#silver sable imagines

[fandomnerd9602]

Spideypool!reader and Silver Sable?

Reader likes to tease Silver and she thinks he is annoying but reader just wants to get her attention?

Sorry for bad English and thank you!

Y/N pops up from behind Silver Sable...

Y/N: hey Silverfox! you miss me?

Silver: no. Spideypool just leave this scene.

Y/N: I can't. The request above said I had to annoy you.

Silver: what?

Y/N: (whispers) I love you

[goldstrvck]

sunbrat insomniac spider-man au 🙏🙏

[stayteezdreams]

Scenarios: Halloween Couples Costumes {Ateez}

Scenarios: How Bf!Ateez reacts to you wanting to do a couples costume for Halloween + What you dress up as

Pairings: Hongjoong x Reader; Seonghwa x Reader; Yunho x Reader; Yeosang x Reader; San x Reader; Mingi x Reader; Wooyoung x Reader; Jongho x Reader - All are intended to be Gn!Readers.

A/N: I tried to go with mostly gender neutral costumes or gave an some open ended or mixed options for you to choose your preference from.

Requested by @otakutrash669

Warnings: N/A

Words: 1.2k; short because this is a bonus content post.

Hongjoong: Tim Burton Inspired

Hongjoong was all for wearing a couples costume.

BUT, it ended up being really hard for the two of you to find something you both liked.

The ones you suggested were too goofy for him, the ones he suggested were too hard to find everything for.

Then some were too sexy, or revealing, or wouldn't look they way you wanted.

You were afraid you'd have to scrap the whole idea, but then as you were scrolling through Pinterest, you saw a really cool Tim Burton inspired couples outfit.

The outfits were fairly close to stuff both of you had in your closets.

You showed it to Hongjoong and after thinking on it, he agreed.

So you chose your favorite Tim Burton movie and characters and dressed up together.

You even ended up getting help from a makeup artist friend and the costumes came out 1000x better than you originally imagined.

Seonghwa: Super Hero and Villain

Seonghwa never expected the two of you to NOT do a couples costume. It was one of the go-to thing's he got excited about the second you started dating.

He would be devastated if you said you didn't want to match in some way.

Originally, as Seonghwa was going through another Animal Crossing phase, he suggested you dress up as characters from the game.

But it proved to be a bit difficult. If you went too casual, it would look lazy, if you went realistic, you'd be mistaken as furries.

So, you scraped the idea.

You considered doing Star Wars again, just like the previous year, but you wanted to keep it as a back up just in case you thought of nothing else.

After scouring the internet, you landed on Heroes and Villains.

Something you would enjoy and that could be easily recognized.

Seongwha would play his favorite hero (Spiderman) and you went as your favorite Spiderman Villain (your choice but some options: Venom, Green Goblin, Electro, Black Cat, Silver Sable, Shriek)

Yunho: Disney Characters

"We're gonna do a couples costume right?" You asked and Yunho's eyes lit up as his smile grew.

He nodded in excitement, immediately listing things he had already thought about (he was really excited about this okay?).

You both eventually landed on wanting to do something Disney inspired.

But which characters needed to be rounded down majorly.

You could be a prince/princess (Yunho was willing to be the Princess if you didn't want to), Main character x villain, two side characters, etc.

The options were endless and it almost made it harder to choose.

After various ideas and opinions from others you narrowed it down to a list, before deciding on your favorite.

The narrowed down options were: Prince Phillip and Sleeping Beauty, Kristoff and Anna, Alice and the Mad Hatter /or/ Mad Hatter and Cheshire Cat, Peter Pan and Tinkerbell /or/ Peter Pan and Hook (your choice).

Yeosang: Mystery Inc

When you asked Yeosang to do a couples costume with you, he appeared unaffected by the question as he agreed.

But inside his heart was racing as he was fighting back a bright smile, he loved the idea.

Eventually he started to act noticeably more excited about it as you discussed what to wear.

Neither of you wanted to do something that had a lot of effort, but you didn't want it to appear too lazy.

You also wanted something that would be easily recognizable so you wouldn't have to deal with being asked what you were all the time.

After a few thrown out ideas, you finally decided on being Scooby Doo characters

Your choice of character, but I can definitely see Yeosang being Shaggy, or even Fred if his hair was blonde at the time.

(Plus Yeosang in an ascot would be adorable)

Some of the others also considered joining in as well for it to be a group costume.

San: Fairy Tale Inspired

"San?" "Hmm?" "Can we wear a couples costume to the party?"

San looked over at you bright eyed and nodded happily. He had been dying to ask you to match with him, but he thought you might want to wear something else.

He had also been afraid that you would feel forced to say yes if he asked. So the fact that you asked made him very happy.

It ended up being hard to choose something, and you were running out of time before the party.

Finally, after seeing a cool photo of werewolf makeup, the two of you decided to do Red Riding Hood and The Big Bad Wolf.

As straight forward as you thought it might be, San had a hard time decided which one to be.

San wanted to be both, a bad-ass altered Red Riding Hood Hunter

AND he wanted to be a cool yet sexy (were)wolf.

You played Rock Paper Scissors, and you won so you were able to choose who you wanted to be. Either way San was happy.

Mingi: Till Death Do Us Part

Mingi was the one who first brought up doing a couples costume.

You were all for it, but figured he brought it up because he saw something he wanted to do.

Which made you suspicious.

He admitted that you were right, and pulled up this photo that he wanted to recreate, as well as a bunch more just like it.

You laughed, and agreed. It was nothing over the top, and it was funny and cute.

You figured might get hot wandering around like this, so you decided to have other costumes on underneath to match that you could reveal if you wanted to remove the sheets.

Underneath you decided to dress as a couple who had died on your wedding day.

So even if you took the sheets off, you would still be matching underneath.

Wooyoung: Pokemon

"Should we do a couples costume?" "Can we do a couples costume?"

You ended up asking about it at the same time after you saw an ad for a Halloween movie.

You laughed and agreed readily.

Wooyoung immediately got excited and started throwing out various suggestions but there were so many ideas to choose from,

On a day out, you ended up going to a costume store to get ideas.

When you pointed out the Pokemon section Wooyoung gasped and ran over.

Wooyoung immediately claimed Ash as his costume, but you were more open minded.

Whether you wanted to be Misty (or Brock?), Pikachu, or another fave Pokemon, you had many choices to choose from.

Jongho: Serial Killer and his Victim

When you first asked Jongho to wear a matching costume with you he was a bit reserved.

As much as he loved you, he wasn't sure how he felt about couples costumes.

He wanted to make you happy though, so he agreed.

Wanting him to enjoy it as well, you decided to surprise him with a more fun costume that he might like.

So, one day you plopped down a pile of costumes and fake blood in front of him and he looked at you confused.

Pulling out the Scream mask you tossed it to him before holding up an already bloody and altered shirt and held it up to yourself.

He stared at you for a second before laughing, understanding what you were suggesting.

He nodded in approval as he started to get the costume together.

It was a matching costume, though a bit morbid, but it made him laugh and that was enough for you.

xx

not super detailed or long as this ended up as a Bonus Post for the day!

Taglists:

General Taglist: @otsilliak, @brattybunfornct, @bahng-chrizz, @otakutrash669, @tinyelfperson,

@pinievsev, @teenyfinds, @everythingboutkpop, @shymexican, @stillwjk-channie-lixie,

@alexxavicry

@luckypaintertyphoon, < tag does not work

Ateez Taglists: Everything: @soso59love-blog, @hongjoongsprincess, @thedistractedwriter, @dear-dreamie, @thunderous-wolf,

@briqnne, @hyukssunflower, @dinossaurz, @skz1-4-3, @staytiny2000,

@demonlineslut, @vnessalau, @dancinglikebutterflywings, @tunafishyfishylike

Jongho: @lieutenantn

Seonghwa & Mingi: @ye0nvibezzn

[glossysoap]

Hcs for after reader is out of hydra:

With their permission of course, the boys often give reader massages on their left shoulder

Soap has a very techy engineer sister who he asks to make you a new arm (based off his designs of course😌)

Sleeping with them is hard with all the nightmares, but when your hands are on your boys' chests you know they're safe amd alive and you sleep peacefully

ready to comply hc ;

pls be sure to read the chapters posted so far before these hcs as they might not make sense otherwise !!

i never thought i’d have someone send me hcs for any of my work !! 🥹🥹

🏷️: @viylikescats @warenai @le0thely0n @fullmoon-94 @breadboyye @kiroshang @kitty-satan1 @lunitalloronaa @itzzjxlyn @lonely-ofc @reeplaysvideogames

but omg anon ur so big brain !!

they would 100% massage their left arm where the skin meets metal !! they want reader to know that their feelings never changed for reader and that the arm doesn’t make them a monster :’’)

also oh my god yes on soap’s sister redesigning readers metal arm !! soap, in secret, doodling potential designs for readers arm, with mixes of gold and silver, instead of the old silver arm with a red hydra star on it.

it would definitely look like this !!

and omg the sleeping hc !! reader will ALWAYS be sandwiched between them esp while they slept !! remember when ghost said that his favorite position would be reader sandwiched between him and soap ?? yeah he meant it. but we’ll save the smut for later you dirty rats

feeling their heartbeats would calm reader so so much :((

i’ll raise you this : reader smelling soap’s cologne and body wash !! taking one whiff and being knocked out cold by his familiar comforting scent :(

and having ghost’s muscular ass arm wrapped around reader 24/7 ?? reader can rest soundly knowing that nothing bad would happen.

reader never felt so content. finally having their boys, their protectors, surrounding them and keeping them safe.

don’t forget abt readers stray german shepherd (that reader picked up while on the run) sleeping on readers feet, keeping them warm with her lush sable fur :((

sometimes ur little stray will call dibs next to you in bed, taking one of the boys spot and whoever’s spot was taken will just have to deal with it >:) sometimes you’ll fall asleep on the edge of the bed instead of the middle, and ur stray will claim a spot right next to you. not parallel to you though, no she’ll lay horizontally so her body takes up space for both ghost and soap. and she’ll look damn cute doing it too.

imagine this: soap and ghost will have gotten out of the shower, towels wrapped around their waists and they’ll be looking forward to sleeping next to you and she’ll be snuggling into you. she’ll be stretched out like a noodle, body facing you with her head tucked in your chest and somehow her sable colored arms had rested on your shoulders, she’s literally hugging you in her sleep ?? (my dog does this, believe me it’s a real thing) your arms are wrapped around her and your fingers are buried in her thick fur. her little pink rope toy is nestled between you :((

they almost want to wake her up and redirect her to sleep on her cozy, luxurious dog bed (but why would she sleep on that when she could take up the boys space? duhhh), but they look at how relaxed your face is?? and how you have a little smile and your brows are unfurrowed and they just can’t do it :((

so needless to say, no matter where ur little stray sleeps and where the boys sleep - ur always protected <3

ps, i love u so so much for sending this hc in u have no idea !! i never imagined having ppl talk to me abt my fics !! i see that happen with so many bigger writers and i was always so envious :))

my ask box is open if y’all have any hcs you wanna talk with me about 🫶🏻

©️ glossysoap 2024. please do not steal, copy, plagiarize, translate, or repost any of my works without my permission. do not steal any elements of my theme without permission.

[forgottenvalentina]

ok so, based on lizzy's idea of black w snakes, and paired w the fact that valentina's only v distantly related to royalty, this is a mockup i did for valentina's og crest! i went w sable/argent/vert/tawny as the primary color scheme (and am only just now putting together that i think i was really channeling house slytherin but whtever i stand by that we all know valentina'd be a slytherin lsdkfjklsdfkljsdf ANYWAY!! im thinking that the ram/serpent motif is the og royal one but the moline cross and crescent showcase that valentina is descended from the eighth son of a prince who was, himself, descended from the second son of a king soooo yeah, not exactly next in line till roderick decided to change all of that ;DDDD

Serpent: Wisdom, knowledge, defiance; fertility and renewal; medicine

Ram: Authority & leadership; strength, perseverence

Goat: Political ability, diplomat/diplomacy, practical wisdom; persistence and strength

Sable (black): Constancy or grief

Vert (green): Hope, joy, and loyalty in love

Argent (silver/white): Peace & sincerity

Tawny or Tenné (orange/brown): Worthy ambition

Crown: Heaven; victory, sovereignty, empire; success

Crescent: One who has been honored by the sovereign; hope/ hope of greater glory; service in holy war/House of the second son

Cross/Moline Cross: Service in holy war; faith/House of the eighth son (or, as used in conjunction with the crescent, house of an eighth son from the line of a second son)

Ermine or Fur: Dignity

ANYWAYYYY, when she got married that got adapted, and since she was of royal blood, her kids get to wear the crests of both their parents, perhaps smth...like...this...?

literally just used the first vaguely nautical sigil (since its the riverbend) w the default colors as an example to represent what their dad's sigil might've been, but yeah since their mom, being of royal blood, technically outranks their dad, they would have been permitted to slice their arms to use the sinister (no, really, that's just the word for 'left' in latin -- romans had weird supersticions abt the left and that's why sinister means what it means to us but, anyway, its what the mother's side is called when you get to use that and, obv, it therefore appears on the left -- as assigned from the pov of the person carrying the shield which pov i forgot when i initially made this which is why the words are backwards bc i flipped it since they later changed which side is sinister and which is dexter [right/paternal] lkasdjflkjsdflkj)

so yeah!! that's a mock up and i wondered what you thought? i def think the dad's side needs some work (im actually thinking, personally, that a portcullis could be cool esp bc its symbolic meaning is 'protection in an emergency' and that's precisely what valentina failed to give them aklsjdfkldsjfsdf annnd its what cassimir is sort of promising to eithne so yeah idk thought it had ~meaning but yeah anywayyy alksjdflkjsdf)

anyway!! smth along these lines would've been the family sigil that valentina and her kids would've been entitled to wear from the day of her marriage, so yeah! when valentina married lord m, the stepkids might've either quartered their arms (dad/val/mal/val probs), or they perhaps might've just left it as the above? once they were adopted (or 'adopted' ;D), the stepkids would've been entitlted to wear the malconaire arms. after her marriage, valentina probs took to using a val/malconaire split herself, but whatever her kids wanted to do would be their own call once they're formally entitled to use any arms they want etc. they could also potentially rest a crown over whatever their dad's sigil was to mark that they, themselves, are of royal blood, and valentina would defff encourage this and even more so after the rest of the royal line is wiped out laksjdfkljdsf

