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theocrabalar · 2 years ago

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Guns we never got to use in Metal Gear Solid 2

So, instead of gushing over how amazing MGS2 is, let's get down to brass tacks and immediately nerd out over what we didn't get. First off, let's start at the beginning. Olga Gurlukovich, the woman who's the sole reason I start making monkey noises when I see a woman in super baggy pants with suspenders hanging down. She carries a PSS pistol;

The PSS is a silent semi-automatic pistol, this pistol gets tossed overboard before the player can get a chance to use it. If in use by the Gurlukovich mercenaries, we could imagine it would be a pistol with very scarce ammo, but also highly effective, being semi-auto. Probably considered a lethal option to the XM9.

Next up, we have the NRS2. No good in-game picture available, so a picture of the real thing will do;

This highly unusual knife gun, which is fired with the blade pointed towards yourself. For gameplay, this could probably be used for focus on close quarters fighting, but with a possibility of shooting at something in the distance without needing to swap weapons. It would certainly be an interesting option that could make gameplay varied.

Next up, the Colt Single Action Army revolver.

"This is the greatest handgun ever made. The Colt Single Action Army. Six bullets. More than enough to kill anything that moves." It's clear that MGS3 figured out, holy shit, this gun is cool and we need to let the player use it. Especially, with how they added gameplay features to it, they decided to give the gun the ability to ricochet bullets so you can trickshot your way through Tselinogorsk. The same mindset in MGS2 could have made for some really interesting choices considering all the fancy indoor areas and hallways. There's also no proper magnum handgun for the player in MGS2, so if you want a handgun that can blast away common enemies in a single shot to the chest, this could have been it.

Sergei Gurlukovich himself pulls a Makarov on Scott Dolph during the tanker chapter. This would been a basic sidearm for the mercenaries and is understandably cut, it's a gun that it's difficult to make exciting for the player as it would performed the same as the USP, but lower capacity and no laser and no silencer. Then again, it could have been added purely for variety's sake. Which is always good to make something feel vast and a real universe.

"Laugh and grow fat" This one would be interesting in-game for the player. Provided it would be somewhat controllable for skilled players, and sharing ammo with the USP, it could be a hog for churning through your ammo and low range, but if used up closed, you could definitely do some solid bursts of damage. What magazine the gun would have, would definitely help decide if you could bursts a few enemies before reloading, or needing to reloading between every enemy.

This is another special one. It's already very special that a russian mercenary group would use a western shotgun such as the SPAS-12. It also features a combination pump and semi-automatic mechanism. This could in theory allow the player to change the firerate. Who knows for what purpose, there could be some video game logic like how they can only use the really powerful ammunition with a pump-action, and have the less damaging ammo be spammable with the semi-automatic mechanism. Or, they could skip that and make the shotgun be only pump or only semi, and then focus on how it works in that way. It definitely opens up a world of weird gameplay options.

Here's a weird one, a rail gun. MGS2 is a stealth game. I realize that, and I really like it. But it really suffers in the department of being able to do things at a distance outside of set pieces set up for sniping. It would definitely be a New Game Plus type of gun, maybe given out for playing through the game while helping or tranq'ing birds, not killing them. It would definitely be a great gun for taking out bosses. It was later implemented in Peace Walker, but required quite the team effort to use it efficiently. Clearly, the developers also loved this magnificent piece of art and weaponry in game.

Here's another fun one. Assuming it would be a counter to the M4 later available in-game, the AN94, could possibly given the hyper-burst option, making it fire two rounds per trigger press in an insane fire rate. Looking at how the gun has a light or laser mounted onto it's front gas port/gas block, it looks really close to be able to be used by the player already.

Here's a gun that is really known for being cut content. The French FAMAS. How it made it's way to the tanker or plant would be difficult to imagine considering it was supposed to be only for the genome soldiers in Alaska in MGS1. It would occupy the same purpose as the AKS74u and the M4 as well, so it wouldn't add anything new to the player, but it would feel familiar for returning MGS1 players. While not correct, the gun could have had a three round burst to differentiate it, like how it does in Counter-Strike 1.6 which is what I really know it from, form these days.

The FN P90. What a wonderful PDW. Again, another gun that's understandable that we don't have access to, as it wouldn't contribute much, but would also clutter an already weird to navigate inventory. It's equipped with the original old red dot sight, so in first person view, that would actually be very different for regular players of first person shooters with iron sights from these days.

Here's a really weird one, the SPP-1M Underwater pistol. Wait what? So in the original design of MGS2, there was an even greater focus on the underwater parts of the gameplay, even more fighting. Which explains why someone would suggest adding an pistol focused on underwater fighting. Probably also related to the cut Dead Cell member who went by the name "Chinaman" who was an olympic level swimmer, and if Vamp's boss fight wasn't annoying enough, I can totally see the need for a gun in that section. There is leftover code in the game that suggest this got quite far in development for player use, the gun itself as far as I know, don't have a model in-game.

