#I was indulging with her and Horror when I saw your notification

[erineas]

!!! Look at herrrr, so cute and tinyyyy!! I can'ttttt 🥺💕

@erineas as a bitty

Based off this post https://www.tumblr.com/erineas/726866403381084160/tried-those-neka-maker-for-myself-and-didnt

[bitchassbucky]

.zip

Word Count: 2k

Warning/s: toxic/abusive relationship dynamics, gaslighting and manipulation, abduction, injuries were mentioned, stalking, dark!bucky x dark!reader, emotionally/mentally unstable!reader, dismemberment (not gore-y but still), three very special character mentions, shady corporate stuff, career sabotage?, food mention, sedation/drugging, f-words.

A/N: oh my god, this is the final chapter of CTRL. to all who read from the start, thank y'all so fucking much - from the bottom of my big-ass heart, thank you so much for coming along with this journey. this is my first FINISHED series, oh my god. to @babyboibucky (CTRL's number one fan), @sarge-barnes-sir, and @borikenlove thank you so much for indulging my inner degenerate GHJSDFG and for screaming (affectionately) at me when i first let y'all read the finished draft.

BUT THIS IS NOT THE END (just yet), i will be uploading TWO epilogues very soon: the explicit version and the not-so-explicit version. stay tuned!

follow the CTRL series:

i - .exe

ii - .avi

iii - .raw

iv - .png

v - .zip

epilogue:

.eps (explicit)

.eps (cut)

CTRL playlist CTRL moodboard

Your demeanor, character, even tone, changed.

Calculated, cold, unnerving.

But you sat there like a housewife in front of her husband, eating spaghetti and meatballs. Acting all dandy like there isn’t a man strapped onto the chair four feet away from you.

��C’mon, darling, eat! I made your favorite,” your eyes twinkled as Bucky helplessly tugged on his restraints, “oh, sorry, you’re tied up.”

Hm, sick in the head, bad for the heart.

“What do you want?” Oh, wow, even talking hurts for him. His throat is all dried up, he tasted something bitter under his tongue.

You chuckled, moving half a meatball around your mostly empty plate, “for you to stop treating me like I’m stupid.” You spear the meat with your fork, swirling it in the sauce, “I know you’ve been… checking in on me, Bucky.”

Oh, fuck.

“Look, I’m sorry, okay? I was-- I mean, look at you--” He’s making it worse. You’re mad. You’re angry because he was being a good friend.

He only did that because you were lonely and he’s right: you are lonely.

So lonely that you’re willing to kidnap a grown man to keep you company, “I’m so sad for you.”

“You’re aware you’re the one’s been tied up, right?” You’re curt as you should be, scooting over near Bucky to feed him.

“I can’t eat that—” If he wasn’t sitting down and tied, Bucky would’ve vaulted over you and called the neighbors, she’s fucking crazy!

You giggled, rolling your eyes as if he had the freedom to make a choice right now, “if you’re thinking of screaming… More than half of my neighbors are felons or on parole, I doubt that they’ll call 911.”

Jutting forward the fork, you let the prongs gently touch Bucky’s lips, “now, eat! We have so much to talk about.”

“No. I don’t-- I’m not hungry.” He shakes his head, the fork hitting his chin and clanking down the floor.

“Just eat the fucking food, Steve!”

Bucky flinched at your sudden outburst. The words—the name—seeping in a moment later. Steve? Who the hell is Steve? Was he your husband? Boyfriend? His head throbbed again, his mouth filling with saliva like he’s about to throw up.

You kneel down, pulling a napkin from the table to wipe the meat and the sauce from the floor.

“This better not stain.”

—

He promised thrice.

Once over pasta and meatballs, once over dessert, and once when you were clearing the table.

You relented, of course. Half because you love him and half because it’s getting annoying.

“As long as you don’t leave me, okay?”

“Yes, I promise. I won’t leave you.”

Bucky’s still seating on the dinner chair, slightly slumped without the ropes holding him up, “look, I’m really sorry about the anesthetic, I went overboard with it.” You look over to him—at least he’s regaining his fingers and arms again.

“It’s okay, babe, I wouldn’t trust me either.” If he could stand up, he’d go over and hug you. Helping with the dishes, peppering you with sweet kisses.

A genuine laugh slips out of your lips, “ugh, still… I’m really sorry.”

The last of the plates were neatly stacked, cups and cutleries were placed gently on a drying rack. It was getting late, you could tell.

“I’m not mad, by the way.” You muse, prompting Bucky to lean forward, listening to you.

“What do you mean?” He takes your hand into his, ever so gently.

“You did that,” you squeeze his hand back, gazing into his soulful eyes, “because you love me.”

Did you know that some people could read microexpressions well? Bucky went through a whole lot of them before answering, “of course, I do.”

Contemplating whether you call him out on it or not, you hum, placing a gentle hand on his jaw, “it’s okay, you’ll learn how to love me.”

He has to. He has no other choice.

Bucky clears his throat, “have you seen my phone?” His tone was hopeful, upbeat, maybe he can reach out to someone, anyone, before you can do any more damage.

“Yeah, ‘s on the couch.”

He tried to move, he really did. Bucky’s fairly strong, he can bench an easy 140 on a good day. But even the beefiest motherfuckers have no match for Propofol.

“Don’t worry about your friends, they’re not worried about you, Buck.” The coolness of your tone sends Bucky into a panic—again. “D’you wanna check your messages though? There’s a lot of ‘em.”

Grabbing his phone, you asked Siri to read him his latest notifications.

Urgent: Notice of Immediate Termination

From Joaquin: Where are you, man?

From John W.: Do you have copies?

Urgent: Notice of Immediate Termination

Urgent: Gross Misconduct

From Joaquin: Bucky, what the fuck?

From Samuel Wilson: Pick up the phone, Barnes. You’re fired.

17 missed calls from an unknown number

From John W.: I knew you were a freak but holy shit, dude!

72 text messages from an unknown number

Bucky never really liked horror movies. It made him jumpy and anxious. Too paranoid, even. But now? Now he’s sure that people have never experienced sheer fright before.

His toes cramped inside his boots, his feet were cold, sweating. The little hairs on his legs stood up, goosebumps littering the entirety of his body. If he held his breath, he’s sure he could hear his heart hammering out of his chest. The blood rushes past his ears and onto the base of his skull—he’s gonna be sick.

“What,” he gulped back the saliva pooling in his mouth, “what did you do?”

You’re irritatingly calm, “well, I mean… We’re already together, what do you need those for, right?”

Putting a warm hand over his forehead, you cooed, “poor thing, you look sick.”

—

Bucky thinks it’s well past midnight when the anesthetic wore off.

His limbs were heavy, he had to lean on the wall every couple of steps to regain his balance. Helpless. He’s helpless and you both know it. As if it’s a bear trap, Bucky carefully took his phone from the coffee table.

Why would you leave it unattended?

The screen lights up as soon as he picked up, his lock screen littered with ‘fuck yous’, ‘sicko’, and his personal favorite, ‘motherfucker.’

Ignoring the glaring messages, he went straight for the emergency dialler and—you took out his SIM card, snapping it into two neat pieces, placing it beside the phone.

Bitch.

The golden surface of the card was scratched too, he can’t do anything, use it as a toothpick, maybe? His phone was just as good as a paperweight.

He looks out of the window, limping towards it. Even if he could climb over, it would take him forever to get onto the street. Your neighbors would probably think that he’s just on a bad trip.

“It’s bolted shut. Perks of living alone as a single female.” Your voice made him flinch back, like a kid whose hand was halfway down the cookie jar.

Bucky plays it off with a cough, he can’t be weak now, “no, babe, I was checking out a noise. You ready for bed?”

You smiled softly, taking his hand and draping his arm on your shoulders as you prop him against you, “almost, big guy. Gotta get you settled in bed first. Are you tired?”

Nodding, Bucky kisses your temple, “yeah.” He just needs to play with your sick little games until he regains his strength.

Where would he go? His reputation and his job are besmirched, his apartment is probably crawling with forensics too.

“You fell down and banged your head earlier. Nasty cut on your head too. I told you to not tire yourself much.”

You hit and drugged me but I digress, “Yes, darling. ‘M sorry.”

“You scared me, Buck. I thought you were dead.” Are these tears forming in your eyes?

“I’m not leaving you, not by any chance. I promise.”

He promises a fourth time.

—

Your bedroom was bigger than he thought. But of course, he only saw your desk and your bed through the webcam.

Save from the Ted Bundy-esque corkboard you have in front of your workspace, he feels weirdly at home. You tucked him in, reminding him to wake up every two hours for the painkillers.

“You’re not going to bed?” He muses from behind you, all cocooned in your blankets.

“Just need to take this phone call real quick, babe.” Your back was turned from him as you work on your company laptop. He noticed that the webcam is covered with white tape.

The sound of an incoming call filled the room before you quickly answer it, your voice turning hoarse and raspy as if you’ve been crying.

Hi, Mr. Wilson. I’m so sorry for the late call. Do I- do I need to come in tomorrow? I just... I don’t feel comfortable facing everyone—I used all my home hours this week and—

Miss L/N, I’m glad you reached out to me. Is it okay if I record this call for security purposes? It’s just for you, me, and the HR department.

You turned to Bucky, your face is stone-cold but your voice belonged to someone so utterly helpless.

No, you don’t have to call into work tomorrow… Or any other day.

A dainty gasp and a fucking sob comes out of your mouth, your eyes were telling a different story.

Am I fired?

God, no. Please, Miss L/N, don’t worry about that. We want you with us through this entire debacle. We want you to take some time off—paid. We’ll also grant you… a grievance package.

You could almost hear what he would say next.

As long as you don’t talk to any members of the press or any journalists until our friends in the PR department can clean this up.

A triumphant smile creeps on your bare features, putting a finger in front of your lips, you mimic a ‘shh’ gesture to Bucky.

You round up another mirthless sob as the CEO drones on about the bureaucracy of this whole thing.

He was really nice to me, you know? He took me out on dinners and lunches. He even brought me to his place and I– nothing happened but I can’t stop thinking about it.

I’m really sorry, Miss L/N. I thought he was…

A good guy? I really thought so too.

Please stay offline for a bit, just for the weekend, alright? Someone from the HR department will be in touch with you for the process. We don’t wanna be a hassle more than what Barnes is. On our behalf, please accept our deepest apologies.

Jesus, this guy had the PR department cook up an apology letter.

Thank you—thank you so much, Mr. Wilson. I’ll keep in touch.

You burst out in laughter a second after the call ended. Hearty laughter, the one where you can feel your belly tightening.

“Did you hear how good I was, baby? Oh my god, we had them fooled.”

We? Fuck your ‘we.’

You slide over the covers, propping up yourself with your elbow as you turn to face Bucky, “don’t worry, you don’t need them anymore. You have me, yeah? We have each other.”

—

Out of the most bizarre things that happened to him last week, finding dismembered fingers in the fridge was the least of his concerns.

“Honey!” Bucky calls out, holding the ziplock bag with a pair of tongs.

You bound down the stairs, your laptop in hand as you squint, “what am I looking at?”

Bucky hesitated, maybe he’s going insane too, “fingers. Dismembered fingers—are these yours?”

Setting down the laptop onto the table, you peck him on the cheek, smiling as if him holding a baggie with human remains is just your Sunday normal, “god, I hope not. I need my hands to do things.”

As soon as you look back at him, you dropped the facade: “those are Steve’s. Well, used to be.”

Bucky’s afraid to ask the question where’s the rest of him?

“You know the term pinky promise, right? Well, it has a dark origin.”

Just as fast as a bustling train, Bucky rakes his brain for all the times he promised you something. Hoping that he won’t end up with a stump for a hand.

One vividly bright memory is seared into his brain though, the days blurred together with sharp edges and mismatched colors: we love how we were taught to love.

So, who taught you how to love like this?

[sprnklersplashes]

heart of stone (20/?)

