#;; straight from the synth's mouth [ ic ]

[anakinisvaderisanakin]

Impasse - A Vaderdala Oneshot

“You forget something, Lord Vader.”

Vader flinched, the voice as clear as a bell yet as foreign as the icy vacuum of space. He found himself frozen in place, the bulk of his hefty frame suddenly unbearable. Inside his chest, he felt the searing fingers of remorse and the scalding flames of rage warring for control. 

Against better judgment, he shifted to turn around. Against better judgment, he let down his guard and ignored unclipping his lightsaber. He knew the face he would find before he saw it, but he was still not prepared for the wave of emotion that spilled forth as he came face to face with his own ghosts. This one, he had expected long dead and buried.

“Padmé,” he gasped, but the voice that came out was blunt and deep and void of affection.

Still, the shock bled through. Padmé was as beautiful as the day he’d last seen her. Eyes fierce and determined, dark hair coming loose from her neatly tied bun. Her face was set in a scowl, blaster drawn and aiming straight for the chest panel on Vader’s chest as if it were a marked target meant for practice and precision fire. The air had shifted, the tension thick and heavy and oppressive as they stared each other down. No, more accurately Padmé’s intense, fiery glare was bearing down on Vader. Vader felt his anger dissipate the moment he met that stare; the ice cold regret and guilt crippling him inside out as it won the impasse.

“You said you had come to destroy the Rebellion. I am the last leader standing here. I alone. Will you destroy me now?” Padmé hissed through a clenched jaw, cheeks flushed but her hands steady.

Vader was familiar with the vow he had made, but now it seemed an impossible lie. Before his mind’s eye, he had envisioned old men and snot nosed kids. Politicians and traitors and cowards, incapable of accepting the Emperor’s grand design and his expert vision. The future was bright, the Sith had reclaimed their natural state in the circle of life - atop the ladder. Only fools and children would oppose such an evident supply of unlimited power. Yet, Padmé seemed to care for none of these things. Time had not slowed her down, it had not thawed the ice built in her heart - the ice Vader himself had put there.

“Well?” she pressed, voice tight, calm and collected.

The words escaped before Vader had any chance to rein himself in. Perhaps he never intended to.

“No.”

“No?” she repeated, as if mocking him but her expression revealed surprise and disbelief.

“Aren’t you here to execute your Rebel traitors?”

Vader said nothing, instead he reached for the saber strapped to his belt. He watched Padmé tense, watched her shoulder come up and the finger on the trigger twitch. In what might have been a gesture of surrender, he simply tossed his weapon between them. The gesture was barely a flick of his wrist, but it sent the hilt skidding across the smooth floors until it came to an premeditated gentle stop at Padmé’s feet. She glanced down to regard the token, an unreadable tinge of something somber gleaming in her eyes for a split second. When she looked back up, Vader had not moved. He stood with his hands at his sides, the bombardment outside the underground bunker shaking its hull; straining the already flickering lights.

“I will not fight you,” said Vader finally, as if that would be enough to soothe the woman’s stubborn spirits.

She furrowed her brow, the corner of her lips curling into a half sneer of disgust. It stung, and Vader might have recoiled from that alone had he not been the man he was. Changed, remolded and retooled. His heart had been ripped out once, and still Padmé’s presence willed its withered carcass to beat and blossom. At the same time, she tore it to shreds once more with the disdain her face held for him. He sensed it inside her, swirling and expanding into a palpable loathing. It cloaked her, surrounded her like a cloud. It reeked of pain, sorrow, and betrayal.

“You don’t know me. If you won’t fight, I will,” she said, every word calculated and sincere.

“‘Aggressive negotiations’.”

It was merely a statement, but its meaning rang true. Padmé straightened up, eyes suddenly wide as a ghost of horrified recognition filtered past her defenses. it was gone in the blink of an eye, but the colour that had drained from her already pale face was harder to conceal.

“Who told you?” she snarled, shifting the aim of her blaster towards Vader’s heart - knowing it would do no harm, but the gesture hit him like a slap across the face either way.

She was questioning how he had learned about her and The Jedi. Anakin Skywalker, her husband. Perhaps she had her sneaking suspicions, she must. But her aura betrayed none of it, it remained outraged and unsettled and adamant in her quest.

“You did.”

Padmé opened her mouth to deliver another scathing retort, but she snapped it close again. A tremor passed her slight frame, and it did not go unnoticed. Her resolve was faltering and waning, the lie she had convinced herself to believe no less a stretch of the imagination than the mental gymnastics Vader himself had been performing for the past four years. Ever since Mustafar, ever since he lost everything. Now, that very everything lost stood before him. Now, she was once more within his reach.

“I’m sorry. I tried,” he heard himself say, a feeble apology not nearly sufficient to excuse the heinous acts he had committed.

The voice was still not his own, but the words were earnest. Padmé lowered her blaster in slow, jerky motions but her eyes were transfixed on his. At the very least, Vader felt their gaze burn straight into his soul; into the furnace of his heart that had frozen over a million times. 

“You’re safe.”

It was a ridiculous profession, Padmé’s very existence as part of the Rebellion was a death sentence. But she was alive, she was well and healthy and stable and here. She had not died. He had failed her, but she had lived. He took one step towards her, feeling just as wary and insecure as she looked. She blinked rapidly, shaking her head in a tiny micromovement. She mouthed something, but there was no sound accompanying the motion. Vader understood her fear, yet it pained him to no end. He was unrecognizable, locked within this jettblack prison of durasteel, cybernetics and synth flesh. There was so little left of his physical body, and even less of the man Padmé had once loved.

“It can’t be…” she whispered, hoarse as the tendons at the sides of her neck strained.

Vader felt the urge to cry, an urge so overpowering. An urge that had not found him since Mustafar, since the fall of the Jedi and the Republic. He had no tears to cry, no measure to shed tears by. His retinas, his tear ducts were long since eaten away by flames and embers. Still, his eyes stung. A warmth pressed behind them, a heaviness bearing down on his chest like a fist squeezing the air out of his lungs. Lungs he no longer had.

“Do what you must. I am not afraid to die.”

Padmé’s eyes widened, mouth falling open as realization dawned upon her. She understood. Vader expected her to back away, expected her to cry, to yell, to fire. Anything. Instead, she stood stone faced. As frail as porcelain, yet as sturdy as the brightest star in the Galaxy. Now, she took a step towards him. Then another. Closing the gap, inch by inch, foot by foot. She tipped her head back, never once drawing her eyes from the opaque crimson lenses of Vader’s eyes that substituted eyes. They served for the damaged, half blind eyes hidden behind.

“What have they done to you?” Padmé’s resolute voice murmured; full of compassion and love, emotions that seemed to have sprung out of the ether.

Yet, what she really meant was; what have you done to yourself?

Vader did not falter as she stopped but a breath away. Her trembling, slender fingers reached for his face plate. Her tiny hand brushed over the mouthpiece, running over the sharp angles and the netted grill. A breath was forced through it, with a loud hiss and the smell of sanitizer and bacta fluids followed it. Padmé’s eyes were round, warm, and mournful. They were glassy, her cheeks flushed but it was Vader who wished more than ever that he might shed a tear. If she were to strike him down, he deserved it. He would allow it. He would let her.

“Anakin.”

It was not a question. She knew, it was evident in the pitiful, feeble smile of shock and relief alike that grazed her lips. It was gone in an instant, but it had said enough. So used to denouncing his name, denouncing himself and all he was and had been - Vader found himself unable to deflect her. She was right. He had been wrong for so long, choosing to live in darkness and denial. No more.

“Yes.”

Anakin meant it.

****

Have a short Vaderdala AU.

[lovehotelreservation]

Fantasy

Summary: It has been the greatest honor to be selected as the official cosplayer at your favorite gacha game’s fan festival event.

But what pleasure could compare to having your fellow cosplay colleagues have their way with you? [Cosplayer AU]

Rating: NC-17

Pairing: Makoto/F!Reader/Sousuke/Natsuya

THE LEVELS OF ON BRAND™ THIS ONE-SHOT IS I S2G

I’VE BEEN SITTING ON THIS PIECE FOR A WHILE NOW AND NOW I OFFER IT TO U ALL

ANYWAY MAKE US FREE NA SPLASH-- ∠( ᐛ 」∠)＿

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

Another year meant another summer of pinning your hair beneath a blonde bob wig and twirling around in a pink dress that required countless hours to recreate.

But it was because of your efforts of investing your all into faithfully bringing to life the character design of Djeeta that the organizers of Granblue Fantasy Festival reached out to have you as the official cosplayer to work the event. Appearing on mainstage to enthrall awaiting fans, assisting with the presentation of prizes during the various games planned for the attending seiyuu, walking the floor to pose for pictures by enthusiastic players--you were honored by this opportunity, one that you looked forward to year after year with each invitation.

The trek across Japan to attend GBF Fes during its tour also meant reunions with the other official cosplayers, some of whom you have bonded and befriended even beyond the event itself.

Such was the case with the three who portrayed Lobelia, Aglovale and Belial: Natsuya Kirishima, Makoto Tachibana, and Sousuke Yamazaki.

Besides being profound cosplayers who found their claim to fame from their GBF cosplays, the trio were known to even sound practically identical to their respective characters.

Though spirited and ever eager, Natsuya certainly wasn’t a shameless guro-addict like the twisted Lobelia. By contrast, Makoto was far too much of a big precious teddy bear to be arrogant like the regal Aglovale. Last of all, the aloof Sousuke only shared the common trait of being tall, dark, and handsome with the lasciviously depraved Belial.

It was always a wonderful time with the three, from your reunions just days before the event, spending the weekend indulging in your favorite mobile game, to hanging out for carefree fun before the eventual but dreaded goodbye.

But by Makoto’s suggestion for you all to hit up the newly opened Super Nintendo World after the Osaka run of GBF Fes, you expected for your parting to end on a higher note this time around at least.

Especially since, upon the conclusion of the second day of GBF Fes, it was Natsuya insisting you all hop into a taxi and celebrate with dinner at a karaoke joint along Dotonbori’s canal upon the return to your hotel located by the massive INTEX Osaka convention center space.

However, what you didn’t expect was for the evening to go about as it did.

Hues of soft pink, blue, and purple mood lighting that contrasted the sharp gleams within hazy irises of red, green, and teal.

Moody synths of 80s city pop accompanying lyrics yearning love and desire were muffled to your ears, the breathy huffs of sweet whines and low groans a much more distinct sound.

A blushing heat coursed through the entirety of your body, stoked even further by lips chilled by ice cold beer kissing your skin.

The hotly murmured question of “Say Captain, which one of us do you like most?” from Natsuya had yet to receive a verbal answer, of which you conveyed through a different, more physical kind of reciprocation to all three.

You had inklings of how this weekend was going to turn out, but surely not like this.

While setting out for Osaka, you ran into Natsuya while settling in for your bullet train ride from Tokyo. It was a delight to already see his handsome grin once again, making you all the more excited to reunite with the others. As it had been a long morning, you found yourself dozing off while you both caught up with one another. With your mind drifted to a weekend of cosplay fun and amusement park thrills, you weren’t aware that he snapped a photo of him beaming at his phone camera with a peace sign while proudly displaying your head resting on his shoulder during the train ride over, texting the picture over to Makoto and Sousuke.

A frazzled kaomoji from Makoto while Sousuke left the response on read.

Then, during the afternoon for the first day of GBF Fes, you had some issues with zipping up the back of your idol Djeeta cosplay. Thankfully, Makoto was in the next stall over in the private dressing room for official cosplayers and was prompt to help you out once he finished buttoning up his coat for Aglovale’s House of Wales attire.

You were about to head out to the mainstage when you heard Makoto’s flustered squawk of your name upon his realization that your skirt was lifted after having gotten bunched up somehow while you were trying to fix your zipper on your own. Given that time demanded your immediate presence to the stage, you weren’t as alarmed by the sudden presence of Natsuya and Sousuke upon their return from making their rounds through the main event floor in their cosplays.

But they were rather taken by the sight of your skirt’s hem being hastily tugged by Makoto’s fingers.

Though, you could see why things came to a head earlier today when you--now in Djeeta’s iconic skyfarer dress--and Sousuke joined each other on stage. As “Parade’s Lust” blared from the speakers, the audience watched as he knocked away your sword before embracing you from behind, his grinning lips planting onto your cheek while his large hands caressed your waist.

”Oi, oi, when did you have the time to practice that?!” Natsuya jeered with a raised brow and a smirk as the two of you made your way backstage.

Makoto was rendered too speechless to say anything.

Sousuke, whose hand still held yours from when he helped you step down from the main stage, merely shrugged with nonchalance, of which was betrayed by the hint of a smug grin sliding onto his lips. “We just did what felt natural.”

And surely, while the effects of liquor of the sweetest and hardest varieties were well underway, this moment shared with these three--unexpected as it was--felt seamless in its transition from a night of merriment to an evening of withheld desire spilling forth.

As clothes were either tugged away just enough for a bit of freedom or exposure, or discarded entirely, you found yourself at the center of Natsuya’s, Makoto’s, and Sousuke’s affections, easily caught beneath the loom of their towering physiques

Natsuya was no sadist compared to his cosplay counterpart, but he didn’t refrain from affectionately nipping at your neck while enjoying the cute yelps you let out whenever his hand freely spanked your ass. He was no brute, but when he had his fingers tightly weaved in your hair, he didn’t hold back from fucking your mouth, all while he slurred out praises of how much of a good girl you were.

While he came from a humble upbringing back in the sleepy town of Iwatobi, Makoto made you feel like royalty while he happily knelt before where you sat as his tongue lapped against your core, dragging along your folds and twirling around your clit. When he had you sit on his lap--a proper throne for you, as he gasped desperately upon his dick entering you fully--, he cradled and massaged your breasts from behind as he had you ride him

And while every messy kiss shared with Sousuke felt like love--which it did, inebriation and all--, the way he spoke to and handled you was absolute and utter filth. His big and muscular arms hooked beneath your thighs, keeping them raised up while his hands stayed clasped behind your head, the sight of his thick cock ramming up into your ass to be seen fully by Makoto and Natsuya.

“Is this what you enjoy? Having other guys watch you get fucked in the ass like the cockslut that you are?” Sousuke grunted huskily, a harsh flush of red spread across his cheeks.

You squealed your desire for more as he continued to not relent in the slightest with the vicious rate he was thrusting into you.

Sousuke eyed Natsuya and Makoto, the look in his eyes as urgent as it was arrogant. “Captain’s needy.”

”Then leave it to me to satisfy Captain’s le désir,” Natsuya hummed proudly with a pound at his chest as he approached, eager to stuff your sopping core with his cock.

”Ahh that won’t do at all,” Makoto tsked with a sweet smile, ready to soothe your whines by giving you a mouthful of his dick.

You couldn’t have imagined that a night straight out of your fantasies would come to light as it did.

But as this game had come to show you, luck had a hell of a way of revealing itself to you.

[commonwealthoccurences]

Now Sleep (It’s Not Even Light Out)

TW: Description of wounds, throwing up mention, many corpse descriptions (and not the YouTuber), funeral description. Overall very death centered and angsty.

Word Count: 4,298

Prompt: Character Death

Day: 9/27

Song Listened To While Writing: The Moment I Said It by Imogen Heap

Arrogant. That’s how Preston would look back and describe himself years later, despite Nick shaking his head in disagreement and Deacon huffing a disbelieving laugh in response. He was arrogant, though. With Sole by his side he found himself feeling invincible with the entire world in front of him; terrified about what could happen but finally believing they could change the world together, if only Sole would give him the chance to help them.

Selfless. That’s how Preston would look back and describe Sole. They’d walked into the fight with so little other than their wit and bravery and returned on a makeshift stretcher, made of a piece of scrap wood, four Minutemen carrying them, solemn. Their hats were tipped forward to hide their swollen eyes and the hopelessly lost expressions on their faces.

He hadn’t even noticed it at first. There was a sea of dead after their fight with the Institute; brave soldiers of a wide range of ages, their faces all far too young to be part of a funeral parade through the main street of Sanctuary. Yet when someone stepped forward and they stopped in front of him, he very quickly went from naïve confusion to horror. They never stopped in front of him; he had no family left other than the distant bond he formed with every settler. There could only be one reason that they’d pause for him, as they did when returning the dead to their loved ones. All had been lost.

Preston looked between the front soldier’s faces for an explanation. He refused to accept that they were returning a body to him, the body of the one person he had left to look up to, the one person he could let his guard down in front of. When they pulled back the sheet on their face and revealed his nightmare to be true, he simply bowed his head and gritted his teeth. Compartmentalization was his specialty. He closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath, trying to stop the way the dirt spun below his boots, the way the world began to turn on it’s side. 

Instead of throwing everything to the wayside and collapsing, as he so wanted to, Preston simply gathered himself and looked up, far calmer than he should’ve been, and moved to the side to allow the Minutemen to carry them into their home for the last time. Someone should’ve seen the way he refused to show any emotion, the way his fists clenched at his side before relaxing and the grief flushing to the back of his mind, and raised the alarms. A person in mourning wailing was normal; the way Preston simply lifted his head and continued on was certainly not.

There was more lost than Sole, however, and the community was too busy mourning the rest. Preston had a decision to make. Did he wait to announce what had happened to Sole? He wasn’t sure they could take the news straight after they had been led into what was essentially a high-tech slaughter. They had already lost family. A loss of leadership would jar them even more hopeless. The world was still spinning and nausea rose from his stomach to his chest, the feeling of acid climbing his throat overwhelming as he stood in the cool breeze. 

Leaves danced in the light wind, swaying back and forth under the soft, blue sky. It was too bright, far too bright. Preston gathered what was left of him, the will to fight that had landed at his feet with the image of Sole cold on the board, the strength he had left to lead scattered somewhere down the street by the same wind, and turned to head inside. To join Sole.

The Minutemen who had carried them in were now posted at the door, heads bowed in respect to Sole, their rifles held straight up and down in front of them. Preston wanted to shout at them, drive them away and tell them to find somewhere else to take up space where he didn’t have to look at them and realize how badly he had failed to protect them, the soldiers and Sole themself, but he didn’t have the heart. Sole had been a symbol of hope, he knew that better than anyone. How was he supposed to be so cruel when they had brought them home?

Preston crossed the room with quiet footsteps, as if he were trying not to wake them. He didn't even have the mind to correct himself internally. It was so much easier to imagine them simply peacefully asleep, despite the fact that they had been positioned with their hands crossed over their chest. He could tell from the way the sheet fell over their body, and that made him glance around for the nearest trash can. Was it real? None of this could be real. He had to throw up. He was going to throw up. 

Once he reached their side and sank to the floor next to them, he felt the urge to remove the sheet. It didn't look right; the Minutemen only covered their dead in sheets, out of respect, and there was no way Sole was dead. They couldn't be dead. He reached down with a trembling hand and peeled back the sheet slowly. What greeted him confirmed his worst fears and he lurched to the side, grasping onto the metal bin that sat in the corner, and hacked up whatever he had eaten last.  

There was a smattering of bullet holes in their stomach and chest. The blood had seeped into the wood under them, staining it a dark red-brown and dyeing parts of their hair the murky color. It wasn't right. Somewhere near the doorway he heard sniffling; so the other Minutemen had broken down, too? Shame crept up his face, hot and overwhelming. Some leader he was. He hated himself, for letting them get killed and for letting the soldiers see him lose himself like this.  

When did he start crying? He wasn't crying. He wasn't sure where the dampness on his cheeks had come from, but it wasn't his fault. He had no reason to cry; they weren't dead. He wiped the back of his hand over his mouth and was forced to curl in on himself, hands braced on his knees for support by a wrenching sob that nearly cracked his ribs in two. Some part of him wished it would, that it would shatter him into tiny pieces and someone would come in and sweep up everything that had held him together and he could forget about the rest of the world and simply not exist anymore. 

Selfish, he scolded himself. He shifted his hand to reach over and straighten their dog tags where they sat between their collarbones when he noticed something clutched in their hands. A piece of paper poked out between their fingers, protected on either side of their palms from the blood that stained everything near them. Mindlessly, he noted that someone would have to throw out the rug their stretcher had been placed upon. One of the Minutemen by the door spoke up, throat clogged, sounding no better than Preston felt. "They, uhm, survived long enough to relay some last words. Said they wanted you to read it and that you would tell the people what you felt they needed to know." 

Preston tried to suck in air but it simply wasn't coming. Last words? He hadn't accounted for that. Something told him not to read it, that if he didn't he didn't have to accept what had happened and they would sit up, pouting jokingly, asking him why he wouldn't play along. He stared down at their chest and the way it failed to rise. So still, like if he held himself in place it would look like an old photograph. Them, in the living room together, so still.

His hands were trembling so badly he couldn't even aim properly to shift their hands. If he touched them, would they be cold? He knew what the dead felt like; God knows he'd watched enough people die, buried enough of the people he cared about, that he knew what there was to know about dead bodies. But Sole? They didn't belong in that category. He couldn't imagine them as anything but warm and welcoming. There was no way they could be cold and limp. Empty. Lifeless. But the warmth that usually resided in their cheeks was no longer there, instead replaced by a smearing of blood. Preston shuddered.  

Once again, he reached out. This time he would get it right; he'd fucked up enough, the least he could do was read their last words to him. With a harsh swallow he touched their hand and nearly cried out at the feeling. They were cold as ice; this may be their body but it wasn't them.  Trying not to hyperventilate, Preston shifted their hand and took the folded piece of paper slowly from their grasp, trying so hard to ignore the way it simply fell from their clutch. 

Preston,

Who knew it would end like this? I told myself over and over as we prepared to infiltrate that after the Institute was gone, we would have all the time in the world. I suppose I was wrong. It wouldn't be the first time, but you know that already.

I won't get into the ugly details, cause that's not why I'm having this written. I do know that the Minutemen like their records, though, and considering I don't think any of us are going to make it out of here, I suppose this is the next best thing. Everything went according to plan at first. We got more people out that we thought we would; X6 included. Thank God. On the way out, though, someone managed to get a shot on me. 

The ink was smeared, or maybe Preston’s vision was going hazy with tears. Maybe it was both. The paper was rattling quietly as his hands continued to shake, and he swallowed the lump in his throat with a bitter clenching of his jaw. Why wasn’t everyone paying better attention? How was the leader of the Minutemen not better protected? Why did it have to be them?

