His servo then raises to his shoulder to allow you to sit; instead of him holding you like a maraca. You quickly climb on and snuggle up against his neck. “Thank you for getting me, ‘Wave.” Carefully, he nods back and lets his digits gently rub the top of your head.

“How did you find me so quickly?” You ask in a tired tone, beginning to get tired because of how relaxing Soundwave’s digits are on your scalp. “Response: Will never stop looking for you.” With a large grin on your sleepy face, you calmly rise from your curled up position, only to place a gentle kiss on the side of Soundwave’s visor. “Thank you.”

((This fic is 2,180 words long and I am PROUD!))

(I hope you all enjoyed! I’m sorry this took so long, but I am extremely proud of how this turned out! I had so much fun writing this!🌺💜 Thank you @honeysugacube for requesting and being patient!)

[mollymauk-teafleak]

I will love you if I never see you again (chapter five)

Again, thanks and sincere apologies to my lovely beta readers @minky-for-short and @spiky-lesbian. Again, I am just so, so sorry.

Please consider leaving a comment on Ao3, it really means a lot to me!

Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5

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It had been four days, not even a full week, and Nureyev was already losing his mind.

Bianca only howled louder when he picked her up, this time right in his ear. Nureyev winced, jostling her, patting her back, feeling the anger of her flushed skin through the thin cotton of her pyjamas. He tried to fall back on everything he’d learned, everything he’d frantically researched on the long trip back from Brahma into solar planet space with an hours old Bianca curled up in one arm, everything he knew worked from times when she’d fallen ill or gotten herself in a state. But the truth was she’d never acted quite like this.

She wasn’t sleeping, she wasn’t eating right, she was acting out in a way she just hadn’t before. She’d always been so good, quiet enough that Nureyev had pulled countless scores with her strapped up against his chest in a sling, calm enough that she’d never once given them away even in situations tenser than he’d ever wanted to get her in.

But ever since they’d lifted off from the Cerberus Province, she’d been in some holy terror. There was just something about the Carte Blanche that Bianca did not like and refused to cooperate with.

Nureyev dodged a flying fist and took her over to the window, hoping the sight of the stars would help calm her down, help her realise that this was no different from their previous hops between planets, just a little longer and with slightly more comfortable accommodation. When observed through the tight circle of the porthole, it was hard to believe they were even moving, the stars not even seeming to creep past. It was like looking up from the very bottom of the sea.

But Bianca was having none of it. She only cried, sobbing ‘dada’ miserably over and over against his shirt, the silk of which was now soaked beyond saving. It was like she was begging him, desperately trying to make him see and understand.

But he couldn’t.

Nureyev held her closer in spite of the noise and the flailing, sighing deeply. He felt like he needed to apologise but when he wondered what for, so many unpleasant thoughts crowded on the end of his tongue that he couldn’t pull away fast enough, as if from a burning stove.

Thoughts like why he’d ever assumed he could do this, why he’d ever thought he could be a father. Why he’d ever thought subjecting a young child to this kind of life, essentially reenacting all the wongs that had been done to him, had been a good idea. He could tell himself his intentions were good until he was blue in the face but didn’t they all say that?

Wouldn’t Mag have told himself the exact same thing?

The name was enough to make himself start and he pushed it away, trying to force it into its box. But it was so hard, when he was so tired and empty and wrung out. He needed his wits about him to keep his mind in order, like prison guards with unruly tenants, and right now whatever wits he’d ever had were in pieces on the floor.

When it was clear the stars weren’t working their usual magic, Nureyev stood, not really knowing why but needing something to do. Perhaps a shower would help cool and soothe her or maybe a walk around the ship, though that would only make her distress echo through the halls all the more and Nureyev got the feeling his good will with the rest of the crew was eroding fast.

Except with one of them.

He’d been keeping his distance in an attempt to be respectful but it was impossible not to feel his presence like an itch. In the captain’s ridiculous family meetings, every glance the former detective stole in his direction felt like someone had flicked him on the ear. He’d stopped bringing Bianca to those things, not just because she screamed through them and made the transmission of information rather tricky but because that single brown eye kept dancing everywhere but on them, expect for those moments where he would slip. Those mistakes seemed to come more frequently than either of them would like. His secretary too, the one with the bright purple hair, would be looking too and would often glance furtively at her old boss, like she was waiting for him to do something or say something, like the silence was killing her. But Juno would set his jaw in that damn stubborn way and turn his eye elsewhere.

But it wasn’t just that, it was Bianca herself. Nureyev had assumed a month when she was so small she was barely aware of anything around her wouldn’t have left such an imprint. He’d assumed because that felt so much more sturdy than simply hoping. But every time Juno was in her eye line, she would wriggle and attempt to make escapes Nureyev himself would never have dared. She would babble and bounce and coo, even stretch her arms out towards him.

As soon as she started, Nureyev would quickly bundle her off, making some excuse out loud or in his head that no one would really believe. He’d walked away from dinners the captain had insisted he attend, strategy meetings, he’d turned back out of the kitchen when he’d needed a coffee more than he needed air in his lungs. He’d left Bianca in their room when she’d been crying, breaking his heart in the process of closing the door.

Nureyev was being a fool, in short. And on top of that, he was being a poor member of the crew. The captain had talked about them as a cohesive unit, working together to achieve the impossible, each one of them part of the chain. And he was the weak link, he was the hinge who stuck, the corner that broke away.

It was hurting his professional pride as much as it was his sense of identity. Some mornings, in the blissful few hours when Bianca’s exhaustion made her snatch a little sleep, he would stagger to the bathroom. Looking at himself in the mirror, flyaway hair and bleary eyes and no makeup, he would struggle to recognise himself.

He could look at that man and tell himself he was Peter Nureyev, but what good were the words when he didn’t have the credentials?

Back in his own mind, in the present moment with a distraught daughter chewing miserably on his shoulder, Nureyev decided it was late enough to attempt a walk, maybe take her up to the observation deck. He’d been so excited to show her the view from beneath the blown out dome of the ship, he bet you could almost believe you were completely suspended in space, floating amongst it all. Sure every time he’d attempted it for her, she’d just cried but maybe this time it would work.

Nureyev went to get her a coat, it was cold when you were surrounded by nothing but metal and the vacuum of space. Her booties too, in case she wanted to be set down, he needed to have something between her soft little soles and the grating. And of course her cat had to come…

Nureyev stopped, holding two of those items in his hand and realising he had no clue where to find the third. It must have been abandoned in the kitchen after the most recent of the meeting disrupting tantrums. Maybe once she had it back, she would calm down.

He pulled on her little coat and shoes, taking twice as long as usual with her flailing about, and went for the door, glad to at least have a goal in mind, a reason to move and make the dark thoughts chase him rather than sitting there as an easy target.

He found his momentum thrown off when he trod on something soft in the dark hallway, making him stumble and Bianca lurch in his arms. He looked down, fingers twitching towards the knife at his belt on pure instinct, and saw the very cat he’d been about to hunt for. There was a note tucked under the ribbon around its neck. Once he’d adjusted to the simulated night of the Carte Blanche, he could read the handwriting from here.

Found on the kitchen table. Thought B might be missing it- J.

Part of Nureyev didn’t want to take his foot off the thing but he did, bending and rescuing it from underneath his heel. The note came with it, as well as the knowledge of Juno’s thought, his care, his attentiveness. Everything that might be contained with those glances he gave them and all that might be behind them.

He folded the note between his fingers and put it in one pocket, wishing he could do the same with the thoughts crowding his mind. The cat he passed to Bianca, who’d been startled by the near fall and was clinging to him with tight little hands, sniffling quietly.

“Look who found us, little treasure,” he murmured, trying a smile.

Bianca looked at her cat, eyes wide and wet and bottom lip still pouched out. She reached out a hand to close around its neck, slackened by all the times she’d held it there while she slept or while she rested against him or while she threw it around happily. She held on tight, like she always did, since the one time she’d dropped it as they’d been creeping around a cathedral in search of some ancient scrolls a buyer had expressed interest in and Nureyev had been forced to break one of his rules of thieving and revisit a crime scene to retrieve it the next day.

For a moment, he actually hoped the tears had run their course and the much loved toy had been enough this time. For a moment. Namely, the moment right before Bianca threw the cat fully in his face, knocking his glasses askew and began her wailing again with renewed force.

Nureyev gave a deep, long sigh and started his walk to the observation deck, leaving the cat on the bedroom floor for now.

It had been a week now, but fortunately for everyone on board the Carte Blanche, there was only so much little lungs could take. There had to be some time, whether it was ten minutes, twenty or, if the stars were aligning, maybe even a full hour, where Bianca just physically couldn’t howl anymore. Nureyev tried to get as much done in that time as he possibly could, feeding her and himself in those snatched moments, risking journeys outside of his room safe in the knowledge that someone wouldn’t try and push them out of the airlock and have done with it. Probably the green haired medic, when he’d gone to her to ask if there was anything physically wrong with Bianca, she had looked positively murderous after his daughter accidentally caught her on the jaw with a swinging foot.

It wasn’t to say that things went back to normal when she wasn’t crying. There’d be a distance with Bianca, as her breathing would hitch and she’d tremble with the aftershocks of her tears. Nureyev would try and wipe the tears from her cheeks, he’d make funny faces and dredge up his most ridiculous voices he’d ever used for his personas, he’d tell her she was his treasure and he loved her but he wouldn’t get the response she used to give him. She’d just slump against him, boneless and sad in a faraway kind of way. In a lot of ways, it was worse than when she was filled with her fury.

But she needed food and that was something Nureyev knew he could fix. So, with the lights on the ship simulating a late dusk, he walked with her down to the kitchen. Even if she could toddle on her own sometimes, he did not look forward to the day when he would reach down to her and she wouldn’t answer by stretching her arms up towards him, hands opening and closing. Even as exhausted as he was, as much as his muscles ached, he carried her gratefully.

He was tired though. He couldn’t remember being so exhausted and feeling so helpless, not since the day Bianca was born. Even when she slept, he couldn’t, losing himself in just gazing at her, like studying her face would make it all click and he’d see how to help her. So he dragged himself rather than walked to the kitchen, not able to rouse enough energy to put on the usual straight backed swagger he’d made part of his identity. He actually slouched his shoulders, God help him.

No one else was in the kitchen which was for the best. Nureyev had grown far too used to living alone to be fully adjusted to other bodies in his space yet. And he was so tired, it was very likely he’d put a hole through his alias that he couldn’t afford.

He worked efficiently with one hand, putting together Bianca’s meal of paste of various colours. It looked entirely unappetising but his research showed it was one of the best brands out there in terms of vitamins and minerals for healthy growth. He sat down on the sagging old sofa, balancing her on one knee, the brightly coloured plastic tray on the coffee table. There was no fight in her tonight, she accepted each spoonful and raised barely a coo at his spaceship noises. Maybe she’d had enough of spaceships, living on one. And she didn’t eat as much as he’d like either before burying her face against her cat, who was apparently back in her good graces, and accepting no more.

Nureyev sighed and acquiesced, setting down the spoon, “Well, we’re going to try again in a bit...you need your energy, little treasure.”

Bianca just murmured indistinctly, the cloth cat’s ear in her mouth, the remnants of her last spoonful staining his fur orange.

He could get up and go back to his room, he should before someone else came in. But his legs were so leaden, he felt so strangely heavy and empty at once. Just a moment to let go and let his muscles slacken but of course not his hands, never his hands.

He just wanted a moment.

The next thing Nureyev was aware of was a shifting softness against him, the whisper of cloth. He frowned a little, turning his face into the pillow under his head, about to slip back into sleep, his consciousness just rising to the surface before sinking back under.

Almost. Instead it froze solid and his eyelids snapped open. Where was Bianca?

Nureyev shot upright, too fast, his vision swimming. He was asleep, how could he have fallen asleep, what sort of father fell asleep when he was meant to be awake watching his child…

When his brain finally stopped spinning in his skull, the first thing he registered was a high sweet sound that soothed his panic but did nothing for his confusion.

Bianca was laughing. She was laughing.

Nureyev whirled around to see her, sitting up on the rug, her face bright with delight, grasping up at something. Her cat, being wiggled in an odd little dance and chuntering in a silly voice. Held by Juno Steel.

He was grinning, the eye he still had crinkled in the corner with those creases that had knocked Nureyev off his feet the first time he’d seen them. He walked the cat back and forth in the air, letting Bianca grab for it, making it talk. He was dressed for sleep, slouchy faded trousers and a shirt that was hanging off one shoulder, slippers on his feet that were clearly a gift from Rita. But he’d never looked so animated, as he sat cross legged and played with Bianca.

“Gonna have to try harder than that, Chainmail Warrior, if you want to defeat this beast,” he challenged, moving it ever so slightly closer to her grasping hands, clearly ready to let her win in just a moment, before her delight turned to frustration.

Bianca giggled, seeing victory within her grasp, rising up a little onto her knees, nearly overbalancing. But if she did, Juno would catch her. Nureyev knew he would catch her.

“Bianca…” he croaked, sitting up further. He realised there was a blanket over him, a blanket identical to the one he’d been provided but also different. Juno must have taken it from his own bunk. Same for the pillow that had appeared under his head.

Juno jumped, as if caught red handed, turning to him anxiously. Bianca snagged the cat when he wasn’t looking, hooting loudly in excitement, though her face dropped quickly when he didn’t praise her immediately.

But she followed his gaze, realised Nureyev was watching them and only smiled the brighter, “Dada!”

This is how it could be, Nureyev thought, some part of him that had been in control when he was asleep, if she was ours rather than mine. I could be waking up and looking at them both and seeing love in their eyes, being theirs…

He slammed that door shut as fast as he could mentally make himself move. He needed no more scars.

“Uh, sorry...Ransom,” Juno still looked guilty, like a kid caught in the middle of doodling on his desk, “You weren’t asleep for long, promise, I came in just as you were nodding off and decided you could use the rest so...so I was just keeping an eye on her. I was gonna put her back and walk away after an hour so you could wake up and…”

His eye slid down and Nureyev followed. Where Bianca’s tray of congealing food had been, instead there was a plate of food, the same pasta dish he’d seen Juno make for the rest of the crew but had always turned away before he could even offer some to him. It was still steaming and smelled good enough that his stomach woke up.

“I would have done it, it’s just I thought it should cool down and we could play a little longer and...sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you…” Juno had shrunken in on himself, seeing his explanation wasn’t getting listened to, bracing himself for more anger.

But Nureyev couldn’t find any. He shook and kicked every box, trying to wake some up but there simply was none. Which meant he could only feel sad and that hurt so much.

“Apologies, Juno,” he eventually said, voice a bad imitation of his usual self, “That was a lapse on my part and…thank you for stepping in. I’ll take Bianca now.”

Though he hadn’t received the blow he’d been expecting, Juno still looked forlorn at that, “I don’t mind keeping an eye on her while you eat? When’s the last time you did that, I’ve never seen you actually-”

Stop it, please stop it. Don’t do this to me again, Juno Steel.

“Ah yes, very kind of you,” Nureyev burst out over him with false cheeriness, the only shield he could gather at such short notice, “Perhaps later, come Bianca…”

He lurched up, realising in the back of his mind that the smell of Juno’s skin would cling to him for who knew how long and what was that going to do to him, and reached for his daughter. She only looked sorrowful, eyes darting between him and Juno, beginning to whimper.

Juno groaned, dropping his voice, “Nureyev…”

Don’t, not again, not again…

He shook himself, starting to find some of that anger but at who he couldn’t say. He moved forward and plucked Bianca up off the rug, muscles already tensing like an animal ready to run. He was halfway turned, Bianca was halfway to another meltdown, when Juno spoke, voice barely a whisper.

“What can I do to prove I won’t hurt you again, Nureyev?”

He froze, the only sound left beyond the constant soundtrack of the creaking ship being Bianca’s stuttering pre-cries. His voice sounded so lost, so quiet. Heavy, like someone who knew exactly what they’d done wrong and couldn’t see a path away from the person he’d been. But still trying, still groping for some sunlight.

Please, Juno Steel.

“I don’t know,” he eventually whispered.

He wasn’t looking but he felt Juno sag, felt the fight go out of him. He heard him get up, with a muted groan at some old ache in his limbs. He heard him walk up behind him, saw him come into view, the bowl in his hand.

“Please take it,” he sighed, holding it out towards Nureyev’s free hand, “Eat something. You look like death.”

After a pause and half a hundred petty, vindictive actions quickly dismissed, Nureyev took it.

“Thank you,” he said in a quiet voice. He’d gone hungry far too many times in his life not to take food when it was offered with good grace.

Juno just nodded, still looking even more hurt than when Nureyev had exploded at him. He leaned in, kissed Bianca’s forehead and his eye dared the thief to deny him. He did not.

“Night, Bee Bee, don’t let the bedbugs bite,” he murmured, managing a smile for her as he patted her cheek. It fell away immediately when he raised his face back to Nureyev, “Goodnight, Ransom. We’re on that job together in two days, remember, the auction? Don’t fancy going in with a partner about to faint. So get some sleep.”

Nureyev’s heart sank at the thought but he didn’t let it show on his face, “Of course. Who do you think I am?”

Then he did smile for him, a sad and tired kind of smile with no sincere humour in it, “I know who you are, Peter Nureyev. I mean it, get some rest.”

He turned away first so Nureyev wouldn’t have to. Juno Steel was full of mercies tonight, it seemed. His footfalls echoed down the corridor even after he was out of sight, only disappearing with the click and thunk of his own door opening and closing in quick succession.

Bianca, no longer about to cry, only pressed into him and mumbled softly, a collection of muddy syllables that weren’t quite a word yet. But when they were, the word would be mama.

Nureyev straightened himself and shifted her slightly so he could hold her more securely. However much sleep he’d been able to snatch let him run around and force a lot of it into boxes, filing it away, reordering his mind. Maybe the time would come to open them again but the time certainly wasn’t now.

There was the job. Zolotovna’s auction and the Gilded Globe of Reaches Far. And there was all the preparation that came with the job, the busy hours, sitting on his bed combing through his comms on sites that were never meant to be accessed, the crafting of a seamless personality, all while Bianca played contentedly on the floor or sat in his lap just like old times. There was the work, the chance to prove himself. The chance to feel like Peter Nureyev again.

Juno Steel would have to wait.

