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placeinthemiddleofnowhere · 2 years ago

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All I wanna do is go the distance

Pairing: König x Reader

Summary: You’re determined to find out why everyone thinks König is so scary, afterall he��s just some guy that’s taller than most people right? He’s probably harmless! Well, he’s a little scary, but you still like him anyway.

(No use of y/n or mention of gender/race)

AN: Hey guys, I'm super excited to give you guys this next chapter 💕 I have big things planned hehe

I would reccommend reading this oneshot, but as I am not jon favreau, you don't have to read extra stuff I make to understand the main stuff. Enjoy 😈

Part 7 of A Rocky Start - Full Masterlist Here

-☠️-

It had taken a few weeks for your head to get completely right again after the concussion. On some days you worried that you’d never get through the fluorescent infested hallways of the base without jamming your fists in your eyes ever again. Sometimes you’d catch Price staring at you with those concerned world weary eyes of his in the worst moments, when the headaches were screaming outwards, bursting through your skull. Though with enough time, and a lot of pain killers, the pain died down and dulled until you were completely back to normal.

It was a good thing too. For one, getting Price off your back while you were continuing to sneak around with König was a must, being under the microscope was only making the head trouble all the worse. And for another, which you were sometimes shocked to think was the secondary reason, you’d been going on more and more missions again as the 141 and KorTac got ever closer to tracking down Rousseau. Things were getting tense now, Ghost had been falling under a lot of pressure to perform and his temper was all over the place. Oftentimes you’d be the lucky one that had to chase him and calm him down.

In the months and missions after you’d come back you’d put away three of Rousseau’s men behind bars, including a very high level man that acted as his consigliere. Apparently he’d been worked on quite a bit since his capture. 141 weren’t privy to the intimate details of course, that was up to the CIA and KorTac, but as far as you’d all been told he’d given over a wealth of information on Rousseau’s location and even some limited blueprints of his hideout.

Price had told you all in advance that intelligence would be confirming your next mission in a matter of days, so you should all stick close to the base. You were actually getting ready for an upcoming training exercise, Rousseau’s man revealing the details on his base meant that command were adamant that you did a run through first and came up with a successful strategy for the big boss’ take down.

Luckily for you, because of the stay close order, that meant more time in your little airbnb paradise. The place was starting to feel like home. You were both etching yourselves into the apartment, carving your living narratives into it.

You could identify marks where König had been clumsy and dropped things or scuffed his boots against the wall. There was a tiny stain on the couch from where you’d come and sat after a mission. Lastly, but not least of all, was the curtain that had been sneakily stitched up to the railing after you and König had accidentally pulled it off several of its hooks when you’d grabbed it a little too enthusiastically one night. And on top of it all was the lingering smell of the room spray you’d bought a few weeks into renting the place, preferring the smell of ‘violet rain’ over the faint notes of tobacco that clung to the walls from other renters.

Sometimes you and König even liked to tell each other ‘see you back at the house’. It was becoming all so humdrum to you both.

You smiled as you glanced over at König one night, ruminating over your little routine. The warmth of you could’ve lifted the apartment into the air. It just felt so good to know that you had something that was yours, something that wasn’t your job, something that wasn’t a material thing, you had a life with König. It was most apparent to you when you watched him, when he was free of his hood and his armour and plates and he lay on the bed on his phone, unburdened from rules and duty. He undressed himself from the myth and lay comfortably as König the man, lounging in his boxers and T-shirt like any boyfriend would act with their partner.

Though that night, his brows were knit together in concentration and his lips were pursed, he was adamant that he be left alone for a minute to do whatever it was that he was doing. It intrigued you because he was rarely so mysterious, normally he’d tell you if it was a work thing, but this time he just waved you off and told you not to be nosy. That being the case, you were watching him closely trying to see if he’d give you any hints or signs of what was so captivating on that screen of his.

“I can feel those doe eyes burning a hole into me,” he chuckled, finally gracing you with his attentions.

“Can you blame me? You’re being all suspicious,” you shrugged, tilting your head a little to see if he’d explain himself.

“I’m not being suspicious, I just asked for some quiet.”

“You said ‘Sneaky, I have something I need to do, but don’t look’ and then when I asked if it was work stuff you said no. That - is suspicious.”

“Well it gave you an excuse to imitate me, so that’s something isn’t it,” he scoffed.

“Well, you know I do it so well,” you grinned, watching with delight as he rolled his eyes.

“I wouldn’t say that.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” you repeated, feeling as if you were copying him perfectly.

“If you think that’s how I sound then I'm surprised you have any kind of attraction to me,” he laughed.

“Well some days are a struggle more than others, but-”

You weren’t given the chance to finish your sentence, he’d forgotten all about his phone and thrown it from his lap, launching himself at you faster than any RPG you’d seen. In a matter of seconds you were pinned to the bed and fighting for your life, tears pouring from your eyes as he tickled you and trapped you underneath his annoyingly unyielding legs.

“What happened to the Sneaky that cried when I told them that I was bullied for my accent in school, hm? Now you’re making fun of me? I’ve got to say, that hurts me Sneak,” he said, an overdramatic fake upset lacing his tone. “You deserve every bit of this!”

You cried out and tried to protest, making a grab for his hands, but were merely shoved away when you made any kind of headway in distracting him. You wriggled and squirmed and screamed, but it was all for nothing. There was no way to make him stop until he wanted to.

“Kö- K…König, please!” you yelped, struggling to breathe. “Enough!”

You were beginning to feel like a struggling furnace as you endured his torture. Your lungs were burning from their failing efforts and you only screamed more as you grew tired of trying to fight back. The second he finally stopped his assault, you gasped in a huge lungful of air and laid back, groaning as you looked up at the blaring lights overhead and registered your sweaty forehead.

“Remind me not to bully you again,” you sighed, finally finding your voice again.

“Mhmm. I tell you all the time, but you just always insist on being so mean to me regardless,” he chuckled, unhooking his legs from your sides.

König came to rest beside you and tucked a stray strand of hair back in its place. His eyes scanned over your heaving chest and he laughed as he watched you attempt to struggle into a sit. Nevertheless you managed to wobble yourself upwards on the shaky mattress and looked down at him, then over to his forgotten phone.

“Will you do that again if I try to ask what you were doing so suspiciously on your phone?”

“There’s only one way to find out,” he smiled.

His new favourite line. The way he said it, it always had the undertones of a threat, but it was never said outright maliciously. König could affect his voice with so much masked intent it would have your head spinning sometimes trying to work out what he’d do next. Sometimes you’d get lost thinking about how long he’d practised that. The unfortunate people that had come across his path and challenged him, ending up with a far worse fate than just your tickling. Though you never liked to dwell on it for long.

“What were you suspiciously doing on your phone, König?” you said, pulling yourself out of your thoughts before you got too sucked in.

“Well, if you must know…” he trailed off and made a jump toward you, pretending he was going to attack again.

“No! No, no, no! Not again,” you cried out, leaping away from the bed.

You made a mental note to thank Soap and Ghost one day, all their messing with you had made you quick on your feet. Instinctively, you threw your hands up ready to fight and narrowed your eyes, watching his every movement like a hawk. König remained on the bed though and sat up, laughing and shaking his head to himself as he picked up his phone again and scrolled through it.

“Please, Sneaky, you really think I’m going to be threatened by those fists?” he tutted, not even looking at you as you remained in your defensive stance. “Put them away and come sit down.”

“These hands have killed people!” you defended.

“Yes, I know that, you’re a good soldier.”

“Exactly, so you should be threatened,” you retorted.

“If I was anyone else, sure. You’d never hurt me though,” he said, looking up from his phone with a smug grin. “I’m your boyfriend after all.”

You felt your cheeks heat up and immediately covered your face in your hands. Every little bit of you was drowning in the feeling of your thundering heart.

König didn’t much care for that particular title, he usually preferred to say partner, but he knew how it made you feel and he weaponised it as much as he possibly could. Knowing that he was all yours still scattered the butterflies in your stomach and you always felt like a little kid in the face of his teasing. You couldn’t help that him being officially yours still got you so excited.

“Are you ever going to stop using that against me?” you mumbled, finally coming to sit by him.

“No. I like watching you get flustered,” he chuckled. “It’s very cute.”

Before you could protest anymore though, he slung his arm around your waist and pulled you in for a kiss, softly releasing all the fight you had left with his teasing lips and tongue. You were locked together for a few moments and sighed contentedly when he broke away, pressing your head to his shoulder and feeling ready to sink down into the bed with him.

Though it wasn’t time for that yet.

“Would you like me to show you what I’ve been working on?”

You opened your eyes and faced him again, watching his nervous smile grow. Seeing him look so sheepish re-sparked your curiosity and you nodded, ready to see what it was. He hurriedly entered his password and the screen flashed open, landing on the homepage screen with a shot of you both from one of your photobooth pictures from an impromptu date months before, before your concussion. Pictures he was adamant that he couldn’t let you keep because he had to protect his image, even if he was wearing his half mask at the time. As if he was somehow a much better secret keeper than you.

You smirked at the memory of all the playful bickering you’d done over those photos and shook your head, eyeing the screen again as König brought up his tabs. He clicked onto the latest one and it opened onto a confirmation email. It wasn’t what you’d expected, not that you were sure of what you even were expecting. As you read it you raised your brows and looked up at him, wondering what was happening.

“This is a confirmation email for renting a hire car from some company in Austria,” you stated.

“Some company has a name,” he retorted.

“I’m not going to insult you by trying to pronounce that.”

“I see you’re restraining yourself now,” he laughed. “Well yes, it is a hire car confirmation for a cheap company in Vienna.”

“And you’re hiring a car in Vienna because?”

“Because, in a few months time, I’m taking you to Austria. Now, wait! Before you protest, I’ve thought it all out and you don’t need to worry about explaining any passport stamps to Price. I’ve found us flights to Slovakia and a train that can take us from Bucharest into Vienna, and from there I can take you around to see the country for a few days.”

He hastily explained himself and you smiled as you watched his hurried hand movements, his body in a flurry of motion. It was particularly fun to see him turn his hand into, what you figured, was a high speed train. He looked at you seriously as he finished, waiting in a suspended state of worry to see what you’d say.

As if you’d disappoint him.

“You sat and booked all that just for us?”

“Of course. I’ve really wanted to take you for a while now, so when you said you had time booked off and the higher ups indicated this mission will be coming to a close soon...I thought, this is the time. So what do you say? Will you come with me?”

“Obviously! I’m so excited, I can’t believe it. I’m getting to go on holiday with my Boyfriend,” you laughed, this time making yourself squeal. “It's gonna be so good! We’re gonna eat so much good food and see so many cool places and oh- I wanna see those mountains you were talking about! Can we go?”

“We will see the mountains, yes. I’ve put time aside for that,” he laughed.

“You’ve planned the whole trip already?” you asked incredulously.

“Sneaky I’ve been planning this for weeks,” he smiled. “I just finished the last arrangements there. I want to keep most of it a surprise, but…I actually have one thing on there that I need to ask you about before we go though.”

“Oh?”

He pursed his lips again and looked away before looking back to you.

“I was wondering if you’d like to go out to Burgenland? To my mothers house.”

Your heart skipped a beat and somehow you managed to reach new levels of excitement. Meeting König’s mum meant a lot more to him that it did for most people. It came with a lot more meaning. Meeting König’s mum meant that he was accepting you as part of his family, it meant that he wanted you to know more of his annoyingly buried secrets. It meant that he’d have to tell you his name.

It’s not like his own mother would call him König.

It had been a sore subject for a little while. The cause of your only serious fights so far. You’d pushed to know a couple times, complaining that he wasn’t letting you in and that it was ridiculous that you were a couple and you wouldn’t even know what to call him if anything should happen. Something could happen to him out in the field and all you’d know is a codename, he could be taken away from you and you’d never know who he was.

Of course König argued that that was ridiculous and you knew more than almost anyone knew about him - excluding his mum of course. He claimed that his name was just a burden, that it was just something that would give people an excuse to take from you. Though you argued about that as well, if someone wanted to hurt you to get to him then they’d do it anyway. It didn’t matter if they believed you knew his true identity or not.

The last time you’d gone almost hysterical because the whole thing was so silly to you. The little airbnb walls felt like they were going to go flying with all the verbal mortars being thrown, like you were going to be swept up like something from the wizard of Oz. You’d both bickered back and forth, forming a dark comedy sketch, two squeaky little cartoon characters that were on the verge of strangling each other as you both held your ground.

“Why does it matter if I know! You keep saying people will come for me, and that it's more dangerous to know you, but it's not that. I know it's not that! Otherwise you wouldn’t be seen with me, you wouldn’t have let me come this close. You just can’t face that all your walls would have to come down. You just don’t want to let me in.”

“It is dangerous to know who I am, how many times must I list the reasons? But you know what, fine, you’re right.You win! I’d love to let you in fully, but yes I am afraid of letting you close! Even though you have no idea how much you’ve taken already. I’ve given you more of me than anyone else has ever gotten, even while it’s been hard. You have no idea how hard all this is for me.”

“Hard for You? I’m in a relationship with someone that won’t tell me their name!”

“Because it's the last thing I have to protect myself! If you leave me, what then? You could decide you want out of all this complication and find someone nice and simple and then where would I be? You’d have taken everything from me.”

“What am I taking from you? Knowing who you are is not taking anything from you König. Besides, I’m not leaving you. Why do you think I’m so hell bent on trying to find someone else when I spend all my time jeopardising my job just to be here with you? You think I like facing down Price knowing that he’d turn on me if he knew what I got up to in my spare time? I put the respect of someone that I deeply care about on the line, just so that I can be with you and you’re acting like I’m ready to run off at the first chance!”

“Because you’ve done it before!”

“That’s not fair and you know it.”

König may as well have turned and stuck a ten foot spear through your heart. You’d felt a tide of tears wash up in your eyes and you’d walked away from him then, not willing to let him see how much he’d hurt you. Not that that was an option. From his widened eyes alone, you knew that he’d known it was a mistake to dredge up old wounds, his sparkling blue irises dimming as he lost his self conviction.

“Wait! Hold on, I’m sorry.”

König raced up to you and stopped you in your tracks. His strong arms wrapped around you fast and held you snugly against his chest as pathetic droplets of tears streaked your burning cheeks. You didn’t bother trying to free yourself from him. You just whimpered and clung to him as he shushed you and apologised for what he’d said, kissing your dampened face like it was nothing.

“I’m so sorry. What I just said was stupid. Will you please come sit with me for a moment… I have something I want to tell you.”

A flare of anger and rebellion flared in you for a second. It was stamped out immediately, but just for a moment you wanted to storm off and tell him that if he wanted to keep you from knowing him then he’d done a great job - that that was it. Though, you couldn’t bring yourself to follow through. Even when you hated him at that moment, you couldn’t bear to see him upset again. You knew that you’d hurt him badly already that day you’d run from him in the park outside the base, you knew that you couldn’t bring yourself to do that again.

“Ok,” you’d sniffled.

He’d sighed and taken you to the couch, sitting across from you after propping you up against your favourite fluffy pillow. You held onto it with one of your hands, losing yourself in its soft textures as you threaded your fingers through it. König watched you play with the loose strands for a second before looking you in the eyes, his face a perfect picture of remorse.

“You didn’t really run away from me, that was silly of me to say.”

“I did run from you though, I ran from you that day you tried to explain yourself after the mission” you frowned, not able to help your crackling feebly. “You were right, I can’t act like I haven’t given you reasons to be wary.”

“No. You didn’t leave me then though. You agreed to work through things and I suppose that’s what we’ve been doing…with mixed results,” he said, laughing dryly. “You haven’t really given me reason to be like this. This is what has happened after years of keeping people out and I suppose…I’m just having a hard time adjusting to what it feels like to let someone in.”

“I know. I know that really,” you sighed. “It's just hard sometimes because sometimes it feels like things are as they should be, like everything we have is so normal. Then I snap back to reality and there’s all this stuff with work where we have to pretend to hate each other and then we have missions that don’t line up and we don’t get to speak, like not even a phone call a lot of the time. Then there’s this intrusive voice I have over it all saying- well saying ‘you don’t even know his name, what is it we really even have together’ and I know its ridiculous and we care about each other and I should ignore it all-”

“It’s not ridiculous,” König soothed. “I feel the strain of these things too.”

He leaned forward then and grabbed your hands, making you jump as you were taken out of worrying at the pillow. His calloused fingers rubbed against yours and his warm grip kept you grounded into reality. The scars that scraped up the backs of his arms jumped up at you in the warmth of the yellow lights, his whole body a patchwork of battered skin. You traced your eyes from his rough hands and arms, up to his bobbing adam's apple and to the depths of his ocean eyes and worried face.

König’s jaw was tensed and he breathed as he worked up to what he was going to say. Your own breath was held then, lungs burning as you waited for him to speak.

“Other people have let me down in the past. My mother moved us to Germany for a manipulative piece of shit that hated me and looked to rid himself of me at every opportunity. I grew up with few friends, in a country that wasn’t mine, and fought so hard for so long that I didn’t know how to be vulnerable. I met a woman after I was forced to join the army that told me I was a hollow shell of a man, and that no one should have to be sentenced to dealing with me…There’s times I’ve agreed with her too, I’ve moved through life feeling like half a person some days. Then I met you. None of what I’ve told you is any excuse to treat you badly, but sometimes I’m so set in my distrust that I can’t let myself cross the lines I need to be able to get to where you are….And- and for you…I’m working on crossing those lines, because you’re the only person I’d ever want to give myself to, but for now its a slow process. You’ve seen my full face, we’ve made love and I have given you almost everything that I can give you for right now. All of this is to say…well - to ask - if you would give me a little more time and allow me to keep working on things with you.”

Listening to him then, as his voice crackled and wavered with emotion, was so very difficult. He kept a hold of your hands the whole time, his fingers shaking as he went on. His whole body looked ready to crumble as he explained himself.

Though before he could be brought down by everything you leaned over and held him, winding your arms around him as tightly as they would go. You hugged him close for the rest of the night and whispered to each other in the darkness when you went to bed, giving your affirmations, like a secret promise, that everything would be ok.

As you thought back to that night, your body shook with an icy cold shock of frisson. You didn’t want to go through that again.

“I would love to meet your mum, König,” you said softly, swallowing as you tried to tactfully avoid another horrific argument. “Does this mean…that you’ll tell me your name soon?”

He smiled knowingly at you and nodded, stroking the warm apple of your cheeks fondly.

“I will tell you sometime soon, yes,” he confirmed, speaking warmly.

You felt a beaming smile shine brightly over your face and jumped on König, feeling full force of excitement as things seemed to be heading in a good direction. Everything was lining up. Your mission would be done soon, you and König wouldn’t have to worry about sneaking around anymore because the taskforce would have some downtime until you were called upon again for some other earth shattering mission. After that you were going to finally learn his name.

You sighed. It was almost too good to be true.

“You just gotta promise me one thing,” you said, shifting your tone seriously.

“What?” he asked, breaking away from your hug so that he could look at you properly.

“If it’s something ridiculous you have to prepare me in advance.”

He rolled his eyes and groaned, falling comically backwards onto the couch.

“I’m being serious,” you laughed. “If it’s something crazy like Wolfgang or Ferdinand I need to be prepared!”

“Do you really think that that’s what Austrian people are called?” he giggled.

“I have no idea! This is what I’ve been saying, I could see your passport in a few months time and could be having to fight myself not to laugh!”

“You would really laugh at my name if you thought it was silly?” he snorted.

“All I can promise that I’ll try not to,” you grinned, crossing your hands over your heart while he stared back at you with a displeased glare. “All I’m saying is that if I see something mad I can’t be held accountable for my actions.”

He rolled his eyes again and sighed dramatically, throwing his hands up into the air.

“I can’t believe I’m being lectured on silly names by someone called ‘Sneaky’.”

“Hey!”

-☠️-

When Price called you all in the next day, nothing could’ve prepared you for the shitstorm that was going to ensue. Though you were feeling the full force of it as you stood in the darkened labyrinth of the warehouse that had been set up to emulate Rousseau’s hideout. The 141 and KorTac had been told to find the best way to clear the base and get to Rousseau, but the problem was that you were taking too long and being overwhelmed by too many of Price’s fake men. There were just so many rooms that were connected to other rooms and it meant that a lot of men could get by each other undetected. It was a nightmare.

You’d run through the exercise around eight times already and the more that Price was making you reset, the more tension was being put on the team. It was only a matter of time till someone snapped. Although, given their quick temper and worn down attitude in the last few months, you were sure of who that person was going to be the entire time.

In the latest reset, you stood next to one of the floppy wooden walls and bit your tongue, watching on with fear as Ghost marched up to König and got in his face. They were almost mask to mask, eye to eye as Ghost took what little gap there was between them and cinched it tight. You felt every little notch in the wood then, backing yourself into it just so that you could force yourself not to get yourself in trouble by intervening.

“Stop fucking around you useless pile of shitting cloth!”

ouch.

“You’re blaming me for the reset?” König scoffed, squaring up his shoulders. “If you would stop lagging through the hallways and would get them cleared properly, then we might be able to get through one of these attempts successfully, Lieutenant.”

“It was your bright idea to split off with Soap and Gaz and leave us with Horangi. So far it’s been nothing but problems with you and your team rushing and getting hasty and now I’m done. We’re doing it my way again. Slow and methodical. Like it or lump it, king cunt.”

“Problems aren’t from me going too fast, they’re occurring because your team isn't clearing the halls properly, Ghost. I need Soap because Fender is out of the country, I need someone to blow the doors so I can breach plus the extra cover. Your idea failed five times already, why don’t we try to execute mine properly, hm?”

“I’ll fucking show you an execution, König!”

Ghost rammed König and sent him back peddling into the wall you were leaning against with heavy thud. You were sent flying forward as the wood bounced and watched as it rattled with the men’s efforts to take each other down.

It was like watching two stags lock horns, they were grabbing onto each other furiously and neither man seemed to want to let the other go. König swung his fist and Ghost dodged. Ghost tried to knock König unbalanced with a kick, and only succeeded in almost sticking his boot through the cheap chipboard.

The rest of you watched on helplessly. There was very little anyone of you could do to pull the two titans off of each other - Not if you didn’t want to get taken out of action in the process.

“Right! That’s enough boys!”

Price’s voice echoed through the warehouse, powerful and commanding as it sailed through the air like a brick. It smashed through the two fighters and in a matter of seconds König and Ghost were standing to attention, looking up at Price from his spot on the balcony. The blue light of the warehouse shone starkly against the white in Ghost’s mask, but it failed to stick on the inky black of König’s hood.

“I appreciate that its been a long day gentlemen, but that doesn’t mean you get the luxury of turning into little school boys that can’t contain their fucking tantrums!” Price bellowed, continuing to reset the temperature. “König, stop pushing so hard when the others are still trying to clear the rooms on the left side. Ghost, work faster and spread your team out. Reset and do it again!”

The Captain’s word was final. Even at the height he stood, illuminated by a few bulbs that flickered like burnt orange like cigarettes, you saw that he was in no mood to be argued with. He’d stood watch for all of the attempts and with every one that failed he grew more and more dissatisfied as your joint teams disintegrated into in-fighting.

Well, that wasn’t going to be a problem on this attempt. Not unless anyone was in the mood to invoke Price’s wrath.

All you marched off without another word, dragging your feet as you made your way back to the start point. Ghost was glaring so hard at König it seemed like all of you were staying purposefully clear of his path; attempting to avoid the crossfire. Soap and Gaz grunted a few words of annoyance toward each other on the way, but luckily you all made it in one piece.

A few tense moments proceeded to ebb slowly by. The clatter of doors and scrape of fallen soldiers and obstacles being reset was echoing throughout the building, the heavy breaths of men around you intermingled and all too eerily you began to feel like you were in the belly of a beast. It certainly appeared that way to your eyes, you couldn’t see much through the darkness. You’d have to position your night vision down again.