(also just realized i used a mullet instead of a moline in the second mockup, so just imagine that's a moline cross not a star on the cresent in the second one laksdjfklsdjafkljsdf this is why i really shouldn't try to do anything after a tag sale day hahaha)

anyway gonna respond to the overarching thing soon but when you set the challenge of 'like valles but not' i was like 'that sounds like fun!!' hahahaha (tho also lowkey hc'ing that they're related to the valles somehow -- we know the ~mega bad news came from house karr anyway soooo i think it works ;DDD)

[tremendum]

be like me   [ii]

gratitude

pairing: eventual din djarin x f!reader (afab, use of she/her)

rating: mature for violence and darker themes. (series has eventual smut, 18+ mdni) word count: 7.3k summary: “I’ve never killed anybody, you know.” your eyes search his emotionless mask, “but when we find him, if I-if I see him,” your hands tremble with the weight of your words, “I think I could do it.” you admit smally. there’s a breath of air in which you catch yours and he exhales his. “I could show you.” The Mandalorian finally says, “if that’s...what you need.”   warnings: slow burn series, violence, mentions of indentured servitude/slavery, mentions of burns/scars, brief mention of torture, gendered words (girl, woman, etc), also Mando calls the reader ‘kid’ in this one time, reader is afraid of Mando and dehumanizes him as deflection, again butchering of any kind of star wars technological vocabulary, no use of y/n. notes: here’s the second part of be like me! this one’s pretty long, and the next part was supposed to have smut but may have to be split into two parts :) as always, feedback is appreciated! im new to writing for sw so i’d b happy to find some mutuals :’)

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★  

Csilla's world aboveground is frozen and uninhabitable - your lips are dry and freezing, the silver statue ahead of you gathering frost even as you settle on the inside of his ship - but you can't bring yourself to even blink; this was the most of the planet you'd seen in nearly a decade, and as dreary as it was, it was better than that same boring crime block you'd been used to.

your wrist throbs in pain, the skin having split open from numerous attempts with a cauterizer when the Mandalorian had tried to remove your tracking brace. you didn't really mind the pain - the clinging sound the band made as it fell to the floor was like broken chains; ironic as it is you still had your hands cuffed in the front, it was music to your ears.

soon after he'd broken off your tracker, the Mandalorian had become a shadow, following you so as to not let you leave his sight, leaning with a hip on the wall as you'd gathered your measly belongings in your cuffed arms; a few trousers and tunics, inner and outer coats, iceshoes. a pang of pain rumbled in your chest when your fingers had grazed over the small figurine, embedded in its home just below your matted pillow - a polished, wooden Sable from your foggy past - something that faintly symbolized gratitude and health somewhere in your mind. one sweep of it into your trouser pocket prevented the emotions from rising to your eyes.

your grin was sheepish when you'd faked tying your laces in order to slip your shiv safely into your boot, concealed from his hawkish gaze, and then you'd marched with your shadow out of the Ark'uz'Iman garrison to never return.

and even inside the Mandalorian's ship - Razor Crest, he'd called it - you can see your breath push from your lips in plumes, your skin raising with bumps as you trudge behind the man, taking in the metal, metal, metal of the ship that seems to just be an extension of the hunter himself. there's barely a semblance of life at all besides the drying rack on the kitchenette with two bowls, a tiny spoon drying next to it; you can't even laugh as you imagine this huge man trying to eat something with that small of a piece. then again, he's covered from head to toe -besides the contents of the drying rack, you're not sure if his species could even eat.

you sit in one of the seats in the cockpit, newly free of the cuffs he'd bound you in, the cold ice and snow that blows around the outside of the Crest reflecting off of the Mandalorian's armor and nearly blinding you. he's fiddling with controls and you turn to your new, imposing shadow. "do you have some kind of - retrieval droid in your crew?" you ask smally. you needed a retrieval circuit in order to send the information through to decode it.

"no." he says stiffly after a brief hesitation. you nod dryly, knowing that was his way of saying it's just him on this crew. you figured as much: there was no room on this ship for more than two people, and you can't imagine that there is more than one bunk on this piece of metal. you gnaw on your lip; this ought to be a terribly boring trip, then.

"what do you need to access the information?" the Mandalorian asks, and you snap your eyes to where he's sitting, at the pilot's seat. you find your posture is weary, perched in the co-pilot's seat, aware that though he does not still have his blaster pointed at you, you can feel the animosity radiating off of him. your jaw clenches - you can't trust him, either. he was the one who threatened to kill you.

you suppose the reason he seems to accept your company is the knowledge that, should the situation present itself, he could still kill you with barely one twitch of an arm.

you shiver. "an FTL fetcher. or a retrieval droid that is capable of DNA convalescence." you say, biting your lip. slowly, his mask turns to stare at you in your peripheral. you swallow, picking your nails in anxiety as you finally stare back. what, does he not know anything about information coding services? his silence is your answer, so you sigh, "i need somewhere that has a datachip library, somewhere like- like the data libraries on Naboo. or Coruscant." you say quickly.

you think he may be angry; though, you feel like he's been angry this whole time. he says nothing, turning to punch things into his coordinate system that is concealed by a broad shoulder. you busy yourself by strapping into the seat and watching the cold defrost from the Crest's windows as the sufferably silent man next to you selects your track.

there is no warning from him when the Crest takes off besides the sputtering of thrusts and engines and a shooting force that propels you backwards into your seat. you bite your arm to conceal your surprised yelp at the abrupt takeoff, unwilling to show the Mandalorian any more fear than you've already exhibited. he doesn't scare you. your fingers graze the marred skin of your forearms slicked in scars of silver and gold. you stare straight ahead.

you aren't afraid of a tin can. you aren't.

the Crest hums gently when it's in hyperspace, but you can barely notice the noise.

your jaw is nearly unhinged, all the breath gone from your lungs as you stare out the windshield; the lights.

the stars are everywhere, blinking, shining, smiling down at you. you've never seen lights this beautiful in your whole life as they speed past you, lifetimes passing you by and filling up your lungs, pumping you full of yearning.

at the sight, your blood is a song, a thrumming of hope and precious gems and revenge and fear violently running through your ear canals as you watch in awe at the rushing of thousands of stars as you pass them by. you haven't seen anything like this since you'd been taken away from your home; up until now, the process of transportation was unwelcome to you, a final signature on the rights to your life, signing them away to be buried with the rest of history.

now, there is hope. there are stars, and they dance and sing ancient hymns of freedom as you pass them by.

but the Mandalorian seems unphased by it all as he pilots. his cape sits on either side of his large, beskar-clad thighs and though they're caught and torn at the end, the strands of the cape are thick and woven with the souls of each bounty he'd eliminated in his years. he's a statue, cold, shiny, unyielding: he's so broad, you realize. his body is so large against the cosmic wonders outside the windshield that they project themselves onto his armor. yet he is unmoving, not even a breath of wonder from his mask as he travels through the galaxy. you wonder, then, if anyone so rigid could ever be enraptured with the natural beauty of the stars.

your body thaws; the heaters in the Crest seem to be one of the only things that aren't decrepit and junked. as you gently peel off your outer layers, you smile; it'd been years living with the deep, settled cold in your bones. it shoots a burst of optimism through you, a feeling that was welcomed: it prompts you to use your voice for the first time in the hours you'd been traveling. "where are we going?" you choose to ask, your voice though out of the blue not even making the Mandalorian flinch.

he doesn't move. the cockpit is silent for a moment, "Ryloth. there is an outpost that will have an FTL fetcher. after you decode the information I will let you go."

"let me go?" you ask suddenly, lifting a brow. he says nothing, and it tempts you again. "am I your prisoner, bounty hunter?" you ask, gritting your teeth. you refuse to be another captive. you don't really feel like a prisoner, sitting next to him, unchained, with information he needs.

"no, you're not. but you are collateral." his voice is authoritative. it instills dread deep within you somewhere as you look on at the man, icy armor littered and glittering in the stars that surround you. collateral.

you can hear the intimidation in his voice. you wonder if he wants to scare you, to make sure you knew that he was a killing machine, a weapon, and you're a freed slave with nothing but your DNA to give. it's all people want in this universe, you'd realized long ago. to keep others down.

his intimidation boils your blood and you let out a bitter huff.

"I'm not afraid of you. and I never will be." you mutter defiantly, a lie straight through your teeth, "because you need me to do this job." you reason with yourself.

it's silent for a beat, heavy as it sits in the cockpit. it's like he knows you're lying: he may get to hide behind his armor, but you're exposed under his stare, the fear surely manifesting underneath your eyes and in the gnaw of your lips. then, quietly, the modulator crackles. "don't say never."

the silence he brings with him, the inhumanity- it instills a type of trepidation in you that you have not felt in any of your long years of life. fear has guided your life to this point - your memories of the name or location of the planet you were from were completely erased the minute the Ark'uz'iman syndicate got their slimy grasp upon your throat; after that, you were a toy for Zuca to torture, by dangling your past above you just out of eyesight. he knows where your family is, of course. but he'd never expected you to get out, let alone find him.

but the Mandalorian's words - collateral... you shiver as it washes over you. if all else fails, he was going to turn you in to whoever casted that puck for Zuca. your fate rests in the hardened, blood-spilling leather gloves that currently hold the jumpdrive stabilizers in an iron, machine-like, emotionless grip.

"Ryloth." you say instead of pushing more, "is that Inner-rim?" you ask hopefully. all you remembered was that your own homeplanet was somewhere inner-rim; it'd be easier to find your family once within the correct rim, as you have nothing but the memories of waterfalls, villages outside a large city, and harvest festivals with wooden figurines.

a crackle from the modulator has you pulling your eyes from the alluring glitter of space. "no. it's in the Gaulus sector, Outer Rim." he states. your face burns in embarrassment, not having much navigational guidance. "didn't get out much from Csilla?" he states, but it doesn't feel like a question. "I didn't ever leave." you admit. until now.

"i, um..." you don't know why you're talking; maybe it's just how nervous the Mandalorian makes you. "I didn't live the most desirable life back on Csilla. seems I always had problems that couldn't go away."

"well, you seem to still have no problem finding trouble." it's an off-handed comment, but you can't brush off the implications. you glare at the stars, how could he possibly think you'd employ yourself willingly under Zuca? "clearly the trouble found me, Mandalorian." your words fall from your lips before you can consider them, and you immediately glance at his side-profile, unsure of what will set him off.

he says nothing, so you resign to the fact that he clearly was finished with the scrap of conversation you'd tried to spark with your uneager host.

it's quiet yet again as the Mandalorian turns to check his flight tracker. "it'll only be a few hours. you should get some rest."

you blink; in your memory of walking through the ship, there was no spare cot, barely any space to put your few belongings. you say nothing as you leave the cockpit with your satchel, finding a section clear enough to drop your things down in the cargo bay, sectioned off from the rest of the hull by crates of supplies. your eyes are heavy as you spread your parka on the ground, lids closing the moment you curl up on the cold floor.

as you drift off, a gurgled coo echoes from behind the shut door of the Mandalorian's quarters, just above your head up in the main hangar area. you wonder if you dream it.

you wake as the Crest lands, bones aching and creaking as you stand shakily. you're unsure how long you slept for, but you woke up several times to phantom noises in your ears and one face, lingering as evil as death itself, in your mind's eye. the Mandalorian is strapping bombs, knives, and blasters to his belt from an excessive collection in the wall when you walk into the hull on quiet feet.

"what's the plan?" you ask, the Mandalorian still not merely jumping at your sudden words. you wonder if he heard you come or if he's always just ready; always on alert, always prowling. you shiver.

"had to land farther than expected from the outpost. we'll have to walk in to town." and then he's hitting a button and the onramp descends into hard, dusty earth, your eyes squinting at the sudden change in light.

this planet is extreme in its climate, but completely different than what you're used to from Csilla. it's rough, a rocky walk to town that seems to take everything from you: you realize too soon that your longsleeve that you'd been wearing since your liberation was too much for this climate; the air thin and brutal as it absorbs every single drop of moisture from your body. your clothes stick to you like sap on cheesecloth.

the Twi'leks who are native to this planet part in a pathway silently when you step into town. you and your escort walk through town, seeking the outpost datacenter that sits in the middle of the information sector, and you can't ignore the prying eyes as they slide over you and the Mandalorian. you know the look: fear. clearly the reputation of a Mandalorian precedes him no matter where he goes: he walks, they cower. one turn of a beskar helm, they're gone, inside the shadows.  

but soon, you're pulled into the datacenter unceremoniously with the Mandalorian's unforgiving grip on the crook of your elbow. his fingers are rough against your soft skin and you have to grit your teeth; what are people going to think when this man drags you in to retrieve a DNA retrieval circuit? it makes you turn on your heels to face him.

you crane your neck as you hold your hands up, "wait," you say, looking around, "this isn't going to work." you gulp. a tilt of his helmet suggests he is impatiently unsure of what you mean. you wipe the sweat that pours down your neck as you gesture around you, "these aren't the kind of people that are used to seeing- well-" you don't want to anger him, so you stop your sentence from finishing. instead, you retry, "-they're scholars, businesspeople," you mutter, biting your lip, "if I have you following me around, it'll look suspicious. someone would alert us to the authorities." you convince. the beskar gleams in the light of the suns, the room of the datacenter lightened with wall-to-wall windows.

"no." his voice makes your teeth grit. if the Mandalorian is anything, he is surely frank. and stubborn.