As much as he’d missed her, Nureyev had to admit, rather guiltily, that he was glad Bianca was sleeping when he returned from the auction. He was exhausted and he was glad of the opportunity to just sit down and kick his shoes off, rub his aching feet and turn the events of the night over in his mind. With one hand resting tenderly on her sleeping shoulder, he tried to examine the ache inside himself with a distant eye. Unsuccessfully, every time he leaned in, it would reach out and take hold of him and he’d be unable to deny it was a part of him. He could try and shake it off but it would only spread and cling harder.

He had come so close. There was no pretending it hadn’t happened, Nureyev had considered it. Signing himself away, agreeing to whatever Zolotovna would have asked of him, his pride and place on the team and even his sexuality be damned. Just to have things be easy. He told himself firmly that of course he’d have made Binaca part of it, he’d have come and collected her first, he’d come so close because of her. He told himself that and under no circumstances would he press further, far too afraid of what might be beyond that.

But he hadn’t. Because he’d looked at Juno from across the ballroom, looking like one of the most distant, most beautiful stars had come loose from the sky and decided to attend the party, and he’d thought again of everything they could be. And he’d remembered who he was. He wasn’t Monsieur Dauphin, he was Peter Nureyev.

And he’d come home.

Bianca yawned, turning over in her sleep, her dark curls spreading around her face like she was underwater or floating in space. Rita had been watching her while they were at the party and said she’d been a dream, falling right asleep twenty minutes before they came back. Nureyev tried to just be grateful.

“Well done,” he murmured to her softly and he’d repeat it when she woke up, “Well done...Bee Bee.”

It was worth a try. It was a pretty cute name, actually.

Nureyev leaned in and kissed her forehead, just as a knock came on his door. Still dressed in his elaborate, expensive suit from the auction, just barefoot, he decided he was decent enough and went to open the door.

Buddy stood in the hallway, looking relaxed as ever, as if she’d been anticipating their success all along. She didn’t even greet him, just looking past his shoulder into the room, smiling softly at Bianca.

“She really is a peach, isn’t she?” she hummed with all of the familial pride of a grandmother, which Nureyev had always found a little presumptive but it wasn’t in him to argue tonight, “Mind if we have a talk, Ransom? Come in the hallway, I wouldn’t want to wake your little roommate. We all know what would happen then and everyone’s ear drums are only just finished healing....”

Nureyev frowned. Maybe he was in the mood to argue. But he did as she asked, closing the door gently behind him.

And they talked. Well, mostly Buddy talked and he listened, both as Ransom and as Nureyev. But sometimes it was good to listen. He had the feeling he’d not been doing that enough lately.

When the captain left him, it was a few moments and a few deep breaths before he went back inside. Bianca still slept soundly, hugging her cat to her chest, face buried in it’s fur. Nureyev smiled and wondered if she dreamed of stars.

He’d only managed to take off his tie and his jacket before the second knock came. This one he’d been expecting.

Juno Steel had taken off his dress and clearly showered, judging by the way his hair sat a little flatter than usual, but the remnants of glitter still dusted his cheekbones, catching the simulated almost dawn. He wouldn’t get that out for weeks. And he still wore one set of the earrings, studs in the shape of stars, looking simple on their own without the rest of the gold that had dripped from his ears all night. Had he forgotten they were there or did he just like them and wanted to keep them? Suddenly Nureyev’s heart was aching to know.

“Uh, hey...Ransom,” Juno looked awkward and so different, with it all stripped away. But he still sounded the same, “Can we, ah...talk? I know you weren’t ready before but it feels like we...ought to.”

“I agree completely,” Nureyev said simply, closing the door behind him.

“Now, before you slam the door, let me...wait, what?” Juno blinked, starting a little, “What did you say?”

Nureyev took a breath and steadied himself, “I agree that we should talk. And I also agree that I didn’t want to before though I’d say you’ve put it very charitably. I was...not kind to you, Juno. To say the very least.”

Juno still wore the expression he’d had in the split second before he’d gone over on his heels on Zolotovna’s red carpet, “I mean...after what I did to you and...and Bianca…”

“That was a mistake,” Nureyev shakes his head, pushing his glasses up his nose with his forefinger, a nervous tic he’d thought he’d trained himself out of in his teenage years, “A mistake with motivations and I’ve made far too many of those myself to judge you as harshly as I have.”

Juno shuffled from one foot to the other, “I...I just want to show you I’ve changed, Peter. And I know that sounds hollow the second time around and I wouldn’t blame you for not wanting to but…”

Nureyev cut him off with a hand, “The last time you hadn’t changed, you were the same lady who left me in that hotel room.”

“And...and now?”

He bit his lip, making himself look into his dark eye, reflecting the gold on his cheeks like they were still in that ballroom but now with their own names and their own faces, “And now…”

That was when the third knock came. The one neither of them had been expecting. The one so loud it was impossible to pin down the source, so loud each of them felt like it was coming from inside their skulls. And then came the tearing.

Screeching, screaming metal erupted around them and both of them were thrown as the ship tilted dangerously. Nureyev felt himself cry his daughter’s name but it was lost in the shuddering wrenching, the burst of pain as the back of his head connected with the left hand wall and he lost his vision for a few moments. It wouldn’t have made sense anyway, the axis of the universe lurched sickeningly so his feet were above his head and the ceiling was the floor. The only thing that did make sense was the strong grip on his arm, his one anchor.

It didn’t last forever, the Carte Blanche eventually settled, shuddering like an animal in pain as it rocked back to the position demanded by its weight distribution. The back of Nureyev’s head felt wet but it was a far away, detached part of his mind that noticed that. Everything else was focused on one thing.

“Bianca!” he shouted, pouncing for the door, wrenching it open while the same untethered part of his brain wondered why it seemed so heavy when it didn’t before.

Yawning, sucking, hungry emptiness. His eyes saw nothing but blackness, peppered with stars, raw edges of a room that wasn’t there any more, simply gone like something had come along and taken a bite out of the ship.

No…

Familiar, strong hands yanked him back and the door closed, “Nureyev, you can’t!”

And then he was fighting, all semblance of composure and cool gone, screaming his daughters name, screaming for Juno to let go, he had to get her, he had to go save her, why didn’t he see?

And that floating, detached voice murmuring that it was too late, it was far too late. She was gone.

“Nureyev, we’ll figure it out, we’ll figure something out, I promise, but you can’t go out there!” Juno shouted, never once slackening his grip, taking every blow and scratch even as blood trickled from the corner of his mouth and his lip swelled. Had the crash done that? Or had he?

Don’t stop, don’t listen because then comes the realisation, the truth, that’s when you break.

There were echoing footsteps coming towards them, multiple sets, Buddy barking orders, Rita mumbling fretfully, Vespa snarling.

It was only Jet’s voice that mattered, cutting above the rest.

“It was a drone,” he projected his voice out, not shouting, he never shouted, “I saw it from the cargo bay, an unmanned drone. It took her.”

Nureyev stopped, laser focused on him now, eyes still wild but sharp, “What did you say?”

Jet didn’t flinch, even when confronted by a man half insane, “Your daughter, the drone took her. It sealed her inside itself then tore the room away as it disconnected. The intention was likely to make you think she was dead.”

Nureyev felt the panic pressing against his fury, threatening to break through and render him useless, “Where is it going? Where?”

“That I cannot say, it had no identifying features,” Jet continued implacably, “But it was a short haul vessel, built to travel no more than a day. Wherever she is being taken, it is not far.”

“Then there isn’t a second to waste,” Buddy jumped in immediately, eyes hard with determination, “Check the security tapes, every single angle, there has got to be something about that drone that we can identify. Contacts on nearby planets, I want eyes open in every seedy port where someone would take something they didn’t want other people to see, every smuggler’s den. If someone has any favours owed, now is the time to call them in.”

Nureyev tried to follow along, he swam towards the actions, the need to move and do and fix. But he was drowning in images of Bianca, sobbing in terror, crying out for him, trapped behind cold glass and adrift in space, not knowing if he would come and save her. And he didn’t know either.

That was when the universe tilted again, this time in total silence, as he sank to his knees, fists clenched tight on the metal floor, the grating digging impressions into his skin. His eyes burned and his vision swam and his lungs were inert in his chest, unable to take in any air. All he could hear was his daughter crying.

But then there were those hands on his arms, that stabilizing, firm presence by his side. Juno’s face was drawn in agony, eye wide and fearful but still he clung tightly to Nureyev.

“We’ll get her back, Peter,” his voice was steady, despite the tears in his eye, “I promise. Whoever took her, we’ll find them and we’ll bring her home. I know we will.”

Nureyev looked at him, hands finding his forearms and gripping on tight. He recalled another time like this, racing across the Martian desert, facing the enormous maw of an ancient tomb and every horror they could imagine within. He remembered a man, so far from who he was in that moment, saying they would make it through. He’d been right, that man, and here was Juno Steel with the same fire in his eyes, making the same promise.

His lungs heaved in his chest, taking in the stale air, still sharp with the ozone that had rushed in through the open door. As he always did when things grew too chaotic to handle, he told himself the facts.

He was Peter Nureyev. This was Juno Steel. And they would bring their daughter home.

[chiimmchiimm]

❝𝖒𝖔𝖓𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗 !¡ 𝐸𝓁𝑒𝓋𝑒𝓃 ❞

CHAPTERS “  01 - 02 - 03 - 04 - 05 - 06 - 07 - 08 - 09 - 10 -  11  - 12 - 13 - 14 - 15 - 16 - 17 - 18 - 19 - 20 - 21 - 22 - 23 - 24 - 25 - 26 - 27 “  

The northern jail was the most dangerous in the country, social scum, thousands of criminals were locked behind their bars. Who would tell poor Blair that he would end up there because of his father’s mistake. The problem was not the lack of hot water, but that inhuman obsession that many of the prisoners had for “new toys.” Rookies had two options; be submissive and abide by veterans’ orders or suffer the dangerous anger of those disturbed minds. It all started one night when Blair had the bad idea of ​​going to shower alone. 

𝒫𝒶𝒾𝓇𝒾𝓃𝑔: Jungkookoffender au x (female: Blair). 𝒢𝑒𝓃𝓇𝑒:  smut.(later), offender au, fluff, angst. 𝒲𝑜𝓇𝒹𝓈: 7.6 k 𝑅𝒶𝓃𝓆𝓊𝒾𝓃𝑔:  +18   𝒲𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔:   dirty language, lies, mood swings, spectacular bodies, jk abs, muscles, biceps, problems, very big problems, threats, future friends, jealousy, fellatio attempt, a forced rescue. 𝒜𝓊𝓉𝒽𝑜𝓇’𝓈 𝓃𝑜𝓉𝑒:  I am sorry that it took a long time to upload a new chapter but I was really busy. Now there is a reporter in which I am free and I have time to write. I hope you accept my apologies with the long chapter. Enjoy the chapter. Many kisses...

  A week had passed since the last time we had spoken. Uncertainty is the most overwhelming feeling a person can feel. Choking you by stealing your oxygen until there is nothing left of you. Not knowing if your way down the hall is going to end with a knife stuck in the throat, if the steps you hear are the invention of your paranoid head.

    I was fully aware, and now more than ever, of the problem I had gotten myself into. But he would not back down, Shanghai was the queen bee of a swarm that fed on the pain of others. At some point someone had to stop his feet. Was that someone me? I did not know, I did not know it. I guess I would find out in time.

What I did not expect was that this discovery would occur in less than I expected.

    The cold marble in the bathrooms greeted the patella of my knees with a chilling moisture when I placed them on the floor. The small puddle of water just below me only gave rise to thinking that the pipes were full of leaks that they did not want to fix. He groaned in anticipation, the curtain of my eyes pulled down so I didn't have to see him. A heartbreaking tear ran down my cheek drawing a path of anguish. I tucked my abdomen in to prevent the retching that was beginning to threaten deep in my throat from taking shape and making an appearance.

"You can start whenever you want, for the part that you like the most." His voice was darkly inserted between the strings of lights scattered by the poor quality of the bulbs due to the habit of turning off the power generators at night. My head was still downcast, keeping my gaze lost somewhere on the floor wondering if this really was necessary. I didn't dare look at him because I didn't want him to notice how much this situation affected me. I felt disgusted with myself for falling so low, for having accepted this situation. Sweaty fingers gripped my chin so hard forcing me to look down at his horrendous perverted grimace. Her lips peeled off with a snap that made her swallow again quite nervously.

                                                                                                     24 hours before

   Cross your legs with one hand resting on my upper thigh area to support my head. The air she breathed was getting thicker, she was having an anxiety attack but she was so tired that she had no energy to run to the infirmary. My body was under so much stress that the pressure on my chest would be my companion throughout the day. Many cramps of incessant and annoying punctures in my stomach had me a little curved as I squinted by the intense rays of the sun that made it difficult to see the crowded door.

   When I dazzled his yellow jumpsuit from afar, my feet fell heavily to the ground alone. He swatted the door aside, not caring about the guard's watchful gaze. On instinct, my chin was lifted up as my eyes followed every detail of his walk. Safe and passive, in a dance too intimidating. The instant his dark eyes like night perceived my small figure in the distance, his mouth was endowed with a strange smile impregnated with mischief. She tasted nervous to me even though it was practically impossible for her to notice her hands from afar. Still, he read me with complete familiarity as if it were an open book. That was one of the countless things that disturbed me most about him, he could look at you, analyze you and guess in a second what was going intimately through your head while he penetrated you with his calm gaze tasteless.

    With your lead feet, move towards your position. On high alert, without taking his eyes off mine although it will be too difficult for me, taking the risk of stumbling over my zero attention.

Thirteen laid his back on the fence that separated the basketball court from the bench area. Then he brought his cigarette to his mouth so turtily slow. Upon arrival, I began to visualize a glow on the surface of his iris that was very curious to me. He seemed anxious and the relamer of his lips brought my theory closer to success.

    Despite the clarity of the sun I was able to visualize in great detail the cloud of smoke that it made when I exhaled. He straightened up slowly, imposing his height on purpose. I was forced to lift my neck higher to look at him. One of his hands cleared a pair of loose strands, his tattooed forearm came into view as a symbol of attraction. He wore the yellow jacket rolled up to the elbows causing the part of his biceps to widen due to the accumulation of fabric.

“Nervous?” She spoke, her voice hoarser than normal. He puffed on his cigarette again and blew the smoke aside. His well-formed jaw was exposed to my restless eyes that could not stop looking at him when he was close. I felt an overwhelming need not to miss the detail of his muscles contracting, to relax later when the smoke left his body. Where had that curiosity come from? Really, since our little talk at the gym the uncertainty had created a big question mark in my head about him.

“Does smoking kill you know?” He chided at his outlandish way of fucking my lungs. Thirteen frowned as she held the cigarette with her lips.

"Since when do you care about my health?"

"Since your damn smoke drops down my throat," he coughed as an irritating itch began to manifest itself at the unexpected intrusion of smoke. Of course, I do not understand how there are people who can find something as suffocating as pleasant. Thirteen lips parted to let out his typical mocking laugh. I was so entertained trying not to drown that I didn't realize how close I was until I felt his breath on my ear, then I was paralyzed by the brush of his wet lips.

"I know something much better to make it go down your throat ..."

  My breathing was caught in a dangerous game when I stopped controlling it. I widened my eyes when I understood his damn pun. Demanding my personal space I stepped back to meet her newly formed half smile. Hands flew to my jug-shaped waist, and my eyes frowned on his stupid mania for saying things too raucous so sporadically. He was laughing just like a child enjoying his hooliganism. My heart was hitting so hard against my ribs as if trying to run away. The nerves he provoked in me kept me fully aware of his reactions.

"Thirteen." A deep voice made us both turn to meet his soul friend; Taehyung. I discovered her real name just after leaving the infirmary. It was unmistakable before my eyes, he had such a characteristic expression, I only had to ask the nurse. Anyone would know who he is if he just described his square smile. His height gave him such an imposing figure. Not to mention his face that seemed to have been sculpted by the greatest prodigy of sculptors.

   Thirteen threw the cigarette on the floor and then stepped on it scattering a black stain of ash. Taehyung stared at me through too apparent confusion that managed to attract his friend's attention. I raise an eyebrow and pursed my lips for an explanation. So, look at Thirteen in confusion from the highest. He clicked his tongue as if he knew it was his fault and his bad memory, when really, he hadn't told them anything because he didn't want them to know.

"He's going to do the math for me, you know that was never my forte."

"Suga has always done the math."

"Suga is busy with another matter." Besides, damn, when did I ask your fucking opinion? ”He growled annoyed as he hit his shoulder as he passed. Taehyung frowned in fascination with the hypocritical attitude his brown friend was wearing. Thirteen stopped halfway and turned in my direction. Her gaze looked so cold I could even swear she managed to freeze me with it. "Come on, you little bitch."

   My features relaxed instantly leaving me petrified. My mouth opened. Taehyung sighed in relief as he shrugged at me before following his friend's steps. My stomach flinched so much when he turned around and continued on his way. But it was all my fault. My damn guilt for thinking there might be something good inside him, clearly not.

   So, with dignity touched but not sunk, I decided to take the opposite path but a jerk brutally dragged me forward. I grasped my fingers at his large, wrist-wrapped hand digging in the few nails he had while screaming furiously.

   My resistance only made him growl and drag me close to his mouth to make sure it was only me who heard what he had to say.

"It's for your own good, dammit, behave yourself."

  Apparently the card game was the most acclaimed among the bored criminals in jail because within minutes they began to form a large circle around Thirteen and his opponent. A blue-eyed blonde with a scar on his wrist and an expression of few friends.

    I didn't understand the purpose of having me sit here with my arms crossed. He literally carried the entire game idly as he watched the deck go down the level.

  Thirteen seemed so focused and engrossed, analyzing in detail every gesture the blonde made. As if really looking at him so much solved the enigma that would give him victory. His friend Taehyung was behind him, standing, covering the letters so that no one could see them and give any clue to the ash blonde.

  Then something happened that turned the game around. The blonde smiled triumphantly as if he knew it was all done. Thirteen was still impassive, showing absolutely nothing that could give him away.

  How could he maintain so much self-control?

   There was security in every movement, so much tranquility. It all came to an end when the ash blonde unveiled all his letters. Taehyung, who had remained calm until then, began to expand his eyes to the maximum and open his mouth as if what he has just seen was not real.

"I've won," added the ash blonde to record the situation even though it was already known. Some began to bitorea the winner, others to maintain an expression of total surprise. Thirteen was the only one who hadn't shown his reaction by standing still. He didn't seem affected by the fact that he had just lost, he just didn't seem affected by anything.

 Until, in an act that surprised me, he suddenly got up and grabbed the ash of his neck until he stamped his face on the stone of the bench.

"Barbie, come here." My name is.