In the briefing before training, when you’d had the blueprints and locations revealed to you, you’d been told that your guys would be able to cut the power beforehand. They were sending your two teams in while Price waited with another team on standby. That way if Rousseau tried to make a clever escape, Price would be there to close in on him while you rid his headquarters of his followers.

All of it was easier said than done though apparently.

“If we fuck this up again I’m going home. Fuck the dessertion charges, prison’s better than this,” Gaz muttered.

“If we fuck this up again,” Ghost growled in disbelief. “You mean If your team fuck it up, Garrick.”

“Aw, putting the blame on us, LT?” Soap chuckled. “You’re so sweet. Maybe it's me just looking to spend a little more time with you.”

His laugh still held a little humour in it, even for all the torture you’d all been through. Although he knew for a fact that he had nothing to do with it. It was his big lumbering steam train of a teammate that couldn’t be let off so easily.

It was true what Price said, he had been moving too quickly. König was frustrated. Somehow, despite not even being able to see him most of the time, and at times just barely through the green haze of your goggles, you could tell he was finally feeling the strain of working with your team. He was getting antsy and forceful, trying to power through so that he could escape the stifling atmosphere that the other men created for him.

You wanted to tell him he’d only make it worse by prolonging the day. Though it wouldn’t have been a good idea to speak to him then - not with Ghost feeling the way he was.

“If we spend any more time down here you’ll all be wishing for a nice cosy jail cell by the time I’m done,” Ghost spat.

You flickered your eyes over to König and held your breath. He looked like he desperately wanted to make a comment on the situation, his eyes were narrowing in a familiar way, the kind of look he got when he was about to fight a point. You silently begged him to stand down and cast a wary glance over at Horangi, hoping he’d stop his friend from doing anything dumb.

Though in the end it didn’t matter. Price interjected before König could air his thoughts, entering the scene like a benevolent god shouting from above.

“Alright. Begin again in 5…4…3…2…and…”

The warehouse descended into complete darkness, all lights were off and it was just you and your two teams, huddled together in the lonely gloom. Ghost silently gestured for you all to get moving and with the rehearsed speed of a broadway play, you filed into two teams and braced as Soap got the first charge ready.

You drew in a breath and felt your heart thudding in your chest, it made you tighten your grip on your gun as every booming beat cracked out like thunder. You swallowed and scanned your eyes through the green fog, watching bleary eyed as Soap set the first charge. You looked away and hunched your shoulders, already tensing for the first explosion.

The door broke away and the charge sounded off with a dull boom, soon enough your teams were ‘firing’ on your fake enemy with your fake rounds. The guns clacked and clicked in a foreign kind of way and instead of screaming or disappearing in a spray they took a moment to notice the hits and would drop to the ground like seasoned actors.

Even despite that all though, the adrenaline felt all too real. The soldiers were growing smarter smarter, even hindered by the darkness,they had begun to forsee your oncoming attacks and fought back twice as hard as before now that they'd seen your strategy a few times. It was taking longer and longer to clear the first room.

Nevertheless, determined to stay in the exercise and take it through to its bitter end. You kept down behind Ghost and shot out at the hostiles, doing your duty and hoping it would be enough. Luckily for you the men fell after trading a couple rounds of fire.

“Horangi, stay on me. Sneak when I say the word I want you to move up ahead to the first room on the left. Horangi and I will cover you while you clear it and block the entrance on the otherside,” Ghost ordered.

“Copy that,” you responded, also hearing Horangi sound off similarly.

König had moved up already, but rather than have Soap and Gaz blow the next door, they were all taking cover and helping your team with the oncoming flood of men. Even as two separate teams you were now united in a common purpose - to improve the strategy and ensure you’d never be put through the exercise again.

Most of you hated having to do those sessions, rehearsing for the main event. After All It’s not like you can account for everything that can happen when the real mission goes live. Its not like the men would be expecting you like the hapless new recruits, that was only natural as you reset the mission for the ninth time in a row.

With that in mind, you kept your gun in your hands like it was superglued to you and marched on, following through with Ghost’s plan as he directed you forward. You gulped and sprinted toward the room, taking cover behind the door and angling your head so that you could spot the men that were spraying heavy fire just inches from where you stood. You blinked and took a breath, reminding yourself that you had the edge. You had night vision.

In a flash you whirled around and took out one of the men closest to you, diving behind a desk before anyone else could get to you. Already marking out your next target, you were relieved when you spotted Ghost in your peripheral and shot up.

“Support pillar, LT!” you shouted, marking out your ‘kill’.

Ghost acknowledged you and directed his gun toward the other two, and soon enough you were standing in an empty room, listening to the fire outside. Though you weren’t done, you hustled over to the entrance on the other side and tipped a desk over the doorway, making entry very difficult. Then seconds later another explosion went off and Ghost signalled for you to follow him, covering the rear of team König.

“On me, team!”

Horangi and you followed Ghost as closely as possible, heeding his every command as you cleared the rest of the rooms with slow and steady precision. König battered down every door with Soap’s help and with he and Gaz ploughing forward, you were able to keep watch of the rear as more men crawled out of the woodwork in an attempt to surprise you.

Even with the fake ammo your blood was pumping around your body like white water rapids and your breathing came fast and heavy. The clack of the guns and the sound of feet scrabbling against the crumbly warehouse floors were echoing around your head and before long you were beginning to feel wired, could feel your body shake as you grew ever closer to the end. This was it. An escape from the labyrinth and the endless blurry green of the night vision goggles.

“Ready?” König asked, standing prone at the last door.

Ghost and Horangi took out a couple of stragglers, and once they were down and static silence was ringing all around you, König was given the go ahead.

“One last door and then we’re home free, Gazzy,” Soap grinned, setting the door to blow.

“Yeah yeah, just blow the door, Soap,” Ghost growled.

The last breach felt strong enough to shake the ground you were standing on. Though you’d concede that by the time the charge went off, you were starting to shiver a little. You were full of anticipation, ready to sit down and get some rest before the actual mission. A good night’s sleep was within your grasp.

Once that door swung out, you’d realised that you’d never been so relieved to see a potential hostage.

The new recruit made a mighty effort to mimic Rousseau, he tried to go down fighting and raised his gun at you all. Though with six people on him he didn’t have a chance. All of you shrank back from his shots while he attempted to flee, though when you noticed that the recruits back was turning to run, you took your chance and barrelled toward him.

With every ounce of strength that was left in your body you tackled the man to the ground, landing softly on his thick padding - something Rousseau definitely wouldn’t have when it came time to dive on him. Even with your body protesting, exacerbated limbs crying out for a break, you wrestled his gun from his hands and pinned them to the ground. Fake Rousseau had nowhere to go after that, he was stuck below your body even as you heaved out heavy breaths and soon was surrounded by the rest of your team.

At long last it was game over.

“Alright, very good team,” Price’s voice called, “You can take off the night vision and we’ll turn the lights up.”

You were all too eager to follow Price’s command. You whipped the goggles up and looked around in the sheer darkness for a moment until the blue lights faded on and were then chased up by the stark flicker of the overhead lights.

Everyone was blinking hard, adjusting to the brilliance and grimacing as you all looked around the grotty old warehouse with new eyes. When it was set up with low lighting there was something very intimidating about the training area, though now that you looked at it in the new light you couldn’t help but compare it to waking up the morning after a one night stand.

The chip boards looked floppy and pathetic and the huge towering walls beyond your little simulated maze were covered in warning signs and caution notices. The mirage had cleared, and finally you could look up at Price properly, settling your strained eyes on his terse expression.

“Much better. That’s the sort of performance I expect from you lot, and that’s what I want when we launch tomorrow. Get yourselves cleaned up and get ready to meet in the hanger for oh-four hundred. You’re all dismissed.”

-☠️-

“Fucking Training exercises.”

You lumbered behind Ghost and made your way to the bathrooms, getting ready to wash up with the rest of the team, hearing bed calling out to you sweetly before your early start. Soap and Gaz were unsuaully quiet, meanwhile König and Horangi were their usual type of quiet. Ghost wasn’t satisfied with that though, he was muttering to himself and stomping down the hallway like a man about to fly himself off to Rousseau and end the mission himself.

“At least it’s over now,” you sighed.

“Would’ve been over a long time ago if we hadn’t started improvising with the hired help,” Ghost groused.

“How many times, Ghost. We tried your plan and we failed, we worked mine out and we passed,” König growled. “Doesn’t matter how many times you whine about it, the plan worked and that’s all that matters.”

“Is it? Is that all that matters?”

“Yes. We all wanted out and now we’re out. Job done,” König groaned. “What else is there to bitch about?”

“It’s not bitching when I have legitimate concerns about letting a private contractor shit all over my team’s dynamic and split us up!”

“What dynamic is that? The one where you get them all killed?”

Ghost flew toward König again, except this time none of you were allowing it. You, Gaz and Soap leapt toward your Lieutenant while Horangi acted as a barrier, keeping a steady hand on König’s flaring chest. All of you struggled as Ghost threatened to explode, but in a matter of seconds he calmed enough to see he wasn’t going to be allowed his revenge and broke away, grumbling that he’d leave it.

König watched the exchange between you all and laughed to himself, the little titter escaping the thick fabric of his hood even as he tried to keep it soft. You glared over at him, not appreciating his antagonising just as you’d managed to get a grip of Ghost, though he rolled his eyes at you and walked off.

Only when he was around the corner did you finally feel it was fit to let Ghost have it.

“What the fuck was that, LT?”

“What do you mean what the fuck was that?” he growled.

The way Ghost looked at you, the way his eyes glinted like he was settling on a new target, normally would’ve had you crumbling like brittle harling in a storm but you were resolute in your mission. You straightened your shoulders and walked up to him, not letting the disappointment fade from your face.

In your periphery, you caught your fellow teammates giving you a shared look of fear. Soap and Gaz more than made up for what you lacked in that moment, but you ignored them keeping your mind focused completely on Ghost.

“Price cleared the op to run just as we practised it there, just as it was successfully run and you want to have a go at König because he happened to make a valid suggestion?”

“I’m not having a go, I’m pissed that we’re taking orders from paid guns that shouldn’t even be here in the first place! This was supposed to be our mission, Price assembled our taskforce back together all to take down Rousseau and what happens? The government get involved with KorTac and suddenly we have to play nice with money grubbing slime balls. It’s all not right, Sneaky, and I won’t sit by and take it!”

“It might not be right, but it's the situation we’re in. You might not like König, and things have been…not ideal with all thats happened, but like it or not he made a good call and Price recognised it for what it was.”

Ghost grunted and was about to fire back another load of verbal ammunition, though Soap interjected before he could say anything else.

“Sneak’s right, Ghost. If they’re telling you to let the König thing go, then let it go. Sneak has the most right out of anyone to be pissed about König calling the shots, and they’re not. Fuck sake, Ghost, even Price hates the man. If Price likes his plan, then its a good plan.”

You raised your brows, surprised at seeing Soap opposing Ghost for once. He walked over to you and stood shoulder to shoulder, holding the giant back as he teetered on the verge of a rampage. The warmth of Soap brought a calm to your bones and now that you knew you had someone else supporting you, you let out a breath you’d barely been aware of holding.

You so rarely had to butt heads with your Lieutenant, you’d never get used to the feeling. Your bones felt like they were rattling with the energy it required.

“You don’t have to worry about the team dynamic, Ghost,” you continued, hoping to expel the last of his anger. “In fact arguing with König is more of an issue than anything that he or any of KorTac can do. We get through this mission and take down Rousseau, then KorTac will leave and we can get back to our jobs until the 141 is called on again. If we fuck this up then we’ll be dealing with losses and we’ll have to keep working with them. We just need to get through this and its done…ok?”

Ghost sighed and cast his eyes down to the floor. Silence reigned for a few beats, but eventually he looked back up and eyed you and Soap and Gaz who’d moved to your other side. The blue in his darkened irises could’ve been swamp water with the way they’d been tainted with frustration. Though even with all of his anger at the situation, he had visibly sagged as he recognised he was looking at things wrong.

“You’re right,” he grunted, rubbing his head and furling up his mask. “I’ll go apologise and see if I can’t get through the rest of our time together without murdering the bastard. Like you say, Sneak - not long till he fucks off.”

With that he left to go slink down the hall and catch König, still grumbling to himself even as he retreated. You and the rest of 141 laughed as he turned the corner and eyed each other, smiles slowly spreading across your mouths as if you’d just turned up to a mad hatters tea party. A moment of euphoria shared as you thanked your lucky stars that Ghost didn’t go Godzilla on all of you before he carried on with murdering König just as he’d said.

Though a small part of you still worried for your boyfriend. You’d winced a little when Ghost insulted him, but on the other side of the coin, you realised that with the mission coming to a close soon you’d be able to stop the obligatory concerns that came with König being on base. Soon you could carry on with your illicit affair and not worry one bit that Price would be any the wiser. What you can’t see can’t hurt you, right?

“Thought for sure ma neck was gonna get snapped there,” Soap chuckled.

“I know, I was picturing being the next skull he wore,” Gaz laughed, his nervousness expelled in a low rasp. “Fuck, Sneak. Next time you want to go on a crusade, give us a bit of warning.”

“I’d have loved to have given myself warning,” you snorted, still in disbelief you’d stood up to Ghost. “It just came out of me out of nowhere. If anyone was getting scalped there, it was gonna be me.”

“Well…at the very least, thank jesus,” Soap smirked, “Ghost listened rather than wringing yer little brass neck. But you know what, Sneaky? Next time you decide to have a brave moment like that, leave us the fuck out of it!”

“Yeah, let us get out of the blast radius first, and then go at him,” Gaz laughed, slapping your shoulder.

With that they both walked off to the showers together and you rolled your eyes, following after them so that you weren’t hanging around the hallway by yourself. Your weary boots slapped against the floors and you continued to joke as you rounded the corner, feeling at ease as you got your mind focused on getting ready for the mission and the calm that would ensue after its completion.

When you got to the changing room though, you frowned when you saw König’s things scattered. Normally he wasn’t one for throwing things around, he was usually quite careful to pile things up. However his shirt was sprawled on the ground and his trousers were hung over the benches like a set of bowlegs straddling a horse. Most unsettling of all was when you’d glanced down and saw the wooden bird you’d given him months before laying on the floor just under his upturned pockets.

“Huh, big man must’ve been in a hurry to shower,” Soap noted.

“Probably wanted to try and hurry to avoid Ghost,” Gaz snorted. “Not that I can blame him, I’d hide from the LT too if I knew he was after me.”

You laughed along with the guys because it seemed like the thing to do, but the smile on your face dropped instantly afterward. Something wasn’t right. You gulped and looked over the mess of his clothes one last time and bit your lip, barely feeling the harsh scrape of your canine against your soft flesh.

“You gonna wash up, Sneak?” Gaz asked, elbowing you out of your thoughts.

“Huh?”

“You’re standing there like a spare prick, Sneaky,” Soap laughed. “You gonna shower? Or are you cooking up a little pre-mission prank?”

“Don’t encourage that, Soap,” Gaz laughed. “We need to put all that to rest. Like Ghost said, this is the last time we have to see the guy. Let’s just get past it and pray we don’t ever work with KorTac again.”

“I’m not planning anything,” you said, stopping Soap in his tracks just as he picked up the hem of König’s shirt. “I agree with Gaz, let’s leave it, alright? I’m just gonna see where Ghost got to first then I’ll go shower. His stuff’s not here, so he must’ve gone off and I figure I should make sure he got away from König in one piece.”

“Ghost getting away from König?” Gaz snorted. “Think I’d worry more for the other way around…if I gave a shit about König that is.”

You gave another little weak laugh and walked off without anything else to say. You didn’t have anything else in the chamber. Your mind was too busy reeling and wondering where Ghost got to and why König’s stuff was laid out everywhere and all the ways you could combine those pieces of information into horrible conclusions.

You walked through the doorway to the opposite corridor and mindlessly carried yourself forward while your skin burned too hot and your stomach tightened into tiny knots.

Did they have an argument? Did Ghost notice something about König’s things that gave you both away? Had he seen the bird and known it was yours? If so, how? You’d never shown anyone else the bird that you could remember, but then you cursed to yourself as you remembered your less than sound mental state and struggled to try and remember if you possibly had told the guys or shown them the bird at any point.

Why did König have to carry it around with him? Why couldn’t he have left it in his room on base or secreted it away somewhere safe?

Were you being crazy? You reasoned you were being crazy. Maybe he really had just left his things in a hurry. Perhaps he did just want to get through his-

You felt your blood run cold when you heard a low growl tear you from your thoughts and speak your name, your real name.

“You look lost.”

You glanced up after trailing your eyes along the gloomy grey floor and shivered as you finally noticed Ghost towering above you, casting a mighty shadow. He had his eyes fixed on you like a shark, cold and deadly as he surveyed your trembling form. He was glaring hot pits into your skin and from that moment on you had absolutely no doubt that he was onto you.

He’d never looked at you like that in his entire time leading you. He looked furious, distressed, agitated, so many emotions were etched those glaring dark eyes of his and you were losing track trying to figure out how to best appeal to him.

“I was trying to find you,” you murmured, barely speaking above a whisper.

“Why would you be doing that then, ay?” he gritted out, walking toward you cornering you into a wall.

His boots sounded against the floor like canons. With the way he was acting, you worried he’d shove you and crush you underneath them. Though maybe that would be kinder than the fate he had in store for you…

“You.. you- uh, tossed König’s things didn’t you?” you whimpered.

“I did.”

“Why?” you breathed, feeling your eyes welling with tears before you could even attempt to think of calming yourself.

“I’ll admit I got angry at the thought of having to go crawling and apologising to him and I lost it. I knocked his things off the bench. It went everywhere and shit went scattering out his pockets, y’know he left his wallet in his trousers, stupid cunt. Shouldn’t even have personal shit on a training exercise, but I suppose that’s what happens when you hire a bunch of undisciplined mercs… you know what I happened to see when I spotted his wallet though? You have any guesses, Sneak?”

You gulped and all of a sudden, it became all too clear to you exactly how Ghost had caught you out.

“The photos,” you whispered.

“That’s right,” Ghost growled, “I saw the fucking photos of you two poking out of it.”

Next part here

#König #König x reader #konig x reader #konig #könig fanfiction #modern warfare 2 #modern warfare fanfiction #mw2

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rel124c41 · 3 months ago

Text

NARC. floyd leech

It’s a chance to prove yourself again … and to ignore this godforsaken craving for a burger.

tags: mafia au, blood and injury, mild sexual content, organized crime, emotionally repressed, food issues, nonconsensual kissing, & post-betrayal

word count: 9436

You pluck a glass of red wine from a tray. Shoulders gliding past a humanoid Cthulhu, you pour the blood-hued liquid down your snorkel and sample the taste of dry wine. It is a Pinot. Gratefully for this, you take care to pour a bit more in your snorkel. Though, just as you duck under the wayward stretch of a shark’s gesturing, cigar-holding hand, – smoke from a White Russian cigar furling out of his rubber lips like crisp, morning fog that a ship must part through – Jesus asks, scandalized, in your ears, “Are you drinking on the job?”

The wine halts its descent down your throat. Holding (almost choking on) the liquid in your mouth, your eyes momentarily widen in surprise. You throw your head back and down what is left in your snorkel, because it is necessary to communicate with an empty mouth. “I thought you said you didn’t have any eyes in here.”

No one can really blame you for how your own eyes start to flutter around the room, like tracking an energetic butterfly.

“I took the precaution of sending Rook to plant S.T.Y.X. cameras in the ballroom. I, however, did not know I would have to take any precaution against one of my spudlings being inebriated,” Jesus chastises.

Caught red-handed, you feel heat crawl up your face. “ …It’s just one drink, boss.” Even though it is soft, you can still clearly hear that admonishing huff of breath come through your ear-piece while your personal Jesus – your boss, Schoenheit – breathes with affront. You decide that you will hold the cordial glass for the rest of the night as decoration rather than drinking it.

“One too many.” The words are so cold that you feel a shell of frostbite coat your earlobe. “I expect your greatest performance, Potato. The audience is very bilious tonight.”

Bilious, as in bad-tempered. For a moment, it feels the weight of the world socks you in the ear. That you know too well. Whether they are actually watching through the S.T.Y.X. footage back home or are simply holding up an ear to tomorrow’s whispering grapevine, the audience is upset with you.

If tonight’s performance does not go well, there will be no more stage for you. The next time you appear to the audience, it will be on your curtain call. You imagine Rook (under Schoenheit’s instructions) taking a knife to your throat with all the poise of a violinist playing its instrument, the red notes splattered across the leather seats.

The thought makes you yearn to down the rest of the Pinot.

Instead, you find an appetizer table to stand by inconspicuously. And though you have already been stricken by the sight (which caused you to even grab a drink!) you glare upwards with a furrowed brow, through the polycarbonate sheets of your swim-goggles, towards the second floor.

Above the ballroom is a circular platform walkway, connected to the ground by two spiral staircases. Leaning on the golden railing that twists like interlocking peppermint canes, the left hand man of Ashengrotto fiddles with a single drumstick. It propels through his hand like a miniature helicopter blade, spinning effortlessly. Sullen and bored, his eyes flicker all across the ballroom to find a crumb of entertainment. In Floyd’s right ear, Ashengrotto is talking – yet most likely being ignored too.

His outfit is … juvenile. (the sneer blooming on your face is natural) Unlike the other attendants, the eel-mer is simply dressed in a graphic tee – your HUF graphic tee with Spider-man and Venom on it – and sweats. There is a ketchup or tomato soup or blood stain on your shirt’s collar. A pair of Monty Python bunny slippers peek out from the pooling, gray fabric around his ankles. The ears flop as he squirms back and forth on his feet.

Ashengrotto is dressed much better – an expensive, freshly pressed notch lapel suit of cobalt and swirling violet – but it is still very different from the fool’s play that is happening below them. You survey the crowd wearing rubber fish masks, diving equipment that conceals their faces, and any other variation of deep sea disguises. The ocean tonight is full of sycophants..

Most people think an Ashengrotto masquerade is the zenith of high society. Tabloids have waxed poetry about the ‘nocturnal beauty of a deep sea labyrinth where desires are found in nebulous waves’ and how the masks give ‘a thrilling sense that we are all drowned, wayward souls brought together in harmony under his glorious might’. You know better. That flowery poesy is a mere facade in a game of facades. Ashengrotto likes to throw these masquerades so often because he likes to laugh at others who unquestionably follow his every whim or will.

Schoenheit has informed you that Ashengrotto is a schadenfreude. Not too fluent in German, you asked for the translation. The two jigsaw puzzle words of schaden, which is damage, and fruede, which is joy, connect to make schadenfreude. It means Ashengrotto experiences emotional pleasure at the sight of others misfortune.

‘There is no better sight to Ashengrotto than the sight of some poor, unfortunate soul begging on their knees at his doorstep. You would do well to remember that, Potato.’

Remember it you shall and you have. One drink is not enough to send you to your knees or make you beg. However, to Schoenheit, sipping a drop of wine tilts the scale in favor of the one-out-of-ten chance of you walking up there, blowing your cover, and smashing the empty glass in Floyd’s face.

Instead of doing that, you ask conversationally, “When was a covenant struck with the Shrouds?” You wish Schoenheit would have more trust in you, but you are well aware you lost that trust. Waiting for an answer, your eyes search the environment for those mentioned cameras.

“When you were out of commission.”

All of your limbs flinch at that, as if you have just taken a bite of the world’s sourest lemon. “Ah.”

How altruistic of Schoenheit to remind you.

Being out of commission was very unlike you. For five years, you have known Schoenheit; for four, you have worked for him. In that time, sick days were once-in-a-lifetime events. You pride yourself on how effectively you worked because, for three years, you have known Schoenheit’s face and for two years, you had been in the upgraded position from canon-fodder to information recon.