"you can stay here, keep an eye on me or whatever," you nod your chin towards the corner of the foyer, "-and i'll be quick." your eyes fall to the short line of people retrieving information from the DNA-kiosks. "this is the only way. I already stick out here." you watch as his visor tilts down slowly, taking in your ragged, unprofessional appearance. you shift under the scrutiny until he scans the building of people all formally dressed. "fine. do not get into any trouble." he says curtly. you roll your eyes, "it's fine. I'll be quick." you reason, shaking your head. he's unbelievable.  

it's a crowded room, but you can't shake the burning feeling of the Mandalorian's gaze. he's in the farthest corner from you, leaning against a wall on his right hip, arms crossed. he's like a winter storm: imposing, dark, dangerous, leaving nothing but silence and fear in his wake. his gaze does not leave your body for a millisecond, and the scrutiny of the statue in the corner lights something in you on fire. in a way, his presence triggers your fight or flight and your fingers tremble as you slide your finger towards the DNA acceptance mechanism, the retrieval circuit slicing your finger.

the datachip is in the machine, your blood DNA is collected quickly. you don't even flinch. you smile bitterly to your reflection in the shiny retrieval machine metal; all of this, all the pain, the years, the loss of your family, your life: all for a two-minute retrieval of data.

"excuse me." a voice from behind you makes you jump, body turning to shield prying eyes from the sensitive information downloading on to your holopad. blood trickles down your fingertip as you swallow, blinking at the magenta Twi'lek man who stands before you. his eyes are red and your hackles raise immediately when you notice he used Basic to communicate with you - though this planet was predominately Twi'leki.

"I can't help but notice, your machine is flagged." he gestures behind you, and your eyes follow to his suit, the badge signifying his membership to the Rylothian government. "this encrypted data you're retrieving is flagged by the Republic's sensors. I'm afraid I'll have to take this from you."

your throat dries, glancing over to see the download at 97% completion. your neck is dripping with sweat as you try to send him your sweetest smile, "oh- I'm sorry, my-my father sent me this letter. he's off-galaxy currently, it must've been corrupted in transmission." you're glad for your quick thinking as he sends you a smile, his sharp teeth glinting in the sharp suns through the windows, "I'm sure that's all, miss. if you don't mind," and then he's reaching for the holopad and you jump quickly to stop him, "no!"

you're half-turned now, panicking, "please, I need-don't." you hope you sound like a girl desperate to read a note from her father, and not a woman desperate to track a warlord down.

the man's eyes raise then behind you, a shadow covering you as you feel his presence. even in the hot, unforgiving and wicked air that is so unlike what you'd grown accustomed to, your stomach flips and a shiver runs down to the base of your spine when he presses behind you.

he's cold against your back as the Mandalorian speaks demandingly, "give her the holopad."

the man's eyes are flowing with fear, but he straightens his suit, holding on to the last semblance of professionalism he may have, "I'm sorry, but I'll have to take it in for examination first."

there's a rough nudge on your shoulder, and you're stumbling to the side suddenly as the Mandalorian forces himself between you and the Twi'lek, "no, you won't." the Mandalorian states. his voice is final.

the man is stuttering and you watch in awe as the mere presence of the Mandalorian has people cowering away; soon the man nods, clearing his throat, "I-I will... go find my superior officer." he states, turning to scamper off. the wall of beskar turns to face you, the anger seeping out of his mask despite it all and you have to look away as your hands shake, wringing your fingers. a sigh crackles from the modulator that somehow swirls indignant guilt in your chest - you could have handled that without him.

"let's go, kid." the Mandalorian gruffly mutters, shoving the datapad and used chip into his bag before storming off, leaving you no choice but to follow. kid? you glare at the back of his head in anger and your face twists in irritation, "i'm not a kid, Mandalorian." you spit as you stumble after him, embarrassment creeping onto your cheeks in the childish way your voice whines.

he's unphased as he keeps walking, his cape flowing in the wicked winds of the planet. you aren't a kid - sure, you have no idea his age, but you're much more than over the age to be considered a kid, and the idea of it makes you fluster in anger. you know he said it to put you down, to keep you down, and you won't let that keep happening to you; spitting residue sand from your parched, dry lips, you jump in front of him yet again. it seems this is the only way to get this bounty hunter's attention. you effectively halt his tracks as you make it to the outskirts of the post and he stands in front of you, the sun glinting into your eyes from the metal. his anger is apparent in the deep, heavy sigh that falls from his modulator. he waits for you to do something, clearly fed up.

in your irritation, your hands smack into his pauldron in a shove; your fingers immediately ache at the impenetrable hardness of the armor and you try to hide your groan of pain. your finger, raw from the DNA retrieval, leaves a small smudge of blood over his otherwise untarnished armor in your anger.

at your abruptness, his helmet levels to your face; the rise and fall of his chest tells you he's trying to contain his irritation. something about him has lit your veins in a different kind of motivation and anger than you've ever felt before.

"just to be clear, I did not do this for you." you spit coldly, glaring at the helmet that hovers in front of you. "Zuca deserves to never see the light of day again, and i don't care if you want to bring him dead or alive. I know there's money in it for you, and from the looks of your tin-box of a ship you clearly need it, but this is for me. this is about my life, Mandalorian. I am doing this to find my family and to return a lifetime of suffering back to him. so do not patronize me." you say with venom in your words, surprising yourself with your anger. your heart is pounding fast in your ears, but the Mandalorian stands more than a foot above you, hands clenched at his sides as he breathes.

he leans forward then, so close that you see yourself in his visor, your eyes wide in shock as his gloved hand points directly in your face, inches from your chin. at his words, your legs tremble.

"do not put your hands on me." his voice is threatening, deep, low. "ever."

your throat dries, the fiery confidence you'd just had blown out instantly by his icy cold words, a cold wash over your spine in the heat of the planet.

he turns to leave, not before tossing you a handful of credits, "that's enough for a night at the inn at the outpost." he says, the dryness of his voice like the parched tongue as it rolls over your teeth. "you can find work in town, i'm sure."

what? panic settles in your stomach, bubbling upwards.

"wait- don't leave me here." you gape, eyes wide in shock. he watches you silently, always silently. "my DNA was just used to run the coordinates for Zuca on a public net, they'll find me instantly. they'll kill me." you say, fighting the desperate panic that rises like bile in your throat. as much as you hate to admit it, you'd be stuck without a way off this planet - you can't defend yourself.

"you can make a new life for yourself." he says in irreverence. you fume, "I spent almost nine years with him. he knows my face, i-" your voice almost cracks, but you refuse to cry in front of this man, this- this weapon. you try a new tactic. "you liberated me, you helped me escape. I owe you." you try to reason, "-let me help."

"this information is enough to settle the score." he argues, arms crossing.

you shake your head, no. no, he doesn't seem to understand how heavy the weight of your newfound freedom was pulling at your shoulders. "I thought Mandalorians were supposed to keep their promises."

it's a low dig and you know it - you were never one to play on someone's beliefs, but you were utterly desperate. you hate to admit it, but you are alone, scared, and the only way to find your family - to find the people who love you - is to leave with this bounty hunter.

"I never promised you anything, girl." he's unforgiving as he speaks into the wind. your nails dig into your palms as he adds, "I gave you a cut for your trouble."

glaring up at his mask, your angry, watery eyes search the black abyss of the visor, looking for any signs of humanity- any sign that there is a living being under the helmet who could sympathize with you.

"well I don't need credits, I need justice." you snap, tossing the coins back to him.

they pang against his chest piece, most of the noise swallowed by the wind that whips his cape and your hair around. "I'm your best bet at finding him. and I don't want the reward, because I don't hunt bounties." you glare. your eyes stare back at you in his reflective helmet, alight with a determination that you've never seen before. you know he won't leave you - because as he's said: you're his collateral. he needs to keep you until he can get his hands on the real bounty.

he says nothing to this, but you can tell he's realized the same thing you're thinking. then a sigh again swallowed up by the wind, "fine."

and he walks away.

the silence stretched beyond your re-entering of the Crest and up until he finally gathered you from your nesting spot. "hey." his machine-like voice calls you from the cargo bay that you rest in, cowering from the very voice that calls to you.

you raise your head to peer up to him, blinking as you release your grip from your knees. "I need to do something. stay here." he calls again, turning to walk out of sight. do something? is he leaving the ship without you? you scramble up, climbing to follow him, rolling your neck to work out the kinks; but he's nowhere to be found once you make it upright.

"hello?" you call, frowning.

a voice from behind you makes you nearly jump from your own skin, "there was movement outside. I need to do a perimeter search. don't leave." he says, wielding a blaster as he turns to open the door from the hull. your heart still rushes in your surprise as you catch your breath. the hull shuts with hisses and you huff as the dim lights from the Crest flicker, leaving you alone in the ship for the first time.

you grumble to yourself as you walk along the hall, finger trailing on the metal. the dust that collects under your fingertips conjures up visions of lonely nights; the Mandalorian clearly works alone, he seems much too distrusting to have a crew. does he have any friends? family? you shake your head with a huff - do bounty hunters have things like that?

but then, a soft, squeaking noise.

your ears perk and your legs still, straining to see if you could hear it again or if it's just your imagination. you feel almost as you did yesterday (or was it just this morning?) when you’d first stepped onboard, as if the cold breath particles swirl around the air as you creep towards the sealed door: the door you have yet to see the other side of.

and you’re nearly positive something is alive on the other side.

is it dinner, you wonder? he is a hunter, after all - perhaps he'd caught a fresh next meal. you glance across to the kitchenette, where the small spoon rests next to the two bowls, and another gurgled threat from the closet has you slowly sliding your hand down to your boot, unsheathing your pathetic metal scrap, holding it in front of you as you follow the source.

one fell swoop has the door sliding open, your arms holding your makeshift shiv in front of you, right up towards a - you frown, stepping closer with disbelieving eyes.

you curse under your breath as your wide eyes meet a pair of the largest ears you've ever seen - green, covered in wisps of gray hairs. the breathy laugh tumbles from your throat before you can even think, be it from relief or disbelief you’re not sure. you smile, cooing down at the tiny little creature that stares up at you. hundreds of thoughts swirl in your head - what is this thing? does the Mandalorian know it's here?

you look closer, noticing the hovering pram it’s tucked snuggly into, and how the creature clutches a large, black sock in its tiny claws; yes, the Mandalorian must know about him. why is he keeping him a secret? your finger slowly reaches out, hovering tentatively - what if this thing bites?

it doesn't though, it lets our a chortled laugh, gurgling as it reaches one green claw out to graze yours. you bite your lip in awe, cooing back to it. but then, for a third time since meeting the Mandalorian, he appears soundlessly and scares you enough to yelp, jumping back as you lift the wire towards his chest in a pathetic attempt of self-defense. "Maker's ghost!" you yelp, "can you stop doing that?"

the Mandalorian steps forward, "what are you doing?" he asks, menacing as he towers over you. frowning, you blink from him to the tiny creature that is now reaching to tug on the cape of the man next to it, its eyes wide and babbling as it stares up at him.

"i heard a noise." you shrug, "you- what is that?" you ask incredulously.

the Mandalorian nudges the creature's head gently with a gloved hand and you can't help your stare: it's the first remotely humane thing you'd seen the bounty hunter do. the little creature babbles something up towards the lifeless mask and you could swear you heard the ghost of a huff from the modulator.

but then he's shutting the door, a physical border between you and the little green thing causing you to finally look back at him.

"don't go into my quarters." his voice has no emotion, as always. you swallow dryly, "s-sorry, I didn't know- I didn't realize it was your space. I just heard a noise." you are honest as you nod at him, "I didn't mean to intrude."

there's just a nod before he turns on his heels towards the cockpit, seemingly accepting your apology. "come here."

you follow him, eyeing his broad frame in a new light after your happy little green discovery. "is it a pet?" you ask as you fall into the copilots seat. the Mandalorian pulls a blaster from his belt, "no."

he's polishing it with a rag as you ask the next question, "what species is it?" you'd never seen anything like it. it's eyes, the depth to them...

"i don't know." he says, tone already riddled with boredom. you don't care to notice, "how did you find it?" you ask curiously. it's not a pet, so is it... a bounty partner? "does it have a name?" you add curiously.

"do you ever stop talking?" he sighs finally, hands ceasing their polishing movements, shiny beskar tilting to examine you. taken aback, you look down, not sure what to say. you fiddle with the wire that you still hold in your hands for a moment, listening to the smooth sound of your breath against the quiet hum of the ship.

the air feels awkward after the uncharacteristic outburst and you nudge your boot up against the dash, settling your chin on your knee. the stars seem entirely out of reach as you stare off at them in jealousy.

after minutes of painful silence, the Mandalorian sighs.

"it's a long story of how he came into my care." the modulated, dry voice sounds odd when he finally admits something without your prodding: your brows furrow. care- he cares for it, however much a machine could care for something. your eyes fall onto his profile as he starts to input a star system into the searcher, "I don't know if he has a name. he was only called the Child."

you hum, "unique." you say dryly, picking your nails. there's a choked sound through the modulator - almost as if the Mandalorian was quelling a surprised huff. despite your irritation with the hunter's tenacity to upset you or intimidate you, it makes your face split into a grin. as you strap yourself in to prepare for the ship to launch, you smile smally at the console; something about finally being away from Csilla has reenergized you; breathed life back into your lungs, replenished your mind. your heartbeat thrums in your chest, this time with excitement, with the prospect of finally creating friendships or relationships, of finding something that you love in life, finding your family after all these years.

the Mandalorian's armor glints in the lights of the cockpit and as his fingers move to pop his knuckles under thick gloves, you smile gently. he lives a solitary life by choice it seems, and no matter how distant he is or how much he tries to intimidate you, he hasn't quite been unkind. he showed something about himself to you, albeit by accident - but you appreciate it all the same.