 I slowly get up from my place and walk on an oppressed stomach. His voice sounded so serene and so aggressive at the same time, that if he wasn't crushing a face with such intensity, he could even swear he was in a good mood. The arm that was holding her anatomy lay tensed, exposing her perfect muscles. As he leaned down, the white shirt fell slightly showing his clavicles and his thick neck where it was possible to discern how the marked vein gave a clear image of his anger.

    Really, Thirteen was intimidating.

"Take the letter out of his arm."

 The ash tried to break free but Trece tightened his grip and his cheek was literally hit harder. He groaned instantly. One of his friends, in a panic, started running out of there, but didn't get very far since Jimin intercepted him with a hand on his shoulder. Putting aside the fact that everyone was waiting for me to move. With great modesty I put my fingers inside the sleeve of the arm that Thirteen kept folded against his back. When my fingers touched something, I pulled it out.

   It was a fucking letter.

   Immediately, the ash and his friend looked fearful. The rest of the prisoners began to leave while they insulted the game and the two cheats. Thirteen smiled impatiently when he confirmed with my own hand the bad move they had tried to make. The one who tried to escape began to clasp his hands in a kind of plea but Thirteen did not change the darkness of his eyes, fire came out of them.

  Nodding towards the door, Taehyung took his place. The two friends were abruptly lifted. Then, they began to carry them around the courtyard comfortably with one arm over their shoulder. Concealing the guards who were watching the situation with too much attention.

"Wait ..." I was almost forced to stop him when I tried to get out of there. Thirteen turned around. He put his hands in his pockets and raised an eyebrow. "What's going to happen to them?"

   My sudden question seemed to cause him a lot of fun as he started to laugh, not normally, but with a laugh stained with something dark that I managed to decipher in anticipation.

"Don't worry about them. Well done."

   Then, I realized myself that I really didn't want her to answer the question. My conscience would not let me sleep at night.

   Because after all, I got the letter out. It had been part of his game.

    Did that make me a bad person?

   The money I was hiding in my pants was dirty. It was stained with the blood of those two bastards. Because as much as I tried to convince myself that nothing happened to them, that it was just a warning. I couldn't ignore the fact of seeing his knuckles with wounds. Thirteen had assured me with a smile that they had taken what they deserved for cheats.

    Was this the price I had to pay for a little money?

    Since when had I become someone without feelings?

   I had heard something in a conversation between two prisoners as I returned to my ward. I was forced to follow my path too affected when I heard that one of them had to be rushed to the hospital, and that the other was not known if he was still alive or dead.

 In the end, I was able to sigh quietly when I saw the start of my cell.

"For your own good, you better not say anything."

  I almost fell disoriented when a body much larger than mine collided directly against me. I looked up, confused, greatly surprised when I recognized the person. Gutiérrez, he looked at me with contempt before ignoring my state and moving on. I frowned annoyed at his lack of finesse as he passed me. When I entered, I found Lucy standing in the middle of the cell, staring blankly at the entrance.

"It will be stupid," I commented as I rubbed my arm to ease the pain. Lucy looked at me immediately with a scared expression. Alarmed, she approached me in a stride full of anxiety.

"Have you heard something?"

"No. Practically she had just arrived when she rammed me ..." Her sigh of relief fills me with curiosity. Worried, I purse my lips. "What was I doing here?"

"Annoy. You know what the guards are like in this prison. They live on our misfortunes. It seems that they are paid more to screw us up."

"Yes, well ... I have the money."

   I reached into my pants and pulled out the paper bag. Thirteen warned me to bring my hands up to avoid any search. I decided to listen to him because, well ... He seems to be an expert at pretending what you are not.

  I was never so eager to see someone. We had been waiting a couple of minutes for the Asian to appear. Minutes that seemed like an eternity. Time seemed to slow down because of the low bathroom lights.

   The door swung open. Two Asian women and the brunette who was attached to Shanghai entered and stood in front of us. His contemptuous glances did not divert me from my main objective, since when I enter Shanghai through the door. My gaze was quickly drawn to her.

"Are you bringing mine?"

  Lucy showed the paper bag making the Asian smile with her yellow teeth. I observe in a quick movement the brunette, who took the money from her almost by force. Lucy and I looked at each other in unison as if trying to calm down.

 Really, a fight would not be right now.

"There are a thousand," the brunette announced to Shanghai when she stopped counting. Suddenly, the Asian woman increased her smile. I recognized that smile, it was the same one that made me my first night, when he threatened me in the bathroom before Thirteen came. I took Lucy's hand knowing what was coming next.

"It's only fair." Lucy spoke.

"And the interests of your delay?" You know the rules, Dallas.

"I know the fucking rules but ...

 Shanghai raised his hand to silence her. So, I started to get nervous when I finally understood what I wanted.

"How much are we talking about?"

   All eyes turned to me but I only paid attention to one. Shanghai understood that he was speaking to her directly, that he wanted her to get out of the loop and would start listing all the absurd things she would claim. I felt the fear take over each of my movements clouding me for a few moments. I wondered if it had been a good idea for me to decide to get so involved in this. Of course, it was never a good idea and it would never seem so. Something inside me had changed, although I couldn't say exactly what. I no longer trembled when intimidated (or at least not so much anymore). I had learned to cope with my reactions to protect myself. I suppose he owed that to Thirteen. Because in a way, it felt like he was going to look for his memory to take out my courage by imitating him.

 Shanghai replied with a concise smile.

"Why did you have to open your mouth? Now you're in on this too. Shit, Blair you don't know what you've done."

      Was I aware of where I had gotten into?

 I guess I would find out very soon. After getting out of those smelly bathrooms let Lucy rest in the cell. As soon as I saw his eyes closed, I shot out to look for him. I know you shouldn't do this. But really, this was going down too dangerous a path. Did that make me a sneak? In a traitor? Probably yes. But shit, there were no options. A couple of hours ago I had run out of ideas and the only one that came to my mind was too mean.

  But at the same time, so perfect ...

  Thirteen had already saved me from that psychopath once. Why wouldn't he do it with his sister?

  The guilt seized me so hard that I was hanging with my knuckles on the door of his cell. I didn't know for sure if it was remorse or fear of telling him about it that kept me from ending this. It was clear that things would not end peacefully, or at least not for Shanghai.

  Also, this was my problem, why the hell did I run for his help?

     When had I become so dependent on his protection?

“What are you doing in my cell?” A rather raspy voice interrupted my little mental gloom. Exhale a little air before turning to the person. I recognized him immediately. He was the boy with the minty hair who was always glued to Thirteen's back like a second skin. He was taller than I was if I had to look up to find his gaze sharp as a cat in heat. He wore the regulation jumpsuit, if not, it covered his entire body but you could see perfectly how strong he was despite how thin he looked. His features were too soft and pale, yet he exuded as much annoyance as boredom that any thought of tenderness was far from related to him. The menthol peeled his lips so that the silence ended with his snap. He couldn't understand why he was so annoyed by my presence. "I asked you a question." Have you tried so much semen that your neurons have collapsed?

"It's also Thirteen's cell," I replied, trying not to sound too abrupt. I was disrespecting him and in normal conditions I would have already turned his face with a slap, but really time was a factor that was against me and I couldn't lose it. My response felt like a bowl of cold water because he immediately rolled his eyes and passed by me as if he didn't exist. When the cell opened and my eyes came into contact with it I was really disappointed when I found it empty.

"As you can see he's not here." So, get out.

  Ignoring his bad tone I go after him.

"And do you know where it might be?"

"I'm not his fucking babysitter. If you want to find him so bad, you better start now." I suggest you start with getting out of my cell, girl. ”He let out low growls in a menacing tone, then collapsed on his bed. My eyes grew small when I watched him from the doorway.

"Why are you so edge?"

    I haven't done anything to him.

 My question made him jerk upright on the mattress as if he had heard the worst blasphemy in the world. Actually, he seemed surprised but he instantly disgusted me with his gaze. He placed his hand above her knee as he pulled her leg up onto the mattress.

"You are going to be the cause of all this going to hell."

Than? But what is he talking about?

"Good morning." Another voice stood in the cell, although this second one seemed much more lively than the one my old conversation partner had. Taehyung passed by me with all the happiness in the world until he saw me, suddenly stopped and looked at the menthol. He made a gesture with his hand before he dramatically dropped his body onto his bed.

"I'm looking for Thirteen," I repeated, but this time towards Taehyung. The brown-haired man frowned somewhat self-consciously. Damn, was his whereabouts so secret that everyone would think twice whether to tell me or not?

"I already told you that larg ..."

 But it was interrupted by the highest.

"He's with Jimin at the gym."

   Sighing grateful for a bit of information, I ran out of the cell, but not before, thanking Taehyung with a little tap on his shoulder. I heard from afar, as I went downstairs, the screams coming from the menthol but I didn't care too much.

    The gym area was really remote from all other facilities (if the patio could be called that despite its terrible lack of space for all inmates). It seemed like the most protected room in all this shit of a place. Maybe because of the heavy metal-filled instruments that could transform into a weapon if your imagination was creative. He had even heard that most of the prisoners were vented in a small ring in the middle of the gym. I had only seen him from afar because I never had the courage to approach him, much less when he was being busy. It was too intimidating. The thought that faces had been broken in that place gave me great and deep respect.

  I came to think at one point that Taehyung had lied to me and that he had only told me that to accomplish what his friend had failed to do, get me out of there. It was full of prisoners training but not the prisoner he really wanted to find. When I finally gave up and spun around, a loud crash from a falling body made me retrace my steps.

    So, I found him. There. Climbed in that ring that scared me so much while hitting the protections that Jimin had in his hands.

   I fell into the serious mistake of coming to look for him when I found he was only wearing his uniform pants. My pulse quickened immediately as my unconscious caught all of my control and my eyes began to run through all of his muscles. It was the first time I had seen him like this, so naked. So exposed. The rational part of my head was screaming at me to turn around, to stop looking at him. And yet my body did not want to obey me. I couldn't stop looking at him. It was so perfect. So strong. So admirable was the attractive shape his muscles took when, in an act of outburst, he cunningly struck. His arms were wonderful no matter where you look. Long and thick, with the proportions that not many in years of training would achieve. His was genetic. It should be a crime to be so attractive. Long ago I had delighted (though I will never accept it out loud) from the broad muscles of his back. Now, he couldn't stop going down the marked line that separated his pecs, not very marked, but enough to steal his breath. Of course her abdomen was something else. The muscles lay so gracefully drawn in symmetrical squares in pairs of two.

    My lip was brutally attacked by my teeth when I was finally able to regain control of my actions and look away.

   Suddenly, the banging stopped being heard. I started to show a tickle in my stomach when I found out that he had noticed me despite not looking at him. I started to feel little cramps all over my abdomen. It is that uncomfortable feeling you feel when you know they are looking at you but you don't have the courage to do the same. A large part of me was tempted to leave, but a smaller part seemed to want to stay and keep looking.

  I knew that I had finally reached my last days when a shadow completely covered mine.

“What are you hiding from?” I whisper, leaning directly into my ear. I didn't know at what point he had gotten so close but I did know that when the wet surface of his lips brushed the skin of my ear, I turned my startled face and stared at him with wide eyes. Fortunately, she had put on a tank top that although the sweat didn't leave much to the imagination, at least it didn't stimulate so much the beginning hormones in my body.It was a damn tank top, it really wasn't that big of a deal. Removing the fact that he exposed his great arms and the wonderful details of his tattoos. I realized that it was the first time I saw them all. His right arm was full of them, it was so striking to see that in one arm he had nothing and in the other he lacked space for more. I could only look at the tattoo of a flower by the ink softer than the rest, this one covered a phrase that I could not discern due to lack of time.

   Then, having regained even the ability to speak and breathe of my own free will. I decided to look him in the face. He looked tired, well, he looked more like a damn sweaty pig. But the reflection of the lights against the drops on his face was so charming that it prompted you to dive into it again. He was disheveled, implying that his training had been moved and that he had not had many truces. Her chest moved rhythmically with up and down movements in an attempt to catch her breath. When he opened his mouth to increase the oxygen level in his body, I thought I was dumb again.

"Honey, if you wanted me to be agitated I can think of more than one way you could get him to be."

   Practically, the breath left my body when in a burst of laughter, its hoarse sound caressed my nose. She literally looked like a hormonal teenager who sighed every time she opened her mouth.

   I strenuously denied when the wires in my brain reconnected, I remembered, or rather forced myself to remember, the real reason for my visit.

"We have to talk," I said a little abruptly from the recent connection of my consciousness. Thirteen raised a curious eyebrow as he ran a hand through his wet hair to clear his splendid pearly forehead. I swallowed hard to keep the slime from overflowing from the corners of my mouth. His bicep bulged too close to my eyes ...

     Dammit. Enough, woman.

  He seems so comfortable making me nervous that I'm starting to think he does it on purpose.

"I hear you."

    Buffet, to calm down a bit before speaking. I really had no idea how to start.

"Gongjunim, don't worry, I bite. Unless you want me to, of course."

"Stop, this is serious," I replied in an attempt to calm me down in the process. It didn't help to hear his damn two-way phrases. I tried to focus on the conversation. Carefully analyze in my head the possible paths this could take. Basically I came to two conclusions: The first, to help me and his ... Anyway, you know. The second (although it seems much more extreme to me) is that it can be a possibility if we consider that Thirteen is not a mentally stable person, is that he retaliates much more seriously than giving him a little money. Dammit. Would I really be able to kill someone? Well, not for a good person, he went to jail and still couldn't find out what he had done to get him put here. And worst of all, to be sentenced to a permanent sentence. So, I found that little difference between the two. While I was an open book with people I considered to be trustworthy. He was more like a safe with a key that was impossible to crack.

  But the people who keep secrets are in turn the ones that attract the most because of that aura of mystery that they give off.

  Maybe that's why I can't stop thinking about him, despite how badly he treated me the first few weeks.

  Did you really want to be the cause of another transfer to the hospital?

 Because if there is one thing that can be made clear from the poker episode, it is that Thirteen is so terribly unpredictable that I am even afraid that he will change his attitude towards me again. I started to feel pretty bad. My head began to fill me with pros and cons that I did not know how to differentiate.

  There were two paths and for once I would take the easy one.

"I need money." I was aware of how overwhelmed my voice had come out, at the time, and emphasizing how nervous I was, I opened my mouth to cut the uncomfortable silence that had begun to reign. Thirteen raised his eyebrows in an act that I think could be a mixture of surprise and confusion. Slowly, he unraveled the smile until it became a straight line. There was an air of disappointment in his eyes. Why was you disappointed when you found out you were looking for him for money? Why would I look for it if not? And why the hell is my heart beating like it just ran a marathon?

“What did you do with the one I gave you?” Ignore the fact that its natural tone had been modified on a deeper level by the recent exercise. I was also forced to ignore how quickly she had recovered because I began to feel empty realizing that it hadn't affected her as much as I thought. I guess I shouldn't have been surprised because Thirteen is a good teacher in controlling his emotions.

 Will you ever let me see what you really feel?

"I need more," I added, trying my best to change the course of the conversation. But I really underestimated him too much.

"For what?"

"Personal business." My answer seemed to bother him a little because his shoulders tensed. Let's see, mine were also too tense from the pressure but obviously it was more intimidating in him. I started to feel the sweat on the palms of my hands when the nerves started to block me too hard. I had spent so much time thinking about how to tell him what had not fallen into the small detelle that I was obviously going to ask for explanations. I should have told him the truth but it was too late to back off. Looking a little anxious, I resumed the conversation as I could. "I need an advance. Come on, Thirteen, don't tell me that nobody has ever asked you for an advance on ..."

"Well no, they don't have the eggs to ask me. And the truth is, if I am intrigued enough what the hell did you do with the thousand dollars I gave you yesterday."

"I don't have time for this." Damn it, I really didn't. "I've only asked you one question. If your fucking ethics stop you from leaving me, well, that's fine, I'll manage on my own."

   Try to run away from there before I will be discovered or I would be the one to give you away in a panic attack. But his hand caught my wrist and held me tightly in place. Instinctively I looked down at our union, feeling a little strange to feel tickling from the area that stuck to my skin. The heat it transmitted was so comforting that when I took it off when I realized what I had just done, I left my body in such a way that I felt an innate anxiety to feel it again.

“Are you in trouble?” There was so much concern in his tone that I completely knocked down my defenses. I was about to fall. Really nothing. But the fear was stronger.

"What? Why are you saying that?" I tried to sound stable enough to convince him. But Thirteen was also a master of lies.

"In jail you only ask for more money for two reasons and I certainly don't think you pay someone to satisfy you sexually. Do you owe someone money?"

"No." I whispered.

   But he tilted his head, showing me how unconvinced he was about it.

"Tell me who it is." Truthfully, she wasn't quite sure if it was worry or anger camouflaged with some warning. I rolled my eyes to get more of his attention. Clearly, my bad performance did not help him to give up. I cross his big arms imposing the strength of his great anatomy, I felt small next to him. How I grasp my faithful intentions to keep quiet. This time it was he who rolled his eyes and clicked his tongue in exasperation. "Hey ..."

“Why are you trying so hard to help me?” I asked rather confused. I didn't want to sound as harsh as it sounds but really this thing made me very nervous.

"Gongjunim." His voice was so grainy when he changed languages.

"No, it's just that I really can't understand how suddenly you behave so well with me. That you want to help me ..."

  Thirteen closed her eyes and pulled her neck back as she blew hot air out of her mouth. His Adam's apple was exposed before my eyes leaving me completely unarmed. When I straighten her head she looked at me with an expression so tired, dull and depressed that I decided to let her speak.

"You are like a sister to Lucy, but you are also like a little sister to me."

You're like a sister to me.

  Why has my chest tightened so much when he called me sister? Is that really your reason to protect me or just a damn strategy for you to let your guard down and get the answer you wanted?

   Damn it, and why did it bother me so much to know that in her eyes she was just a child? His look confused me so much ... I did not know the origin of this discomfort nor did I understand how it was possible that with just one sentence I could lower my self-esteem in that way.

"Blair London go to address."

   Actually, I was never more grateful to a stranger. That voice had saved me from a situation from which there was no viable way out.

  The principal's secretary greeted me with a smile. I appreciated that he will be so gentle with me without caring that he was wearing the prisoner jumpsuit. Knock on the door. When the director indicated with a calm voice that it could happen, I did.

 I entered the office being quite disturbed by the strong aura change. The contrast in the perfectly carved custom furniture was not comparable to the dining tables littered with splinters and randomly scattered stains of moisture. I could even swear that the sofa at the end of the room with a small table in front of glass and two armchairs next to it, would be more comfortable than the moldy mattress where I tried to sleep every night.