Then, for one whole year, you had … well, you rather not say. Speaking it would be like swallowing a bouquet of roses but without the petals and solely the thorns. At the very least, you inform Schoenheit on new information, just in case he has not seen it on the cameras, “He’s here, boss.”

“Ah.” At least both of you are dealing with this in stride. After that faint whisper, the earpiece fixated tightly on your snorkel is quiet for a few moments. In that time, you stumble into a memory.

As the kunai slams into the wall by the door’s opening entrance, emitting a sharp warning bang, you announce to your uninvited guests, “If it’s the mailman, you can leave the package by the grocery bags like normal. If you’re here to stop my heart, someone’s already beat ya to the kill.” With that said, you let your deceased arm drop and fall limp on your mattress.

“And if it’s your boss?”

Wincing, you respond, “ … ah, I supposed you’re welcome.”

“Thank you,” Schoenheit says primly as you hear your apartment door close.

Though he says nothing, you can hear Schoenheit’s eyes flickering across each item of a break-up vomited across your single room apartment. Ah, where to even start? The snow white vivisection of the beheaded bear that he made for you at Build-A-Bear? How about the dart board where a handful of porcupine quill darts stick out of a five-tiered photo of you and him squeezed tight in an arcade’s photobooth? Yet, who could neglect to look at the real ruins of the relationship which is you, spread out like a starfish on your bed, eyes raccoon-ed with running mascara and insomnia?

After scrutinizing over the heartbreak hurricane that has torn through the room, Schoenheit starts to make his way over to you. It only takes a second to recognize that he did not come alone. You hear a second pair of shoes. “Oh, mon cher,” Rook says sullenly.

At least you don’t have to turn your head to see who it is. Body comatose in dolor, you cannot be bothered to move an atom of yourself besides the hand that feeds yourself and your bunny a bowl of carrots.

You hear one of your two superiors seat themselves at your bar as Oswald nibbles an orange stalk from your fingers. “How long do you think you have been here?”

“Must be more than a couple days, three?” You put a carrot in your mouth as you wait for the reveal.

“A week and a day,” Schoenheit supplies the answer. Then, he repeats chastising, “A full eight days.”

“Hm,” you hum, just as acknowledgement to let him know that you heard him. Eight days seems so insignificant. You press another carrot to Oswald’s lips as he takes it in his chattering teeth. As the ebon Havana whittles the vegetable down to nothing, you depress your fingers down onto his fur, feeling the vibrations of his nibbling on your chest.

Eight days? If you had the energy to scoff, you would be up in Schoenheit’s face with the loudest, most scornful scoff he has ever heard in his life, a scoff that would have the academy sending you home with a performing arts award.

Eight days is nothing!

Your apartment goes quiet for a beat. Unsure which one has previously sat down at the bar countertop, you listen to the single pair of footsteps that walks around the wreckage. Crunching glass murmurs in the air. Again, you are unsure on whether one of your two superiors has picked up a photograph frame you bludgeon to bits or has accidentally stepped on the skeleton remains of a ceramic plate you two painted downtown at some rickety pottery studio.

You bloodlet a year worth of your time for him. He left. So, you broke everything that could be a reminder of stolen seconds, minutes, and hours – even though it does not reverse the clock at all – to cement the finiteness.

No going back: that is what you wanted your destruction to symbolize. You know that is not where your feelings lie. Reversing time is all you want to do. All your love and longing is strapped to you like a huge hiking bag, and you cannot find it in yourself to shoulder off that paralysis-esque weight. Thus, it crushes you, much like how Oswald crushes down on your sternum when he starts to make biscuits.

“Do you plan to make it nine?”

That rouses you enough where you stop looking at the ceiling and drop your cheek on the right side of the bed. Schoenheit is the one sitting at your bar. Plucked straight from a vogue magazine, your boss looks like Jesus himself with his shoulder-length hair. His halo is the light shining in your set of a dozen, upside down cordial glasses. Like sleeping bats, they hang from your iron mounted, wine glass rack and cover him in evangelical sunshine. Your personal Jesus who came to console you after a break-up.

“I don’t know,” you verbalize. Moodiness makes you brave. “Why don’t you stay for the next twenty-four hours and find out?” You put another carrot in your mouth, intending to turn back to staring at the ceiling when, “Ew, bunny hair.” You flick your tongue up and down, trying to dislodge the stray black hair.

Chuckling with a dangerous undertow, Schoenheit says, “I wish I could but I have much better things to do with my time than watch you eat your pet’s hair. Time should not be wasted. I know, Potato, that you can use your time more wisely than this.”

Oswald’s hair finally out of your mouth, you bite back, “No, I’m quite content doing this forever.” This time you take care to brush your fingers on the edge of your shirt to rub off pet fur before you reach back into the bowl.

“Well, I tried to be gentle about it.”

Oswald is plucked off your lap. You give a noise of protest when the rabbit is handed to Rook. That noise is effectively silenced when a disposable syringe tip is placed on the skin folding over your carotid artery. Not yet pressing it, just a small apply of pressure to remind you of its existence.

Your slow blink is confronted by the blink of awe that rinses over Schoenheit’s face, thoroughly shocked at your lack of reaction. In the grand scheme of things, eight days truly is nothing. And, in the grand scheme of things, death really is nothing. “I loved him, Schoenheit.” You have no idea what could possibly be in the syringe. Poison made by your boss has made men weighing two hundred plus pounds drop in seconds and has made others dissolve into a bubbling puddle of red.

Thus, you continue on, bitter and thoroughly hurt, “I loved him like a garden loves the sun and rain. I loved him like a guitar loves making music. I loved him like … oh, I don’t know. More than anything really.”

“The sustenance from a kiss is a fertilizer like no other! From each replenishing embrace, a flower grows in the garth of our hearts! What a beautiful seraphim love is! A free spirited angel of our making! Some might even say finding love is like finding Heaven on Earth! Que c'est beau!”

“You’re not helping.”

“Ah, je suis désolé,” Rook apologizes, switching his energy outlet from an impromptu poetry slam to brushing Oswald’s fur in neat sections.

Schoenheit’s eyes are testy as they regard you. Two rich pools of orchid violet dissect you from the top layer of epidermis down to your bone. You are very curious to what those keen eyes could be seeing in the decrepit, disgraceful state you are in. Is there anything left to salvage from you or are you a lost cause (a potted plant, too withered to revive)?

You flinch when the syringe goes in. It feels like pinching skin between metal. As mysterious fluid flows through your carotid artery, you listen to Schoenheit’s lecture, “He has stolen from me something that was in your possession. Something that I trusted you to keep safe. That I cannot forgive.”

When the syringe is pulled out, you offer nothing more than a wince. You want to be a smartass and ask, no bandage?, but you continue to listen on. “Diligence. Excellence. Relentlessness. Those three values are what Pomefiore is founded upon.” The cap clips over the empty needle of the syringe. “I have full confidence in you that those are memorized in your mind. Yes?” Those orchid lakes seem to grow bottomless and nebulous. Which of the Greek Gods must you never look in the eyes?

Jesus pulls back from your coffin-bed. Oswald is put back on your chest like a bundle of flowers.

“The heart is flexible. There is always a place to make new love.”

You have no idea what is in the syringe but you sit up in bed, feeling refreshed like one does after a long shower or long nap.

After they leave, on your countertop and under the hanging wine glasses is a ticket to Ashengrotto’s upcoming masquerade along with three vials of swirling colors that move like tiny lava lamps of blue, red, and yellow.

“Remind him, Potato.”

So caught up in memory-lane, you startle because who are you supposed to remind? And remind them of what? Jesus (the actual Jesus, not your boss), did a week out of commission really have you in such disarray?

Yet, you know each intricate circumstance that leaves your nerves so shot. Just like you know exactly where freckle is on his back, the exact hues that blend together to make up the color of his contrasting, gazing eyes, and just like you know the print his teeth leave behind when he bites down. All that information is left in high, extensive detail in the files of your mind.

Luckily, Schoenheit was only beginning his sentence with Remind him, Potato. You listen to the rest of his words and commit them to memory. “That he is not the only one on the stage. You are there too. On the same stage.”

You inhale a tiny planet of air. Steeling yourself, you take one last glance up to the second floor. The only person who could recognize your face from the casting call of tonight’s performance stands up there, picking his nose with his pinkie like a child. Tonight is just: him, you, and this wire.

The objective of tonight – in order to proceed to the main objective – is to find someone to inject with a syringe.

You have exactly three. Blue, red, and yellow. Three plastic vials that are hidden in a pocket professionally stitched inside the inner wrist of your suit. Nestled together like newborn bunnies nursing, they lie in that pocket and await the moment you take out the needle from your boutonnière.

It is an impossible task to bypass security into an Ashengrotto masquerade. Without fail, guests are scanned down for metal lingering on their bodies. Thus, creative liberties need to be taken to complete Schoenheit’s wish. Underneath the rose pinned on your suit are three needles. They blend together with the metal found in a boutonnière, and that disguise allows you to perform on stage.

A brief [Aside], they also do not check shoes here with their metal scanners.

Each vial has a different job for tonight. Blue, red, and yellow. All your primaries gathered together underneath the veins on your non-dominant wrist.

If injected, blue will cause a seizure unlike the likes anyone has seen before, causing bones to climb into directions thought impossible of anatomy as the victim crawls upward for heavenly salvation. If injected, red will cause the punctured spot to dissolve, flesh dripping away to reveal bone that falls away like a melted jar of sugar. If injected, yellow will cause any wounds to heal, reversing all damage no matter how grotesque or twisted out of proportion.

The best thing about them is there is no need for a syringe. As soon as the needle pierces something, the liquid is pulled out of the plastic by its own fate. Right now, you look around for a masked individual (anyone besides Ashengrotto and Floyd) to empty the blue one into.

It has to be a distraction of magnetic caliber. Everyone’s focus needs to be pulled, even those of the most insignificant waiter to Ashengrotto himself. No matter what, it has to be compelling and spellbinding.

Which is why you chose a man wearing a diver’s helmet. So when his Herculean head inevitably falls, it will cause a loud clank! that is heard all the way from the second floor.

It is why your conspiracy starts off delicate; the femme/homme fatale simply spreading out their influence in subtle ways. You only know you had him ensnared in your web when the arm you are running a hand upon relaxes, his previous flinch and tension melting like a peppermint in the mouth. You flutter your eyelashes at him from behind your goggles.

“My apologies. I didn’t mean to startle you; I was simply hoping to get the hors d'oeuvre in front of you.” You retract your hand but not without giving his elbow a teasing squeeze.

It is difficult to deduct any sort of thought from the impenetrability of his costume. Sealed away by blue-rusted brown copper, his ‘face’ is a tenebrous ebony with the words Anchor Engineering, 1913 as his temple and then as his chin. Unperturbed, you stare lovingly into the cold, lifeless circle.

He side-steps but does not leave. That’s good. As you masterfully pluck a shrimp square off the lazy susan, you make sure to turn your victim. Act uninterested in the food. Look at him as if he is your next meal.

“They always serve such extravagant, authentic seafood here. It feels as if I am truly dipping my hand into the Coral Sea and reeling in my meal from those very waters. Don’t you agree?”

The helmet sways up and down in a slow nod. His body underneath is like a statue.

You take half a bite of the shrimp square. It is an explosion of flavor; the bread, sauce, and meat combines into one sophisticated umami that excites your tastebuds. When you finish chewing, actually genuinely pleased with your bite, you hum out, “köstlich!”

And whatever fleeting interest this stranger has with you is amplified, if only by a slim margin. That flat black circle that reminds you of a bottomless fishing hole in northern ice tilts, curious at your words. A smile graces your face.

“Do you speak any German?” The helmet goes back and forth in a negative response. “I’ve picked up a bit of German in my teens. A beautiful language. Köslitch, a pretty word, no?”

His body language is poised with interest. Thank Jesus, he must think you are something exotic and seductive. That intrigue will solidify his fate. “In German, it has a double meaning.”

You finish your shrimp then continue, “It means both funny and delicious. You would call a certain snack köslitch in the same way you would call someone that makes you laugh köslitch. I think,” — Here, you grab his hand. It is ungloved and a bit coarse. Meaty in your slim hand. Gingerly, you pull his hand up towards your mouth, making sure your breath hits across each of his knuckles — “, that you could fit both meanings.”

Then, mimicking a centipede with sharp pincers, you bite hard upon his index finger. And, with both hands cradling his single hand, you slip the needle piercing the blue vial into his exposed wrist. A crescent mark of teeth lingers on the top notch of his finger.

“I’ve always had this secret yen for funny guys.” The black hole leans forward, intense. “Meet me in the bathroom on the second floor in ten minutes.”

Yet, walking away, you know the diver only has five minutes of oxygen left in his tank.

“Ya never had a burger?”

Even though, yes, you did just previously confirm that, Floyd’s awestruck words leave you wide-eyed. You are in disbelief over how … in disbelief he sounds! Lips on his cheek, lipstick-staining activity halting momentarily, you ask, “Is it really that hard to believe?”

“It’s almost impossible to believe!”

You chuckle with a dumb grin. Used to his dime-flipping moods, you lean in to continue peppering his face with kisses. Arms already around his neck, you pull him just a few more centimeters down so you speak into his ear. “Well, we just gonna have to order one after we fuuuck.”

Despite the chuffing link you have with your arms around his neck and with your legs around his waist – your crotch rubbing eagerly and teasingly up against his! – Floyd pulls back from you. It is almost comedical the look of sheer devastation of his lipstick polka-dotted face; would be too if you were not so astronomically horny. “Never? Like never never?”

Oh God, this is going to be a whole thing. “I don’t know. Maybe as a kid? Come here.” You tighten your legs around his waist when he tries to pull himself up from your apartment’s bed. Doubling down, you fasten your pace a bit when grinding down upon his crotch, feeling the familiar shape of his penis in his sweats moving against you so nicely. “Forget burgers. I want a different kind of meat.”

“I can’t just forget something like that! Who the hell grows up without eatin’ a burger!”

How you desperately wish to reverse time when his steadyfast words reach your ears. There is a determined fixation in his voice. You let your arms fall by your head as Floyd’s hands squeeze your ass; he’s now no longer reciprocating in your grinding. Putting on your best pouting face like a young actor desperate for the role, you whine, “If I knew you were going to be like this, I would have said yes.”

“But seriously, how have ya not?”

“I don’t know. It wasn’t something my parents made and now I’m on this caloric diet that has me eating whole foods.”

“A hamburger is a whole food. It’s a whole cow.”

“Ugh, I don’t know! Can we please have sex!”

You throw your head back in exasperation. Legs fall down by your side. Floyd had the munchies after coming back from your bowling date, so you thought it would be nice to brainstorm aftercare options for dinner together — ping-ponging between the idea of ordering takeout or going somewhere. Curse you and your big, dumb mouth.

“Nope! We’re goin’ out again!”

Just like that, he is skirting around your apartment to pick up the graphic tee he shucked off. His Neckface dunks are already hooked on the edge of his fingers when you sit up, readjusting your wrinkled shirt. You need to fix your cosmetics. However, when your hand falls around the oyster-shell of your compact mirror, your other hand is grabbed.

“Let’s go! Let’s go!” Floyd cheers, half-dragging you to the door. He is ignorant to your distress as the compact-mirror slips from your grip, soap-esque. “Me and my brother used to go to this place all the time. They do this whole burger of the week thing; it’s like pun-based burgers. My brother kept going back for the jokes, but I just think the grub’s good. You’ll love them! The owner’s super nice and I met his wife and kids –!”

“Floyd.” Your feet digging into the carpet finally grabs his attention. His face is equivalent to a giant question mark. “I need to check my face.”

The blank look on his face is wiped by him moving his dual-colored eyes up and down, surveying the area. His reply is genuine. “Looks fine to me, babe.” A mischievous gleam comes to his irises as he chuckles, “It’s a real sexy face. Even sexier when it’s moanin’ my name.”

Hope flares up in you. Maybe, just maybe, you can drag him back to the bed.

“Yeah, baby?” You slur huskily before pulling him into a deep kiss.

Floyd always kisses well. Somewhere in the middle of it, he spins you. Towards the bed? Hope is dashed when you hear the click of your apartment door, realizing you two are on the opposite side of it. Your boyfriend giggles the entire way down to the lobby, having successfully duped you.

The burger joint is built like a tiny house or a big shed, depending on how you view its humble spot in the universe. With the sun starting to set, the owners have powered on the string of lights crawling like a march of ants across the tiny house’s soffit. The unique footprint of Floyd’s car engine is already recognized before you enter. And, when you are seated, the waitress already knows not to ask for Floyd’s order (“He won’t order anythin’. Just trusts the slobs in the back to bring him something good.”) and the waiter claps him so hard on the shoulder you are afraid Floyd’s thin frame would break (“Haven’t seen you in a whole month! Where you been?” – here, the waiter stops and looks at you – “… and you are trying to hide things from us now?”). The energy is so light that you cannot stop yourself from leaning over your shared appetizer, waffle fries.

“You failed to mention you're a local celebrity here, you know? Warn a girl/boy before you bring them to somewhere where they’re rolling out the proverbial red carpet for them” you say, fishing a fry out of the greasy basket. You really should have done your face.

“What,” unlike you, Floyd talks with his mouth half full of words and the other half full of food, “everyone here is super lowkey.”

“I think the entire world is lowkey from your perspective.” You dot your sentence by dipping the waffle fry in the shared ketchup. “I feel like everyone is dissecting me.”

Floyd looks back again at the bar where everyone seems to be oblivious to your conversation, so deep and entangled in their own. “Nah, I don’t feel it.” And before you can refute, Floyd reaches over and bumps your chin with his finger, causing you to miss your bite. Your worry is forgotten as you dabbing your face with a napkin, laughing threats about taking the entire basket if he plays dirty with his food anymore.

At an appropriate time, your food arrives from the kitchen. It is set down on the table and this time, instead of Floyd’s shoulder being clapped, his hair is ruffled. Juice spills over the edge of the lower bun, soaking into the yeast. The bun seems to radiate its own heat as you pick up your burger – Knife to Meet You Burger (comes with thinly sliced beets) – and bring it towards your mouth.

“You eat with your pinkies up?”

Lower jaw still hanging open, you glance at Floyd. He has already taken two large bites of his burger, a ketchup mustache decorating his face. My, he really does not care about his appearance. “Hmmm?” You look down to see that your pinkies are in fact raised like two little horns.

A laugh comes out of your mouth. It has been ages since you’ve eaten finger food other than fries or maybe some whole wheat crackers. “Yeah, I guess I do.”

Floyd smiles, fond. “Cute.”

The clang as metal helmet meets ground sends a shockwave through the masquerade. A woman shrieks; when a man starts to yell out if anyone shrouded in mysterious masks might just be a doctor by chance, you make your way up the stairs.

It won’t take you long to decipher the code. The potion Schoenheit gave you yesterday heightened your senses. Hearing each click of a correct turn on the safe’s dial will be easy. Like how elevated your sight and smell are, there is a certain air about you.

Despite the entire prologue, you feel good. Heartbreak might be the costume cemented upon you in this masquerading parade but you are still capable. Pomefiore’s disciples always seek to be their best.

As you slip into Ashengrotto’s bedroom like a breeze, removing your snorkel, you forget in your joy of elevated sensations how your own heavy scent carries on the wind.

Just as the safe opens, the door to Ashengrotto’s bedroom opens.

It is a bit hard to shoulder your apartment door open with arms full of groceries, five ringlets of plastic hanging on for dear life on each of your forearms, but you still manage to do it.

Today, the click of the door seems a smidgen louder than normal. It is probably because of how you need to use your spine and hip to push open the wooden slab. Blissfully unaware your key did not manage to unlock the door on the first try like you thought, you rotate yourself so you walk into your small apartment chest first.

You would have flicked on the lights if you did not spot movement in a place that is definitely not where your bunny cage is. Five grocery bags sliding off your right arm, you hold out your second kunai, pinched in your hand.

The first kunai you throw lands a few centimeters from the man who is crouching down by your slide-open closet door, piercing the birch wood.

You take care to put down the groceries bags on your left arm. You have lettuce, eggs, and bananas in those. Hand still aimed, the point of the kunai trained straight at the spot where the intruder is, you take your non-dominant hand and turn on the lights.

“Floyd?”

Standing up – the files detailing Schoenheit’s jury tampering where two of Kingscholar’s men were killed by Schoenheit’s men and then the failed narcotics conspiracy sentence to imprison one of Ashengrotto’s men (files that could get Schoenheit arrested in the wrong hands (his) and files that could get Ashengrotto arrested in the right hands (your boss’s)) in his dominant left hand – Floyd gives you a fleeting once over. He looks as if all of your time spent together was erased from his memory. As if he has successfully forgotten it.

“It’s nothing personal, Shrimpy. Just business.”

The door of Ashengrotto’s bedroom fully opens and knocks you back into the present.

He looks handsome.

To be fair, his face has always looked handsome. He has looked handsome curling into your blankets, hair unbrushed and laughing. He has looked handsome picking you up in his car, cheek soft and squished on his steering wheel. He has looked handsome eating a burger with you, face dotted with a melange of sauce and crumbs. He looks handsome, staring down at you now.

Shock – in the terms of upsetting events that surprise you like a deer in highlights – is something Schoenheit has trained out of your system. The only man who does not act is a dead man. So, when you launch yourself to your feet, you fully anticipate getting the first punch in.

Only to be caught so off guard when your ex-boyfriend cuffs both your wrists in one large hand and sends your face reeling back in whiplash due to the connecting embrace his other hand delivers.

It feels like a spider blooming. That animal is all you can use to describe the sensation of being punched. The egg-shaped body of the arthropod is the spot where the nose lands – directly on your nose – and the spreading flame of pain is like a thousand legs stretching over your face.

A teardrop trails down the heated surface of your face as you gather your bearings. Or is it blood from a nostril? You cannot check the color of the watery drop because Floyd still has your two wrists prisoner in his single hand. With a grimace and hateful eyes, you turn so you may face him. Gaze upon his handsome face and deem it ugly.

“Shit. I didn’t mean ta hit ya that hard.” The whiplash you are receiving tonight is like a rollercoaster! Full of so many ups and downs, just like you would expect of Floyd. Still, you cannot help the look of pure dumb shock that paints itself over your face as you are suddenly fussed over.

When the hand that punched you tenderly touches your broken nose, you reel back with a growl.

“Get your hands off me!”

The files are still in your hand when you pull back. Like a magnetized magnet, Floyd follows in your desperate attempt to escape the bind he has upon you. You waste no time in clicking your heels, gaining an extra inch under your left sole. If that idiot won’t let go, you’ll force it. Left soles now sprouting a field of spikes, you bring your foot up and kick him hard in the abdomen.

Floyd falls back. The papers rustle. The click of your heels is like the tongue of a dragon sparking up a breath of fire. As his footing stumbles, you kick up and cut a long slash across his cheek and down to his lips with the knife sticking out the top of your right sole.

“Shit,” Floyd shouts as his body collides and closes the door.

When you pull your fingertips back from your face, you see that the drop from earlier was certainly blood.

Then, for a moment, you and Floyd observe each other. Intensely, both of your eyes take to tracking over the features previously known so intimately. Your eyes squint with so much vitriol that Floyd almost blurs in your vision. But, you are eating up the gourmet image of him, blood curling down the left side of his face much like the black strand curls down his right.

He smiles that familiar smile. “Hi, Shrimpy-baby.”

“...”

“Ya know, I never told ya this, but I always had this secret yen for the feisty ones.”

“Don’t spew that shit at me, you asshole.”

What a wicked game he played with you. To burrow into your life like a plump, devouring mite that took to digging deeper into the soil of your garden. A year of love is too convoluted of a scheme for a man of his ever-changing disposition to do, yet he did it. In doing so, he has destroyed your belief in the very concept of love.