And here for the last firearm that should/could have been available to the player. The M203 grenade launcher. It's very clearly shown off in several cutscenes, being used by both the Navy Seals when confronting Fortune, as well as Snake Plissken;

How this would be utilized in-game would be interesting. Could definitely be a very viable boss-encounter weapon with it's full-auto capability from the M4, and then being able to somehow quickly switch over to using the grenade launcher. So in conclusion, many of this firearms were considered, but when we think about it, we can also clearly understand why much of it was cut, so there would be less work to do on bland equipment, so the developers could rather focus and shine up all the equipment that is actually interesting gameplay wise.

Most images blatantly stolen/copied from IMFDB.org, MetalGear.fandom.com and Wikipedia.

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ryuzakemo128 · 2 months ago

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Can the Living Haunt You?

Pairing: Poly141 x Loser! Welsh! Female Reader

Content Warnings: Swearing, Cussing, Female Reader is a loser, not relatively known, a tomboy. John Price, John 'Soap' MacTavish, Kyle ‘Gaz’ Garrick, Simon 'Ghost' Riley are popular, well known, well liked, and did I say popular? Well they are. College au!, polyamorous relationship. Female reader in this is an artist in college with sex work defined as a broad defined 'side hustle' (If you don't like this topic I suggest you read something else). Graphic descriptions of injuries and traumatising events.

Note: Female reader has defining traits like: Tomboy, height of six foot ten (to make it clear she is a giant in this), gothic, heavy metal, & punk mixture of an aesthetic. I also like to this she's plus sized with a large chest in my own personal headcanon. Female reader also has body pircings and piercings in general.

Note 2: If you don't like how this female reader looks. Please turn around and leave. There are many, many writers out there that can cater to your tastes I am sure of it.

Masterlist

Word Count: 7,311

Divider Credit: @Cafekitsune

Summary: You always bid on yourself, so you didn’t have to suffer through the awkward conversations between you and another person.

The college charity auction wasn’t something you had interest. You donated money to it. But you never did it to bid on the popular guys or women there. No. You always bid on yourself, so you didn’t have to suffer through the awkward conversations between you and another person.

You were more than happy to decorate both the canteen and the auditorium. To leave at that and that alone. You didn’t have someone to ‘talk’ you into attending. It was through your own curiosity and to see what kind of chaos you could weave in. The brand of chaos you were known for, that is.

You didn’t account for Nikolai attending one of these. You hoped you could find something inside your closet to wear that radiated ‘Don’t come near me’ vibes. You hoped you could go there and still have people mind their own business like they have in the past.

You knew your roommate would be staying at her boyfriend’s apartment. You would have the place to yourself for the night at least. Or at least until the couple decided to change plans again.

As you were about to get settled for a longish night of being alone and getting drunk from your homebrew cocktails. You didn’t account for the five hundred pounds you would spend on welsh gin, mixers and other things.

Nikolai finally saw you in person, you were four cocktails deep and three burgers eaten. You were enjoying yourself at the college auction, a rare event where the most popular guys went up for a date. You didn’t know why you were here; you were the kind of person that didn’t get noticed, didn’t get picked, and certainly didn’t get asked out. But here you were, in the middle of it all, a sea of glammed-up girls and guys dressed to the teeth. And you?

Black Sabbath shirt with the sleeves cut off. Black high rise denim straight jeans with a belt with a white gold skull metal belt buckle in the middle. Knee-high black leather steel capped combat boots lined with metal studs on the sides. The studded choker with a pentagram pendant.

Black smudged eyeliner with a Smokey eyeshadow with black ombre lipstick. Combined with your nose ring on the left side and the 9mm black gauges in your earlobes. The industrial piercing in your right ear too. The stainless-steel tongue piercing. Your hair in a long wolf cut with your hair dyed jet-black.

Your fingerless leather gloves with studded spikes along the knuckles. Along with a few other things like the coffin shaped bag and the studded black bracelets with spikes on the outside. Your wallet, motorcycle keys and coin purse inside your bag too.

You weren’t planning on staying there longer than maybe an hour to two hours at the most. This type of thing amused you a little bit. But not enough to make you stay too long. You didn’t want to give them the wrong idea. The idea they were what you were there for. As you drank the gin you brought in there inside your bag.

Your art usually gets displayed on the screen when there is an intermission for auctions. Last time it was tiny, small, palm sized obsidian breathing red glitter fire and demanding flamed grilled chicken every Halloween.

You weren’t going to be picked at this kind of auction. You thought people wouldn’t care if you got drunk and started drawing on your massive tablet with your stylus in your right hand. You started off with drawing a strawberry shaped frog, the demonic bunny wooing his angelic bunny lover, a love fairy trying to pull a sword from a boulder, a beaver smoking a cigar who is a loan shark demanding its money paid back with huge 25% added interest.

The addition to it all you added walking, talking carrots you added in a cultist formation wearing deep red robes lingering in the redwood trees you slowly added into the background. The lingering footprint indents of poltergeists still walking around unseen in the foreground. Making the art piece slowly eerie. But the gothic witch cottage with an even scarier version of yourself drinking hibiscus tea in the doorway.