AO3

Janis shifts a little on the armchair, giving Maddie more room in her lap and giving herself more space to breathe. They’re sharing one chair in the lounge, Maddie pressed against her chest and her arms around her waist, their eyes on the TV in front of them. Janis had almost forgotten about early afternoon cartoons, or had at the very least believed they were a part of her life she’d never revisit, but she walked in on some of the other kids watching them in and she’s happy to say they have the same effect on her eighteen year old self as they did her ten year old self. Even if she does constantly need them explained to her but hey, she’s old now. She has the sleep schedule to prove it.

“I wish they’d let us watch Netflix in here,” Maddie sighs. “They say we’re not allowed it because too many people would be taking advantage of it, and that since it’s a private company we can’t watch it on a public TV.” She leans her head against Janis’s shoulder. “And because they think we’ll watch age inappropriate stuff on it.”

“That’s a valid concern,” Janis tells her. “Because I just know you watched Insidious last week and then lied to your mother about it.” She squeezes Maddie around the waist, eliciting giggles from the younger girl. “Don’t even try to deny it. Besides, cartoons are more fun than horror movies.”

Maddie hums and doesn’t deny it nor does she disagree, her feet swinging innocently on the side of the chair. Janis rests her cheek against her head, the beanies and scarf gone today. It isn’t-or rather it shouldn’t be-something unusual. While it isn’t exactly common, she’s seen a few people around the ward hatless. Not like they have anywhere to go. Janis is just still getting used to this part, and wearing a hat every day is one hurdle. She supposes she’ll jump that one when-and if-she comes to it.

She heads back to her room a little later-the good cartoons are over and most people, including her, have rounds scheduled pretty soon. She wants back arm-in-arm with Maddie, a gesture she hasn’t taken since her middle school days. There’s a lot she loves about her new friendship with Maddie-it’s probably as close to having a younger sister as she is ever going to get-and one of the best parts of it is how she can fully indulge the inner 13 year old that still lives inside her. She hadn’t realised how fun letting that part of her out would be.

She throws herself down on the bed with some amount of grace when she gets in, twisting roughly onto her back and reaching for her phone with one hand while blindly getting a rice cake out of the packet with the other. She waits while the various social media apps alert her to new notifications-a celebrity posted on Instagram, someone liked her tweet, she’s gotten another anonymous message on Tumblr… the usual stuff, basically. She scrolls through idly, just about to all down the rabbit hole until-

“Janis!”    

“Never mind,” she sighs. When she switches off her phone, her mom is at the foot of her bed, her door still slightly open and her eyes glittering. Janis would simply offer a raised eyebrow and a dry remark, were it not for the two at her mom’s side, a man and a woman a few years younger than her mom, both dressed in white polo shirts and jeans. They give off slight camp counsellor vibes in those outfits. The man carries a cardboard box under his arm, stamped with black crowns, and they have the same soft yet ecstatic grin that the Cancer Centre people do.

“Uh… Hi?” she says, sitting up. She half-raises her arm into a wave. “I’m Janis?”

“Is this a bad time?” The girl asks in a low voice, and it’s not clear whether she’s talking to her or her mom. Any feelings of fatigue or lazy desires are chased away in an instant, and Janis sits up taller and raises her chin, her own smile plastered across her face. Just a hint of spite, enough to get her message across.

“Not at all,” she says, and she slides her phone into her pocket. “What’s up?”

“Oh well, we’re from the Rapunzel Foundation,” the man explains. Janis blinks for a second, and then

“The wig people,” she says.

“For convenience’s sake, you could say that” he replies and Janis’ eyes immediately fall to the box in his hand. It’s not overly big, but then it really wouldn’t need to be.

“Oh,” is all she can say. She swings her legs around the side of the bed and stands up, her hands shoved in her pockets. “Um… so I take it you… have it?” She shakes her head, huffing a laugh in the otherwise awkward pause. “Sorry, this is coming off like we’re in a drug trade.”  

“It’s fine, Janis,” he says. “But yes, we have your wig all ready for you. Well, wigs. We actually have a few you can look at.”

“Cool,” she mutters. He lifts the box, tilting it towards her, and it takes a second for her to nod. She slides back against the wall and wraps her arms around herself, taking a millisecond to check out her mom’s expression. She’s grinning like a mad woman; she thinks the last time she saw her mom that excited was at her last art show. She can’t blame her, she guesses, because it’s a big thing, isn’t it? After weeks of beanies, this is at least something new.

“Now we couldn’t get one that looked exactly like your hair before,” the girl explains. “You had a bit of a unique hairstyle.”

“Inimitable, that was the idea,” she says.

“And we aren’t allowed to dye these wigs for safety reasons,” she goes on. “But… we did make up a few others. Here, take a look.” Janis looks down and finds three wigs laid out on her bed. Her first thought is that they’re scarily realistic. They would be after all; they’re all made of real human hair. That’s why Regina now has a bob despite swearing to her once she’d never do that.

Then comes the terrifying thought-holy crap what if one of these is made from Regina’s hair?

Being bald might be better than wearing Regina’s hair. Scratch that, definitely would be.

She shakes her head. These wigs are darker than Regina’s hair; each one deep black to her brown, and she breathes. Her natural colour. One is long, curling slightly at the bottom. Kind of a Morticia Addams style, she thinks, and the corner of her mouth quirks up. The second is similar, albeit shorter and with side bangs, and then finally one that would reach to her shoulders, or just above, more waves than the first one. She remembers way, way back in middle school, before Regina talked her into another stupid decision. When her hair was dark black and held by sparkly silver hair pins.

“Can I try that one?” she asks, pointing at the third one.

She pulls up one of the visitors’ chairs, two pillows stuffed beneath her to reach the mirror, while the man-Anthony, she corrects-holds the wig behind her and brushes it out. It falls softly against his hand and her own itches to run her fingers through it. But her heart is in her mouth at the same time, and she has no idea why. She thought, when they first told her about getting the wig, that she’d be jumping at the chance. That she wouldn’t have the small but still present urge to tell them to pack it up and go.

“You ready?” Antony asks.

She closes her eyes and nods.

It’s heavier than she thought it would be. Antony’s fingers run along her face as he settles it and she fights the urge to flinch. She’s not good with this sort of contact at the best of times. He plays around with it a bit more, fluffing it and swishing it and who knows what else, as her fingers fidget on the arms of the chair.

“You can open your eyes now.”

When she does, the gasp escapes her mouth before she can stop herself. In the refection, she watches as she reaches up and fidgets with the stands that stop, as she thought, just above her shoulders. She looks at it for a long time, trying to work out how it looks. If it looks real or not.

“I look-”

She doesn’t want to say normal. It’s the closest word she can find to it and yet doesn’t want to say it. Luckily, her mom is there.

“You look like Veronica.”

“Oh no I don’t,” she sighs. “I do not look like Veronica.”  

“Sorry, who’s Veronica?” the girl asks.

“My younger sister,” her mom explains. “Janis’ aunt.”

“Who everyone swears up and down I look exactly like,” she adds. “And I do not.” Janis leans back in the chair and twirls the end strand round her finger. “I look good though.”  

“So does that mean you’ll take this one?” the girl asks. “You can still try on the others if you want.”

“It’s fine,” Janis replies. She nods, a little to them, a little to her mom and a little to herself. “This is it. This is the one.”

She doesn’t really leave her room for the next few hours. Or the chair either, for that matter. The only serious move she makes is when she realises her nurse is coming in five minutes and that sitting staring intensely at a mirror is probably not a good way to greet her. She feels strangely self-conscious when the walks in, like the elephant in the room is doing cartwheels on top of her head. She taps her feet on the floor, waiting for the acknowledgement that never comes. She wonders if nurses often do comment on people’s wigs, or if that’s strictly a no-go area.

“Mom?” she eventually asks, a barely-eaten sandwich sitting in her lap and her IV neatly tucked in the corner. “Is this weird?”

“Is what weird?”

“This. Me sitting in front of the mirror all day.” She shrugs and takes a bite out of her sandwich. “I mean… you have to find it weird. I find it weird and I’m the one doing it.”

“Not at all,” she says, and then she breaks out into a grin. “You do look good, Janis. It’s a great wig.”

“Yeah.”    

“And… it’s a bit of a change, isn’t it?” her mom adds. “I suppose it takes some getting used to.”

Janis nods again. To say it’s a bit of a change is an understatement. This morning, it was patently obvious what was wrong with her. Now, while she’s still stick-thin and alarmingly pale and sitting in her pyjamas, she looks healthier. That’s the word she’ll replace normal with, she tells herself. She doesn’t look sick, or at least not really. Not that sick.

Should she be this happy about it? Surely it’s a good thing, right?

“Mom I need you to promise me something,” she says.

“Anything.” There’s a serious tone to her mom’s voice that she shouldn’t find funny but does.

“If I am still sitting here an hour later, smash my head into this mirror,” she jokes. She takes another bite of her sandwich and brushes crumbs out of her wig. She hasn’t done that in weeks, she realises, and while it’s a stupid, tiny thing it, it excites her. The thrill sparks deep inside her chest and makes a laugh bubble out of her mouth. “Or maybe give me an hour and a half,” she adds.

                                                                                               *****

She FaceTimes Cady later that night and there’s no lying about her intention. It’s the same logic as Cady sending her a selfie of the cute shirt she just bought. There’s no harm in showing off.  Especially after she already spent most of today showing it off to her hospital friends. Melissa was polite enough about it, calling it pretty and commenting on how it doesn’t look like her hair from beforehand. But her words are short and carefully chosen, and Janis has to stop herself from staring at Melissa’s hair the whole time. Her real hair that hasn’t fallen out yet. She’s not jealous of her, it’s stupid to be jealous in circumstances like this, but she can’t help but feel awkward about it. Still, Melissa grins at her when she puts it on and pokes her in the stomach, telling her she looks “hot” and even comparing her to Winona Ryder’s 1980s years.

“Now that’s a compliment,” Janis had told her.

Maddie on the other hand is much more animated, stroking it with a careful hand and wide eyes which dart to the hairbrush on the bed three times before Janis takes the hint and hands it to her. She’s a little unsure about it really, but it’s sitting on a stand on the end of the bed and what harm can one little girl do to it? Especially when the one little girl is Maddie.

She checks herself in the camera once more, telling herself it’s the last time. She pulls it down just a little bit only to shift it back again. It sits comfortably on her head, the dark strands falling into her view when she bends down and the bangs ruffling when she blows up. She spent more time than she cares to admit sitting on her bed blowing them earlier today.

“You really need a hobby,” she tells herself, out loud, before she hits the call button. As she waits, she taps her fingers on the mattress and finds herself suddenly aware of the sketchbooks she slid under her bed. She told herself she needs a hobby, but doesn’t she kind of already have one? Or rather, she had one. When was the last time she picked one of her books up? A cold feeling settles in her stomach. Sometimes her life here can get pretty busy, but she was also kept busy outside of here and she always made time to draw.

“Janis!” Cady replies, pulling her out of her thoughts. The audio cracks and crickles as they move through their house, the picture freezing and jumping. “Hey, what’s up, sorry I was downstairs.”

“No, it’s fine,” Janis replies. “Not interrupting anything, am I?”

“Oh, no, of course not,” they say. “Not I was just doing homework at the table. I just got in from tutoring a half an hour ago and I couldn’t be bothered walking all the way upstairs.” The wall behind them turns from dirty white to baby blue, and Cady’s bedroom door with a hundred jackets hanging on it closes behind them. “Okay, so what’s-woah.” Their eyes go wide, and Janis chuckles. “That’s new.”

“Yeah, it is,” Janis replies, pushing her hair away from her face. “I hope you’re talking about the wig and nothing else. Although it would be remiss of you not to notice the new lights around my bed.”

“I’ve noticed the lights. I suggested the lights,” Cady says. They flops down onto their bed, one knee tucked up against them and their chin resting on it. Their smile slowly stretches across their face. “You look good, it looks good. When did it happen?”