This time around, you are much more unsure if the drop falling down your face is a tear or blood.

“Ya … You smell the same.” Confusion flickers over your face, so Floyd continues, “Didn’t think you’d be wearin’ the same perfume. Was almost positive I wouldn’t smell it again. Shit stinks.”

My, what a compliment. Like a practiced magician, you go to pull a syringe out from underneath your cufflink when surprise paralyzes you. Cheekbones burns as Floyd perfectly recites the French name – you distantly him saying how much he hated that language – of your perfume.

“Comme Des Garçons Avignon.” Then he names the top notes. “Smells like Roman chamomile, elemi, and incense.” Then he finishes off with, “Ya spray like twelve puffs on yourself. And ya always make sure to get in on your inner wrist before rubbin’ it into your neck.”

“There’s something evil in you.” Disgust coats your tongue as you shake your head back and forth. Why can’t he just vanish off the face of the earth? Or at least walk back into the masquerade so you can finish your job.

You cannot face the ugly truth that you still love him.

Floyd’s eyes flicker down to the ground … or perhaps only to analyze the files in your hand. All the same, a shadow falls over his features. It reminds you of each time his body shut down when emotions got too big, resemblant of powering off electronics. His next words are less confident than how he described your habits and perfume in detail. Whispering, he insists, “You should be in my life.”

What is he talking about? Your head continues shaking, almost stuck in that action. You were in his life. Both of you were so intimately entangled with one another’s life. That sentiment is now completely unrealistic; this cavern between you will never heal.

“I hate you,” you whisper, just before closing the distance.

There is a foreign sentiment you know pretty well despite the language gap. Bilingual because of Schoenheit and his right hand man, you pick up French and German much like how a child picks up alluring shells on the shoreline. You carry them in the pail of your brain. Naturally, you cannot stop one from floating to the surface as pallid plaster coats your knuckles.

Qui aime bien, châtie bien. Who loves well, punishes well.

In its original meaning, it relates to the idea that as your love grows older, you become well versed in teasing. More comfortable in your aging relationship, certain barriers fall away from the heart. The nautilus shell falls away to reveal the soft, vulnerable body of slime. Teasing happens. Tough love is natural. Right now though, as your hand clenched around a syringe falls in a diagonal arch, you use the proverb in a much more literal way.

The popcorn wall dissolves under administration of the liquid. Red churns in the tube before magical magnetism pulls into the area of injection. Floyd ducks out of way just in time and makes a grab for the hand holding the files.

TITLE: THE TEXT MESSAGE ‘IT’S NOT ME, IT’S YOU’

INT. ASHENGROTTO’S BEDROOM

OPEN on two people fighting. One holds a stack of papers large enough to be a dictionary. The other is trying half-heartedly to steal those files back, but is mostly fixated on avoiding the onslaught of punches falling in his direction. The shuffle is a violent dance. Punches are thrown and dodged. Some connect and others miss. The only sound is the huff of measured breaths, exhaling when either FLOYD or YOU attack on offense.

The room is full of three main objects; a safe, a bed, and a dresser underneath a large mirror.

FLOYD.

(exuberantly)

You’ve been holdin’ back on me. I didn’t know you could fight like this.

YOU.

…

FLOYD.

C’mon, Shrimpy, don’t be like that. Woah!

YOU

Do you ever shut up?

FLOYD.

I’d like it if you made me. Aren’t little spiders supposed to neutralize their prey with venom?

YOU.

Aren’t little eels supposed to bite their prey with teeth? … Did it feel good? Building me up to tear me down?

FLOYD.

It was just business. It had nothing ta do with us.

A punch connects with the side of FLOYD’s face. As he stumbles, a swinging leg sends his torso falling onto the dresser. It rattles like a hundred bones in a coffin shakened like a child’s birthday present.

YOU.

(voice raising)

Don’t lie again. I’m sick of being lied to by you!

FLOYD.

I never lied to you. I haven’t been lyin’ about a thing. It’s not fair that Vil gets to have ya.

YOU keep throwing punches, ignoring his words.

FLOYD, growing increasingly aggravated, abandons his position of defense. He pulls YOU in by the lapels of your suit, hoisting them up by sheer strength and slams them into the mirror above the dresser. Papers fall like autumn leaves and glass falls like snowflakes. Seen subtly behind them, a trail of blood coming from their pierced shoulders, rolling down the dresser’s side like one stretching snake of sanguine.

YOU twist yet are unable to escape the grasp.

FLOYD narrows his gold and olive brown eyes.

FLOYD. (CONT.)

I know everything about ya. I know ya can’t blow a bubble with gum. I know each mole and freckle on ya. And I know no matter how hard you try, your pinkies always go up when you eat a burger! So, you shouldn’t be with a lover who doesn’t know ya. Give him up. I can put in a good word with Azul; we could be back to how we used to be. It’s not fair that Vil gets to have you! I should have ya!

YOU

(shaking their head and laughing, haggard)

You don’t get to have me. – No-Not after what you did.

FLOYD

(angry)

You should be in my space! You should be in my life!

THE fight continues. A sharp sound much like a tongue clicking inside a mouth startles the audience. YOU press the left sole of their shoe into FLOYD’s abdomen and push back as hard as they can. A pained shout bleeds out his mouth. YOU, stumbling from the glass that managed to sink through their suit and into skin, goes to punch yet is blocked.

WITH a rough tug on YOU’s biceps, FLOYD pushes them both down to the ground. Pain flares across their back like one crashing wave. EXIT SCENE.

“Kiss me. Kiss me,” he pleads, his fingers digging so harshly into your skin that bruises will be there tomorrow. His voice is turbulent with so many emotions. “Just one. Just kiss me again.”

Fist enclosed on his shirt’s sternum, you push against him and try to rebuild the distance between you two. “Get off! Get off me, you psycho!” Each time he attempts to close the gap, you violently twist your lips away. Your body squirms like a desperate fly caught in a web. His lips collide with the corner of your lip and chin. You push back as hard as you can. “Get off me right – fucking! Floyd!”

The hands that left tomorrow’s bruises on your upper arms move to grip your writhing, wrinkled in anger face. He holds you still with tremendous strength, eye to eye. Each atom of your skull shakes with frustration. Gritted teeth almost seem to vibrate in your mouth. Despite your desperation to tear away and flee, Floyd keeps you pinned.

“I love you so much,” he confesses, dual-colored eyes brimming over. Emotion crinkles his voice. You want to scoff at his well-improvised act.

The scoff lands in Floyd’s mouth as he pulls you into a perilous kiss. Teeth act like iron gates. Closing him off from your love, you try to use each component of yourself to escape. Knees and fists curl up and push him away with fruitless strength. Nose wrinkles as if you smelt something horrid. When he tries to French-kiss you, you take the hand shoving at his chest to wrap your hand around his throat. A thumb presses hard in his trachea.

Floyd pulls back immediately, hacking and his spit flying through the air. There, you think, is your opening for freedom.

Your body rolls onto its side. You only get a shuffling inch or so away from him before he is laughing jubilantly, teeth gleaming in his mouth – Like he used to laugh at comedy shows, playing on your shitbox CRT, or like he used to laugh when breaking out into an impromptu dance, playing music and heartstrings in your kitchen. – “That’s my Shrimpy. Oh, I love you!”

Your fruitless escape is squashed as Floyd pulls you back into another kiss. This time he manages to slip his mouth past those iron gates.

According to songs, sparks fly when a kiss happens. In this moment, you feel like those sparks are not from joyous, amorous fireworks but a hundred plane engines blowing their transmission. Screaming into his mouth, you pull back so hard that your head splinters a crack into the wooden dresser behind you.

Floyd’s hands protectively cradle the back of your head after that. He rotates his body so his weight smothers. Your rotated body is once more flatten like a pancake. Lying by the dresser, you kiss – well, he kisses you. You are actively still fighting against it.

Curses and potions, you know them well. They are frequently used in your work. It is not unheard of to utilize ancient, outdated methods of magic to gain an upper hand in this dangerous tango of organized crime. Just like the Shrouds excel in technology, the Schoenheits excel in potions and curses. No matter how many charms cloaked over objects or potions brewed inside bubbling cauldrons, you have never been under a curse or tasted a potion more dangerous than love. It is the most potent, poisonous curse.

A wet drop falling from Floyd’s face falls on your cheek; tear or blood, who can tell? The next motion you make, you blame it upon the brain damage you sustained when knocking your head into the dresser’s bottom leg.

As you grab his hair and open those iron gates, you think, ‘Sorry Schoenheit.’

Slobbering into his mouth, like you are trying to fuse together, you explore the cave. Finding the familiar stalagmites of teeth and the moss spot where his canker sore from too many bedtime sodas or snacks laced with salt and vinegar. Teal hair is pulled at the root and your embrace feels more like a hook than a hand, yet Floyd still launches into the kiss with relief and excitement.

He is an everlasting object of motion. Unstoppable and breaking laws of psychics. He pushes his tongue further in, entwines it with yours. Each pressure point of contact is seductively bewitching. Floyd lets out a long, stretching groan like a widow mourning. The sound reverbs in the grottos of your interlocked mouths.

Hands flurry about in wild motion. You open up your legs and hold him pelvis to pelvis. His hands do not stop running up and down frantically from shoulders to waist. It is only because of this endless stream of movement that Floyd does not notice when you draw a Z across the back of his skull.

Pulling back from the kiss, you say a single word with closed eyes, “Somnum.”

Floyd’s own eyes fall shut and his body goes limp.

Like pushing away fallen rumble, you discard Floyd’s body to the side and bring yourself up to sitting on your knees. A shaky groan exits you. Fingers trembling from adrenaline, you smooth the pads of them over your nose – it is definitely broken – over your back – the material is wet with blood – and over your bottom lip – it radiates a soft heat. Ducking your head, you sigh.

Bewitched Sleep is one of the least complex curses. Just a simple swish of a finger writing a Z and a single Latin word, the chosen victim will fall under a temporary spell of sleep. Those guarded enough will be able to resist it though; casting a glance over at Floyd’s slumbering body, you reflect upon the notion that his iron gates must have been open the entire fight.

A glare passes over your face. It melts. Then, it comes back again stronger than before. “Such an asshole.” You bite at the air and push yourself up to your feet. One last time, you knock your heels together and the spikes underneath your left sole disappear. “You’re the most convincing actor of all, Floyd.”

It takes a while to gather up the mess of papers, shaking the glass off certain pages. Still, you pile them all back into the folder and check that none had swooped underneath the bed or dresser. As you go about collecting all the pages, you also pick up the snorkel you left by the safe. Holding it up to your ear, you say, “Have Epel send the car around to the back.”

It takes a while to receive an answer and, even when you do, the snorkel is held in your hand rather than by your ear so it is a very muffled answer. “Good work, Potato.” The praise feels empty as you stare down at Floyd’s body sleeping in a bed of glass.

He is not your problem anymore. He is not yours. Yet, it was only nine days ago that he meant everything to you and he had been yours. Just because it is over, that doesn’t mean it didn’t mean anything.

Like a sinking stone, your acid-coated heart makes itself a little elevator ride down to your stomach.

“Fuck,” you whisper before fastening your snorkel back on your face. “I’m ridiculous.”

So, ridiculously, you find yourself hooking your hands under Floyd’s armpits. Dead-esque, his head slumps forward on a limp neck. It reminds you of those nights, coming home to the apartment from the bar, each of you shouldering the other’s weight. Experienced with it, it is a fluid effort and getting Floyd on Ashengrotto’s bed is no trouble.

You shake the files in your hand. You stomp your feet to make sure each blade is inside the sole. Then, you go to leave?

Ridiculously, you find that your feet are hesitating. Shuffling indecisively on the carpet. Heavy as if cement has been poured in them. The window is only a matter of a dozen steps away yet you might as well be trying to trudge through glutinous quicksand towards a whole other planet.

Once more, your intelligent mentor’s voice rains down from the Heavens with his oh so introspective words of wisdom (this time imaginary). “Honey, ditch that loser,” Jesus-Schoenheit says.

‘Oh I wish I could. I really wish I could,’ you bemoan to the fake voice of your boss, face pinched in a grimace. As you turn around, you start to dig around in your slacks pockets.

‘I should have that pen somewhere.’ Shoving the files under your armpit, fingers flutter through the snow fields of lint at the bottom of each pocket. Where is that stupid pen? You know you were carrying a permanent tattoo marker. If you had to make a run for it after getting the codes but before opening the safe, you brought along the writing utensil so you could mark down the numbers on the length of your arm … that is, if you can find it.

A breath of relief escapes you. Uncapping the pen, you take a short moment to observe comatose Floyd. Even with his clothes elongated and stretched from your hateful hands and his skin drenched in sweat and sanguine, he rivals the very concept of beauty. Individuals favored by Aphrodite, actors or actresses with faces that belong immortalized in marble, and a blond Queen who seduces men and women with a poisonous potency: these are the type of people you surround yourself with daily. Yet, all of them look hideous in comparison to Floyd who sleeps with a slightly parted mouth and tacky blood streaming down his face. How has he warped your vision so grandly?

Upset, you force your eyes to fall away from his mesmeric features and move down to his waistline. Most of your graphic tee is untucked like normal so you have little problem with wrestling his shirt above his belly button. On his navel, above the dusting of black hair, you place the tip of the marker.

In quick yet eligible swirls, you write down your new phone number across Floyd’s V-line. A twisty six forms, an eight loops side to side, a soldier-straight one is born. You punctuate it all with a sharp dot, imagining that your very innocent pen is a dangerous knife. The stab of ink hits him so hard that he coughs in his sleep, pained.

God, you want to make him feel so much more pain than that.

Capping your marker, you pull down his shirt and pull the files from the crook of your armpit. Rereading the document’s identification, you feel just a tiny spritz of your frustration dissolve inside of you. The job is complete. Despite everyone back home thinking you would be a loose canon and fail tremendously, you manage to succeed.

Yes, your nose will have to be snapped back into place. And, you doubt Rook (under Schoenheit’s instructions) will be gentle with the whole procedure. But, at least you did not run into Ashengrotto which you consider a huge, jackpot-esque win of a night full of many ups and downs, and much lack of faith from homebase.

The door clicks open just as you reach up to your ear. Startled, your fingers depress down on the still intact communication device, sending your desolate “fucking shit” out on radio waves back to that beloved homebase.

“(Name)? (Name), what’s wrong?” Schoenheit’s voice worries in your ear as you and Ashengrotto lock eyes across his wrecked, demolished bedroom. The absolute puzzlement in those blue eyes would be amusing if only you did not know the octopus’s exact next move.

“How close is Epel?”

“He’s only one block away from your location.”

“Yeah, I got enough time.”

“Potato?”

“I’m jumping out the window,” you inform your boss just as Ashengrotto unclips the gun from his belt. Confusion has long since drained from those blueberry hues; just as hesitation has vanished magically from your feet. “Tell Epel, proceed as planned, meet me at the spot.”

“Potato! Don’t you dare jump through a window! (Name)? (Name)!”

You have a nagging suspicion that Rook (under Schoenheit’s instructions) will not be gentle when taking the glass out of your skin. It matters very little to you as the wall by your head coughs out a dusting of white plaster. A decorative new eye in Ashengrotto’s bedroom wall is just another damage left behind in the mess you have made. Something else matters much more.

There has been a dormant craving in you for disgustingly greasy food for days.

That said, you need to keep your calories in check so you could definitely use some company to reach over the sticky table and paw at your share of food. The burger of the week at yours and Floyd’s self-established ‘joint’ is Poutine on the Ritz Burger. Comes with poutine fries. Probably will put a yellow, waxy clot of cholesterol in your veins. As you leap from the window, you can already picture it perfectly.

Floyd, sitting across the table from you, licking gravy from his fingers, his shark maw gnashing back and forth noisily as he grinds down cheese curds and potatoes from your fries, looking as irresistible as a hung Da Vinci portrait.

#twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland #floyd leech x reader #floyd leech #twst floyd

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hometoursandotherstuff · 8 months ago

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What a bargain! 1990 castle house in Charlestown, IN with a moat and built entirely of decorative stone. 5bds, 3ba, $425K.

Weird entrance.

So, there's a little railing w/a few stairs that lead to a long hall with closets and mirrored doors, plus a narrow coffered ceiling.

Where the hell am I? This is so confusing- are all these little mirrors? Look at the little fake wood curtains on the window, though.

I don't see any living room, it goes right into the kitchen. There's a built-in cabinet and another coffered ceiling.

Off to the right of the kitchen is the only sitting room they show. This kitchen is really spread out - look at where the stove is in comparison to the fridge and sink.

This looks like the only living room. No fireplace or anything, so it's pretty plain for a castle.

It does have cool unicorn curtain rod brackets, though.

A couple of wood chandeliers.

Whoever took these pictures focused on the doors, so I don't know what this room is, but it has a piano.

The primary bedroom has a built-in bed thing with a sort of canopy and closets.

Secondary bedroom.

Large woodworking shop above the garage with lots of built-in cabinetry. The owner, a master woodworker, built this house.

One of the baths is not too regal looking. No tile or anything.

I don't know what this is. A bar? Model train track? Bee hive models? Aztec village model? I'm so confused.

Bath #2 has a retro art deco style shower.

Outside the moat (trench?) continues under a footbridge.

The back of the house looks pretty ordinary.

There's a 2 car garage on the side with a large parking area.

This looks like a cool outbuilding. They don't mention it in the description, but they say there's a charming woodshop, so maybe this is another one.

Cute little planting shed. Property is 1.25 acres.

I guess there were no takers.

#houses #house tours #home tour #castle houses #unique homes #unusual homes

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brooklyncircus · 19 days ago

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"Until you..." part. 4.

Hiromi Higuruma x reader.

Until you arrived, Hiromi Higuruma used to hate the damned sound of the rooster alarm, which constantly reminded him (to his frequent irritation) that he was alive, had to go to work, and continue with the same boring routine. Again.

But this time, he woke up before it went off, feeling strangely optimistic. He realised he wasn’t angry with the world. In fact, he was grateful, as everything that had happened... had led him to the moment he finally met you.

Realising this, he gave a faint smile, though he was still quite drowsy, with the sheets tangled around his legs and his hair even messier than usual.

With the feeling that the pillow’s imprint was still visible on one side of his face, Hiromi decided it was time to get up. With an exaggerated yawn, he headed towards the windows to check the weather outside.

"Today’s going to be a great day," he kept repeating in his mind, hoping it would be. His optimism was based on the belief that he’d see you again, even if only for a few minutes.

Put simply, Hiromi wanted to know if you’d survived the night. Or if you were still alive. Or if you weren’t merely a hallucination brought on by exhaustion or lack of sleep, or his own self-imposed work burnout (which was very likely, knowing him).

More than anything else, he wanted to know if you were alright.

The simple act of checking that you were still whole, alive, or pretending to be okay would be enough to calm his rising anxiety.

He grabbed the curtains and, with an anticipation and joy that felt fake and foreign, drew them open. “Ah—damn it!” he cursed under his breath, covering his eyes.

He knew he was being paranoid, but it felt as if the spirits in his flat were laughing at his foolishness. Because, upon pulling back the curtains, the sun hit him directly in the eyes, leaving him momentarily blinded.

After his small mishap—or supreme moment of idiocy—he got ready. He headed to the bathroom, washed his face and teeth, and attempted to tame his hair with a comb and a bit of gel, only to curse two seconds later because it didn’t turn out how he wanted, and a few stubborn strands refused to lie flat. Slowly, he put on his suit, shoes, and adjusted his tie.

That was one thing he found incredibly annoying: his tie. Despite several people showing him how to tie it, how to make that damned knot, he just couldn’t do it. He couldn’t. And he found himself staring at himself in the mirror, with the suicidal urge to hit his forehead against it in one go, shatter it, and then head off to work.

Minutes later, he found himself walking through the station. He’d already paid his fare, and he was nervous. Very, very nervous. His heart was about to burst from his chest, or break his ribs, or explode. Any unpleasant, intense, disgusting thing that could happen at that moment, he imagined it in full detail.

He felt tense, his shoulders stiff, and his knuckles white from gripping his briefcase so tightly.

In the distance, he heard the train approaching at full speed. He swallowed hard and felt himself starting to sweat with anticipation—he knew it.

“Maybe I’ll faint,” he thought, and felt an urge to burst into laughter at how stupid he’d look if it happened. “Maybe I could just throw myself onto the tracks and…”

The train doors opened before him, and he walked inside, feeling himself tremble. The elderly lady beside him, with wrinkled skin and white hair, gave him a curious and slightly worried look but said nothing.

There were so many people, he had to hold onto the railings attached to the ceiling to stay standing. He swallowed hard again, already hearing his own heartbeat in his ears.

Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump.

His vision was beginning to blur until...

“Oh! I’m so sorry, sir. Truly. I’m very sorry. I swear I didn’t mean to bump into you or, even less, step on you, I just…” the woman’s voice stumbled over her words, sounding both startled and embarrassed.

That voice…

Hiromi recognised it instantly, and he’d only heard it once in his life.

“But once was enough,” he thought. Yes, once was enough to recognise it anywhere.

In any life.

He turned and looked at the woman. At you. He sighed, relieved, and nearly smiled. Gently, he took hold of your arm to steady you at his side.

You were alive.

She looked at him for a split second and recognised him. How could she not? He was the man who, the previous morning, had helped her find the station to get to the library.

She knew she’d recognise him anywhere.

And because of this, a rosy blush coloured her cheeks as she stood beside Hiromi, attempting to hold onto the same ceiling rail, her hand mere inches from his.

“Don’t worry, there’s no need to apologise,” he reassured her in a kind, soft, almost tender voice. He was happy to see her again, even if just for a few minutes. “Hold on tight; the train’s quite crowded today…”

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punkshort · 1 year ago

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Chapter warnings: smut (18+ MDNI), language, lots of smut, fluff, did I mention smut?

Epilogue

September 2005

"Are we almost there?" you asked Joel, who looked back over his shoulder at you from atop his horse.

"Almost," he assured you, turning back to the road in front of him.

He had wanted to keep it a surprise, but you saw the signs on the highway and figured it out a few hours into the trip. He was taking you to Yellowstone for "a few days", and it had taken you almost a full day on the back of a horse to finally get there. Your back and legs were sore, but you didn't complain. You were excited at the idea of getting away with Joel, just the two of you, the way it used to be.

You wondered where he was planning on taking you, having ridden by several campgrounds at this point as you made your way down the twisty road that led you through the entire park. You began to see signs for Old Faithful and your face lit up.

"C'mon, this way," he called over his shoulder as he steered his horse onto a road that led to a massive parking lot peppered with buildings. He led you past a visitors' center, a restaurant, and a general store until he stopped in front of a huge hotel.

"Whoa," you said, sliding down from your horse as you gawked up at the huge building, which was made to look like a giant log cabin.

"Me and Tommy came up a week ago and checked out the area, should be safe," he told you as he tied your horses to a railing.

"The whole building?" you asked incredulously. There was no way they could have gone through each room.

"Well, no, but we cleared the first floor and barricaded the stairs after we checked the hallways," he admitted. "Still should be on alert, though."

He led you up the steps and cracked the front door open, peeking inside for a minute before opening it all the way and letting you in. He held his rifle in his hands as he checked out the dining hall and kitchen before returning to you in the lobby. You had plopped down on a couch to rest, your head twisting around as you took in the artwork and informational signage on the walls.

"Tired?" he guessed, arching an eyebrow at you.

"A little," you admitted guiltily. "Guess I got too used to a life of luxury."

He laughed and held his arm out to help pull you up from the couch.

"C'mon, I already picked out a room for us," he said, leading you down the hall with his arm slung around your shoulder.

"I feel bad you did all this work and it's your birthday," you told him.