Johnson helped me into the nearby storage area and we have a few others standing guard; Morrison and Crane, but we're low on ammo. I know I'm not making it out of here. We can't get to the teleporter without others taking out the synths that have found it and are waiting nearby, but I'm bleeding fast. 

So I suppose it's time for my on-the-record last words. Thank you, Preston. I need you to know that none of this was your fault, and that I'm simply grateful that I've lived long enough to see this to the end. I have no doubt that you're doing the best you can, and as usual, your best is phenomenal. There is no one I'd rather have known. No one I'd rather have had by my side through everything. I have no regrets other than wishing I could see you before it all ends. 

I have to ask that you go easy on yourself. I know you do your best to take care of everyone around you, to be the pillar of support, the courageous leader that never wavers, but it's going to kill you. No one can live how you're making yourself live. You're allowed to be human, Preston.  

I'd also like to add that I'm sorry. I know that my inheritance is the heaviest to receive; the role of leader. Are you ready to be General, Preston? Probably not, and for that I'm sorry, sorry that we couldn't do this slowly, easily. But no one can do things better than you can, and I believe in you. Just remember that a leader has to be taking care of themself as well for the community to thrive. You told me that, remember? You're right. Please take your own advice. 

And, if you’ll be so kind as to keep this off the record, I hope I'm not getting ahead of myself, but I'm sorry we didn't have more time. I told myself that when this was all over and the threats were mostly gone, well, as gone as they could be in the wasteland, I would tell you how I felt. How shitty of me, to leave you with this burden as well, but I suppose I can't take it back now that it’s been written down. Morrison's laughing at me. Apparently everyone knew but us, go figure. I suppose we both were a little blind to everything that didn't involve work. 

Take care of yourself. Ask for help, even though it's your least favorite thing in the world. Give yourself time. Tell Dogmeat I said goodbye, and I love him, and everyone at Sanctuary that I miss them already. That it was an honor to serve them. Tell Deacon to stop smoking, and Nick too, just for the principle of it. Tell X6 he’s braver than he knows and he’ll get through the adjustment period, no matter how uncertain it is. I will see you again in another life, I swear to you. It was the greatest honor to know you, Preston Garvey.

I love you.

There was a smudge of blood on the page, he realized, after rereading it the fifth time. Sole’s, probably. He wanted to laugh at the sheer horror of it all, for lack of a better reaction; he’d run out of tears the third time he’d read their last words. Was it theirs, before they died? Or was it someone else's? Had they survived long enough to get caught by the synths? Had they bled out just before help had arrived? Was there a chance, at all, for them to survive?

Preston had so many questions left for them. He wanted to know how they could believe in him when he hadn’t been there to save their life, despite the countless times they had saved him. Somewhere, in the depths of his mind, he knew it was impossible for him to have done anything, that he was on the other side of the teleporter making sure that things ran smoothly. That if he had tried to help them he would’ve been shot dead the moment he stepped through the portal. But he hated himself for not being there as they drew their last breaths.

He folded the paper back up as carefully and neatly as he could and pressed it into his palm. How he wished the letter was at least in their handwriting. Did someone at least hold them as they passed? Or were they left leaned up against a cold Institute wall, the very culmination of the worst their world had to offer? If the others in the room survived, he didn’t think he’d ask them. He was afraid of the answer.

If only it was Preston in their place. Sure, he didn’t exactly want to die, didn’t seek it out, but it was better than Sole going. He’d done his part, made the effort to get the ball rolling for repairing the Minutemen. But the Minutemen needed Sole like children needed their parents. He would’ve died, alone, and been okay with it. A hero’s death, but a hero insignificant enough that it wouldn’t have broken the Minutemen. If only it was him.

He leaned over them, still clutching their last words like a lifeline, and pressed a kiss to their forehead, trying his hardest to ignore the way his falling tears collected bits of the dried blood on their skin and began washing it away. They deserved to be buried looking less like how they died and more like who they were when they were alive. “Can I…” He began, his voice cracking and barely audible. “Can I get some water? And a cloth?”

The Minutemen didn’t move, but footsteps shuffled around the house regardless. Someone had entered while he was repeating their letter over and over in his head like a mantra. When he looked up as the bowl of water and cloth were placed next to him, he met eyes with X6-88. At first, a flash of rage and hatred flooded through him. Maybe if they hadn’t met him and believed there was more for him and subsequently gone to find the Railroad, Sole would still be alive. Then he was calm. At least he had lived. At least their last mission had been successful. That’s what they would’ve wanted.

X6-88 stepped back, steps whisper quiet, and folded his hands behind his back as he stood nearby, looking straight ahead. Sole had said he would have trouble adapting to the outside world, understanding what it was like to be a regular settler in the Commonwealth, but something about his actions was familiar. He was hiding in his own mask of emotionlessness. He was doing his best to cope.

Preston braced himself for the next steps and reminded himself that this was the best thing for Sole. It didn’t matter how he felt right now, it was about Sole’s dignity and the way they deserved to go. With a shaky breath he dipped the cloth in the water and brushed it over their forehead, wiping away the blood that had long made itself home where it didn’t belong. When he dipped the cloth back down and began to ring it out, he swallowed bile again at the way it turned a light pink.

Slowly, he peeled back more of the sheet and washed away the blood on their skin. Their overshirt was still stained with blood; he’d have to get them a new shirt and wrap their wounds so they wouldn’t bleed through again. He wasn’t sure if he was ready for that, but there was some time before they’d have to announce Sole’s death and prepare them for a funeral. God, he was tired of funerals. He’d seen more than he could remember off the top of his head, a list a mile long, stretching out and wearing him thin.

After a moment of holding the cloth against their forearm, unable to continue as the cloth and water turned muddy red, he felt someone grip his hand. When he looked up X6-88 was kneeled neatly on the other side of Sole’s body, his other hand upturned and open, silently asking to take over. “Ask for help” Sole’s words echoed in the back of his head, their voice reverberating in a way that was so hauntingly them. Would there be a day when he could no longer remember what their voice sounded like?

Preston dropped the cloth into X6’s hand with a grateful nod and sat back, collapsing from how he had been kneeling onto the floor. There was blood on his hands and wrists, blood brushed up his forearms from where he had just barely touched them while cleaning. He wanted to scratch the skin underneath off, rip it apart with his fingernails until there was no trace left of their blood or himself.

Silently, the world continued to spin. X6-88 calmly resumed his task of cleaning Sole’s cold skin, gentler than he had ever been before. Perhaps it was his way of grieving; removing all traces of the Commonwealth and what it had done to them from them. Preston had his back against the wall, silently suffocating with his head in his hands, tears dripping down onto the floor below him. The two guards remained stock still and silent, also silently weeping, their heads raised in pride. At the way the Minutemen would continue despite yet another catastrophic loss. At the way their General had sacrificed so much to give them what they couldn’t have.

Outside, the rest of the world fell silent. There were others to mourn, so many others, and they had left behind families as well. The four inside the room with Sole needed time, and so they let the news wait for another day, with Sole sleeping peacefully on their stretcher, covered in a new, clean shirt and sheet.

Word had been sent out to Deacon, Valentine, and Piper rather quickly. They’d been added to the Minutemen radio long ago, just in case, at Sole’s orders, so it wasn’t hard. They made the trip to Sanctuary in record time, arriving with solemn faces and for Piper, swollen eyes. The trio had remained resolute in their need to keep a brave face until they went down like dominos.

Piper went first, letting out a sob as soon as she saw Sole’s body, turning away and hiding her face in Nick’s shoulder. Deacon rested a hand on her shoulder and simply stared down at Sole, their eyes shut, skin now clean. Nick patted her back and held her up when Preston began reading Sole’s last words with a wavering voice. Deacon went second, choking on grief when Preston recited, “Tell Deacon to stop smoking, and Nick too, just for the principle of it.” He wasn’t one to cry, but God did the situation make for exceptions.

Nick went last. Despite the fact that he couldn’t cry, when he left the house to get fresh air after the letter was read, he threw his hat at the side of the house and collapsed to a crouch, pressing his hands against his face. No one looked each other in the eyes; it would’ve been more than a breaking point, it would’ve caused them all to shatter apart.

The funeral was put together rather quickly after the announcement was made to the rest of the settlers that their General had made one of the biggest sacrifices to protect them. Preston stood on the podium, X6-88 standing just behind him with his hands still folded formally behind his back, head bowed, and read out the list of losses, Sole’s name at the very end. Nick had written a eulogy, but the words blurred together. Preston stopped paying attention to the world around him once he was down from the podium.

It was a military-style funeral. They did their best to make sure all high-ranking Minutemen officials had one, but this was the first time in a while that it was put together so well. Sole deserved nothing but the best. Sturges had been kind enough to stay up through the night to put together a makeshift coffin for them, the best that they could do, and Deacon had taken his anger at the world out on digging their grave. Nick had taken Piper away so she didn’t have to watch and picked flowers with her to go on Sole’s chest before they were lowered into the ground.

Everything came together in a sickening blur, but the world allowed them a small reprieve. The burial went well. A large crowd gathered in the fields of Sanctuary, heads bowed grimly, as they listened to Sole’s companions tell stories of their adventures, their shining personality, and their generous heart. When the row of Minutemen fired their rifles into the air Preston didn’t even flinch; he was too used to it. Somehow, he made it up to the grave to take part in shoveling one scoop of dirt onto their casket, but after that it was black.

The next time he became aware of himself was in the main house, where he was reclined in one of the chairs, Sole’s dog tags pressed to his lips in thought. Nick was still somewhere around, cursing the fact that he was incapable of sleeping, Piper passed out in one of the back rooms from emotional exhaustion. Deacon had vanished into thin air, as he often did. Preston wouldn’t be surprised if they never saw him again, and he couldn’t blame the other man; he was feeling the urge to run very far away right about now, too.

The cold metal was grounding against the skin on his face and he took in a deep breath, closing his swollen eyes. Maybe if he was lucky the universe would grant him a moment's rest, and he would wake up the next morning to Sole rapping their knuckles against his door, teasing him for accidentally sleeping in on them. But they never left their dog tags behind, no matter what. No, it was real. They were gone. And it was sure to haunt him for the rest of his life.

Three years later, it was a hushed topic for anyone to ask a question about the fact that General Garvey wore two pairs of dog tags around his neck. He was a good man, kind, but it was obvious something had changed him to the new settlers; he was quiet, his face drawn and bordering grim at all times. No one had really seen him laugh, which was a shame, because many commented that there seemed to be a light in the depths of his eyes that was begging to come back out. Not to mention the way his second in command glared when someone tried to ask what had happened.

Every July 4th he visited a lone grave in the middle of the fields and rested bouquets of flowers all around and changed out the Minutemen’s flag that hung off the cold stone. He sat, the entire day, undisturbed by the settlers who merely stopped and stared at a distance out of curiosity, in silence. At the end of the day, when the sun had just dipped below the horizon, his second in command would join him in the field and place a hand on his shoulder.

“Preston,” X6-88 would say. “It’s time to get some rest.”

[painless-innit-colourful]

‘Weeping Headstones - Prologue’

The beginning of a Doctor Who AU I’ll never finish: Tommy and Tubbo are all set to hang out and go stargazing when- Well, they never can get a bit of peace, can they? Feat. some suspicious statues in the shape of Weeping Angels...

It promises to be a beautiful starry night. That’s what Foolish apparently told Tubbo earlier that day as he hung around Snowchester. Tommy doesn’t know how he knows that or how far he trusts it to be true, but if he’s right, he’s glad Tubbo’ll be here to spend it with him. It’s been a good week or so since they’ve had the chance to go stargazing; between bad weather, Tubbo’s responsibilities in Snowchester, Tommy’s new hotel project and yesterday’s nuke test, they’ve both been rather busy lately.

Just the thought of it makes him clear his throat on reflex, and it brings a smile to his lips. He’s pretty sure he doesn’t have radiation poisoning. Like, eighty percent. Okay, maybe he should’ve been more careful, but since he and Tubbo emerged from Dream’s creepy-ass vault with their lives Tommy’s been feeling rather indestructible. Not to bring Hamilton back into it, but he couldn’t seem to die. Besides, they had medicine, he hadn’t been accidentally hit by a nuke, and Dream was in the prison. Nothing could possibly pose him any threat right now.

As if to immediately prove him wrong, there’s a sharp ‘TWANG’ from only a few feet behind him, accompanied by a sharp whistle of air. Tommy’s reflexes from fighting a dozen wars and never knowing who to trust kick in, and he sinks down on the bench as an arrow sails through the empty space where his head just was. He has no armour and only a random sword on him: on the other hand, it’s just a skeleton. He draws his sword, dropping to one knee using the bench as a shield. The skeleton stands on the path outside his house, nocking another arrow on its bow. Tommy takes advantage of that brief moment, vaulting the side of the bench to run at the skeleton. He lands one hit on the wretched thing’s shoulder when he hears a familiar hiss from behind him to the right. He lets out a cry of surprise and swings in a wide arc, striking the creeper that had also snuck up on him and sending it back a couple metres or so. He scrambles back in the direction of L’Manberg, watching as the creeper shuffles forward and the skeleton fires a lazy shot to the side of it.

“You okay?” Tubbo sticks his head out of Tommy’s doorway, obviously alerted by Tommy’s surprised squeaking. “Nothing I can’t handle.” He says quickly, darting forward and delivering a second strike to the creeper, sending it reeling back again. Tubbo appears to disregard his statement, levelling a loaded crossbow at the skeleton and pinging a bolt off its skull. It makes a dull thudding sound and leaves a sizable dent. Tubbo reloads again, but the skeleton shoots first. Tommy doesn’t even need to dodge, as the arrow sticks in the creeper with a sound like someone stepping on a stick of TNT - don’t ask how he knows what that sounds like. There’s another hollow thud as Tubbo cracks another bolt off the skeleton’s body, and the magic holding its bones together disintegrates along with its form.

“We can call that one a team effort.” Tubbo shoots him a wink and goes to retreat back inside when he’s stopped by a small gasp from Tommy. He turns back, “What is it?” The blonde boy is sifting delicately through the pile of ash left by the creeper, revealing a round of black shellac like a palaeontologist uncovering a precious fossil. Neither boy can suppress the grin that forms. “Which is it?” Tubbo asks, and Tommy lifts up the disc to show the red centre. “Blocks again.” He leans back and gets to his feet. “You want it?”

“Sure.” Tommy passes it to Tubbo with a gentleness reserved only for discs and injured friends, and Tubbo gives him a genuine smile as he goes to put it in his ender chest. As he carefully puts it away, a warm feeling spreads through him. Contentment. He keeps an ear out for any more Tommy mishaps.

The boy in question is currently messing with the jukebox, resetting Cat since it had stopped playing since his encounter with the skeleton-creeper duo. The familiar synth melody begins to play, and Tommy’s about to recline back on his bench when he hears a series of small crashing noises, like someone’s dropped a frying pan down a flight of stairs. Furthermore, the noise came from the opposite direction to his house. He looks in the direction of the downtown SMP but sees nothing- No, wait.

Sticking just above the footpath is the top of a head. Someone’s crouched on the Prime Path stairs up to his house, and they’re watching him. Tommy maintains eye contact while getting up, going for a staring contest to psyche them out, whoever they are; he hasn’t figured that part out yet. They’ve got grey hair and a very stony gaze that turns his stomach over, but apart from that, he can’t make out anything since their body is out of his sightline. He makes his way over, head whirling with thoughts. Is this the apparently infamous Addison Rae??

Tubbo’s communicator buzzes unexpectedly. He yanks the microphone down to his mouth with two fingers, hands full of cr*p from Tommy’s chests. “Tubbooooo…” From the sound of Tommy’s voice, he’s making a regretful face and has just done something stupid. “On a scale of one to started a war, how bad is it?” A loud sigh is transmitted through the headphones in regrettably crisp quality. “Different scale. This is like that time I mistook a scarecrow for an attractive woman.” Tubbo sniggers. “What happened?”

“I feel like a foolish man, Tubbo.” “What did you do?” “I thought someone was watching me from the stairs, right? But it’s just this creepy-ass statue.” He plows through Tubbo’s giggles, kicking the statue with his foot in irritation. Part of its arm goes with it. “I’m being trolled with an oversized garden gnome.” “Weird. What’s it look like?” “It’s- It kinda looks like it belongs in a graveyard actually. It’s an angel, but its hands are on the stairs and everything, like it crawled up here to get me.” “Ah yes, angels. The most terrifying of monsters.” “I’m gonna ask Foolish if there’s a family relation-” “Oh god don’t-” “Or if I can kick it off the stairs like the other one. There’s a broken one down there.” He relayed, peering down at a pile of grey limbs and ash on the ground far below.

“I say pay it no mind. I’m nearly done.” Tubbo passes on, dumping an armful of saplings into a corner of the appropriate chest, inventively named ‘nature sh*t’. “How long does it take to find drugs in my chests? If it’s that hard, we have a serious problem, and not just with your eyesight.” Tommy complains, putting on a show of frustrated gestures to no one as he makes his way back to the bench. He flops down, ignoring the acute feeling of being watched sourcing from the statue on the stairs. “Tommy, looking in your chests is like trying to find the button in Pogtopia.” The blonde boy sits up straight, his back cracking in several places. “What’s that supposed to mean?” Tommy can hear the smile in Tubbo’s voice the next time he speaks. “Lot of stuff that looks about right, but none of it actually does what you want it to.”

Tubbo hears the beginning of a reply masked with an undignified splutter, and he’s about to shoot something back first when the scream rips the sarky comment out of his mouth. He sprints up Tommy’s stairs and throws himself out the door, crossbow levelled… But there’s nothing there. Also, there’s no Tommy.

Panic starts to rise. He scours the immediate area, peering over the edge of the hill, along the path towards the hotel, all the way to the stairs down to L’Manberg, checking the houses opposite Tommy’s and down the stairs where Tommy said the angel statue was. And while there’s a broken pile of stone far below as he described… Whatever Tommy saw on the stairs is gone. 

There’s no time to worry about that.  “Tommy!”  His thoughts race. What could’ve happened?  The wind starts to pick up, and it brings a whirring sound only just obscured by the dying strains of Cat.  “Tommy?! C’mon man, this isn’t funny!”  It can’t have been a mob, there was nothing there. There’s no one else in the area; even so, Tubbo loads his crossbow and keeps it handy. He hasn’t been killed: there’s no blood and no body.

Could Dream have escaped the prison?

The thought sends a chill through him, rivalled only by a frigid Snowchester morning. Tommy hasn’t told him, properly, about his exile yet. There’s still a lot of leftover feelings involved for both of them. Even so, it’s plain to see: Dream hurt Tommy in ways neither of them had dealt with before: ways they should never have to deal with. If Dream were to get out of Pandora’s Vault and then go for Tommy before anyone could warn them…

Tubbo has his phone out and is halfway through typing Sam’s number when a small noise behind him causes his danger sense to start blaring like a nuclear siren. He turns, standing near Tommy’s door again, just in time to see a figure pass overheard, leaping from the roof of Tommy’s house and landing ahead of him. The figure makes a beeline for the bench, or more accurately the jukebox, and Tubbo watches dumbfounded as the figure lifts Cat from where it’s playing with practised ease and places it into their coat. The mystery thief is facing the wrong way for Tubbo to see their face, but he does take note of the pink hair tied back in a small ponytail, the ruby-red, fur-lined cloak and the sturdy boots leaving tread marks in the grass before they hop over the edge of the hill. He runs forward to perhaps get a shot in as they escape, only to be met with an empty landscape and the beginnings of a very pretty sunset.

He drops his phone to his side, jaw slack and nerves shaking. Someone’s trolling him and Tommy by moving an angel statue around. Then Tommy suddenly vanishes with a scream. And the icing on the absolute disaster cake: a possibly very powerful enemy’s just made off with one of the discs.

“Oh, f*ck me.”

[there-must-be-a-lock]

Partying and Poker Faces

Criminal Minds x Supernatural

Word Count: ~3350

Warnings: Errbody gettin drunk. Terrible zamboni puns. 

A/N: No, seriously, it’s just random drunk conversations. They are ridiculous. It’s fun. Thanks to @stunudo​, @fookinghelljensensthighs​, @lastactiontricia​ and everybody else in the Slack chat who listened to me ramble and helped with Nutcracker jokes/Winchester band names. Hair clip scene inspired by this post. 

Part 6 of the Rockstar AU! 

-

-

The “Wayward Sons” World Tour: Pre-Tour Kickoff Party

. . .

“Okay, seriously though, my friend found all these pictures of them at Bonnaroo walking around with a girl with blue hair, right? So she did a side-by-side analysis and she swears it’s Harry Styles in a wig. Like, honest to god.” 

“Who’s Harry Styles?” Spencer asks, putting his book down and rubbing his eyes as he comes out of his reading trance.

“Only the love of my life,” Penelope tells him. 

“Penelope,” Emily interrupts. “You are not allowed to ask him if he’s really friends with Harry Styles.” 

Penelope deflates slightly. “But -”

JJ tells her, “You are definitely not allowed to ask if you can have Harry Styles’s phone number.” 

Penelope rolls her eyes. “Apparently there’s a whole group of crazies who think he and Sam are actually dating. There are conspiracy theories and everything.” 

“Let’s just outlaw the subject of Harry Styles altogether,” JJ says hurriedly. “Okay?” 

“Oh my God, I wouldn’t actually ask. Are you ready yet, Em?” 

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” Emily replies, glaring at her reflection. She’s been trying to even out her wings for like half an hour now. “I look like a raccoon.” 

“So… normal then?” Spencer asks, with his cheekiest smile. 

“Uh oh, we’ve got Sassy Spence tonight,” JJ says. She grabs Emily’s arm to tug her away from the mirror. “You’re gorgeous. Let’s go.” 

“Forward, march!” Penelope orders. “To Suite 202!” 

. . . 

“So then Sammy asks if she’s his daughter,” Dean finishes. 

Hotch and Spencer laugh; it makes Hotch look about ten years younger. 

“What did she say?” Spencer asks, tucking his hair behind his ears again. With his legs crossed in his ratty Chucks, he looks too young to be drinking. 

“Just said ‘I’m his wife,’ ice cold, and walked away.”