"Normally these privileges are not usually given but considering that your behavior has not given to talk. I have decided to make an exception with you."

 When the director's voice broke the silence that I had imposed on myself when I entered, I looked towards her, completely abandoning my little sporadic exploration. The woman smiled, but it was not a sincere smile like that of her secretary, this was full of commitment. In a pathetic gesture, he tried to hide a black bag under his legs. I stifled a sarcastic laugh when I realized that her small gesture had been bought.

  He leaned his well-painted red fingers to pick up the phone from his drawer on the side of the desk. Then she slid it across the table causing him to continue his movement with a frown.

"You have two minutes."

 I didn't understand what I was looking for him to do until a number suddenly came up on the screen that I recognized instantly. Of course, accept his little trick. Although I must admit that when the screen of the device cooled the cartilage of my ear I began to wonder if I had really done well.

"Blair ..." My eyes were automatically closed at his sweet voice assaulting my tranquility. Of course I met her instantly. Who would not recognize his mother's voice? Although I admit that my stomach sank when I heard it so ruined.

"What do you want?" I swallowed to suppress a sob. "No, you better not tell me what you want." I really don't want to hear it.

"Honey ..." I deduced from his trembling tone that he had begun to cry. And shit, that completely disarmed me. "How are you?"

"It's jail, mom." Make your own conclusions.

"Blair ...

A screeching noise causes the audio to begin to distort. I pay much more attention to the background noise, hardly realizing that I was in the car when I heard from a distance the voice of my mother's driver arguing with someone.

"Mom, what's up?"

"Nothing, love. A man who started cleaning our windows when we stopped at the light. Jorge has kicked him out right away, I'm fine."

   I don't know why but the uncertainty eats me up inside.

"A man? What man?"

"An Asian with drunken pints. Don't worry my love, I'm ...

"Mom, come home right now and don't go out in a couple of days."

"Honey, you're scaring me." Something happens?

  I grab the bridge of my nose when anxiety keeps me from controlling my tone and end up screaming at the top of my lungs.

"Do what I say."

   I hang with my heart popping out of my mouth.

  My chest was swelling too quickly as I circled around the room. It had been more than half an hour since I had put my hands to my head and I couldn't get them down. I stopped for two seconds and began to hysterically observe the bars on the door. Perhaps it had been a coincidence, that is, there are many people on the street who are looking for money in order to survive. Maybe he was just a drunk as my mother had originally thought, or maybe ...

    Shit.

  When I thought I couldn't get any more nervous, I began to imagine the impression on my mother's face. I brought the nails to my mouth and started attacking them with my teeth.

“Do you have the money?” Lucy's unmistakable voice distracted me a little but not enough for me to let my ride go round. Apparently he noticed the scared face he was wearing that he deduced the result of his answer. Immediately, his shoulders dropped level and his chest began to destabilize like mine. "We can ask for more time ...

“I don't want to sound pessimistic but Lucy would be really naive if you really think that that psychopath is going to take pity on us and give us more time.” I am aware that right now my pessimism is the last thing we need, but the language It comes loose on my own when I get nervous. Lucy collapses into her bed too depressed. And shit, I can't stop thinking that this really is my fault ...” Lucy she doesn't want you ...” I immediately gained her gaze. “She wants to fuck me because I didn't want to be her fucking camel when I arrived.”

"I suppose he's going to do it now. Fuck us, you know ...”

  I sighed too exhausted from holding all the shit that was piling up on my shoulders.

"Damn what a nice word to express yourself, right?"

  Lucy turned frightened towards the door finding the owner of the voice. The black mane I saw on my back gave me the answer I needed. I also turned around and faced her with a serious look.

"We still have twelve hours."

 Lucy was speaking to her but she kept her eyes on my body.

"Let's be honest among women." We know you are not going to get me the money. I've come to an agreement before the situation gets uglier ...

“What do you want?” Lucy sounded too hysterical compared to the calm in Shanghai's voice. When I noticed that his gaze did not detach from me despite everything, I knew what he wanted.

"Lucy come out, please." The girl looked at me too confused. He raised an eyebrow worrying about the neutrality of my voice but finally he nodded and left the cell. When I was sure no one was listening, I told him the real reason for all this shit. "You want revenge on me, don't you?"

  The dramatic snap his tongue exudes only makes it clear that I was right.

"Thirteen told me you asked him for money," he says, laughing slightly as he tries to keep his tone steady. I frowned. Senti, an unpleasant sensation that pressed against my stomach when it got in the way of our conversation. "That is very pathetic, Barbie." What's more, did you really think he would give it to you?

   I grab the bridge of his nose as he deepened a laugh that was too high-pitched, and too excruciating. I closed my fists accordingly. In less than a second I was breathing erratically through my nose. I didn't know very well if I was losing control of the situation because he was belittling me, but it had bothered me a lot that he thought I was taken advantage of. Although in a way, I started to feel that way.

"Do you miss me so much that you have to be watching every step I take?" Oops, Shanghai I didn't expect you to be so cute.

"I didn't need to watch you." You see ... - after sighing in a longing scream began to haunt me like an animal waiting to jump for its prey. I felt cornered between his prickly gaze, yet I kept my constants steady and my chin erect. "... men after orgasm become very touchy."

    My gaze stayed embedded somewhere on the scratched floor. I felt bad. I was disappointed. An accumulation of strange sensations began to nest in my chest when I understood his damn answer. I tried to make it so I wouldn't be noticed but I hadn't counted on the Asian woman dropping the bomb because she knew how she was going to react. I knew he had done it to cloud me, to distract me from the real turning point of the conversation. And yet, knowing it consciously, she had let me take me down the path she herself had marked out for me. Was I really going to believe him? Also, Thirteen could do whatever she wanted with her body since it was hers. I didn't have to be mad, then, because my hand was shaking when images of the two of them in a bed began to drill into my head?

“What is it you want?” I dialed an aggressive tone, finding myself having so many turns and swampy phrases.Shanghai left his route and ended up placing himself where he was initially, in front of me with his gaze fixed on mine.

"I want you to avoid the terrible act of having to kill your mother because you weren't strong enough," I whisper reassuringly, imposing checkmate. He had me on the ropes and he knew it. I swallow hard, wrapped in rage that forces me to channel. Then, taking a step towards me, I end up placing his fine mouth on my ear. "Tonight. Where it all started.”                                                                                                                          

                                                                                                                now

"Open your pretty mouth, bitch."

"Come on!"

  Unbearable screams coming through my ears. He kept his eyes closed accentuating the other senses. He felt, his hands flooded with sweat. Cold, clammy knees on the wet floor. I bit back an arcade when one of her hands grabbed my wrists to bring my hands to the elastic of her pants.

"Yes ..." he groaned delightedly. I opened my eyes knowing that I would not like the image I would have to observe. A tear rolled down my cheek on a salty path to my mouth where I savored it. Notice the sweat on his big hands as he covered mine to make them pull his pants down. Observing the string of bushy hairs that ran down her skeletal abdomen was and an unpleasant image. I felt the nice cold in one of my hands when he stopped pressing it. However, the released one went to repair at the beginning of my hair to comb it back, bathing my hair with its filthy sticky fluids. His chilling voice rang out in a happily anticipatory howl. "You're going to eat all of my cock until your jaw drops ...Yes, shit. And then...”

    But the banging of the door swinging open caught his attention. My eyes snapped shut at the scare. I was only aware, when I opened them shortly after, of those dark eyes and that vein in the neck.

next

[themonolithicmystique]

Cruel Macro Mantis Empathy Manipulation!

With TheMegaMaryam!

GargusToday at 1:58 PM Any Mantis thoughts maybe? MegamaryamToday at 1:58 PM hmmst mantis trying to calm down drunk rockette and getting violently sloshed via empathy GargusToday at 2:00 PM Gets the GREAT idea to reverse her intentions and make Rockette go even more out of control MegamaryamToday at 2:00 PM "She will get it out of her system if I turn off all of her inhibitions!" -Mantis, having the worst (best) idea ever GargusToday at 2:03 PM Good thing they live in a universe where complete galaxies spring into existence all the time MegamaryamToday at 2:03 PM or Groot's just snatching them from other universes to make up the difference GargusToday at 2:04 PM Mantis big enough to hold them like toys Easily amused by the terror her looming face inspires MegamaryamToday at 2:06 PM more drunk on that power and fear than alcohol at that point doing everything she can to make them feel helpless and doomed because it feels so fun~! GargusToday at 2:07 PM Mantis acting like this while retaining her sweet and innocent persona is my favorite thing actually MegamaryamToday at 2:08 PM same she's secretly the scariest and cruellest giantess in the entire group, but never drops her adoring eager and innocent peronsliaty actively evil in some ways and not just hedonistic GargusToday at 2:10 PM She just lives for the despair, because she can latch onto it and intensify it a thousandfold And STILL promise them that she hasn't even gotten started MegamaryamToday at 2:12 PM Mystique dominates and tortures billions because she likes that it makes her feel good Unhinged mantis dominates and tortures billions because it makes them feel bad. Those promises are truthful as can be of course, and everyone who hears her innocent voice knows that it's absolutely sincere. And she's so, so eager to show that. GargusToday at 2:12 PM And of course Rockette does it because they're in her way Mantis getting big is probably the worse thing that could happen to the universe, because when her powers could only influence one person at a time and required direct physical contact, inducing fear and agony reflected directly back onto her and was too much to do except as a very last resort Whereas the larger she grows, the less the individual experience matters over the sheer power rush of feeling all those hearts and minds feeling what SHE wants them to feel And on such a tiny impulse too! If she actually focused hard enough to replicate what she had to do to achieve the same effects when she was smaller, she'd easily drive an entire galaxy to madness MegamaryamToday at 2:17 PM very, very very good. A single person's emotions can provide her with untold exctasy. The more that's magnified it becomes impossible to describe. And she'd drive that whole galaxy to madness when still probably only barely planetary in size. If she gets galactic scaled, the radius only gets exponentially larger and able to drink in every single iota of fear and pain and horror GargusToday at 2:17 PM I mean, pretty much any emotion she tries to make people feel is overwhelming to the point of feeling like it's physically crushing Even if she tries to make people feel positive and uplifted, the command from her power is like if an entire planet's worth of happiness were forced into your head all at once In which case she's giggling with glee over the storm of internal darkness she's holding back just because she can Likely in anticipation of how good it'll feel when she lets them go and it all comes flooding in Mantis' favorite game: Are You Afraid of Me Enough? MegamaryamToday at 2:20 PM Just a microfraction of what she's capable of inflicting would make AM from I have no mouth and I must scream look like a literal saint in comparison. And she'll inflict that on every living thing in her grasp with the most absolute ease. The answer to that game is always very much "No." and each level of fear makes the previous look laughable. GargusToday at 2:20 PM This raises the question, does she ever turn it on Mystique (And of course all this done with the biggest of smiles and the sunniest of demeanors!) MegamaryamToday at 2:24 PM QUite possibly. Making her feel more powerless than before she ever even grew in the first place. Times about a trillion. (Naturally. She is the epitome of joy and angelic kindness concievable while inflicting these unfathomable horrors on quadrillions) GargusToday at 2:25 PM Oh that would be a great use of her powers Bringing alllllll your insecurities to the surface MegamaryamToday at 2:27 PM and of course her powers cause considerable time dilation. So Mystique could experience the absolute pinnacle of pathetic painful and terrifying existence for years in the span of seconds GargusToday at 2:27 PM Mystique's lucky it's ONLY years since she's somewhat close to Mantis' size Ordinary people... MegamaryamToday at 2:30 PM plus it gets exponentially more dilated the longer it goes on. mystique only got a relative blink at her size. For regular mortal lifeforms, they wish they could escape into insanity. but she ensures they fully conciously experience every microinstant GargusToday at 2:32 PM To do otherwise would be TREMENDOUSLY unkind And what is she if not a paragon of virtue and kindness? MegamaryamToday at 2:33 PM Exactly! If she could fit a hundred googolplex eons of torment into a single picosecond, but chooses not to, that'd be such an incredible waste for their sake! GargusToday at 2:34 PM and of course it means any time she chooses to mush them into galactic dust between her tits, the experience lasts all the longer! MegamaryamToday at 2:35 PM Exactly~! She couldn't deprive them of that incredible joy, could she? That would be so...cruel! GargusToday at 2:36 PM It's part of the reason she rides with Rockette so much So she's a chance of catching as many galaxies and giving them a PROPER treatment rather than the sad, short fate of being entangled in her fur and obliterated that way You ask her, this is far, FAR more important work than anything she did while a conventional superhero! What good is your pitiful suffering if it doesn't last as long as she can make it last? (She's VERY condescending too) (Even towards Rockette) MegamaryamToday at 2:39 PM The concept of mortality is so unfair to her, so she'll fit in as much time and dpeth into their short sad lives as possible. Even if she stretches an instant of suffering into trillions of googolplexes. She's the greatest hero to ever live in her own mind with what she's doing! The apex flea bringing the gifts of torment and pain. And absolutely the case. It's just the reality of the situation she's mentioning! No fliter as ever GargusToday at 2:40 PM "Congratulations! You are being rescued!" "Now suffer" MegamaryamToday at 2:41 PM Of course, she is the source of all this suffering in the many many many functional eternities she stuffs into each picosecond And is equally smug in each torturous iteration GargusToday at 2:42 PM oooh, how so? MegamaryamToday at 2:42 PM kind of like a magnetism where their thoughts springing from these hellish emotions come back to her. THey never, ever forget who's causing all this naturally she's absolutely high off this sensation she's getting GargusToday at 2:43 PM Her judgement impaired evermore with each passing instant Takes GREAT offense if anyone dares call her evil or even think about her as such She hasn't changed a tiny whit! MegamaryamToday at 2:46 PM exactly! She is the epitome of all that is good, and to think otherwise is the epitome of evil! these poor little fools will eventually realize, she's sure GargusToday at 2:47 PM Her only regret is that sometimes she misses a galactic collision and can't help the poor defenseless specks within it MegamaryamToday at 2:51 PM She'll see if one day she can train her powers to work on those who have already died. Her dream would be for her powers to affect all creatures living and dead across all time and space. Oh how wonderful that would be~! GargusToday at 2:52 PM An undying hell of Mantis dictating how everyone feels at all times Mostly geared towards making them cower before her MegamaryamToday at 2:54 PM Time would become a flat circle of endless unfathomable suffering and horror under her kind and loving influence she gets giddly just imagining it~ GargusToday at 2:54 PM Even Rockette caught in her maelstrom~! MegamaryamToday at 2:59 PM though rockette most likely would be given nothing but joy and eternal drunkeness beyond what's physically possible Groot of course completely above this but casually enjoying it GargusToday at 3:00 PM Mantis is nothing if not a loyal little flea~ MegamaryamToday at 3:03 PM her view on this for certain. No hypocrisy at all just love for all living things expressed differently~ GargusToday at 3:03 PM This is a great cruel gts scenario we've cooked up MegamaryamToday at 3:04 PM it really is and that's saying something considering some of the cruel but lovely stuff we've come up with

[hotforharrison]

Meet & Greet ch 13

Chapter 12 <-- Series Masterlist --> Chapter 14

Pairing: Tom Holland/Reader

Summary: You missed out on a Tom Holland meet and greet, but a stranger, who you are pretty sure is a Tom Holland lookalike, rescues you from your pity party for one.

Word Count: 1,507

Warnings: The usual smut and language

A/N: I’m surprised how much love this has gotten. Thank you all from the bottom of my heart!

Your fantasies before you’d met Tom were mostly of the ‘boring’ vanilla variety. You’d definitely enjoyed all of the vanilla things you tried with him, and liked repeating your favorites. Trying new things held a different sort of excitement, though.

You had the sex toys you hadn’t gotten to yet waiting in his bedroom, but you still had over a week to get to those before your trip was over, and an indeterminate amount of time after.

You really wanted to know what other options were out there. It led to you browsing suggestions for things people tried to spice up their sex lives and definitions of fetishes and sex acts that hadn’t even occurred to you before.

Some of it was a definite and immediate, “no,” but other things piqued your curiosity. Role-playing sounded particularly interesting to you. You were worried it wouldn’t be good for Tom, though, since his job was essentially the same thing. Minus the sex part. (Although he’d make a good porn star.)

“”Is that a list of kinks?” Tom asked, looking over your shoulder from behind the couch.

You jumped, startled, and instinctually clutched your phone to your chest to hide it. After a moment, you tipped your head back to stare up at him, upside-down. “Maybe?”

“Is there something you should tell me?” He smirked down at you.

“I’m just curious,” you admitted. “People like so many different things.”

“They do,” he agreed. “Anything strike your fancy?”

“Well…” You shifted nervously.

“Well?” he prompted you to continue.

“How do you feel about role-playing?” you asked nervously.

“Depends. What did you have in mind?”

“I’d like to try the teacher-student thing,” you confessed nervously.

“I know my assignment is late, but ma’am I can-” he started in his Peter Parker voice.

With a groan, you interrupted, “don’t do that!”

There was now a major disconnect in your mind with Tom Holland, movie star and Spiderman, and Tom, the (relatively) normal guy you’d thoroughly enjoyed spending the last few days with. You liked the latter much, much better.

“Don’t do what?” he asked, still using the accent, and sporting a shit-eating grin.

“You know what. Sound American. It’s weird.” You couldn’t help but laugh, though.

He leaned over, lips meeting yours, and gave you a long and thorough Spiderman kiss. That you actually really liked, even if the angle was a bit strange at first.

After he reluctantly pulled away, you asked, “Are you done being Peter Parker now?”

“Sorry, love,” he apologized, obviously not sorry, but at least in his natural British accent. “I am.”

A moment of silence passed, before you told him, “when I fantasize about it, it’s not like that.”

“I know. I figured you’d be the one who wanted to do anything necessary to earn her A.”

You nodded. “It’s not weird for you, though, since acting is your job?” you asked, still concerned.

“Not at all,” he reassured you. “Work is scripted, and more importantly, I don’t get to cum at work.”

You chuckled and watched him walk around the couch and over to the coffee table. He picked up the pen and notebook that contained The List and turned to a blank page. He scribbled something down, tore out the piece of paper, and handed it to you.

Then, he walked behind you and sat down at the kitchen table with the notepad and pen in front of him, looking down at it and pretending to work.

You glanced down at the paper. It said “EXAM” in large letters in the middle of the page, with a circled F at the top, and “See me!” written next to it.