"You don't know if it's my birthday," he reminded you, and you shook your head.

"According to Maria's calendar, it's tomorrow," you said as you gave him a gentle poke in the ribs. No one was really sure what the actual date was. It had struck a big debate in a town hall meeting, various people swearing up and down they had kept track since the outbreak, but no one could agree on the same date. Maria compromised and picked a date in the middle, and it had been that way ever since.

"A few days all alone with you is well worth it," he said. Once you reached a door marked 19 all the way at the end of the hall, he dropped his arm from your shoulders and gripped his rifle.

"Lemme double check it's clear," he told you, pushing the unlocked door open and advancing into the room, doing a quick sweep before coming back out to the hall, ushering you inside.

"This is nice," you said, shrugging off your backpack and kicking off your boots. It was a standard hotel room: one king sized bed, a dresser, end tables, and a bathroom. But it looked like he had taken the time to clean it. You noticed there wasn't much dust on the surfaces in the room, and the bed looked freshly made.

"It's not much," he said as he walked to the covered window. "But this is why I picked it."

He flicked the curtains open so you could see outside. It was getting dark, but you could see a massive, open, rocky terrain directly outside your window. You squinted, trying to figure out what you were looking at when suddenly a huge gush of water shot straight up into the sky.

"Holy shit!" you yelled, quickly walking over to press your face against the window. Joel laughed. His timing couldn't have been more perfect.

You watched the geyser erupt for a few short minutes before it slowed and disappeared, and the quiet of evening enveloped the area once again.

"That was so cool," you said, looking up at him leaning against the window frame.

"We can get a better look tomorrow," he promised you. He pushed off the window to return to his pack, taking out a lantern and putting it on top of the dresser so you could see as the sun began to set.

"Is this where you and Tommy stayed when you came here?"

"No," he chuckled. "We were practically still kids. Thought we were tough roughin' it in the woods. First night we thought we heard a bear, next mornin' we booked the tiniest cabin you've ever seen, spent the rest of the week tryin' not to kill each other."

You laughed at the image he painted for you then flopped on the bed with a groan.

"Comfortable?" he asked you, standing up from emptying his backpack and turning around.

"Mhmm," you hummed, turning your head to look at him across the room. "Come here."

He strode over to you with a smirk and leaned down, his fists pushing into the mattress to hold him up on either side of you. He bent down to press his lips softly against yours, your eyes fluttering shut at the tenderness behind his kiss. You ran your hand up his exposed forearm, lightly tracing his veins under your fingertip while your other hand wrapped around the back of his neck, your fingers carding through his curls as you pulled him down further to you.

"Y'know, it's the anniversary of our first kiss," he mumbled against your mouth before pulling back and standing up.

"Oh, that's right," you said with a grin, then sat up on the bed as you watched him tug the curtains closed. You dragged your eyes up and down his body, thinking back to that night outside the bar and how much simpler life was back then.

"What're you thinkin' about?" he asked you, the corner of his mouth tugging up when he turned around and caught you staring.

"I was just wondering what would have happened that night if I went home with you," you told him. You giggled when his gaze darkened, his mind clearly taking what you said very literally.

"I mean, with us," you clarified. "And the outbreak. What our lives would have been like, if we would have even found each other that day..." your voice trailed off, leaving out the darker thought you had. What if Colleen had bit you?

Joel could tell you were overthinking when he saw your unfocused eyes trail around the room and your teeth sink into your lower lip.

"I always woulda found you, no matter what," he assured you. When that didn't seem to snap you out of it, he continued. "Besides, if you had come home with me that night, there was no way we were leavin' my bed the next day. I can promise you that."

That finally made a grin pull across your face and your eyes light up.

"Oh, yeah?" you pressed him, wiggling your eyebrows. You crawled across the bed, laying flat on your stomach and beckoned him to join you. He shook his head but walked back over to the bed anyway.

"Thought you were tired?" he murmured, his fingers gently trailing from the back of your neck down your spine.

"Not that tired," you said, turning your head to the side so you could look up at him standing above you. "Tell me what would have happened that night."

He felt his cock move in his jeans, and he bit the inside of his cheek to keep himself from groaning. It always amazed him how you could bring him to his knees with just a few words.

He swung his leg over yours so he was kneeling on either side of you, his hips resting on the back of your legs. He ran his hands up your sides before slowly dragging them back down to your hips, giving them a squeeze.

"Assumin' I didn't fuck you in the elevator first," he said lowly, his fingers dipping underneath the hem of your shirt. "I think I woulda laid you on top of my kitchen counter, pushed that little black dress up," he said as he lifted your shirt up to your shoulders, his hands massaging your sore back. "Then I woulda fucked you with my tongue til you were screamin' my name."

"Hmm," you moaned, wiggling your ass enticingly. "You do seem to have a thing for kitchen counters."

He grinned as he gently yanked your shirt over your head, leaving your top half bare and pressed into the bed.

"What else?" you asked breathlessly, your eyes sliding shut as he continued to rub his rough hands along your sore muscles.

"You remember those red shoes you were wearin'?"

You nodded and let out a soft whimper when his fingers found a particularly tough knot in your back.

"When I saw those, I thought about fuckin' you with 'em slung over my shoulders," he said, his erection straining against his jeans now.

"I should've packed them before we left my apartment," you muttered with a half smile. "I'm sure they would have been useful in the middle of the woods."

"Oh, you wanna talk about what went through my mind in your apartment?" he asked, reaching underneath you to unzip your jeans. He could feel the anticipation bubbling inside him becoming unmanageable, desperate to bury himself inside you.

"What about it?" you whispered, lifting your hips so he could pull your jeans off, leaving you in just your underwear. He hissed through his teeth when he saw the lacy pair you chose to wear for him, leaving very little coverage. His huge hands stretched out over each one of your cheeks as far as he could before curling his fingers and giving your ass an aggressive jiggle.

"Shoulda at least packed those little red panties stashed away in your drawer," he growled, his hands massaging your ass before traveling down the backs of your thighs, his movements becoming erratic. He felt your body still under him, and he froze, wondering if he crossed a line.

"What the hell? You went through my underwear drawer?" you asked sharply without turning your head to look at him. He cleared his throat before answering.

"Well, I-I didn't mean to, I was lookin' on top of your dresser and the drawer was open..." Joel stammered, feeling embarrassed until he felt your body shaking under his hands, your palm covering your mouth to stifle your laughter. He exhaled harshly when he realized you were just messing with him, his mood quickly changing back to playful.

"Oh, you're gonna get it now," he said darkly, making you yelp when he grabbed the sides of your underwear and roughly pulled them down your legs.

You tried to turn over, but his hand splayed across your lower back, effectively stopping you with a tsk.

"Nah, I think you're good right where you are, sweetheart," he said as he hurriedly unbuckled his belt. You heard the telltale sound of a zipper, and you thought you were going to jump out of your skin. Not being able to see him but to hear and feel everything was driving you wild.

He only pushed his jeans down far enough to free his cock, stroking it in one hand while his other hand curled around your hipbone, giving you a firm but gentle tug. You immediately obeyed, lifting your hips off the mattress but keeping your arms and head flat against the comforter. Your breaths were shallow as you anxiously waited for him to touch you.

Joel watched your arms reach straight out, your fingers gripping the duvet as your braced yourself for him. He looked down to admire your ass propped up in the air. He kept a firm hold on your hip as he slid his cock between your folds, collecting your arousal all along the length of him. You let out a low moan when his tip pushed up against your clit, and he couldn't help the smirk that danced across his face.

"You like messin' with me, hm?" he asked, dragging his cock through your folds again before his tip found your entrance, and he paused.

"Answer me," he demanded, his brows furrowed as he stared at the back of your head. You felt a shiver run down your spine at his tone. It was one of the things you loved most about him: his duality. The way he could be so gentle and soft, but also rough and harsh.

"Yes," you said breathily, and you felt his cock twitch against your cunt. Before you had a chance to think, his hand came down on your ass with a loud smack, followed immediately by him sinking into you with one swift motion.

"Fuck!" you cried out, waiting as the sting from his hand and cock slowly subsided into pleasure. Your fingers gripped the duvet so tight, they felt numb. You panted against your arm, waiting for him to move.

Both his hands gripped your hips lightly as he tried to ground himself, the sensation of your walls squeezing him making him dizzy. He watched, slack jawed, as the red handprint he left on your cheek slowly faded. Once it was gone, he swallowed and steadied himself.

He pulled back almost completely and paused before he pushed back into you as deep as he could, eliciting a moan from your throat. The angle caused him to get so deep that his tip was pressing against your cervix, making your eyes roll to the back of your head with each deep, powerful thrust.

He began to roll his hips steadily, his grip on you tightening as you whimpered under him. He could tell he was hitting that sweet spot by the soft noises you made and the way you clenched around him, causing him to quickly approach his high.

"Joel," you whined under him, desperate to hear his voice, still unable to see him.

"Would you have let me fuck you like this?" he gasped, his head tilting back and his eyes sliding shut as he continued to fuck into you. "That night at the bar? Would you - "

"Yes!" you cried out, your hips bucking against him now, desperate for release. "I wanted you so bad that night, baby, please..."

A switch flipped inside him when he heard that name - baby. He groaned, his eyes flashing open, his jaw clenched as his fingers left deep bruises in your hips.

"Fuck, y'know what that does to me," he muttered, slamming his hips into you over and over until he felt your cunt flutter around him, and you choked out a gasp, letting your orgasm wash over you as he continued to jerk inside you relentlessly.

He felt your body sag, but you fought to hold your hips up on shaky legs as he chased his release.

"That's my girl. Such a good girl, always make me feel so good," he murmured more to himself than anything. A few more thrusts and he pulled himself out of you quickly, spilling himself all over your back as you panted for air underneath him.

You both collapsed onto the bed: you on your stomach, him on his back, as you each attempted to catch your breath.

"Jesus, fuck," he rasped, staring at the ceiling. You turned your head and gave him a quiet giggle.

"I should mess with you more often," you teased, pulling the hair back from your face.

"I'm gettin' old, you know," he said, turning his head to the side. "You might kill me."

You hummed as your fingers danced up his still clothed torso, your eyelids drooping. With a groan, he pushed himself off the bed to fish out a rag from his backpack, cleaning you both up before tossing it on the floor and shimmying out of his clothes. He collapsed into bed naked, pulling you against him and yanking the sheets over the top of you both.

He buried his nose in your hair, inhaling deeply before he drifted off to sleep.

You woke up the next morning to Joel's rough, calloused hands lazily drawing circles over your stomach. You were both still naked under the sheets, Joel's arms wrapped around you from behind as you slept on your right side, tucked against him. His warm breath fanned across the back of your neck, sending a shiver down your spine as you pressed yourself into him further. You were both barely awake, eyes closed as you enjoyed each other's gentle touch under the cool, white sheets.

Joel pushed his hips against your ass, craving your warmth while his hand slowly traveled to your ribs, stroking the old scars that served as a reminder of what you were willing to do for him. You sighed, eyes still closed as you pushed yourself back against his hardening length. His fingers continued to blindly trace your scars until he slid his hand down to your hip, pressing a small kiss against your shoulder. His beard tickled your overly sensitive skin, giving you goosebumps. Joel yanked the covers over you further, thinking your reaction meant you were cold. He returned his hand to your hip, his massive palm gripping it lightly while he encouraged you to roll your ass against him slowly, and you happily obliged.

His right hand spread across your stomach and pulled you close, while his left hand found its way from your hip to between your legs. He let out a soft moan when he felt your wetness collecting there, all for him. He kept his eyes shut and rested his face against the back of your neck, lazily teasing your clit with the pad of his middle finger. You sighed, your hands reaching up to grip the pillow you had been sleeping on as you continued to slowly rock your hips against his cock.

You could feel your slick spreading over your inner thighs, your legs still pressed together while Joel continued to work you slowly, like he had all the time in the world. You felt the telltale stickiness of his precum leaving a trail on your lower back while you continued to rub up against him.

You lifted your left leg in the air, your ankle resting on the side of his knee. Reaching down, your fingers wrapped around his cock, notching his thick head against your aching cunt and sighed with relief as he pushed himself into you. His hand left your clit to steady your hip against him, his other hand still pressed firmly on your stomach.

You both kept your eyes closed, savoring the slow, languid feeling of his cock sliding in and out of you, filling you up. You could feel every inch of him from this angle, fitting so perfectly inside you, rubbing his tip slowly and steadily against that one spot only he managed to find.

His left hand slid down your inner thigh, his hips still rocking gently against your ass, until his palm reached your knee. He pulled it up towards the ceiling, your foot falling onto the bed behind his legs, opening up your hips to deepen the angle.

You gasped softly and your grip tightened on the pillow. His chest was pressed up against your back, and you could hear the stickiness on your skin from your combined sweat with each of his slow thrusts and roll of your hips.

His hand remained on your knee, spreading you open for him as he steadily fucked into you from behind. You could tell by his exhale on your neck that his breath was coming quicker now. You felt the familiar coil tightening in your lower stomach, and you tipped your head back, mouth hanging open, eyes still closed.

Your movement must have finally made him open his eyes to look at you because he craned his neck over to claim your open mouth with his, his tongue lazily swirling around yours.

There was no rush. No frantic, hurried movements. Just the two of you enjoying a peaceful, serene morning.

You whimpered softly against his mouth. He could feel your muscles tensing under his hands, a sign warning him you were close. He kept his hand on your knee but reached his right hand down to your clit, two fingers working you back and forth until the coil finally snapped.

You moaned, the loudest noise either of you had made so far that morning, as your hips stuttered against him. He felt your release coating his already soaked cock as he forced his eyes open to watch you. He kept rolling his hips into you steadily while you came down from your high, gasping for breath and covered in sweat.

He was so transfixed on your face, so obsessed with the way he could unravel you, that he didn't even realize his own climax had snuck up on him. He groaned into your neck as he felt his thick ropes of cum shooting inside you.

Reality came crashing down quickly, his eyes widening as he pulled his hips back aggressively, watching the rest of his spend coat your back and the sheets.

"Oh, fuck," he gasped, scrambling to sit up on the bed. You gave him a confused look over your shoulder, still lost in the afterglow of your orgasm. He grabbed your ankles and twisted you around so you were flat on your back, pushing your legs apart and peering between them to confirm his fear.

"Fuck!" he said, more panicked now. You sat up when you realized what happened, looking down at the trail of cum that was leaking out of you and onto the bed.

"I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to - fuck!" he said for the third time, his jaw clenching while his hand angrily raked through his hair.

"Wait, just calm down, let me think for a second," you told him, your hand over your chest. Your eyes scanned the room as you mentally did the math, trying to remember the last time you had your period.

"What's there to think about? Christ, I'm such a fuckin' asshole," he said as he stood from the bed and paced around the room, rubbing the heels of his palms into his eyes.

"I think it's fine," you said timidly, still counting the days in your head. "Yeah, it's fine. We're fine," you said more confidently now.

"How?!" he exclaimed, clearly still in a panic. You kneeled on the bed now, holding out your hands to try and quiet him down.

"Joel, there's only a handful days a month where this would have been a problem, and fortunately for us, this is not one of those days," you explained calmly. He looked confused, so you continued.

"I'm supposed to get my period in like, 4 or 5 days. I'm not ovulating, it's fine," you emphasized, and you watched as his eyes softened, absorbing your words.

"Oh, shit," he muttered, tipping his head back. His body sagged with relief as he flopped back on the bed, his hand on his heaving chest.

"Relax, it's okay," you cooed, running your fingers gently through his hair. He sighed and looked up at you.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart," he repeated, and you shook your head.

"Don't be. It was such a nice way to wake up, let's not ruin it," you said softly, leaning down to press a kiss against his lips.

"Mmm, it was, wasn't it?" he said, smiling against your mouth.

"Except now, you made a mess, and I need to clean myself up," you teased, sliding off the bed to head into the bathroom.

"Wait," he called out, and you turned around. "Before you do... c'mere."

You walked slowly back over to his side of the bed, his gaze raking up and down your naked form.

"What?" you whispered, his hand reaching up to grasp yours.

"Let me see," he told you, his gaze flicking down to your cunt and then back up to your eyes. Your breath hitched in your throat at his request.

"You already saw," you teased, and he grunted, dropping your hand and pushing himself up so he was sitting on the edge of the bed.

"I wanna see again," he said sternly, his gaze dark. His hands reached out to grip the backs of your thighs, pulling you toward him so you stood between his knees.

You placed your hands on his shoulders and took a step to the side, parting your legs. He watched with his lips parted as a trail of his cum dripped slowly down your thigh.

"Fuck," he whispered to himself, his hand coming down from your leg to palm his half hard cock.

"Oh, now you like it?" you chided him, but he just nodded and swallowed, still staring.

"Would it be bad if I wanna do it again?" he whispered, looking up at you.

"I'm not sure we should celebrate it, Joel," you muttered, your nails grazing his shoulder. You shifted your weight, trying to hide the familiar ache growing between your legs.

"You want it, too," he said, noticing how you tried to keep yourself from pressing your thighs together.

You bit your lower lip as you stared into his eyes, pupils blown wide with lust. Your gaze flickered down to his cock, fully hard now and waiting for you. His hands massaged the backs of your thighs, his eyes never leaving yours as he waited for your response.

You re-counted the days in your head hurriedly before you nodded.

"Just this once," you whispered, knowing it was a lie the moment the words left your lips. He growled, one hand sliding up your back while the other firmly held your thigh so he could twist you around, tossing you on your back behind him.

He crawled on top of you feverishly, a wild look in his eye as his mouth lunged down to cover yours. You could hardly keep up with his tongue before he dragged his mouth down your jaw, sucking and licking the sensitive skin on your neck.

"Joel," you whined, your legs spreading under his weight. It felt like his body was vibrating with excitement, the urge to claim you in the rawest sense taking over. He reached down to line himself up, and with barely any warning, buried his cock inside you all the way to the hilt, making you cry out underneath him. He groaned into your shoulder, his arms wrapped around you tightly, his pace merciless. Your fingernails left marks on his back as you held on for dear life, a stark contrast to the lazy way he fucked you earlier that morning.

He was lost in his own head, pounding into you like an animal, the thought of filling you with his cum driving him crazy. You whimpered, trying to adjust your hips to ease the sting with no success. It occurred to him he was being too rough when he heard the noise you made, and he slowed his hips, lifting his head from your shoulder to look down at your face, which was trying to mask the pain.

"I'm sorry," he gasped, rolling his hips a little slower.

"It's okay," you squeaked, your eyes screwed shut. "Keep going."

"Don't wanna hurt you," he murmured, holding your hip down and rolling his cock inside you more deliberately, the way he knows you liked.

"Not hurting me," you told him, forcing your eyes open and blinking back tears.

"Liar," he said, planting a soft kiss against your lips. You moaned and tipped your head back while he continued to thrust into you slower, your nails easing up on his back.

"Think you can come for me, sweetheart?" he panted, watching your face closely for any more discomfort.

"I-I don't know," you admitted, your brows furrowing in concentration. He pulled his hips back so his hand could travel between your bodies, the pad of his thumb brushing against your clit.

"How's that?" he asked, causing you to squirm underneath him and gasp.

"Better," you groaned as his thumb built up your second orgasm of the morning. "Yeah, like that, fuck - talk to me, Joel," you begged.

"You like it when I talk dirty to you?" he asked, already knowing the answer.

"Yes," you hissed, arching your back as he continued rolling his hips into you.

"What'dya wanna hear?" he grunted. "Want me to tell you how tight your pretty pussy feels, even though I already stretched it out last night and this mornin'?"

You moaned and pinched your eyebrows together, his words washing over you, making you climb higher.

"Or you wanna hear somethin' sweeter?" he asked, his hips slowing a fraction. "Wanna know how much I think 'bout you all day? How I can't focus on anyone else when you're in the room, hm? How I've never loved anybody the way I love you?"

You felt the tears prick your eyes again, but this time it wasn't due to pain.

"Joel," you whispered, bringing a hand up from his shoulder to rake through his hair. His thumb picked up the pace and your eyes rolled to the back of your head.

"That's right, say my name," he groaned, loving the way he alone could make you come undone. "Wanna hear you scream it when you come for me, can you do that, sweetheart?"

You nodded obediently, eyes squeezed shut and jaw slack as you felt yourself about to let go. He felt your walls tighten around him, and he smirked, his thrusts picking up the pace again.

"Oh, fuck," he gasped, his hips stuttering. "C'mon, let me hear you."

"Joel!" you yelled out, just as you promised, your back arching off the bed and your hand yanking his hair violently as you felt the wave of your climax wash over you yet again.

"That's my girl," he said through gritted teeth, his hips snapping into you again, the hand that was previously on your clit found its spot back on your hip, keeping you in place.

"I'm gonna come, sweetheart," he panted, his vision getting spotty. "I'm gonna come in this tight pussy, make a fuckin' mess."

"Do it," you whispered, your body lax underneath him, eyes slid shut.

"Need you to say it," he pleaded, his voice pained. You opened your eyes and looked at him. His forehead was dripping with sweat, his eyes wild as he stared down at you, waiting for your permission again.

"Come inside me, Joel," you murmured. You felt the goosebumps pop up under his skin at hearing your words. He hung his head, giving you just a couple more thrusts before his body stilled with a deep groan.

"Fuck!" he growled, looking down as he throbbed inside you, watching as his slow thrusts eventually pushed his hot spend out, collecting at the base of his cock. His arms gave out, collapsing on top of you, catching his breath against your shoulder.

"Goddamn," he croaked, turning his face towards you after a minute. "I like bein' inside you after."

"Yeah," you whispered, your eyes closed, enjoying the feeling of having him everywhere.

"Happy birthday," you added with a smirk. He let out a huff that sounded like a tired laugh, and he gave your shoulder a quick kiss.

"Thank you," he muttered, dragging his lips over the curve of your shoulder, making you shudder.

"Did I hurt you?" he asked as his hand wrapped around your waist.

"No, I would have told you to stop if you hurt me," you said, opening your eyes to look at him. He searched your face for a moment before nodding and shutting his eyes.

You let him stay like that for a few minutes until the stickiness between your legs became too uncomfortable.

"Joel," you murmured, and he hummed in response. "I gotta clean up."

He let out a groan of protest before he shakily pushed himself up on his arms and slowly slid his cock out of you with a hiss, staring at the mess he left between your legs.

"Nuh uh, don't get any ideas, I need a break," you warned him, pushing on his shoulder so you could stand. He laughed, helping you up on unsteady legs.

"Couldn't do it if I tried, I ain't Superman," he joked as you wobbled towards the bathroom.

"Coulda fooled me," you called back over your shoulder before you shut the bathroom door behind you.

"I thought we were going to see the geyser again?" you questioned wearily as you watched Joel unhook a canoe from inside the cabin he had just broken into. He dragged it out onto the grass before turning back to find paddles inside.

"It goes off like every hour or somethin', we'll see it a bunch more, I promise," he said, handing you a paddle. You took it gingerly from his hand as he tossed his own into the canoe and began pushing it on the grass towards the water.

"You sure the horses will be ok?" you asked, not thrilled about the idea of floating down something called Firehole River.

"Yeah, they're good. I got them all set up in a shed. Plenty of food and water. You alright?" he asked, finally noticing the discomfort on your face.

"Yeah, I'm fine," you nodded. You wanted to do whatever he wanted to do. After all, it was his birthday.

"Don't look fine," he said, giving the canoe a final shove but keeping one foot inside so it didn't float away.

"I'm just not really good on water," you finally admitted. "I get sick, the waves make me nauseous."

"Oh, don't worry about it, sweetheart. You'll be alright. River doesn't have any waves, it's slow. But if you do start to get sick, we can go back."

You agreed, if only because he seemed so excited for whatever he had planned and you didn't want to ruin it. You took a tentative step into the canoe, your hand flying out to grab onto Joel when you felt it shift under you.