“You should’ve seen the look on Sam’s face,” Cas adds. He settles down next to Dean, handing him a fresh drink and sitting close. For a moment Dean forgets that they’re allowed to be close, that he’s not in public any more, and then he puts an arm around Cas, smiling to himself. 

“What about you?” Dean asks. 

“I haven’t gotten starstruck since Kurt Cobain,” Hotch answers. “But you should ask Spencer what happened when he met David Byrne.” 

“Spencer, what happened when you met David Byrne?” Cas asks with a smirk. 

“Well… you know how Freud talked about seeing the Acropolis for the first time? The feeling of derealization?” 

“No,” Dean says, raising his eyebrows. “Should I?” 

“What you have to understand is that my mom was playing me the Talking Heads while I was in the womb,” Spencer continues earnestly. “Remain In Light, mostly, because it came out that year, but — anyway. Research shows —“

“David Byrne is his Acropolis,” Hotch translates. “He didn’t speak for almost two hours after they were introduced.” 

“And I get the feeling there aren’t many things that render him speechless,” Cas says dryly. 

. . .

“Hey there, hot stuff,” Penelope says, and she sits in the empty spot next to Derek on the couch. She almost kicks Spencer as she does so; he’s sitting on the floor in front of the couch, hunched over one of the acoustic guitars that everybody’s been passing around. 

“You know there’s another chair, right?” asks Sam, who’s sprawled out in one of the armchairs opposite their couch.   

“Trust me, it’s pointless,” Derek tells him. “He hates chairs.” 

“That’s not true,” Spencer says absent-mindedly, tucking his hair behind his ears. “I like the ones with wheels.” 

“Wait, you play keys, right?” Sam asks, watching Spencer pluck out a quick, dexterous open-tuned thing that Penelope is pretty sure he’s improvising. 

“And synths,” Spencer says, pushing his hair out of his eyes again. “But also… a little bit of everything, I guess.” 

“Guitar, bass, drums, violin, cello, saxophone, clarinet,” Derek rattles off proudly. “What else? There are some weird ones.” 

“Didgeridoo!” Penelope adds. 

“She calls it my didgeri-don’t,” Spencer says, and it’s true; it’s her least favorite instrument, which is unfortunate because it’s one of her favorite words.“And there are a few things I built, I guess, but haven’t really named yet.”

“That’s awesome,” Sam says, looking suitably impressed. 

“You need a goddamn haircut, Pretty Boy,” Derek says, as Spencer tries to get his hair out of his eyes again. 

“Don’t listen to him,” Sam tells Spencer, running a hand through the shampoo-commercial situation he has on his own head. “And don’t let my brother start in on you, either.” 

Penelope rummages in her purse for a second and pulls out a neon green butterfly clip. She combs some hair back from Spencer’s forehead, twists it, and secures it so that the butterfly is right on the crown of Spencer’s head.

“Thanks, that’s much better,” Spencer says, giving her a quick smile over his shoulder. Sam stifles a laugh. 

“Hey,” Derek says, in an undertone. “Got any more of those?” 

“I love the way your brain works,” Penelope stage-whispers back. She digs around until she has a whole handful of aggressively colorful glittery barrettes (some are shaped like flowers, some have pom-poms) and passes half to Derek. She leans down and starts to braid a little section of hair near Spencer’s temple. He doesn’t seem to notice. 

. . . 

“You’re new, aren’t you?” Hotch asks, as he starts mixing himself a drink. “I don’t think we met at the surprise show.” 

“Jack,” the kid says, with a sweet smile. He’s all fresh-faced and earnest. Hotch has concerns. 

“I’m Aaron, but everybody calls me Hotch,” he says. “What‘s your part in this whole circus?” 

“I’m their guitar tech,” he chirps. “Cas is my uncle, also. He’s the one who got me the job.” 

“Uh-huh. First tour?” 

He nods. “I’m excited! This is going to be great.”

Hotch has a feeling this is going to be trouble. 

Jack has a hand on the whiskey bottle when Hotch notices and asks, “How old are you?” 

“He’s twenty,” Charlie interrupts, snatching the bottle from Jack’s hand. “Down, boy.” 

Jack shrugs, not seeming particularly bothered, and wanders away with his soda. 

“Good to know,” Hotch says wryly. 

Charlie gives Hotch an apologetic look and says, “I feel like a spoilsport. Like, let the kid have some fun, right?”

“So you followed all the rules when you were his age?” 

“Well, no, not so much, although I wasn’t into drinking so much as… um. Mild felonies.” She wrinkles her nose expressively. “But I have strict orders from Cas. He might look like a teddy bear, but Cas can be scary.” 

“Felonies,” Hotch says, trying to keep a straight face. Charlie nods. 

“Hacking, mostly?” she says tentatively. “There was some… environmentally focused cyber-terrorism, I guess you’d call it.” 

“You should talk to Penelope, she used to do that sort of thing as well.” 

Charlie looks over dubiously at Penelope, who is pulling up the hem of Derek’s shirt and showing off his abs, Vanna White style, for Sam’s benefit. Sam looks shockingly unaffected, so odds are he is straight, in which case, Rossi owes Hotch some money.

“Really. She was actually contacted by the FBI, they wanted to hire her, but.” Hotch smiles at the way Charlie’s mouth falls open. “She has a whole… sordid history. They used to call her the Black Queen.” 

“Are you… what?” Charlie asks incredulously. 

“I know, it’s a ridiculous name, but —”

“No, that’s — I can’t believe it,” Charlie stutters. “Really?” 

Hotch raises an eyebrow. “Really. Does that mean something to you?” 

Charlie shakes her head, eyes wide. “You don’t understand, she’s a legend. She’s like a frakking rockstar.” 

“Excuse me?” 

“No, like an actual rockstar,” Charlie insists. “Not that you’re not a rockstar, I didn’t mean — holy crap.” 

“Would you like me to introduce you?” Hotch offers. 

Charlie goes pale. “I don’t — um.” 

“I think you’re the first person who has ever been intimidated by Penelope Garcia,” Hotch muses. 

Charlie does a quick shot of whiskey before nodding. “Okay, I think I’m ready.” 

. . . 

“I am so fuckin’ glad I don’t have to deal with this every night,” Bobby says gruffly, with an expansive gesture at everyone in the room and their varied levels of inebriation. “We’re too old for this shit. Don’t know how you still want to go out on the road.” 

“Of all the groups I’ve managed, believe it or not, this one’s the easiest.”

Bobby looks across the room to where JJ is passing around shots and Emily is talking everybody into a game of Truth or Dare, as a “bonding exercise.” Spencer is clinging to Morgan’s back like a gangly white Yoda; Morgan, who’s serenading Sam with “Wonderwall” (Sam is covering his ears and looking pained) doesn’t seem to notice his weight. 

“I don’t believe it, actually,” Bobby tells Rossi, who shrugs. 

“They take care of each other, really. No ego involved, with any of them, which is rare enough in this business.” Rossi pauses as Penelope shrieks; Hotch, who is standing between her and Charlie, looks vaguely alarmed, but nobody seems to be in any real danger. Rossi adds, “They may act like a bunch of assclowns sometimes, but they’re much smarter than they look. I told you, didn’t I?” 

“Fair enough,” Bobby says. He’d called Rossi on a whim, looking for an opener for Dean’s surprise show and hinting about “discretion” and “liberal types,” trying not to give too much away. He’d expected Rossi to put him in touch with a friend of a friend, or something. He didn’t expect this to work out so well.

Bobby’s not used to things working out well. It’s a nice change. 

“Good to see you again, anyway” Rossi says. “You’re coming out to a few more shows, right?” 

“Course. I’ll be around here and there.” 

“Bet you’ll miss them soon enough. I was bored stiff when I was retired,” Rossi says. 

“Yeah, well, you didn’t have to get those two through their teenage years,” Bobby grouches. “Just about put me in an early grave.” 

“They seem like good kids,” Rossi says. “I don’t think I’ve seen you since they were… how old?” 

Bobby can’t help but smile at that. “Yeah, they’ve got good heads on their shoulders. They grew up. Just in time, too. I kept tellin’ them, success is going to change things, but I don’t think they believed me. Idjits.” 

Rossi nods knowingly. “Cheers to success, then. And old friends.” 

“I’ll drink to that.” 

. . . 

“Pastor’s son, in the church,” Emily says. 

“Twins,” Dean replies smugly. 

“Nice.” Emily gives him a fist-bump. “Backstage during a performance of The Nutcracker.” 

“I’ll be very disappointed if there were no nut jokes.” 

Emily smirks. “Well, there were no actual nuts involved, but the fairy did, in fact, taste like sugar plums.” 

“Yeah, okay, not bad,” Dean says. He clinks his beer bottle against hers and they drink. “On top of a zamboni.” 

“You mean zam-bone-y?” 

“Thank you! Sam rolled his eyes so hard I thought they were gonna fall out when I said that.” 

“The Roxy.”  

“Green room? C’mon,” Dean scoffs. “Amateur hour.” 

“Nope,” Emily says triumphantly. “In the crowd, during a Guns N Roses show.” 

“Okay, that’s fuckin’ awesome,” Dean laughs.

“It really was.” 

Dean’s eyes flick across the room, following Cas, who just deadpanned something that’s making Hotch double over with laughter. Dean’s eyes go crinkly at the corners as his smile gets even brighter — a full-on megawatt movie star smile — and his expression is so sweet and soft and utterly adoring that Emily melts a little bit. 

“Gross,” she says, elbowing Dean. He elbows her right back. 

“Shuddup,” he mutters. 

“No more twins for you,” Emily sing-songs. 

“Worth it,” Dean says firmly, and even she can’t think of anything snarky to say to that. 

. . . 

JJ can only understand about one in five of the words Penelope and Charlie are chattering to each other, so she gives up and leaves them to it. She’s slightly concerned they’re plotting to take over the world, or something. They don’t seem to notice her leaving. 

Dean and Emily are side by side on one of the couches, both slouching, with their feet up on the coffee table and beers resting on their stomachs, giggling about something as if they’ve been lifelong friends. The whole tableau is unexpected, but not in a bad way. 

There’s something about Dean that JJ just didn’t like, at first. It’s mostly that he’s too likable. In every interaction they’ve had, he’s been incredibly charismatic, warm, polite, funny… but it’s not him. 

JJ is an expert at getting people to trust her without ever showing her hand. She recognizes a bluff when she sees one. 

She’s been watching Dean, whenever he thinks she’s not paying attention. He lets his guard down, sometimes, when he’s with his brother or Cas, but there’s a well-disguised wall that goes up when he talks to anyone else. It’s defensive fortifications camouflaged as charm. 

Apparently Emily’s shoved through whatever wall Dean usually puts up when he’s around strangers. Emily can do that to a person, though. JJ knows that better than anybody. 

Emily’s clearly teasing him about something. He’s grinning, boyish and bashful and genuine, and JJ likes him a hell of a lot more, suddenly. 

She heads over to join them on their couch, sliding over the armrest to sprawl halfway over Emily’s lap and cuddle in close. 

“Are you two still playing Truth or Dare? This doesn’t look very daring.” 

“Debauchery pissing contest,” Emily informs her. 

Dean is watching her, and his walls are up again: pleasant smile slapped on his face, eyes calculating, playing it close to the chest until he figures her out. 

She raises an eyebrow and prompts him: “Well? Aren’t you going to ask me?” 

He looks suspicious, but he goes with it. “What’s the craziest place you’ve had sex?”

“A lady doesn’t kiss and tell,” JJ says primly, and for a second Dean’s actually thinking about taking her seriously. She rolls her eyes. “Kidding. Middle of a Guns N Roses show.” 

He looks confused for a second. Then Emily and JJ high-five, and Dean barks out a laugh. 

“I didn’t know you —” 

He hesitates. 

“Swing that way?” JJ supplies. 

“Yeah, that.”

“Most people don’t, and we’re gonna keep it that way. Understood?”

Dean seems surprised by the sudden sharp edge in her voice. “Gotcha.” 

“I used to think she was crazy for not coming out publicly,” Emily tells Dean, but she’s looking at JJ with a little half-smile on her face. “But now that people are starting to give a shit about us, sometimes I think she might’ve had the right idea.” 

“Don’t lie, you love being an ‘inspiration to the youth,’” JJ says, with mocking finger quotes. “And you’ve been disappointing your mom for years, she’s used to it. Mine would probably have a heart attack.” 

“Yeah, but the number of times I get that fucking ‘Does that mean you’re attracted to pans?’ bullshit, I swear to God…” 

Dean’s looking at JJ again, but this time it’s less calculating and more admiring. He nods slowly like something just started to make sense.  

“Helluva poker face,” he says approvingly.  

JJ grins. “Yours isn’t too bad either.” 

. . . 

“I gotta ask,” Spencer says, slurred and slow. “How’d you choose the band name? The Ceiling Fires?”

Sam shrugs. “It was a recurring dream that Dean and I both used to have.” 

“Weird image.” Spencer makes a face as he undoes one of the tiny braids Penelope left in his hair. “Not that — weird isn’t a bad thing. It’s memorable.”  

“Yeah, I guess so. Dean called it that as a joke, to start with, I think, but...” Sam rambles. He’s right at that point of drunk where words just keep rolling off his tongue. “Feels like a long time ago. I mean, I did not in a million years think we’d end up here.” 

“Linear time,” Spencer comments. 

Sam waits for him to finish the thought, but apparently that’s it. 

“Linear time,” he repeats agreeably. “It’s not just… time, though, you know? It’s the whole deal. Success, I guess. People listening.  Expecting you to look a certain way, or… I don’t fucking know.”

Spencer nods pensively, combing his fingers through his hair again. “We did a magazine photo shoot the other day and they wouldn’t let me wear any of my own clothes. I like my clothes. And people keep asking if I’m dating anybody.” 

“Yeah, I’ve been getting that question too.” Spencer doesn’t know the half of it. Sam laughs to himself, rubbing his forehead, and takes a big gulp of his drink. 

Spencer pulls out another barrette with a grimace. “I mean, why would anyone care if you’re dating… who was it? Harry Styles?” 

Sam chokes and spits whiskey everywhere. 

“Who —” he wheezes, and has to stop to cough. “Fucking — how did you know?” 

“Wait, really?” 

“What?” 

“Penelope said it was just a stupid rumor,” Spencer says. He’s squinting at Sam like he’s seeing double. 

“Shit.” The adrenaline rush is going a long way toward sobering Sam up. He shakes his head and tries to pull himself together. “Shit. I just… shit.” 

“Is that a big deal?” Spencer asks, with a mild sort of confusion. “Penelope made it sound like a joke. She called it a conspiracy theory.” 

Sam stares at him, open-mouthed, before dropping his head into his hands with a groan. “Yeah, let’s just keep calling it a conspiracy theory, okay? I already owe his publicist a fucking… fruit basket, or maybe just a lot of wine.” 

“If it makes you feel any better, I don’t actually know who that is,” Spencer offers. Sam laughs weakly. “No, really, I won’t tell anybody. Even Penelope. Especially Penelope.” 

Sam studies him for a second. He looks earnest enough, in a boozy, unfocused way, but Sam’s learned the hard way that most people can’t be trusted. 

Still, worth a try. 

“If you could — yeah. Please? Just… please don’t tell anybody.” 

“Believe me,” Spencer says. “I know how it goes. If you let people see the things that matter…” He trails off, his eyes sliding to a point somewhere over Sam’s shoulder, and his voice gets unexpectedly clear and fierce. “People can be vicious. I wouldn’t give them a weapon like that.” 

Sam’s pretty sure he shouldn’t feel so reassured — Spencer still has a glittery butterfly clip sticking out from behind one ear — but he is, somehow. 

“Thanks,” he says quietly. 

Spencer shrugs, like it’s nothing, and settles the guitar in his lap again. “Anyway, here’s Wonderwall.”

“Oh hell no,” Sam grumbles, and throws a couch cushion at him.  

. . .

“Okay,” Hotch says decisively. “Everybody have their room keys?” 

“Aww! He’s like the world’s cutest drill sergeant,” Charlie says. Hotch scowls at her, but he has a feeling it’s not very intimidating. She just giggles.

“Rossi?” Hotch asks, looking around and doing a quick head count. 

“Went to bed an hour ago to listen to the latest episode of his fucking true crime podcast,” Emily says. 

Hotch frowns. “Without me? Sneaky bastard.” 

“Of all the weird fucking hobbies…” JJ mutters. “Hey, Morgan, is it my turn to be the jetpack?” 

“Fuck no. I am way too buzzed to be carrying any of you home tonight. You can walk.”

“I’m not sure I can, actually,” Spencer says morosely. He looks like a rag doll, sitting on the floor, propped up by the side of the couch. 

“Somebody come get Schroeder,” Dean mumbles, from where he’s curled up on the couch with his head in Cas’s lap. 

“We got this,” Penelope says determinedly. She grabs Spencer by the wrists and hauls him to his feet, and they lean against each other heavily, somehow managing to stay upright. 

Sam opens the door for them, smiling bemusedly as they all start to trail past: Morgan first, uncharacteristically wobbly on his feet; Emily and JJ, with their hands tucked into each other’s back pockets; Spencer and Penelope, staggering dangerously; and finally, Hotch bringing up the rear.

“Thanks,” he tells Sam, and waves at the others. “See you tomorrow.” 

Before the door closes behind him, Hotch hears Dean say, “It’s gonna be a fun tour.” 

.

.

.

[moonstone-blues]

A Spark By The River - Chapter 4: Pain

Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit. Those were the main words that were flying around in Nick's mind as he ran, a whining Dogmeat by his side, worried about the woman also. River had not long lost consciousness. This wasn't good. Nick didn't know what condition she was in now. It was near impossible to tell, being unable to communicate with the woman that he held in his arms. He had to act fast. River wasn't able to apply pressure to her wound now which meant that she would eventually bleed out in no time at all. Nick looked around, hastily scouting for any sort of danger. When finding none, Nick got down onto his knees on the old, cracked road decayed with age and and put River down. He sat her up for a moment to take her rucksack off before he lay her down on her back. Dogmeat sniffed her hand, licking it, hoping it would wake her up. Nick was sure that if he had a heart, the old ticker would be beating as fast as a mole rat on jet. Nick gently took her hand, careful not to scratch her with the metal of his own and put two of his covered fingers on her wrist. He could feel a pulse. Barely. Nick had to find a way to help River’s wound before it got any worse.

He looked at her -or rather his- old dirty shirt. He unbuttoned the first four buttons from the bottom and lifted the piece of fabric up a bit, giving him full access to River’s wound. He didn't know exactly how this worked as Nick never had these fleshy problems himself but in the back of his mind somewhere… there was a small voice that was sure of how to do this and it guided Nick. He needed to clean the wound. Nick grabbed River’s bag and opened it, searching for anything he could use. He quickly found a bottle and examined it. The liquid inside of the bottle was clear and the bottle itself was fairly clean. Good; that meant it was purified. Nick unscrewed the cap and moved the bottle over River’s wound. The lack of nerves helped keep his hand steady as he poured a little bit of the slightly warm water into the open wound and the small area around it. After repeating this process for a while, he put the bottle down and looked through River’s bag again for any sort of clean cloth. After finding nothing, Nick took an unnecessary deep ‘breath’ and thought. He eventually had an idea and ripped off a piece of fabric from his own shirt. After drowning his hands and the ripped fabric in water, Nick carefully began to wrap it around River’s body. He tied a knot, careful not to make the handmade bandage itself tight enough to the point of being painful. After he wrapped the bandage around River’s wound, Nick put the now empty bottle in River’s rucksack before he decided to put it on his own back. He buttoned River’s shirt up before picking her up in his arms once again. He saw River stir and wince in her sleep. Nick only looked down at her apologetically. Dogmeat perked up.

“Don’t worry, boy. She’s going to be okay.” He continued to run. If Nick was a human then he was sure his legs would be dead by now, unable to move due to the immense amount of running he had just done. But as he saw the large, green walls of Diamond City, those thoughts escaped his mind as he stopped at the intercom outside the walls. He adjusted River in his grip to free one of his hands a little to be able to press the button on the small, metal box. “Hello?” A familiar voice called out. “It’s Nick Valentine. I need to get in now. I have someone with me who needs immediate medical attention.” The voice barked orders to someone before Nick stepped back, seeing the oversized gate open painfully slowly. As soon as it was big enough to duck under, Nick did just that, running straight past the guards and into Diamond City. He quickly set his destination for Doctor Crocker’s surgery. Upon entering the surgery, Doctor Crocker looked up from a table with a variety of chems on it. He saw Nick and immediately noticed the blood on his clothes and the even bloodier woman In his arms. He quickly took the chems off the table and gestured for Nick to put River on the table. After Nick did so, he took a step back to let the doctor have some space. “What type of wound is it?” Crocker asked, pulling on some gloves. “Stab wound.” Crocker nodded. He unbuttoned River's shirt and used a pair of scissors to cut off the handmade bandage wrapped around her. “Were you the one who bandaged her up?” He asked Nick, not looking back at the synth. “Yeah.” Nick answered him, a little nervous. Crocker sighed. At least that would've helped her on the way here. There may have been a way to save this woman. Nick could only watch and pass the occasional tool Crocker asked for as River was operated on. River’s eyes slowly opened as she woke up. She sat up and looked around, noticing where she was. She stretched and let out a small yawn before she moved to get out of bed. That's she felt arms hold her. “Lay back down. You need to rest.” River sighed. “I've slept for too long… I need to get up.” “Come on… I'm not getting up and it would be lonely here without you.” River could practically hear the pout in his voice. River couldn’t help but let out a small chuckle, hearing him fake his sadness. “Jack, come on. I need to check on Shaun.” She had so much work to do today and she’d rather get it done as soon as possible. The sooner she got all the paperwork she had stacked up filled in, the sooner she could just sit back and relax in Jack’s arms. Suddenly, the skin holding her became cold. River shivered under Jack’s touch. She needed to turn up the thermostat. She tried to move but Jack’s icy grip held her in place. Now annoyed at her husband’s ridiculous antics preventing her from doing her work, River groaned before turning to Jack. Her eyes widened once she saw him. His whole body was an unhealthy colour of blue. Frost latched onto every inch of Jack’s body. And from his chest lay a dried up, bloody bullet wound. River screamed loudly, trying her best to get away from the figure who held a vice grip on her. But no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't bring her body to move. She was frozen. And the creeping ice on her skin only proved it as it enveloped her entire body including her face. She began to suffocate, her nostrils and mouth blocked and covered in ice. She was suffocating and she couldn't do anything about it. She was going to die. As her vision began to fade, one single thought came into her dying mind. Wake up. River coughed and sputtered as she woke up from her crippling nightmare, taking in deep breaths. Her side hurt with each inhale and exhale. After a short moment of coughing and hurting, River found someone by her side. She wiped her eyes of tears she wasn't even aware were there before and saw who it was. Nick. Nick gently held River’s shoulders. “Calm down. You're going to rip your stitches.” “My… stitches?” River asked weakly before she looked down at her side, seeing her shirt had been lifted up in her struggle, revealing a clean bandage neatly wrapped around her waist. When did that get there? “Yeah. I tried to patch it up after you fell unconscious. It helped a little until I reached Dr Crocker’s. He took over then. Cost quite a few caps.” Nick muttered the last part. River’s eyes widened. “I'm so sorry… I'll pay you back, I promise!” Nick let out a small chuckle. “Don't worry about it. I was glad to help.” He gave her a warm smile. “Now get some rest. You need time to heal.” “But-” River let out a hiss as she sat up too quickly. “What about Piper?” Nick frowned, seeing her in discomfort. “I'll talk to her later. For now, I have to look after you until Ellie comes back. She's grabbing’ us dinner.” “I'm not a child.” River narrowed her eyes. Nick held up his hands in defense. “I'm not saying you are. But you are recovering from a three-inch deep stab wound that nearly killed you on the way here.” He stated. River opened her mouth to retaliate but she couldn't find the correct words. Instead, she just scowled in defeat and crossed her arms. Nick laughed loudly before he made he turned to head back into the other room. “I’ll just be doing some paperwork in the next room. Shout me if you need anything and don't move from this spot. Okay?” River sighed. “Fine. But as soon as my side stops hurting, I'm out of here.” Nick rolled his eyes. River was a stubborn dame alright. He walked back into his office and sat down at his desk. He waited for a couple of minutes, looking out for any possible escape attempts made by the woman laying in his bed. After a while, Nick leaned back in his chair, propping his feet on the table and thought. What was it about River that confused him? He just couldn't place a metallic finger on it. He had never seen her before in his life…

He had better things to do than ponder about this. He had a case to solve and paperwork to do. He turned to the draws in his desk, opening one up for his notepad and pen. He carefully picked them up, realising he had left something underneath them.