“Only today,” she says. “Which is weird because I was told about it a while back. You know it was made from real human hair.”

“Cool,” they breathe. “So is that… is that what your hair was like before you dyed it and shaved it and… did all that to it?”

“All that,” she replies. “You sound like my Catholic grandma.” She ruffles her wig and lets the hair land on her face. “But yeah. If we had met in middle school… pre-Regina, obviously… I would have looked like this.”

“Wow,” they whisper. “Imagine we had. You and me meeting in middle school. You’d have hated me.”

“You’d have hated me,” she replies. “I was Plastic, remember? Or at least, I was baby plastic. And I had some really embarrassing obsessions at that time. Had we been really good friends, I’d have forced you to come to Hot Topic with me.”

“Well thank goodness you’ve outgrown that,” Cady says dryly. They laugh, but then Janis imagines it, a much-younger her with a much-younger Cady, both more innocent in some ways, less interested in high school cliques. It might be pointless fantasizing about it, but it’s fun all the same. “It looks gorgeous Janis. Really. I’m happy for you.”

“Thank you.” Her cheeks turn pink and warm as she rests her face on her fist. “So how was school?”

“Oh, fine,” they reply. “I’ve… dropped some of my tutoring subjects. Today was my last day with little Ruby.”

“Oh no,” Janis says. “Um… why was that?”

“Well, if you want a visual.” The camera tilts and dips as she gets up, and for a second freezes on her halfway extended past it, before it jumps and she’s holding a piece of paper in front of it, practically covered in black pen and coloured marker. It hurts Janis’ head just to look at. “This is my schedule pre-cancellations.” They switch pages, now showing her a much cleaner page, more plain white blocks. When she looks closer and the camera focuses, she sees ‘free time’ written on them in lilac. “This is my schedule now.”

“Ah, I see,” Janis says. “You pencilled in some free time.”

“I was drowning,” they sigh dramatically, throwing their head back, tossing their hair and waving their arm for the full effect. “Now I’m just floating. Instead of being significantly more stressed than the average senior, I’m just normal stressed.”

“Aw good for you my little stressed fish,” Janis jokes, leaning forwards on her elbow and cupping her chin. “So? Stress huh?”

“So much stress,” they reply. “I just… no I’m coping.” They shake their head and Janis bets there’s a hundred, if not a thousand, invisible formulae and equations dancing in front of Cady’s eyes. “Once I get to winter break, then I’ll be good to go. And then I can direct much more of my attention to you babe.”

“Good, because I’m feeling real attention deprived over here,” she replies, only for the smile on Cady’s face to drop slightly. “Okay, no I’m not. Although having said that, my mom is starting to ease up on me and it’s a little weird. She hasn’t checked in on me in twenty minutes. I think she may be dead.”

“That sounds like a record,” Cady replies. “Oh! Speaking of records, guess what?”

“Um… you just broke the record for whoever can make their girlfriend jump the highest?”

“No,” they reply. “So the Mathletes and I have our first tournament coming up! We qualified for state championships and our first contest is on December 14th. It’s against the Saint Paul’s team.”

“Ah. The private school,” Janis replies, wrinkling her nose. While the main rivalry has and always will be between North Shore and Merrymount, there’s always been a lingering disdain for the private schools they compete against. “Make sure you kick them right in their plaid skirt covered asses. Also how did you get that from records?”

“Well, breaking records is like a contest, right?” they reason. “And I plan on setting the ‘record’ for the Mathlete captain with the most wins under their belt.” They grin then, and there’s a wicked gleam in their eye that while Janis loves, she finds it just a little bit unsettling. “Starting with those spoiled little rich kids.”    

“Oh this competitive streak of yours is so hot,” she whispers, winding a lock of hair around her fingers. It’s almost silky smooth against her skin and out of nowhere she wonders; had her hair beforehand ever felt like this? Her eyes widen as she realises she can’t remember. It hasn’t been that long in the scheme of things since she lost her hair, she just never paid attention. Why would she? Not like she could have seen this coming. If she had, would she have taken more notice? Would she have stopped taking it for granted? Stopped overthinking the way she looks? She supposes she can put those questions to bed now that she has this.

“Uh… Janis? Earth to Janis!”

“Woah, yeah, hi,” she says. She straightens herself up, her back squarely against the bed board, and shakes her head. “Sorry, um, went down the rabbit hole for a minute.”

“See anything nice down there?” Cady smiles, and their tone is light with a slightly sarcastic edge, but even with the poor quality video, Janis can see the worry around her eyes.

“No white rabbits, no mad tea parties either,” she mutters. “Beginning to think there was some false advertising going on.”

“Take that up with Disney,” Cady says dryly. “They lied to you.”

They talk for a bit more, about stupid, meaningless stuff like school and math and Maxie (that last one isn’t so meaningless), and over time Janis turns onto her side, her phone gently balanced between her mattress and her arm. Janis feels their time coming to a close; with her next round approaching and Cady probably having to go do actual productive stuff. Still she feels reluctant to let them go, especially when little nagging doubts hang at the back of her mind and desperately beg for reassurance. She bides her time even with them, waiting until they’re both quiet, when she can’t bring up something else and stop herself from asking. She feels stupid asking, but she can’t not ask it either.

“So…” she finally asks. “You like the wig?”

Cady smiles and Janis hears the rush of her exhale crackling against the mic.

“I do,” they reply. “I really do. You look good, Jan.” Janis grins at that, a weight lifted off her chest that she hadn’t realised was there. “And you like it too?”

“Of course,” she replies. “I mean, what’s not to like? I look hot. And it… feels good, I guess. It feels nice to have hair again.” She bites her tongue before she can say anything else. Cady doesn’t need to know about anything else, about how this is probably the closest to looking (and feeling) normal she’s gotten in a long time. All Cady needs to do is be happy here. “Kay, I’ll let you go, babe. See you later.”

“See you,” Cady says. But just as Janis is about to press the hang up button, Cady interjects, “Janis?” Her finger pauses a hair’s length from the screen. “I love the wig, seriously. But I also… you looked great without it too.” They shrug awkwardly at that, their eyes avoiding her. “Just… thought you should know.”

They hang up before Janis can respond, and all she can do is sit and wonder how she would have responded to that.                

                                                                                       *****

She spends much of the evening in her bedroom, curled up in a ball with her chin on her pyjama-clad knees. Her most recent round was-for some reason-a particularly strong one, and as it pushed its way through her veins it took more and more out of her in return. She’s been assured time and again that this is normal, standard procedure, and that above all it means the medicine’s working, doing what it’s supposed to be doing. She should be glad of that, if that’s the case. But oh boy, does it make her feel crummy.

“Okay. Kitchen’s nearly closed, last chance to eat something,” her mom says. She’s standing in the middle of the room, hovering between her bed and the door, her hands wrung together. “You want something?”

Janis shakes her head and turns onto her side as her stomach twists once again, a shiver running through her body. She looks at the wall, the TV on playing some show she’s long since stopped paying attention to.

“You sure, hon?”

In her mind, there’s a verbal answer, but in reality she only nods and pulls the covers tighter around her. Her mom folds her arms, her eyes flitting to the ground. Weeks ago she’d have insisted over and over again that Janis eat something, bargaining with her until Janis either finally gave in and agreed to pick at whatever meal she brought up or until Janis snapped at her and the argument fizzled out. Now though she just nods in understanding and brings her over a glass of water.

It’s less draining for both of them, but not by much.

“I’ll be right back, sweetheart,” she tells her. “Holler if you need anything.”

I’ll holler she means to say, but her throat is dry and tight and the words never make it past her cracked lips.

Her mom slips out the door, letting it click shut behind her and the sound of her footsteps is quickly lost in the evening buzz. Another thing her mom has learned about nights like these is to close the door on her way out and back in. You wouldn’t think it matters, but it does. The idea of talking feels alien to her at these points, and the only thing more impossible is getting up and shutting the door herself.

Quiet hums in the empty room, her ears ringing in it. It will pass, she reminds herself, like it always does, it’s just a question of when. In an hour, tomorrow morning, tomorrow night. She might spend the next 24 hours in this very same position, the only thing changing being the time on the clock. She has done that once or twice before. Lost whole days of her life half-sitting in a bed while other people flocked around her.

She takes a long, steady breath in as her insides roll again and goosebumps prickle on her white skin. She reaches over and manages to make herself lift the water sitting by her bed, taking it in in small, careful sips. She burrows further into the mattress and pulls the covers ever tighter around her as she searches for an extra semblance of warmth. As she wriggles, her wig slowly slides off her scalp, the longer strands sticking her pale, sweat covered neck.

With her free hand, she weakly reaches up and grabs a fistful of it; what once felt soft and beautiful now feels tatted and coarse in her clammy grip. She sits for a while, curling and uncurling her fist before, in one swift motion, she pulls it off her head and lets it drape across her lap, having no need for it now. It’s just for show after all, she realises, and who would she be showing off for now?                                                                                        ******

When she wakes up the next morning, she only feels a little bit better, and she panics when she realises the day that’s in it. It’s Friday, marked on the little calendar beside her bed as “Damian and Cady day”. She did that not long ago, when the support group suggested reminding herself what she has to look forward to. It felt like a good idea at the time, but now the glitter pen sits and mocks her. Cady and Damian are coming today, and she feels like she’s been dragged through a bush and then thrown in front of a bus.

She pushes herself upwards, blinking in the overhead lights, and rests her chin on her fist. Maybe she isn’t as bad as she thinks she is. Certainly, last night sitting up like this would have been near impossible, so that’s a win. And she feels up for trying to eat at least, although whether or not she could finish it is yet to be seen. Still, it’s an improvement, right? That has to count for something.

“Baby steps, Janis,” she reminds herself. “Just… baby steps.” She pushes herself around so that her feet dangle over the side of the bed, her legs stiff and sore from the lack of movement from yesterday, not to mention cold air nipping at them. The heaters should be coming on any minute now. She grips the side of the mattress tightly, her palms pressing hard into the surface until they hurt. Her eyes don’t move from one spot on the wall, a trick she learned early on. Although this time it isn’t to stop the room from spinning, it’s to stop herself from backing out. She breathes out slowly, the air creeping past her gritted teeth, and stands up.

She surprise herself, even with the near tumble she takes when she gets there. But not eating for twelve consecutive hours will do that to you, she supposes with a shrug, and she stretches out her body, not bothering to hide the groans and sighs of relief as she does so.  The feeling comes back into her hands as she shakes them out before checking herself in the mirror. She’s not completely fine with it; dark smudges still sit beneath her eyes, her skin still as white as the sheets on her bed, but she can work with this. She can build herself back up from last night.

Especially now that she’s got this.

She turns around and soon spots the wig sitting on the stand clipped to the end of her bed. Since she doesn’t remember picking it up and was certainly in no state to be doing so, she guesses her mom must have done so. When she picks it up, she finds it brushed out too, and makes a mental note to thank her mom for it.

She throws it on herself and pushes the bangs slightly out of her eyes before looking back up. It’s amazing, really, the difference this thing makes. With this, plus a few tricks with her make-up, she could probably pass for healthy. Or at least, not as sick as she actually is. The corner of her mouth turns up into a smile as she thinks about to; dares to dream about going out in public without sympathetic looks or pity-induced freebies being thrown her way. Is she wrong to be excited about this?

And the most important part; in front of Cady and Damian, she can look better, and that’s what she’s aiming for more than anything else.

                                                                                               ******

By that afternoon, she’s not where she wants to be, but she’s at a healthy middle at least. By that she means she can push through it and convincingly cover up the fact that her body is crumbling inside. It’s far from ideal, but she’s more than happy to stick with it. If it’s sucking it up for a few hours or losing one of the few times she sees her friends in person rather than on a video call, it’s a no brainer, really.