Once both feet were inside, you quickly sat down so your weight didn't rock the boat. Joel jumped in with ease after he gave the canoe a shove from shore, and he began to paddle north. It was a cooler day, but the sun warmed your skin to the point where you ended up shedding your coat after a few minutes.

"Hardly even need to paddle, current's takin' us fast," he said, setting down the paddle and leaning back, admiring the huge trees that lined the river. He turned his head to watch a small herd of deer drinking from the river as you floated by a clearing in the woods.

"This is actually very peaceful," you admitted, closing your eyes and leaning back against his chest.

"Feelin' sick?" he asked as he rubbed a hand up and down your arm.

"Nope, I'm good," you told him. "Where are we headed?"

"It's a surprise," he said with a grin.

"It's your birthday, you're supposed to be the one surprised."

"I seem to remember bein' surprised this mornin'," he teased, and you swatted at his arm.

"Fine," you grumbled, closing your eyes again.

All of the physical activity from yesterday and that morning must have caught up with you because the next thing you knew, Joel was whispering in your ear, waking you up.

You squinted up at him, the sun still powerful overhead.

"Must've wore you out," he joked as he tried to paddle the canoe to shore. Your body was still draped over his and clearly in his way, so you sat up to free him, stretching your arms with a yawn and looking at your surroundings.

"How long was I asleep?"

"Maybe half an hour," he said with a grunt when the canoe hit land. He stood up and hopped on the shore, leaning forward to haul you and the canoe halfway onto the gravel before reaching out his hand to help you up.

"What a rugged, sexy boyfriend I have," you giggled, and you swore you saw his cheeks flush when he smiled.

"C'mon, grab your backpack, we gotta walk a bit but it ain't far," he said, waiting for you to be ready.

"What's not far?" you tried again, adjusting your shoulder straps as you fell in step next to him.

"You'll see," he said with a smirk, and you rolled your eyes.

You walked for maybe 15 minutes on rocky, white terrain before you saw the steam in the distance. You squinted, trying to figure out what you were looking at. It wasn't until you passed by a sign that said "Grand Prismatic Spring" that you figured it out.

"Is this a hot spring?!" you exclaimed, and he nodded, the corners of his mouth turning up as your excitement bubbled over.

"Largest one in the country," he said as you got closer.

"Oh my god!" you cried out, unable to contain yourself when you saw it. It was huge. The steam was thick as it hovered over the water, but you could still see the size of it, and the colors. It had to be the most beautiful thing you had ever seen. The vivid oranges on the shore that faded to bright yellows, then greens to a deep blue took your breath away.

"Can we swim in it?" you asked him, and he shook his head.

"It's too hot, you'll burn," he told you regrettably when he saw your face fall. "But there is another spot a bit of a ways over there called Opal Pool. Me and Tommy swam it in when we were here."

"Sounds beautiful," you told him, leaning up to give him a quick kiss on the lips. "Lead the way."

It was only a ten minute walk from the hot spring to the small body of water. Joel warned you as you yanked off your shirt that it wasn't a hot spring, so the water was a bit cooler, but it should still be comfortable. You shimmied out of your pants, eager to soak your sore muscles in the crystal blue water.

You tested the water out briefly with your toes before going all the way in as quickly as you could, submerging yourself up to your collarbone. He was right, the water was a little chilly, but it still felt good. You turned around just in time to watch his fully naked form come in after you, a quick puff of air leaving his mouth once he realized the temperature before he made his way over to you and wrapped his arms around your ribs, pulling you close.

You hooked your legs around his waist and rested your arms around his shoulders. Leaning forward, you pressed gentle kisses against his neck and a contented sigh left his mouth.

"This might be the best birthday I've ever had," he murmured into your ear.

"I don't know," you said, leaning back. "That Beefaroni I found you last year was pretty good." He laughed before pressing a kiss against your lips.

"Yeah, that was a good one, too," he relented, bringing a wet hand out of the water to brush back the hair from your face. You leaned into his touch with a sigh.

"What would it have been like if we ended up living here, like you wanted?" you wondered out loud as you stared into his deep brown eyes.

"I'm sure there's pros and cons," he said, his eyes traveling down to your tits just barely concealed by the water. "This is definitely in the pro column." You laughed as you rested the side of your head against this shoulder.

"Woulda been harder to survive. Constantly havin' to hunt and trap. Woulda been lonely. Not that I feel lonely when it's just us," he corrected himself quickly, and you rubbed his arm, letting him know you understood. "Sometimes it's nice to have other people around, is all."

"And the pros?" you asked him, your breath raking over the skin of his throat.

"Pros are easy," he said with a smile, and his hold around you tightened. "Just you and me. And all this. No threats. No danger. Just... peace and quiet."

You hummed and brought your head back up to give him another kiss, your lips slotting perfectly against his.

"It's nice that we can have both," you whispered against his mouth.

"Just as long as you're happy," he murmured, pressing his forehead against yours.

"I'm happy," you assured him. "I'm beyond happy."

Tag List: @chiogarza, @sparklejumpropequeen-777, @shotgun-shelby @partyofone3413 @nana90azevedo @ninaminaromina

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onepiecepetalfanfics089 · 1 year ago

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Yandere vampire Luffy getting jealous and breaking the nose of one of his vampy friends trying to bite on his precious Reader?

Belong To Me~..

College student reader!! X yandere vampire! Luffy!

Halloween special~

Fluttering your eyes open, you opened your eyes and sat up in your bed to face the world. Looking around, you noticed it was a bit dark..the curtains were closed after all.

“It’s so dark in here..isn’t supposed to be a bit sunny today..?”

You asked to yourself, sitting up out of your bed, you got up and turned to your curtains. Opening then to the reveal the glorious sunlight shining through. Of course the weather wasn’t as hot though. A smile made its way onto your lips as you were just about to comment on the weather, especially for Halloween season you heard a hiss.

A hiss of pain, like someone was behind you and felt pain from the..sunlight..?

Immediately, you turned around to look at what was behind you but there you saw nothing. In the shadows you saw nothing lurking around..

Or so you thought..

Little did you know that there was a certain vampire with obsidian black hair and big wide eyes filled with curiosity and adventure. A vampire that was completely..compelled by you.

Luffy blew on his wing as quietly as he could, but also trying to heal it from the sunlight you just had to shine at this time of day!

He huffed, his eyes following your every move while you walked around the room. Who knows how long he’s been staying in your apartment..one day he found you and couldn’t let go..he would never forget that one fateful rainy day.

The wind was crisp as autumn was coming to a close. The moon was shining bright as a light in a dark room. Luffy unfortunately, was having a bit too much fun in his bat form that night and was being a little reckless..he was laying on the wet floor, tired, hurt and hungry. But then you came. You came and rescued him from who knows what could’ve happen to him. You fed him, cared for him and loved him. All in his bat form but that still counts for something right?!

His heart fluttered as he grinned, showing his white shiny fangs along with his other pearly white teeth. Just look at you..those eyes..that hair..that smile.

He just had to protect you no matter what..soon, you’d be his..

And nothing could change that.

He was absolutely sure of it, oh so delusional..his grin didn’t even falter at all as he jumped from the bookshelf and turned into his bat form, flying after you when he saw you leave out the front door while you were talking on the phone, trying to keep quiet.

The sound of your phone ringing got your attention as you picked it up from your bag and answered it, the beeping finally stopping. Now your eyes were locked on where you were going but still you kept your mind open to whoever was calling you so suddenly just when classes were about to start.

“Hey,Y/N!!”

Your eyes lit up as soon as you heard that voice, it was your best friend who was also attending the school you were currently going to! But what did they want?

“Hey,(F/N) what’s up? You know we’ll see each other in class right?”

“Yeah i know! But I just wanted to make sure about one thing, you’re going to the Halloween party one of the students is throwing tonight right? It’s gonna be huge!!”

You thought about for a second..would a part be good for you?..you liked Halloween..and you could get a a taste of the college experience better..sure why not!

You have been feeling a bit..watched lately..

A smile made its way onto your lips as you opened up the door to your first class of the day.

“You bet your ass I am!”

When you walked into the party you were immediately hit by the flashing lights and colors. So many people were dancing and even singing that it was hard to keep track of who was who.

Looking around for your friend who invited you in the first place, you went over to the punch bowl.

Leaning against the railing, you took out your phone and texted your friend to let them know you were here but all of a sudden you felt a light, gentle tap on your shoulder.

Turning around, you saw a boy with black hair. He had a big grin on his face with excitement in his wide eyes. Something about him was truly..compelling..you could already tell. He had a scar under his right eye and..fangs?..

No! That had to be a costume! Get it it together Y/N!..

Looking up at him, his smile only grew somehow. He just met you but seemed so so excited..was he new?..

“Hi!! My names Luffy! Yours?!”

He did while holding his hand out, sheepishly smiling you gently took it and shook it in a friendly manner.

“Hey Luffy I’m Y/N..how do you know the host of this party?..or are you new to campus..I don’t recall seeing you around..”

He blinked a few times and then laughed a bit nervously.

“Oh well..yeah..I’m new! I know the host by..an old pal!”

Tilting your head you nodded. The whole conversation so far, you saw that he hadn’t removed his gaze off of you..once.

His cheery attitude never left or faltered once while the two of you were talking and for some reason you felt he was a bit off. Whenever you told him something about yourself like your favorite food, color or music style, he didn’t seem surprised like..at all.

It was like he already knew the answers.

Like he already knew you.

Like the back of his hand..

A few minutes had passed and he was still rambling about some nonsense. Boy, he really did know how to talk your ear off didn’t he..? He seemed so excited to talk to you. Not to mention he kept inching a bit closer, so close that if he wanted to, he could pull you in a hug without even trying.

Then out of no where, two hands slowly slid down to your hips. Eyes widening in shock and surprise you instinctively turned around to face whoever was in a touchy mood tonight.

You would notice that Luffy also stopped immediately when someone Dared to lay a finger on your precious body.

He was clenching his plastic cup with juice in it, making the juice slowly drip down his fist to his arm.

He hated when others stole your attention from him. He did not like it. Not one bit.

The person who grabbed you from behind seemed to have the same vibe as Luffy….kinda..And those fangs..those fangs they had looked so real..

But they couldn’t be! Vampires weren’t real! Right?

“Hey Luffy, who’s this cutie?..”

The guy asked, unusually staring at the side of your neck..

Luffy groaned. Why couldn’t he just have you to himself?..he gave a little pout as he watched you and his friend talk for a bit.

In all honesty, he didn’t really care if that guy was his friend..

Yeah, they did know each other for a few..years, and they looked out fir each other whenever the humans tried to kill them but..

Whoever should even dare to touch will get their asses kicked.

Luffy’s thoughts were really running wild through his mind. What if he tried to take you away from him..? What would he do with you? Who would he do with you?!?

Man..he really didn’t know why you made him so..so..

Quiet.

His mind then went quiet when he saw the sight before him.

His friend was trying to bite you.

He had his jaw open and forcefully tilting your head to the side so he could have more access. You look confused out of your mind, why was he trying to bite you..? What was this?

With the lights, the music and the people all around you three, adrenaline shot through Luffy’s veins. He snapped. He just couldn’t handle this anymore.

You were his.

You saved him.

He was supposed to protect you!

Without a thought he lunged forward, a shadow covering his eye as a serious look that rarely showed on his face.

His fist instantly connecting with his friend who tried to bite your neck with his dirty slimy teeth. The guy clenched his nose as blood trickled from his hand and letting out a loud groan of pain.

You were absolutely shocked, looking down at him with a mix of shock and horror.

By now, the party had stopped and everyone was looking at the scene that just played out.

Luffy took a few deep breaths, his fists clenched. Looking at you he smiled, not even caring about the whole scene he had caused.

Without any hesitation at all he swooped you up into his arms and flew out the window, holding you tight as you screamed for help. There were people who ran to try to help and others just stared. Ether way he finally had you now he was never letting you go.

Ever.

Back in his cave he had you in between his legs, snuggling his head in your neck. Unfortunately, you were making too much noise while he was carrying you so he had to knock you out. It was okay though! You would forgive him eventually..

He had to admit he was overjoyed to finally have you here his cave, holding you close and caring for you.

He had all your favorite things here!..that he may or may not have stolen from your home..Your clothes, pictures..you would love it!

A grin was plastered on his face as he took in your scent and let out a happy sigh.

“Finally..”

He said softly in your neck, his grip slowly tightening around you.

“You Belong To Me..”

Hey guys!! I thought I’d do this request first since it was only two days after Halloween! I really liked this one and I hope you guys did too!❤️🌸❤️

@anemptypuddingcup thank you so much for requesting this sweetie! I really hope you liked this!! I thought I’d make it into a modern college AU because it fit better for me lol, sorry if that messed it up 😭 but I really hope you enjoyed this because it was so much fun to write this🫶🏼 remember, you can always request from me because I LOVE your ideas! Thank you again darling!

Until next time my pretty petals!! 🌸🌱🪷

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soaringthroughthegalaxy · 1 year ago

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Keeping Vigil

The little clinic on Pabu isn’t much, but you won’t leave it until he wakes.

Pairing: Tech x gn!reader

Word count: 1.2k

Warnings: kinda sad, kinda angsty, but also a little comforting, Tech is unconscious, reader is in love but our nerd has been oblivious, mentions of death/thinking someone had died, references to canon typical violence, ends on a hopeful note

A/N: this idea has been rattling through my brain for a while, and I refuse to believe he’s gone, so…. #TechLives

The small private room in Pabu’s only clinic exuded an air of tranquillity. Sunlight filtered through gauzy curtains, casting a gentle, dappled pattern on the white walls. A warm breeze carried with it the sweet scent of exotic flowers and sea salt, filling the room with a sense of calm that seemed to soothe even the most restless souls.

Curled in a small chair, your eyes were fixed on the swaying palm trees visible through the open window. The rhythmic sound of waves crashing on the nearby shore provided a comforting backdrop for your thoughts.

Hand resting on your chest, where your heartbeat drummed steadily, the faint hum of the nearby bacta tank was the only interruption in the otherwise quiet room, and it reminded you of the fragility of your existence.

Four weeks ago, you’d finally stormed Mount Tantiss.

Eight weeks ago, he’d enacted Plan 99.

Casting your gaze to the horizontal tank, you take in his prone form, following the jut of his nose, the curve of his lips, and down across his chin. Bones had been reset, bruises fading, and cuts stitched up, but you had no idea what the lasting damage would be. And you wouldn’t until he woke.

You hadn’t anticipated finding him, not after Hemlock had so callously thrown you his shattered goggles and declared it was all they could ‘salvage.’

Turns out Hemlock had been lying.

You’d never been more grateful for your terrible sense of direction. One wrong turn as you’d been searching for Omega and Crosshair had led you into a room full of bacta tanks, each housing a clone, but one had not been like the others…

You’d called for backup, Howzer and his men finding you a few minutes later. As a team, you’d drained the tank and pulled him free. A hasty job had been done to stabilise and get him to the waiting ships. But it had been enough.

The rest of the rescue had been a success – the Empire hadn’t anticipated a well-connected network of highly skilled clones to storm the place. All the clones taken had been saved and transported away in a small fleet of ships. Hemlock had met his end from one of Crosshair’s perfect shots, and once everyone had been clear, Wrecker had blown the place to smithereens. But not before you’d grabbed every scrap of information available from the place. The small pile of data spikes you’d handed over to the fledgling rebellion would hopefully help.

“The sun is out today. The storm I told you about the other day has finally cleared.” You spoke a little louder than usual. The doctor had suggested he might be able to hear you, and that thought is partly what kept you tied to the room – to the chair. You didn’t want him to be alone, to risk him waking with no one by his side.

That and you needed the reminder that he was still here. That the memory of him shooting the rail track and plummeting thousands of feet wasn’t the end. Loving him from a distance for years had been hard, but believing that you’d never gotten the chance to tell him had been devastating.

“I kind of miss it. The storm reminded me of Kamino.” You continued, letting out a soft sigh. Your fingers crept upwards, wrapping around his broken goggles. You’d carefully removed the glass and slipped them around your neck after Omega had been taken, and they’d rested there ever since.

“Remember that terrible storm, the one that knocked out the power when you were trying to fit my bracelet?” You reminisced, tearing your eyes away long enough to look at the band of silver around your wrist, which had been locked into place with one of his many screwdrivers. It had been a gift from them all six months after you’d joined as their handler. A comms unit and tracker had been embedded, and a small ‘99’ engraved into the metal.

“None of the torches were charged, so we’d had to borrow the one from Crosshair’s rifle. I can still remember the look on his face when Wrecker had reached for it.” You chuckled at the memory. Things had been so much simpler then.

A bird squawked outside, a reminder of how life was continuing on beyond the four walls of the clinic. The boys had come to see you and him a few times. Omega usually swung by after school with her homework, and you’d help her finish it. They brought you food and news from the rest of the island, and they’d leave with the same sad look on their faces – sympathy painting their matching brown eyes. They weren’t blind and had known for some time that your feelings for their brother went far beyond friendship.

Phee had visited once, too, having finally put the pieces together. She’d vowed to back off, to not tread on your toes, and while you’d appreciated it, you couldn’t help but feel bad. He wasn’t yours – he didn’t know how you felt. Who were you to say who could or couldn’t pursue him?

“I’m glad I found you. I thought for a while I’d truly lost you.” You confess, forcing volume into your voice even as it cracks a little. “As much as I despise Hemlock, I’m glad he found you, that he saved your life.”

“If I ever come across Saw Guerra, though, it’s on sight…” There was no point concealing your anger. The blame for Tech’s fall lay solely at Saw’s feet, and that man was fortunate you weren’t already on the warpath.

Silence lingers again, the breeze outside picking up a little, making the curtains rustle. “I’ve been trying to fix your helmet, too.” You state, turning to look at the mess of equipment on a small side table. “I found it in a million pieces in one of the labs on Tantiss. I think they were trying to access your files on the Republic. They just didn’t account for how smart you are.” A smile crosses your lips as you shift in the seat, reaching out like you had done hundreds of times over the last four weeks to press your hand to the tank glass. You loved that exceptional mind of his, how he solved complex calculations on the fly and picked up new skills and information in an instant. It was incredibly attractive.

“With how many pieces it’s still in, I don’t think I’ve accounted for how smart you are either.” You chuckle before taking a deep breath. “Maker, I miss you, T.” You whisper, slipping into the small nickname you’d given him shortly after joining the squad.

The silence over the last four weeks in the clinic had given you plenty of time to think. You weren’t sure when he woke if you’d share your feelings openly, but you certainly wouldn’t conceal your affection so much anymore.

“I miss your voice and your info-dumping.” You add. “But you’re going to get better, and you’re going to wake up.” You try to look at the bright side.

You took another deep breath, embracing a sense of hope that lingered in the air. With a tender smile, you felt the weight of the last few weeks finally lifting off your shoulders. “When you wake, I’ll be here, ready to help you, to share every moment, and every bit of affection that I’ve kept buried for so long. The quiet, safe life we’ve all yearned for is just around the corner. You, me, and your siblings, all back together again.”

Lost in the darkness, Tech’s mind had desperately clung to your voice over the last few weeks. And this time, as he listened, his fingers finally twitched.

#the bad batch #star wars the bad batch #the bad batch x reader #tech x reader #tbb tech x reader #tech x you #the bad batch tech x reader #tech tuesday #tech bad batch #star wars clone wars #star wars #tbb tech x you

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mapis-putellas · 2 years ago

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Everythings gonna be okay

Pairing: Scarlett x you

Words: 2078

Warnings: none that I know of

Summary: You and Scarlett had recently broken up. When you go to her house to pick up the last of your things, you see that she was nowhere to be found. Despite your better judgment, you decide to go and investigate. The sight that greets you all but breaks your heart.

You let out a near silent curse when you ring the doorbell for the third time and receive no answer. All you wanted to do was grab the rest of your things. You'd taken most of it the day you'd both decided to end things, but there were a few heavier items -such as your desktop computer- that you were unable to take with you due to the sheer size and weight.

Using your key was a last resort, something you didn't want to have to do unless it was absolutely necessary because, as much as it breaks your heart to admit, you weren't her girlfriend anymore. You couldn't just come and go as you please. That privileges was out the window the second you'd broken up.

But apparently you didn't have a choice, because the longer you stand here, the more evident it becomes that she wasn't going to answer the door. Your key slides into the lock with that same familiar ease, and your eyes take in the familiar sight of her entry way as you tentatively push open the door and step inside.

It looked the exact same, except for the light layer of dust lining each and every surface. Weird. Scarlett was, in the most polite way possible, a clean freak. She liked order and often became grumpy when things were even the slightest bit out of place.

You go to blame it on her just being busy, but the sight in the living room immediately halts you in your tracks. There were tissues everywhere, and there was that slight smell in the air of sweat and just overall sickness. You hate the fact that your stomach sinks in concern, because there was only one rational thing that could explain this.

Scarlett was sick, and had obviously been so for quite some time.

You couldn't help but freeze on the bottom of the staircase in a silent debate on whether or not you should go up. The part of you that was still very much in love with her wanted nothing more than to take care of her. But the ugly part of you, the one who was still so hateful over the ugly breakup wanted nothing more than to get the hell out of here.

She'd been the one to distance herself. She'd been the one to not make time for you, and she'd been the one who'd told you to pack your things and get the hell out of her sight. Why should you repay that with kindness? Because you loved her, that's why. And despite the fact she'd broken your heart, the last thing you wanted was to see her suffer.

It wasn't like you. It never had been, and it never would be.

With a defeated sigh, you grasp the hand rail and begin to ascend the long staircase. You make it to the top in no time, and find yourself hesitating for only a short second before making your way down the hall towards the bedroom you'd once called your own.

You stand there like an idiot for what feels like forever before you finally find the courage in you to grasp the handle, and and as you push down, that same smell that had greeted you downstairs, only a little more intensified, was quick to fill your nostrils.

Scrunching up your nose in slight disgust, you enter the room and softly close the door behind you.

The curtains were closed encasing the room in a heavy darkness, but that doesn't stop you from being able to make out Scarlett's small figure laying in the centre of the large bed. You warily make your way over, and the first things you notice were the red tinged nose and quiet snores escaping her slightly parted lips. Her skin was pale, but her cheeks were flushed, signalling she had quite the fever, and you notice her body was trembling almost violently.

Before you could stop yourself, your hand was reaching out and brushing away the sweaty strand hair that had fallen into her face. That action almost immediately rouses her, and you wince slightly as her eyes blearily flicker open.

"Hi," you murmur, tentatively perching yourself on the end of the bed. "You're sick."

Scarlett furrows her eyebrows, almost as though she couldn't quite believe you were here. Her eyes, glassy from the fever induced haze were bloodshot, pupils huge telling you that she hadn't been getting very much sleep.

Her trembling hand reaches out for you, and you only hesitate briefly before taking it, the pad of your thumb instinctively grazing over the almost too warm skin.

Then, without any warning, her eyes fill with tears, her bottom lip trembles, and she was letting out a stifled sob before attempting to sit up. You frown in concern as you scoot yourself a little closer, leaning forward and slipping an arm beneath her body before tugging her to your chest. She lets out wet, gravely sounding cough when her sobs catch in her throat, and you wince at the painful sound as you use your other hand to cup the back of her head.

"It's okay," you murmur into her hair, "you're okay. I'm here. I've got you."

Scarlett let's out a choked sob as she shakes her head, and you let out a soft, defeated sigh as you hold her as close as you could. She smelt less than pleasant, so you knew once of your tasks today would be getting her into the shower.

This was the last thing you'd expected to happen. If you were being completely honest with yourself, you'd expected her to be mad for invading her space. To tell you to go away just as she'd done no more than a week ago. A part of you still expects that to happen, because you knew this whole emotional mess was just her fever talking. She didn't actually want you here, but you couldn't just leave her to cry.