As you were about to leave for something rather sweet and pleasant like pancakes. A six stack of thick pancakes smothered in hot butterscotch and chocolate fudge sauce. Whipped cream and strawberries on top. The type of thick souffle style pancakes that tasted so good that you never had any other type ever again.

You didn’t think about whether someone might have cared if you left so abruptly or not. In your mind. No one cared either way, and you preferred to keep it that way. While you were eating, you had a cartoon style video of a cat hanging onto a wire with a Welsh flag jumper, with ‘Be right back’ and ‘Artist food break in pastel pink bubble writing. Enjoy some cat videos’. Which were all of your own cats from the backlog of videos you have already. Including some of the older ones you have shown them already.

As you were delving into your pancake desires at your table. As you were eating your favourite kind of dessert, whenever you drink copious amounts of gin. In the moment of pure ecstasy, someone decided to interrupt you. You didn’t think you could pull such erotic looking facial expression. But according to the person interrupting you?

To him? It was one of the most beautiful sights he’s ever seen. You were enjoying yourself a little too much and someone wanted to make sure you were tamed. As if someone could ever do such a thing as to ‘tame’ you to begin with is laughable. Most guys love to brag about that kind of thing to your face or behind your back.

It didn’t annoy you as much as people loved to assume. It amused you more than anything. The thought of you being domesticated. You wonder how that would even work and how that would even look. And the person interrupting you? John ‘Soap’ MacTavish and John Price. You heard they had the knack for ‘brat taming’ whatever that means. You never asked for more details. You never plan to either.

You were too busy thinking, ‘I hope no one can see the nipple piercings through my shirt’ to really notice them approaching you. You wonder how someone react if they did see them, and she didn’t notice. A warm feeling blossomed on your cheeks at the mere thought of it occurring.

You were dead certain you placed on nipple covers before heading out this afternoon. Now you’re sitting there while you eat pancakes thinking about it some more. You were so sure you made sure that you were dressed and ready to leave your dorm too.

As you continued to ponder whether you had remembered to place on the nipple covers. Nikolai smirked as he watched you haphazardly ponder the question mentally. He automatically knew one of your many weaknesses were your boobs. How did he know this you ask?

Well, it’s simple, he touched your breasts once by coincidence and you whimpered accidentally. You didn’t mean to. It just………slipped out of your mouth. “Pretend……... Pretend you didn’t hear that.” You stated at the time your face heating up.

Nikolai still remembers how you left so hastily afterwards. You weren’t going to let that accident happen a second time. That would make YOU look bad. But Nikolai wasn’t the type of man to keep that to himself for too long. Especially since he hung around Price a lot. There wasn’t a moment when he isn’t around Price.

You hoped he would have forgotten that you exist or ever existed. But apparently. Luck just isn’t on your side this week. Though, luck is rarely ever on your side when you want it to be. You didn’t think how it would affect the guy long term now, did you? That whimper is now engrained into the back of Nikolai’s mind like a saucy, sultry catchphrase.

When they spotted you at the gym swimming pool the next day? The two-piece black bikini you always wore when you did your morning swimming routine? The routine of fifty laps in breaststroke, backstroke, freestyle and butterfly. And that is what she calls a warm-up rather than a plain exercise.

And the stretches you usually warm up before you swim? The ones you learned through gymnastics, hot yoga and your love for MMA? As you were doing the rest of those stretches as they walked in? Perhaps it was when they walked in while you were midway through your morning exercises.

As yesterday, you pushed yourself a little harder than usual with the bicep curls and the deadlifting amount and the sparring. You hoped swimming wouldn’t be as intense on the body as the gym. But, oh boy, you were wrong by the time you reach in Backstroke. You were about to take a break for fifteen minutes to thirty.

You were resting on the chairs beside the pool drawing in your art journal, sketching a few new ideas to bring to life through ceramics or pottery. You often looked up to make sure they haven’t spotted you, you hoped the divider you made from recycled wood, black fabric and a recycled plastic sheeting in the middle of the wood. The over-all design of a gothic cathedral blocking the line of sight of anyone who might want to ogle you.

As you switched back to reading your Lovecraft book collection on your waterproof tablet. While you sipped your cold water. Ignoring the people around you as you normally did first thing in the morning. You were happier at this time of day because no one is usually brave enough to approach a giant like yourself in this state.

Especially considering you haven’t eaten your breakfast yet. You hoped the calorie deficit would be enough to keep you going through the exercise. You were resting and thinking what you should be having for breakfast. Would it be better for you to eat Semolina porridge? Would it be better for you to have soft boiled eggs drowned in a sweet & sour sauce with paprika, salt and pepper? Or maybe just a bowl of porridge with honey? Or perhaps something more substantial like a full English breakfast with extra black pudding.

Your stomach rumbled at the thought of breakfast. You were already planning the recipe in your head. Semolina porridge with a side of fruit and two cups of sweetened coffee. Though it after you were finished your morning exercise routine. Heading straight to your dorm with a dark blue beach towel wrapped around you.