She keeps a bottle of water by her bed and another one close by, just in case, and spends the day carefully arranging herself in her bed, not so comfortable she’ll never get out but at the same time letting herself store up strength. It makes the day longer, all this sitting around and careful eating, and she has enough sense to know what she’s doing is ridiculous. And it makes her realise, again, how she can’t freaking wait for all this to be over. For there to be a time when she can hang out with her friends without having to feel like she’s putting on a show for them.

She just about remembers to put her wig on before they arrive. Gingerly, she lifts it from its stand and slips it on, her hands delicate and cautious, like she’s handling a live animal. She runs her fingers through it and pushes the bangs back slightly, away from her face. She does tend to look better when they’re like that. She tugs and pulls at it for a few seconds, and then the seconds become minutes, all the while she keeps an anxious eye on the clock. She can see them in her mind’s eye, crossing the lobby, getting into the elevator, the doors opening, and strangely she feels like she’s fighting against time as she gets ready.  

She’s just got it the way she wants when Cady pokes her head around the door, and she forces herself to breathe.

“Hey babe,” she says softly, tiptoeing swiftly across the floor and onto the bed, holding her hand out. A soft groan escapes Janis as Cady pulls her down and settles on top of her, equal parts careful and playful. Damian sits himself in the visitor’s chair with his feet up on her bed and his chin rested on his fist, giving her a small wink as he sits.

“Like the bandana,” she tells him, gesturing with her chin. Rather than a hat, his head today is covered by a yellow bandana, tied in a neat bow at the base of his head, and she vaguely recognises it, the memory like a fuzzy old video slowly becoming sharper. “Is that from Calamity?”

“Indeed,” he replies. “I was clearing out my closet and found it there. It’s neat, isn’t it?”

“Really neat,” she grins. “I’m just amazed it took you that long to fish it back out again. Wasn’t that show sophomore year?”

“Yes, and I feel horrible for neglecting her,” he sighs, fingering the edges. “I think I’m going to lean into the whole cowboy look now. I mean I already have the suspenders.”

“And an excuse to wear the funky hat,” Janis reminds him. “You know, I say go for it. If you can’t dress up like a cowboy during your senior year of high school, when can’t you?”

“Plus, if you get a boyfriend this year, you’ll be able to call him ‘partner’ without it sounding weird!” Cady adds in. There’s a momentary flicker across her face as soon as she says it, like she regrets it, but the moment Janis and Damian’s eyes meet they both bust out laughing, their eyes wide and their smiles even wider.

“Genius!” Damian declares. “I mean, we all knew you were a genius, but still. Genius!”

“Also does that make cowboys gay?” Janis adds. “If they had… ‘partners’?”

“Yes, cowboys are gay,” he replies. “That should be obvious to anyone.” Their laughter erupts again before slowly simmering down and Damian leans back while Janis swings her arm around Cady’s shoulders. Damian then opens his mouth only to close it again, his smile faltering and picking up again in the next second.

“And… speaking of headgear… might I say that the wig looks even cooler in person?” he says.

“Oh, this old thing?” She lowers her voice and imitates the old 1940s movie stars, tossing her hair over her shoulder and batting her eyelashes. She can’t deny the thrill that one of those actions gave her. “Oh, I just brought it out for you.”

“Well it looks stunning, doll face,” he replies, doing the same impression. Janis nods and hopes the glow on her cheeks is just in her mind.

“You know, those bangs really do suit you,” Cady remarks.

“Take your grievances up with eleven year old me who wanted to grow them out,” she sighs. “Eleven year old Janis made so many bad decisions.” Cady hums at that. Then her arm shifts behind Janis, and then her fingertips are touching the ends of her wig. It’s a discreet, delicate move, almost like she’s testing it out. In fact, it’s so light that Janis wouldn’t have known had she not caught it in the mirror. It’s not her hair after all. Just a replacement.

Her eyes meet Cady’s then, and hers are tinged with apprehension, a question in them. Janis replies with a smile and gently pulls her closer.

Even if it’s not her real hair, it feels almost the same.

Their time ends the way it often does, with Damian getting a text from his mom and looking sheepishly at the other two, giving them the silent signal that they have to go, even with half an hour left on the movie they stuck on. Cady sighs, dejected, but the unfinished movies have become a near-permanent fixture in their visits, so much so that Janis now knows not to put on a movie she had been meaning to show Cady, filing them for later.

“So I’ll call you tonight?” Damian asks.

“I look forward to it.” She pulls him into a tight hug, stretching on her toes only slightly. “See if you can find me a matching bandana in your closet, okay?”

“Deal.”

With that, and Cady’s goodbye kiss, she waves the two of them off, leaning on her door, half in the hallway, and watching them going. On a better day she’d walk them to the elevator, but just sitting down like that had depleted her. They both turn back to give her a final wave, and she has to laugh, and then they disappear around the corner.  

And then she lets out the most guilt-ridden sigh of relief there has ever been.

She turns around, groaning as the room tilts, and stumbles across to her bed. Her bedside water is nearly depleted, but the one under her bed is too far for her to reach. She can get it in just a minute, when the ringing in her ears stops and the room stops tilting, she decides. Even if she’d really, really love it now.

She buries her face in the pillow, her grip turning from tight to vice-like as she tries to block out her thoughts. Maybe if she falls asleep now, the water issue with disappear.

She must fall asleep, because when she opens her eyes again it’s an hour and a half later, and her throat is dry and cracked and her back is stiff. She pushes herself up into some half-sitting position and stretches herself out, her groan long and high and unapologetic. Not like anyone can hear her with the door closed and the people who could hear her probably don’t care. She pushes the curtain of hair away from her face before just pulling it off altogether and tossing it on the table. She’ll get round to fixing that sooner or later.

She wishes she could say that nap did her the world of good, but that isn’t really how it works. She needed it, yes, but now she feels like her brain has pins and needles and that her insides were shaken up. At least she won’t have any more visitors for tonight, she thinks, and so she leans back on her pillows, her hand clumsily reaching for her phone and her water.

There are two texts on the screen when she turns it on, one from Damian and one from their groupchat. She swipes the groupchat one away, seeing it’s from Gretchen and therefore probably not concerning her anyway, and after thinking on it for a second, she swipes Damian’s away too. She’ll come back to it when she feels like a person, she tells herself.

She blinks heavily and as she does, the screen comes into sharper focus and she sees the date across it. It’s the second last day of November, she realises with a sigh. Maybe she should have realised with the springing up of decorations and the darker skies and much longer nights. December is right around the corner and that thought brings none of the festive cheer it usually would. Instead all she can think is that she should have been getting out of here soon. If everything had gone according to plan, she’d be on her last few weeks. She’d probably be packing up to leave and throwing a goodbye party. Instead that’s all put off and she instead has another two months of this crap. And honestly, two months doesn’t even mean anything anymore.

Still, it’s at least halfway over, and when she feels up to it she’ll be happy about that.

[dawnbutterfly]

At Fault

I can’t believe I forgot about this one when I was posting the rest.

This one is an alternate scene from Fractured but Whole itself, where I indulge in my enormous love for self-sacrifice and unrelenting pain. XD It takes place during the genetics lab sequence, in an alternate universe where my New Kid just can’t take it anymore.