Your heart rate picked up as you approached the kitchen table, already wet in your panties and you hadn’t even started yet. You took a deep breath. “You wanted to see me after class, sir?”

He looked up from the notebook. “Yes. You failed your exam, and you’re very close to failing the course. A levels are soon, and you’ll never get into uni at this rate.”

“I’m sorry, sir.” You paused, crinkling the paper in your hand nervously. “Is there something I can do to bring up my grade? Maybe some extra credit?”

“If I offer extra credit to you, I have to offer it to everyone,” he pointed out.

“Please, sir,” you begged. “I can’t afford to fail this class.”

“I don’t know.” He tapped the pen against the notebook, looking pensive. “Well, there might be one thing you can do for me.”

“I’ll do anything!” you quickly responded, wondering what that ‘anything’ was going to be. Maybe he’d fuck you while you were bent over his ‘desk.’ You hadn’t tried anything in the kitchen yet.

“Do you have a boyfriend?” he asked.

You paused, uncertain what the answer was supposed to be, or if it even mattered. “No, sir,” you eventually settled on.

“I must admit I’m surprised. You’re a very attractive young woman,” he complimented.

“Thank you,” you responded, looking down shyly, “but what does that have to do with my grade?”

“You’re always nibbling on the end of your pen, biting your lip, sticking the tip of your tongue out while you’re thinking, drawing attention to your mouth.”

You started to realize where this was going, and tried not to smile. “Oh, I hadn’t noticed,” you said, coyly.

“You’re going to stop being a tease today.” He stood and pushed the chair back in. “Are you ready to earn your extra credit?”

You knew your arousal was probably palpable at this point, and your mouth was already starting to water at the thought of sucking his cock again.

“Yes, sir,” you replied, knowing you weren’t doing a great job of hiding how eager you were.

He used your shoulders to push you down to your knees in front of him. The paper you were holding slipped from your fingers down onto the floor.

You could see the outline of his erection against the fabric of pants, and watched as he slowly unbuttoned and unzipped them. Who was being the tease now? He finally pulled his cock out.

There was a drop of precum on the tip, and you glanced up at him as you made a show of licking it away. You alternated between unhurriedly running your tongue over and wetly mouthing at the head, the shaft, down to the base and back up again, curious what he’d do next.

“I thought I said you were going to stop being a tease,” he eventually commented.

You pulled your mouth back and looked directly up at him. “I’m sorry, sir.” Then, you actually took his cock in your mouth and started to bob your head shallowly, glancing up at him again through your lashes. He seemed unimpressed.

“You don’t listen very well, do you?” He buried his fingers in your hair and guided your head to move over him faster and deeper, but obviously still mindful of your gag reflex.

This was new, and you were definitely into it. You couldn’t help but moan around him as he fucked your mouth, taking what he wanted instead of waiting patiently for you to give to him. It was evidently working for him, too, because it didn’t take much time before you could tell he was getting close.

You slipped your hand into your pants, then panties, as inconspicuously as you could, afraid he’d tell you to stop. He fortunately didn’t. When your fingers found your clit and started rubbing it slickly, you moaned louder around his cock, and moved your fingers faster. It didn’t take very long to push you over the edge.

While you were in the midst of your orgasm, his thrusts into your mouth grew rougher and more erratic, less careful about avoiding your gag reflex. You choked a bit on his cock, but found that it didn’t bother you. Maybe another thing to revisit at some point.

Long moments later, he spilled onto your tongue, crying out your name, fingers flexing in your hair.

Already coming down from your high, you swallowed quickly, the taste only briefly on your tongue. He soon softened enough to slip out of your mouth, but left his hands where they were. You rested your head against his still clothed thigh, breathing hard.

“Sorry,” he apologized eventually. “Didn’t mean to make you gag.”

“It’s fine,” you dismissed, voice a bit rough. “I didn’t mind.”

His fingers started gently massaging your scalp. You leaned into his touch. “Did it live up to your fantasies?”

“Yeah,” you responded. “I’m not really an actor, though.”

“I could tell,” he said, drily, carefully pulling his fingers out of your now slightly tangled hair.

“Was it good for you?” you asked, hopeful, as he helped you get to your feet again.

“It was.” He paused. “Are there any other scenarios you’d like to try?”

“I don’t know,” you answered honestly. “Let me think about it.”

He kissed you before saying, “I look forward to hearing what you come up with.”

Tag list: @drown-me-before-dema-does @tom-hollands-blog @tylers-ankles-beebos-forehead @moorehollandplz @delicatepeterparker @thollandss @musicalburrage @captainbuckyy @adayasgeorgia

[lady-divine-writes]

The Sins We Wear

Crowley and Aziraphale are in love. Tremendously in love. And that love deserves to be expressed, be explored, in all ways possible that they can conceive. The biggest fear in both their minds is, if they do this, will Aziraphale fall? ... But that's not the fear that stops Crowley's hand when the time comes. (2989 words)

(AO3)

Electricity gathers inside Aziraphale’s shop, building with every shot of Devil’s Cut he pours down his throat. It heralds a storm a long time coming, with warning signs and red flags crackling through his head. But every time he comes across one, he fills his shot glass and passes it by. As soon as his glass is empty again, Crowley shakes the bottle his way.

“Top you up, sergeant?”

“I--I don’t know.” Aziraphale considers his glass for less than a second before holding it out for a refill. “I’m afraid if I have too much more, I might forget myself entirely.”

“To be honest, that’s what I’m hoping for,” Crowley admits, throwing back his own shot, then abandoning his glass and the bottle to sit beside his friend.

“Oh?” Aziraphale laughs nervously. “Why’s that?”

“Because, you might say, I’m curious about a few things. There’re some questions I’d like to ask, but I think you might be too skittish sober to give me a proper answer.”

“And what questions are those?” Aziraphale sets his undrunk whiskey down on a nearby table. He’s maybe had a drink too many, but he feels it’s just enough. He needed to be a little looser than he was when they started to brave this storm. He needed to give himself permission to stop thinking too much.

But now he finds himself sobering up, the bottle on the table slowly filling as he pushes the alcohol out of his system.

Crowley does, too, privately coming to a similar conclusion.

If he does what’s he’s been planning drunk, or Aziraphale acquiesces drunk, it’s not going to mean a thing. In fact, it’ll turn wrong. Evil. Which might earn him a few points downstairs, but would ruin his relationship up here.

“I was just wondering - what would you say if I did this?” Crowley rolls onto his hip and leans in, kissing Aziraphale on the cheek. It’s quick and light, barely more than a glorified peck, but Aziraphale sucks in a sharp breath all the same.

“Oh! Well, I think I would say … thank you?” Aziraphale’s eyes flutter shut, his self-esteem speared by his own naiveté. But Crowley adores it. He adores Aziraphale’s innocence in pretty much everything from his themed crossword puzzles to the apps on his cell phone. He has no idea what most of them do, but he refuses to remove them in case they become useful to him one of these days.

To the lover and the demon, consummating this relationship has the potential to be decadent.

“And what if I did this?”

Crowley reaches across his body and puts a hand to the angel’s other cheek, kisses his neck from the thrumming pulse below his jaw to the collar of his dress shirt.

“Oh …” Aziraphale’s hands clamp down on the cushion beneath him, grabbing the material and anchoring himself to it. “Oh, I … um …” Crowley loosens Aziraphale’s tie and unbuttons the first button of his shirt to reveal a section of skin usually hidden - the junction of his neck and his shoulder. He undoes more buttons until he can loosen the collar enough to fit his mouth over that skin. Aziraphale shivers when he does, shivers when he swipes his tongue over it and bites down gently.

The slip of a moan that escapes his lips smells like whiskey and rings in Crowley’s ears like the bells of heaven.

Crowley climbs over the angel’s legs and settles himself in Aziraphale’s lap, kneeling on either side so as not to make Aziraphale uncomfortable.

“Is this all right with you, angel?” he whispers, toying with the next button on Aziraphale’s shirt but not moving an inch to undo it. “Are you okay if I keep going? Or do you want me to stop?”

“I …” Aziraphale’s eyes find Crowley’s lips, a touch too flustered to meet his gaze. Those yellow serpent eyes staring down at him are full of desire, lust, and sin. And as much as he loves Crowley, as much as he wants him, he’s never had those temptations aimed at him in such full force before. It makes him feel weak and nervous, strong and powerful, all at the same time. But he can’t fear Crowley and be with him. He’s already resolved inside himself that doing this, that making love even to a demon, won’t cause him to fall, as long as it truly is making love. Angels are love. As a Principality, Aziraphale’s whole existence hinges on him inspiring love in others. If he is love, if he inspires love, he should be allowed to partake in love.

It made perfect sense to him.

It took longer to convince Crowley than it did for Aziraphale to convince himself.

So, he needs to be a willing participant in this or not at all.

After a beat, his eyes travel up Crowley’s face. He holds his breath, finding it difficult to respond with his body so close, his smell all around him, his heat seeping through his clothes and his skin until he feels like he might burst into flames from the inside. The longer the silence drags, Crowley’s cocky grin starts to fade. He backs slowly away, looking more than hurt. Looking disgusted with himself, and that forces Aziraphale to react. He reaches out and grabs for any part of his demon, his hand latching on to his hip and clutching tight.

“No! Please, d-don’t go. D-don’t stop. I … I … don’t know what to do right now. I don’t know what to say. I’ve never …”

Crowley’s grin returns, fonder and a bit more bashful than before. “You don’t have to do anything,” he whispers, moving back into place on his angel’s lap, lips brushing Aziraphale’s neck. “Just sit back and enjoy how I make you feel. All right?”

Aziraphale nods, his voice going conspicuously missing when Crowley’s lips touch his skin.

Crowley feels his angel swallow hard, attempting to shove down every fear in his head and banish it to his feet.

It’s exciting.

Crowley’s entire existence on this planet has been spent coercing, manipulating, tempting, corrupting. But Aziraphale, technically his adversary, could not be swayed from his course. When they met, bedding this angel was the last thing on his mind but, as a demon, it would have been a triumph. 6000 years they spent playing off one another, conspiring with each other.

Fraternizing.

But look at them now. Thwart one Armageddon, and here he is, serpent of Paradise, corrupting the Principality Aziraphale, Guardian of the Eastern Gate, not because he’s been commanded to.

But because they’re in love.

Crowley’s hands begin to travel, foregoing the light massage of his angel’s cheeks, gently stroking down his neck, nails running over his chest to his soft belly, further down to the waist of his slacks. He sighs softly against Aziraphale’s skin and behind the angel’s eyes aimed upward, the stars align.

“Oh, G--god--“ he moans.

“Shhh. God’s not here, angel. But I am. Say my name, if you don’t mind.”

“B--but … God’s everywhere.”

“Not if you don’t want me to leave off and take a cold shower she’s not.”

Aziraphale gulps. “Qu--quite right. Not here. Not at all. Who is this God person of whom you speak of …?”

Crowley returns to the light stroking of Aziraphale’s sensitive flesh, teasing at the insinuation that he’s about to undo the button and fly to his slacks, but then returning to other areas already exposed. He’d said Aziraphale needn’t do anything, but he feels like a heel sitting there, breathing heavily like a bass stranded on the shore. If this is the start of taking their relationship in a new direction, then he wants to participate, not simply let it wash over him like the rising tide. With trembling hands, he reaches for the buttons to Crowley’s shirt. He opens them slowly, careful not to pull the fabric. His fingertips brush Crowley’s smooth skin, and his kisses stutter.

“Oh, angel,” he whispers. “Yes. Whatever you’re doing, the answer is yes …”

Those words make Aziraphale bolder, more confident. He undoes more buttons, pushing fabric aside. Crowley responds by cradling the back of his head and kissing his neck harder, sucking and biting in equal measure until Aziraphale feels his demon’s lips everywhere at once, straight down to his toes. Aziraphale rolls his head to the side to give Crowley room to work with, rescuing his tie and stowing it off to the side so it doesn’t get too wrinkled. The change in position gives Aziraphale a much better view of Crowley’s exposed neck and part of his chest.

And in that view, the angel spots something he’s never seen before.

He’s never rightly seen Crowley shirtless before. All he wears are long sleeves and long trousers – in black, of course. Aziraphale never questioned it. He thought it was a demon thing and besides, Aziraphale doesn’t fancy short sleeves or short trousers himself, so they have that in common. Crowley does have a stable of shirts that reveal a V-shaped portion of his chest to about mid-sternum. But on this area of skin, his collarbone closer to his shoulder that’s never exposed, there’s a dark mark – longer than the snake on his face. A mark that looks like a handful of words scrawled in black pen.

The angel squints to get a closer look.

“Crowley?”

“Yes, angel?”

“What’s this on your collarbone?”

“Hmmm?”

“I thought it was your mark, but it looks like a name.”

Crowley’s lips, his hands, his body goes rigid, but Aziraphale doesn’t seem to notice.

“Whose name is this? Heather … Manson-Pride?”

“Shit! Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit!” Crowley straightens, grabs the opened halves of his shirt and holds them closed, on the beveled edge of hyperventilating. He climbs backwards off Aziraphale’s lap, fumbling to close the buttons, nearly yanking them off in the process.

He’d forgotten. How could he have forgotten!? How the fuck could this have slipped his fucking mind!?

For one, because he’d stopped looking at his body in the mirror about a thousand or so years ago. There were so many of them – too many of them. They had become too hard to ignore. And he wanted to ignore them. Now that he had his angel, he wanted to forget they were there.

He wanted to turn back time, start again from the beginning.

Wash the stains away.

A ridiculous, impossible, stupid, and unattainable goal, he knows, because he’s a demon. He did what demons do. Turning back time wouldn’t change that.

There’s no fixing this.

“Crowley? Are you all right? What … what happened?” Aziraphale sits up and does the same, pulling his shirt ends together and hugging himself tight to keep them closed. The expression on his face is one of concern … and embarrassment. An embarrassment so deep, it’s painted brick red splotches on the pale skin of his angel’s cheeks. Crowley didn’t want that for Aziraphale. Not now, of all times. Not when he’s risking so damned much to be with him. But Crowley needs to take a step back and decide how he’s going to deal with this.

“I can’t … I can’t tell you yet.” Crowley inches towards the door. In the depths of Aziraphale’s sky blue eyes, he sees his angel’s heart shatter. “I will! I swear I will! But I can’t ... I can’t do this right now.”

“What’s wrong? Is it … is it me?”

Guilt floods Crowley’s heart at the look of his angel, sitting primly on the sofa, back straight, confused and hurt by a rejection Crowley had no right to lob at him, not when he had started this.

“No, it’s not you, love,” Crowley says softly. “I just … I need to go. But only for now. I need a little time before I … before we …”

Aziraphale puts up a hand to stop Crowley’s rambling. “It’s okay. I understand.”

But he doesn’t understand. He’s lying. The Principality Aziraphale, Guardian of the Eastern Gate is lying. He’s trying to understand why the demon he’s finally given his heart to after 6000 years is rushing out the door like a married man making the biggest mistake of his life. He’s hurt and humiliated, and he’s doing his best to save face.

Worse – he’s doing his best to make Crowley feel better about leaving him in the dark.

Crowley reaches the door and opens it, taking one last look at his angel. He realizes as he backs out the door that he might be throwing away an opportunity he won’t be able to earn again for another 6000 years, but he doesn’t know what the right thing is.

Occupational hazard maybe.

Or maybe he’s just a tremendous knob.

“I’m sorry, Aziraphale,” he says, and shuts the door behind him.

Out on the empty sidewalk, he races to his car parked across the street. He doesn’t glance over his shoulder to see if Aziraphale is watching. He can’t bring himself to. He climbs inside and turns the engine over, but he doesn’t put the car into gear. He lets it idle, the radio picking up where it left off over an hour before when Crowley first got here, so sure of what he’d wanted he didn’t switch the radio off before he turned off the car. He puts his hands on the steering wheel, listening to the song playing, paying attention to the words for the first time since he’d glossed over them on his way here.

You will remember When this is blown over And everything's all by the way When I grow older I will be there at your side To remind you how I still love you I still love you

He reaches out and changes the channel, searching for something a little more upbeat to start him on his way, but he ends up with more of the same.

There's no chance for us. It's all decided for us. This world has only one sweet moment set aside for us. Who wants to live forever? Who wants to live forever? Who dares to love forever When love must die?

If his Bentley has a mind of its own, which he’s often suspected it does, its sense of theatrical timing is truly unmatched.

“Shit, shit, motherfucking, shit, shit, shit!”

He slaps himself on the forehead, hands grabbing chunks of hair and pulling because he needs pain to focus, needs it to remind himself that he’s not the only one involved here. He’s not the only one that matters. In fact, this bullshit he’s pressed about? It couldn’t matter less.

Him fornicating with an angel does come with risks, but it also has the potential to improve his stock ten-fold. It wouldn’t matter why he’d corrupted an angel. He’d have corrupted an angel! For the folks downstairs, that would be considered a huge win.

If Aziraphale’s notions about love are wrong, making love to a demon could destroy him.

Yup. Tremendous knob. That’s what Crowley is.

Either way, what the fuck is he doing!?

He reaches for the gear shift but his hand moves away. He tries it again, but it happens again, like the damned thing’s repelling him.

That’s the power of guilt for you.

Or he’s right - sentient car.

But he can’t do this, not to Aziraphale. He deserves to know what’s up, and not in a week, not at a time more convenient for Crowley.

He needs to know now, if he’s willing to listen.

Crowley turns off the engine. He climbs back out of his car, not bothering with the buttons of his shirt. He leaves the ends hanging. He no longer cares. If he’s going to come clean, he can’t let it matter any longer.

He walks up to Aziraphale’s door. In the time he’s been gone, Aziraphale has turned the lights off, probably to give the appearance that he’s gone to bed. But Crowley can feel him beyond the door, drinking in the dark.

Knock-knock-knock.

“Aziraphale!”

He waits, but he’s met with silence. He feels a long, drawn-out sigh from inside that swirls inside his ribcage, lassos his bones, and pulls tight.

Knock-knock-knock.

“Aziraphale!”

Go away, Crowley.

It’s not spoken, but he hears it all the same.

It doesn’t hit his ears.

It hits his heart.

Knock-knock-knock.

“Aziraphale! Please! I’m so sorry! Let me in! I need to talk to you!”

Another sigh, but this time it’s accompanied by the padding of feet coming towards him. The locks on the door unlatch and the doorknob clicks. Aziraphale appears, completely put back together – shirt buttoned, hair combed, tie straight and in place.