Taking your homemade divider with you too. As you were about to leave the pool area to have breakfast inside your dorm. You heard the gruff voice. You ignore it. Obviously thinking the person behind you was either coughing or talking to somebody else. Either way. You weren’t sticking around.

Breakfast on the brain. You couldn’t think about anything else. No. You refused to think about anything else. Determined to have your breakfast. In peace and quiet. Like your father does at this hour. Though he is a night shift working as a line cook in a diner open 24/7. His need to try out a different type of breakfast each morning is just another one of those things you got from him.

Your walking pace kicked up a notch. Maybe two. The premise of food always won you over. Far more times than the whispered promise of sex. The statement alone is usually met with judgemental snickering from women. The ‘then maybe you haven’t had good sex’ grated on every nerve in your body. Sometimes sex isn’t the end all, be all of someone’s personal journey, Linda. Maybe you would have learned that if you weren’t so busy sucking cock all the time to actually take care of yourself, LINDA.

But that conversation is for another time. At least one when you’re not already hungry. You didn’t think about them talking to you. Food is on your mind, and you were ready to get it. You were keen on your breakfast. Too keen according to some. A real grouch without food too. Not as grouchy as your ex-boyfriend Damien. And you haven’t spoken to that guy in months.

And the last time you spoke to the guy in almost a year. You would reach out more if he weren’t so much of a cunt to contact most of the time. Part of you missed the guy something fierce. Not like you would admit it out loud. Not like you would admit it even if someone waterboarded you either. Keeping all your personal things wrapped inside yourself until it hurt. Till your bones ached.

You didn’t have to speak to get your point across. He didn’t have to lecture you about picking up after yourself. You don’t know why you don’t find yourself liking others as much as you did for him. Sometimes you have to remind yourself that his father murdered him out of spite. The kind of spite you only ever read in Shakespearean Plays or Greek tragedies. But it happened to you, didn’t it?

And now, you’re a recluse that enjoys the company of animals more than people. You weren’t going to find another Damien. Yours is long dead. Mourning for someone who you wouldn’t have again. In your eyes. In your mind. You wouldn’t have that again.

But that’s your business, right? Yours and yours alone, right? No one else’s. You don’t expect people to fix you. You don’t want to be ‘fixed’.

People, most people, love the idea of ‘fixing’ someone they deem ‘broken’. But you don’t like the term or the idea you can ‘fix’ a living human being. You never had. Flaws are flaws. Inherently human nature. Defined by innate nature of being born human. People forget we are still learning new things about the human body.

The ringtone you were listening to on your phone. Damien’s voice. Even when he’s dead was enough to keep you going a little bit longer. A taste of the past amongst the pointless lingering in the future. You don’t know why you still had it. You had a feeling it was a way to keep a part of him with you.

You call it a breakup, in reality, he was ripped from you one night and his father didn’t have the guts to turn himself in for six months. You don’t know what snapped in his father’s head when he found out Damien was going to move out into the apartment you were living in at the time. You don’t have the guts to ask.

You have the scars to remember. To ache. To writhe inside your own skin. The night he was killed. You were both nineteen. It’s easy to forget it wasn’t just yesterday. Sometimes it feels like it was a lifetime ago. Sometimes it feels like it was only minutes. The cold steel of the knife on your throat. The warm blood splatter on your face. The way your heart stopped in your chest.

John price saw you texting your ex-boyfriend, despite the fact you knew you wouldn’t get an answer. It was something to keep you from dissociating entirely. The friends you had weren’t yours in your mind. They were your boyfriends. And you stopped talking to them because in your heart you believed they were never YOURS to begin with.

Religious people pissed you off now. More than they had before. It was like the way dismissed your pain as part of their ‘god’s plan’. Like some kind of sick joke. The kind they loved to repeat. Again. Again. Again. As if your life was some sort of sick joke to be played at their whimsy. You didn’t believe in that shit anymore. Not after one of their own did something as heinous as murder.

People love to say they like helping people. But when it comes to actually helping them? Especially those who aren’t religious. They say things like, “Everything happens for a reason,” or “It’s all part of God’s plan.” As if that’s supposed to make you feel better. As if that’s supposed to justify the fact that you’re now left with nothing but a dead body and a shit-ton of guilt.

You didn’t believe in that shit anymore. Turning to the absurdist philosophy did more for your life than any religion had ever done. Once you started living it? It was like a weight is lifted from your shoulders. A weight you hadn’t known existed there. You didn’t know what to do with your newfound freedom. Thus, you pursued things you wanted to try out without any meaning behind it all.

You didn’t believe in destiny or fate anymore either. You believed in chaos. In the chaos of life. In the randomness of the universe. In the cold, unfeeling abyss that swallowed you up whole. But you liked that. You liked that there weren’t any strings attached to your life anymore. No expectations. No one to live up to. No one to disappoint. Just you. Your thoughts. And your art.