"we're going to make our way to the Trilon sector. the exchange was scheduled for Batuu." the Mandalorian reaches above his head, flipping a button and nudging a switch simultaneously. "it's farther away, we'll have to stop twice along the way for supplies. you will not need to leave the ship until Batuu."

despite the taste his words leave in your mouth, you take the moment to watch him; his hands move with the ship, fingers gently caressing the buttons as if greeting an old friend. there's a rhythm to his controls, the way he soothes levers, turns styles, presses gauges. it's almost as if the ship is a part of him, a part of how he survives. you realize that it is: he lives here. this is his home. it feels oddly intimate to be sat in here in such silence with him.

but quickly your thoughts burst into a vast cavern of nothingness the minute you're launched into the expanse of space; your eyes dance over every star, every galaxy that flickers past. you don't think you'll ever tire of it, no matter how many times you see it.

it's silent until the bounty hunter turns to you, "why don't you carry a weapon?"

there's an implication to his words; you can hear it in the words unspoken, swirling around you in tandem judgement and curiosity. why does a girl like you not carry a blaster? your derisive answer falls upon unimpressed ears as you grin bashfully, "i have this thing." you wave the wire shiv in his peripheral, but he says nothing - and even his breathing stays even from the puff of his modulator. briefly you wonder what he looks like underneath the helm - is he frowning? does he even have lips? you're assuming he's humanoid, due to the general broad shape beneath the thick layer of metal. but the absence of amusement in the cabin deflates you.

in his unamused silence, you can't help but answer honestly. "I never learned to use any. didn't have access to them." and then, "why do you carry so many?"

a pause. "because I like them."

"you like them?" your brow lifts, slightly amused.

"this is the Way."

you assume that's the end of it; what do you say to that?

(cool, but blasters kind of scare me. you kind of scare me, Mandalorian.)

you shake your head to yourself, settling to stare out at the unbounded prospects that blink back at you; lifetimes and eons passing before your own eyes like strobes of light through your vision. briefly, you wonder if the Mandalorian has a name. you recall once one of Zuca's subalterns had dealt with a Mandalorian during a heist years ago, and had referred to him as 'Mando.' you wonder if anybody has called your Mandalorian that.

a readjustment of your legs in the seat summons your attention to the hard lump that waits in your pocket. right. the excitement over the child and the Mandalorian's new dimension had you nearly forgetting the hard object, your heart flutters in anxiety and you weigh the options, once again, in your mind.

you should do it, right? you gnaw on your lip.

would he think it was weird? probably. you've seen this ship, you've seen him - clearly the Mandalorian's not one for nick-nacks or mementos. but it meant something to you; it was a way to set things right. because you know, as much as the Mandalorian insisted your assistance on this job was payment enough for your liberation, you know that it wont ever feel settled to you. especially after he's just taken you with him again to seek Zuca. you might as well be indebted to him for life, so maybe this token was a testament to your recognition of that fact.

an unspoken vow that his acceptance of your desperate company would be repaid one day.

but as you gaze out into the vast abyss, you think of your family. they're waiting for you out there; they're waiting to love you and accept them and protect you for the rest of your life. it sets you ablaze with determination.

something about the quiet dancing of the stars around your head makes your hand surge deep into your pocket, pulling out the small figure without another thought. it sits in your palm as you clear your throat. your lip catches between your teeth as your hesitant "um," has the Mandalorian turning to look at you, clearly observing the small symbol as it rests in your palm. a slight tilt of intrigue as his helmet shifts microscopically.

under his gaze, your mouth parts gently, your voice barely above a whisper. "this is a Sable. I wanted to-" but his stare is too much, and you're sweating. why are you sweating? you can't even see his face.

aborting your sentence, you start again. "where I'm from, I think these are meant to bring health and protection. it's, um, it's the way people express gratitude, from what I can remember." your explanation makes you feel vastly small, a blind woman trying to recall the braille of a familiar book that had long since been taken from her grasp.

it's melancholy that you're not sure you remember enough to tell him more than that. any language, name, location, or semblance of unique culture had been erased from your memory through an extractive hippocampus fragmenter the minute you were aboard the Akuz'im'an transport.

memories are fuzzy, faces forgotten. you knew you had a mother, a father, three sisters, a brother - you'd been the oldest. you'd left them with the promise that they'd have a better life in your absence; never did you imagine that your dreams of once again finding them would be so within reach.

"that's... all I can remember." you say sheepishly. taking a deep breath, you hesitantly pick up the figurine in between your fingers. your nail nudges through the ridges carved into its intricate yet simple face. it used to call to you, in your earlier years in Csilla when you still cried for your family in the blanket of nighttime. it'd brought you distorted, blurry visions of a temple, of a celebrative festival for thanks and gratitude with warm drinks, bright lights, and friendly people.

you can't bring yourself to speak about it anymore, overcome with a sense of relief to finally be rid of the burden of a forgotten relic of your past life. you bring your eyes to the cold Mandalorian and for the first time, find a small glimmer of peace within yourself. if the care of his shiny armor, his polished weapons, the honor and duty that drips from his very being say anything, it is that he is a devoted man. he believes in something, unlike you; you couldn't afford that anymore. so, with a resolute mind, you figure that at least an honoring man as himself could find solace in the value of the Sable. or, more likely, he'll reject it, tossing it in the compactor when you turn in for the night.

he's still as ever when you lean forward, gently setting the Sable on top of the dilithium launcher box that sits just to the right of his controls. the weight of the small figurine lifts off of your shoulders, and you sigh.

a piece of you sits there along with it as it stares up in awe at the stars just as you. the Mandalorian is silent as he turns back from you to stare out, too.

it could be two minutes later or twenty when the Mandalorian's voice cracks through the heavy silence the Sable and your words had created, pulling your thoughts back into the cockpit, back in with him and his guarded disposition. "if you were a captive, why did he allow you access to this kind of information at all?" the man asks you. the lack of suspicion in his words cause you to prop a leg against the window as you gaze out at the stars.

pain and hurt flash broadly from your chest and blossom out to the tips of your fingers. you lick your marred lips.

"it was kind of like a sick joke. like, when you give a Massif a bone and then tell him that if he so much as sniffs it, you'll blast him up to the Maker." you say numbly, fingers brushing the marred skin from the Mandalorian's brutal cauterizer on your wrist, lying fresh above a battlefield of older scars that riddle your arms, your body. his silence is almost as heavy as the chains that still threaten to fall back upon your wrists.

"I've never killed anybody, you know." your eyes search his emotionless mask, "not directly." you wet your chapped lips again, anxious. you eye the Sable and quickly look away as its eyes stare back lifelessly, the cool silence of the cockpit making your heart beat heavy.

his visor tilts to stare at you head-on, tilting slightly. you notch away in your head somewhere that that's his listening face.

"when we find him, if I- if I see him," your hands tremble with the wave of emotions that flood you, so you drop them unceremoniously into your lap to play with the tie of your trousers, you get so angry sometimes thinking about it all.

"I think I could do it." you admit smally, voice shaking slightly.

there's a heavy breath of air in which you catch yours and the Mandalorian exhales his.

"I could show you." the Mandalorian finally says, hand finding his blaster absently, large leather hand caressing it almost as one would the face of a sweet lover, or the remnants of a saint whose gospel was long forgotten to the stars. "if that's...what you need."

you look out to the stars, considering his offer.

when all is said and done, when this Mandalorian and you finally find Zuca, after he tells you where your family is; would you be able to do it? a blaster between the eyes, a blade to his throat?

for all the times you'd wished him dead, for all the horror he'd forced you to endure... could you take another's life?

you look to the Mandalorian: the amount of deaths he'd orchestrated in his time preceding even his name. his cape is knit with the names of those who'd crossed him, each twitch of a gloved finger over a trigger seemingly simple yet still a soul from the universe. his job was death, his creed was written on his armor, and he was a weapon. could you be like him, could you let go of your humanity?

he offers it in the understanding that this is something your soul needs, something you want in order for revenge. it's dirty, it's angry, it's a fire that is smoother than a storm, finding a home deep within your ribcage. the Sable catches the light of the stars in the cockpit as the Mandalorian's words settle. they burn. flames lick your chest and spread to your head, your arms, your heart.

( I don't need credits, I need justice.)

(I could show you. if that's what you need.)

his offer hangs in the air, incendiary in their allure. you call to the stars, to the trillions of voices wise beyond years you could even comprehend; you ask them if this is the right choice.

but the stars don't call back.

next

. taglist: @toobsessedsstuff

[mlp410nightcore]

Hi Everyone!! Here is another next gen for my Blossom Love AU. Katrina's parents are Silver Sable and Will Mackenzie. Katrina is very tough and is always there to protect her family and friends. She also knows almost every single form of physical combat imaginable and is not afraid to use them when anyone she cares about is threatened. Katrina currently works alongside her mother in her mother's company, Sable International. She's also very intelligent and can invent tons of gadgets and can hack any computer. Credit goes to Selenaede for the base I used and to Sony Interactive Entertainment, Insomniac Games, Marvel and Hinterland Studios for creating The Spiderman PS4 Video Game and The Long Dark as well as creating the characters, Silver Sable and Will Mackenzie as well as creating the company Sable International as well. I only take credit for my next gens, art, ships, stories and the Blossom Love AU. I hope you guys like her!!!

[dreamcrow]

Hellouu dream!! Good aftermoon! ^^

How are you today?? I hope you are good hihi :3

Sooo.. I have a little question that has been on my mind ever since I saw your art..

•I wanted to know more about the relationship between bellroc and them familiar dragon (I don't know if that's the term...)

•how did bellroc kill him??

•how did he meet this Dragon?

•Skrael already knew about all this??

(I know.. it's more than one question.. but I was curious...) byeeee!!👋👋 have a nice dayyy :3

kitty you are so sweet. thank you for indulging me and my little headcanons; i hope the ramblings that follow were as fun to read as they were to imagine.

what is a familiar? it comes from the same root as "family," but in classical latin familia generally means the *slaves* of a household (hence the english sense, used elsewhere in toa, of "a magical servant"). which isn't why i headcanon that bellroc wears their familiar's skull, by the way, though it would probably add to their general bemusement at modern magic-users' concept of the relationship. i've had this headcanon for such a long time, now, but despite wanting very badly to write something about it i've never actually gotten anything to a publishable state. (the one thing i have written recently about this is currently. 100-odd words of snippy banter/[INSERT SCENE-SETTING HERE], which feels like it doesn't quite count.) so. some bullet points, while i kick around some thoughts in the microwave of the mind.

yes, bellroc killed their familiar. they did not know that's what she was. they did not mean to do it.

azherin was a giant fuckoff dragon, the distillation of everything stories say dragons should be: vain, cunning, arrogant, unfathomably powerful. because it's my oc and my hc and therefore everything is based on my terrible taste, she is (mostly) feathered, and breathes silver fire (and occasionally lightning). she's also got a wife and kids but god if we fall down that rabbithole i really will never get to bed

the first time they see her, a slip of oil-black bleeding up from the edge of the sky, they feel a flash of some vague, fleeting connection. they wonder what it is, just for a moment, before (they think) they realize: the old familiar coil of fear, twisting to settle bright and lazy into their gut. they think she's smoke, from a particularly vicious wildfire.

when they find out what she actually is—for the first time since dying, in a particularly vicious wildfire—they think on how how strange it is, at this age, to find something they may fear more than that.

(the thought of "a familiar" never occurs to them. to either of them. bellroc never knew magic before receiving it violently and unexpectedly; skrael has heard of magic users with companions of varying sorts but if he's ever seen one, it's only been a mundane-looking creature like a bird or a sable marten. they wouldn't know the word as we use it now, and probably don't, for a long time.)

but bellroc does by now know magic, and by now knows it very well. always conscious that their mastery is earned—that they've had to work for it—but conscious that they are a master, all the same. they're the only person in the world to wear so much (or any) metal jewelry, let alone have a metal staff almost as tall as them. they might not quite openly think of themself as a god—yet—but they are certainly thinking about gods and godhood as a general concept, much more than they did while within the span of a normal human lifetime. they think about power, sure, about improving their craft, about impressing a certain someone, improving their lives; but also duty, obligation, right.

so when they find out a literal dragon is going around terrorizing defenseless human towns—well. they'll catch the devil from skrael later, for being so reckless. but in the moment, they protest: what else could they do?

as it turns out: even the most op of magical cavemen does not simply 1v1 a giant flying murderlizard.

especially one that can breathe lightning.

especially when their primary weapon is a giant metal stick.

skrael meanwhile is watching all of this—what. rivalry? folie à deux? he's been having odd dreams lately, infrequent, but insistent and recurrent, from his own yet-unknown familiar/skull source, which maybe is making him less charitable than he could be. but after watching bellroc definitely get their ass kicked and definitely be way more torn up about it than he'd expected: when they notice him being so dubious he must admit, he is perplexed. he understands bellroc's stated reasons for why they (tried to) intervene, that first time; it would be a terrible thing, he agrees, to find yourself in a town that a dragon has now decided is her personal pantry. but terrible shit happens all the time. however admirable it may be to try and stop it (and he does think it's admirable, because he's a sap) he is always, at heart, a pessimist.

even if you could have saved that one village—he means it gently, even if it doesn't quite come out right—you know she'll just move on to another.

and bellroc blanches. for the first time in a long time: they have a (small, but) serious fight.

because—bellroc's perspective is: they have all this power. all of this life, after dying, terribly; all of this magic, after a life of nothing of the kind. perhaps one mortal effort would make no difference; perhaps, even now, their effort would not tip the balance. as it certainly did not in that hill-town, they mutter, bitterly.

but they are no mortal, now. what's the good of having this power, if they don't even use it?

anyway bellroc and azherin end up running into each other 6-7 times. the last time, azherin just loses her shit at this insolent, interfering child:

(please excuse the clumsiness here; this must be from. good god. twenty twenty-one)

...which ends predictably (though maybe not entirely so). and when skrael finds them, after, then he really lets them have it.