A young couple held each other. The female showed her hand to the camera, showing off a diamond ring. Nick chuckled to himself. The picture was great but nothing could’ve compared to the real face. Nick’s thoughts began to blur. Static pierced his ears. His head began to spin. “No, no, no!” Nick hissed quietly to himself, clutching his head in pain. “Not now! Sto-”

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-ose that's true.” Suddenly, the whole lounge erupted into cheers as a different song began to play. “Hey, what's getting everyone so riled up?” he asked, looking around at all the other men in the place, a hungry, expecting look on all of their faces. Nick didn't answer but instead followed everyone's gaze to the red-curtained stage. The curtains then slowly began to open, exposing-

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Nick managed to break out of his episode, panting heavily. Thank God that was over. He realised that he was panting and immediately stopped. He knew that he didn't need to it just felt… natural to him. He must not have realised how loud he was because River’s confused voice quickly called out to him. “Valentine? Is everything okay?” It took Nick a moment to find his voice. “Umm yeah!” He called out, quickly slamming the drawer shut. “Everything's… Fine…” He had seen that memory so many times and it hurt every second as it played in his mind. This was just one of the rare moments when he was able to stop it from continuing any further. It still hurt though. But before he could even ponder getting his thoughts onto paper, Ellie came through the front door to the agency, holding two bowls of noodles. “I'm back!” Ellie chirped. But upon seeing Nick’s distraught expression, Ellie frowned. “Nick, what's wrong?” Nick looked up at her and smiled. “Nothing to worry about, El.” Ellie sighed. She knew it wasn't best to press into Nick’s personal matters. She had a good feeling she knew what was eating at Nick anyway. Nick stood up from his desk and pulled on his trench coat, a large maroon stain now prominent in the fabric. Nick hoped that would leave in time. Ellie raised her eyebrow at him. “Where are you going?” She asked. “I’m going to see Piper. She might be able to help with the case.” Nick stated, patting his pockets to make sure he had at least one packet of cigarettes on hand. “Make sure not to leak too much of the case.” Ellie warned. “I’ll be careful.” Nick knew more than anyone how reliable Piper was with keeping completely confidential information… well… confidential. As she watched Nick leave, Ellie let out a sigh before grabbing the bowls of noodles she had bought. She made her way into the next room where River sat down, wincing in pain as she moved her upper body. Ellie smiled and handed River the bowl. “Hey. Eat up. You’ll need your strength.” She told the older woman in front of her. “Thank you.” River smiled. She began to eat the noodles, quickly devouring the contents of the bowl, not leaving anything behind. “Wow. You were hungry.” Ellie remarked, still in the middle of eating her own bowl as she leaned against the wall. River sheepishly shrugged with a nervous chuckle. “I haven’t exactly eaten good food in a while…” A voice in her head added onto her sentence.

Two hundred years to be exact. After Ellie had finished her own bowl, she took River’s and walked back into the main office. After she didn’t come back into the room, River decided to try and relax. She lay down, easing herself under the covers, and rested her weary head against the scratchy pillow of Nick’s warm bed. As Nick walked through the familiar streets of Diamond City, he listened closely to the sounds of children running, playing, laughing. He heard a guard near him shoot a warning, telling Nick ‘not try anything’. Despite all he had done, he was still a synth. And that couldn’t be changed no matter who he saved from what. It didn’t bother him all too much though. He was just glad to live an at least relatively normal life, safely guarded by a sturdy wall. He said a quick hello to Nat before he was directed to Piper’s location inside the building. Once he walked inside, he was met with the sight of the reporter sat at her table, a large pile of caps on it next to a piece of paper she was writing on. Once she had caught sight of Nick, she smiled. "Well, well, Nicky Valentine walks into my office for a change.” Nick chuckled. "What can I say, Piper? You, me and hard luck all seem to run together like acid rain down an old sewer." “I heard about Blue. She okay?” Piper asked. Nick thought for a moment. He then realised what Piper meant by ‘Blue’. “She’s a fighter, that’s for sure.” He smiled. “It’s going to take more than a stab wound to stop that woman.” He took a glance at the table and it’s contents. “What are you doing?” Nick sighed. “Who’d you steal the caps off?” Piper looked offended. “Nick! How could you even think I would commit such a crime!” She couldn’t stay in character though as she bursted into a fit of giggles. “Okay a couple of them are Solomon’s.” After seeing Nick’s unamused expression, she sheepishly smiled. “He lost them in a bet! I’m fair game for them!” She picked up the paper closest to her and waved it. “The interview I did with Blue is really popular with everyone. I’m just doing a little management with the caps I got. Now I can fix the damn leaky roof and get Nat some boots. You can not believe how many holes she has in the shoes she has now… And of course, if I have any money left over, I’ll give it to River.” She took a deep breath. “Anyway! What brings the great Nick Valentine to my humble abode?” Piper flashed a cunning smirk. “You finally letting me in on this little case of yours? What's the story?" Nick chuckled. “Well, we found the psychopath who took River’s son. Turns out, he’s working for the Institute.” This information definitely piqued Piper’s interest. “I need everything you’ve got on them.” "The Institute? Hoo boy..." Piper let out a sigh. She stood up and walked over to her private desk. She sifted through countless amounts of paper. She picked out a few and gave them to Nick. Nick quickly read over them. There was hardly any information there. Piper let out a sigh and pointed to the papers Nick held before she folded her arms. "I haven’t covered anything you don’t know. I’ve dug up a lot but to this day, there's one thing nobody really knows..." "Where the institute actually is. Or how to get in there." Nick spoke up, finishing Piper’s thoughts as he put the papers down. "But there's one person who must know, right?" Piper thought of a suggestion. "The guy who handed them the kid, Shaun." "Kellogg. Huh..." Nick sighed. "Well, that angle isn't going to work." He put his hands in his pockets. "The bastard’s dead." Piper sat back down in her chair with a huff. "So a murderer and a kidnapper gets his brains blown out by an avenging parent." She sighed, rubbing her temples and spoke in an annoyed tone. "It would be a great ending if we didn't still have the biggest mystery in the Commonwealth to solve." "'Gets his brains blown out’... Huh." Nick wondered allowed, getting Piper's attention. "His brains… You know, we may not need the man at all." Piper raised an eyebrow. "You're talking crazy here Nick. Got a fault in the ol' subroutines?" She tapped her own head. Nick rolled his eyes in response. "Look, there's a place in Goodneighbor called the Memory Den.” Piper knew Goodneighbor. Hell, she had the scars and broken ribs to prove it. “Relive the past moments in your mind as clear as the day it happened." "If anyone could get a dead brain to sing, it'll be Doctor Amari, the mind behind the memories." Nick continued, speaking his thoughts out loud. "Let's see... I guess we're going to need a piece of Kellogg's brain. Enough gray matter to bring to Amari and find out if this is going to work." Piper glanced at Nick, feeling a little queasy at the thought of someone’s brains splattered all over the floor. "Jesus Nick, gross! Seriously?" Nick growled. "I know it's grisly, but what choice do we have? We got no leads, nothing. That old merc's brain might just have all the secrets we need to know." He put his hands in his pockets. That’s when he felt a weird shape. He pulled whatever it was out of his pocket and examined it. It was the piece of metal Nick had found when River killed Kellogg. He also noticed the piece of pink flesh stuck to it. Piper’s face retorted in pure disgust once she saw it. “What the hell is that thing!? It looks like a brain!” "Cybernetics, huh?" Nick thought for a moment. "This… This could work… Well, I better get going, Ellie would have my head if I went missing again." "I'm gonna do more research. I'll be here if you need me." Piper stated with a smile. She really wanted in on this but she had Nat to look after. Oh well... she'd get all the juicy details later. “Oh and read my paper if you haven’t already!” She reminded Nick. “And get rid of that gross brain!” Nick chuckled, putting the cybernetics in his pocket and making his way outside. “I’ll read it as soon as I get back to the agency.” Once he got back to his office, Nick took off his hat and coat, hanging them up on the coat hanger. He looked around before seeing a paper on his desk. Ellie must’ve got it for him. Nick smiled and sat down at his desk. He grabbed the paper and unfolded it. He cleared his throat (or lack thereof) and read the title out loud. "View From The Vault by Piper Wright." Intrigued, Nick continued to read, this time in his head, and he turned the page. He read up until a certain name caught a certain name. "... So as fortune often has it, I crossed paths with River McConnell. A Vault Dweller. A person who is experiencing the Commonwealth for the first time. What would her fresh set of eyes say about how far we've come? Is Diamond City the 'Great, Green Jewel' we have always claimed it to be?" This was interesting. Maybe Nick could know a little more about River without invading her privacy. Maybe there was somehow a clue here to the mystery surrounding the woman in the next room. "Before we begin to answer that question, we need to know who River is. To my surprise, she did not have much to say about her life in her vault at all. Because she spent all that time staring at a piece of frozen glass for over two centuries. That's right, River isn't just a Vault Dweller, she's an original Vault Dweller. She spent her entire time on the inside cryogenically suspended." Nick turned the page. He already knew that. "So what does River say about seeing Diamond City for the first time?" "'Honestly, seeing everyone surviving out here? Rebuilding the world? It gives me hope.'" Nick smiled as he read the quote out loud. Hope. Hope was what this world needed. It was what River needed. It was good to know that this god awful world made her feel even a fraction of a little bit positive. This was even better coming from River because she knew what the world was like before it was transformed into the harsh wasteland she found herself in now. She could actually give a solid comparison. "This is all the more remarkable because you see, River has a son. Shaun. And even though they were in the relative safety of a Vault, someone broke in and took Shaun from her, and River is now risking everything in order to save Shaun." Not many people were willing to do that these days… They relied on other people like Nick because they couldn’t be bothered wasting the caps or their lives on doing it themselves. In most cases, Nick found out that the missing person was a slave to the rest of the family, only used for manual labour. The families only wanted them back because that would mean that at least one of them would finally have to get off their backsides and do the work themselves. The world was messed up. "We all know the rumors and whispers that surround every missing person in Diamond City. The guilty looks we pass to mourning family members as we 'thank the Wall that, this time, it wasn't us.'" Nick sighed. It was all true. He remembered all those missing person cases that all came to the same conclusion. The Institute. "Why spend our time worrying about kidnappings? Why, indeed." Nick turned the page once more. He had to admit, Piper's papers were getting better. They spoke the truth. Even with Mayor McDonough threatening her, Piper still kept going. That persistence and hunger for the truth is what everyone needed. "I asked River to give us an outsider's perspective on what it means to lose a loved one and how she feels. Maybe, in some way, it's how we all should feel." "'No matter how much you want to give up, don't.' She said. 'You have to have hope. That you'll see them again. Or at least, that you'll know the truth.'" Wise words. Nick put the paper on his desk with a smile. River always seemed so down, and of course, Nick didn't blame her. But he could tell that inside, there was something there that was aching to escape. Nick sighed. He leaned back in his chair and rubbed his temples. This case was proving to be a little stressful. Suddenly his head began to spin again. Nick growled. He grabbed his head in pain. It was happening again! He tried to block out the pain but it wouldn’t work. “Shit, NO-!”

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The air was filled with music. Bright, multicolored lights blared in every direction. Nick looked over at his partner, hopelessly trying to flirt with the young, attractive woman handing the men their drinks. Nick sighed and dug into his pocket, fishing out some cash. He paid the woman for both of their drinks because his partner sure as hell wasn't going to. He gave her a tip and along with it, her cue to leave. Nick’s partner turned to him with a clearly displeased and defeated look on his face. “Come on, Nicky! I was this close to getting her number!” Nick grabbed his shot of whiskey, quickly downing it in one gulp. “Lennie, the only thing you'll be getting off here is a restraining order.” Lennie rolled his eyes, using his hand to mimic Nick. He soon leaned back in his chair and loosened his tie. Women liked it that way… or so had read in all those magazines. “Why doncha relax for once?” “As much as I wanna get drunk off my ass, I don't wanna be thrown on it if the boss catches us slackin’ off.” Nick pointed out, watching Lennie drink his own alcoholic liquid. Lennie shrugged. “S'pose that's true.” Suddenly, the whole lounge erupted into cheers as a different song began to play. “Hey, what's getting everyone so riled up?” he asked, looking around at all the other men in the place, a hungry, expecting look on all of their faces. Nick didn't answer but instead followed everyone's gaze to the red-curtained stage. The curtains then slowly began to open, exposing a young woman. Her skin was a light tan that glimmered in the lights. Her chestnut hair fell in long, elegant curls over her shoulders. Her makeup had a theme of blue: blue eyeshadow, blue lipstick, blue sparkles dancing across her cheeks. It complimented the woman's turquoise gown, reaching down to the ground. A slit in the side of it allowed a long, strutting leg to escape from the confines of the dress as it fit nicely and tightly against the mysterious woman's curvaceous and irresistible body. Lennie eyes practically bulged out of their sockets as he let out a loud wolf whistle, earning a few looks from the variety of girls whom he had been flirting with all night. Nick tilted his fedora in embarrassment. Lennie always had to get distracted with women. It was always women. Nick peeked at the woman after a gentle lift of the fedora. Once he examined her face clearly, he leaned over to his partner and whispered in his ear. "That's the girl." It took Nick practically screaming down Lennie's ear for the seventh time for Lennie to actually hear him. "The one the boss wants us to talk to? I call dibs." Lennie smirked, aiming his smug look over in Nick's direction. Nick rolled his eyes before he grabbed Lennie's chin, forcing him to look back after the stage. He then sat back and crossed his arms. They would have to wait until she had a break to talk to her. Lennie continued to speak anyway, but not about the case they were supposed to be working on. "Holy moly! She's legs all the way up, ain't she?" Nick paid no attention to his partner. He instead focused intently on the woman as she approached the microphone stand. The room suddenly went quiet. She smiled, showing her dazzling, white pearls and gently grabbed the microphone. The lights dimmed. "I don't want to set the world on fire~" This immediately caught the attention of everyone in the room. Her voice was smooth silk, calming those who listened. Nick looked over at Lennie and groaned seeing his partner's jaw on the floor and he was drooling. Nick used his whole hand to harshly force Lennie's jaw back up to his mouth, causing him to bite his tongue. Lennie yelped in pain and glared at Nick who was wiping his hand on his shirt. Nick got out a pack of cigarettes and put one in between his lips, using the candle on the table to light it. "And that one is you, no other will do~" The woman shot a wink at a random member of the audience who replied with a laugh, taunting his friends that he had caught the attention of this beautiful young woman. Nick continued to listen to the woman's singing as he began to blow smoke out of his mouth. He couldn't help but admit, her voice definitely was... alluring. The woman eventually noticed Nick and realised he was the only man in this room not head-over-heels for her. She subtly raised an eyebrow and made her way across the stage while still singing. She walked over to the small table Nick and Lennie were sat at. Lennie chuckled to himself and leaned closer to the gorgeous lady. His excitement was quickly extinguished though when she instead gestured for Nick to move closer to her as she put her microphone down. Nick decided to humour her. He stood and walked over to the stage, crossing his arms, wondering what trick she would try to pull. The singer quickly whispered something to Nick and she stepped off of the stage, smirking when Nick rushed to catch her. Nick put her down and turned to get back to his seat when the singer pulled Nick's shoulder back, causing him to face her. She then plucked Nick's cigarette out of his mouth and his fedora. She put the cigarette in her own mouth and placed the fedora on her head, tilting it slightly to the side. She chuckled, pushing Nick back to his seat gently. She took a long drag before she removed the cigarette from her mouth and let the warm smoke fill the air around the table she was at. Lennie let out a small cough, still not used to his partner’s horrible smoking habit. But that sure as hell didn’t prevent him from being the heaviest drinker Nick knew. Seeing that Nick was unfazed by her actions that other men would love, the woman leaned towards Nick (much to the amusement and pleasure of all of the males in the room who had a good view) and she whispered in his ear. "You're good." She then tilted the hat as a way of saying goodbye until she threw it back at Nick, it landing directly on his face, blocking Nick’s view. She used the built-in steps to walk back onto the stage as she began to sing once again, cigarette still smoking in her hand. Lennie leaned over to Nick, his face showing nothing but bewilderment. “Why the hell did she go to you?” Nick tilted his fedora back, letting it rest back on top of his head once again. “Maybe because I wasn’t getting my drool all over her.” Nick didn’t bother hearing or seeing Lennie’s response as he instead looked back at the stage and waiting for the woman to finish. He took out another cigarette from his packet, a little annoyed that the suspect had taken his previous one. He lit it, placing it in between his lips as he waited for the show to end. After her performance, Nick and Lennie got up from their seats and made their way over to the dressing rooms. After flashing their badges to security, they were finally allowed to enter a long hallway full of doors. The pair walked down the hallway, looking at the names written on the fading golden stars in search of a particular name. Eventually, Lennie tapped Nick, stopping him. He pointed to a door next to them. “That’s her.” Lennie said, gesturing to the door. Nick nodded and sighed. “Jennifer Lands.”

[smhalltheurlsaretaken]

Birthday prompt #6

Read on Ao3 Birthday prompts masterlist

@phenixy-dunnhart​

[Sinon, j'adore l'amitié juste excellent entre Rios et Raffi, si tu veux une variation (Cris qui se sacrifie pour protéger Raffi) -> Cris getting hurt protecting Raffi] 

Some time after leaving Coppelius to gallivant around the cosmos with their motley crew, Raffi collapsed in the ops seat next to Seven and Cris and loudly announced that they had to go out for drinks, and not replicated ones. They had to find a suitably shady Space Station, go out, find a bar, and get absolutely smashed.

“We’re tired, we have time on our hands, and your replicators can’t get Romulan ale right for some reason,” she told Cris as an explanation.

(It was true, he’d messed that up the one time he had drunkenly tried to disable the Hospitality Hologram’s ability to talk.)

The dark circles under her eyes alone would have convinced him anyway. The last week had been tiring. They had spent it avoiding uncharted asteroid belts that really had no business being so large (seriously, what the hell), fixing navigation issues that Enoch swore had nothing to do with the corrupted 23rd century holos he’d helped Soji illegally download for Elnor, and chasing around the four neutered tribble-rabbit hybrids the kids had smuggled aboard.

“Why just the three of us?” Seven asked with a raised eyebrow, legs propped up on the console and disinclined to move, even for drinks.

Raffi snorted.

“Well I wasn’t going to invite JL, obviously.”

That got Seven and Cris to roll their eyes in concert. Yeah, obviously. Admiral Jean-Luc Picard, retired, was too posh and too old to have any concept of fun – or, more specifically, to be able to understand the appeal of marinating your liver in real alcohol and crawl your way back to your quarters to pass out for a day straight.

“But what about Agnes and the kids?” Cris inquired, gracelessly sprawled on the Captain’s seat with a cigar in one hand and a book in another, feeling just as lazy as Seven.

“I asked, she offered to babysit,” Raffi replied. “I don’t want to be responsible for Elnor and Soji’s first hangover.”

“Not to mention that we’d have to keep an eye out for them,” Seven agreed with a nod. “Fair enough. Let’s go to DS 11.”

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Whoever had deemed synthehol an adequate substitute to good old ethanol was a complete fool with appalling taste. That was Raffi’s professional opinion, and she told Cris and Seven just that as she finished her third glass of that vibrant blue liquor that made green sparks when you shook it.

(What was it again? A Bajoran jungle beer?)

Cris snorted in his own glass, full of plain Earth liquor. Seven smirked as she gulped her cocktail down, an unholy mix that was part Klingon mead, part Romulan ale and part cranberry juice. The stuff of nightmares, honestly.

“I get drunk faster on synthehol,” Seven commented idly. “Don’t produce enough of the enzyme that breaks it down into smaller molecules. Hate the taste, though.”

“Yeah, because taste is clearly of capital importance to you,” Cris snorted again. “What’s in your glass right now? That’s toxic waste, that’s not a beverage.”

“Pssht,” she slurred. “First time I got drunk, it was after one flute of champagne. Forgive me for having learned to handle my drink.”