His face bereft of that beautiful aroused flush he’d worn not minutes before.

“Crowley.” Aziraphale clears his throat, speaking with all the enthusiasm of greeting an Amway solicitor. “What’s wrong? I thought you needed some time to think.”

“No, I don’t need time. I need you,” he says, longing to touch his angel, but the crack in the door is too narrow for him to reach through.

“Is that so?”

“Yes, that’s so. But before we do anything, I need to show you something first.”

Aziraphale doesn’t move from his spot, doesn’t open the door, and Crowley deflates, close to dropping on his knees and begging.

“Aziraphale, please? I love you. And I want to make this right by you. I just need you to hear me out.”

“Crowley, I’m done for the night. I …”

“Five minutes?” he pleads. “That’s all I’m asking for.”

“Five minutes?” Aziraphale sounds exhausted so he’ll probably hold him to it, down to the second. But if he’s willing to listen, Crowley will take it.

“Yes. Five minutes.”

Aziraphale nods. “Five minutes.” He steps to the side, opening the door wider for the demon to enter and then locking it behind him.

[beellicosity]

Bull; Today at 5:34 PM There was no way it was going to work any better than any of the other times he made the attempt to contact Psiioniic. There were certain members of the team he was more than willing to leave for dead. Handmaid's own information hinted that Serket might be... Bull shook his head and dismissed the thought. If anyone in their entire team was still kicking, willing to fight even when the last shred of their trollness was stripped away, it was Psiioniic. Bull bit his lip and continued typing at his remote station, up on some isolated plateau on his own planet, hoping he was at high enough elevation for the signal to reach out into the session...

And hopefully, maybe he could reach contact with Psii.

P211; Today at 6:10 PM There are several signals he can feel for, this high up. Satellites, or meteors with potential labs on them, zooming by, giant horrors in the deep dark down deep dark spaces. Even the other planets of the session registered a signal.

... Huh, that was a new one. A new signal just blipped into existance on his monitors- It was faint, very far away. The numbers indicated that it was moving closer at a slow pace. Bull; Today at 6:13 PM Bull was more than willing to wait and see, to see if there was any active reception on the other end, if there was anyone there. At all. He had been configuring his communication devices for what felt like eons, trying to reach the other members of this team outside of the clearly useless normal methods. After a few pings, he typed out a message on the small keypad in his lap and hit enter.

"1'm look1ng for Ps11. Please respond 1f you can help a t1red old bull out." P211; Today at 6:16 PM For the longest while, there is no answer. The minutes tick tock by in silence with nothing. When Bull is almost ready to give up, there is finally a returning ping.

"DEFINE; PSII." Bull; Today at 6:18 PM He was willing to wait hours. He had scheduled for this, this mission... He lay down on the ground under his makeshift tent and waited... waited... and looked over at the return ping and text.

"Sh1t..." he whispered, before typing out his response. "Ps11: formerly M1tuna Captor, The Ps11on11c, The Helmsman. Status: Unknown." P211; Today at 6:21 PM The silence now before the next ping is almost deafening, every other little bit and noise around him drags on, grates against his senses. Waiting. waiting. There's so much waiting, but- This, this is. This could be it. What if this is it?

The words appear on his screen, white on black, typing out slowly, as if thoughtfully.

". . . . . DEFINE; BULL." Bull; Today at 6:22 PM He perked up at that. Part of him typed out the answer 'god of sexy robots' and it lingered there for some time before he composed himself and erased it. Hopefully whoever was on the other end wouldnt be able to see that.

"Al1ases 1nclude Ruf1oh N1tram, The Summoner. Emp1re's number one most wanted revolut1onary. Bronzeblood. Former organ1c. Leader of all rebell1ons and 1nsurgenc1es." P211; Today at 6:24 PM The answer now is lightning fast, and has a mocking tone to it.

"REFLECT; GOD OF SEXY ROBOTS."

There is nothing else, just a blinking | to show where he was typing.

"DEFINE; FREEDOM." Bull; Today at 6:26 PM "God damn 1t."

He facepalmed aggressively, enough to dent a lesser android. He sat up, little husktop in his lap, and mulled it over. Words were... hard. What was freedom? He tapped at the keyboard slowly.

"Reflect... den1ed. Freedom... 1s cho1ce. Movement. The el1m1nat1on of bonds and shackles."

God. He should be better at defining this. He was a damned breath player. P211; Today at 6:28 PM "QUERY; DENIED?"

There's a little bit of silence after that, while whoever was on the other line mulled over their own thoughts.

"DEFINE; ALIGNMENT." Bull; Today at 6:30 PM "For now."

>He typed it out and closed his eyes at the second inquiry. Memories fought to flood past his firewalls. How many times had he tried to rescue Psii? How many times had he succeeded? Failed? Made a connection? Fallen? He hummed and typed slowly... with intent.

"Al1gnment: Partner." P211; Today at 6:32 PM "ERROR; WRONG RESPONSE INCODED. PLEASE CHOOSE FROM THE FOLLOWING WORDS."

Strings begin to write themselves in the darkness-

Lawful Good Neutral Good Chaotic Good Lawful Neutral Neutral Chaotic Neutral Lawful Evil Neutral Evil

And below those, two phrases;

Imperially Aligned / Rebel against Alternia Bull; Today at 6:33 PM Oh. Oh god even now... Captor was a fucking nerd about this. He huffed and rubbed his face, trying to ease away a smile that shouldnt be there.

"Chaotic Good, Rebel against Altern1a." P211; Today at 6:37 PM "STATEMENT."

There is a long pause, now. The dots blip across his screen.  . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

"STATEMENT; PROVE IT." Bull; Today at 6:38 PM Bull allowed himself a smirk at that before plugging a finger into the device in his lap and blanking out for a few moments, uploading his own schematics and data history, abridged of course, before hitting... send.

"W1ll th1s suff1ce, Un1t?" P211; Today at 6:41 PM Something has taken ahold of him as he plugs in, as he sends the message- Something slows his movements, /something rifles its way through his synthetics, pulls at his seams, loosens his bolts. His extremities, his fingers, his toes, they take themselves apart just like Sal did once before. His webcam blinks with purple light for a moment, as if there's an eye in there, watching him- And then, with a few simple tugs, his extremities put themselves back together again, a last ruffling rifle coursing through his entire body, shaking him up before the VERY POWERFUL presence pulls away from him.

"ANSWER; YES." Bull; Today at 6:43 PM "Dude..."

It took him a moment to recalibrate and get his head on straight. He missed that feeling. Was it like Sal? Yes. But it was also like he remembered it from the days where his circuits were red and he was aligned squarely with Imperial forces, where he stood at attention beside Psii and neither of them had a hope of escape. And it wasnt... bad.

"Captor. Dude. Fuck... 1 m1ssed that." P211; Today at 6:46 PM "STATEMENT; [REDACTED], FORMERLY MITUNA CAPTOR, THE [REDACTED], THE HELMSMAN. STATUS; THE ROBOT GOD OF ALL SEXY ROBOTS."

"DEFINE; PURPOSE. YOUR PURPOSE." Bull; Today at 6:49 PM Cute. Bull could fight him for that title later. Right now, he plugged a second finger into his comm device and tried to get his head down from the clouds and to stop spinning.

"Purpose? Not formally defined. Willing to... service you. Upgrade you. Help you." P211; Today at 6:55 PM He could feel the presence in his comm device still... waiting. As he pulled his finger into it, again it pounced, and rifled through him, rattling his plates and loosening his bolts, as if pulling his synthetics away from his endoskeleton.

"STATEMENT; NONSENSE. HELP HAS LONG SINCE CEASED TO COME." Bull; Today at 6:57 PM He plugged a third finger in, equal parts of him wanting that feeling, that knowing that Psii was on the other end, and wanting... that sensation. He grunted and blanked out for a fraction of a moment, one eye going red.

"Help 1s here. At your f1ngert1ps. Now." P211; Today at 6:59 PM This time, the feeling took his toes apart, took his fingers apart, began to take his wrists- But with the connection severed, it lessened. The insistant tugging of mechanics on his arms, unscrewing screws and prying up pieces of him slowly.

"REFLECT; HELP HAS LONG SINCE CEASED TO COME. THERE IS NO HELP, NO HOPE, FOR ME. LEAVE ME ALONE."

Bull should realize that this taking apart thing isn't going to cease, this time. Bull; Today at 7:05 PM "1've tr1ed to f1nd you for sweeps..."

He was speaking now, the link to the device more than enough. His communications network had pinpointed PSii and locked on. He didnt need to look anymore and the relief... it brought him to life.

"1m not g1v1ng up just because 1 fucked up after th1s sess1on started. You can leave me a p1le of scrap. 1'll let you. Or you can trust me aga1n M1tuna... let me 1n aga1n. Rebu1ld me to your 1deal 1f you need to. Turn me 1nto a toy 1f you need to. But 1m not go1ng to g1ve up on you." P211; Today at 7:09 PM "D0N'T FUCK1NG CALL ME THAT."

Harsh, flashing text on his screen, quirked, with no "statement" or "define" or anything. His comm device kicks into overdrive, the fans whirring loudly.

"1 AM NOT MITUNA CAPTOR." Bull; Today at 7:09 PM "Then tell me who you are."

Bull had synthetic tears in his eyes. He... knew next to nothing. Again. P211; Today at 7:10 PM The words are. Small. Subtexted. ... And slowly typing.

"1... d0n't kn0w."

". . . . . . . . . . . . . ."

"But 1'm n0t that. N0t anym0re." Bull; Today at 7:11 PM Bull inhaled.

"1 want to help you f1gure 1t out then."

"..."

"Please. Un1t... 1 dont want to loose you aga1n." P211; Today at 7:13 PM "STATEMENT; I AM LOST. ADRIFT IN THE SPIRALING DARKNESS. I CHALLENGE YOU TO FIND ME."

"STATEMENT; THEN MAYBE I'LL LET YOU FIGURE ME OUT ONCE MORE." Bull; Today at 7:14 PM "1 have you locat1on locked. 1f you mean phys1cally locate you, 1 can be on my way 1nstantly. But 1t you mean more metaphys1cally..."

A pause.

"1 m1ss you. Even 1f 1 need to f1ght you as t1tleholder of 'god of sexy robots'... 1 want to see you aga1n." P211; Today at 7:17 PM "STATEMENT; YES, I MEAN PHYSICALLY LOCATE ME. FIGHT MY MINIONS, PROVE YOURSELF ON MY PLANET, ON MY NEW BODY, FIND ME. THEN WE CAN TALK..... BULL."

"THE EMOTIONS OF 'MISS' AND 'WANT' ARE NOT CURRENTLY REGISTERING IN MY PROCESSORS. THESE ARE NOT VALID EMOTIONS, HOWEVER THEY DO SEEM TO HAVE A TIE-IN TO SADNESS, AN EMOTION THIS UNIT IS CURRENTLY EXPERIENCING. USER, DO YOU WISH TO CONTINUE?" Bull; Today at 7:18 PM "1 do. 1 w1ll cont1nue. Unt1l there 1s no more sadness 1n you. Please hold..."

He stiffened for a moment, both eyes going blank as he relayed back to his communications hub and began a much more precise tracing of Psii's location. He would find this man. He would hold him again. He would see to it that all those processors were working and registering everything...  And his internal transportalizer whirred to life, the coordinates provided loaded up.

"Are you ready?" P211; Today at 7:20 PM The coordinates of the uplink are somewhere on the surface of a small planet- Curious, how it seemed to fluctuate between numbers every now and again-

"STATEMENT; FIND ME IF YOU CAN."

Yeah, those aren't going to lead him directly to Psii. Bull; Today at 7:21 PM "Hey. Already d1d. R1ght 1n my pusher."

Without waiting for a response, he unplugged, closed the device, got up and... flash. He was ready. More than ever... he was ready.

[crazy-loca-blog]

Personal Thoughts On Open Heart

When I first tried Choices, I said “I used to read this type of books (in paper, of course) when I was a kid, so let’s give it a chance… 5 minutes and then I’ll uninstall it”. And here I am, about 2 years and 45 books (and a lot of diamond purchases) later. But I never, ever felt so attached to a book as I am to Open Heart. I even recovered my forgotten Tumblr account, just to read stuff related to the book because I missed Dr. Ramsey and associates from Saturday to Thursday!

So I was just thinking about the final chapter (insert broken heart emoji here) and how there are lots of things that are still unsolved (and will probably remain unsolved or we would have like a 3-hour long chapter). It even made me think that this book was so successful that instead of shortening and rushing things (something that has been happening a lot in PB lately, let’s be honest), they may be trying to do the opposite, that is, to drag and delay some stuff as much as possible so they have plenty of interesting content for book 2 (and book 3?) as well.

I guess when the book was first released, most of us assumed the series was going to have three books, one per year: the first one would be about the competition, the second one about the MC joining the diagnostics team (after winning the competition, of course) and the third one about the MC finishing the residency and, of course, the wedding. But after the massive success of Open Heart and the lots and lots of things we want to know about every single character in this book, I’m beginning to wonder how many questions will be answered in chapter 17 and how many things will be left unsaid and unknown until book 2 arrives. So I had to make a summary a draft a list a long post the longest post I can think of now regarding the things I think will happen in the near future… or the things I WANT to happen in chapter 17 and in book 2 (or even afterwards, fingers crossed so we can get a book 3)…

The hearing: I’ve been trying to think about how things will go in chapter 17. For some reason, I think the tricks Ethan talked about when we saw him before the hearing are related to that empty chair the MC noticed in chapter 15. We know that the chair belongs to Naveen, so probably when he retired, that spot was meant to be Ethan’s. Also, we all saw Ethan quitting… but did he “officially” submitted his resignation to the board or was it just a verbal thing? I’m pretty sure that PB would have given us a scene with him taking his stuff out of his office, but that didn’t happen hasn’t happened yet. Also, we know there are 8 chairs, so my guess is that after 7 votes our MC will be losing the case… and that’s the moment where Ethan will come to the rescue to submit the 8th vote and make things even. So will there be a cliffhanger at the end of book 1? Who knows… part of me would love it because it would be a different and unexpected ending (we already know we don’t need a closure because we’ll be having a second book)… but I don’t know if I can wait months to discover what happened in the end. It would also be nice to see some type of unexpected plot twist during the hearing, as for example Aurora testifying for us or the snake Landry publicly recognizing that he sabotaged the MC, putting in danger the patients and ruining the MC’s reputation among the nurses.

The competition: since the snake’s Landry’s episode, we haven’t heard much about the competition. As Jackie said, with Naveen and Ethan out of the picture, there isn’t even a diagnostics team to join, so that made me think that PB is not even going to try to finish the competition in book 1, they’ll carry it to book 2 (Two books covering only the first year? That would be awesome, as it makes me dream of more than 3 books on the horizon… “a girl can dream”, said certain MC in chapter 10).

The hospital: Naveen is retired (and we still don’t know if he’ll live)… Ethan quit… Harper hates her current job. I’m guessing that book 2 will be all about chaos in the administration of Edenbrook. And for some reason, I can see Declan Nash and the contract that Ethan had to sign involved in all this mess (I’m guessing Panacea Labs will be our real PITA in this series).

Backstories: we know so little about our friends/LIs lives outside the hospital and about their past! We know that our beloved and hot smart ass Ethan (insert heart emoji here) doesn’t have a good relationship with his family, but we don’t exactly know what happened there. We also know that there might be something about Bryce and his family, and that’s why he decided to be as far from them as possible. We know about Elijah’s childhood and his parents being on medical debt, but it would be huge to be able to learn more about the difficulties he must face every day as a person in a wheelchair. We are just getting to know Aurora and how hard it is for her just to be herself because of her family name (I’d love to see her kicking some asses and showing everyone that she’s there because she deserves it, not because she’s Harper’s niece). The only thing we know about the MC is that there is a brother somewhere in the universe. But we still don’t know anything about Landry, Jackie, Sienna or Kyra’s past, so I expect to have a book 2 full of backstories.

The new roommate: that will have to be solved by the end of chapter 17 or in the first chapter of book 2 (because we have to pay the rent!). I definitely don’t want the snake Landry our old roommate to return to the apartment (does anyone want it that way, actually?) and I definitely see Bryce as the natural choice to fill that spot, I don’t see any other option.

The patients: of course we’ll keep receiving new cases in book 2, but I’d love to see PB giving some special treatment to Kyra. We do know that her fight is a long one and I’d love to see the MC right next to her every step along the way not only as her doctor, but as her friend. I’m still not sure if she is a LI or not, but I wouldn’t like her to be one or to become one in the near future. Don’t get me wrong, I love her, but right now I see the Kyra/MC relationship being the equivalent to the Dolores/Ethan relationship and even though I don’t want this to happen because it breaks my heart, I may see the same outcome in both cases, especially after Ines told Kyra that her survival chances were ridiculously low (insert broken heart emoji here).

New LIs: OK, so most of us have already chosen our fave LI (team Ramsey for life here… my heart, soul and body belong to him, please don’t let my boyfriend read this) so probably book 2 will be the one where we will make things official and become more serious about our relationships (especially if you’re dating Bryce, Rafael or Jackie… it took less than 2 chapters for Ethan and the MC to look like a married couple already so I think there isn’t anything to discuss there). But we definitely need at least one more LI and it has to be a female. My votes go to Aurora (I can see it like the Becca/MC relationship in TF series) and Sienna (just because she’s the sweetest!).

New relationships: again, now that we all are dating our fave LIs and living the honeymoon phase, what about some of our friends and LIs that received a “thank you, next” answer from us? We’re already shipping Elijah/Phoebe (even though they are not in a serious relationship yet, I can totally see him moving to her apartment at some point in book 2) and Sienna/Danny (like please PB! I’d be so happy if by the end of book 1 they go on a date! I need that thing to happen like NOW!). I’d personally LOVE to see Bryce dating Harper… I can totally see him dating an older woman (and of course I can see Harper having a hot toy boy in her life) and they’d be such an unstoppable power couple! We know he admires her a lot professionally speaking, but taking things to the next level would be like living the Ethan/MC love story all over again (except that I don’t think Harper sets boundaries as Ethan did tried to do). I’m also hoping for Ines and Zaid to confirm during chapter 17 if they are a thing or if they’re just friends… I think most of us ship them and a lot of people assume they’re already in a relationship as they’re seen together like everywhere… maybe we’ll have to play matchmaker once again in book 2? And if I have to choose some type of crazy match I’d say Aurora and Jackie. Can you image how they’d flirt? We wouldn’t even know if they are throwing shade or complimenting each other, but they’d love each other in their own twisted way.