[redhead-reporter]

— character info sheet.

name: mary jane "mj" watson parker

name meaning: mary (hebrew: "drop of the sea", beloved) jane (hebrew: "god is gracious"), watson (english/scottish: "son of watt", "powerful ruler")

alias/es: mj, red, and every conceivable pet name in the english language

ethnicity: american, british isles heritage (ireland, scotland, england, etc)

one picture you like best of your chara:

three h/cs you never told anyone:

mj has a multi-step SKIN CARE ROUTINE that she follows every single morning and night. doesn't matter if she's crawling into bed drunk at 2 AM or waking up at the ass crack of dawn, she does it. if you're dating her? say goodbye to your bathroom counter space.

mj sat at aunt may's bedside the ENTIRE time that peter was out trying to defeat otto and get the devil's breath cure. she let miles handle running the F.E.A.S.T center, since she couldn't imagine herself anywhere else and knew peter would WANT someone to stay with her. they talked about everything and nothing, and before she died may reiterated how much she HOPED that mj and peter would work things out. (and yes, she mentioned the 'beautiful babies' thing to mj, who AGREED)

mj has thrown out several of peter's shirts once they got unforgivably ratty and and pretended like she didn't know what happened to them. of course she always bought him REPLACEMENTS, but if new york's greatest hero has ever suspected her of the crime? he's never been able to PROVE it.

three things your character likes doing in their free time: 

TRASHY. REALITY. TV - specifically dating shows like love is blind, 90 day fiancé (and all of its variants), and the ultimatum. she finds them hilarious, and they're frankly a fascinating look into human PSYCHOLOGY. but they also serve a selfish secondary purpose of making her feel really SMUG about her own relationship and how much healthier/better it is than anything on the shows, even on their worst days.

mj is a new yorker who LOVES her city - if she's got spare time she likes to wander in neighborhoods she doesn't know that well, finding cool local restaurants or little street fairs to get lost in. anything to feel like she's part of the city's HEARTBEAT

mj still has a deep love for the THEATER, even if she chose a different career path for herself. whenever there's enough time and spare cash laying around (which is rare) she likes to go see shows. on or off broadway, doesn't matter - she just likes BEING there when the lights go down and the magic begins

eight people your character likes / loves:

peter parker - soulmate is too weak a word ❤️ peter is her everything

great aunt anna - mj credits her with saving her life as a child

harry osborn - best friend, voice of reason, shoulder she cries on

miles morales - surrogate little brother, "team" member, a godsend

gwen stacey - chaotic gremlin bestie / girlfriend / liability

cindy moon - bestie, fellow wine time enthusiast, gossip gal par excellence

aunt may - family, inspirational figure, beloved and missed every day

silver sable - bestie (terrifying), badass, gifted her (when she realized she was never getting it back) the TASER

two things your character regrets:

breaking up with peter instead of TALKING things through like adults - though they both grew immensely in their time apart and learned valuable lessons from it, she can't get over how they wasted so much PRECIOUS time together that they'll never get back.

not paying better attention to her best friend when he NEEDED her most - harry can be a good liar when he wants to be (hi have you met his dad?), but mj's convinced she WOULD'VE noticed his accelerating illness if she'd stopped being so self-centered and taken the time to really clock his odd behavior before he left for "europe". if he hadn't returned? she NEVER would've forgiven herself.

one phobia your character has:

peter's death. that's it, that's the FEAR. it claws at her every single day, so much so that she can't even watch live news footage of his fights. people treat it like a SPORTING EVENT, cheering like a real person's life isn't literally on the line, and it makes her sick.

[multi-muse-transect]

After playing Spider-Man PS4, I can’t help but imagine Daisy Ridley playing Silver Sable.

[loosesodamarble]

Erika's Next Generation OCs

So I've been having brainrot about next gen ocs. This is partially thanks to @lyranova's Children of the Future series. But also I like to imagine the BC characters having a happy and stable future where building families is possible.

I've shared about the future Nacht x Josele and Nozel x Helia children before but i've got more to share.

I haven't been thinking about the next gen for too long so details are sparse but I hope to build upon the foundations as time goes on. (Maybe if my school work lightens up...)

The children are grouped up by family.

The Faust Family (parents Nacht Faust and Josele Canty [oc]): Sterling, Dawn, Dusk, Sirius, Merel, and Vivian (the family tree)

The Faust Family (AU version) (parents Morgen Faust and Josele Canty [oc]): Albert, Varg, Iris, Valerian, Friedrich, Sable, Blanche, Isolde

The Roulacase Family (parents Finral Roulacase and Finesse Calmreich): Caelum and Rapahel

The Adlai Family (parents Gauche Adlai and Grey): Silver and Clara

The Yami Family, Part 1 (parents Yami Sukehiro and Charlotte Roselei): Saki, Ann, and Kenzou

The Yami Family, Part 2 (parents Yami Ichika and ???): Kai'ichi and Shigehiro

The Enoteca Family (parents Vanessa Enoteca and Selen Nymvire [oc]): Cynthia

The Voltia-Swing Family (parents Luck Voltia and Magna Swing): Jesse

The Silva Family, Part 1 (parents Nozel Silva and Helia Nymvire [oc]): Aecor, Fleuriana, Chalivas, and Soleil

The Silva Family, Part 2 (parents Nebra Silva and ???): Skylar and Elana

The Silva Family, Part 3 (parents Solid Silva and Holly Whitmore [oc]): Eirlys and Ferro

The Silva Family, Part 4 (parents Asta and Noelle Silva): Aimee, Naru, and Filomina

The elves (parent Patry): Avery, Elfrieda, and Alfred

The Cresswell Family (parents Jack the Ripper and Kathline Cresswell [oc]): Daniel and Jill

The Heartha Family (parents Lolopechka and Gadjah): Maris, Neave, and Petrus

Other: Leoray, Kohaku, Gogyō Guardians

[kodokmogok]

How long have you been stuck with all these undone feelings? Those incomplete stories don't need to be completed. Brokenness always be your pathway.

"I’ve been carrying these feelings for a while—maybe too long—but they've become a part of me, guiding me in ways I’m only starting to understand. Sometimes I feel like I’m holding onto an incomplete story, but maybe it's not about finishing it. Maybe it's about learning from it, letting it be a part of my path forward, even if it’s a little broken."

"I like to think that maybe somewhere, in another universe, things worked out between us. The timing, circumstances, and feelings all came together, and we’re happy together, just the way I imagined. Even though I can’t reach that world, just picturing it helps me hold onto the dream without getting caught up in the limits of reality.

Sometimes, thinking this way brings me a little peace. It reminds me that the love I feel is real, even if it didn’t work out here. And maybe that energy, that love, can still shape my life now, opening doors to new possibilities and connections."

“The course of true love never did run smooth.”

Shakespeare’s sonnet 12:

“When I do count the clock that tells the time, And see the brave day sunk in hideous night; When I behold the violet past prime, And sable curls all silvered o'er with white; When lofty trees I see barren of leaves, Which erst from heat did canopy the herd, And summer's green all girded up in sheaves, Borne on the bier with white and bristly beard; When I do scann the clock that tells the time, And see the brave day sunk in hideous night; When I behold the violet past prime, And sable curls all silvered o'er with white; When lofty trees I see barren of leaves, Which erst from heat did canopy the herd, And summer's green all girded up in sheaves, Borne on the bier with white and bristly beard; When I do scann the clock that tells the time, And see the brave day sunk in hideous night; When I behold the violet past prime, And sable curls all silvered o'er with white; When lofty trees I see barren of leaves, Which erst from heat did canopy the herd, And summer's green all girded up in sheaves, Borne on the bier with white and bristly beard; When I do scared All my life I wait, until the time."

[greycatnames]

Grey Cat Names

Embarking on the quest to name your grey cat is a delightful venture, given the enchanting and mysterious allure these feline friends exude. Whether you've recently welcomed a new grey kitten into your abode or embraced an adult cat boasting a sleek grey coat, discovering the perfect name can evolve into a joyous and imaginative process. In this comprehensive guide, we will delve into various grey cat names, drawing inspiration from diverse sources.

Top Grey Cat Names

Shades of Grey

Ash: A timeless choice inspired by the color of ash.

Smokey: Ideal for cats with a smoky grey hue.

Charcoal: Embracing a deep, dark grey shade.

Silver: Perfect for cats with a silvery sheen.

Steel: A robust and metallic-sounding name.

Graphite: A sophisticated and artistic choice.

Nature-Inspired Names

Stormy: Reflecting the stormy skies and clouds.

Misty: Evoking a sense of mystery.

Thunder: Powerful and fitting for a bold cat.

Pebble: Cute and suitable for a petite grey cat.

Rocky: Ideal for a cat with a resilient personality.

Cloud: Light and fluffy like a soft cloud.

Male Grey Cat Names

Shadow: A classic choice embodying the mysterious allure of grey cats.

Smoky: Perfect for a cat with a beautifully shaded coat reminiscent of wisps of smoke.

Silver Bullet: Ideal for a sleek and quick grey cat that moves with grace.

Thunder: A powerful and dynamic name, perfect for an energetic grey feline.

Stormy: Reflecting the tumultuous yet captivating nature of a storm, suitable for an adventurous cat.

Slate: A sophisticated and stylish name inspired by the smooth grey rock.

Gandalf: For fantasy enthusiasts, paying homage to the wise wizard from “The Lord of the Rings.”

Rocky: Ideal for a sturdy and resilient cat with a grey coat resembling rocks.

Cinder: A playful and charming name, perfect for a mischievous grey cat.

Ash: Simple yet elegant, inspired by the grey remnants of a fire.

Whisker Greyjoy: A playful nod to the Greyjoy family from “Game of Thrones.”

Steel: A strong and durable name, suitable for a grey cat with a robust personality.

Mercury: Inspired by the quicksilver element, ideal for a lively and agile feline.

Charcoal: A classic choice capturing the essence of dark grey hues.

Neptune: Perfect for a cat with a cool and calm demeanor, inspired by the serene planet.

Foggy: Ideal for a cat with a misty and dreamlike appearance.

Meteor: A celestial name for a cat that streaks through your life like a shooting star.

Graphite: A sleek and modern name inspired by the dark grey form of graphite.

Loki: A mischievous and cunning name for a cat with a playful personality.

Titan: Inspired by the largest moon of Saturn, suitable for a majestic grey cat.

Funny Grey Cat Names

Smokey McSnuggles

Earl Greyson

Gandalf the Grey

Misty Paws

Sir Fluffington

Pewter Purrlock

Nimbus Whiskertail

Gravy Train

Ash Ketchum

Drizzle Whiskerstein

Sir Meowington the Grey

Cloudy with a Chance of Furballs

Captain Thundercloud

Earl Cattington

Hazy McFuzz

Mr. Mistoffelees

Graytilda the Witch

Purrlock Holmes

Furrball McMuffin

Sir Snugglepants

Grey Cat Names

Grey Tabby Cat Names

Asher

Misty

Tabitha

Sterling

Willow

Nimbus

Luna

Pippin

Smokey

Earl Grey

Gracie

Silver

Dusty

Grizzle

Oliver

Cute Grey Cat Names

Smudge

Mochi

Gizmo

Luna

Puddle

Pebbles

Snickers

Noodle

Whiskers

Cloud

Bubbles

Tofu

Pebble

Buttons

Pippin

Unique Girl Cat Names Grey

Zephyra

Seraphina

Nebula

Mystique

Sable

Velvet

Sparrow

Elara

Quicksilver

Calypso

Tempest

Solstice

Lyric

Vesper

Echo

Celestia

Nimbus

Lunaire

Arya

Juniper

Grey and White Cat Names

Stormy

Oreo

Blizzard

Marble

Mosaic

Misty

Patches

Casper

Ashes

Zorro

Luna

Chess

Ghost

Panda

Pebbles

Smudge

Salt (for white) and Pepper (for grey)

Tuxedo

Cloud

Domino

Boy Cat Names Grey

Ash

Smokey

Slate

Charcoal

Earl Grey

Nimbus

Thunder

Gunner

Sterling

Griffin

Shadow

Mist

Cobalt

Rocky

Zeus

Slate

Storm

Grizzle

Mercury

Finnegan

Pop Culture References

Dorian Gray: A nod to the famous literary character from “The Picture of Dorian Gray” by Oscar Wilde.

Gandalf: For a wise and wizardly grey cat, inspired by the character from “The Lord of the Rings.”

Elsa: Perfect for a regal and icy-grey cat, inspired by Disney’s “Frozen.”

Foggy Nelson: A playful reference for fans of Marvel comics and the Daredevil series.

Historical and Mythological Grey Cat Names

Merlin: Named after the legendary wizard with a grey beard.

Hera: The Greek goddess associated with marriage and family, often depicted with a regal demeanor.

Nebula: Inspired by celestial clouds of dust and gas, fitting for a mysterious cat.

Einstein: A playful choice for a clever and grey cat, honoring the famous physicist.

Food-Inspired Grey Cat Names

Cinder: A nod to the burning embers, perfect for an energetic cat.

Oreo: Ideal for a cat with a mix of grey and white fur.

Pepper: A spicy and lively name for an energetic cat.

Mochi: Sweet and fitting for a cat with a soft grey coat.

Truffle: Elegant and perfect for a sophisticated feline.

Unique and Creative Grey Cat Names

Luna: Meaning moon, perfect for a cat with a cool, lunar-like presence.

Quicksilver: A sleek and speedy choice for an active cat.

Zephyr: A gentle breeze, fitting for a calm and serene grey cat.

Nyx: Named after the Greek goddess of the night.

Slate: A smooth and sophisticated name for a grey cat.

Choosing the right name for your grey cat is a personal journey, where inspiration can be drawn from their personality, physical traits, or your own interests. Whether you opt for a classic or a unique name, what matters most is that it resonates with both you and your feline companion. Take your time exploring various options, and you're bound to discover the perfect name that encapsulates your grey cat's individual charm and character.

[moonyslove78]

I've now re-read this chapter 3 times because I felt like if I didn't I'd miss something crucial.

This chapter was such a roller coaster of emotions! So after reading it the first time when you posted it last night, I knew I had to read it again to really jump into this review. Because I was in tears nearly the entire chapter! Once again, my compliments to your incredible writing, @liz-allyn!

So heeere we go!

The first part of this chapter was so intense and emotional. I really had no idea what to think!

Honey's reaction to seeing those two together... I really would love to know what led up to her breaking point. Since her PTSD made her disassociate what happened between seeing them standing there together to being in Peter's office with a gun pointed at Peter and the whole Spider fam standing backup.