You hold her close for a few silent moments before easing her body back down onto the bed, bringing your hands up to cup her cheeks. "I'm going to get you some medicine, okay?" You gently wipe away the tears with the pads of your thumbs.

Scarlett's trembling hands reach to grasp your wrists, almost as though she was silently pleading to you to not let go.

Her touch sends shivers throughout your whole entire body, and you just about manage to refrain from pulling yourself of her her grasp as you force the corners of your lips into a small smile.

"It's okay," you reassure, "I'll be back."

Thankfully, though she visibly hesitates, Scarlett does let you go, and you try and make your breath of relief as subtle as possible as you make your way through to the bathroom. In here was just as, if not worse than her bedroom, and you make a mental note to give it a thorough clean before you leave as you grab the Tylenol and cough medicine from the cabinet.

When you make your way back through to her bedroom with your arms full, you notice that Scarlett was now sat up against the headboard of her bed. She appears to be staring into space, and your lips quirk up at the corners in slight adoration as you climb in next to her.

"Here," you murmur, pouring the correct dose of cough medicine into the small plastic cup before handing it over. Her trembling hand takes it, and she sniffles wetly as she tilts it back and swallows with only a slight grimace. You ignore the urge you have to praise her as you hand over the Tylenol and water, watching as Scarlett repeats the same steps as before.

This time, however, she must have swallowed wrong, because she begins to cough forcefully into her hands. You watch her, eyebrows furrowed in concern as you reach out to steadily pat her back.

"Take a deep breath, you're okay." You sooth, and Scarlett nods, trying her best to comply despite the fact she seems to be unable to catch her breath. Her chest heaves with each ragged exhale, and her already flushed cheeks taking on an even darker shade of red signalling not enough oxygen was getting into her lungs. You were forced to swallow the tightness in your own throat.

"Scarlett, breath." You instruct as you reach to grab the bottle of the water from the nightstand, your hand still firmly patting her back. Scarlett attempts to let out a hoarse breath, but she does no more than choke further.

By now, panicked tears were streaming down her cheeks, and you could feel your own heart beginning to pound. Hauling her body into your arms, you lay her down on her side and raise her arms above her head. You lay behind her propped up on your elbow, resting your hand against her heaving chest and rubbing firmly.

"You're okay. I'm here. You're okay." You sooth, pressing a tender kiss against the side of her head.

Scarlett let's out another wet cough before somehow managing to catch her breath, and it was only then does let out a soft sob. With tears in your own eyes, you tug her around to face you and pull her against your chest. You hold her as close as you could, your hand grazing soothing circles up and down her back. Your other hand cups the back of her head, fingers combing through her tangled tresses.

"I-I don't.. don't feel w-well." She chokes out as she desperately clutches at your shirt, and you nod as you press your lips against the top of her head.

"I know baby." You murmur, "I know."

She stifles another sob against you at the nickname, and you instinctively tighten your grasp around her. You hadn't meant to say it. It had just slipped out because that was all you ever used to call her. She's your baby. Or well, she was. You feel your throat tighten at the thought, and you swallow heavily to refrain from bursting into tears as you hold Scarlett close.

A comfortable silence soon falls upon you with the exception of her slightly hoarse breathing, and it wasn't long until you feel Scarlett fall limp against you signalling she'd fallen asleep.

A few hours later, you find your self sat in the bathroom with your back to the tub. Scarlett was curled up in the water, sniffling softly as the hot water clears her congestion. Not a word had been spoken since earlier, but the silence surrounding you wasn't awkward. It was almost...comforting, which was surprising considering the circumstances.

But the silence doesn't last for long.

"I'm sorry." A quiet murmur.

You turn your head slightly, seeing the bare skin of her back from your peripheral vision, "For what? Getting sick? That's not your fault."

Scarlett sniffles softly, "No, not for that. For...for what happened. A week ago." She explains, her voice trailing off into a soft, trembling murmur.

You let out a soft breath as you twist a loose thread hanging off of your jeans around your finger, "You don't have to apologise. What happened, happened. It's in the past."

Everything was silent again, but the shuddering breath that escapes from Scarlett's lips does not go amiss. It has you turning to face her, and your heart breaks when you see her crying silently. Tears were streaming down her cheeks, and her bottom lip was trembling as though she was trying to hold back the onslaught of sobs.

"Scarlett..." you trail off, not knowing what to say.

Her lips quirk up into a sad smile as she wipes off her cheeks, "It's okay." She whispers.

With a soft sigh, you shift to your knees and lean forward to press a kiss to the warm skin of her forehead. As you pull away, you raise a hand to cup her cheek, the pad of your thumb grazing softly over her skin. "We'll talk. When you're better. Okay?"

"Okay." Scarlett murmurs, reaching up to cover your hand with her own.

I’m open to a part 2 if you guys want it!

#scarlett johansson x reader #scarlett johansson #reader insert #sick!scarlett Johansson x reader #sickfic #marvel #mcu #snzfic #fluff #Scarlett Johansson sickfic #black widow #natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x reader

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chadfallout76podcast · 9 months ago

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"Deah Shroud!: A Nick Valentine Mystery" EXPLAINED and AMA

It never occurred to me to do this last year, but a lot of people have asked me questions about our Fallout 4 play in the last year in the Discord, so I wanted to open an AMA but also explain "Death Shroud!" and some of the broader themes involved in it.

**SPOILERS AHEAD**

Part 1: Pre-production

Before I get into the story, I wanted to explain how this production even came about. Over the years after working together on some official community projects with Wes Johnson through Bethesda, we became good friends. I took a couple of his acting classes and he talked about the Fallout For Hope charity initiative I started and asked for help in organizing the gaming community for his Alzheimer's Association fundraiser. The idea was to host a month-long digital event of discussion panels, game shows, improv and a play with as many different voices of video games, film and TV as we could round up. In our second year of his VoiceAPalooza fundraiser, I wanted to do an original old time radio show and see if could bring back as many of the cast that we could from Fallout 4. It was Wes who first suggested an adventure with his Silver Shroud character (that he voiced in Fallout 4's radio plays) teaming up with Nick Valentine (voiced by the amazing Stephen Russell). Valentine is, for me, one of the best written, unique companions in Fallout lore.

So, I reached out to Stephen Russell who had joined us before for charity work and he was all in on bringing Nick Valentine back to life! After that things moved fast with Bethesda's Pete Hines and Emil Pagliarulo joining us to have some fun for a good cause. We tried to get EVERY companion from Fallout 4 that we could, but schedule wrangling is tough, and some people are just impossible to track down or find. Matt Mercer would've loved to have joined us as Macready, but unfortunately scheduling didn't work, so the best we could manage would be a holotape (the only reason our snarky gun running merc had to take the big sleep in the story).

After having everyone plugged in to reprise characters, it was time to put fingers to keys and find the story...

Part 2: The Deep Lore

The origin of this story started with a thought: how would the NPC's and characters we love perceive modification of their universe by us? We, as players aren't the true creators of this universe or these characters (Bethesda is). If anything, we the players are the equivalent of "lesser gods", reshaping it in new ways, unexpected and subjective ways, and sometimes even chaotic ways (I'm looking at you avalanche of adult mods with realistic jiggle physics and Thomas the Tank Engine Vertibird).

It started with a mental image of the small ways in which we start out modding games, or even the first mods we (using the "Engine of Creation) actually create. I had a mental image of Magnolia doing her thing, singing away sultry in a crowded and smoky third rail when she looks one way, back the next and sees new curtains. A subtle thing, something a little startling, but in a universe where recreational drug use is met with a YEEE YEEEE WHEEEE...a change you simply dismiss as being overtired or a little too juiced.

I'm a sucker for old time radio. I grew up listening to classic radio horrors like The Whistler, Suspense, and Lights Out on vinyl records and cassette tapes when I'd spend summers with my grandmother on a little island off the coast of Canada. Getting the tone, feeling and sound to stage an old-time radio show was the easiest part of this whole process...it's baked into my brain lol. The key of course is finding the right narrative voice.

Enter: Bill Lobley. If you play Fallout 76, he is the announcer for the "Tales from the West Virginia Hills" holotapes, but before that he's a prolific voice actor, maybe best known for his role as the truly vile Jeremiah Fink in Bioshock: Infinite. He has a FANTASTIC transatlantic voice for old time radio and was perfect as narrator in the script.

Part 3: What Is Going On?!?!

I had the base idea, the voices to pull it off, but what was the meaning and message of the whole thing? I always start there. From a meta experience level, the story is about dealing with subjective reality that’s being torn apart. After Fallout 4 launched in vanilla, we the players changed that world and reshaped it with mods. The small changes in perceived reality are meant for the omniscient player (us) and are not meant to be perceived by the characters themselves...and yet, what if they were? And if they were...WHY?! The answer was right in front of me: there's a difference between something born into a world and something MADE into a world.

You take someone like Magnolia or Nick, both synths, that obviously weren’t naturally born from two people. They were conceived as an idea...a human idea sure, but still they were made, not born. Without even needing to say in the script, the Trickster from the Grognak comic books who shouldn't exist yet does IS also an idea. Some MADE into a world but not born...a different world sure, but still the creation of it. Nick, Magnolia, any synth as ideas themselves would sense that the world was wrong and being changed in a way no one else would because of fundamentally who they are and what they represent.

Everything that unfolds is because Nora as a keystone event in the Commonwealth, a focal point of the causal nexus making her a unique entity in that world. A causal nexus is the link between a cause and its resulting effects and ignore the science mumbo jumbo, because here's an example of how that works:

The Sole Survivor, Nora, listened to Kent's message, chose to answer him and put on the outfit of the Silver Shroud. As a unique figure she shifted perceived reality of everyone in the Commonwealth by becoming the Silver Shroud, acting like him and making people believe that a fictional character exists.

Unfettered belief and faith in an idea = manifested reality.

Rejected belief and faith in the idea = dispels that reality.

This HAS happened before in Fallout lore in the instance of people with horrifying backstories and personal tragedies choosing to become someone else such as the Mechanist (Fallout 3 and Fallout 4) or even the Ant-Agonizer (Fallout 3). This time however it was a unique figure who did this, a figure fated and meant to reshape the Commonwealth for good, bad or ugly.

This opened a door, the door through which another figure could influence and enter a new universe provided it take the form of something already in it...a reality side-step into the form of the Mechanist. Concurrently, the moment that happened, reality counterbalanced by making the Silver Shroud who was already believed to be real BECOME real as the ying to the Mechanist/Trickster's yang.

Now at home in reality, the Trickster found himself very much alive and unbound by story but had very little power to do much at all. He needed something more, an idea and faith that already existed in the Commonwealth with the infinite universe of ideas made, but not born like himself. His goal wasn't power, it was to sow chaos, reshaping reality into a realm for any and every idea despite the consequences to reality itself.

So what did he need? The belief in the Old Gods and a focus point of belief in the idea: a staff. The universe is as adaptive as it is remarkable and where the Mechanist had its opposite: the Silver Shroud, the Trickster needed its twin: enter Sheogorath...because what better staff to tear apart and reshape reality than the Staff of Sheogorath. There is a quest added in the new Skyrim Anniversary Edition in which you can build it for yourself with a few items: Branch of the Tree of Shades, Ciirta's Eye, Fork of Horripilation. In this universe it would have to fashioned with things FROM this universe.

Two eyes were needed:

The eye of a True Believer: Kent Connolly

The eye of a True Seer: Mama Murphy

Affixed to the top of a staff of the purest heartwood from a Twice Born Tree. Living wood from Harold, born a man who eventually mutated into a living tree.

Lastly, it had to be soaked in the tears of ages end: barrels of radiated blessed waters courtesy of the Cult of Atom.

The Trickster had no magic of his own in this universe in which to act, but thankfully courtesy of some powerful allies, he was able to make contact with shadowy cults and worshippers of the old gods who gave him the name of someone truly of faith in the old magic to make all of this work: Jebediah Blackhall, who in this spin of the universe did unfortunately get his hands on the cursed book: the Krivbeknah.

Finding allies was all too easy, as the events post main quest left the Commonwealth changed. To many, the Sole Survivor and his/her companions would be hailed as heroes. To others, they would be villains, particularly in light of what Nora CHOSE to do to the Railroad to end the synth threat for good. That's a lot of blood on the hands of heroes...

As the Mechanist/Trickster, Blackall and the Lombardos began using the staff, its changes and shifts in reality rippled backwards through time, as changing one specific thing would change its entire existence. You change some curtains and the manufacturer of those curtains only every made one pattern...the world object becomes changed universally. Tapping into the Engine of Creation to make these changes, leaves anyone MADE not born aware of them as they don't fit into the design as it shifts around them. Nick, Danse, Magnolia would all feel and see it, be thrown off for a bit before settling into the changed reality state.

At the climax when everything starts falling apart and you get everyone from GlaDOS and the Joker strolling on in, the only way to end it all is to separate the Trickster from the Staff and restore the saved intended state of reality. The Silver Shroud finds himself powerless against the Trickster...only someone from this universe would be able to intercede, hard wired into the Engine of Creation itself as an existing element connected throughout its framework and history. After sending the Trickster off packing to the moon (thanks GlaDOS), but its a little too late for reality. It collapses around them, finding themselves elsewhere...the point between the mind, creation and the outcome of reality.

After the Shroud fades away, Nick has the power and choice to roll the universe, his universe back along the tapestry of choices that led him here. They all were haunted by the choices they made the first time around, something Nora couldn't live with...that ultimately led her relationship with Danse to fall apart. So Nick decides to go back further, as far back as he can go and he finds himself back in his office with Ellie waking him up.

There are consequences to what he's done, that he's not yet aware of, ones that will become clear in our next episode. The synths remember, as he remembers...Danse, Magnolia and everyone else remembers the fall of the Institute. They all find themselves at their starting point, moving towards their intended fated position to encounter the Sole Survivor. For Nick? He's starting down the path that will led him to be held prisoner and meet the Sole Survivor for the first time.

As he'll soon discover however, things don't play out the same way this time. Moreover, while he was rolling back reality to an early saved state, he made a huge mistake and completely forgot about something and someone so incredibly important...

You'll have to wait to see what that is...

#death shroud #chad: a fallout 76 podcast #chad: a fallout 76 story #fallout 4 #fallout for hope #wes johnson #fallout #fallout fanfic #nick valentine

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xxsycamore · 1 year ago

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𝐍𝐚𝐩𝐨𝐥𝐞𝐨𝐧 𝐆𝐞𝐭𝐬 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐲 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐚 𝐃𝐚𝐭𝐞

↬ 👖 Napoleon has a little problem dressing up for a date in the 21st Century. Luckily, the mansion's residents are there to give him fashion advice, divided into team Sexy, team Defense, and team Cute.

Napoleon Bonaparte x MC, ft. all residents ( Leonardo, Mozart, Arthur, Isaac, Dazai, Comte, Sebastian, Jean, Theo, Vincent, Shakespeare) • rating: G • tags: Humor; Crack; Dress Up • wordcount: 1,797 • masterlist

a/n: An early celebration for Napoleon's upcoming birthday, with the prompt Napo Style from my Napoleon Birthday Celebration 2023 event! Enjoy the chaos!

Thanks to The Door at Comte's mansion being fixed and thus allowing a safe trip through the time and space continuum, newer and cooler dating spots are now available for the mansion's lovebirds, Napoleon and MC! How exciting is that? The latter is especially enthusiastic about strolling the streets of 21st-century Paris and showing off her lover…

The former is currently losing his mind.

Because there is an hour left until they step into the vortex of time-traveling, and Napoleon has no idea how people in the future dress for a date. At all.

"This is a problem." Napoleon muses out loud as he paces back and forth in the mansion's lounge room. Of course, he's not alone there, in this house you never get a moment of privacy no matter where you are. Currently he shares his air with… Leonardo, Mozart, Arthur, Isaac, Dazai, Comte, Sebastian, Jean, Theo, Vincent, Shakespeare… wait, why are all of them here?! Even Shakespeare? Could it be that his worries are so prominently written on his face that the residents' gossip-meter was able to track it, and now they're bursting with curiosity?!

"Everything alright, Naps?" Arthur tests the waters, taking a noisy sip from his coffee.

"Yeah, you can always tell us if you have problems with your dating life. That's what friends are for." Theo chimes in, folding his arms in front of his chest.

"Problems with my dating life? No, it's just… I don't know how to dress up for the date. I thought that maybe I could just go with these clothes…?" Napoleon shrugs, fixing the lapels of his jacket.

"I strongly suggest you don't." Joins Mozart, closing the piano he was pretending to play as he listened in.

"Then what do I put on? MC will be ready in just a moment and she'll no doubt be stunning. Gods… Can any of you help me out?"

"We can."

"Alright old chap, come out whenever you're ready. Too bad that our team's idea is first and therefore it will put an early end to this fashion show." Arthur boasts confidently as he takes his place on the left along with his other team members, part of the Sexy team. As the curtain is dramatically swooshed to reveal Napoleon, the audience livens up in a cacophony of different murmurs…

Napoleon has no idea why the bunch targeted his favorite red curtain-- erm, cape, as the first thing to be removed from the outfit, but in a flash Napoleon sees it hanging from the staircase's railing and he understands. The small space behind the stairs becomes a makeshift changing booth… he does live with the smartest men in history after all. From there on, the smart ideas keep on coming as he steps behind the curtain and braces himself for accepting the various articles of clothing being handed to him to try on.

Napoleon poses awkwardly while trying to hide his attributes, the small cloth hiding his crouch area making it difficult as his pants have been reduced to just that, a loincloth that his trademark big belt holds together. His shirt too has suffered a massive reduction in length and now barely covers his chest, leaving his abs and stomach exposed, a similar thing done to his sleeves so the shirt now reminds more of a tank top of sorts. The golden epaulets from his jacket remain. His boots are untouched, at least. His look is completed with ruffled hair for a messier, sexier hairstyle.

"Ahem. As you may know, the 21st century is vastly different from our times in terms of dressing to impress… so to say, the meaning of that phrase is turned upside down!"

"Undress to impress!" With a finger in the air and a smile on his face, the most unlikely member of team Sexy, Vincent, hurries to add. Before Theo can collapse, Vincent backs up his (unbeknownst to him) scandalous vision with a little bit of his wisdom. "How nice that is, a world that celebrates the body instead of hiding it. Napoleon has a body that many would put on a canvas, and he should celebrate it!"

"Thank you, Vincent."

"Sebastian, why are YOU on this team?" Someone in the crowd asks.

Despite Arthur's confidence in winning this "competition", the other teams are more than eager to have their go in an attempt to beat his idea of modern fashion. After another round of handing stuff to the haphazardly changing behind the curtain Napoleon, a group of four residents get ready to present their idea.

With a perfect little nod, Sebastian says matter-of-factly, "Master Napoleon has a body that many would put on a canvas, and he should celebrate it."

With difficulty, a man in a knight's heavy full armor (that normally can be found in one of the hallways as a decoration) steps in front of the audience's eyes, who they can only assume is Napoleon, due to not a tad of his identity being visible underneath this "outfit".

As a leader of Team Defense, Jean turns to the audience to explain. "The modern world is filled with dangers we're unaware of. Napoleon should prioritize his safety," he eyes his teammate, Shakespeare, who is ready to take the word next: "As well as the safety of his beloved. Thus he clothes in steal and prepares a heavy blade, or a dozen; if the chance arises, he shall defeath all that's on his path, in the name of her!"

As Napoleon hears the signal, he demonstratively takes out a spear, a chain mace, a war hammer, a longsword…! The audience takes a step back.

"They're right. You never know what's out there. There might be cats." Theo nods approvingly, slapping Napoleon's armor as if to test its durability. The last member of team Defense, Mozart, is ready with his own argument.

"Everything there must be dirty. This will protect him from exposure."

Still, this can't end without the final third team showcasing their own unique idea of dressing up Napoleon. And besides, the mansion's daddy, Comte, being a leader of this team is enough to make everyone quiet down and pay attention.

It's a shockingly good argument.

"And finally, team Cute. Because you, my dears, are forgetting a key element of what our fashion show is about, and that is helping our Napoleon win his girl's heart all over again, in a different time, in a different world. We must look from the eyes of MC. And a lady like her, oh her heart surely sings at the sight of everything that can be called cute. She'll swoon and melt as she witnesses Napoleon embracing his inner adorableness; that is for sure!"

Without further ado, Napoleon steps forward, revealing his outfit that for some reason troubles his walking more than the armor from before… the reason might be the tight corset Comte put him in, one made for men nonetheless, but still making it hard for the soldier to act naturally wearing. Especially combined with those high-heeled boots! There's not a trace of any dark colors anywhere to be seen, from frilly innocent whites to sunny yellows to baby pinks, he's dolled up like a little prince from a fairytale. His hair which is the only color out of place, is densely covered in small hairclips, that are not exactly Comte's style, so there might be put there by…

"Napo-chan is so kawaii with the little hair accessories I put on him. I'm convinced MC won't resist kissing you all over."

"Why am I on this team?!" Laments Isaac, whose contribution is narrowed down to an apple he found laying around… surprisingly, posing with the apple does add cute points to Napoleon's look, as much as the physicist hates to admit. He's only on this team because he refused to join in the absurdity of the other two…

"They're right, Naps." Leonardo agrees with a hand on his chin. "I've heard cara-mia gush all over you being cute when you make a slip-up from your mister perfect persona. Be a little clumsier and clueless. She'll find it charming."

Napoleon hums and looks at the palms of his glove-clad hands, a little lost. "I'm, uhhh… not so sure what you mean."

"That's it, just like that."

"Okay, that's all, which team won?" Arthur asks impatiently, not very amused about the fact that his coffee mug is now empty.

"That's for Napoleon to decide. What do you think, Napoleon?"

Napoleon takes a look at all the faces lit up in expectation, and makes a "wait" gesture as he disappeared behind the curtain again. A few seconds later he is out, dressed in what appears to be an untouched replica of his original outfit, but almost hidden beneath various items that each of the teams can recognize as their own.

"You all joined forces to help me, so the answer can only be a combination of your efforts. With this, I'm confident about covering all bases necessary for a successful date with my Nunuche. Thank you."

"Spoken like a true leader!" Dazai cheers, instantly approving the idea.

The door swings open as MC walks in at a fast pace, hurrying to collect Napoleon's hand and take him away. She's dressed in a simple sundress and wearing her light pink bag over a shoulder with the little Mousette charm hanging from it.

"There you are Napoleon, we're going to be late for our date…! What are you wearing?"

Napoleon makes a troubled humming noise as he shakes off item after item, throwing them in different directions as they clatter against the floor and roll off somewhere. He's back in his day-to-day outfit.

"Nothing much. Nunuche, the truth is… you're stunning. I didn't want to disappoint you. I'm sorry but I couldn't find anything to dress up for our date."

"Oh? What are you talking about, we're going to get you dressed up right now! As soon as we step out of the door we'll go to my friend Mai's boutique and you can have a full Comtherapy!"

"…I…What's a Comtherapy?"

"A Comte-therapy! A shopping therapy, dummy! He even gave me money to dress you up this morning! Thank you, daddy Comte!"

"You're welcome, ma cherie."

"COMTE? WHY DIDN'T YOU TELL US?" a bunch of voices speak up at the same time.

"Why, my dearest residents and I were having so much fun. Who am I to spoil it?"

Amidst the chaos, Napoleon and MC begin to laugh, their hands still intertwined because of MC's earlier attempt to sneak Napoleon out of the rowdy room. Napoleon smirks and takes the lead, leaving the residents to their wits.

"Come on, Nunuche. Let's go on our date."

MC swoons and gawks, following right after.

"Gods Napoleon, you're so charming!"