Raffi hazily smiled at her and got herself another drink, letting her head fall on Cris’ shoulder as she leaned against him for balance. She didn’t think she could sit up straight on her own anymore. Seven studied her intently, blinking in surprise when Cris showed no sign of discomfort and even shifted his posture so she’d be more comfortable. Noticing Seven’s stare, he gave her a wry look but made no complaint about his demotion to human pillow.

Seven was getting a bit intoxicated, so she watched them for a few more seconds and returned to her drink.

“You guys are cute,” she chuckled.

“Hmm,” Raffi mumbled in turn. “Cris is very sweet. Very very sweet. He’s the best.”

Rios was silently laughing, still nursing his aguardiente. “She gets sentimental,” he mouthed without making any actual sound, a smile in his normally dark eyes. Seven smiled too, because she was getting quite intoxicated. And also, they were very cute.

“Hey, how’d you two meet?”

The question had been on her mind for a while now, but aboard la Sirena, you didn’t ask about anyone’s past. They volunteered finite amounts of information, and you had to be content with that. But Cristóbal and Raffi had always felt like kindred spirits, despite knowing them for such a short time, far more than any of the others. Picard was an xB like her, sure, and he was also a damn idealist with a Messiah complex who understood very little about her. Soji had trouble with her humanity, yes, but she was also a kid and a synth, and she had siblings, and she was ultimately nothing like Seven. Agnes was tiny and mousy and probably no good in a fistfight, with just enough teeth to not get eaten, and eyes full of stars and a bleeding heart that hadn’t learned to put on a shell. Elnor was young and innocent and very dangerous, reminding her of the ‘Annika of old,’ someone long dead and buried.

But Raffi and Rios…

They were older, they were more jaded, they were disillusioned with a fleet, a Federation and a galaxy that had completely screwed them over – and they coped with it by helping, by drinking like idiots and smoking nasty stuff, and helping some more. They were both broken and aware of it, not like the shiny kids, and they never offered empty words of comfort or grand and hollow speeches about hope and love.

(And they were badass.)

(Like her.)

(Seven was getting very intoxicated.)

So she watched Raffi drunkenly lean on Rios and she asked, because while their friendship seemed self-evident, she wanted to know how they’d found each other. How it was that they each made the other a better person instead of dragging each other down. It tugged at her own soul, brought about some memories of Icheb, and Voyager, and of the Rangers before Bjayzl.

It made her smile.

Rios and Raffi exchanged puzzled glances. They were both too drunk to delve into her reasons for asking the question, and Raffi just pursed her lips, assuming that it came from finding their interactions cute.

“Don’t think I remember,” she told Seven blearily, still nestled against Cris. “It was a while ago. S- six? Seven? Six or seven years?”

“Eight,” Cris corrected. “I don’t really remember either. We must have met in a bar.”

Seven frowned, dimly disappointed. The feeling was too fuzzy to dwell on, but she still sniffed sadly.

“You don’t remember?” She asked mournfully. “I’d remember meeting my best friend.”

“We don’t,” Cris said, carefully shrugging the one shoulder that wasn’t supporting half of Raffi’s weight. “She hired me for a job or two, I think. Then we were mostly drinking buddies. It wasn’t spectacular or anything.”

“But something must have happened,” Seven pressed.

People didn’t just casually adopt each other. (Didn’t they? She wasn’t sure. She’d kind of casually adopted them, when she thought about it. Were giant galactic conspiracies, reclaimed broken Borg cubes and synthetic apocalypses casual? Seven was completely intoxicated.)

“Oh yeah,” Raffi mumbled. “Saved my life one time.”

“We were already friends though,” Cris elaborated, adding to Seven’s ever growing list of questions. “Got upgraded to honey and babe after that.”

“An’ you called me hermana,” Raffi sighed contently.

Seven looked back and forth between them.

“Okay, you have to tell me that story.”

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“Raf,” Cris complained as she ordered her eighth drink of the night, “slow down on the drinks. You said you wouldn’t need to spend the night on my ship.”

“Piss off,” Raffi grumbled. “Don’t need your stupid ship. Don’t need your stupid hovering.”

Cris, because he was wise, never argued with Raffi. He didn’t try this time either. Muttering Spanish profanities under his breath, he got up and paced a bit, before throwing a credit chip at the bartender.

“If she spends it all, the rest is on her,” he told the Andorian.

The guy gave a noncommittal grunt, and Cris made his way to the exit. He was two steps from the door when he head a crash, the sound of a glass being smashed to the ground. He whirled around out of instinct, his hand going for his phaser. His eyes widened as he realized where the sound had come from.

Raffi was staring down at a Nausicaan twice her size (how?), the guy who’d been sprawled on of one of the corner sofas with his buddies up until a few moments ago. She was snapping at him – about what, Cris didn’t know, didn’t care – and the man looked ready to turn her into Raffi juice.

Cris ran to them without a second’s hesitation, heart seizing painfully as frozen sludge trudged through his veins instead of blood. There were ice spikes in his throat too.

“Hey,” he yelled, getting the Nausicaan’s attention, but not Raf’s, “hey! What’s going on here?”

“Get lost,” the man growled.

“No no no,” Cris refused, words tumbling out without him even knowing whether he was speaking Standard or Spanish. “Not doing that.”

“She you friend?” The Nausicaan asked as two of his own buddies slowly got up and walked to them, ready for a fight.

Raffi finally registered that Cris had come back and blinked in surprise.

“Yeah,” Cris gritted out, looking straight into the man’s eyes. “Yeah, she’s my friend. What’s the problem?”

“She needs to learn some manners.”

“Old news,” Cris muttered under his breath, but his gaze hardened and his hand went for his phaser again. “It’s fine, we’re leaving.”

“No, you’re not,” the second Nausicaan snorted, and the third one crossed his arms and smiled with that messed-up mouth of his.

“Your friend here should apologize to ours,” he leered. “And considering how rude she was, it’d better be a nice apology.”

“I’m not kissing his freak face,” Raffi spluttered. “I already told him!”

Cris would have facepalmed, except there really wasn’t time. Grabbing Raffi by the arm, he threw her behind him and pointed his phaser at the first Nausicaan.

“It’s not on stun,” he warned.

The man snorted derisively.

“I don’t much care,” he said, tapping a finger to his thick skin and metal plated clothing. And then he cracked his knuckles. “If you want to leave, you’ll have to make me allow it.”

Cris considered the mountain of muscles, the two goons behind it and the drunk Raffi behind him.

“Yeah, fuck that,” he muttered.

Whipping around, he snatched Raffi, threw her bony frame on his shoulder despite her vehement protests, and dashed for the exit. The Nausicaans were slower to react, but Cris’ superior speed wasn’t much of an advantage in a crowded bar where nobody cared enough to pay attention to the fight or help in any way. They had almost caught up with his by the time he reached the entrance.

So naturally, Cris did the only reasonable thing he could think of. He tossed Raffi out of the bar – the bar that was shielded against transporters for security reasons, like most of the buildings in the planet’s capital city – and barked an order into his communicator for Ian. The holo had been online dealing with an issue in the antimatter ignition chamber. As luck would have it, he hadn’t powered off yet, and Cris was gratified to see Raffi dissolve away.

And then he was pulled back and forced to turned around, and he was met with three very angry Nausicaans and the naked blades of their sword-sized daggers.

“Mierda,” Cris sighed.

“Shouldn’t have done that,” one of the men growled, and Cris had no idea if he was the first, the second or the third Nausicaan, because they all looked so damn alike. “You’re toast.”

Two of them had his arm in a duranium grip, making any escape attempt impossible.

“I told you, she’s my friend,” he said with defiant glare. “Go ahead.”

He didn’t care. They could drag it out, make it painful, make it frightening, but at the end of the day death was just the one comfort he’d been desperately awaiting for over a year now. He wouldn’t dream anymore if they pummeled him to death, and that was quite a reward for saving the life of his only friend.

(Maybe she’s miss him though. He didn’t think so. He hoped not. Raffi was too messed up on her own to add him to it.)

(Would she care? Please, let her not care.)

(He’d cared.)

(He’d cared that he had P— that he had somebody’s death on his head.)

(Please let Raffi not care.)

(She would care.)

Mierda, I can’t die.

The first kick slammed the air out of his lungs, snapping two of his ribs like twigs under a standard issue boot. It felt like he’d blacked out, but he couldn’t have – he hadn’t seen any bloody bulkheads.

The second kick caught him in the stomach and made him retch.

The third kick never came, because the transporter beam got him first. It took just long enough spiriting him away for one of the Nausicaan to throw one of his daggers though, leaving a bloody slash across Cris’ shoulder.

Cris materialized on la Sirena’s transporter pad, hurt and very confused, and was greeted by Raffi’s panicked face.

“Cris!” She yelped, falling to her knees next to him. “Are you alright?”

He groaned and tried to sit up, but his ribs wouldn’t allow so much moving around.

“Activate EMH,” he sighed.

It really fucking hurt.

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“You didn’t say when you called her hermana,” Seven pointed out as Cris finished his slightly slurred tale. “Or when she called you honey.”

Raffi was half-asleep by that point, but she still somehow managed to retain enough coherence to mumble an answer. Cris heard it, and smiled at Seven.

“It was after. She was so upset over the whole thing that we both slept in her quarters. She got very fussy. Didn’t ever stop fussing after that.”

“And you called her hermana,” Seven insisted, because it was the best part.

“I was too tired to remember other words,” Cris said, sounding amused. “I think I was trying to say friend, or something like that. Y’know, to explain why I’d done it. But my Standard was all messed up.”

“You ever found out if she was the one who started the fight or if it was the horny Nausicaan?” Seven asked.

“Never,” he replied, finishing his last drink. “She couldn’t remember. I did bump into the same guy once after that. Used three phasers to stun his ass into a nice nap and dumped him at the local authorities’ doorstep for weapon trafficking.”

Seven smirked and raised her glass to that, the smirk turning into a fond look when Cris turned around to gather Raffi in his arms and gently lift her up her seat. As he carried her like that, Raffi’s head resting against his chest trustingly, Seven noticed how alike they looked.

“Space siblings,” she giggled.

(Seven was smashed.)

[cxsmic-reactions]

Companions react to learning that F!SS can dance fight:

Back during the Pre-war days, Sole had a bit of a secret life. As a little girl, she excelled in gaining straight A’s with minimal effort. At the age of 10, she received all types of rewards for her brilliance and received a lot of attention to it. Attention particularly from the United States government. They were working on this new program for gifted children to be used for espionage against the Chinese government. Over the span of 8 years, Sole was transformed into a highly trained assassin. In particular, she specialized in seduction and deception. Thought her methods were a bit odd she still got the job done. After a few years, the government didn’t need her services as much and the sent her into retirement. Doing so they set her up with a fake identity and a new life, in order to protect her. The government never expected she’d meet Nate and on top of that have a baby. It was a perfect way to blend into society. 

Flashforward to present day and She still uses those skills she learned years ago. Especially now that someone had kidnapped Synth Shaun. Sole and her companion were on their way back from Diamond City to Sanctuary when a settler came running towards them. The settler had said that Shaun had been kidnapped by Gunners and it was Sole’s job to get him back. They also told them where they had taken him. It was some old abandoned hotel that Nate and she had stayed at once. On the way there they came up with a plan of attack. Sole will take care of the front while the companion sneaks around the back to let Sole in. Once they got there they quickly executed the plan, the companion ran to the back and Sole started her show. Thankfully Travis put on He's a demon He's a devil He's a doll by Betty Hutton. As the beat came on Sole started with the first guard... (link to the video example here)

Cait: “Holy shite.” was all Cait could say. The way her body moved to the sync of the music was mesmerizing and the way she took down the bad guys with style was amazing. Who knew Sole could do all that? In one song Sole took out all the guards out front without even breaking a sweat. Damn. Nevertheless, Cait had a job to do and she would be damned if she didn't complete it. Quickly taking out the guards in the back she meets up with Sole. They both make their way into the building to see the gunner leader with Shaun tied to a chair with duct tape over his mouth. Still playing the song Sole slowly makes her way to the boss taking him out instantly. After that they got Shaun untied and took him to Homeplate to rest. When they were finally done the sat down and had a drink. Almost instantly Cait popped the question of how did you do that. Once she explained Cait remarked how sexy it was and she would mind seeing that outside the battlefield.

Curie: As soon as the music starts Curie smiled, it was her favorite song after all. But they way Sole moved was the icing on the cake. How could her hips move that way? Oh boy. As soon as she was enjoying it that's when the violence came. In the blink of an eye Sole had taken down most of the security guards in the front. When Curie finally came to Sole had already taken out the guards and was standing there waiting for her. Apologizing she ran into the building after her. There weren't many guards to pick off as they made their way up to the top floor. When they had got there the gunner leader had Shaun tied up. Without hesitation Sole did her routine which ended in the mercenary’s death. After Curie finished assessing if Shaun was okay they took him back to Homeplate. Setting him down to rest Curie and Sole sat down to talk. As soon as Sole’s butt hit the seat she was firing questions at her. Like How did you do that? and Where did you learn that from? Sole would, of course, answer the girl’s questions at the best of her abilities but leaving a bit of mystery behind it. She can’t tell all the secrets you know. 

Deacon: Now Deacon is a man of mystery. There's always something you don’t know about him no matter what. And when it comes to Deacon he knows damn near everything. So when Sole started her dance it caught him completely off guard. He kinda found himself getting a little excited and impressed. Nodding his head in approval seeing Sole take down the enemies without ease. Was there nothing this woman couldn’t do he thought. His thoughts were interrupted when he saw Sole take down the last enemy with a swift kick and running towards him. “When we get back home you have to tell me how the hell you did that,” he said with a smirk as they both walked into the building. Like once before Sole used her charm to take out the enemies while Deacon took them out behind cover. Once they got to the top floor Sole worked her charm once more on the Gunner boss and ending his life almost instantly. With that, she quickly rushed over to Shaun check on his well being. After their reunion Sole took him back to Homeplate to rest and recover. When they later sat down and talked all Deacon could say was how impressed he was and if Sole could teach him to do it. Hell, he wanted to try it on Glory.

Danse: All he could think about was how inappropriate his subordinate was acting. But he would be lying if he didn't find sexy. You can catch him blushing to himself when he sees her. The way her body moved to the beat of the music was mesmerizing. Though highly inappropriate in a military way Danse couldn't help but be drawn to Sole more and more. Brushing those thoughts aside he continued his mission with Sole. With her dancing and his sniping, the enemies were quickly dispatched one by one. Once they had taken out the enemies they had made there way up to the top level. Upon coming on to the door Sole kicked it open and took down the boss. Within seconds of that, she went to check on Shaun. Reassuring that everything will be okay and that he was safe now. After checking the building for remaining enemies they made there way back to home plate to relax. Once Shaun was put down Danse started to remark how inappropriate her fighting style was. But before she could retort back he ould complement her tactical advantages and leave it at that. Maybe in the future, he could see more of those moves perhaps more privately.

Hancock: All he could think about is his impure thoughts when he saw the way Sole was guiding her hips to the music. He never saw that in the bedroom so where did it come from. It could be from her clouded past he thought still admiring the view. But as soon as the song was over Sole killed all of them in the blink of an eye. Maybe he won't ask her to see that again in private. And with that, they regrouped and stormed the building killing everyone inside. When they got to the top Sole started her dance again on the boss. Which made him a little jealous but he’ll see it later anyway. As soon as Sole took him out she was right by Shaun’s side again. Hugging on him for dear life. After a while, Shaun would ask to go home already and she would oblige and take him back to home plate. When Sole was sure that he was asleep, Hancock and she made their way to the living room. They would sit and talk about her past for a few minutes before Hancock wants to act on his thoughts. Knowing Shaun was a heavy sleeper she was cool with it.

MacCready: Blushing. All Mac could do was blush his face off. Sole sent him to higher ground so he can snipe gunners from afar. But while he was looking for enemies he spotted Sole. She was rocking her hips to the song as she twisted one of the other gunners' necks. He couldn’t lie it was hot to him. He couldn't help but blush every time she swayed. Who could blame him? Mac knew if he was in one of the guards shoes he would totally fall for it no problem. Shaking those thoughts away he returned to his duty, sniping the gunners from afar. Once they got rid of the gunners on the outside they made their way into the building. Taking down the enemies like before but this time Mac was able to see Sole do her thing up close. He could see the guards flocking to her only to end up with a bullet in the head. It was impressive to say the less. After clearing the building the made their way to the top suite. There was Shaun next to the boss with a gun to his head. Before Mac could do anything she did her dance and took him down without a fuss. Picking up Shaun they headed back to home plate. Once Shaun was out cold Mac pulled Sole aside and talked to her about what she did. Every time he would try to say something he would stutter and blush like crazy. Guess he will have to try again later.

Nick: Shocked. All he could be was shocked. What else could he be? Nick actually though Sole was an innocent woman who was in the wrong place at the wrong time. But this just changes everything. Who knew she could move her hips in that direction and be on the beat at the same time. If synths could blush right now he would be as red as a tato. After this mission, he would definitely have to talk to them about their “tactical skills”. After the gunners were taken out on the outside they made their way inside. Almost exactly how she did outside she took down the more enemies but with much more force. Once cleared they made their way up towards the top suite taking down enemies as the walked past. When they reached the suite without hesitation Sole quickly ended the boss life and ran to Shaun. After they made sure he was okay they went back to home plate. Once Shaun fell asleep Nick asked about what she did back there. He had to admit he was impressed but he told her next time she wanted to do something new to at least tell him beforehand.

Piper: Oh boy, was she trying to figure out what the hell was going on. She couldn't tell if this were some sort of prank or what. Don't get her wrong she wasn't enjoying it but it kind of seemed out of the ordinary. Like something you would read in a story or watch in a movie. Not something in real life. Even though Piper thought it was a little weird it was still pretty damn cool to see. She even thought about writing about it in the newspaper maybe an article about how cool the vault dweller is. But before that can happen they needed to save Shaun. Before long they were at the top floor and there stood a man with a gun pointed at Shaun’s head. Before Piper could say a thing Sole started to rock her hips from side to side. Making sure to keep eye contact Sole walked towards the man and practically seduced him. Once he put the gun down she killed him without hesitation. Making sure he was dead Sole then turned to Shaun and hugged him. After the reunion, they head back to home plate to chat and rest. When Shaun fell asleep Piper asked Sole if she could write an article about what happened. Agreeing Sole started to tell her story while Piper was taking notes. Man, this would be a story to remember she thought.

Preston: He was as red as a tato. He tried to look away but he couldn't. He found himself getting drawn in by her moves. He couldn't help it she was amazing at what she does. After they were sure that the enemies outside were taken care of, they regrouped. When Sole tried to talk to him couldn't make eye contact with her without stuttering and blushing. But before she could ask him about it they were attacked. Clearing the enemies in one big swoop they made their way up to the top floor. Once there they took out the boss and recovered Shaun. Returning back to home plate for Shaun to recover Sole finally confronted Preston. But every time Preston who start to talk he would stumble over his words and blush again. I guess she'll have to try again later.

X6-88: X6 knew Sole was government trained due to prior research. That was the whole reason why he was assigned to be with her. Father had asked the robotics team to come up with a courser that was trained as a spy back in the prewar days. It was a test to see if training like that would be effective in the field. Though X6 knew she was highly skilled he didn't know she was skilled in that. When he saw the way she moved and took down the enemy it was entrancing to say the less. He thought that they were both trained in basically the same way. Father did uncover training documents and videos from the building she worked at. X6 couldn't help but be impressed by her moves and he found himself being a little jealous that he didn't have training like that. Once they got into the building it was the same story but even better. She took down the gunners barley needing his help. Yeah, she definitely has to teach me some of those moves he thought.  Once they got up to the top floor she had X6 take care of the remaining gunners while she went and got Shaun. In no time they had Shaun and they were on their way back to home plate to rest and talk. When they got there Shaun went to bed immediately while Sole and X6 stayed to talk. All he could say was how impressed he was of her skill and that she had to teach him some one day.

This was both helped and requested by the lovely @electronicagirl. I hope you like it. Also, this is a link to her amazing story. Its a really good read and you guys should check it out. By the way, I'm sorry I haven't posted in a while I've been working on my summer assignments and trying to get my life together for the new school year.

[melodieoftheuniverse]

A Slice of Boterkoek

A scene involving my version of Siebren and Selene.

The two had met in passing outside between classes, but had not had a true conversation since the impromptu lunch and chocolate moment two weeks ago. In the time between, Siebren had consumed anything and everything he could find on reputable sources about schizophrenia, especially regarding treatments. He had missed this feeling of a new interest and voracious desire for more information, but had decided midway through to keep things to himself unless she brought it up. He didn’t want to seem prying, and the simple accidental mention of her sister nearly sent her into tears, he did not want to be the cause of that. 

Siebren had no real skill in the kitchen past easy, ready-made meals, so he decided to stop by a bakery on the way to campus and pick up one of his favorites to share with his new acquaintance—could he call her that? He had always been the odd child in any group, and any time he had attempted to gain friends, they had always shunned him for daring to rejoin the group the next day. But the word fit. It felt right. And unlike most, she didn’t seem to judge him on anything. 

It was that reason that led him to choose the boterkoek from the display case. And, in his purely professional observation, food tended to be a better social lubricant.

The third time meeting, and you’re bringing her a cake, his inner voice noted. Aren’t you afraid she’ll take the calorie-laden dessert as an offense? Afraid she’ll state it’ll spoil her girlish figure?

Siebren silenced the voice with a shake of his head. What would one small slice do? Selene clearly enjoyed food, but perhaps this “social experiment” of his might teach her a more epicurean approach. How to savor, how to taste the different notes and how they became a symphony together. He snorted and shook his head again. Back to music. It circled back around to music.

He found himself walking perfectly in time to the synth music playing through his headphones, fighting the urge to let more of his body express itself. Walking in a regular rhythm was socially acceptable; flat-out “grooving” would only earn him more stares than he usually received for his height and build. He did allow himself a small head bob and a shoulder swing here and there but otherwise tried to keep his mask of normalcy firmly planted. He had started to turn towards the entrance to the building when he caught motion out of the corner of his eye. He initially dismissed it as a bird of some sort but as he turned slightly, noticed the side to side motion couldn’t be duplicated by a bird, save a large one like a crane, and those were only found in zoos in this area. He turned to face the motion fully and found Selene kneeling and waving furiously at him. He smiled, plucked an earbud out and waved back with the same hand. He noted that she had left her hair down, this being the first time he could truly see the length--and, his inner voice noted, how the sunlight caught the highlights in her auburn hair.