Peter's desperation to bring her back to reality was heart wrenching. He was obviously strategizing on how to get the gun away from her as well, but what hurt the most about that was that I don't think he was worried for himself or even the rest of them (though he obviously didn't want anything to happen to any of them) But after hearing him admit as to what drove Gwen to her breaking point, I feel like it was more or less Peter trying to save Honey from that same fate.

Even if he thought himself to be deserving of getting shot, he knew that she'd never be able to live with herself if she had killed him or any of them.

Which made his tale about Gwen's su*cide even more heartbreaking. He was having to live with the pain of that happening and now watching the woman he loves and would die for, having a mental breakdown while contemplating how to bring her out of it before she did something he knew she'd regret with every fiber of her being.

You could tell that by him trying to deter any of them from making the wrong move or saying the wrong thing to her in the moment. Like when Felicia commented on how Honey called her a lying bitch. And he gave her that warning tone when he called out to her. I feel like he knew if he didn't stop her from continuing, she'd have said something more to set Honey off and that she'd possibly regret any wrong move in the end.

Her admittance of everything John had put her through when they were together was the most damaging. She felt betrayed by everyone and I couldn't imagine what was all actually going on in her head at the time. She felt like she couldn't trust any of them and she felt like the one man who actually made her feel love and loved in return had been working with her worst enemy.

And then telling him she knew about Silver Sable. I couldn't even imagine what was going through his mind at that moment. He was literally grasping at straws to try to explain himself and I wanted to just hug them both and beg them to just stop and listen to each other. No more yelling or accusations. Just communicate and bring my girl back to the right mind-set. 😢🥺

The amount of pain that went on during that scene was outstanding. You wrote it absolutely beautifully.

I honestly held my breath the second she made the comment "Maybe she had the right idea." And didn't breath again until I read that she had the sensation of falling. That's when I knew Peter must've saved her. Not that I had any doubt he would... but then I also wasn't expecting to read the next part... that it was as Venom.

And I honestly didn't realize that Eddie was the ONLY one in the group that knew about Venom. Or the incident in Vegas. Like in Honey's realization, even the members of the team had secrets amongst each other.

I was scared shitless at that moment thinking 'fuck! now venom's gonna kill her!' But Spider family came in clutch on that one.

The events following have me in tears just thinking about them...

When Honey finally came back to her senses and began to listen to what everyone was saying. I couldn't begin to imagine the pain she was feeling when she realized that Felecia was telling the truth and they really had no idea John's real identity.

I am curious though, if because of how Felecia worded it when she said "we were never against you." "I promise you, we didn't know how you were connected... or why you were working for him." Does that mean they did know she was working for him? Or was this just what they had assumed because of the timing of their initial appearances?

I can't wait for the answers to some of these questions!

Though they may think it's not the best idea in the world, but more so the only one... the very first thing I thought when they wanted to get to Peter was "Well, use Honey as the 'bait' to pull him out of this!" And then Felicia literally speaks it.

And lemme just say, the part where she tells Honey that she pointed a gun at her friend and then Honey, being the sweetheart that she really is deep down, said she didn't think she'd have actually shot him. But then Felicia telling her "I don't mean him..." I was bawling!! Felicia may be a bad-ass bitch but she has a heart of gold. ❤️

I was so glad that Eddie explained to Honey (and everyone really) about Venom. I'm really hoping that Venom being a part of the whole thing and Eddie telling her why Peter did what he did (not only in vegas but in his reasoning for taking in Venom to begin with) will help her move past all of the shit that happened. I just want a happy ending for these two and the Spider family. And a very bloody and painful death for John Walker.

I was so proud that Honey knew what Peter was doing when he disappeared after thinking about what Eddie explained about his attempt to kill it.

But I am trying to go through my mind and think back to see if I can guess where he is. I've only come up with two locations and right now, I'm not so sure either one is correct. I can't wait to see what happens in the next chapter!!

And @liz-allyn your author's note at the end about the next two chapter has me squealing!! I've got my fingers crossed for good things to come! 😁

As always, I have to add that your writing is outstanding and I am literally on the edge of my seat every chapter. I wait with bated breath every time you post that the next chapter is coming. I literally check my phone every few minutes waiting for the notification!

I'm anxious and excited to see what the end of this series looks like and cannot wait to read what happens (probably multiple times like every chapter) next! But I will also be soooooo sad to see it end. 😭 It's going to be like the series finale of my favorite show on tv or the final chapter of a saga that I couldn't put down! You literally should have this beauty published!

I can tell you I'd buy multiple copies!

Thank you Liz! For being such an amazing author and bringing about one of the most amazing AU series I've ever had the privilege of reading! As well as bringing these characters into our lives. 💕😍

sugar and vice, pt. 18 [mob!tasm!peter x fem!reader]

summary: everything you need to know about the woman with no name.

words: 6.4k

chapter warning: heavy chapter warnings for s-lf h-rm/ s--cide. Read at your own risk.

series warnings: mob-typical bang bang violence, wh-mp. hurt/comfort. s-xu-l situations. spousal ab-se. family trauma. dr-g use. coercion. manipulation. kidnapping. gore. blood. toxic/yandere!peter (maybe, sorta), negative self talk, shameless forced proximity trope. ‘only ten one bed oops’ trope, imprisonment. slowest burn. a dash of questionable and/or morally grey intentions. extremely toxic relationships.

This version of TASM Peter is not canon. The relationships and characters here are not healthy.

Don't date a mob boss.™️

18+ You’re responsible for your own media consumption, but if you never laid awake at night in a cold sweat, afraid the FBI was going to break down your door because you downloaded a Metallica song on Kaazaa, then well, wait was it just me? oh. okay then. minors dni.

Back to Part 17.

Part 18

The Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders, fifth edition (DSM-5),1 defines dissociation as a disruption, interruption, and/or discontinuity of the normal, subjective integration of behavior, memory, identity, consciousness, emotion, perception, body representation, and motor control.

This was another dream.

She was dreaming again.

The DSM-5 dissociative disorders (DD) are:

Dissociative Identity Disorder (DID);

Dissociative Amnesia (DA);*

Depersonalization/Derealization Disorder (DPDRD);

Other Specified Dissociative Disorders (OSDD);

Unspecified Dissociative Disorder (UDD).

She was having an out-of-body experience. Like astral projection. Everything she saw through her own eyes were the actions of someone she was ghosting over. 

Her life wasn’t happening to her. 

She was dreaming. 

Having a really bad dream.

*In DSM-5 Dissociative Fugue (DF) is now a subtype of Dissociative Amnesia (DA), and not a separate disorder.

That’s what she kept telling herself.

This is a nightmare. It’s only a nightmare.

This is a nightmare.

This can’t be happening. Can’t be real.

The DSM-5 diagnostic criteria for Posttraumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) now include a Dissociative Subtype (PTSD-DS). Dissociative amnesia as a symptom is a diagnostic criterion for both DID and for PTSD. Criteria for PTSD-DS are that reminders of the PTSD Criterion: A traumatic stressor lead to depersonalization/derealization symptoms. In DSM-5, the DD section is specifically placed after the Trauma-and-Stressor Related Disorders to show their relationship to traumatic experiences. 1

She was calm.

Heart steady.

She wasn’t sweating this time. Wasn’t pissing herself.

Why would she? This was all a dream.

A strange dream—with John and Peter looking at her like she was a sight for sore eyes. They both wore a smirk. Both of them sharing a secret.

And Felicia was there. And Eddie was there. Johnny Storm, too. Miguel was there—magically reanimated.

What a strange dream. Who else was going to make an appearance? Jesus? Her third-grade teacher? Tod?

None of that really mattered, though. Nothing really mattered. So much so, she wouldn’t even remember what happened next.

How surprising was it, then, to wake up standing in the middle of Peter’s office. Felicia and Eddie lingered near the doorway. Peter stood across from her, eyes wide and alert. 

He was speaking to her. Muddled words. It really looked like she should be listening. 

But how did she get here?

Oh well. It didn’t matter.

This is a dream. Nothing can hurt you in a dream. Even if you die, you don’t really die. There was nothing to worry about. Everything was fine.

Her fingers were cold, though, wrapped around cold metal. Black as night. She was holding a gun. How strange.

Peter was standing at the barrel end of it. The pistol that had been hidden in his desk. Her finger was on the trigger. Hand shaking.

“Honey,” Peter's voice echoed against her eardrum. He sounded far away. He sounded like he was inside her head.  “Please, just talk to me.”

Suddenly, she was awake. 

Her heart sped up, eyes focusing sharply as the color drained from them, swallowed up by the black holes of her pupils. She took deep breaths through flared nostrils. Cold perspiration trickled down the nape of her neck, sending shivers down her spine. 

She stood with her back to the office windows. Blinding daylight drenching the horrified expressions of the people surrounding her. Boxing her in. Closing a gap around her. Locking her into a trap.

That wasn’t going to work. She had the key in her hands. She had the key to it all.

“Honey,” Peter repeated, his voice featherlike yet full of terror. He fixed her with wide eyes, hands up at his shoulders to placate her. He inched closer.

“Stay back!” she barked, eyes feral. She suddenly noticed the tears on her face. Goddamn it, she’s crying again. When did that happen?

“It’s me, baby,” Peter cooed at her. “Jus’ me—”

“Who are you?” she demanded, her voice cracking with the force of thunder. It was a wretched, vicious sound. “Who the fuck are you, really?” 

He blinked in confusion, reeling in a step backward. Too far to reach for her. Her eyes darted frantically, searching the faces of Felicia and Eddie. Searching for danger. Searching for safety. Searching for any way out. 

John wasn’t in the room. He could be hiding around the corner for all she knew. Hiding in her closet or under her bed.

Her lower lip wobbled. There wasn’t a way out. 

Her heart wrenched in her chest. “Why did you pick me?” she desperately whimpered, returning to Peter. “Why are you doing this to me?” 

Her voice was small and fragile, like a sugar glass figurine. Blinking rapidly, he furrowed his eyebrows, staring at her in confusion. 

“Okay, Honeybun,” Felicia chimed in, singsong. “Let’s all just calm down, shall we?”

Honey jerked her arm, pointing the gun at Felicia. She shrieked, jabbing her with each word, “I wasn’t talking to you, you lying bitch!”

Felicia raised one of her brows and muttered barely above her breath, “Not with that tone, you’re not…”

“Cat,” she heard Peter gently admonish, a warning in his tone. 

Slowly, he took another step towards the gun, mapping the distance between him and the bullet's path. Honey responded to the subtle movement like the cracking of a whip. In an instant, she was back on him, her watery glare and shaky aim directed at his chest.

“Is Miles in on this too?” she wept breathlessly, rage filling her lungs and suffocating any sense of trust. “Is Bella already dead? Did you fucking hurt her? Tell me the goddamn truth, Peter!”

Peter shook his head, exasperated. “What—I-I don’t—what are you—?”

She cut his sentence short. “I saw what you did to that woman!”

Peter froze. Eyes wide, lips parting.

Fury surged through her, bulging her veins and twitching her muscles. 

“You asshole—you fucking tell me that you love me, that there’s no one else, and you had that fucking stripper-whore all over you!” 

His jaw locked, eyes filling with remorse. Voice dropped to a whisper. “I can explain—”

“And then you murdered her!” she spat, words burning like acid. “You mutilated her! You fucking monster!” 

Hot tears spilled down her cheeks, blurring her vision. Sharp crimson splatters and deep umber stains replaced it like frames of a snuff film on celluloid.

“Dumped her body like a used condom, you motherfucker!” 

He lifted his chin, shame shadowing his face. His expression was as good as a confession in her eyes. 

“Is that what you were gonna do to me?” she hotly demanded.

Peter grimaced at the question like she’d already fired the bullet. Finally, desperation overtook him as he opened his mouth to speak.

Eddie blurted out, “That ain't how it happened—”

Peter shot a warning glare over at him, face turning pale. Eddie bit his tongue, but the damage was done. Angry eyes were now fixed on him, their black holes threatening to tear them all apart. 

“You knew about this?” she hissed, horror spreading across her face. “You knew, and you didn’t tell me?” She was vibrating with self-righteous rage, her features melting into a vicious sob.

Eddie buttoned up his lips, helpless against her betrayed expression.

Jaw agape, Felicia shot a frustrated glare at both men. “Jesus Christ.”

“I know what it looks like,” Peter cut in, desperate to regain her attention and refocus her wrath on him alone. “But he’s tellin’ the truth, okay? You’re right, you're right, but that’s not how it went down. I swear it, I-I don’t remember—I-I didn’t even know what happened—”

“You know everything, Peter, you always know everything!” the heartbroken woman sneered lividly, mocking him. “You know everything about me, doncha? What’d he tell you? Huh? Did you already know I was married?”

The room fell silent. Peter gazed at her, a crease painted between his brows. He glanced at Felicia, who mirrored his expression, before turning back. “I… didn’t.” 

“You didn’t, huh?” she seethed, her anger simmering with anguish and shame. “You couldn’t find the marriage certificate? You wanna know why?” 

He stared at her, blinking. Jaw opening and closing. 

“Because I forged my sister’s signature and stole the savings in her bank account! I used it to pay off an old creep at the county clerk’s office!” She hissed with a twisted mouth, as if the words tasted rancid on her tongue, “Five grand and a blow job were all it took to erase the shittiest mistake of my life.”

Peter stared with eyes like saucers. Despite his desperate attempt to keep his face neutral, he reflected silent shock.

“I was high when I met John,” Honey added, her voice trembling. This time, she leveled her contempt toward Eddie. “Did he tell you that, too?” She pictured every sentence as a knife wound. Each punctuation was a twist of the blade. 

“Stole two of my mom’s Xanaxs,” she hiccuped, swallowing her sobs in an effort to force out the words. “Let him fuck me in the back seat of his car with a camera in my face. He came in my mouth, and I cried on camera, and I told him I wanted to kill myself and asked him to murder my mother.” 

The words spilled out of her in a frantic blather, vile puss spewing from old wounds. “I used to sneak into the kitchen at night, turn on the gas, and think about blowing up my family. Me. My little sisters. I didn’t care! Did he tell you about that?!”