You suppose it’s when you started going to brothels. Or in your case when you started working in brothels for £1000 a night. Setting it credulously high on purpose. If someone couldn’t afford you. You’d be able to sense it from a mile away. Besides, setting it that high made sure you had the cream of the crop. You weren’t going to deal with anyone who didn’t respect you or your boundaries.

You made sure they were tested for STDs, vaccinated, background checked, no criminal record of previous criminal activity, and that they had the money in full ahead of time. You weren’t going to risk your health for anything less.

He must have heard about your side hustle or something, you didn’t think it could have been anything else to give that part of you away to them.

Simon overheard rumours about it, the rumours you were a ‘lady of the night’ or something equally ridiculous. Until he heard you charged £1000 a night for it. Solidifying truth from supposed fiction. He didn’t know what was worse. The fact that you had a side hustle or that you were good at it.

As you were showering, you were thinking about whether you should just get dressed straight away or take your time this morning. As you were washing your hair in black shampoo which helped your dyed hair keep its dyed black colour to it. As you were washing it out a second time.

Slowly adding in the black conditioner into your hair, started at the tips of your hair and ending midway. Leaving the conditioner to soak into your hair follicles. You were about to pick up your goat’s milk body wash to wash yourself with the black loafer you bought from the discount store yesterday to replace your old one.

You weren’t expecting anyone, your roommate is usually having breakfast with her boyfriend in his apartment at this hour. The freedom of not having to be modest first thing in the morning has always been a blessing in your opinion. Often walking to your room naked sometimes to get dressed there after you got dried in the bathroom.

You weren’t worried or fussed with the concept of modesty when it came to your own place, your own space or your own dorm. You had your porridge ready to cook and you were keen on getting straight to eating breakfast as soon as possible.

Yet, even as you were getting dressed in your bedroom, you didn’t exactly clock the fact that Simon just saw you walk into your bedroom naked as a jaybird. You weren’t particularly shameful in doing so, either. He didn’t expect to see you in such a state. As you slipped on your black lace underwear and shorts.

Slipping on an Iron Maiden shirt. It used to be a stark white until you ultimately decided it would look better tie died in deep purple and blue. The shirt had seen better days, it had stains of various art projects and paint splatters all over it. It remains to be one of your favourites. You didn’t bother with a bra today. Letting your heavy chest breathe a little. You weren’t expecting anyone to see you today.

You also didn’t expect the two johns frowning and trying to figure out how to cook semolina porridge. “Do you need a hand with that genius and shorter genius?” you asked raising an eyebrow at the pair. “I thought you were gym bros into calculating all that healthy stuff and cooking.”

“Semolina Porridge is Semolina flour, milk, water, salt and butter.” You added in. “There is more than one type of porridge in the world my confused puppers. Cute, confused pups I might add.”

“I have the recipe typed out, laminated and held with magnets in case I forget how to make it.” You pointed to the side of the fridge. “It SHOULD help you.”

You didn’t think you would have to help two buff guys how to cook as something as what you thought was simple like ‘Semolina Porridge’. But here you were helping them out like they were lost puppies in the middle of nowhere.

You eventually took charge and showed them how you made it from scratch. The hot plate you bought ages ago still working luckily. You didn’t expect to use it today, but here you are. You combined the milk, water, butter, and salt in a saucepan over medium-high heat. Bring to a boil, stirring gently with a whisk.

You then removed it from the heat. Pouring in semolina flour in a steady stream, whisking constantly to prevent lumps.

Afterwards, you placed the saucepan back over medium heat; whisking until porridge comes to a boil, for about 2 minutes. Reducing the heat to low, covering with a saucepan lid, and cook, stirring occasionally, until porridge thickens. It takes about 20 minutes.

You didn’t miss the glances exchanged between the two Johns. They were clearly out of their depth. It was like watching two hunks try to navigate the art of cooking without burning down the place. You couldn’t help but chuckle to yourself, feeling oddly superior in your kitchen skills.

“Now we stir occasionally for the next 20 minutes.” you remarked, adding things like cinnamon, nutmeg, and brown sugar. It was your own little twist to the recipe. Soap sniffed the thickening porridge with a nod of approval.

You then removed the saucepan from heat; stirred in sugar. Only to let it sit on a cold plate for five minutes before serving it with a dollop of cream.

“Make sure to tell me if you liked it or not. I’m not a mind reader. If I was, I would be making at least ten grand a week.” You remarked setting a bowl in front of each of them. “And before you ask, no, I have no intentions on adding eggs to my porridge.”

As you were about to make a head start on your second breakfast because classes didn’t start until later. You were cleaning out the porridge to get it ready to make some soft-boiled duck eggs. Kyle wandered over after he showered in the gym lockers.

Kyle remarked with a grin on his lips, “Someone’s got a big appetite this morning.”, he cooed.

You raised an eyebrow at his comment. “I eat four duck eggs a morning.” You reminded him. Just in case he forgot how much of a high metabolism you still have.