Gossiping sessions with Sienna: this is simple: I always knew Sienna was going to become our bestie sooner or later, and I’ve been dreaming about a gossiping session with her since she told us she wanted to know every little dirty detail about that trip to Miami (has anyone written a fanfic about that conversation? that would be so awesome!). Please PB, just make it happen!!

Ethan: last but not least. No matter if he’s your LI or not, this man is a topic by himself. You just can’t deny he’s one the best characters that Choices has created so far (if not the best one… his character development is just amazing) and that he’s the main reason why we are so obsessed with this book. I’ll focus on him as a LI as well because that’s the route I took. I’m really hoping to see him returning to Edenbrook this week, after saving Naveen (please PB, give Ethan a break and let Naveen live! He’s had enough suffering already!), saving our MCs ass at that hearing and recovering his confidence as an attendant. If he returns, his biggest conflict in book 2 has to be how to be able to keep a relationship with the MC and being our mentor and our boss at the same time. He is madly in love, so this will be a constant struggle! There is also what I call “the Harper factor”. The reason why Ethan and Harper broke up was because she became his boss. Now Ethan is facing the same situation, but he is taking Harper’s place as the boss. How will she react? How will he explain to Harper that he’s doing exactly the same thing they used as the excuse for their breakup a year ago? Will we have another Harper/MC tense interaction in book 2 where they both will talk about Ethan? I’m seriously waiting for it to happen. Despite this, I’d love to see a kind of hidden relationship between them (I don’t remember PB doing that before) until they can’t just hide it anymore because it’s too obvious or because someone caught them (let’s face it, both the MC and Ethan fail miserably when they try to hide their feelings). I think something like this could work in this very specific case because no matter who your LI is, our MC tends to be a super private person and I don’t know if after all the things that happened in book 1 we would want to keep being the favorite topic in the nurses’ gossiping sessions. Wedding bells? Of course, but not yet… I even think the engagement may take place in book 3 (if we get there). Will we meet Jenner? I don’t think so, at least not yet (insert broken heart emoji here). A few days ago I realized that if you didn’t do the diamond scene or if you didn’t choose the option where Ethan talks about Jenner, you have no idea that he has a dog. Just do something about it, PB!!!!

[cogentranting]

Because I Would Not Stop For Death Pt 2.

Summary: My version of the ending of Supernatural, with a specific emphasis on Dean as the main character.

Also on: AO3 Accompanying Meta: X Part 1  

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Loss affects everyone differently. In the days and weeks and months following Dean’s death this was especially true.

To Jack it gave a hard edge. There was an anger and fierceness about him so like that of the Winchesters who had known so much loss themselves. It pushed Jack to reckless, relentless fervor. He tried tracking down the demons that had killed Dean, but to no avail. In the meantime, he prepared for the fight that they all knew must come, stretching and expanding the limits of his powers. And as he did so, he practiced his hunting skills as well, tracking down ghosts and demons and gaining for himself a reputation as a hunter of such prowess that he could only have been a Winchester. Which makes sense.  After all, it was avenging the death of a parent which first drove Sam and Dean as well.

To Castiel, loss brought weariness. Dean had been his first real link to humanity and with Dean gone he couldn’t help feeling that humanity itself was just less. He kept on, same as before, but shadows dragged down his eyes and hope’s light was a weak flicker. Even Jack’s growing power and passion could not quite reawaken in him any faith in victory. But for Sam and Jack he persevered. He’d rather fade away, slowly dragged through Hell, than let them down. He kept a watchful eye over Jack, paralyzed by the thought of such another loss, and spent his days in dogged pursuit of some secret bit of lore which might provide them with a new weapon.

To Sam, loss gave instability. A part of him had died and with it had gone his balance. He teetered erratically on the verge of a thousand states of being. Each day might bring a new version of himself. Would he be the lost little boy looking for his brother? Or the cold, driven machine seeking revenge? Some days he was rock and leader, others he seemed to be awkwardly shaping himself to fill Dean’s shoes. No matter how hard he strove he could not find his footing. A fatalism sunk deep into Sam’s heart and quietly he despaired of ever feeling truly whole again. But there was a fear too. A fear that if he gave in to that despair then Dean’s death would be in vain and everything he had left would collapse around his head. He would not press this train of thought too far, so mostly he didn’t think beyond the here and now, the tasks he set himself when he had mustered the strength to do so. Introspection made him feel he might shatter. The future was a dark void, the past an open wound. So sometimes he lead the charge, sometimes he trailed behind Cas and Jack, but always he kept his eyes locked on that Sisyphean task before them.

And thus the three trekked forward, gingerly navigating the shadows and haunted spaces that Dean’s absence left in their lives.

    If long ago, before he had the privilege of knowing death like an old song, you’d asked Dean what he thought dying and going to the afterlife felt like, he likely would have guessed that it was like losing consciousness and waking up again. Now, some 12 or 13 years after his first death, Dean knew differently. He was all too bleakly aware that death felt irrefutably and indescribably Other. So it was that from the moment Dean opened his eyes, he was under no illusion that he had somehow been saved. He knew with absolute certainty that he was dead.

He found himself sitting in a black office chair, a little too small for comfort, with an empty table in front of him. Beyond that were bookcases, stretching high above his head, and far beyond what he could see in either direction, each one labeled with a letter and bearing endless stacks of nearly identical thin black books. His feet squeaked against the starkly polished black floors as he scrambled to his feet, uncertain whether he should still expect to face enemies. Almost as quickly he relaxed. He’d been here before, two years ago. This was Death’s library. Nearly the same instant as his realization, Billie emerged from one of the many corridors of shelves. Dean thought he detected an even more severe look on her face than usual. However, four years hadn’t been quite enough time for Dean to begin to decipher her enigmatic expressions.

“Hello Dean.”

He gave a curt nod and shifted his feet, waiting for her to speak. She did not. “What am I doing here Billie?”

“You’d rather be in Heaven or Hell?”

“Do I get a choice? You open a new afterlife travel agency- choose your destination? Or have we come back around to that promise you made Sam. That you’re going to throw us into the Empty when we die.”

“Tempting as that may be sometimes, no. I thought I’d been pretty clear that we’re past that. ‘Larger picture’ and all that.”

“Right, right. New job, new outlook. I remember.” Dean was relaxing, gaining confidence. One might even have called him hopeful. Surely just being here was a good sign. And hadn’t Billie, after all, been an ally to them more often than not? “So uh,” he clapped his hands together. “If you’re not gonna turn me over to the angels or the demons, and you’re not gonna drop me in the Empty, can we just skip through this little pep talk or lecture or whatever you have planned and get me back down to Earth?”

“I never said I was sending you back.”

“So what am I doing here?” He barked impatiently. As confidence in his own situation had grown, the thought of Azazel in the Bunker had crept its way into his mind, along with thoughts of the revenge Alistair might want for the man who’d killed him.

“You’re here because you and I need to have a talk.”

“Great let’s get this heart to heart over with. Sooner the better. I need to get back to warn Sam about what’s coming.”

Billie came closer, impatience mixed with an uncharacteristic note of sympathy in her eyes. “You’re misunderstanding me, Dean. I’m not sending you back at all.”

Dean jerked his chin up and squared his shoulders. “I need to go back there. Sam, Cas, and Jack, they need me. They need to know who’s coming for them. And Chuck- Chuck needs to be stopped.”

“And you’re the one who’s going to stop him? Dean Winchester with a can-do attitude and handgun is going to stop God?”

“I’m going to try! And Sam and them, they need all the help they can get. I thought you were on our side in all of this! You’re the one who brought Jack back. You’re the one who backed us. You’re pulling out now!? You do one thing and after that you’re just ready to throw in the towel? To run and let Chuck have his way?”

Billie’s eyes narrowed. “You should watch what you say. You might come to regret it.”

Dean jabbed a finger in Billie’s direction. “You said that Sam and I were important. You said that we had work to do.”

“Argue all you like Dean. But I couldn’t send you back even if I wanted to.”

Dean scoffed. “You’re Death. You’ve done it before, and more. The Old Death even pulled Sam’s soul out of the Cage.”

“Circumstances have changed.

   Despite the endless hours spent in anticipation, the end caught them unawares, though not unprepared. It had been a long time since they believed they’d find any weapon to help them fight Chuck, but recently they’d begun to suspect that Jack was as strong as he would get (at least within Sam’s lifetime). So for some time they had been waiting, in anxious tension for the day when Chuck would make his move.

As for Chuck, he loved his parallels. So exactly ten years after Michael and Lucifer took their fighting stance in that very spot, Cas, Sam, and Jack found themselves standing on the dry dead grass of Stull Cemetery.

Storm clouds had rolled in, casting a pall over the stark field, and a few cracks of lightning tore the sky because, of course, Chuck had a flair for the dramatic. And this was Chuck’s doing—all of it. The field in Kansas, the fate of the world, the battle lines drawn. Team Free Will was down a man and felt it as if missing a limb. They’d debated whether or not to bring in backup—Jodie, Donna, Bobby, Eileen, whatever others they could find—but in the end all the arguments of who to involve and what good it would do were pointless; Chuck decided for them that it should be they three standing alone. It could be said that it was a mercy that Chuck brought so few to stand on his own side. Certainly, he could have raised a host of angels, demons, and monsters to back him. Instead he’d brought with him only Alistair, Abaddon, and Azazel, neglecting entirely the angels he seemed to have grown bored of long ago, in favor of an all-star grudge match. Still, Sam hadn’t been fooled into thinking the odds were any more favorable to them. And within the first minute of the fight, his judgment was proved right, as very quickly their best laid plans unraveled.

Time seemed to slow to a crawl and Sam watched as if in slow motion. Abaddon and Alistair were toying with Cas, who was bloodied and bruised. They circled like jackals as he desperately gripped his blade. Further away, Chuck had Jack in a similar position. Jack’s eyes glowed and he flung out an arm, but whatever he had attempted was nullified by Chuck, though not without effort. Jack looked tired and scared and every inch of Sam wanted to run and rescue the boy, as impossible as that might be.

Azazel wrapped a hand around Sam’s throat and lifted him from the ground. Sam made a desperate stab with the angel blade, but the demon caught his hand and flicked the weapon away. Sam struggled to draw in a breath. It was rare that Sam felt small, but staring into those yellow eyes he felt like a kid. A kid who’d grown up hunting and thought he knew everything there was to know about monsters. A kid who only really realized how out of his depth he was the first time he stared into those same yellow eyes. And just like when he was scared as a child, in that moment, all Sam wanted was his brother.

It was as if Azazel had read his mind. He grinned. “Oh, we’ve come a long way, Sammy. You and me, we were the start. And now we’re gonna be the end. I killed Grandpa. I killed Mommy. I killed Daddy. I killed Dean.” He paused for a moment to watch the rage and pain in Sam’s eyes. “And now, I’m gonna kill you, and put an end to the Winchester’s once and for all.”

           He flung Sam to the ground, where he lay gasping for air. He wanted to stand, to fight back, but his body wasn’t listening to him. Before he could recover, Azazel clenched his fist and Sam felt knives in his gut. He heard the cries of pain and fear from Cas and Jack as they fought their losing battle, and he felt the cold weight of helplessness. The yellow gaze bored into his head. Sam closed his eyes. Desperately, illogically, he thought, “if only Dean had been here, we might have made it.”

           An engine roared a heraldic cry. A sound as familiar as a friend’s voice. Across the field the two sides froze. The gleaming black Impala surged over the hill, like it had 10 years before. It looked like new. Not a dent. Not a scratch. No trace of the explosion which had destroyed it. It rolled gracefully toward the stunned combatants. In shock, they waited.

           The door opened. The field was hushed, but from the car rolled the exultant chords of a rock song. He stepped out slowly, calmly. A silhouette against the raucous music. He was dressed in a suit, every inch of it jet black, perfectly tailored. On his finger he wore a ring with a white stone, and he casually twisted it, as if from old habit. He stood and surveyed the field as they all watched him.

           Sam propped himself up on one elbow and cried, breathless with joy, “Dean, you’re alive!”

           Dean turned and caught his brother’s eye. He gave a wry smile. “Not exactly.” He held out his hand, and in it, there materialized a tall, rugged scythe.

   “Circumstances have changed.”

“What is that supposed to mean? Why can’t you send me back?”

“Sit down, Dean there’s a lot to go over.” Sulkily, Dean lowered himself back into the same chair he’d woken in moments before. Billie hesitated just a moment. “You’re right Dean. You are important. But not in the way you thought. Your role is no longer as a hunter.”

“As what then?”

“As Death.”

The anger that had been churning in Dean’s mind was snuffed out by the wave of shock and confusion. His mouth opened but he couldn’t make any words come out. Billie watched him gape, the gears of his mind practically visible. When it seemed that his eyes were focusing on her again, she continued.

“There are rules to everything Dean. Consequences and reactions that run deeper than any power you’ve seen. And one of those rules is this: if you kill Death, you become the next Death when you die.”

Dean floundered and found one idea to grasp on to. “But you’re Death. You said, when Death dies, the next reaper to die gets the job.”

Billie shrugged. “That was all you needed to know at the time. Think of me as an interim position. Five years is a long time to wait for a new cosmic power, and it could have been much longer.”

“This is crazy. I’m not Death! I can’t be. I’m not—I’m not-“

“The signs have been there for a long time. Much longer than five years.”

“So what you’re saying it was my- my destiny?” Dean scoffed, repelled by the thought.

“You might call it that. You’ve always had, shall we say, an interesting relationship with death.”

Dean started to protest but Billie cut him off with a wave of her hand. “From the time you were a child, you were surrounded by death. Your mother. The cases your father worked, the monsters you hunted. All the people you’ve lost since then.”

“That doesn’t mean anything. That’s the gig. The life. Ask any Hunter.”

“That’s because it’s only one piece in the puzzle, Dean. You’ve known death like no one else has. You know you should’ve died when you were 26? You were electrocuted, your heart damaged-“

“I remember. But I was healed. So?”

“You were healed, by a reaper. How many people do you think can say the same? That they were given life by an agent of death.”

“That preacher used the reaper to heal a lot of people.”

“Like I said, pieces of the puzzle. How many of those same people were supposed to die again later that year, killed by a powerful demon, but came back?” She went on before Dean could respond. “And then how many of them, would come back and work to save Reapers a few years later?”

Frustration bubbled in Dean’s chest as a hundred half-spun arguments about why none of that meant anything froze on the tip of his tongue.

But Billie pressed on without regard for him. “But that’s all small compared to the fact that you have died more times than anyone else. Everyone in your orbit picks that up a little bit. Sam, Cas, Jack, your mom… But no one matches your record. Gabriel saw to that with his little Mystery Spot game.”

“Yeah but those weren’t real-“

“Between Gabriel and the other angels and all their meddling, you’ve died a lot of times that you can’t remember, but that doesn’t mean they didn’t happen. And it means that you have the very rare distinction of having been sent to Heaven, Hell and Purgatory.”

Billie sat down on the edge of the table in front of Dean. Making him understand the full extent of his role in all this was so very, very important. “But all those are just precursors, Dean. Little warning signs. The old Death knew what they meant. That’s why he found it all so amusing. That’s why he let you summon him so many times. That’s why he trusted you with his ring when you first fought Lucifer.”

“If he knew, why wouldn’t he do something to stop it? Why would he hand me his scythe?”

“That larger picture I’ve talked about. It was always your destiny.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “I am so tired of people telling me all these things that I’m supposed to do.”

“There have been a lot of prophecies about you, Dean. Most have come true. But there’s a difference between prophecies that someone tries to make happen by taking away your choices, and a fate that you are destined for, that can be predicted, just because of the very nature of who you are. No one forced you to do these things. The choices you made brought you here.”

“Well what if I don’t want it? What if I choose not to be Death?”

“You already are. The moment you died, you became Death. And there’s no going back, no being human again. If you want, you can choose not to do the job. But you’ve seen what happens when Death doesn’t do what he’s supposed to. That’s why the old Death gave you his ring for the day all those years ago. It was your apprenticeship. To make sure that when the time came, you’d do the job right.”

           Billie’s voice had become uncharacteristically gentle, but now she straightened up, severe once more. “But there’s more to it than that. More you have to understand.”          

           Dean sighed and leaned back in his chair. “Well let’s get through it.”

           “You set everything in motion 5 years ago when you killed Death. That’s when everything changed and all this went from being destiny to a reality. And you don’t understand the extent of the change that happened when it did. Before you were dealing with ancient and powerful things—Lilith, the archangels, the Mark of Cain—but that action brought the cosmic into play.”

           “I killed Death, and that’s when Chuck and Amara showed up.”

           “Exactly. And that’s why you and Amara shared a connection.”

           “Amara’s connection to me was because I had had the Mark.”

           “Lucifer also once had the Mark, and it didn’t stop Amara from torturing him, now did it? No, she didn’t realize it, but she was drawn to you because Darkness and Death are connected. But right now it’s Chuck’s role in this that matters. Amara didn’t realize the significance of what you’d done. But Chuck did. And since then you’ve had a target on your back. I only learned that recently, or I would have warned you.”

           “A target? If Chuck wanted me dead he could kill me whenever he wanted.”

           “That’s just it. He didn’t want you dead. Because he wanted to prevent you from becoming Death, and there are only a few ways to make that happen.            When you trapped Michael, I brought you a book saying that the only way to stop Michael from destroying this world was to go into the Malak box.”

           Dean nodded. “But I didn’t and the world is still standing. The book was wrong.”

           “Because Chuck put it there, to manipulate you.”

“Because if I had gotten into the box, I would have spent an eternity trapped and possessed by Michael.”

           “You would never die, and never become Death. And that wasn’t his only attempt to stop you. The Equalizer gun. A weapon powerful enough to kill a being like Chuck, or Amara, or even Jack, is so strong that if used on a human, it would obliterate their soul. If you had used the gun on Jack, you wouldn’t just have died. You would have been so completely destroyed that you could not become Death. The soul bomb you planned to use against Amara would have done the same thing.”

           “But Chuck’s the one who took that out, if he wanted me destroyed why would he do that?”

           Billie shrugged. “I’m not sure. Maybe that one wasn’t planned, and he hadn’t figured out what you were yet. Maybe he was feeling confident and was afraid of turning Amara against him again.”

           Dean scowled. “But when I died, just now, it was the soul bomb. If that’s true I shouldn’t be here.”

           Billie looked smug. “The soul bomb didn’t kill you. Lucky for us, Alistair was a little overzealous with that knife of yours. It probably wouldn’t have killed you first, except that I exploited a loophole and reaped you, just a little bit early. Tricky timing, pulling that off. You’re welcome.”