He shook the voice silent again, replaced the earbud, and turned back to the door, Selene’s waving returning to the previous intensity. He faced her again, pointed towards the door, and nodded in the same direction.

She shook her head, moved her arms in a large “no”, and pointed to a spot across from her on the grass.

He shook his head with exaggerated movements, and pointed back to the door.

She scowled, planted her hands on her hips, and settled into a deeper kneel.

He narrowed his eyes, but Selene had done all but put down roots. He clearly wasn’t going to win. He sighed, turned on his heels, and walked over to where she sat on the grass, dodging a flock of freshmen en route to their classes, plucking out his remaining earbud and pocketing both. 

“I thought we could sit under the stars,” Selene began as he approached the edge of her blanket, the opposite edge pinned down by her bookbag. 

He loomed over her, feeling the nearly-ever-present frown begin to tug at his face. “It’s daytime,” he replied dryly.

“Star, then,” she replied, not missing a beat. “The Sun is a star, yes? And technically we are under the stars, the Sun is just bright enough to outdo their light.” She smiled up at him, the smile unwavering until Siebren sighed and sat on an open corner of the blanket. “You look like you could use some outside time anyways.”

He casually ignored the dig at his complexion and brought the bag with the confection around to the front, having it join the spread Selene already had set out. There were slices of various cheeses both soft and hard that joined different types of sausages and salami on two plates. Next to those on other plates were both fresh and dried fruits and two different types of bread, one a sliced baguette, the other a loaf clearly intended to have chunks pulled off as needed. “What inspired the charcuterie al fresco?”

“I wanted something different. Routine is nice, but it’s also nice to change things up every now and then. Agreed?” 

Siebren stayed silent as he untied the knot in the bag and pulled out the boterkoek. That point of view was almost the polar opposite of his own. Routines were comfy, predictable. Inside was still; outside was loud, windy, messy. This change would probably throw his entire day off.

“Ooh, what’s that?” she asked, adopting the same child-like gaze she had when she noticed the projector when they had first met.

“Dessert,” he replied simply. She fixed him with a look, and he returned it with like intensity. “Dessert means after the meal. And after the meal, I will share with you one of my favorite things.” 

She snorted in annoyance, but his look remained unwavering. She grumbled, grabbed a slice of Calabrese salami, folded it, and inserted the entire thing into her mouth, chewing with exaggerated motions. He tried to remain stern, but he could feel one corner of his mouth pulling up into a smirk. He waited until she had finished her angry chewing before crossing his legs in front of him in a more comfortable position, reaching out for one of the softer cheeses, brie, he believed. It was a young brie, the rind not quite sitting in his nose like it should. Still, it was a good compliment to the Genoa salami and...sourdough?

“I got a 90 on my last math test,” she started, grabbing a sip of water from her bottle. “He said he’d give it to my lab teacher for me to work through and maybe get some points back.”

He smiled. “Glad you took my advice on seeking accommodations.” He plucked a grape off the bunch and popped it into his mouth. A bit of sweet to offset the abundance of savory. “Let me know if it helps.”

She nodded, mouth full of a bite of bread. “It seems to be,” she answered after swallowing. “I don’t like the fact that math is this hard for me.”

He shrugged. “I am bad at expressing myself in writing. I have trouble keeping my numbers straight, but I’ve learned strategies over the years.” He rolled up a slice of cheese, then glanced over at her. “Rome wasn’t built in a day, after all. And perhaps your mistakes come from your state of constant hurry.”

Selene stared up at him, pulling the cheese cube away from her tongue. “And what do you mean by that?”

He leaned back, placing the cheese on his lap, letting it unroll. “Think back to the first day we met.”

“I was trying to get some food in my stomach before my class. I hadn’t had breakfast that day, so I was getting something to keep me from keeling over.”

“Ah, there it is. Time management.”

She adjusted the way she was sitting. “You’re not trying to psychoanalyze me, are you?”

“Budding astrophysicist, not psychologist. Or psychiatrist, I can never remember which. But no, your problem is time management. You have little to no sense of time...” he paused slightly, catching the glare over her water bottle, “and when it’s time to do something, it has to happen now or else. Have you considered a planner?”

“Use them for two months, then forget where I put them. Next option.”

Siebren inclined an eyebrow. He was not used to having a suggestion so quickly dismissed. “The calendar on your phone, perhaps?”

“I’ve never used it,” she stated, tearing off another hunk of bread.

“Perhaps now is the time to start?” he proposed, a hint of amusement in his voice.

She sighed, pulled her phone out of her bag, and tossed it across the blanket to land in front of him. 

He sighed as well, adopting a pose he more commonly had when listening to underclassmen explain why they needed more time on an assignment to professors in the department. He purposely took other assignments that didn’t involve being a TA for that reason. “I was going to talk you through, but if you’d like me to set up the first few reminders…”

“Reminders for what? When to get to class?”

“No,” he muttered, slightly disturbed she had no security on her phone--perhaps the next lesson? “Important things. Like remembering to eat. To take a drink of water. To use the bathroom…” He glanced up, her ice blue eyes studying him. “I get caught up in my work too. There have been days where I’ve forgotten to eat and drink anything, and I’ve paid dearly for it.” Her eyes sized him up as he said that. “Let’s start simple. When do you wake up?”

“When do I have to, or when I should?”

He snorted in amusement. “When you should be up. An attempt to retrain your mind into useful habits.”

She plucked two grapes and squirreled them into her cheeks. “My first class is at eight. I live on campus, though.”

He nodded. “And what is your morning routine?”

“Routine?”

“Surely you have things you do every morning? Take a shower, brush your teeth—” he rubbed his tongue over his front teeth subconsciously, noting that he had neglected his own teeth this morning “—have a cup of coffee with hagelslag…” She stared at him with half a slice of sausage in her teeth. “Buttered bread with chocolate sprinkles.”

“For breakfast? That’s considered a normal breakfast?”

He nodded and made a mental note to stop by the store and pick up another box for later. “Do you eat breakfast?”

She shook her head. “It’s not normally a thing. I’m not hungry until like two hours after I wake up, and it’s just easier to skip until lunch.” She stared down at the plates, consolidating the six down to three. 

“Perhaps you could consider a breakfast shake of sorts? I have a lovely recipe for one using cooked oats, peanut butter, a banana, seasonal fruit...fix it before you leave and sip on it as you go.”

“I’ll think about it.” She made a sandwich using a slice of baguette, sausage, Swiss cheese, and a grape, somehow managing to get the entire thing into her mouth. “So I have a wake up alarm and a eat breakfast alarm?”

He nodded. “Now, what is your class schedule this semester?”

She pulled a crumpled half sheet of paper from her bag, rolled up onto her knees and handed it over to him. He glanced down at the page, then back up to her. 

“Yes, I know you’re judging me.”

“Not judging. Just...considering other methods. Examining at a different angle. A three-ring binder with a front pocket, for instance, is a good starting point. Reprint this schedule, slide it into the front, put notes and such inside, since you also like doing things by hand—”

“It kinda becomes muscle memory if I write things down,” she stated, picking up the train of thought easily. “I watch my classmates type stuff and...it feels like we’ve lost touch. My parents were telling me and my sister once that they were probably the last ones to be taught cursive in class.”

Siebren briefly held his breath and stole glances over at her while he inputted when and where her first class was as well as when she should be leaving to get there on time. She had simply continued talking about how she felt she was the only one in her classes who hand wrote anything aside from response papers, seemingly glossing over the mention of her sister. He let his breath out slowly and continued adding reminders and alarms as she finished her train of thought and any meat and cheese that remained on the plates, leaving a small bunch of grapes and two dried apricots on the now stacked plates. He had waited until she had finished her train of thought before taking over, explaining how each of his alerts worked, how he had learned these coping mechanisms in Secondary School and how they had carried over easily to University, requiring only slight tweaks each semester. When he had finished explaining his methods, he noted an odd silence from Selene. He stopped and glanced up.

Selene gazed up at him, head cradled in her hands, elbows resting on her knees. “Your voice...you sound like a chocolate cake.”

“Pardon?”

“Or maybe...the warm caramel drizzle on cold vanilla ice cream.”

He set the phone down and regarded her with another raised eyebrow. He had received comments on his deep baritone voice before, but had never been compared to...food before. 

“I’ve heard some people compare it to a smooth bourbon, but I don’t drink.”

He blinked. “The caramel, or…”

“You have the most wonderful sounding voice,” she said, sitting up, still with a stupid grin across her face. “I could just listen to you go on and on…” she trailed off.

He cleared his throat and rolled up his sleeves. It had been a comfortable temperature outside before, had it gone up since they had started the picnic? “Uh...perhaps time for dessert?” he asked, rubbing at the back of his neck.

Her eyes redirected to the box still between them. He let out a grateful sigh at the change of attention. He opened the box while she pulled out two of the cleanest plates in the stack, then scoffed when he pulled out the slice.

“Is that all?”

No fears of losing her figure here, he chided his inner voice. “You’ve never had boterkoek?” She shook her head. “You poor thing. Let me enlighten you.” He handed her a piece, fished through the bag for a fork, and waited for her to take a bite. She practically purred as she bit into the dense cake.

“Oh...this is good...really good.” She closed her eyes as she swallowed. “How has this not made it over to the States?”

Ah, she is American. “I’m certain there’s areas it’s found. Surely there must be a ‘Little Amsterdam’ to go along with ‘Little Italy’ and ‘Chinatown’?”

“Not in my area.” She took another forkful, chewing slowly, moving it from one side of her mouth to the other. “What did you say this is again?”

“Boterkoek. Butter cake, in essence.”

“Butter cake?”

He nodded. “Butter, sugar, flour. Some add vanilla or lemon zest. I prefer it as is, but if flavor is added, almond, in my opinion, is best.”

“Is that what I’m tasting?”

He shook his head as he grabbed a slice of his own. “I figured I would start you out on what I feel is the purest take. A control, if you will.”

She raised her eyebrows. “So...this is an ongoing experiment?”

“If you will. Many data points.”

“Indeed. Are you providing the samples?”

“I can. But there must be time between the samples. As to not overwhelm the data pool.”

“Mmm-hmm.” She took another bite. “Sound scientific method. I take it you’ve done this experiment before?”

“A purely original hypothesis.”

“I see.” She gave him a sideways grin.

There was a part of him that told him he was clearly missing something socially, but he couldn’t put his finger on what it was. Rather than focus on that, he instead turned his attention back to the dessert. If this was his control, how could he possibly improve?

“So...next week is the next sample size?”

“Perhaps,” he said, swallowing. “Perhaps I assist you with some of your issues in the interim?”

“What issues would that be?”

“Homework?” He watched something in her demeanor change. “Perhaps these meetings become more frequent, I help tutor you, I introduce you to my culture, you enlighten me to yours?”

She smiled. “That sounds fair. Can we switch off where we meet? I know you like inside, but on days like this, can we study al fresco?”

“That sounds agreeable. Tomorrow in the eatery? It’s expected to rain.”

“Sure. I’ll bring dessert.”

[selinavizari]

Filthy Character Friday:  Dirty Dean Karny

Word Count: 1558 Rating: SMUT OF COURSE. ;) Re-watched Bilionaire Boys Club and I was inspired. Hope you enjoy.

Check out the other SW/FF writers if you haven’t already!:

@misspygmypie​ @jamiemac26​ @eggsyobsessed​ @taronfanfic​ @bluesfortheredj​

The new wave synth pop bumped throughout the swank night club. The rhythm was infectious. I swayed my hips from side to side in my skin tight red dress. My friends were in a complete trance dancing alongside of me. The drinks were flowing and I was floating. Electricity was in the air. We were bathed in flashing neon lights. My eyes scanned the room and there was a man watching me. He was black clad and seated at a round table. I continued to twirl and gyrate… he was still watching. Even from this distance, I could tell he was good-looking. The kind of good-looking that turns heads and here he was... looking at me. Ever so often he would sip from his glass of wine, chat with his people and return his gaze back to me. I wanted to see if he was going to pursue. He could have been gawking at someone else for all I know. I slowed down and let the girls know I was going to the bar to get a drink. Somehow I managed to get the bartender’s attention and ordered a White Russian. As I waited for him to concoct my drink, I pulled out my compact mirror to inspect my hair and makeup. Everything was still intact but I could use some hairspray. Thank goodness, I didn’t sweat too bad. The mystery man walked behind me and signaled the bartender. He leaned over and requested, “I’ll have what she’s having and put the lady on my tab.” I looked up at him and he was gorgeous. His sharp jawline, sleek haircut, and devilish smirk made my heart flutter. I caught the glint of his Rolex. I adjusted my straps. He turned his attention towards me. “My name is Dean. What’s yours?”

The music was blasting so I leaned towards his ear and answered. He leaned towards mine. “Y/N. Such a pretty name. You had some nice moves out on the floor.” His breath was warm against my earlobe. I beamed. “Thanks, Dean. Couldn’t help but to notice you were checking me out.” The bartender presented us our drinks. I took a sip awaiting his response. He shook his head and bit his lip. “That obvious, huh? How could I not notice? You’re sexy. Everyone noticed you. I have the guts to come over and try to take what I want.” He undressed me with eyes. Take me, he says... I wanted to taste him. I crossed my legs and sipped my drink. It was quite strong. We stared at each for what felt like forever. He downed his drink in a matter of seconds without breaking his stare. My eyes widened. He leaned towards my ear. When he brushed passed my cheek, his skin was smooth. The aroma of his aftershave was refreshing. I breathed it in deeply. Dean made a proposition. “I want to have sex with you. If you’re offended, feel free to throw that drink right in my face. If not… drink the rest of it the same way I did.” The aftershave aroma lingered. He leaned back away from me and braced himself for what may or may not happen. I placed the glass down and stared back at him with my best poker face. He raised an eyebrow and I glanced at my drink. The suspense was killing him. Then I picked it up and pretended to toss it at him. He flinched. I threw my head back and cackled. Dean sneered.“Oh, you are hilarious! I like you. So…?” He licked his lips and leaned closer to me. I lifted the straw towards my lips and didn’t break eye contact either. The glass was moist in my hand. I sucked the straw until I could taste the watery ice at the bottom of the glass. Adrenaline coursed through my veins. I wanted...I needed him. Dean stood up straight and grabbed my hand. I almost toppled over the stool. My dress was hiked up for a moment and I tugged it down with my free hand. We maneuvered our way through the dense crowd teeming with rowdy, drunk party people. Where was he taking me, I thought. We went out the backdoor exit and headed towards the street where a stretch white limo was parked. I switched my hips as we strutted across the street. My heels clacked against the asphalt. Dean walked towards the drivers window and released my hand. I stood on the sidewalk shuffling my feet feeling a bit awkward. He leaned into the window to speak to the driver. I overheard him whispering. “There’s an extra $200 for you... if you take a walk for about… let’s say 20-25 minutes, okay?” I caught a glimpse of Benjamin Franklin’s face betwixt his fingers. The driver nodded, pocketed the bills and exited the vehicle. Dean winked at him. With his hands in his pockets, he strolled towards me as I leaned against the limo. Every step dripped with swagger. He opened up the door and I slid inside. Our bodies were illuminated by the nearby streetlights. He lunged towards me and kissed hard. His hands were all over my body and he pulled up my dress. I felt the leather upholstery rub against my bare cheeks and pulled down my thong. I tossed it without a second thought. Dean wriggled out of his blazer. I watched him fumble with his belt buckle and leaned over to help him. My knees were bent on the backseat. I’m thankful for dark tinted windows. If they weren’t there someone would have gotten one hell of a show with me on all fours. I reached inside his snug briefs, and stroked until he was hard. Gasps escaped his lips as he leaned his head all the way back. I pulled down his slacks a little further and his erect dick sprung out. I proceeded to wrap my lips around it and bobbed up and down. After taking in his entire length, I picked up the pace. Dean moaned. “Oh, yes. Yes. Like that.” His voice was raspy. The delicious wet, slurping sounds filled the air. He moved strands of my hair away from face so that he could have a better look. From my peripheral vision, I could tell how every suck and lick stimulated him. My tongue massaged it’s head. I felt his hand grip my ass and a finger slip inside my wet nether regions. He began to massage my clit. That made me lose focus. My moans were muffled. I began to stroke him after I wiped my mouth. My lipstick was smeared and I didn’t give a fuck. His dick was slippery with saliva and juices. I climbed up and straddled Dean. His girth and the angle fit inside of me perfectly. I began to ride him slowly at first. We both gasped. He held me close; my breasts were spilling out of dress. He yanked it down along with my bra. My outfit bunched around my abdomen. I rocked my hips in a circle. Dean sucked and licked my nipples. His tongue flicking drove me wild. My legs were trembling as he grabbed my ass with both hands. His face contorted in ecstasy and I was on the verge of climaxing. His dick thrusted in and out. I couldn’t believe all of this was happening. My jaw dropped as I stared into his eyes. I felt possessed, “I want you to come in my mouth.”

“Seriously? That’s so fucking hot.” Dean breathed.

He thrusted upward and pounded until I screamed. I held him tightly as my eyes rolled back. Waves of pleasure pulsated through my body. I came and tightened myself around his member. The sudden feeling caught him off guard and pushed him over the edge. “F-fuck. Gonna come.” I slide off and dropped to my knees. I continued to suck him off and swallowed the entire load. He tasted amazing. Dean shuddered, “Fuck…. That was....” He was out of breath and gulped. “Update from what I said at the bar: I really like you.” I sat on floor and let out an exhausted chuckle.

Tap-tap. Someone was trying to get in the limo. A few people were outside the backseat window. “Fuck.” I groaned. I scrambled to piece my outfit back to together. I dug around for my thong. Dean struggled to get his pants back on. As soon as we were decent, he rolled down the window a few inches.

“Hi, Joe.” Dean mumbled like a kid caught red handed in the cookie jar.

“Hi, Dean.” Joe greeted him flatly.

“We’re trying to get back to the place. The rest of us and Sydney noticed the limo rocking from side to side...We saw you leave with that girl. I put two and two together... Are you two done or…? You didn’t make a mess, did ya Dean? Please tell me you didn’t!”

Dean offered him a big mischievous grin. “No, we didn’t.” He looked back me and waggled his eyebrows. I blushed and shook my head.

“Do you want to come to my mansion?” Dean inquired.

“Our mansion, Dean.” Joe interrupted and rolled his eyes.

I shrugged my shoulders. “Um… hell yeah?”

This night of debauchery had only just begun.

Tag List: @egerton-sweetie @lizziespidiepridie @original-criminal-fanfics @anatheminmyheart @oheggsyno @tiffleen @taronxfiction @marvelmakeuplover @welcometotheg0odlife @istandandan @leanimal90 @5-seconds-of-sarcasmm @baileythepenguin @hartirl  @manners-maketh-taron @dragonluver9393 @xsinfulltrashx @jenloveshaydenchristensen @mmdarko @winsky1989 @eggsyhazcoffeewithpeterman @bohemianrhapsody86 @theworldisugly-22 @lilspacepandaboy

I was thinking of making a series of Dirty Dean stories full of 80s decadence: sex, drugs, money. What do you guys think?

[bi0w0lf-archive-blog]

}} - @dustybyrd continued from here

     “Boop beep?”  He grins, striking a match on the table and going to light his cigarette. 

      “When did you get so good at speakin’ bot?” 

[crazylivingx]

me expressing my love for love yourself: answer

it’s only been 3 days into 2019 and i’ve been emo about love yourself: answer because i recently bought the album in korea and their lyricism makes me want to cry pls ignore this if you don’t wanna read about my feelings towards the solo songs released throughout the love yourself era because the pure genius and passion put into this project is truly astounding yalls pls love yourselves this is also really personal you’ve been warned (also apologies if i’ve made any grammatical errors lmao)

*i’m going by the ly: answer sequence

(as im writing this in my language and literature class my lecturer goes “my daughter loves bts” and cue my friend and i shouting the member’s names to guess his daughter’s bias and its jhope like wow we stan a jhope stan he said she thinks he “has such a blinding smile’ and thats honestly the biggest mood)

euphoria

this song is innocent af when i first heard it i knew it was a bopping bop the synths in the chorus can kick me to switzerland i barely even remember what the video was about all i remember is jungkook and that yellow jacket lmao his vocal runs when he sings “won’t you please stay in dreams” is just heavenly it honestly feels like i’m floating through the clouds with this song this song can convert people who don’t like good songs with synths bet i can’t imagine anyone other than jungkook singing this song tbh if you get an s.o. i hope you experience this song

favourite line (i know it’s not a singular line pls bear with me):

You’re the sun that rose again in my life

A reincarnation of my childhood dreams

I don’t know what these emotions are

Am I still dreaming?