You placed the duck eggs in the saucepan and filled the pot with cold water. After you placed it onto the hot plate you went back to getting back into your normal routine of cleaning your bedroom, cat litter boxes and general garbage from the bins.

Bringing out the steam mop however, John Price decided to say why they were there. As if the mop suddenly just reminded him for some reason?

“We noticed you didn’t go to bed with anyone last night.” He began awkwardly. You looked at him like he had suddenly sprouted another head.

“What’s your point? I don’t work if I’m drinking all night.” You remarked. Thinking this was about why you didn’t ‘work’ last night. Your work that allowed to be able to get things you normally wouldn’t have been able to afford otherwise. “And in terms of dating, I haven’t dated anyone else since I was 19.”

You didn’t mention the fact that you had a mishap that ended up with in the hospital and getting at least 45 stitches in your arm. You didn’t think they would notice either. You were certain of it. Too certain perhaps?

As you were about to eat your duck eggs, Simon spotted the bandage. You were mixing the sweet and sour sauce with soy sauce into a small saucepan, combining crushed garlic, finely sliced ginger, and dried sliced jalapeños.

“What the fuck happened to your arm?” Simon asked, growing a little. At least it sounded like he was growling according to your own ears.

“I tried to jump a wired fence after having one too many drinks last night. I didn’t account for any loose wires in the fence.,” You answered his question. Silently hoping this answer would be good enough and they wouldn’t ask further questions about it. “Technically, this is my fault and mine alone.”

There. You have admitted it was no one else’s fault but your own. That should cover everything. Right? They can’t be mad if you admit the truth first. They can’t be mad at you if don’t have something on you to get angry about.

They can’t find something to get mad at you for.

You have won their little game.

Whatever that game was.

You don’t know.

But you like to think you won anyway.

As you continued to make the sauce. You weren’t sure who brought up the subject first or why it was brought up in the first place either. But the topic polyamory is brought up up and the look on your face made Soap snort.

You looked like you had decided to suck on sixteen lemons at once. “What you get up to is not my business.” You reminded. “Its like you enjoy torturing me.”

“Ok why did you want to talk?” you asked John Price this time allowing Simon to taste one of the duck eggs. “Is everything tidy?”

You were rather suspicious over their need to talk to you now. You were content with how things have been in your life so far. Things didn’t have to change. Things were fine the way they are. Change brought in potentially being abandoned and left behind. You don’t want to take that risk like you had the first time.

John cleared his throat, looking a bit nervous. “We were wondering if you’d be interested in a polyamorous relationship with us?” He said it so casually that it took you a moment to process it.

Now you were just rather confused. No, you weren’t offended by the idea. You were more or less confused because this is the first time you ever heard of such a thing. “How does that even work?” you asked frowning deeply. You knew a lot of things. It became blatantly clear that you haven’t dated someone in so long that you have forgotten what it's like to be in a romantic relationship.

“You’re going to need to write this down. I won’t be able to understand otherwise.” You added in. Hinting at your learning disabilities this time. You handed him your tablet which is larger than he expected it be.

The tablet wasn’t what John expected you to have. The screen size of 16 inches, a thickness of 8.2 inches, weight of 718 grams, storage capacity of 1TB with a micro-SD of 1.5TB, Moonstone Grey coloured, and a battery that lasted for 16 hours. It came with a 2 year warranty and 16GB of memory.

You used this when you were going on the train, and your professional artist display tablet is too expensive to risk breaking just by carrying it everywhere. Soap looked around your office part of your dorm. The vintage porn movies posters hung on your office walls. The Welsh flag on the door to your office and the shark themed foot mat to the office.

Other things like the Welsh gin inside of a black and white bar fridge. There is a jug of mead fermenting in the corner of the room. There is a black coffin shaped bookshelf with Absurdist philosophy books, a lava lamp and many art history books. Beside the art easel from the 1980s.

The walls are painted a midnight blue with black trimmings. The vintage posters brought out your absurdity far more. Though it was the 3D printer, the 3D printed figurines around the room you made for yourself that were more than a little raunchy in theme.

Figurines of busty women in different stages of undress along the top of your coffin shaped bookshelf. The other figurines you had displayed? Some of which were of women in playboy bunny costumes with the character names on the base with small décor items like a bouquet of flowers. Something to give more personality to the character.

It was how you got comfortable with your sexuality, sexual orientation and how you looked on the outside. It happened to be pansexual. You liked whoever you liked regardless of gender. You had your preferences, everyone did. But when you found someone. Someone you liked, you liked them for them.

Other small things Soap noticed was the desktop computer with a giant mechanical keyboard with LED lights that changed colour and the mouse pad that had a dragon on it. It was like something out of a gamer’s fantasy. Though the only games you ever play on the thing were all soulsborne games, Doom Games, Fallout Games, and Skyrim.

Which inspired most of your art. Whether some could say it was on purpose or not is purely conjecture because some of the normal people around you are stranger than you are sometimes. So much so, that most of the art you sold were inspired by those same people.

Not like they noticed. Much to your own relief.