“Oh, the tour tram is offline! Somebody is gonna have to get to the CPU and hit the override switch!” Dr. Mephesto explained. “Where's the CPU?” Kyle asked. “Down on the third level… Ah, it was silly to put it there, wasn't it?” Mephesto answered, realizing his folly. “So somebody has to walk down to the third level and flip the switch?” Stan asked. “One two three NOT IT!” A chorus of “not it”'s rang out from everyone in attendance. All except for the New Kid. “Sorry, New Kid, but it really should be you anyway.” Kyle said. “Yea, if you think about it, this is all kind of your fault.” Stan added on. The New Kid stared at the group for several moments, before tears came to their eyes. Everyone's expressions changed to ones of shock and worry. “W-Whoa, hey, what?” Stan said. “Y-You're right… this is all my fault…” The New Kid said, sniffling. “I-It's my parents who got kidnapped. I never should have dragged you all into my problems…” “W-Whoa! Hey, that's not how we meant it!” Kyle said, backpedaling. “Yeah, we rib each other when we're scared, that's… that's how we deal with it!” Stan added hurriedly. The New Kid seemed to ignore their words, pulling out their phone and flipping through for a moment. Suddenly, Wendy, Kenny, and Butters all got a notification on their own phones. They checked them, and saw that they'd been removed as combat buddies from the New Kid's party. “Wait a minute…” Wendy said, looking around as the New Kid turned to walk towards the door. Nobody else's phone buzzed or beeped. Nobody else got a notification that they'd been added to the New Kid's party. “You're not going out there alone! That's suicide!” Wendy shouted. The New Kid didn't stop. “S-She's right! Come on, if you die out there, then we're all gonna die too! You don't wanna be selfish, right!?” Craig pleaded, his usual monotone giving way to an amount of fear. The New Kid kept walking, reaching the door. “Don't you fucking dare!” Kenny finally spoke up in his stern, superhero voice. The New Kid flinched, finally stopping in their tracks. “Didn't I tell you before that you remind me of my sister!?” Kenny said. “I told you then that I have an instinct to protect you, and that statement stands. So there's no way in hell I'm letting you walk out that door without at least one of us to back you up!” The New Kid was silent for several moments, not turning around. “Of all the people in this room, you're the only one I would ever let follow me on this mission…” They finally said. They turned around, sadness in their eyes. “At least you I couldn't lose…” They continued, Kenny raising an eyebrow. “But I won't put you through that… because dying fucking hurts, doesn't it?” The New Kid finished. Kenny's eyes widened in realization The New Kid turned back to the door. “Maybe I'll find that out first hand, huh?” They said, opening the door and running through. “Don't you fucking dare!” Kenny screamed, rushing towards the door as it slid shut behind the New Kid. When he reached it, however, it failed to open. He tried to pry it, but it wouldn't budge. “Damn it! He must have barred it from the other side somehow!” Kenny said, pounding on the door. “You open this door right now, you selfish son of a bitch!” ⁂ Battered, bruised, bloodied… the New Kid dragged themself into the next room, to see a familiar face strapped to a table. “Sport? Is that you? It IS! Cupcake, it's me, Daddy!” Chris said. The New Kid approached their father. “They're trying to get DNA from your mother and I! You have to get me out of here. That computer is waiting for a DNA sample from your mother. Quick! She's in the next room. Go get mommy's DNA sample and bring it here! Hurry!” Chris explained. The New Kid got a pit in their stomach, turning and limping over to the room where their mother lay. Their mother looked up at them, pain on her face, her body badly injured. “Sixth Graders… came out of nowhere… My legs are broken sweetie. Mommy can't walk. You have to go into town and get help.” Kelly said. “Sweetheart listen to me. They were about to cut off your father's head to scan his DNA. I'm sorry sweetheart but you have to finish the job. The only way out of here is to kill Daddy.” “I HEARD THAT! What the hell is wrong with you?” Chris shouted from the other room. “Can I have a conversation with our child without being criticized!?” Kelly shouted back. “Oh YOU'RE the victim again, huh!? Like you don't deconstruct EVERYTHING I say.” Chris shouted back. “Ok, Mr. never-wrong-in-his-life.” Kelly called back. “Go do it, sweetie. Go cut off Daddy's head. Hurry.” Tears came to the New Kid's eyes once again at the fighting. Kelly's expression softened. “I-I know it's a lot to ask, but…” “Mommy, Daddy… please, stop fighting…” The New Kid sobbed, quickly breaking down. “I-I'm so sorry you got kidnapped because of me… please don't hate each other…” Tears formed in the corners of Kelly's eyes as well. “Oh god, sweetie… w-we never meant to…” She started. “T-This isn't your fault, cupcake! I-It's just-” Chris also cut in. “T-T-They've been putting cat urine in your alcohol and pot brownies…” The New Kid said with a sniffle, Kelly's eyes widening. “I-It's why you're so angry all the time now. P-Please, don't hate each other so much you want to kill each other just because you're being drugged… and because of me…” “O-Oh god… what have we done…” Kelly mumbled, tears streaming down her face. The New Kid walked back over to their father, examining the machine he was being held in through bleary eyes. “S-Sweetie… what are you doing?” Chris asked. The New Kid pushed a few buttons on the side, Chris' eyes widening with fear. However, the table restraints quickly popped open, freeing Chris. “G-G-Go help mommy… make sure she doesn't bleed out… please…” The New Kid said. “A-Alright sport, but… we still can't get out of here without a DNA sample. This place is built like a death trap. It has to be a large one, from one of us…” Chris said. “D-Don't worry. I'll hack the machine. I have a friend who can walk me through it…” The New Kid said. Chris looked at his child warily, but nodded, walking over to Kelly. “Christ, look what those mutant bastards did to you…” He said. Kelly coughed. “A-At least I've got my clothes, still…” She said. Both parents shared an uneasy chuckle. “What kind of parents have we become?” Chris asked. “All we ever wanted was to protect them, but instead, we've just taken away their childhood…” “What choice did we really have? It's not like the government was going to let them have one anyway…” Kelly said sadly. They both looked into each other's eyes. “If we're being… rational… I'm the obvious choice for the DNA sample.” Kelly said. “I can't walk on these legs, and I've lost too much blood even if I could…” “Let's be honest, they were always closer to you…” Chris said, looking down sadly. “If it came down to it, you're probably the one they'd want around.” He then looked back up. “But it's ok. They said they were going to hack the machine. One of their friends knows how apparently.” He said. “You believe that?” Kelly asked. “I think we should give them the chance to try…” Chris said. Just then, however, they both heard a loud, electrical whirring sound. “W-Wait… that sounds like the-!” Chris started, just as the sound of the laser firing rang through the room. Chris ran from Kelly's confined room with wide-eyed horror, just in time to see his child closing the slat on the DNA scanner. With a sickening slicing sound, the screen turned green. “Organic DNA sample accepted.” The computer said. The New Kid turned to their father, only their right hand visible below their sleeve. “W-What have you done?” Chris asked, his face full of heartbreak and horror. “What… what I had to…” The New Kid said, seeming unsteady on their feet. “Y-You said it needed a sample from either of you… and I have DNA from both of you…” “W-What's happening!? Sweetheart, what's going on!?” Kelly called from the other room. The New Kid locked eyes with their father. “T-The wound was cauterized by the laser. I need to keep moving. Stay here and… protect mommy for me…” They said. “You are not going anywhere in the state you're in.” Chris said evenly, holding back tears. “If I don't, none of us are making it out of here…” The New Kid said. “I can handle it. Just… keep her safe.” The New Kid then turned and bolted into the elevator, descending below before Chris could react. Chris walked back to Kelly, shock and disbelief on his face. “W-What happened? What's wrong!?” Kelly asked. “Our child… saved us. That's what matters.” Chris said, sitting down next to Kelly and holding her hand. “They saved us…” ⁂ “We're gonna die here!” Clyde sobbed. “The New Kid's dead and we're next!” “Come on… have a little faith in them…” Wendy said half-heartedly. “Come on Wendy, face it. He let his emotions get the better of him, and now we're all gonna die because of it.” Kenny said. He looked down sadly. “Maybe that's what we get for how we treated him…” Just then, however, the light of the tram came on, and the door opened. Everyone looked up in shock. “Holy shit, dude…” Stan said in amazement. “He actually did it!” Kyle exclaimed. “Well, what are we waiting for? Everyone on the tram!” Mephesto said, hurrying all the children onto the cart. The tram slowly descended, until it eventually reached the desired floor, just in time for everyone to see the New Kid emerge from a door near the rails. “New Kid! My god, I can't believe you managed to pull this off!” Wendy called happily. “You reckless idiot!” Kenny said, jumping from the tram and landing near the New Kid. He grabbed the kid by the collar. “Don't you ever do something so stupidly dangerous again, you hear m-” The New Kid, however, collapsed to the floor, Kenny stepping back in shock. “New Kid!” He shouted, kneeling down to help his friend up. “Are you alr- oh god…” He began, stopping short as he saw the seared stump where the New Kid's left hand should have been. “W-What's wrong Ken-” Wendy asked as she approached, only to stop, gasping in horror. “WHAT DID YOU DO!?” Kenny screamed. “T-The tram control… needed a large sample… of my parents DNA to start working again…” The New Kid said, everyone's eyes widening. “I-I tried to hack it… tried to use a hair, and a small sample, but… it needed more…” They looked Kenny in the eyes, tears streaking down their face. “A-And I couldn't choose… p-please don't make me kill my mommy and daddy…” They said, their eyes going hazy for a moment. Kenny looked thunderstruck. Wendy had tears in her eyes. Craig looked absolutely furious, and turned to Mephesto. “YOU SON OF A BITCH!” He said, punching the doctor as hard as he could in the stomach. Mephesto doubled over in pain. Craig grabbed him by the shirt. “WHY THE FUCK WOULD YOU DESIGN ANY OF THIS LIKE THIS!? WHY WOULD YOU MAKE OUR FRIEND CHOOSE BETWEEN MURDERING HIS PARENTS AND MUTILATING HIMSELF TO SAVE US!? WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU!?” “Come on! We need to get him to the hospital right now!” Kenny said, pulling the New Kid up and helping support them. The group all began to rush towards the front exit, however… “Not so fast, Coon and Friends.” A familiar voice said as they rounded the corner. They all came face to face with Cartman. “No! Fuck you fatass, we're not fucking playing anymore!” Kenny screamed at him. “Is that so?” Cartman said through his hand puppet, Mitch Conner. “Then I guess that means you give-” Kenny, however, had already walked up to Cartman, and punched him in the face. Cartman looked stunned for several seconds, before spitting out a tooth. “You sick son of a fucking whore!” Kenny screamed in his face. He grabbed Cartman by the hair and forced him to look over at the New Kid, who looked like they might collapse if not for Wendy and Kyle supporting them. “You took this way too fucking far, and now look at the New Kid!” “W… what happened to his hand?” Cartman asked, a hint of horror creeping into his voice. “He had to fucking cut it off so he wouldn't have to MURDER HIS PARENTS TO GET US OUT OF HERE!” Kenny screamed in his ear. “YOU DID THIS TO HIM!” “N-No! It was Mitch Conner, guys! Mitch did this!” Cartman protested. “THIS ISN'T A FUCKING GAME, YOU PIECE OF SHIT!” Kenny continued screaming. “No, you heard him, guys. This is Mitch Conner's doing.” Kyle said spitefully, drawing everyone's attention. “So let's punish the right person, and put Mitch Conner in the fucking ground. He is Cartman's left hand, after all. The same one the New Kid lost. LET'S FUCKING CUT IT OFF!” “N-No! No you guys, come on! I can't control him, that's not fair!” Cartman continued to plead. “HOW CAN YOU POSSIBLY BE THIS FUCKED UP!?” Wendy screamed. “Our friend is mutilated because of what YOU did! YOU KNOW THIS WAS YOU!” “P-Please…” The New Kid coughed, barely able to stand. Everyone's eyes fell to them. “N-No more… no more fighting… no more hurting…” “New Kid…” Wendy said. “No more…” The New Kid repeated. Kenny's furious expression didn't change, but he walked back to the New Kid. “You heard him. Let's just get the fuck out of here.” He said. “I said not so fast!” Cartman said through his hand. “Cartman, I swear to god, I will kill you in your sleep tonight if you don't get the fuck out of our way right fucking now.” Kenny said evenly, without the slightest hint of hesitation or hyperbole. Cartman looked him in the eye for several moments, before lowering his hand, and standing aside. “W-Wendy…” The New Kid said, barely audible. “What is it?” Wendy asked with worry. “Parents… upstairs… hurt…” The New Kid managed. “9-1-1…” The New Kid finally passed out, becoming dead weight on the other kids supporting them. “Let's get them outside. I'll call an ambulance for them and their parents.” Wendy said. The group quickly moved outside of the building, laying the New Kid gently on the ground as they waited for the ambulance. “I can't believe he did all that alone…” Stan said, looking at his battered, unconscious friend. “I can't believe we let him do it alone…” Wendy said, tears forming in her eyes. “He locked us in, what else could we do?” Token asked. “We could have found a way out if we weren't such damn cowards. You know that…” Wendy said spitefully. All the other Freedom Pals looked down in remorse. “What right do we have to call ourselves superheroes? When it came down to it, we were just a bunch of scared kids, and we made an even younger scared kid do all the work for us. Some 'pals' we are…” “M-Maybe it won't matter…” Scott said, drawing Kenny's angry glare. “I-I mean, the New Kid hath power over time! A-An actual thuper power! He brought me back to life onthe! Maybe he can jutht… put hith hand back too…” Kenny stared into Scott's eyes, searching for a sign of a joke, but could find none. He sighed, looking away. “Even if he can, does that change the fact he had to go through cutting it off in the first place?” Kenny asked solemnly. Scott opened his mouth to speak, but closed it again. “God, how long has he been holding all of this in? He seemed so distant, so emotionless. I thought he was just some weird kid who nothing ever got to, but… has he actually just been holding all his pain in the whole time?” Kenny wondered aloud. “All those times we treated him badly…” “C-Come on, he had to know we were just messing with him, right? I mean, that's just what we do with each other, he knows that!” Stan offered. “Does he? How often have we actually hung out with him?” Kenny asked. “Does he actually know any of us? Does he have any real frame of reference for how we act with each other?” “W-We've hung out plenty of times! He was our King! We played Stick of Truth together, and…” Kyle started, but stopped short. “And… and that was only for three days the first time, wasn't it? Then it was like he just dropped off the planet until we started playing again a week ago…” “What's the New Kid's name?” Wendy asked. Everyone looked at her with shock. “Do any of us even know it?” “I… I do…” Butters spoke up tentatively, drawing everyone's attention. “I-I was there when he first joined the game and Eric asked what his name was. He said it was Grant…” “I-If… I get a say… I'd prefer 'Gracie' this week…” A wavering, barely audible voice shocked everyone. “N-New... Grant! No, Gracie?” Kenny stumbled over his words. “Whatever! Talk to us, are you still in pain!? How can we help you!?” Gracie smiled weakly. “H-Hearing you say… my name… is more than enough… until the ambulance gets here…” She said. With some difficulty, she lifted her left arm up, taking a good look at her severed wrist for the first time. “Who knew… it'd come to this?” She mumbled. “Gracie, Scott said you have some kind of power over time. An actual superpower.” Kenny said. “I'm not sure I believe that, but… can you use it to fix your hand, if you do?” Gracie set her arm back down at her side and sighed. “No… I can't…” She said. Kenny sighed as well. “Yeah, I figured he was exag-” “My time powers can only affect the world around me, not my own body…” Gracie explained in a tired voice, causing Kenny's eyes to widen. “I can stop time, advance it, glitch something backwards in it, even summon an alternate timeline version of myself to fight with me… but I can't do what I did for Scott for my hand…”

Aaaaaaaand that’s about where I ran out of steam. Like I said, a lot of these just kind of peter out, but people seem to enjoy my writing while it’s there anyway.

(Also if you’re wondering why the other kids don’t know the New Kid has real super powers, it’s because I wrote this while strongly headcanoning that part of the New Kid’s power was bringing the other kids imaginations to life when they play, making it seem totally normal and not worth noting, which explains why they can do all the superhuman things they do in the game, and also why they’re so casual about the New Kid having super powers.)

[nemesyis]

Moon Child

This was written per the request of @helvonasche

Thank you @seoulofakwonjiyong for the lovely moodboard.

@sleeping-koya

Werewolf Jungkook x Reader

Fluff, Angst

Jungkook woke up and glared at the sunlight streaming through his window.  He stretched and sat up. Padding over to the window, he looked through the curtains and saw a moving van parked outside his apartment complex.  A pretty girl directed a group of guys moving boxes out of the van and into the apartment across the breezeway.  She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and glanced his way.  She smiled shyly and ducked into the doorway of her apartment.  