This dream is a blue mirage in the desert

A priori deep inside of me

I’m so happy, I can’t breathe

My surroundings are getting more and more transparent

I hear the far-away ocean

Across the dream, over the horizon

I’m going to the place that’s getting clearer

Take my hands now

You are the cause of my euphoria

trivia 起 just dance

this whole song shows how much jhope loves dancing and it’s so sweet??? wanting to dance with your partner under the moonlight and slowly falling in love???? the song just screams jhope especially with the chorus you can just imAGiNe him dancing like he has no bones because he DoeSn’T,,,, it has a synthetic feel but it also feels really passionate and human like jhope can #getit we stan a multitalented man the lyrics in this song is probably the lightest but it’s still fun and easy to understand and listen to

favourite line (yea i know it’s like an entire verse but i love their lyrics okay):

In my muddy life

You were like a single stem flower

Even this suffocating studio

If we’re together, turns into paradise

My dreams that once had no answer

Now becomes something we can relate to

Because our rhythm is matching

Because we have our dance, it’s a fate-like beat

serendipity

i remember covering my screams when the mv for this song came out before dna was released and my mom instantly knew what was up lmao this song was kind of my style of music with the #chillvibes it gave out but the chill-ness of the song didn’t make forgettable i’ve played this song in the car before and now my dad can recognize it lol even khalid liked it you go you funky little chimchim,,, i never really paid attention to the lyrics in this song but it sounds really innocent and possessive at the same time lmao i’ll give bts the benefit of the doubt (i also prefer the short version over the full length version don’t kill me)

favourite line (at least these are lines. i know i said line not lines let me live):

As much as my heart flutters, I’m worried

Destiny is jealous of us

//

Since the creation of the universe

Everything was destined

Just let me love you

trivia 承 love

this song man. namjoon. the piano chords in the beginning is what gives me life. the moment i heard them i instantly knew this was going to be a fave. i love the slight discordance no matter what i will instantly start bopping to it because it’s such a bop that you HAVE to bop along with it. rm loves wordplay in his lyrics, and when it crosses with his intellect something beautiful emerges. this song feels like a flower i love the melody of chords like the chords sold me immediately. and then after i was sold the lyrics stabbed me. there is no escape.

favourite line (god where do i begin):

I live so I love

//

I'm just a human, human, human (the ㅁ in 사람 saram which means human)

You erode all my corners

And make me into love, love, love (becomes ㅇin 사랑 sarang which means love)

We're humans, humans, humans

In that myriad of straight lines

My love, love, love

When you sit on top of it and you become my heart (if the ㅇ the word 사랑 is squished, it’ll look like a heart ♡)

//

You make I to an O

I to an O

Because of you

I know why human (saram) and love (sarang) sound similar

You make live to a love

Live to a love

Because of you

I know why a person should live by love

//

It's a long way from I to U

Fuck, JKLMNOPQRST

I crossed all the letters and I reached you 

(i really suggest going to genius’s website to fully understand the song if you want to)

singularity

kim taehyung better square up because i would buy burger king and fight him in the parking lot because he stole my toenail,,,, bighit released this song while i was in hell aka university and bOY was i hshshshhshdhdh <— thats the best way i can describe my feelings,,, like he made my tears flow upwards or something the music video was aMAZING and i was shooketh ihatehimsmjkidontbutyouknowwhatimean back to the song - serendipity was also pretty chill but in a darker way and i love it as well. to me the lyrics mirror fake love because it portrays how walking on thin ice feels and how you’ll lose your own voice just to suffer to make sure the person you love will continue loving you (the lyrics are also really slow so it made it easy for me to read the lyrics in karaoke lmao) singularity was a goddamn package for me the mv, the performance and v himself just hshshshshs when i listen to this song i feel like i’m lying down on a giant leaf floating on a clear pond watching a dim but twinkling meteor shower with giant water flowers surrounding me and fireflies are swaying along with wisps of smoke and this is getting too long winded i’ll stop here as i’m writing this i just remembered namjoon wrote this song in one shot after having surgery what a mans

favourite line (its long but it doesn’t feel complete if i break it up):

A thick ice has formed

In the dream I shortly went into

My agonizing phantom pain is still the same

Have I lost myself

Or have I gained you

I suddenly run to the lake

There’s my face in it

Please don’t say anything

Reach my hand out to cover the mouth

But in the end, spring will come someday

The ice will melt and flow away

Tell me if my voice isn’t real

trivia 轉 seesaw

oh boy. suga. min yoongi. this has been said before but the use of seesaw as a metaphor for a dying/toxic relationship is truly artistic and clever. the way he describes it in his lyrics creates a really clear picture of what’s happening. how if one person gets off a seesaw the other will get hurt as they’ll start to fall to the ground, how neither wants to get off because they know they’ll hurt whoever’s on the other side, and how staying or leaving this “repeated seesaw game” will hurt the both of them no matter what choice they choose. i’ll let the lyrics speak for themselves. (suga singing and dancing was also a pleasant surprise i fell on the floor)

favourite line (get ready i’m about to put like 80% of the song in here the lyrics is a masterpiece):

Repeated seesaw game

I'm tired of this

Repeated seesaw game

We're getting tired of each other

Were the petty arguments the start?

The moment I became heavier than you

Because there's never been parallels in the first place

Maybe I became more greedy and tried to fit in with you

Is there really a need to keep repeating ourselves

Saying this was love and this is love?

They're tired of each other, they seem to hold the same hand

//

People can be so crafty

They know they’ll get hurt if one person is missing

Because we don't want to be the villains

In the midst of a series of vague responsibilities

And we get so tired or if that we finally became parallel

But we didn’t want this kind of parallel

At first, we showed off who was heavier

We'd brag and smile

Now we're trying to beat each other

We're in a competition

The fire of a quarrel

It’ll only end if someone gets off right here

We’re acting like we’re comforting each other

But it’s mixed with thorns

Can’t keep doing this, we need to make a decision

//

(Hol' up Hol' up) I walk on this seesaw without you

(Hol' up Hol' up) Just like the beginning when you weren't here

(Hol' up Hol' up) I walk on this seesaw without you

(Hol' up Hol' up) I'm getting off this seesaw without you

(like trivia 承 love, you can read more about the song on genius’s website)

epiphany

stream epiphany. our boy kim seokjin’s vocals have truly improved huh. this to me felt like a response to awake (you can fLY JIN) and i applaud bighit for giving him this song. he finally gets the recognition and lines he deserves smh. you really feel like a proud parent when you watch the fancams throughout the love yourself tour and hear how his voice improves after each performance. the song is also kind of the ‘final act’ to all the solos in ly: answer and they finally get to spread their message of “its hard to love yourself, but that’s why you should so you can love others as well”. after becoming the shell of what you once were, the only way you can fill it up again is to love yourself, and that’s my pov of the whole point of the song. i’m gonna be honest i wasn’t really into this song in the beginning but i started to fall in love with it after a few listens (i listened to it sm that when i was downloading the ly: answer album i forgot to add epiphany cause i was streaming it LMAO)

favourite line (i know they’re verses as well hshdhds):

I’m the one I should love in this world

Shining me, precious soul of mine

I finally realized so I love me

Not so perfect but so beautiful

I'm the one I should love

//

I may be a bit blunt, I may lack some things

I may not have that shy glow around me

But this is me

My arms, my legs, my heart, my soul

bonus song - answer: love myself

doing a pewdiepie and adding a bonus song lmao my first listen of this song was in my friend’s house and we had the lyrics on and let me tell you the moment we read the lyrics we wanted to hug bts because it was so soft and it was so uwu we were so ready to love ourselves lol yes it sounds like a church song but like epiphany i learned to love it too this was also my first song of 2019 so if you decide to, please listen to it with an open heart

favourite line (hey look actual lines this time yes lines not line):

Maybe I fell in order to take the place of those countless stars

The target of thousands of bright arrows is me alone

//

Why do you keep trying to hide under your mask?

Even all the scars from your mistakes make up your constellation

that’s all from me bye sorry for the long post

bighit pls hire me as an album promoter

[doublerumnukacola]

Dead Men Walking (part 1)

Sole zapped back to the Institute in the usual place, her quarters. She took a couple steps and collapsed on her bed. The sedative was having some pretty nasty side effects.

Her body was wracked with shuddering tremors, her muscles burned white hot with pain. It felt like when she’d nearly electrocuted herself at age eight, trying to fish some burnt toast out of the toaster.

She tried calling for help, but she could feel the spasms paralyse her. Her jaw was clenched tight, teeth practically grinding together, muffling her scream. She wanted to close her eyes, but they were forced open, the air burning them until they watered up and tears spilled over her face.

This was how it would end. Alone in her room, writhing on her bed. She’d die in a pool of her own drool and assorted body fluid.

She couldn't turn her face when she heard the door slide open, but soon she was scooped up in arms and hurtling down the halls at a breakneck speed. Everything was a nauseating blur of grey walls and black coat.

Finally she was lain on a table where bright lights blinded her, unfamiliar faces prodded her, strapped her down, examined her trembling body. Voices were shouting, drowned out by a static buzz. Her pupils contracted painfully under the glare, but her eyelids wouldn't close. Everything was going white, as if she was passing out, but she could feel everything. Then suddenly a cool darkness washed over her vision. Sunglasses placed over her eyes to protect her from the lights. Somewhere near her was X6. It helped make the experience more bearable.

Things started to come into focus, the light fixtures above her, The doctors stabbing needles and taking blood, the beeping machines and instruments… And she could feel, just out of her field of vision, X6 standing protectively nearby. Probably watching her with those ice blue eyes. The thought helped distract her from the chaos around her, and the burning sensation coming from every fiber of her body. Then slowly the burning faded, the pain in her body softened to an ache, and the lights began to dim. Her tired eyes closed with relief, and she was gone.

●~~~~~~~~~~●

“Mother…?” Was the first thing Sole heard as she awoke. Everything felt wrong. Opening her eyes took a few tries, moving herself took a herculean effort. Something had happened to her.

“Shhnn..” She tried, her tongue lazily slurring his name. She swallowed. “Shehn…?” She felt as though she had to remap every connection in her body. Like a newborn learning how to move for the first time. “Shaun..” She finally managed. Her first word.

“Mother, rest.  You’ve been through an ordeal, you need to heal.” Father insisted. Sole blinked her eyes open, adjusting to the dim light of the lamp beside her. He gave a warm smile, pleasantly surprised at the speed of her recovery.

“Arg… Are you… d’OK?” She wrestled with her words, determined to speak freely again. Despite the clumsy delivery, the sentiment behind her words seemed to throw him off.

“Me? I- Well.” Now he seemed to struggle to find his words. “I was… Concerned. You gave everyone a fright on the examination table. We thought… But I wasn't going to lose you again…” He sounded conflicted, as if trying to justify actions to himself. “You were… Put into a medically induced coma…” He explained this, as if he’d rehearsed the lie a dozen times; His guilty conscience prompting it's recital. “You may feel… out of sorts but that it is to be expected.” His voice was full of uncomfortable pauses, the way a guilty child explains a broken vase.

“I… See…” Sole said evenly, careful to enunciate her words now. Training her tongue to work with her lips. The muscle memory would take a while to come back. Her arms and back ached at the slight exertions of sitting up and moving. It was to be expected with a new body, but what was strange was the aches in her chest. An unpleasant carry over from her last body. . She gave a laboured glance around her room and found it lacking the only thing that could make the ache fade..

“Where is... X...6?” That name was more of a mouthful than she remembered.

“Just outside.” Father answered, “He was reluctant to return to the SRB until you had recovered.” Her lips twitched at the corners, the first smile. “Now, I need to rest myself. Will you be alright on your own?”

“I’m not alone.” She replied, giving a jerking nod to the door. He gave a smile and nodded in agreement.

“Yes, he is an admirable bodyguard. You made a good choice.” He agreed. “I’ll send him in if you wish, it might be pleasant to have some company.” She nodded, more gently now. He gave something close to a relieved sigh as he stood up. “You are remarkable, Mother. Not many would be able to pull through from that unscathed.” She gave him her best smile, though it only reached half her face.

“I have a remark-able examble to follow.” She replied slowly, but with genuine earnest. Once more her words seem to hit him, he reflexively put a hand over his heart, as if to shield it, before moving it away and coughing. He left without another word, proving that you are never to old to be embarrassed by your mother. Or at least the synth replicant with her memories.

Once alone, Sole rested herself back against her pillows. She recalled once when she was little, sitting just like this, sick from school for a week. Her room had been filled with get-well-soon cards. Here, her room was barren. Sure it had all the basics, a desk, a few pictures, terminal… But it may as well belong to a stranger. There was no evidence she’d lived here. No keepsakes from her travels, no mess on the floor.

It was a few minutes after Father had left when X6 entered. He came to stand near the bed, silent as ever. He wasn't looking directly at her, or as far should could tell behind his shades. She took the time to start to familiarise herself with how to move again. It wasn't nearly as simple as willing a limb to move. She had to work out what nerves connected to what, and which would send the message to the desired limb. He broke the silence just as she was working out how to tap her fingers.

“I believe it would benefit us both If I returned to Synth Retention.” He said suddenly. She continued flexing her digits, unphased by the outburst. She only briefly glanced in his direction, awaiting an explanation. He cleared his throat with an apprehensive cough. “I believe personally, my judgment has been compromised.”

“Oh?” She murmured, turning her wrist over and back, feeling how her arm had to extend to accommodate the motion.

“I shouldn't have allowed you to stay behind.” He insisted. “It was a lapse in judgement. Father agrees. I failed my assignment. I’m lucky I wasn't terminated for the error.” Sole took a deep breath, her eyes still fixed on her finger tips.

“You think so little of me?” She asked coldly. The ache in her chest was creeping back in. She hadn’t even realised it was gone until it had returned.

“I held unrealistic expectations of what you were capable of.” He replied, dodging the question. “I didn't consider the dangers-”

“No, you trusted me.” She cut in sharply, her anger sharpening her words, giving strength to her tongue. “You trusted I could take care of myself.” She looked down, voice growing softer. “And I failed you. I was… Careless.” There was a shocked silence. X6 stood by her side, arms crossed.

“May I ask… How it happened?” He asked quietly. She clenched her hands.

“I… Underestimated the threat.” She answered, annoyed at herself for her own carelessness. “I thought I was fine when I relayed back, but…” She shrugged her shoulders experimentally. There was a pause. She glanced over causally at X6, only to find him trembling, hands balled into fists. She sat up, startled by the sudden change in demeanor.

“You could have died out there.” X6 seethed. “I would have went back to those ruins only to find your corpse. Never knowing why or how…. All because of your recklessness.” He was struggling to keep his voice down, he wanted to yell at her. Scream at her. He had never felt this way. He wanted to say it was fury, but something told him it was fear. “The Institute needs you! FATHER NEEDS YOU! I- I would…” His voice choked, he turned away from her. “You are responsible for a legacy. You are not disposable. You need to remember there is more at stake than just your life.” She absorbed this, thinking on her next words carefully.

“How long have you been waiting?” She asked.

“I don't see how that is relevant.” He dismissed. “You’ve only been out for a few days-”

“Before that.” She interrupted, staring straight at him. “You were waiting outside. Waiting for me to come back.” His face reddened.

“I happened to be passing when-”

“Bullshit.”

“I…” He struggled to find the words. “I was simply waiting the two hours for your return.”

“Before that.” She repeated. “Every morning, you were outside…” The exertion was starting to take a toll on her. Father was right, she did need to rest.

“It was efficient. More so than you tracking me down in the SRB.” He explained. She lay back against her pillows, feeling her strength draining. She couldn't even move her fingers now. The ache in her chest seemed to bleed out through her body. X6 would never say the words she wanted to hear.

“Then if is the end… I need to thank you.” She managed softly. He was silent. “If you hadn't brought me to the medical wing when you did…” She closed her eyes. “I’m sorry your effort went to waste. I ended up dying anyway…”

“The medical staff were able to resuscitate you.” He pointed out, but the statement felt hollow.

“No, Advanced Systems did.” She countered, but she was almost asleep. She couldn't gauge X6’s reaction.

“Ma’am, you need to rest.” He said quietly, but firmly. She nodded, unable to respond. “We can speak more when you are well.” Soon she had drifted to sleep. He stayed for a moment, watching the rise and fall of her breath. Convincing himself that she would be more suited for another Courser.

Something stirred in him as he pried himself from her side and to the door. A sudden sadness. The only word that seemed to describe it was ‘grief’. He didn’t want to go back to the SRB. He wanted to stay by her door, watch out for her… Protect her… He took a breath and walked away. He wasn’t fit to protect her. He was a coward.

A coward who failed to put in his reassignment forms.

Story List

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[the-nerd-writer]

The Death of Elwood Rogers (An Elwood Rogers x Renee Jones Fic)

Since I introduced you to Elwood in my last fic, it seems fitting that I next show you his death!

Just kidding. This is mainly an AU!story for the AU!Ship of Elwood Rogers and my dear and wonderful friend @cyndercrys‘s OC, Renee Jones! We’ve been collaborating on the two’s relationship for a couple of weeks, and I’ve loved being able to explore Elwood’s character with it as well! Without further ado, here’s the “What If?” ending to the life and times of Elwood.

Word Count: 1,312

Content Warning: Violence, death, romantic aspects.

There is little sound in the middle of a gunfight. Ears ring like church bells after dozens of rounds had been fired into all parties-- as if there is no sound at all.

A bullet ripped through the air towards the barrier Elwood used as cover, lodging into the concrete as Elwood jumped back up to fire a few rounds from his Deliverer into the nearest Synth.

“What in the fuck do these things want with Sanctuary?” Renee yelled from the top of a wooden sniper tower, shooting into the hordes of Institute Synths charging over the bridge. The enemies had been attacking for nearly an hour now-- more and more synthetic beasts teleporting in by the second.

“Besides the head of the Minutemen slash the guy who blew up the Institute?” Elwood yelled back, whipping his combat shotgun from its sheath on his back and blasting a Generation 2 Synth’s head apart, wires protruding its chest as rogue shrapnel ripped through its fake skin.

“Probably the head of the Minutemen’s right hand man!” Preston Garvey shouted, igniting his fusion rifle into the crowd.

“Or the head of…” Deacon began to shout.

“I get it-- they want us dead.” Renee fired back, ripping the pin from a grenade and tossing it.

As the firing squad continued its assault on the enemy lines, Elwood couldn’t help but gaze up at Renee. Her weapon shook her shoulder, but the rest of her stood without movement. Renee was one hell of a fighter-- her skills with her signature rifle were astonishing.

Returning back to the fray, Elwood blasted away synth after synth, his arm completely shaken from the recoil. Kneeling down to reload his shotgun, Elwood wiped his sleeve across his grimy bow.

C’mon, Elwood. Do this for her.

The general stood up, beginning to attack once more. The crowd seemed to be thinning out. The synths stopped teleporting in. The horde was still massive, but it was nothing that the crew couldn’t handle. Shotgun shell upon fusion cell upon round upon round echoed through the Commonwealth valley until finally the last robot stood. Elwood pulled out his pistol once more and shot a bullet straight through its chest, the machine falling to the ground with a crash. Cheers erupted from the homes behind the four fighters as the residents of Sanctuary were once again safe.

“Well done, General,” Preston said, reaching out to shake Elwood’s hand, “Another successful defense.”

“I certainly couldn’t have done it without you, Preston. Or you, Deacon. I just wish the others were here to help.” Elwood returned the gesture, a grin spreading across his face.

“Protecting the Commonwealth from everything that goes bump in the night takes a lot of people with a lot of skills. We can’t all be here.” Deacon added.

The sound of footsteps racing down stairs cut the conversation short as Renee ran towards Elwood, throwing her arms around his neck and wrapping her legs around his back.

“And of course, Renee, you were brilliant!” Elwood exclaimed, dropping his weapons to return the hug. The smell of sweat and gunpowder didn’t matter as the two embraced, their breath quickened but filled with relief.

“Where the hell did all of those Synths come from?” Preston muttered.

“They were all warping from somewhere… does the Institute have a secondary factory? If so, where?” Deacon asked, scratching his forehead as he kicked a nearby synth hand away.

“If so, we’ll find it,” Elwood said as he pulled away from his wife’s embrace and gazed upon the carnage, “I know we will. One of these things gotta have a locator on it.” The general walked into the heap of bodies, pushing away the completely broken Gen 1’s and Gen 2’s. “There’s gotta be a Courser in here, I know it…”

The air was all too still. Sound disappeared once more; not from an overabundance of noise, but from a large blue swarm of energy behind pulling away all matter from around it for one brief moment. A large figure in a black leather trenchcoat stepped out of the portal, its sunglasses glinting underneath the Wasteland sun. In one swift action, the Courser pulled a pistol from its hip.

“Wai-- ELWOOD!” Renee screamed out, beginning to run towards her husband. As the general turned to face her, the Synth fired.

And for one moment, the whole gang’s blood turned to ice.

The bullet ripped into Elwood’s skin-- past his jacket, past his button-up and past his undershirt. It pierced through one of his lungs and came to a bone-shattering halt as it collided with his shoulder blade.

A large burst of blue energy opened up between the Courser and Elwood. The figure began to walk towards the portal, but not before Preston and Deacon blasted its head apart, disabling it entirely. The energy warped back into itself, revealing a collapsed Elwood. His arms wrapped around his chest as he lay across two broken synths.

Renee couldn’t speak. Her throat was clenched so tight that she could barely breathe. As she sprinted towards Elwood, tears began to spill from her eyes. Falling down to Elwood’s level, she cradled his head in her arms.

“Fuck....” Elwood coughed, his glasses hanging from one ear. Renee gave to a tearful shush, wrapping her left hand around to stroke his cheek. His eyes began to well up.

“Renee, I don’t… I can’t… please promise…” Elwood coughed as blood began to fill his lungs. “Renee, please promise that you’re going to take care of yourself.” Another cough-- one lung was nearly done for, and the other began to pool. “You’re still here… you gotta stay here. Please, Renee… promise me.”

Sobs wracked Renee’s body as she placed her other hand on Elwood’s cheek, her eyes steady on his as her mouth echoed her cries.

“Renee, please…” Tears streamed down Elwood’s face, his eyes pleading-- begging Renee to say something.

“Please don’t go… please, love, please don’t go…” Renee rested her forehead against his, tears falling from her chin to his neck.

“Renee, promis-- I lov--” Elwood’s body began to convulse as his breathing became his lungs and throat became completely filled with blood. Crimson streaks poured down from the corners of Elwood’s mouth as he desperately tried to gasp for air. Shake after shake, his body tried to do something, anything… then, all at once, he stopped.

No more tears fell from his eyes.

No more cries ripped from his throat.

No breath lifted his chest.

Renee began to shake the body in her arms. Her hands tilted the head from side to side, trying to awaken her husband.

“You can’t do this… you can’t do this…” Renee cried, her arms growing still as the body showed no sign of life. “I love you, Elwood Ro--” Not another word could escape Renee’s lips as she held her husband’s head to her chest. Memories began to flood into her mind-- the moment they had become a couple, when he had proposed to her at Nuka-World on the same night she was supposed to propose to him… when they had first met in Diamond City.

“Pardon me, miss, but I’m looking fo--” The sentence drifted away as Elwood gazed into the caravan guard’s eyes. A deep blue energy emitted from them, as if the moon itself had nested inside.

“Looking for what?” The guard chuckled, resting her fisrs on her hips. As the man’s silence continued, she waved one of her open hands in front of his face. “Hello?”

“H-hi! My name is Elwood.” The man shot out his hand, his lips pulling back into a smile as his helmet slumped down over his face.