Peter’s eyes shimmered with tears. Opening his mouth felt like prying apart steel. Despite that, he kept his words gentle. “Honey. Whatever happened, we can talk it out—”

She blurted out a livid laugh, hot tears running down her cheeks. “Oh, you wanna talk to me?” She pointed her finger, jabbing it at the doorway. “Talk to him!” Felicia and Eddie glanced at the door, both of them perplexed. “Let him tell you how he used to get drunk and pass me around to all his friends like a fucking Fleshlight!” 

Peter flinched at the noise her voice made, cracking like glass. Her lip wobbled as she fixed him with giant, horrified eyes. She looked as if a sudden realization struck her.

“Is that what you were gonna do to me?” she cried in a tiny voice. “Were you two gonna share me after you fucked with me? Was that the plan all along?”

His face was clouded with bewildered horror. 

Conversely, her vision was crystal-clear. Everything suddenly made sense to her. She didn’t know how he did it, but she knew. 

John and Peter were working together. They were always working together. She had never escaped either of them.

John knew where her apartment was. Peter did too.

John was waiting outside of her mother’s home. Peter was waiting inside.

Peter kidnapped her whole family. He held Bella hostage. John knew where to find them.

John had pictures of Bella. He had pictures of Gabriella. 

Peter had pictures of her, too.

John was Peter. Peter was John.

She was stupid. Stupid, stupid girl.

“Nothing is free!” she was muttering aimlessly, babbling without realizing it. Giant sobs racked through her. “Nothing is safe! Can’t trust anyone—they’ll do anything they need to to survive. That’s what I did! I survived!” 

“Please,” Peter’s voice cut through, recapturing her attention. “Please, please, baby.” His eyes shimmered with desperation. “You got this all wrong. I don’t know—I-I-I never meant to hurt you like this. I swear.”

She shook her head, fat tears spilling down her cheeks. “Were you lying to me about Gwen, too, you fucking bastard? She didn’t fall, did she?”

“Honey—”

“Did she?!”

“She jumped!” Peter yelped, his heart shattering as the words escaped his throat.

The gasp that followed seemed to reverberate off the walls. It was as if every sound in New York went quiet. A blaring, piercing silence that made eardrums ache. Peter looked devastated, on the verge of collapse. She settled her stern gaze on him, watching his face crumple. He brought his hands up through his hair, tugging his scalp hard enough to tear. He bit down hard on his lip to keep from screaming.

Gobsmacked stares from the other side of the room confirmed that this was a piece of information that no one had. 

Looking stoic and shattered, he sucked a big breath in and out, keeping his jaw firm. Wiped at his nose. Dug his fingers into his hips. 

“I didn’t want this life for her,” he finally muttered, silent tears flowing. “She was a smart woman. Smarter than me. She was supposed to do something—something amazing with her life. She wanted to help people.” He swallowed hard, apparitions playing in his gaze. “The fear. The violence. It took a toll. She tucked it away inside. Never let it show.”

He gulped, running a hand down his face to clear his watery eyes. “They, uh, came after us, and-and she killed someone. She had to. I tried to tell her that but... she never was the same. Somethin’… somethin’ ate her alive. From the inside out.” 

His brows furrowed, heartache seizing his expression. “I didn’t see it.” He sounded like a wounded animal. In many ways, he was. “I didn’t see what it was doing to her. Not until it was too late.”

He went quiet. The tears that rimmed his eyes flowed free. He marinated in agony and self-resentment. His voice was calm with resolve. 

“I destroyed her,” he said. “And I’ll never forgive myself for that.” He lifted his heavy eyes. “I don’t know how else to say it to you. But I’d rather die before I let that happen again. So if you’re gonna shoot one of us, shoot me.” They locked gazes with each other, his eyes swelling with tears. “I’ve had it comin’ for a long time.”

Her arm was beginning to shake from the weight of the weapon. 

His doe eyes fixed on her. She couldn’t read them anymore. Too afraid of the next chapter. Too weary for the following sentence.

But none of that mattered anymore. Because this was all just a dream.

“Maybe she had the right idea,” Honey whispered, her lip wobbling. She closed her eyes. Put the gun to her own head.

The sound of the gunshot deafened her, swallowed up by an unholy roar. 

She didn’t expect the falling sensation. She was expecting pain—maybe. She was expecting a tunnel or a big white light. Or maybe for it all to go pitch black. Maybe she was expecting nothing at all.

But she was falling backward unexpectedly. The gun tumbled from her reach. Tentacles wrapped around her arms, oily, cold, and slick. Like a primordial monster out of the ocean depths. 

They encircled her entire body. Constricting around her waist. Wrapped around her throat. Locking her ankles in place. 

When she looked up, Hell wasn’t what she expected. She didn’t expect the Devil to have oozing, inky, onyx flesh. Or dead white eyes that wrapped around its skull. She expected horns. But not a mouth the size of a Great White’s with twice as many teeth.

Certainly, not that tongue. Twisting. Dripping. Like a black serpent slithering from his mouth.

“Pete, no!” 

Eddie was here too. How did Eddie get here? 

Then, she felt the pain.

The still-healing crack in her bone buckled as her ribcage was compressed. She thought her pelvis would be next as the tentacle's heavy, crushing, constricting force closed around her hips and waist. Another thick mass squeezed her throat. The air was being forced from her lungs as the ooze gripped tighter.

“What the fuck is that?”

Felicia. She sounded surprised. She sounded terrified. 

Honey was terrified too. Opened her mouth wide to scream. But she couldn’t. No air. She couldn’t breathe. All she could do was gaze up at that horrifying Cheshire smile as it grew wider. The monster loomed larger. It was getting bigger. Towering over her.

It would be over soon, she hoped. 

“Pete!” Eddie again. 

This time, the beast let go.

She was tossed backward, flung through the air, landing hard against the side of the desk. After taking a deep, painful gasp, she fine-tuned her attention to what was happening in real-time.

A steel blade glinted in Felicia’s hand as she buried it deep into the black tentacle of the monster beneath her. 

Miguel was in the room now, keeping himself from being dragged off by the creature with repeated jabs into its flesh. He flexed his wrist, and a set of razor-sharp blades, curved like talons, retracted from a device mounted on his forearm. He hit the monster with the spines of his arm guard, causing it to cry out with a shrieking squelch.

The real damage was done by Eddie. He held a pressurized canister of dust cleaner in one hand and a lighter in the other. Igniting a spark turned the spray into a blow torch. A column of fire shot out, lashing at the monster’s body. It shrank backward, retracting its shape.

“The window!” Eddie shouted, his voice nearly lost in the creature’s shrieks. “Felicia, take out the window!”

Gunshots rang out. Honey covered her ears as glass rained down into a crashing cascade. The monster screamed with a noise similar to nails on a chalkboard as cold air rushed into the office. 

In a moment, everything was silent. The monster vanished. 

And so had Peter.

An hour had passed. The great room was eerily silent, even with the gang gathered there.

John was in the wind, having slithered away. Johnny Storm had been escorting him to the garage just as Honey was retrieving Peter’s gun. Walker was gone before anyone knew what was happening.

Honey gazed down at a wound on her right thigh—a scrape from being tossed across Peter’s office. The ring in her ears from the gunshot was only now fading. Her head was throbbing. Although if Peter had been a quarter-second later knocking the weapon away, there’d be a hole in it. 

Whatever healing her rib had accomplished had likely been undone by the desk. Or the—fuck, is tentacles even the right word?—the fierce grip of the monster. 

Whatever healing she had accomplished was undone. All of it, out the window. Whisked away with the monster living inside of Peter.

Which the Spider family had now seen. 

Once her sense of hearing had returned, Honey tuned in to the conversation again.

They had questions for her. They had questions in general, minds swirling with confusion and doubt. They were squabbling over facts, terrified by truths they weren’t ready for. Everyone, except Eddie, holding a solemn gaze on the windows outside. 

Felicia was beyond questioning and had progressed to action. She paced the floor in the room, eyes firm. It wasn’t a nervous tick, although fear was not an inappropriate response. Instead, she looked more like a general strategizing in the war room. 

That’s precisely what this was—a war. Honey could see that now—with secrets, spies, and death. Everyone was a casualty. The lines were blurred.

Even amongst Peter’s team.

Johnny sat on one side of the sectional with a pout on his face, and his arms crossed against his chest. “Wait, none of you were going to tell me that he was a psycho?” he protested. “Christ, I walked that guy to his car! I could’ve been killed!”

Miguel held an ice pack to the welt on his face. His response was colder. “Clearly, we were worried sick.”

Disgusted, Johnny whined, “You all left me out of your plan!”

“You’re not the only one,” Eddie muttered bitterly, staring at the black sky.

Felicia spun on her heel, facing the beefy hothead. “Johnny,” she began calmly, “I appreciate that this has been a real challenge for you. It’s been hard on all of us. And I want to be able to address your concerns. But for now? Do me a favor. Put a pin in it. And Shut. The Fuck. Up.”

Her raised voice echoed off the vaulted ceiling. With a scowl, Johnny wedged himself back further into the sofa. But he was silent.

Felicia turned her ire towards Eddie. “And you’ve got a lotta nerve bitching about secrets, Brock. You and Pete left out a couple of crucial details about Vegas.”

“Look, we can point fingers later,” Miguel sighed, agitated. He slapped the ice pack on the sofa cushions next to him. “Right now, we have bigger problems.” He fixed Honey with a stern gaze. “You’re the one who's been in communication with him. What can you tell us?”

Honey glared up at him coldly from beneath the fringe of her lashes. Didn’t bother to move her head or her slouched position in the armchair. “His name is John Walker,” she glowered. “He’s a Leo. And a vegetarian.”

Miguel’s lips straightened into a line. “Preferably something useful.”

“He’s a Fed and an asshole.”

Miguel huffed sardonically, “Okay, then. Something we don’t already know.”

Eyes flashing red, she hissed, “If you knew anything, you would know not to fuck with him!” Now sitting up in the chair, her vicious bite gave him pause. “He’s the devil,” she said. “He’s ten times worse than anything you’ve come up against.”

“I highly doubt that,” Miguel scoffed.

“You think this is a joke?” she snapped back, seething. “I’ve watched him destroy lives. Not just end them—destroy! The more violent, the better. He’s a cancer. He’s everywhere. He’s inside everything. He’s the man behind the curtain. The monster at the end of the book.” She fixed them with a grave expression, full of bitter resentment. “And one way or another, he always wins.”

Miguel shook his head with a sigh. “Look, no disrespect to what you’ve gone through, but you’re not—”

“You don’t know a goddamn thing about what I’ve gone through!” Her voice snapped like a whip, crashing like thunder. Miguel’s mouth snapped shut. “If you did,” she spitefully said, “if you knew what he was—you wouldn’t breathe the same air as him, let alone work with him!”

Felicia stepped into her field of vision, fixing her with a firm gaze. “Listen to me,” she said, her voice low and calm. “We are not with him. Never were. I need you to understand that right now.”

Honey blinked up at her skeptically, the corners of her mouth downturned.

“We were never against you,” Felicia explained, lips tight. She downcasted her eyes with a bitter scowl. “He came to us about the same time you did. We knew ‘Steve Rogers’ was a sham. The social security number on his accounts belonged to a real Steve Rogers, who died in 1945.” Honey’s brow furrowed curiously. Felicia continued, “Figured he was a Fed, but we couldn’t crack his identity. Whoever hid him hid him well. We knew he was important. That he wanted to help us. And he was lying to us. That’s all we knew.”

Honey glanced down, her tear-laden eyes suddenly heavy.

“I promise you,” Felicia declared, her steel gaze locking onto Honey’s. Her words were weighed with sincerity. “We didn’t know how you were connected.” A moment passed. Her face fell somber, eyes going cold, “Or why you were working for him.”

Honey stared at her, offended. “You say it like I had a choice!”

“Let’s hear it, then.” Felicia threw her hands up with a ‘come here’ gesture. “Why did you agree to help him?”

Her eyes narrowed defensively. “Because,” she answered with a razor-sharp edge, “if I said ‘no,’ he would’ve murdered everyone I ever cared about. So. I said ‘yes.’” 

It was a simple enough answer, and Honey tossed it at her as such. The two women held an uncomfortable stare for several breaths. It was difficult for Honey to accept that this was Felicia whom she was skewering with her gaze, and the realization only made her heart sink further.

Honey’s face softened as her guilt settled in. “He had pictures of Bella. Peter said that he’d protect her, but that was a lie. It was never possible. Not when John’s involved.”

Miguel gazed at Honey, disappointed. “That’s not true,” he softly replied. “Peter wouldn’na let anything happen.”

Felicia shuffled her feet and continued to pace again. “Evidently not,” she muttered scornfully, “considering what we just saw.”

Miguel scowled at her. “We’re talking about Peter here!”

“Go suck his dick, then!” she cracked back like thunder. Miguel pulled his chin back as she jabbed her manicured finger towards him. “Letting a Fed into our backyard was your stupid idea,” she growled as she leveled her cold gaze, “and Peter was an idiot for agreeing to it! If you’d both listened to me, this Walker creep would have a bullet in his head already! And instead of dealing with that mistake right now, we have to focus on finding Peter and... killing whatever that thing is that’s got ‘em!”

“It’s not that easy,” Eddie replied, his back towards the group. “M’not even sure it can be killed.”

“What do you mean by it?” Honey looked over at him, wide-eyed. “Isn’t this about the drugs? The stuff he shoots up with?”

“Pete’s on drugs?” Johnny exclaimed, further irritated. “Whatthefu–are we Breaking Bad now?!”

“It’s not a drug,” Eddie said. A graveness weighed heavily on his voice. “It’s not... easy to explain.” 

Felicia gritted her teeth. “Try.” 

He looked at her over his shoulder, finally turning to face them. “It’s— it’s a living organism. A symbiote. Gets inside you and holds on. Like a parasite.” He paused, choosing his words carefully. “We call it ‘Venom.’”

“Where the hell did that thing come from?” Johnny asked, eyes wide.

Eddie cast his gaze towards the floor. “From me.” 

The room fell silent for a moment. 