Kookie felt his predatory instincts kick up a few notches.  He hadn’t been a Moon Child for long… and it had been against his will.  He was now forced to obey the call of the moon and change into a beastly form.  In this form he would hunt and he would kill.  No one was safe from his savagery.  

He was getting better at controlling it.  Locking himself away in chains or escaping into the deep wilderness during the height of the full moon so he could hunt the wilds without the possibility of harming any humans.  

His new neighbor however drew him like a moth to the very attractive flame.  She seemed quiet and unassuming.  Keeping largely to herself.  Occasionally he would see her peeking out from behind her lace curtains at him as he passed by.  Her very presence inflamed his senses and drove him to distraction.  He was always aware of where she had been, her scent lingering in the passageway long after she had gone.  She smelled of roses, it drove him wild.  

He attempted to make small talk with her when he caught her one day in the apartment laundry room.  She merely smiled at him as she passed by.  Her arm brushed his and he felt a jolt where their flesh touched.  Heart racing, he stammered an apology.  She giggled and offered her hand.  

“I’m Y/N, what’s your name?”

He was entirely tongue tied. Eyes wide and blood racing decidedly south, he quickly situated his laundry basket in front of his crotch and awkwardly took her hand.  “J… Jungkook.”

She smiled sweetly at him grasped his large hand warmly.  “It’s nice to finally meet you Jungkook.”  

He smiled awkwardly at her as she took up her basket and walked out of the laundry room.  “Stupid, stupid, stupid…  what kind of adult gets a boner from a handshake” he muttered to himself as he angrily thrust his clothes into the washing machine.  

Later that day as he was walking back towards his apartment he sensed the presence of another of his clan.  As he went up the stairs, he saw Jimin leaning against his front door.  His hyung was staring intently across the breezeway at Y/N’s door.  “Hey Kookie, thought I would drop by to check out your new digs since you decided to leave the pack.”

Jungkook pasted a smile on his face as he reached the top of the stairs.  Glancing at Her door, he trained his eyes on Jimin once more. “Yeah… okay.  Come on in Hyung.”

Jungkook opened his apartment door, followed closely by his former packmate.  He had always felt wary around his other packmates.  Being the youngest and most recent member of the pack, he never quite felt as if he fit in with them.  The first several years after his change, he stuck with them.  Now he wanted to be on his own.  

Jimin sprawled across his couch smiling at him.  “You have a pretty nice setup here Kookie.  Almost makes me want to leave the pack too.”

“What do you want Jimin” he sighed as he dropped into his favorite chair and stared evenly at the other man.  

“I’m worried about you Kookie, you left us so abruptly.  There are reports of Hunters in the area.”

Jungkook scoffed “Like you actually give a fuck about me.  You only feel responsible because you turned me.  Against my will as a matter of fact.  I'm fine, don't worry about me.  I am perfectly capable of surviving on my own.”

“Look, i'm sorry I forced the gift on you.  But it's done now and you need to get over it Pup.  I’m worried about you.  Besides it wasn't all bad with us was it?  And Jin misses you.”

This made Jungkook pause.  Jin had always treated him gently and as an equal instead of like an Omega.  Jimin stayed for another hour.  Jungkook steered the strained conversation to other things.  When he left, he saw Her watching them through her curtain.  

The next day jungkook left his apartment on his way to the gym.  As he rounded the corner he came face to face with Y/N as she slammed into his chest.  She started and stared at him with wide eyes.  His nostrils flared as he caught her subtle rose scent as it wafted up from her hair.  

“I am so sorry Jungkook, I didn’t see you there.  Are you okay?”

Jungkook reflexively grabbed her shoulders to steady her as she nearly toppled over backwards.  “Hi Y/N, yeah I’m fine.  Are you okay?”

She smiled and brushed a lock of hair behind her ear.  He found this unconscious gesture of hers endearing and distracting at the same time.  He felt his territorial and protective urges rising at her closeness.  Stepping away from her he stammered “I’m sorry, I am late for something” and quickly left.

Jungkook spent more time than usual at the gym.  Doing his best to distract himself from his thoughts of her.  She was beginning to invade his every waking thought, and in some cases his dreams.  When he arrived back at his apartment he found a note taped to his door.  Unfolding the paper he saw neat handwriting.  The paper faintly smelled like her and it made his pulse race.  

Jungkook,  Give me a call sometime if you ever want to get coffee.  

-Y/N

He stared at the note for longer than necessary as if he was committing the simple sentence to memory.  A slow smile spread across his features.  Turning the note over in his hand, he saw that she had included her phone number on the back.  As soon as he entered his apartment and dropped his gym bag, he immediately input her number into his phone.  He sat on his couch and stared at her number, thumb hovering over the option to dial.  Should he call her now?  Would it seem to desperate if he called?  Maybe he should text her.  Should he wait and text her in a few days?  If he waited too long, would she think he wasn’t interested?  

His internal monologue went on for several minutes.  Sighing at himself in disgust he dropped his phone onto the cushion beside him.   Jumping to his feet he angrily tugged off his shirt and strode to his bathroom to shower after his workout.  He became even more upset with himself when his thoughts drifted to inappropriate thoughts of Her and he felt himself become aroused.  He cursed himself and immediately turned off the hot water tap.  As the temperature of the water cooled and became frigid, he stood under the stream trying to reign in his raging hormones.  

He slept fitfully that night.  When he awoke the next morning he kicked off the blankets and resolutely started to get dressed.  Deciding today he would take the plunge and send her a text.  Once he pulled on his socks, he dropped back on his mattress and pulled out his phone.  Pulling up her contact information, he began a text.  He typed it out and deleted it seven times before he finally hit send.  He hit send entirely by mistake, but it was too late to take it back.  The next several minutes were pure torture until his phone notification chimed.  

Diving for his phone he frantically punched in his unlock code.  Breathing a sigh of relief that quickly became intense trepidation when he saw it was a text reply from her.  She had agreed to meet him for lunch that day.  Exhaling a breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding in, he quickly typed a reply.  Confirming the time for 11am at the little deli around the corner.  

He arrived early and sat nervously, his leg jiggling as anxiety washed over him.  He was about to bolt when she walked through the door.  She was wearing a simple cotton sundress and looked like the epitome of wolf bait.  She sat in the booth across from him and smiled sweetly at him.  

“Hi Jungkook, you look nice today”

“T.. thank you Y/N.  You look beautiful today”

She blushed prettily, color rising to her cheeks.  She ducked her head in apparent embarrassment as she once again tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear.  The waitress came by to take their order.  He ordered his usual sandwich loaded down with tons of roast beef.  He figured eating a protein heavy meal would help keep his baser urges in check.  They sat in awkward silence for a few moments after placing their orders.  She broke the ice by telling him about her job.  It turned out she was a veterinarian technician.  She talked for several minutes about how much she loved puppies and kittens.  Especially large breed puppies with floppy faces.   

This information made him smile.  His inner puppy was bouncing around excitedly with the prospect of tummy rubs and ear scratches.  Inwardly shaking himself, he suddenly blurted out “I really like you Y/N.  Please go out with me again.”

She smiled and responded “I was hoping you would say that Kookie.  I like you too.”

Over the next several weeks they went out often.  Before each date, he did whatever he could to make sure he could keep his secret in check.  He ate meat rich meals.  Went hunting in the forest on a couple of occasions, and ran as far and as fast as he could to burn off his extra energy.  He called her and invited her for a date the following night for a late showing of the newest horror movie.  He had discovered her love of horror movies soon after they had begun dating.  He never quite understood her obsession with them but indulged her all the same.  

The evening of their first movie date, he dressed carefully.  Putting on the shirt that she liked and pairing it with his favorite black jeans.  He spritzed himself with the cologne that she bought him as a present on their fifth date.  He knocked on her door and smiled widely as she opened the door.  She was wearing galaxy leggings, a simple black tunic, black chucks, and a slouchy beanie.  Her natural rose scent was enhanced by the bath bomb she used earlier that day.  He recognized it as one he had bought for her.  

She stepped from the door and took his hand.  They talked all the way to the movie theatre.  He splurged on popcorn and drinks.   Once they were seated, he brought out a small box he had smuggled in.  She took it from him and when she opened it she let out a delighted squeal when she saw it contained macaroons.  She flung her arms around his neck and pressed her lips against his.  

He immediately stiffened at the contact, having decided to take things slow with their relationship.  He drew her against his chest and tilted his head deepening the kiss.  She surprised him when she ran her tongue along the seam of his mouth seeking entrance.  As the movie progressed, they didn't watch much of it.  Kissing leisurely for the two or more hours of the film.  

She clung to his arm when the finally left the theatre.  “I had a nice time tonight Kookie.  I really enjoy spending time with you.”

Jungkook stopped and pulled her into an embrace.  Burying his face into her hair.  He let out a contented sigh.  It seemed that finally everything was beginning to go right in his life.  Tilting his head back with a silly smile on his face.  His smile dropped as he watched the clouds part exposing the full moon.  How could he have been so stupid. He felt its power take hold of him.  He thrust her away from him and began to stumble down the street away from her.  If he could just keep it under control till the clouds covered the moon again, he could hide his monstrous nature from her.  

“Jungkook?  What’s wrong?”

“Stay away from me!” he growled when he felt her gentle hand caress his brow

“What’s wrong Kookie, please let me help!” she wailed frantically.

“Run Y/N.  I don't want to hurt you.  Please get far away from me”

“I won't leave you Kookie, please let me help you”

He pushed her away again, she tripped and fell to the ground.  Her hands scraped by the rough pavement began to bleed.  The smell of it increased his blood lust further.  

He could feel the fur pricking his flesh as his fingers began to elongate into claws.  His cries of pain from his transformation turned into snarls.  He felt his teeth elongate into sharp fangs.  Thrashing on the ground as the change began to take hold.  He could hear Y/N sobbing in the distance.  All he could think about was getting as far away from her as possible.  Forcing himself to his feet, he tried to keep hold over his moon addled thoughts so he could keep her safe.  

He couldn't bring himself to look at her and see the horror in her eyes when she took in his lupine form.  Hot tears streamed from his eyes as he felt his entire world crashing down around him.  She cried out his name as he stumbled away from her.  He allowed himself one last look at her before he left her forever.  He knew deep in his heart that it was for the best.  

As he turned to look back at her, he felt an impact against his torso.  Looking down in surprise he saw a silver handled dagger protruding from his chest.  Her hand was still tightly curled around it.  He felt the effects of the silver beginning to course through his veins as he fell backwards.  She went with him and hovered over him.  His transformation began to recede as he stared up at her in bewilderment.  She stared evenly at him, without emotion.  He reached a hand out and tucked that same stray lock of hair behind her ear tenderly.  This was the hunter Jimin had tried to warn him about and he had been tricked cruely.

“Why, Y/N?”  he coughed a bubble of blood leaking from his lips.

She said nothing and twisted the dagger, digging it deeper.

Jungkook groaned in pain and coughed again.  

She leaned over him and whispered into his ear “I knew exactly what you were the whole time Kookie.  It was fun while it lasted though.  Too bad you never took the initiative to fuck me.”

As his vision clouded over he murmured “Thank you Y/N.  You’ve set me free.”

Staring down at the dead Moon Child.  She sat back in amazement.  Never in her life as a hunter had her quarry thanked her for ending his existence.  It was really too bad.  She had liked this one.  

[escailyyy]

Sweeter than fiction (SherlollyFicExchange2017 @darnedchild)

Mary would be the first one to admit that motherhood softened her embarrassment threshold, that was one explanation for it, domesticity had apparently made it mentally acceptable for Mary to indulge in the hobbies of middle aged housewives that Sherlock would roll his eyes on. (Joining the ranks of the type of women that made fifty shades of Grey a best seller) so she couldn’t exactly share her new hobby with him.