As John continued to write down the fundamentals of a polyamorous relationship. He knew you weren’t easily swayed by charm, you were someone who preferred actions rather than just the simplicity of words because talking is easy. Everyone can talk. But it’s the actions that speak louder than words.

They scream louder than words from somebody’s lips. They were more telling sometimes through someone’s body language at any given time. Plus, it was easy to ignore somebody’s words. It was harder to ignore someone’s actions.

Perhaps this is why they were drawn to you to begin with? Your actions were always closely tied with your words. It also meant your face gave away what you were feeling all of the time, and you weren’t going to be ashamed of it either.

“I am very surprised you didn’t go for, what was her name again? Was it Linda Paulson or something?” you asked the five of them. “Because she is the type I see you being into.”

They looked at you with a puzzled look. “What makes you say that?” Soap asked.

“Blonde, chipper, bright in aesthetic, Five foot three, cute as a button, bubbly in personality, nerotypical, untraumatised. she doesn't look 'dirty' with all her tattoos. Obsessed with baking cookies, the typical girls girl. The whole nine yards and far better suited to you.” you answered. “People like to think they want different. But in reality they just want the kind of different with the same cover on the outside.”

They looked at each other, unsure how to respond. It was clear your words had struck a nerve. “You don't think we'd be into someone like you?” Kyle asked, raising an eyebrow.

“In truth, I don't think anyone would be. I am more of an artist watching, like a perverse creep watching art pieces walk and talk around them. Never able to participate in any kind of meaningful manner.” you answered. “Absurdist theory on life made things easier to understand. Removed the mystery rug from over the top and left it bare-bones enough to see what it actually is beneath those layers.”

Nikolai replied, noticing you have taken the absurdist philosophy to heart, specifically philosopher Albert Camus' notion that life is inherently absurd and the German philosopher Friedrich Nietzsche’s idea that one must embrace the chaos and live life to the fullest. Both of which you read before bed each night according to the lines along the spines of the books on the coffee table.

Nikolai knew you were more or less weren’t going to take things at face value or just because they ‘found you intriguing’ or ‘unique’. You more or less looked like you despised those two terms and loathed the idea you can slap those two things together to win you over.

Nikolai walked out of your dorm to speak to John in private, you didn‘t think much of it. As you cleaned up and started writing down questions you had in your notepad. As you were writing them, Soap decided to take a look at the books on your bookshelf. “Camus and Nietzsche, huh?” He murmured, holding up 'The Stranger'.

“At the moment, yes, I haven't had the time to read more than those two so far.” you answered.

Soap nodded, looking thoughtfully at the book. “I can see why you'd be into that. Life is pretty absurd, isn't it?” He said, flipping through the pages. His thumb brushing over the words that you had underlined, the ones that had struck a chord within you during your late-night reading sessions.

“Innately. Sensually. Romantically.” you stated.

The questions you wrote down were the following:

1. How do want to deal with living arrangement?

2. Do any of you have any allergies?

3. Are any of you allergic to cats? (I have eight this is why I asked you this question specifically.)

4. How do you feel about someone who has a past with the sex work industry?

5. What are your expectations of me in this relationship?

6. What are your intentions with me?

7. What are the rules? (If any)

8. How will we handle jealousy? Is there a preferred way? If so what is it?

10. Are you willing to get tested for STD’s?

You passed them over to John. Who then gave to Nikolai to give a look over too. They both read over them. They weren’t expecting you to be so straightforward. You didn’t bother with the fluff and frills that came with these kinds of conversations.

“We can manage living arrangement. We’re not allergic to cats, thankfully.” Soap spoke up as he put the book down. “But we do have a dog and a snake, so I hope they get along with your clowder.”

“Lovely.” you stated trying to be nice, but you have a phobia of dogs, a phobia running so deep and thorough.

Soap looked at you with a bit of a smirk. “Oh, you're afraid of dogs?” He said, his tone teasing. “Well, we'll just have to introduce you to ours gently, then.”

“Fear is a rather tame way to say the word phobia.” you stated. “And before you ask. I don't hate dogs. I just don't particularly trust them.”

Soap saw the scars on your left leg. The chaotic mess of teeth marks that you got from a large stray dog when you were only six years old. When your mother wasn't paying close enough attention to where you were. That was when you learned not to trust dogs. It was when you couldn't trust your own mother because she would rather continue her affair than be an actual parent.

You had taken upon your to call that day, ‘The Mauling & Blatant Disregard’. A day where you have etched so deeply into your memory that you remember it vividly even years later. You were just a child, and your mother was too busy with her lover to hear your screams. The skin, flesh pulling away from your leg like it was nothing but chucks & pieces of meat to the stray feral canine biting its teeth into your leg.

The way the fact you could feel the dog's teeth on the bone of your leg. it was a miracle that the dog hadn't bitten through. The way the pain had shot through your body and how you had screamed until your voice had gone hoarse. You were certain it would have. You feared that it did.

It was the neighbour that saved your life, not your mother like she wanted your father to believe at the time. He didn’t say much to her face, but he most certainly made sure to get everything in writing and stored away in the big metal filing cabinets he always kept in the garage at the time.