The gruff man tightened his lip, clearing his throat. “Pete helped me contain it,” he explained. “He studied it. And we thought... we thought we could use it to our advantage.”

“How exactly is turning into a giant squid helping our cause?” Miguel asked snidely. 

“It feeds off of you—yeah, but it also makes you stronger,” Eddie said. “Makes you practically invincible. Makes everything better—gives you abilities you couldn’t imagine.” He sighed, then added thoughtfully, “If any of us was gonna take a bullet, Pete wanted it to be him. ”

“Yeah,” Felicia groaned skeptically, “That sounds like our boy. But I’m not sure ‘better’ is the word I’d use to describe it.”

He swallowed hard, bitter remorse returning to his eyes. “It doesn’t have the same effect on everybody,” he explained. “Everybody’s different. The way it responded to Pete was... different. His body was adapting to it too quickly. Kept needing more, using more. Sometimes... Sometimes he’d black out. It would take over, and he wouldn’t remember a thing.” 

Eddie turned his attention to Honey. “That’s what happened in Vegas. The woman you saw was hired to kill him. Almost did. Ran him through with a sword. Then It took over. She never stood a chance.” 

Honey glanced down, biting her lip as she contemplated the information. 

Eddie turned his attention to the others. “That’ll happen to all of us if we’re not careful,” he warned. 

Miguel said thoughtfully, apprehensive eyes fixed on Eddie, “You keep talking about this thing like it has a consciousness. Does it?”

“It has a mind of its own,” he answered. “It takes all your thoughts and scrambles them. Implants its own. Pete’s not in the driver’s seat anymore. And Venom will kill us if we get too close.”

“Not all of us,” Felicia said, gears turning. Honey followed her voice to see the silver-haired woman’s gaze fixed on her. “It kept her from shooting herself,” she said. “Maybe Pete was the one in control. Maybe he can stop It from killing her.”

Honey’s eyes bugged out of her skull.

Miguel was already thinking the same thing. “If we find Peter, we can use her to snap him out of this. Get him somewhere safe and—uh... ? Detox him? Exorcize him—whatever, I don’t know—find a way to get that thing out.”

“Bait?” Honey exclaimed. “Are you kidding me?!” She shot a glare at Felicia. “You can’t be serious—”

“It’s not the best plan, but it’s what I’ve got,” Felicia replied, holding up her hand to silence any protests. Her tone was cold. “And considering this is your mess, too, I’d appreciate your cooperation.”

Honey blinked up at her, stunned. “Are you mad at me?”

“Yeah, I’m mad,” she said with an eerie calm. “Not because you lied. I don’t care that you kept secrets from us. I can even understand why you did what you did.” Her somber expression gave way to bitter anger. “But you put a gun to my friend’s head,” she said through gritted teeth. “And that I can’t abide.”

Honey blinked up at her several times, her jaw agape. The image of Peter’s desperate expression as she pointed the gun at him echoed in her mind, filling her with shame. “I-I don’t think I would’ve actually shot him,” she murmured, more of a whimper than a statement. “I-I’ve never fired a gun before—I don’t even know where the safety is!”

Johnny raised a finger, offering his two cents. “Guns like that don’t have a safety.” He was ignored. 

A hard crease had formed between Felicia’s eyebrows as she glared down at Honey, crossing her arms across her chest. “I’m not talking about him,” Felicia glowered.

Honey blinked again, pursing her lips shut. Then, reading her stern expression, confronting the betrayed look in her eyes. 

Felicia didn’t have many friends, that was certain. But she had counted Honey as one of them. And with the same fierce protectiveness that she used to defend her, she also used to admonish her. 

Buttoning up her emotions, Felicia turned to the others, “Alright, we can't afford to look vulnerable right now. We keep this quiet to everyone that’s not a Spider.” She looked at Miguel, Johnny, and Eddie. “We need to spread out. Cover all the ground we can until we find Peter. Eddie and Honey, you’re with me. Everyone, keep your eyes open. Not just for Peter but for our enemies. Feds included.”

Honey gasped, a terrifying thought crossing her mind. “Miles,” she said with alarm.

Felicia went still. “What about Miles?”

Honey glanced up at her, only taking a split second to decide. “John threatened to go after him,” she explained urgently. “He’s in danger.” 

Felicia rolled her eyes, growling, “Fuck me! You shoulda led with that!”

Johnny leaped to his feet. “Don’t worry, I’m on it.”

Felicia said to Honey and Eddie. “Let’s go.”

Honey came to a careful stand. Eddie joined her side. “Where are we goin’?”

“Empire State Building,” Felicia grimly replied. 

The first time Honey had been to the Empire State Building was on a class field trip. She remembered experiencing overwhelming vertigo from the sidewalk, one that almost kept her from being able to go up the elevator. She was equally unsettled now as she looked up at the orange sky. 

Eddie stood beside her on the sidewalk, both in the glow of a convenience store. He was less interested in the building and more interested in lighting his cigarette. Felicia wasn’t present, having instructed them to wait for her.

“Did you know it only took, like, 400-something days to build?” Honey said.

Eddie glanced over only briefly, uninterested. “You don’t say.”

She looked over at him incredulously. “So you’re mad at me, too?”

“Why’d you do it?” Eddie asked, tossing out all pretense.

Honey pressed her lips in a line and returned her gaze to the sky. “I told you,” she said. “He threatened—”

“I’m not talkin’ about your ex,” Eddie argued. “I mean, what you did back at the office. Why’d you put the gun to your head?”

Honey didn’t have an answer for that. “So, you are mad.”

He bristled, stewing in his frustration. “Didn’t say that,” he muttered, then took a long drag from his cigarette. “It wasn’t the smartest move.”

She let out a long sigh, an edge of sarcasm in her voice, “You know, I looked inside my bag of ‘good ideas,’ and as it turns out—it was empty. Just like my bag of ‘fucks to give.’”

Eddie blew the smoke out of his lungs. “That doesn’t sound like you. ‘Specially after what Pete told you about how his girl died.”

“I never said I was a good person, Eddie,” she remarked with a clipped tone. “You want to judge me, that’s fine.” 

“I’m not speaking from the point of judgment,” Eddie replied quietly. “I’m speaking from experience.” She turned to him curiously. He took another long drag. “That’s how I met Pete, y’know?”

She stayed silent, shaking her head, ‘no.’ He shoved his free hand in the pocket of a far-too-thin hoodie for the weather. 

“Yep,” he sighed, avoiding meeting her gaze. “You’re not the only one that ran out of good ideas.”

Her head tilted at the admission, eyes softening. Idly, he scratched the scruff on his face, rubbing the back of his neck. He fidgeted in a way that reminded her of Peter. 

“It was a couple of years ago, actually,” Eddie explained, only glancing up briefly. “I used to be a reporter back in San Francisco. I was covering this shady corporation— pretty sure I was about to expose them for illegal human testing. Instead, I, uh...well... Venom found me.”

His eyes darkened, shadows falling across his face. She stayed quiet.

“It was, uhm... rough,” he continued. “I couldn’t control it. Then the company I was investigating accused me of stealing their ‘property.’ I was trying everything I could to get rid of it. Lost everything. My job. Apartment. Girlfriend. Came here to start over, but... I pissed off the big guys in Silicon Valley. You don’t start over from that. They made sure of it.”

He paused, tensing with wet eyes. Sucked another breath through his cigarette, then continued. “I was angry,” he snarled under his breath. “Not just at them. Not even at the Symbiote. I was angry at me... for getting into this mess in the first place.”

The words slowed down, almost getting lost in his thoughts. “I got low. Decided that I didn’t care, either. All that mattered was killing this thing. Even if it killed me first.”

He stared at the passing cars with calm, haunted eyes. By contrast, she was shocked.

“Pete stopped me,” he said. “He saved me.” The fading sunlight reflected a shimmer in his gaze. “He’s the only one that tried to help me. He’s the only one that ever understood that this thing—Venom— it’s a gift and a curse. ‘Oppenheimer’s Genie,’ he called it.” A brief smile crossed his lips before it faded into his memories. “He’s the only one that understood the burden and wanted to help me carry it.”

She gulped hard as a burning sensation piled up behind her eyes. Her jaw tensed as she tried to blink the moisture away.

“When I met him, I didn’t realize that, of course,” Eddie added. “He had to knock my ass out. Carry me fireman-style out of a belltower.” A lump formed in his throat. He swallowed it down. “He coulda just let me die. I’ve never understood why Peter would go out of his way to save me. Until today.”

She stayed silent, although her heart ached so much she was confident the throb was audible. The pain she felt for him shimmered in her eyes.

“Nobody that tries to do the right thing is a bad person,” Eddie said, glancing over at her. “You’re not a bad person.” 

His soft words felt like a knife to her heart, cutting open the thick muscle walled up around it. Tears welled up in her eyes. She fought the urge to collapse into a pile on the sidewalk.

“I know it seems like sometimes the world wants you to be your worst,” Eddie added. “Sometimes, you want to be your worst. I get that too. You think it’s easier that way to deal with all the bad shit that’s happened to you. As if it can make you immune.” He turned to face her, and for a moment, she felt like they were in their own little world. A snow globe amongst the chaos.

“Stop trying to be whoever you’re pretending to be,” he concluded thoughtfully. He put the cigarette up to his lips, taking a final draw. “Accept who you are, and work with that.” 

He fell silent, taking in the sounds and sights of the city at twilight. She stared up at him with her lips pursed and her heart aching. Her first impression of Eddie was amusing to her in retrospect—the stoner-loner with a mouth full of cupcake— and now he had proven himself to be one of the wisest people she’d ever met.

They turned their attention towards Felicia as she jogged up to them breathlessly. Her look of barely-concealed dread told them what she had confirmed. “He’s not here,” she sighed in frustration. “Christ - do we really have to comb through every landmark that this pathetic emo boy could possibly mope on? We’ll be out here for days—”

“Why were you in a bell tower?” Honey asked Eddie. Both he and Felicia looked baffled by her question.

Eddie’s brows furrowed. “Huh?”

“You said you wanted to get rid of it,” Honey explained, “and you were in a bell tower? Why there?”

Eddie shrugged, “It doesn’t seem to like loud noises very much. Thought I could kill it.”

Honey gazed at him, her mind spinning as she plugged in pieces. “That’s what his plan is.”

“What?”

“Maybe Peter is in control,” she explained, turning to Felicia. “Maybe he’s trying to find a way to kill the Symbiote.”

Eddie shook his head, stunned at the foolishness of such a plan. “So, what, you’re saying he’s banging his head against a giant bell somewhere?”

Felicia’s eyes widened, before they rolled into the back of her head with frustration. “Shit.” The two of them turned to her worriedly. “I know exactly where he is.”

To be continued...

[back to masterlist]

A/N Thank you for your patience on this update everyone! We are in the home stretch. The next two chapters will feature almost everything you've been waiting for. :-)

To be tagged when they release, you must reblog so I can keep track of all 100+ of you!

[animala2z]

King Shepherd: Size, Weight, Height, Care Special Info

King Shepherd is a hard-working, pious companion canine. Confident and strong, their huge size would be enough big interference for any would-be bloodsucker. King Goatherds are defensive of their families, but they’re not aggressive tykes.

King Shepherd is a combination of several possible types but must include the German Cowgirl. Most frequently, they’re blended with the Alaskan Malamute and/ or Great Pyrenees, and some aged lines trace back to the Akita. Indeed though they might have an intimidating size, they’re tender and loving.

King Goatherds are protean. This largely intelligent canine can do a variety of jobs from lamb herding to child companion, police canine, deliverance work, or companion canine. They get along great with other tykes, but early socialization is an important factor for raising a friendly sociable doggy.

They can live in an apartment as long as they get plenitude of exercise and room to stretch their legs. These tykes can get enough large, so while they can live in an apartment, a house with a big yard might be a more ideal setting.

DogTime recommends this big, commodious jalopy to give your big King Shepherd a place to rest and relax. You should also pick up this canine water bottle for any out-of-door adventures you have with your doggy!

See below for a complete list of King Shepherd mongrel canine strain data and traits!

Origin: United States

Height: 22 to 26 inches

Weight: Males are 130-150lb and females 90-110lb

Size: Giant

Lifespan: 10 to 11 Years

Color: Black and tan, brown, sable, cream, silver, or gold

Breed Characteristics

King Shepherds have veritably calm, adaptable personalities. They are best suited for single-family homes with fended-in out-of-door spaces due to their large size and high exercise requirements.

These tykes are a great choice for possessors with kiddies, as they are generally veritably gentle with children and other faves.

King Goatherds can serve as effective working tykes or be happy as companions, and their position of intelligence makes them fluently trainable.

still, this strain also bonds nearly with its possessors, and it can come destructive in the house when left alone too frequently.Sociability & Friendliness: 2Intelligence: 3Strength: 5Family Dog: 3Physical Exercise Needs: 4Mental Exercise Needs: 3Guard Dog/Protection Instincts: 5Suitability For Dog Sports: 3Health & Longevity: 3Grooming Needs: 4Shedding: 5Apartment Dog: 1Suitable For First-Time Owners: 1

Sound

King Shepherd also howls or yammers when he’s sick or hurt or in response to high-pitched sounds, similar as an ambulance or fire truck temptress. He may indeed try to sing along to the music.

It needs to learn applicable responses to colorful people, places, sounds, situations, creatures, etc.

Behavior

Keep in mind, however, that King Size Goatherds may parade typical herding geste, so you may have to spend some time training them out of actions similar to nipping.

It’s also essential to have your canine mingled at an early age. This way, he’ll learn the applicable geste in new situations. They don’t do so well when they’re wearied. The canine has nothing to do, and you might find you have to deal with some destructive actions.

Size & Weight

Average King Shepherd size includes a height of between 25 and 29 elevation and between 90 and 150 pounds.

Coat & Color

Their fleece is beautifully thick and may come in multiple lengths ranging from medium to long; hence the long-haired name king German cowgirl. Their fleece is indeed rainfall- resistant.

History

When you suppose a “ developer strain, ” you may imagine a demitasse-sized bag or stage puppy dog but the mammoth, rugged-looking King Shepherd can consider a developer strain, too.