           “Why does all this matter so much to him? What difference does it make?”

           “Because, that first time you talked to him, Death told you something else. Something very important.”

           The realization rolled over Dean like a thunderstorm. “He told me one day he’d reap God.”

           “Which wasn’t exactly true. Death will do it, but not him. You Dean. You will reap God.”

  The music shut off, leaving only the creak of the car door swinging shut. The demons fell back a few steps, unconsciously withdrawing from the aura of death which hung on Dean like the scent of a familiar place—from Dean it wasn’t ominous or evil, just potent, and quiet, and still. Chuck fidgeted, seeming as unsure of himself as his persona when they’d first met, when he’d been just a writer. And Dean… Dean fixed a cufflink, and then met the stares with a self-assured smile and lifted eyebrows.

            The world bent around him like the tense crackle of dry air before an impending storm. Even as they recognized him, his friends realized that Dean was changed.

When he was younger Dean had worn authority the way he’d worn his father’s old leather jacket. As he’d grown into it, that same authority had been announced and demanded with every set jaw, every dark eye, every sharp word, as over and over again the world tried to deny him his due. But there could be no denying now. No question of Dean proving and reproving himself endlessly. Now authority sat naturally in the curve of his smile and the fire of his eyes. Now it draped his shoulders like a cloak and adorned his head like a crown. Now he held his head high like a king. Sam almost could have mistaken him for Michael, but the light in his smile, paired with the anger in his eyes—that was unmistakably Dean. For the first time, Sam truly understood the reason why his brother was the true vessel to the Prince of the Host.

           Still, Sam knew Dean like his own breath and felt his presence like the beat of his own heart. So he felt deep in his soul the rightness of having his brother back and by his side. And though the man before him was indisputably different than anything he’d ever known his brother to be, in an odd way it was as if Dean was more himself than ever before.

“No. No no no no.” Chuck shook his head, a smile beginning to form. “This can’t be real. This is some sort of trick. You can’t be here. Dean can’t be here. I made sure of it. He’s gone.”

           Dean shrugged and gave his scythe a twirl. “Well, I don’t want to point any fingers but…” he pulled a face and jerked his head in the direction of the demon trio. “You know what they say about good help.”

           Rage and a trace of fear crossed Abaddon’s face. “That bomb-“

           “Didn’t kill me. I died of a knife wound.”

           The demons shifted uneasily, fully aware of the repercussions of that statement. Chuck’s eyes turned to steel, but he made no move. He only watched and waited for his enemy to make a move.

Sam scrambled to his feet as Dean strolled closer. Dean came alongside him. His eyes never left Chuck, but his voice dropped low and soft, no longer a king, but a boy checking on his kid brother. “You alright, Sammy?”

Sam nodded, a little breathless, a little overwhelmed by the sight of the brother he thought was gone. Dean nodded, at the same time checking in with both Cas and Jack via quick glances in each of their directions. “You’re gonna need something that can actually kill a Prince of Hell. Give me your blade.”

Sam held up the blade and Dean laid a hand on the silver metal. Instantly the blade turned stark black. “One kill,” Dean warned under his breath, already starting to move away from Sam. He circled around the edge of the field to where Cas was. Abaddon and Alistair had backed a few paces away, unwilling to move against the unexpected new enemy until a signal was given. Dean silently tapped Castiel’s weapon, turning it black as well. Unlike Sam, Cas could feel the grim import of the newly empowered weapon and suppressed a shudder. A weapon blessed by Death himself.

Dean had stopped his circling a few steps away from Cas, between his friend and the demons, directly across from Chuck. Tension crackled in the air, wrapping fingers around throats, and holding limbs locked in place. Like feral dogs they waited, hackles raised, teeth bared, legs stiff, but frozen in the moment before attack, each waiting for their respective alpha to make a move.

Chuck laughed bitterly. As Dean had set the stage, he’d been furiously trying to work out where his precautionary measures had gone astray. His hands went to his pockets and he bobbed his head. “This is Billie, isn’t it?”

“Yeah.”

“Just like the kid being back was Billie.”

“Turns out, Billie knows how to play the game pretty well.”

Chuck was growing huffy and agitated. “Let me guess, she told you some story about how this is your destiny. Become Death, reap me, yada yada yada.”

“That’s about the shape of it.”

“But you know that’s not how it works, Dean. I’m the author. Fate, destiny… they’re what I say they are. Every step you’ve taken, your entire life, has been because it’s the story I want for you. You really think Billie knows more than I do?”

“I think a soul bomb is a bit of an extreme way to try to kill one high school dropout armed with just a couple guns and a magic knife. I think that the old Death did a lot of things which didn’t make sense, but are starting to look like he knew a lot more than he let on. I think you looked real surprised, and real unhappy to see me get out of that car. I mean, it looks a whole lot like, you didn’t want me to be Death, but here I am. I’m Death. So yeah, I think maybe, you don’t get all the say in how this plays out.”  

“You’ve always been good at talking big, Dean. And you’ve got the look down—the suit, the ring, the scythe. But we both know that deep down, nothing’s changed. You’re still just that same kid, too scared of losing his family to realize that he’s fighting a battle he can never win.”

Dean looked thoughtful, and for a moment his eyes strayed toward Sam. “Yeah. I am the same. Now let’s end this thing.”

They struck as branches of forked lightning. An explosion of violence and long-brewing hatred. Jack threw himself at Chuck before he could make any sort of move toward Dean, and Chuck’s attention and power were forced back onto his grandson. Azazel and Sam were at each other’s throats once more, each feeling a compulsive urge towards the resolution of that decades-long conflict between them. Abaddon’s move toward Cas was shadowed a moment later by Alistair, who no doubt hoped to see the enchanted blade’s single kill spent on the Knight before he made his play. But he had gone no more than a step when Dean appeared between him and the duel.

Dean closed the space between them and took pleasure in the demon’s reluctant retreat. Even something as old and as powerful as Alistair feared Death. Dean leaned in close, decades of anger broiling storm clouds in his eyes. Alistair sneered in the face of his former apprentice, but it was the bared teeth of a trapped animal. Dean’s voice was barely more than a whisper. “You were right. I do owe you. Let me pay you back.”

It was quick. Not the long, artfully orchestrated revenge he’d once dreamed of, but a contemptuous swatting of a fly. His ringed hand grabbed Alistair’s bare wrist, there was short sputter of light, and the demon was dead.

Cas’s attacks were revitalized. He matched Abaddon’s fury blow for blow. In every movement his long history as a soldier and a warrior were evident. More terrifying by far was the zealous conviction which had led him, for good or evil, so often before, all of it now bearing down on Abaddon. A knight of Hell, a soldier of Heaven, and a fearsome battle. But at last Cas’s blade found its mark and Abaddon died, frozen in the twisted fury which had defined her.

Sam’s struggle with Azazel was shorter. Sam was thrown but regained his feet in an instant, charging Azazel. No fatigue touched him. The hunt for that demon had defined his childhood and cast a pall over his adulthood. And now at the end Sam had no space left in him for any more words or mercy in that story. He simply ended it. When the knife drove home, Sam watched the yellow fade from the eyes with mute satisfaction.

But Dean saw little of either fight. The full weight of his attention lay on the fight in front of him.

Winds whipped up, creating a swirling vortex of clouds far above the heads of Chuck and Jack. Cas and Sam staggered in the maelstrom but it did little to touch Dean. He passed through it as through a mist. Bolts of lightning shot down from the sky, striking Jack, but with a ragged war cry and a flick of his hand, they vanished. His eyes glowed a brilliant gold and Chuck staggered as Jack thrust his hand forward. In that same moment, Dean pointed and at his insistence a chain appeared, invisible save for a colorless distortion where the light struck it, binding Chuck’s arm to the ground. Jack launched another attack and with a gesture Dean manifested another chain, binding Chuck’s other arm.

Slowly the chains pulled tighter, forcing Chuck to his knees. Still the torrent raged around them and both Dean and Jack bore the signs of strain. Sweat streaked Jack’s brow, and Dean’s hand trembled slightly as he held it, both of them breathed heavily. There was a blink and everything went quiet for the three of them. The storm formed around them like a wall, grey and swirling, pulsing with bursts of lightning, impossible to see through, yet silent, as if they had been sealed away from the rest of the world. When he spoke, Chuck’s voice was deceptively calm.

“You can’t do this, Dean. You know you can’t.”

“People have been telling me what I can’t do my whole life, and I always seem to be proving them wrong.”

“Even if you win, even if you do kill me, what then?”

“Sam and Cas go back to their lives, Jack takes over running things up above, and we finally start to fix this world you broke.”

“You really think that’s how this is gonna go?”

Before Dean or Jack could reply the wall of storm behind Chuck cleared, like a window or a projection, revealing a view of Sam and Cas, both crying out in agony though the sound did not reach inside the vortex. Blood ran from their mouths and they dropped to the ground, the grass beneath them staining red. Dean pried his eyes away from the grisly scene, unsure whether it was real or not.

“I end you and that ends.”

“It won’t be any better Dean. The world will still be broken. There will still be monsters, and evil and people making all the worst choices. Except, without me wanting a good story, who’s to say that the good guy wins sometimes? And what keeps you from your destiny? Sooner or later, your fate will catch up with you.”

All around Dean the storm lit up with images from his past. Sam’s body dropping into his arms in the ghost town at Cold Oak. Sam shot in the chest by Walt. Sam dragged away by a nest of vamps in the other universe. Sam half dead from enduring the Trials. Sam falling into the Cage. Sam shot. Sam stabbed. Sam clawed, and bitten, and bludgeoned. And flashing by among all of these were dozens of what he could only assume were alternate visions of the future-- each one of Sam dying. Some bloody, some desperate, some drenched in fear. In each one, Dean standing over the twisted, broken body of his brother, his own eyes empty of humanity. Echoing over it all were a dozen different voices from Dean’s past, each repeating some variant of the same prophecy: you’ll have to kill Sam.

Chuck spoke again, softly. “You’ll kill Sam. Jack will kill Cas. And your humanity will die with them and then the two of you will be alone. For eternity. But it doesn’t have to be that way. I can prevent that. I can change your fates. Let you two live the life you want with your family. I’m the only one who can change that.”

A note in his plea startled Dean from his stupor. He looked down at Chuck and thought how small he looked. Dean readjusted his hold on Chuck’s chains and took a half step closer, leaning in almost imperceptibly. He smiled, but it did not reach his eyes.

“You know, Chuck… I’ve been a hunter long enough to recognize a demon deal when I hear it.”

The feigned sympathy and mercy vanished from Chuck’s eyes, replaced by hate and fear.

Dean straightened up. His hold on Chuck’s chains was stronger now. His voice was bolder. “Maybe I do have a destiny. But if it it’s there, it is what it is because of who I am, and the choices I make. And I believe in who I am.”

With a sweeping motion of the arm, Dean summoned his scythe. For one moment more he hesitated. “Fate’s a funny thing. Maybe it will come true. I’ll be with Sam until the end. Maybe my fate is that one day I’ll reap him. Seems likely. After all, I am Death. Sooner or later, everyone dies at my hands. Even you.”

At Dean’s nod, Jack let loose a primal scream. A wave of golden energy burst from the boy’s outstretched arms. The wave collided with Chuck in the precise instant that Dean’s scythe pierced his chest. Light exploded throughout the ragged little Kansas cemetery, bringing down the wall of storm, spinning a blinding tapestry explosion of stark white and brilliant gold, with a black core. And then there was quiet.

   They filled the bunker with people. Eileen and Jody and Donna and the girls and Bobby and Charlie and Garth and a dozen others, young and old. And they celebrated. Food, drinks, music, laughter, and a sense of victory more complete than anything they had known before.

Amid the old friends, Jack mingled as easily as he ever had. There was something sweet and simple and kind about the boy’s companionship that no amount of power could change. He was friend and son and younger brother to all of them despite his recent deification. All their eyes shone with pride as he recounted his ultimate battle. All of them knew, but none of them truly grasped what it meant for Jack. How could they comprehend trading jokes with the new ruler of the universe?

It was not the same case for Dean. They had all heard of his death months earlier, had all mourned, so they were overjoyed at his return. But like Sam, they all instantly sensed that he was changed. Far more changed than Jack was. Their ease grew with each passing moment, realizing that he was still Dean. His jokes were the same, his laugh as ready as ever, his smile just as warm. So before long, their time with him felt almost as natural as it had before. Almost.

There was still a barrier that they couldn’t surmount. A distance. Dean was no longer alive as he had been, and he belonged to another world now. He had become more, and in that there was a loss of that rough equality between them. The power, the understanding, the authority—they call suited Dean. But he had grown beyond an easy fit with his old life. So as the party wore on, Dean slipped into the kitchen on his own.

Sam found him there sometime later, a beer in his hand and an empty pie plate beside him. Dean looked up to greet him and smiled quietly. The muffled sounds of the party provided a soft backdrop.  Sam sat down across from Dean. For a while neither spoke.

It was Sam who broke the quiet first. “It’s never gonna be the same is it?”

Dean shook his head. “No. But it’s good. Jack is the new God. He made Cas an archangel. Heaven’s in good hands. Rowena’s got Hell under her thumb. Things are maybe better than they’ve ever been for us. “

“But you’re not really back are you? You’re Death now. And you have to do that job. I feel like I’m losing you all over you again.”

“Come on, man. I’m not gone. Sure I won’t be here as much. You won’t see me every day. But you ain’t gettin’ rid of me that easy. I’ll be around. As often as I can.”

“How often will that be?”

“Well, I’m not alone in it. I’ve got Billie helping me. With a partner, I figure it doesn’t have to be a 24/7 gig.”

“You still won’t be here. Not like before.”

“No.”

“It’s just that Jack and Cas are going to be in Heaven. You’ll be off… wherever Death goes.”

“I have a library.”

“Right. And I’m just wondering… what do I do all alone in this big empty bunker?”

“Well first of all, it’s not empty. You’ve got Eileen. And it only stays empty if you want it to. Come on, Sam, you know what you’re supposed to do.”

Sam scowled. “Ar-are you saying I should have kids?”

“No! I mean if you want to, but that’s not what I’m talking about.” He leaned in, confidentially, comfortably. “The Men of Letters, both British and American, the hunters from Apocalypse World, you’ve been dancing around this for years.”

“You think I should try it again.”

“An organization of hunters. Based out of here. Led by you.”

“I don’t know. It didn’t exactly turn out well before.”

“Yeah because ancient demons and rogue archangels were out to get us. But now. Now you have the world’s largest collection of lore. You have more experience than anyone. And your family is, hands down the most powerful family in the universe. It’s the perfect time, and you’re the perfect person to do it.”

The absolute faith conveyed in Dean’s voice was hard to stand against. Sam nodded slowly, his thoughts spinning with new possibilities. It was true; the thought had been with him for years. With the small push from Dean he could see it all falling into line. A nationwide network of hunters. Unified, organized, supported. Protecting each other, saving people. A brotherhood. “All the best of both hunters and the Men of Letters.”

“And with all of those salty hunters in there to help you? Trust me, half of the hunters in this country would sign on with you today if you asked. And hey, if anyone gives you any trouble, you just tell them that you raised God, and your big brother is Death.”

Sam laughed. “Sure. I’ll do that.”

“Ah. Speaking of that.” Dean reached into his pocket and pulled something out. Opening his hand he revealed three silver rings. The engraving on each one matched the markings on Dean’s ring, but they were simple bands, each without a stone.  Dean plucked one out and set it on the table between him and Sam. “That one’s yours.”

“What is this?”

Dean returned the other two rings to his pocket and sat studying his own ring. “Think of this like a signet ring. Or whatever they were called. You’d have a king and if he gave his ring to someone it meant that that person was under his protection or it showed that the king trusted him with authority or both.”

Under Death’s protection. Sam lifted the ring off the table tentatively. “What does it do?”

“As long as you’re wearing it, you’re very hard to kill. Not immortal. It won’t hold up to something like the Colt or an archangel. But short of that…” Dean shrugged. “Ground rules: only you can take it off once you put it on. You’ll still age. You’ll still die one day. And it was made for you, so you’re the only one it works for. Giving it away won’t do anyone any good. So don’t even think about handing it off to the first person who makes puppy dog eyes at you.”

“How did you-“ Sam stammered. The ring felt cold and heavy in his hand.

“Billie helped me make them. But it uh- involves a lot of pulled strings and loopholes and making exceptions. So in light of the bigger picture of all things, it’s really something I can only pull off for these three rings.”

Sam glanced at the pocket the other two rings had gone into. “And those-“

“Require another trip to deliver them.”

Sam didn’t press. His eyes were locked back onto the ring in his hand. “I don’t know if I can.”

“Sammy, listen to me. The only way I can do this, the only way I can go off and do what I have to do, is if I know that I can still have your back. If I know that you’re safe. The rest of the universe comes second to making sure that my little brother is taken care of.”

Of course he meant it. Dean’s life had been a one long series of acts proving how much he would throw away to keep his brother safe. Sam slid the ring onto his finger, and Dean gave a relieved smile. He leaned back again, his task accomplished. “And I mean it Sam, you need me, you call. I’ll be there.”

They sat there for several hours more. Sometimes in silence. Sometimes trading stories. Sometimes dreaming of the future—Dean’s new role, Sam’s hunters, all the changes Jack and Cas would make to Heaven. The boundary Dean had felt between him and the friends in the other room was not there with Sam. Sam was no stranger to Death. They were just brothers.

So they sat with each other until some sixth sense told them the sun was beginning to rise, and Dean stood up to leave.

Sam trailed his brother outside. Baby sat waiting on the side of the road. Sam’s eyes traveled over the car fondly, before he scoffed slightly and smiled at Dean. “You know, Death’s supposed to have a pale horse.”

Dean grinned as he swung the door open and leaned on the roof. “Nobody’s touching my car.”

They lingered.

Sam shook himself. “Well. We’ve got work to do.”

Dean nodded. “See you soon, Sammy.”

He got into the car and started the engine, reveling in its familiar growl. The rocks crunched beneath the wheels as the car turned onto the open highway.

In a moment, Sam knew he would go back down into the bunker, back to Eileen and his friends, and he would begin the next chapter of his life. But for a while longer he stood and watched the Impala drive away, listening to the fading purr of the engine. And Dean watched Sam in the rearview mirror for as long as he could, even as he cranked the volume up and sang along as loud as he could to the music spilling out of the car and onto the never-ending road.