You had to get surgery. Relearn how to walk properly. You were put through therapy to learn how to cope with things after the traumatic event. Fundamentally it was the reason why you didn’t trust dogs, even if they were just pets. They had teeth. They could bite. They could kill.

Soap's opinion of you changed a little, a giant afraid of dogs, spiders and enough emotional trauma to sink a proverbial ship. It was a new layer to your onion that he wasn’t expecting to peel back so soon. But his opinion of your mother? He had none. It was clear she was a shit parent.

“Well, the dog is pretty friendly. But we’ll definitely keep her on a leash until you’re comfortable around her.” John Price assured you, his eyes sincere as he took the list of questions from Soap. “And as for the STD testing, we’re all clean, but we can get tested again if it makes you feel more at ease.”

“Probably for the best.” you answered.

Nikolai nodded, looking over the list with John. “We’re looking for someone who’s honest and straightforward. Someone who’s not going to sugarcoat things or play games.” He said, his gaze meeting yours. “And we can tell you’re all of that and more.”

Nikolai looked at your own answer for that question, ‘I want someone who can take accountability for their own actions and instead of just simply stating the word sorry. They should be able to put in the action of trying to be better about it afterwards. Another thing, they should be ok with the possibility of being wrong because being right all the time is border line impossible and implausible. Not mention. The definition of being an automated system. Thirdly, I want a conversation. A conversation requires two people not one. This includes any philosophical discussions. A discussion requires two people’.

They both nodded at your answer. “We can manage that.” John said, a hint of a smile on his face. “We’re not perfect, but we’re willing to learn and grow with you. And we’re definitely open to discussing anything, especially philosophy.”

Simon noticed how your shoulders relaxed further at the last part. It seems philosophy is far more ingrained in your mindset. How ingrained your reading is right now.

The answer for your expectations for them. The detailed answer of, ‘I expect you to be kind to yourself when you fail at something. I expect you to count failure as part of the learning process and to be kind yourself when or if it happens. I expect you to be able to cry when you’re sad, scream when you’re angry, laugh when you feel joy and to let those emotions be. To allow yourselves to feel things.’

‘To allow yourself to just exist as you are. I expect you to be human. That’s all. I expect you to be human. Nothing more nothing less. I expect you to be you. And for that I expect you to be honest about your feelings. I don’t want to be with someone who is going to hide their emotions from me. It’s exhausting. And I won’t lie, it’s incredibly annoying when people do that to me.’

‘If you can do that. If you are willing to do that for yourself. Then I can do the same for you.’ you added in the cursive writing.

You listened intently like your feline Walter when he was high on silver vine, Soap noticed how the weed incense made you this calm and collected. The rules and expectations they laid out were straightforward, much like you. Honesty, respect, and open communication were at the forefront of their relationship guidelines. You nodded, scribbling down notes on your notepad, the tip of your pencil tap-taping against the paper as you thought.

“What's your take on personal space?” You questioned, your voice a mix of curiosity and wariness. You had your own quirks, your own need for solitude and chaos, and you weren't about to compromise that for anyone, not even the likes of them.

Gaz looked at you, his eyes serious for a moment. “We respect personal space. We won't invade it without your consent.” His voice was firm, leaving no room for doubt. It was clear that they had discussed this before, had thought about what they were getting into, and were ready to meet you on your terms.

John saw the design of your future disconnected office for when you moved into the family house your father left to you in the inheritance when he passed when you were twenty-seven years old. He then saw the pictures of the place you were going to move into with monster trucks, motorcycles, dirt bikes, and the rock-climbing wall you had painted with glow in the dark paint.

Alongside other many, many things people consider typically masculine. But you also had things that were feminine like the seamstress area which used to be your mother’s work-from-home office. The sewing machines and fabrics that smelled faintly of her perfume, the one she used to wear before she left your life.

Not like you missed her like she might claim to her many friends of her new husband. You weren’t interested in getting to know her again or the man she married. He was a good man, you had to admit. He took care of your younger brother, and he was kind to you. But your mother was never going to be the woman she was before she had you.

John flicked through the images of the house. You call it house. But it seems incredibly clear that he didn’t think it looked like a house at all. Which amuses you because this is the same place you grew up inside. “That’s not a house. That…. that is more like a compound combined with a circus and a garage for those who like to play with fire.”

“Do you see the image my father wanted to cultivate?” you asked. “The chaotic side his art works have in common with in terms of theme and homage.”

John answered, “Yeah, I see it. It’s like he knew what kind of artist you’d become.” He handed you back the tablet. You took it with a smile, feeling a warm sense of pride for the space you’ve created.

“My grandmother oddly enough wanted to be buried there too.” You revealed.

Soap raised an eyebrow, “In the house?”

“No. In the backyard underneath an apple tree.” you clarified pointing to the gravestone underneath the ominous looking apple tree.

Note 3: If you want to see more of this female reader. Let me know and I will write a part 2.

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