So when Molly Hooper caught Mary reading something called ‘Warstan gets Naughty’ by username: WhatzonDkink, Mary not only was way too eager to talk about her latest obsession but also had no shame in admitting it was an obsession. Sherlock probably would have expected more from Mary! She blamed this on Rosie, if as a woman she no longer had an issue with having baby vomit on her shirt when she went grocery shopping, then obviously she wouldn’t have it with sharing her smut preferences with a friend during girls night either.

“Let me get this straight, people write about you and John, just because they saw you on the telly and mentioned in John’s blog” Molly hummed over her second glass of wine “they write about you the way people write about Clara Oswald and the Doctor, Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley kind of thing?”

“Like Posh Spice and David Beckham” Mary nodded “I found this site dedicated to real people fanfiction it’s quite big, there’s a section for royalty, politicians, sports players, celebrities and crime fighters, people consider us the second best pairing in that category, they write all sort of thing featuring John and me” she grinned proudly while Molly giggled

“Let me see” Molly peered at Mary’s tablet while reading out loud “ this one is called "Make me scream” by username Bby8R2D2, John Watson comes home from a day chasing a serial killer to find his wife wants to leave him, unless he can prove to her why he was nicknamed 'Three continent Watson’ ….“ Molly burst out laughing opening the link and skimming over it "Mary I’m not sure paragraph five is anatomically possible”

Mary nodded scrolling down “just wait, paragraph ten defies the laws of physics and some of chemistry’s” feeling emboldened Mary opened another file and pushed it into Molly’s eyes “this one is a particular favorite of mine”

The fan fiction was called “Duty to Love” by LaD-GG-romnuv,and Molly read out loud “ An: I wrote this while sleep deprived working through rocket science and assembling an IKEA bedroom set, John Watson is Captain America and Mary Morstan is Black Widow having a hot affair, their love will be put to test when John has to choose between his love for Mary and his duty to Rehabilitated Winter Soldier Sherlock Holmes” Molly perked up with interest opening the first chapter and reading through “wow this is…this isn’t bad, you’re..very in character, oh look I’m in here too… Molly Carter-Hooper agent 221” this brought a smile to Molly’s face, then she let out another gasp “Oh John how could you!…Mary, you know him better than this….No, Sherlock, that’s a bastard move”

“I know right, the writer hasn’t updated in ages” Mary groaned putting her hands to her face “I have half a mind to track down their IP and ask them if I John will ever see me again now that he joined the group fighting Lokiriarty in Asgard and I am single-handedly heading S.H.I.E.L.D” she also didn’t mention that special Agent 221 and the Winter Soldier were also having awkwardly adorable encounters as a ‘side pairing’ and that she wanted to know how it ended, but that was neither here nor there.

“Aaaand thanks for the spoilers” Molly glared at Mary who shamelessly raised her glass, surreptitiously closing the link

“Some people write things that you wouldn’t believe in the NSFW rating…let’s just say I’ll spare you the details of 'Watson Gang bang’ and 'Blood kink Mary’ because you’re not ready for that type of darkness”

“ what? Really?” Molly’s finger hovered over the rating button but Mary stopped her with a glare

“Yes, really, but back to my favorites, there’s an angsty one that’s very on demand recently. "Bone Marrow,” I think, apparently John met me as a patient, we had a collection of one night stands turned dates and now I only have weeks to live because the writer of that fanfiction is a sadistic ass"

“Do you end up together though?”

“I have no idea!” Mary groaned “ I swear Nick Sparks could use a tip or two from the hyperactive teenage girl that’s writing about my imaginary terminal illness”

Molly snorted patting her hand “speaking about angst, does John know about this?” She motioned to Mary’s tablet

Mary rolled her eyes and shook her head “He doesn’t want to hear about our fictional sex life, apparently it’s not fair that his fan fiction persona is better stud than he is, and a better doctor, actor, polo player, international pilot, astronaut” Mary ticked off her fingers “You don’t see me complaining about the superhuman professional skills that those fans give me” “That’s actually kinda…sweet, if a little disturbing” Molly settled in comfortably in her lounge seat while she ordered another round of margaritas when once again Mary’s tablet beeped with a notification

“Hey Mary what’s "Sherlolly finally does it” about? It’s by username Sherlicks-lollies and it looks promising….“ but Mary had already grabbed the tablet out of Molly’s hands

"Yeah no you can’t read that, nope not at all” Mary as a rule never looked nervous unless she wanted people to think she was nervous, but the face she made at the very mention of that fan fiction was…actually the same face Mary made whenever something unexpected happened to Rosie’s nappy

“Mary” Molly eyed her tablet suspiciously “what is in there?”

“Nothing, just more tawdry things about me and John….if you’ll excuse me I need to leave a proper commentary review on this work of art” her face was turning a bit red and as far as Molly was concerned, Mary’s face had just passed dirty-nappy territory straight into buying-condoms-for-Mrs Hudson level of uncomfortable.

“You do know that I also have Google on my phone don’t you?” The tiny pathologist said in a threatening tone taking out her serviceable smartphone and waving it in front of Mary’s face

“You wouldn’t dare” her friend replied as nonchalantly as someone hiding smutty fan fiction could

“Google it is”

“Molls you’re not ready for the world of RPF, trust me”

But Molly Hooper was a brave soul, a brave, intrepid and possibly drunk soul who was capable of sawing through the rib cage of a dead body without batting an eyelash and also once gone on a date with Moriarty, she hung out with Sherlock! and somewhere, one day if she ever needed to change jobs, those things were going to be stamped in her CV under 'work experience’. So she wasn’t afraid of fan fiction.

Or so she thought “You don’t intimidate me Mary Watson” Molly whispered ominously

Finally as if hit by a very mischievous idea Mary’s face did a 180 and a rather creepy smirk graced her face “Fine, Google the word Sherlolly, go ahead Hooper, I dare you, I’ll let you read this if you do” And so Molly did.

Mary who was now shamelessly enjoying herself again covertly turned on her tablet’s camera and carefully took pictures of the progression of emotions crossing Molly’s face, shock, disbelief, despair, embarrassment, flattery, embarrassment again, and finally plain mortification.“Mary I’m in the dictionary”

“I know”

“Sherlock and me…we’re in the bloody Oxford dictionary”

“Next to the definition of Shipping, yes” Mary passed Molly another margarita in mock sympathy “Oxford, but only the updated version, nobody over twenty reads the updated version anyway”

“Sherlock and Molly” More disbelief “Sherlolly…”

“I warned you” Mary nodded, then since she might as well rip off the band aid completely she added “there’s fanart too”

The horror dawned “People draw…people draw Sherlock and me together”

“And they’re quite talented at it too, all sort of situations, oh don’t look so terrified Molly, the fan-art isn’t that bad, the fandom thinks you’re both Kawai or something, not all of what they draw is porn”

Molly cursed something so colorful it made Mary feel proud “tell me Sherlock doesn’t know”

“Oh he knows it exists, he probably just hasn’t thought about it very deeply” Mary shrugged “Like Greg’s name, fan fiction is probably not relevant enough for his nibs”

“And thank God for his little mercies” Molly hissed “Someone drew us sailing with the Queen!”

“must be a new member, usually your shippers are more into drawing the insides of St Bart’s or imagining what your flat looks like” Mary was enjoying herself Furthermore she wanted Molly Hooper to enjoy herself so she tried a new approach “hey don’t be so shocked, the shippers love you, they buy any science magazine you’re mentioned in, it’s not all about Sherlock for them”

“They like an imaginary version of us” Molly was not appeased

“And we liked the airbrushed versions of Prince Charles and Princess Diana when they were a thing so I don’t see how it’s any different, cheer up Missus Pathologist” Mary encouraged in her best 'mom’ voice trying her best to make her friend see the bright side “Carpe Diem and all that”

And that’s how Molly Hooper discovered the world of Real Person Fanfiction, at first Molly was reluctant to see the website again, after all any sane person would be a bit miffed if they found out that other people played around with the details of their life like grown children with action figures. But curiosity won out, the next time she felt bored in the tube she pulled out her phone and decided to give them the benefit of the doubt.Soon she came to realize that the so called shippers were not really malicious or ill intentioned. In fact, most of them had in one way or another become interested in her romantic life because they’ve been previously impressed with something during the course of her career and looked her up online.It was somewhat ridiculous, these people knew nothing about her life (or so she thought) but apparently, they decided over the course of who-knows-how-long-this-had-been-going-on that she and Sherlock Holmes were either going to make a good couple or were already a good couple behind the scenes.

Anderson’s crazy conspiracy group had probably only proved these people right when Sherlock was gone and….. Oh damn, it got worse.

There were fanfics about that too. (Username ‘Notr3a11yAnderson’ wasn’t even subtle when it earned the website’s award for reviewer of the month)

“How many variations of Sherlock snogging me after falling from the rooftop can exist?” Molly muttered to herself glaring a bit at her phone, a quick refinement in the ‘advance searching’ gave her an answer that had her cursing again.

Ten million? Really?.

But Molly couldn’t find it in herself to hate them, when her mortification died out over the weekend amusement replaced it, after all, if she was allowed to silently wish Mycroft and Anthea would snog already, then why judge the shippers for romanticizing her extremely ordinary life in their heads. Mary was probably right in taking a relaxed approach.Outrage would serve her for naught, it wasn’t as if these people were like Kitty Riley or her ilk, fan fiction was still considered a widely taboo hobby in most places and the so called 'shippers’ didn’t seem to be doing it for personal profit. To these perfect strangers imagining her and Sherlock together was just…fun, so they kept doing it.

A phone call from Mike interrupted her musings and when she went back to her phone like most Internet browsers hers allowed a pop-up ad on the fanfiction website latest updates to blink on her phone screen.“Sherlolly Saves the endangered Koalas” Molly hummed reading through one of the fanfics suggested by the pop up, apparently the Sherlolly shippers were very dedicated fans, of course there were other suggestions, an N-sync fan fiction that featured the band’s most popular members getting together and someone wrote Tiger Woods and Serena Williams having a super powerful tennis playing golfer baby. Mary and John were popular too with a multitude of different scenarios straight out of a Hospital Soap being the favored fanfic inspiration. Molly bookmarked the one marked as a ‘Letters of love in Afghanistan’ because it sounded like something she wouldn’t mind reading, even if the author’s bio made Molly think he really needed a hug.

But the fanfiction about the endangered Koalas taunted Molly again, it wouldn’t hurt to click it just once.

How bad could something tagged #fluffy-super-fluffy be? The summary promised two people in a Koala rescue, really it wasn’t as if she’d be reading anything rated NSFW. The tube wasn’t going to get any faster and she was curious.

One click became another, then another and before she knew it Molly was making BogusRPFwebsite.notcom part of her daily routine in the tube and slowly started replacing her paperback novels during her relaxing time. Sometimes she could even ‘deduce’ who the writers of certain stories were but she tried not to, things might get weird in real life if they turned out to be people close to her (She was pretty sure leg-in-a-cast Polly Turner and Nurse Roberts from upstairs were writing that collab, where Sherlock and Molly had a host of quintuplets and labor, was a sneeze for Molly’s vagina).

Also, the more she read, the more questions she had, like:

Why were her first borns always either girls or twins most of the time? Were the authors aware that little boys made cute fantasy babies too?.

What was the obsession with Sherlock’s hair? I mean yes Molly knew that his curls were unusually perfect and had fantasized about pulling them as much as the next girl but really, they all made it sound as though he used unicorn blood in his shampoo and it was starting to get to Molly in real life.

Why did every girl that liked him with the exception of Molly turn out to be a serial killer or a criminal of some kind?.

Also, why was everyone in fan fiction always extremely attractive? Had the ugly people been abducted by makeup scientists?.

Why was Sherlock’s shirt always open during his fictional interactions with her?.

How exactly did time work in fan fiction? Nobody ever seemed to own a clock in fictional London.