“Well, hello! I’m Renee.” The guard smiled, returning the handshake with a laugh.

There was little sound in the middle of a gunfight. There was none at the moment that Elwood Rogers died.

[caffeinexandxgasoline-blog]

::Out For Blood-Drabble::

TW: Violence, blood, drug mention, torture...

Honestly if you can’t handle even a little gore this isn’t the drabble for you

High key suggesting that you listen to Monster by Skillet on repeat while reading it cause it helps

“The secret side of me, I never let you see

I keep it caged but I can't control it

So stay away from me, the beast is ugly

I feel the rage and I just can't hold it.”

Leonis Aries Karisova had been far too nice for far too long.

He’d ignored every instinct, he’d fought every urge to just blow up, he’d bitten his tongue more times than he could count... He’d been playing the part of the doting, loving, caring, patient boyfriend...

But now? Now that he was on his own and he didn’t have anyone around to hold him back...?

Heh.

That little red monster of wrath started to bubble up in his chest.

He’d already effectively terrified Special K into submission, getting all the information he needed, and now he felt a humourless smile etch it’s way onto his lips. He was hunting, and his beast was thirsting for blood.

Bullet could feel himself melting away, that evil bastard that used to call himself Leonis taking his place and itching for a little fun. His fingers drummed silently on the steering wheel, not really even registering the song that was playing on his old cassette tape. He didn’t care. His eyes flicked briefly to the list of names Special K had given him, mouth twitching into another smirk.

Nineteen Killjoys. Two neutrals.

He’d already gone through every name on the list at this point, somehow remaining polite until he got the information he needed, and now he just had one name left on it...

Nuke Forward.

Bullet sighed at the name, rolling his eyes. Lord, and people told him Bulletproof Racer was stupid... At least he got his from Dr. D, plus it was a lot better than what he used to roll with... The raven haired monster put his beater into park, staring silently at the club in front of him, rage humming through his veins.

“Tiger’s Gentleman’s Club” the sign outside boasted, and Leonis scoffed with a note of obvious sarcasm to it. The men at this fucking place were anything but gentlemen... His jaw went taut for a moment, and he breathed.

That familiar sense of relaxation washed over him as he decided on what he was going to do, and he smiled quietly to himself. This was only the beginning, it was the calm before the storm.

Bullet finally willed himself out of the car, shutting it behind him before taking stock of the place, noting every window, every door, every alleyway, every car, and every patron in sight, nodding to himself as that side of him he tried so hard to repress kicked into full gear. The killjoy elected to leave his jacket in the car, deciding that he quite honestly didn’t want to spend the time it would take cleaning blood out of it. He took a glance to the night sky, sent a prayer to the Phoenix Witch, and that was the last time that Bullet showed himself that night.

Leonis took over from there.

Gloved hands pressed the door of the club open, blocking out the sound of bass as whatever shitty synth mix they were playing tried to pound it’s way into his head. He searched the inside with a piercing gaze, blue hues falling on a pretty thing all dolled up.

“Hey...”

“Heya, handsome~ Lookin’ for a date~?”

“Actually, I’m looking for a friend of mine, Nuke Forward... is he here...?” At the name, the pretty brunette’s face almost instantly fell, glancing off in a corner.

“... yes...”

“Mind leadin’ me to him, Sugar...?”

“Hey... ain’t you Quix’s—“

“There’s twenty carbons in it for you.”

“... carbons first, hot shot.”

Leon promptly complied, handing over the cash to the suddenly eager prostitute who pocketed the plastics and took him by the arm. They weaved through the room, Bullet’s shoulders tensing a little at the numerous tables of pills, pipes, rocks, needles, and lines that were in sight, causing his head to spin and his stomach to clench and that hungry little monster inside him to flare up and will him to reach out to take one pill just one pill just one pill just one and suddenly he was taking a deep breath and counting to six in his head particularly upon seeing the pills with those taunting smiles printed on them He didn’t need them he didn’t need them he didn’t need them he didn’t need them he didn’t—

“Over there with the orange jacket, Sugar. Good luck.” Leon was broken out of that mild panic that had so suddenly flooded him, and he nodded his head in reply, silently thankful that the kid had spoken. He watched as the brunette slipped away from him, and his eyes fell on a his target. Suddenly it was as if the room had faded away, melting into the background as the man locked eyes with him. Every ounce of anxiety in him disappeared at that second, and he found himself straightening up, a charming smile sliding to his lips. He felt naked without his jacket to surround him, but at this very moment, watching as those drug fogged brown eyes slid the length of his form, he was thankful that he’d left it in the car.

This was far too easy...

Then again...

It wasn’t like this was the first Killjoy he’d hunted...

The man in question had shoulder length, greasy hair, dyed green like toxic sludge. Quite honestly the whole dye job was wretched, then again if he’d had any dignity or class to him he wouldn’t be holed up in this joint feeding heroin to prostitutes for sex now would he? Combat boots moved forward of their own accord, and Bullet tilted his head just a tad, a trick he’d seen Quix use on himself to get what he wanted.

Usually it always worked, and it seemed to be working for this bastard as well...

“Well well well... aren’t you pretty~?” The man purred in such a way that Leonis had to keep himself from gritting his teeth in disgust, but still he smiled and even let out a fucking giggle.

Damn wasn’t he a good little actor?

He watched as Nuke stood up, taking note of how tall he was. He was shorter than Quix (then again, wasn’t everyone?) but he couldn’t be more than 6’2 or 6’3... the two pretty things that had been hanging off him on the couch looked particularly nonplussed, but at a sudden, wicked glare from Bulletproof they seemed to think better of opening their mouths and sunk into the couch.

“You Nuke Forward...?”

“Yeah, Sugar, I am~”

“A friend told me I could get a little fun outta you...”

“What friend...?”

“Quix...” The recognition in Nuke’s eyes at this made Leon seethe with anger, fingers suddenly itching with the urge to gouge his beady eyes out.

He hated this man he hated him with every beat of his heart with every breath he took with every—

“How’s about we go somewhere more quiet, Cutie...?”

Leon elected to just smile and nod, motioning for the man to follow him out a side door into the nearest alleyway. He was focused now that they were alone and out of the den of drugs and sex, taking in a calming breath of fresh air.

“So, What is it you were wanting...?”

“What Quix was gettin’, sounded fun~”

“H? I think I got some in my car—“ The Killjoy reached out as he spoke, putting one hand on Bullet’s slim waist, but he instantly regretted doing so.

He didn’t even have time to scream.

In a flash, his hand was pinned to the wooden wall beside them, a razor sharp switchblade driven straight through the middle of his wrist as the man- no, the demon in front of him suddenly stared into his eyes with a gaze that burned hotter and more wickedly than the flames of hell. Cold fear flooded his veins, and suddenly the searing pain in his wrist registered to his head, but he didn’t have a chance to shout as a shockingly strong hand forced its way over his mouth and slammed his head back against the wall.

“Shut. Up.”

It was an order, not a suggestion.

“If you make one fucking sound I swear to god I’ll tear your tongue out with my bare hands and make you eat it.”

Honestly...

Nuke believed every goddamned word.

When Bullet was sufficiently pleased with the fact that the man would stay quiet, he twisted the blade, looking him straight in the eyes. He watched as the man bit his tongue until it bled, and smirked dangerously at him. “Hm. Good. You’re not as stupid as I thought...” He promptly yanked the blade free, grinning as Nuke trembled with wide brown eyes that were suddenly incredibly clear.

“W... what do you want with me...” He whispered out hoarsely, caught and stuck like a deer in headlights.

“Blood.”

Nuke swallowed at this, and shrunk in on himself, suddenly not looking so tall.

“W-what...?”

“Quix almost died because of you.”

“W-wha—“

“Heroin overdose.”

“I... are you gonna kill me?”

“No.” At this point, Leonis calmly and deliberately wiped the bastard’s own blood off on that stupid orange jacket of his, giving a deadly smile before spinning the blade again in his hand in a wicked manner, driving it deep into his shoulder. Nuke bit his tongue again, willing himself not to scream, and suddenly, reflexively, he moved to lash out with his uninjured hand, trying to hit his attacker.

A second switch drove itself so deep into his hand it went through his fist and all the way through his palm.

“That was a bad idea on your part.” The words were said as, in a scarily practiced manner, the blade was withdrawn in a sharp sideways movement, slicing open his palm and effectively relieving him of two fingers and half of his thumb.

This time he screamed.

Leonis decided he was done playing nice and slammed the blade into his other shoulder, careful not to hit anything major as he swept his feet out from under him and Nuke hit the ground hard. The dealer’s head was positively spinning from shock, terror, and pain, breathing heavy and panicked as he spun right into a bout of hyperventilation. He watched, helpless, as the beast of a man stood over him with evil intent in his ice like eyes, teeth bared in rage and sick amusement.

He was enjoying this.

He was actually enjoying this.

“You think I’m the only thing that’s caused Quix to almost die? Not even close! Newsflash, hotshot, your boyfriend is a fucking wreck.” Nuke hissed through everything, suddenly in hysterics. “It’s a wonder he hasn’t fuckin’ killed himself.”

Those words rang in Bulletproof’s ears and his heart rate picked up almost instantly, anger swirling in his head as he remembered the words of a certain someone a week or so before.

‘—Is he still alive or has he offed himself yet?’

Issac’s words burned in his mind, and the raven haired killjoy locked eyes with the man beneath him.

“Lucky me I get to take it all out on you then...”

Nuke Forward’s blood ran cold.

— — — — — — —

It took five hours for someone to find him.

As a girl and her client stepped outside to make a transaction, she screamed in sheer terror at the bloodshed before her. Barely breathing Nuke was passed out cold on the ground, missing two fingers and a piece of his thumb on his right hand, and the index, middle, and ring finger of his left hand. Upon further inspection it was clear that both shoulders had deep stab wounds and his shirt had been torn open.

“P I G”

The word was carved deep into Nuke’s chest, covering the entirety of it with wide, horrific gashes.

Whoever had done this had been out for blood...

This had been personal...

[purkinje-effect]

The Purkinje Effect, 18

TW: Drug use and synth vore. Lol uh

Table of Contents

"Deacon...?”

Geek glanced the figure up and down, nearly uncertain of it. The pair had arrived under the Lexington-Concord Interchange, and found this one tatterdemalion pile of human being topped with dark glasses and a trilby.

“Ah, you brought a friend with you,” Deacon confirmed. “Sometimes three wheels make an operation run more evenly.”

“That getup is ridiculous,” Hancock muttered, unimpressed. Even without having met him before, he knew Deacon was in disguise. He’d broken out a pair of aviator shades and a red ampuole. “What kinda trouble are you intending to get into, dressed up like that? A garbage heap?”

“I call it the ‘Wasteland Scavver’ look,” Deacon replied impressively, striking a pose. Clearing his throat, he briefly changed to a husky, irate intonation. "This is my pile of trash. Just be glad I didn’t do one of my face-overs. Heh. Heheheh.”

“I imagine you’ve got a pair of Groucho Marx glasses, too,” Geek cracked, seconding Hancock on it being silly. “Why the getup, though?”

“I collect intel. Gotta go under the radar with folks, depending on the type of information I’m digging. As far as what trouble we’re going to be getting up to... our previous base was underneath the Slocum’s Joe here. The Institute discovered it and we didn’t have enough time to get everyone, or everything, out. We need to check with our information man before we head in preemptively, though. There’s no telling how much of a synth hotbed it still is.”

“And... where’s this information man?” Geek asked.

Deacon pointed up.

“Follow me.”

"Oh brother,” Hancock mumbled with a heavy eye-roll, following furthest behind to take a hit off the ampuole of jet.

"Who's Groucho Marx, anyway?"

The trio found a downed slope of overpass pavement and scaled it, following along the Route 2 overpass as the crumbling concrete path would permit. Peppered among the mixture of eighteen-wheelers and automobiles, as well as an abandoned tent, several ghouls tried to ambush them along the way; but, the three made quick work of them, between two guns and a knife. As they walked, Deacon indicated the various graffiti trail markers the Railroad used, as a way of teaching Geek the ropes before he’d even gotten his foot in the door. He got well-acquainted with the ring of light rays with an ‘x’ in its center, suggesting ghouls frequented the overpass.

“You take the lead here,” Deacon told him, holding Hancock back and nudging Geek to approach the figure at the cooking pot at the abrupt end of the interstate. "And whatever he says, reply mine is in the shop. Trust me.”

“Why me?” Geek started, looking back over his shoulder after a moment.

“You’re gonna have t’learn this stuff sometime,” Hancock retorted with a smirk.

The two hung back behind a few yards to chew the fat over something. The trio’s presence became noticed by the lone man in plaid who tended the fire. The long-haired older man stood, both urgent and irate, his peppered whiskers nearly bristling as he spoke.

“Do you have a Geiger counter? Do you have a goddamn Geiger counter?”

“Mine... is in the shop?” Geek steeled himself not to reply that he’d eaten it.

"It's about damn time. Name's Ricky. ...I thought there was just gonna be two of ya. Who's HE?" Ironically, the man pointed at Deacon and not Hancock. "The whole lot of ya looks like a bunch of clowns, honestly. I was on the brink of a heart attack."

"I, I'm new," Deacon replied apologetically, before anyone else could. "These guys are just showing me how it's done. Pink guy here's the lead."

"Besides the getup, you all look serious in the face, so I've gotta tell you. This ain't a place to be dragging your training wheels, boy," Ricky chastised, visibly stressed. "It's crawlin' with Synths, and God knows what else."

"What can you-- tell us about the location?" Geek stuttered out, glancing startled back to Deacon, who'd put him on the spot to look the seasoned one. Why the fuck had Deacon taken the role of a greenhorn?

"They're all over the front end. Turrets and mines, too. It'd be suicide to go in headlong."

"I, thank you, Ricky," Geek said, offering a handshake to make it feel official. "Your efforts and information are invaluable."

Ricky's demeanor softened in the handshake, and he smiled through his haggard fatigue.

"I hope it helps. Really, I do. It's a thankless job for the long of it, so it means a lot to hear."

As they walked away to retrace the interstate back to how they'd merged into it, Hancock was taking in the other half of the ampuole from earlier, sighing pleasantly. Geek himself lit up a cigarette, and snarled briefly.

"Deacon, why the fuck--"

"He's not an agent," Deacon interjected, watching the drugged ghoul cautiously rather than looking to Geek. "I have to cover my steps to separate the confidentiality of cases from the individuals working it, on a need to know basis. If he knew I was in the inner circle of agents of the Railroad, he'd know the value of what we were diving for."

"--What exactly is it we're doing here?" The incredulity in Geek's voice crackled through, and he just stopped walking for a moment to focus on his cigarette. He stared out off the overpass at the forested skyline below them.

"You think I'm not telling the truth? What about our man Ricky?"

"I don't know that I have reason t'distrust him," Geek replied, exhaling sharply at the end. "On the other hand, you're making me wonder whether you're t'be trusted. Seriously. You coulda at least given me some forewarnin' before throwin' me in the fire like that."

"I suppose it's a good lesson, to take every statement with a grain of salt," Deacon suggested, glossing over the elephant among them. "Most people won’t lie without a reason to. If you can figure out why somebody would lie, it becomes so much easier to tell whether they are. I mean, he's probably telling the truth, but I'll follow your judgment call here, Boss. This is your crash course, so I'm your backup."

"Why am I startin' t'suspect you just wrangled me into doin' your dirty work, and that you got no idea what we're up against?"

"Grain of salt," Hancock echoed, unamused. The aviators concealed just how glassy his gaze was then.

"Well, going with your theory Ricky's honest, the front entry would require us going in guns blazing. But if that's not your style, there's also the back way." The postulation held in it the implicit irony that he felt like brute force seemed exactly to the pink fellow’s preference.

"Which way's easier? In your expert opinion?" The ghoul offered the ampuole to Geek, who took it and swallowed it. "Heh, rubbish bin on legs. Convenient."

"Takin’ advantage of the fact I snack under stress. Clever."

"Did you just. I had no idea jet was edible," Deacon deadpanned. "...Sake of ease is subjective. The front door is a matter of thick skin and brute force. If you trust my finesse with a keyboard, the terminals will make sneaking in the back way doable--not easy, but still doable. So what'll it be, Boss?"

"First order of business, y’stop callin' me that."

"...Right. Geek."

"Secondly: Which way has a chance encounterin' fewer Synths? Seeing as this is my first time fighting one, I'd like to even out my chances best I can."

"Back way, in my opinion, but that's no promise."

"Back way it is, then." Geek stormed off ahead of them.

"I think I trust the front way better," Hancock jabbed, taking aim at an airborne enemy only he could see. "Least we'd get inside faster, away from these things."

"You're a keeper, Mayor," Deacon remarked, astounded.

The back entrance was through the water drainage pipe, and Deacon hacked the terminal of the weed-overgrown entry to let them inside.

"It shouldn't be too rough," Deacon narrated as they walked to the first checkpoint. "It's likely mostly just Gen Ones and Twos." Geek looked to him for elaboration. "The Institute went through a few different prototype models before they got to the ones that look exactly like a human. Had to work up to that level of hubris. Depending on who you talk to in the Railroad, opinions differ as to where to draw the line between the true AI and simply being a smart robot. Some of us even get into semantics as to whether Assaultrons and even turrets have rights. There's a lot of grey area to mince in the downtime between action."

"...Be straight with me for once. What are we here for?"

"Like I said, Geek, when the Institute hit us, they hit fast and hard. You met most of the survivors already. We couldn't even pack up resources and still make it out in one piece. ...You can understand why we're so short-handed on training availability at the moment. We're here for something the Doc was cooking up. According to Dez, it’s a pivotal piece of prototype tech."

"A grocery store run, seems more like it." Deacon took Hancock's tone as a jab at the value of the recon, rather than it being fun at Geek's expense. After a moment, an easier-to-read joke slipped out of his tremulous mouth: "Shopping when you're hungry means ya pick up more than was on your list." In it, an implicit I know you're teetering on stress-eating anything that isn't nailed down.

Geek muttered a forced laugh, rolling his eyes at him.

"There's probably not food supplies left, but you're welcome to all the ice cream and pickles you find," Deacon offered, hacking the next terminal. "It's not like we're leaving anybody standing when we walk out of here."

The security gate opened, and they descended the split cobblestone steps into the sewer. Deacon and Hancock still favored their guns, but in the face of an unfamiliar enemy, Geek fell back on the comfort reliability of his knuckledusters.

"Is anyone there?" they heard an artificial voice inquire.

Silently, they all armed themselves, and squared up against the single Synth. Geek's eyes went wide to see the thing was an amalgamation of wire and plastic on an exposed metal skeleton. Horror overtook him and he froze up, leaving the Synth to come across him first. The way the ocular lenses intimated lidless sockets, the fake metallic teeth... It was like a skinned human face devoid of gore. The pit of his stomach dropped even heavier.

"Shit." Hancock’s intuition snapped, and he cocked his shotgun and unloaded a pair of shells into the Synth from a short distance. When the dust settled, he walked up to Geek. "You look like you saw a ghost."

"My reflexes are just fine." Seconds later he flinched at the aftershock memory of Hancock's gunfire. "Fine."

"Mmm. A little... something to liven up the day?" Hancock surreptitiously slipped a syringe into Geek's gloved palm and looked at him slyly. Psycho. He had some in his pocket too, from the gym, but he hadn't even considered using it. The gift wasn't so much the item itself, but rather the observation that Geek might make use of it. "Help you steel your nerves a bit."

"Do you peddle candy, too, or just drugs?" Deacon joked naively. "I want a lollipop, Mister."

"Knock it off," Hancock muttered.

"Ah! a turret terminal," Deacon sidestepped, ignoring Hancock's displeasure. "Let's fire it up and give our freeloaders a nasty surprise." The two gave Deacon some time to tinker with the computer.

The next chamber of the sewer had in it multiple Synths, as Deacon predicted. Deacon held up his hand to pause their forward motion, and he held it up to an ear eager with anticipation. Sure enough, the turrets powered up and unloaded hundreds of bullets before several laser shots and a short explosion rang out. The two had been around Deacon enough to read the childish prank-like pride in his otherwise expressionless features. Hancock genuinely cracked a smirk for once at something Deacon had done, though the same couldn’t be said of Geek.

The smell of charred metal, oil smoke, and gunfire wafted down the moldy, damp corridor. The hard and angled, inorganic face of the first Synth overlaid Geek’s conscious thoughts. He glanced down to the yellow tri-component syringe in his clenched fist. In his history of chem use, such substances intended to becalm his tumultuous, anxiety-depression addled mind--but would dialing all that up to eleven instead serve him in this situation? He knew that the military had given soldiers the chem to override cowardice and increase pain tolerance, but he had no idea what to expect as to how it went about achieving that. Hancock briefly looked back to check on him, and when he was observed not having moved, the pink wreck impulsively followed through with plunging it into the underside of his jaw, shutting his eyes in the moment and not giving it a another thought.

Within seconds, the stringent injection lit his veins afire. His lip curled, and he began to drool a bit as his breathing became off-kilter. Everything was uncomfortable, and he had to find the source of it and dismantle it. Hancock noticed his companion had administered the hit and poorly hid an admiring smile, nearly proud of him for letting chems help him through this rough patch.

Grease. Gunpowder residue. Titanium alloy. Nuclear components. Geek’s senses heightened, intensifying the discomfort like a bad migraine. The spotlight in the room threw a nasty halo on the whole place, and he growled through frothing, clenched teeth. Before, the Synths’ footsteps had been nearly silent, but now he could likely pinpoint their location in this room with his eyes shut. He squinted in frustration and, trembling with distress, grunted hard.

His stomach hurt so badly. He had to fix that.

The face of the nearest Synth found itself between his hands. It cracked on the cobbled steps, over, and over. The chest plate cracked open with only a few flung punches, exposing the soft innards. Analogous to ribs, the chest of the now mangled Synth easily accommodated Geek’s ravenous mouth, and he burrowed face-first in to chew apart wire and fluid line alike, pulling them out by the teeth.

Coolant, oil, and other substances saturated his face and front as he could tell a second Synth was beneath him. There was no slaking the thirst that overtook him as he guzzled the construct dry. If he’d been outside himself in that moment, he’d have noticed himself rip out and swallow this one’s ocular lenses.

But he didn’t notice anything.