And with these type of questions in mind, Molly pretended that it was someone else in those pages, someone else who was pretty, witty and adorable who was in love with another Sherlock who definitely wasn’t her Sherlock because this was all fan fiction and it didn’t count as real life.

Some writers made it really easy for Molly to compartmentalize her denial, writing either Sherlock or her out of character was a sure fire way for Molly to keep her plausible deniability while enjoying a bit of escapism, it didn’t hurt that Sherlock was in France for an overnight case with John and wouldn’t be back until he solved another seemingly impossible puzzle and Molly didn’t have to SEE him.

Sure he texted her with crime scene pictures and called her every once in a while to talk about incompetent French coroners but so far so good Molly was keeping real life Sherlock out of sight and out of mind while the multiple incarnations of RPF Sherlock gave her a good source of amusement and that was fine with Molly Hooper.

It was hard for embarrassment not to turn into flattery after some days swimming through the #fluff and #morefluff tag, I mean what woman didn’t like the idea of being cool enough to inspire people to writing glorified romance novels in obscure corners of the internet, Molly didn’t think either Sherlock or her deserved half of the unspoken admiration these writers had for them, but nevertheless it was…sweet (if a little disconcerting).

Fanfiction was one of those things that were ignored when one saw another person doing it, like reading the newspaper, people never paid much attention to another’s reading materials unless the topic was broached and as such Molly’s new pastime could have gone largely unnoticed had it not been for one thing: Sherlock Holmes did not like it when Molly didn’t pay him attention and Two weeks later when he got back from France, Molly Hooper knew she had a problem.

“Molly, I need access to a good set of kidneys, before noon if you please" was the first thing Sherlock said when he got back from his case, John at his side rolled his eyes, expecting the pathologist to at least greet him with her usual bright smile, but Molly surprisingly didn’t even lift up her head from her computer.

“yes Sherlock, I’ll get it to you later”

“and a good femur, for some reason Mrs. Hudson threw away my last one"

Molly who was still clearly engrossed in whatever she was doing barely managed an “of course Sherlock”

“And some eyes, preferably without much cornea damage" Sherlock frowned at her “Molly are you even listening or is the usual game of Solitaire taking up too much of your time?”

But even then he only managed to make Molly separate herself from the computer long enough to pull a notepad from her desk drawer and slide it in his direction “write a list of the body parts you need and I’ll deliver them at Baker Street after my shift” and then she was back to what had her so busy.

Molly tried to ignore Sherlock’s presence, easily opening the tabs for a couple of vaguely interesting autopsy reports to justify herself in case he decided to snoop in her files and went back to reading more fanfiction completely tuning out the real life consulting detective of her dreams.

The fanfiction that had her giving Sherlock auto pilot responses was titled “Celebrity Romance” in it Sherlock was written as an actor in a BBC series called ‘Benedict’, the TV show he starred in followed the life of fictional Hollywood darling Benedict Cumberbatch ( Sherlock apparently had been at it for five seasons) who was married with kids and held a demanding life as a sought after celebrity, and Molly, in turn, played a secondary role in his show as one of Benedict’s equally famous friends, progressive feminist actress Louise Brealey. What had Molly intrigued was that in the fanfiction despite the fact that on screen Sherlock and Molly’s characters were only good friends, with story lines that rarely overlapped, off screen they were actually falling in love and bonding over Starbucks coffees. (privately Molly rather liked Loo’s minor suffrage-style story line just as much as she liked Ben’s love story with his wife Sophie, but that was just her)

The point was that Molly was really invested in the plot of that story, the author was making his characters jump through rings of fire to get that happy ending…..Aaaand “Excuse me Sherlock did you say something? I was a bit distracted with this autopsy report” Molly said, eyes snapping out of her reverie to catch the tail end of one of his deductions on the state of Lestrade’s NSY passwords.

Molly saw a muscle in his jaw twitch with exasperation “Yes, I can see that” Sherlock said with narrowed eyes “if you tried to get any closer to the screen you would be in danger of merging with it”

Molly nodded distractedly making the same face Sherlock usually did when he was texting behind his back “Of course Sherlock, merging, that’s great for the victim” in response Sherlock calmly walked to the power outlet in the corner and unplugged her desktop “HEY” Molly snapped glaring at her blank computer and turned her whole attention to Sherlock Furiously, now she would never know what Happened after fictional Molly tweeted about how her character Louise needed to get more screen time.

“Body parts? Assistance in the lab?” Sherlock said without flinching watching Molly’s petulant glare melt into her usual friendly smile

“I gather you brought a sample of evidence with you" She replied easily getting up as though she hadn’t been not paying him attention for the last fifteen minutes, privately she resolved to find that fan fiction again when she got home “let’s see it, if it was worth bringing here it must be something big”

Sherlock handed over the evidence bag and for all intents and purposes that should have been it, she was back to the usual, except it wasn’t.

Because that week was the week Molly ventured into the deep dark hole that was the smut rating. And Sherlock being Sherlock, noticed the change immediately.

Molly began distancing herself from him and he didn’t like it.

She was distracted almost disinterested in him every time he saw her, she answered his questions in sentences that might as well have been recorded on an answering machine and had started spending too much time on her emails. To everyone else, she looked and acted like the normal Molly but Sherlock knew that something was going on in her life.

Normally this kind of behavior would lead him to deduce some new sort of paramour in her life, but a deeper look at the details of her social life showed no variation in patterns, her flat showed no sign of new visitors staying longer than what was considered appropriate and a quick call to Mycroft reassured him that she hadn’t been anywhere else in the past month.

Browsing through her phone and computer gave up similarly uninspiring results, other than a mountain of random pages and articles on things he didn’t care about Molly hadn’t logged on to any new dating website or media equivalents.

The only detail he could see was that Molly’s strange behavior coincided with the recent scheduling of her weekly nights out with Mary and like a dog with a bone, Sherlock had to investigate further. So using his master detective skills he roped John into trying to spy on his daughter’s godmother and on his wife (John was naturally against it citing that for very obvious reasons spying on a retired secret agent like Mary was almost impossible, also according to him spying on girls during their girl time was something teenage boys did, not men) but Sherlock eventually managed to convince him .

Meanwhile, Molly felt she couldn’t be around Sherlock anymore and it was all Mary’s fault.

“I ran away Mary, I said I needed to wash my hair and ran, like a coward” Molly complained bringing her hands to her face “ I can’t look at him in the eyes, I’ve tried!”

“I hate to say it, but: I told you so” Mary chuckled patting her hand “tell me again how bad is it?”

“On a scale of one to ten, eleven, I can’t seem to stop reading them" Molly wailed not daring to take her hands off her face “maybe I’ve turned into a pervert”

“you’re not a pervert Molls, people that send pictures of their privates to unsuspecting strangers on chat rooms are perverts, you’re just you know….sexually frustrated” the chuckle turned into a full blown giggle.

“Thank you for stating the obvious Mrs. Three Continent Watson" Molly grumbled “They like Sherlock’s penis! A lot and my breasts, just look at them Mary” Molly pointed to her modest chest “They are not a big deal, but out there in the big wide internet there are strangers that…have a very artistic view of my breasts”

“And of Sherlock’s penis,“ Mary reminded her laughing

“Stop laughing this is serious, I need help” Molly then pulled up her phone “hear this one” Molly cleared her throat “Prince Sherlock wasn’t supposed to be fucking his niece’s Fairy godmother, but he couldn’t help himself, the christening was almost over and he just had to know what it was like to taste her dewy pussy, to be inside her and hammer his member so deep she cried with pleasure, his manhood was made for her, hard red and angry his shaft was painfully aware of how beautiful she was and he just wanted to rip off every single item of frothy fabric covering her and her, gloriously hard nippled small breasts, see his little fairy naked and open just for him, while he made her miss the christening of Princess Briar Rosamund”

“Oh wow, what talent”Mary was holding her sides in laughter “Remind me to invite whoever wrote that to the christening of my next baby”

“MARY” Molly almost started crying “that one had a plot I enjoyed and now I can’t stop thinking about…”

“Sherlock’s rock hard penis?”

“STOP SAYING IT” Molly hissed “this is all your fault”

“Hey my friend I told you not to do it, you didn’t listen"

“you knew I would do it anyway" Molly wailed “Now I can’t stop thinking about how it would be like to actually have sex with him, not that I didn’t before, but these people are graphic Mary, VERY, graphic, now every time I look at Sherlock I wonder which one of these people hit the mark, is he rough in bed, does he take it slow, does he like his hair pulled, or does he do the hair pulling, is his penis as big as they claim it is or is that just normal smut exaggeration” Molly began ranting while Mary kept trying not to spill her drink with her giggles “I mean I’m pretty sure some of these people have access to his medical records from his druggie days so one has to question if it’s true, I for one like to be dominant in bed and now it’s affecting my relationship with Sherlock because I can’t look at him in the eye without wondering what it’s like to spank his perfect ass with that bloody riding crop he likes so much”

“Oh Molly, you really need to have sex and soon" Mary advised wisely patting the petite woman’s head, then she turned around on her stool and looked at the pair of old men that were sitting at the table behind them “By the way, John, why don’t we head home and leave Sherlock and Molly alone, I think you’ve heard enough”

“Mary Watson that move just cost you a friendship” Molly looked genuinely betrayed but Mary didn’t look one bit regretful

“You need him out of your system and you Mr. Clark Kent…“ She said pulling Sherlock up and divesting him from the trey wig and bad prosthetics "need to stop being a tosser over the fact that Lois Lane likes Superman better” and with that Mary swanned out of the pub with an apologetic John in tow, leaving Sherlock alone with Molly

minutes ticked down.

Another minute.

Sherlock still was looking at her like he’d never seen her before. “So it was fan fiction all along”

“Yes"

“That might present a problem for us” Sherlock said awkwardly

“I’m aware”

“Molly I….”

But she cut him off deciding enough was enough “Just say whatever you need to say Sherlock” Molly glared at him “I’m tired, I’m hungry and extremely sexually frustrated so if you’re going to be a bastard about this get it over with, I need to find a stranger to shag tonight preferably”

that got his attention really fast, no, the only man Molly was going to take home was going to be him “you’re embarrassed when you shouldn’t be, I was merely thinking about the next course of action one should take when a woman one has fantasized of fucking confesses the same thing”

“I was not expecting that" Molly eyed him suspiciously before downing whatever drink she had in hand before shrugging and eyeing her phone “you know what Sherlock, any other day I would be very accommodating talking about what you want and why this isn’t a good idea, but right now, I can’t think clearly when your shirt buttons look like they want to pop out so here is what will happen” She stretched to her toes and grabbed him by the collar watching his eyes grow dark with want, taking his hand and pressing it to the waistband of her skirt “I have questions about how we would be in bed, you have answers, it ends tomorrow and it absolutely doesn’t mean anything”

“we could start with those fan fictions you were reading, you seem to want to investigate which ones are accurate and which ones are entirely poppycock" he murmured in her ear making her shiver, desire pooling in her belly

“I have a long list”

turns out that Sherlock was in fact not as disgusted with Molly’s fan fiction problem as he’d been with Mary’s, he was positively pleased by it and it was a frequent source of both amusement and role-play ideas any time he went to Molly’s flat or had her over in Baker street.

The flowery language in the smut section only made Sherlock more aware of the tiny details of Molly’s body that he could use to his advantage, it was like having a cheat code on how to sexually please Molly.

And in turn, he found himself pleasured by her in many wicked ways.

“I think we might have to extend this arrangement” Sherlock murmured into Molly’s hair for the umpteenth time, he was sated and she looked happy, he wasn’t going to ruin a good thing.

“An Extension?” Molly replied with a yawn cuddling into his chest “How big?”

“Depends, these people publish stories every day, how about until they stop writing?”

“That could take forever"

“Good thing I’m a patient man then" He replied kissing her lips.

And yes it turned out that Sherlock, was so much better at everything he tried in real life than he was in fiction, especially when it came to Molly.