Taglist: @arsnovacadenza @ale-teodora @kimi00twin @otomelady @privilegedpancake @g-kleran @pumpumnnnp @thesirenwashere @ravenarld @kimmy-banana @devonares @galaxyprison @sadshaxk @starshards26 @thewitchofbooks @acethephoenix256 @ikevamp-shrine-2 @nad-zeta @crystal13unny @keen19thcenturygoatsstudent @lordsister @ikemen-banshou @themysticalbeing @canaria-blackwell @otome-scribbles @rhodolitesrose @coornn @kpop-and-otome @queen-dahlia @kisara-16 @chaosangel767 @ikemenlibrary @queengiuliettafirstlady @aurora-morning @aquagirl1978 @ikemenlover24 @violettduchess @mcofthemansion @joy-the-reader @katriniac @ikemen-writer @tele86 @lovely-bubb1es @aria-chikage @babyblue0t7 @rhodoliteschaos @my-day6 Let me know if you want to be tagged/untagged!

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pictuajjx · 6 months ago

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Hi! Here’s what I caught so far in the game. Unfortunately I don’t have any clips or screenshots because my computer is pooey. Warning, this is very long! Then my next post will have my theories and analysis pookies ❤️

In the beginning, it shows clips of the protagonist’s set up. A magazine appears with the headline of Indigo Park shuts down

There’s two graffiti outside of the park, one has wings the other says nostalgia so mostly likely other trespassers like our protagonist has came through

Rambley is always watching you through the cameras or the tv screen

Gear conveniently falls down when he asks us to find it

He hasn’t seen a visitor for at least 8 years

There is no signs of Salem anywhere besides in Rambley’s ride (now ruined) and their keychain in the merchandise store

speaking of the merchandise store, the hole up the ceiling looks like somebody is building up to reach there. 🤨 maybe it correlates to the gear conveniently falling

The creators head statue follows us

Something collapsed behind us when we went inside the tunnel going to Rambley’s ride

Inside the tunnel, all picture frames are up beside one. Is it Lloyd’s or Salem’s?

THERES A PICTURE OF LLOYD AND RAMBLEY SHAKING HANDS but Rambley starts glitching

Mollie Macaw is stalking us

After mollie macaws scene of the train ride one of the birds are down

She says something after the lights go off in Finley’s scene

Salem’s cut out is cut in half and is ruined

Mollie’s animatronic says “Not Rambley, he hurts Lloyd” maybe she’s copying what a staff said and therefore that’s why Rambley is not allowed backstage

Inside the backstage of Rambley’s ride when we fix it, there’s a graffiti saying “Lloyds limos” or something behind Finley’s animatronic

HOLY SHIT MOLLIE MACAW LITERALLY SNEAKS UP BEHIND YOU IN THE CURTAINS AROUND LLOYD’s SCENE???

Mollie macaw is shown chasing on the rail road track

The statue of Rambley eyes looks like a fan?

There’s food on the floor that looks like bait inside the cafe

Rambley’s eyes have a loading circle when he plays something (like the advertisement and audio recording)

Mollie plush (Important) mollie meet and greet in jet steam junction was around summer (maybe June) maybe they were meeting the flesh mascot

Lloyd plush according to the protagonist, felt like he was used a lot more

Indigo park would send items to people’s houses advertisements and dvds?

One curtain is torn at the theatre

Rambley says he doesn’t have access to the backstage, but for some reason the cameras still follows us? Maybe it’s because there’s no tv screen and it’s only the camera

Files are dropped backstage

There is a Lloyd statue in the backstage

A loud screech sound is played when you use your critter cuff on Lloyd

There’s a secret area in the arcade game, Mollie is trapped inside a cage

I think squirrels are making love in the background. LMAOOO

Starts to glitch a little when Salem appears

Starts to glitch after we beat the game

Rambleberry popped out of the arcade machine. Rambley is fully aware of it and says maybe one day he can jump out to take a bite?

Mollie drools and bleeds out in the slide

She takes a bite out of us when we get caught

Rambley stops talking about the Mascots? (Scene after Mollie chases us and gets decapitated, he starts talking about less staffs and less visitors)

Mollie says something while chasing us

Rambley claims that he can’t do certain things and needs human authorization?? 🤨

Mollie is now dead lol

Rambley talks about the registration after this scene, and saying it’s exhausting to say?

He also try’s out the trademark which according to him, expired yesterday

Royal ranglers room closed on us by Rambley, says it’s only for them and tells us maybe we can grow big and strong to enter. What’s behind there? Why can’t he upgrade us now if we’re helping him?

When we enter the ranglers room, it shows camera footage of everywhere

Rambley head has a footage of two employees talking, asking if the flesh mascots will put them out of business. According to the protagonist they retired these. Rambley says he’s never seen anybody wear them before

Poodle plush, what is its significance? Rambley’s pretty mean about it. He starts glitching when he mentions a non-brand indigo park toy?

Retro Lloyd plush according to the protagonist there was a cartoon of indigo park. Rambley starts to be mad about it, or maybe sarcastic? He also seems to glitch every time he expresses extreme emotions

During his song, Rambley expresses his feelings and hope? He also plead with you to stay with him (what’s up with ai’s and their abandonment issues? Not complaining 🔥)

that’s all I have!! Thanks for reading hehe :P

#debvinsrambles #Rambling #rambley the raccoon #rambley raccoon #indigo park #indigo park theory #analysis #Mollie macaw #indigo park chapter 1

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neon-kazoo · 5 months ago

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Choo Choo (Train Top Chase- The Briefcase)

(cw: threats, knife violence)

When Hero heard that Villain was planning to steal something in transit on the railroad, they assumed that they would find him rummaging through one of the sixty plus freight cars lined up on the tracks. They did not expect to find an immaculately dressed Villain surrounded by similarly dressed people dining in a singular passenger car at the end of the train.

The caboose of the train was…out of place, to say the least. Polished cherry wood lined the top of it, sealed and waxed to an impressive level of shine. There was no rust to be found, which was impressive for a train exposed to the elements for days on end. Chestnut paneling and gilded accents completed the outside, which was notably absent of any identifying number markers. The craftsmanship of the exterior was a stark contrast to the amateur graffiti that marked the previous car that the caboose was coupled to.

Hero observed the carriage car through a convenient skylight as the train started to move. The interior was similarly well-crafted with white tiered ceilings that gave way to wide windows, separated into panes only in conjunction with the white-clothed dining tables and corresponding upholstered booth seats. The silver cutlery gleamed in the light that filtered through lace curtains. Hero would not have been surprised to see a chandelier strung from the roof, made of crystals or something similarly stunning. It looked fit to hold a wedding, complete with a dozen guests all dressed in black tie apparel. Villain himself wore a black suit, dress shoes polished and brown hair gelled down. His face was even freshly shaven. A picture perfect gentleman—the opposite of his true nature.

There appeared to be some type of business taking place—as opposed to this being just a randomly-conspicuous social gathering or a confusingly-disguised heist. A singular black briefcase sat inconspicuously at the feet of a black-haired man. Hero would have thought nothing of it, but it seemed to be the only bag in the room, not to mention that every pair of eyes seemed to be ogling it at every sly opportunity. Deciding that there was no way this was legitimate business if Villain was present, Hero resolved to keep the briefcase out of all of their hands.

Several conversations were taking place around the tables—none of which could Hero hear over the rumbling of the tracks—but Hero was only focused on one specific group.

Villain stood in front of a booth that sat one woman in a pencil-straight maroon dress and one man in a suit with a corresponding maroon tie. Hero watched the fake laughs and twirling forks until Villain leaned in close to make his excuses to his company before he reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a small carton.

Hero crawled to the back of the roof, careful not to alert the people sipping champagne inside that an uninvited guest was about to crash their party. When he exited the back door of the train to stand on the small platform there, cigarette in hand, Hero pounced.

Villain did not even have a chance to flick open his lighter before Hero was on him, swinging down from the overhang to kick him square in the chest. He was pushed back into the railing, giving Hero enough space to land on the platform and get a hand wrapped over the door handle. Determining this was not the safest place for a fight, Hero swung open the door and rushed inside before Villain had a chance to recover.

They took advantage of the startled and stunned people inside the car and made a beeline for the man with the case. About halfway there, Hero bumped into a woman with braids who consequently spilled her bubbly drink down the front of her expensive-looking pink dress. Hero mouthed their apologies before snatching the case from the floor across the aisle, much to the chagrin of the black-haired man who tried to grab for their arm. Light on their feet, Hero deftly avoided his grip and slid open the door on the other side, which was harder to do than they thought thanks to the weird air pressure between the cars.

A chorus of offended shouts got swallowed by the gap as Hero fought to close the door behind them. From there, Hero would scale the ladder on the back of the container car and make the leap to the truck they had called to pull up alongside the train. At least, that’s what they thought they would do before they reached the top one-handed and raced to the edge of the roof.

When they looked down, they saw there was no truck, and more importantly, there was no road. Here, the tracks were paralleled only by a river. Huh, they must have seriously misjudged the speed of the train.

A quick glance back to the ladder revealed a brown-haired head just about to graze the top.

Well, time for plan B.

There were no tunnels on this route—they checked—so at least Hero didn’t have to worry about being taken out Indiana Jones style as they ran across the box car towards the front of the locomotive. Blessedly, the first chain of freight cars were all the same height and the train had yet to hit a curve. It was easier than expected to step between them.

They kept moving forward, crossing one car after another. Their steps landed on tops from faded orange to blue to grey to brown. After about the tenth container, something changed.

The next car had no roof, instead filled to the top with some type of granules. Deciding that pile looked a little too much like quicksand, Hero elected to chance balancing along the edge of the hopper car for fear of silo-style suffocation. Hero slowed to ensure their steps were true—which was probably a bad move in hindsight—and finally leapt the rest of the way to the thankfully-covered train car waiting ahead.

Just when they were getting back into a rhythm and gaining speed and confidence, Hero reached the tanker section.

The tanker cars stretched out as far as their eyes could see, all black cylinders, sporting rails only in the middle and much wider gaps between them than the previous box cars had. Jumping down onto the first one, Hero ran and grabbed the bar, vaulting over the valve access and heading towards the next. Praying to every god they could think of and making several promises they didn’t plan on keeping, Hero made the leap between the first tanker car and the second. It was an extremely weird feeling, jumping forward on something that was already moving forward with wind resistance pushing you back. Hero had no time to dwell on it though.

They risked another glance back, confirming their fear that Villain was still in pursuit.

How Villain could keep up a train-top chase dressed in those clothes was anyone’s guess. Hero certainly would’ve ripped a seam by now in such a well-tailored dress pants.

And those shoes.

There was no way a normal pair of dress shoes was getting any traction on top of a tanker car. They must have custom rubber soles or something even grippier. Probably some new material that hadn’t even hit the market yet.

Rich fucker could definitely afford it.

Unfortunately for Hero, they were rather poor and did not have access to state-of-the-art footware, and it took only one misstep to almost go plummeting towards the couplings. Said misstep occurred around the fifth leap.

They caught themselves enough to stumble forward a few more steps onto the cylinder, but were unable to keep their balance with the briefcase throwing them off. They dropped onto their stomach, grappling for a handhold anywhere. They began to slip off the side, fingerless glove not finding enough traction on the side of the smooth metal tank. They couldn’t reach the cap or the ladder to stop their fall with their one free hand, so they used the last of their precious split second to push away from the car and hope it was enough to keep from being crushed beneath the train wheels.

They hit the ground with a series of crunches they hoped were only the gravel around the tracks shifting under their weight. Groaning, they thanked themselves for their choice of attire—covered completely from head to toe—because otherwise they would likely be pulling pebbles out of their skin for weeks. As soon as they were sure they weren’t about to lose life or limb to the roaring train, they looked up just in time to see Villain roll and land—admittedly more gracefully than them—a few dozen feet ahead.

Attempting to pick themselves up, Hero gritted their teeth. Their tuck-and-roll had turned into more of a sprawl-and-tumble. That was definitely going to hurt tomorrow.

That was, assuming they made it to tomorrow, which they realized with a wince was quite a presumption. Villain stalked towards them, seemingly unbothered by the whole falling/jumping-off-a-train thing.

His hair was still slicked back perfectly, but his tie was slightly askew—the only visible sign of the chase Hero could find. It didn’t even look like he was breathing hard—which was ridiculous. Hero’s breaths were heavy enough to blow down a brick house, and they considered themselves to be in pretty good shape.

Putting aside Villain’s infuriating fitness level for later, Hero finally managed to get their feet underneath them and wasted no time turning and running in the opposite direction, briefcase roughed up but still in hand. Either they were miraculously uninjured, or adrenaline was really a hell of a drug. Regardless, they scrambled back up the loose-gravel pile and followed the rails back the way they came, hoping to make it back to the section with the road, which was seeming further and further away the longer they thought about it.

How long had they stayed atop the train?

They really, desperately did not want to look back behind them. Although they couldn’t hear him over the roaring in their ears, Hero knew instinctively that Villain was hot on their tail. Problem was, the road was no where in sight, and there was nowhere else to go. Unless Hero wanted to chance class III rapids with no floatation device—plus, who knew if the case was waterproof—the only things around were wide open grass plains and steep hills peppered with hard-to-scale pine trees. Not to mention the bugs and bears and who knew what else that probably littered the countryside. Hero couldn’t run forever, and for all they knew, Villain could.

This led them to the unfortunate realization that this mission was probably not going to end in success. Maybe they should have thought this through a little more.

That realization was appropriately accompanied by the feeling of something crashing into them from behind. Tumbling onto the tracks for a second time that day, Hero yelped as one of their elbows hit the rail harshly.

Great, another bruise. Or worse.

Rolling quickly onto their back, ready to spring back upright, Hero spotted the culprit lying across the tracks.

A stick.

He threw a stick at them.

Hero cursed themselves for being bested by a glorified twig of all things.

“Don’t get me wrong, I do enjoy a good long chase, but surely you must be getting tired by now,” came a voice from behind them that should have been breathless, and Hero cursed that it wasn’t.

They were quickly back on their feet. Their legs were on fire, their elbow throbbed, their skin prickled, and their throat and lungs burned with the intensity of a thousand suns.

Nope. Not tired at all.

Hero’s lead had dwindled greatly in the time it had taken them to get back up. They knew with painful certainty that they could no longer out run Villain on a straight-away.

Okay, on to plan C.

Hero gathered the last of their energy and dashed off the tracks and down the hill, making a beeline for the river. In front of them, the water churned to the point of opaqueness. Perfect.

Hero spotted a boulder on the water’s edge and promptly threw themselves on top of it. Grateful for their knee pads, they clambered up to the highest point. From there, they held the briefcase out over the water and shouted an order for the villain to stop.

Villain halted in the tall grass a dozen feet away, which Hero almost counted as a victory before they spotted the perturbing smirk on his face.

“That’s cute,” he called back, sticking his hands in his pockets and leaning back casually.

Adrenaline reserves exhausted, Hero fought to maintain a neutral expression as their knees turned to jelly and they remained greedy for oxygen.

It would be really unfortunate if they fell into the river right now.

“So what’s your plan? Toss your only bargaining chip in the river and hope for the best?” Villain inquired with an air of curiosity, as if this show was amusing to him.

“It’s simple. You leave, and this case lives for you to steal another day,” Hero spoke in what they hoped was a calm and assured voice. They added a pat against the side of the leather casing for good measure.

“I believe the only thief here is you.”

Hero thought Villain ended that correction with a chuckle, but it was honestly hard to hear with the raging river in the immediate background.

“Do you even know what’s in there?” He asked.

Hero, in fact, did not.

“Of course I do. How else would I know you wouldn’t want to risk losing it in a river,” Hero blustered with all the courage they could muster.

“It would be an inconvenience at best. You think I don’t have contingency plans? A tracker, perhaps?” Villain was much better at achieving a tone of nonchalance than Hero.

Hero had no idea if he was bluffing. They didn’t even know if they were bluffing.

Would a tracker even matter if the case got caught under the current? Would they really risk throwing this mysterious bag into the rapids? For all they knew, it could explode. Or poison all the local wildlife. Or something equally catastrophic.

Hero once again found themselves envious of Villain’s calm demeanor. He should have at least been sweating through his starch-white dress shirt by now.

Villain did have a point. Plan C was no where near foolproof.

Hero sized him up.

It’d be hard to hide a weapon in a suit that tight, but then again if it’s truly custom there could be all kinds of hidden pockets-

Who were they kidding, his weapon of choice earlier was a stick.

So no weapon, but that didn’t mean he still wasn’t dangerous. If at all possible, Hero would still like to avoid a fight.

“Do you have a counter offer?”

“Yes. Give me the case, and they won’t have to clean your blood off the train pistons,” he replied evenly.

Hero blanched at the visceral image triggered by his statement. They tried to reassure themselves that they were armed, albeit with a measly switchblade and utility knife, and their opponent was most likely not. Plus, in true Obi Wan fashion, they had the literal high ground.

“Like Hell I’m just handing this over,” Hero scoffed as loudly as they could, “You wouldn’t hesitate to tie me to the tracks regardless. You watch too many cartoons, by the way. There are plenty of ways to kill me that don’t involve traumatizing some poor train conductor.”

Hero punctuated their response with an exaggerated eye roll. Unfortunately, what their eyes landed back on was not the smooth stone they expected to see beneath them. Instead, they found themselves staring right at the diamond back of a snake sunning itself on the rock.

They threw their arms up in surprise, which sent a jolt through their hand from their injured elbow. Furthering the series of unfortunate events, this caused Hero to lose their grip on the case. The mystery container went plummeting into the white water, but Hero had more pressing concerns at the moment. They had stumbled back from the legless reptile and subsequently lost their footing. They flailed, about to meet the same fate as the contentious case.

Before they could, however, they were yanked back by the hood of their jacket, and they collided with the hard rock instead of the turbulent water. They were pulled the rest of the way down into the softer grass and, temporarily blinded by the relief of not drowning, they didn’t resist.

“You assume,” came a voice that was unmistakably filtered through gritted teeth, “that I would let you die.”

Realizing they were far from safe after that near-death experience, Hero pushed away from the hands that saved them. It did them no good as they were manhandled to their feet, but they continued to struggle anyway.

“What? Still think you can outrun me? Go ahead. Try.”

He threw them back to the ground, challenge written all over his face as he peered down at them. Hero felt their ankle fold beneath them and swore.

They couldn’t, they knew they couldn’t, but they couldn’t just give up.

Out of options, Hero reached for the switchblade that was clipped to their waistband.

Their hands found nothing but cloth.

Panicked, they looked up towards Villain. They were horrified to find their blade flicked open in his hand.

“Looking for this?” He asked lightly, pausing to study the tip with faux curiosity, “What were you going to do with it? A light jab, perhaps?” Quick as the snake that brought them to this position, Villain pushed the blade into their ribs and pulled it right back out.

Hero choked in disbelief. He didn’t cut deep, but the wound was dangerously close to their lungs.

“A slash? Or two?”

Villain caught Hero once on their upper arm and once on the opposite lower arm with shallow cuts as they attempted to block.

“Maybe something a little more substantial. The kidneys?”

Hero crabbed walked back as best they could, which wasn’t good enough. Villain descended atop them, intent clear in the movement of the blade.

“Shit, dude! What the fuck was in there?!”

Villain stopped and held the knife still. It was pointed at their abdomen, pushing lightly into the cloth of their jacket. He was kneeling beside them, one hand on their shoulder to keep them from moving back.

“So you’re a liar and a thief?” He asked rhetorically. Hero was frozen with terror and exhaustion, hands pushing into their side where the metal had entered. Villain leaned in closer, and Hero heard a whimper leave their own lips involuntarily.

“Maybe you’ll find out when you get it for me,” He nearly whispered.

Hero blinked.

They pulled back slightly as hands grabbed onto their arms. Villain’s expression darkened.

“We’re getting up. Unless you need another reminder?” He questioned, brandishing the knife and holding it lightly to the inside of hero’s thigh. Hero shook their head frantically and allowed themselves to be pulled up onto their feet.

Swallowing the pain from their ankle and the grip on their forearm that crossed over the gash in the fabric of their sleeve, they steeled.

They were going to need so many painkillers later.

…

There was going to be a later, right?

Hero held their gaze on the view of the landscape around them. Where the water hit the rocks and sprayed upwards, they spotted a small rainbow projected onto the vapor.

Hand on the back of their neck, Villain led them away. As Hero limped along, they felt a bit like a misbehaving kitten that had been caught by its mom and dragged back to the litter by its scruff. Embarrassed, injured, and utterly defeated.

Honk Honk (part 2)

#original writing #writing #villain #hero #hero/villain #heroes and villains #short story #hero/villain snippet #why is this so long #one second I saw a train #and then I blinked and I had 3000 words #I also saw a river and a snake if you couldn’t tell #defeated hero

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kaydreamer · 5 months ago

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It Never Changes

By some merciful providence, Hope awoke the next morning with a far milder headache than she had any right to. She’d lost track of the amount of liquor she’d knocked back by the time she and Hancock had stumbled out of the Third Rail, yelling drunken revolutionary chants at the night sky and giggling like children whenever someone on the street echoed one back. He’d walked her across Goodneighbor, stepping back once they reached her door and sweeping off his hat with a ridiculous bow which nearly sent him toppling to the pavement.

It had taken every ounce of self-control she had not to grab him by the coat and pull him into the elevator with her.

She played out that fantasy in her imagination later, phantom lips dragging along her neck in the shower, his body pressed against hers as she slipped into bed.

It was just the liquor, she lied to herself.

The sun was just beginning to stain the clouds a pale pink through the morning fog as she checked and double-checked her backpack, folded Daisy’s dress neatly, freshened herself up one last time, then descended with Dogmeat in the little elevator to meet Hancock at the gate. He was already waiting for her, leaning against the barricade with Fahrenheit and smoking a cigarette. He waved as she approached. Hope returned the wave, ducking behind the curtain into Daisy’s store to quietly deposit her dress on the counter, a note of gratitude folded on top. When she emerged, he was stooping down to lift his pack onto his shoulders. Hope had assumed he’d be the type to travel light - to take a gun and a chem stash and not much else - but not only was his backpack much larger than hers, he also had an empty duffel bag rolled up and strapped to the side.

“Have you packed half the chems in Goodneighbor into that thing?” asked Hope.

Hancock chuckled. “I’d need a way bigger bag for that.” He gave the straps a tug. “More like a brahmin. Or a herd of ‘em. Nah, this is just shit for the road. With a bit of the fun stuff to spice it up,” he added, with a wink.

“Sounds exciting,” said Hope, grinning. “You ready to go?”

“Sure am.” He nodded to Fahrenheit. “Try not to let this place burn down while I’m out, yeah?”

“Less chance of that with you gone.” She pulled a shotgun slug from her pocket and tossed it at him. He caught it deftly.

“In case you need it,” she said, walking away. “See ya ‘round.”

“See ya round,” he replied, tucking the slug into an inner pocket. He turned to Hope. “Well, then. Let’s get this freak show on the road.”

“What’s the story with that bullet?” asked Hope, as the neon sign of Goodneighbor receded into the dawn fog. They were heading northwest to Oberland Station, taking the riverside route out of Boston at Hancock’s suggestion, skirting the city along the bank where it was easier to spot a potential ambush from a distance.

“This one?” Hancock withdrew the slug from his pocket, flicking it into the air and catching it with a flourish before tucking it back away. “Ya know, I’ve never asked. Bet if I did, she’d spin some bullshit about me turnin’ feral, but we both know that ain’t what it is.” He smiled. “Don’t need to be said, really.”

Hope recalled a rough hand reaching down to her with a lit cigarette. The same hand which had drooped lazily from a couch to scratch Dogmeat behind the ears, right where he liked it.

“She seems a lot sweeter than she lets on.”

“She is, but don’t let her hear ya say that,” said Hancock, leaning into Hope like he was telling her a secret. “She likes bein’ big and scary.”

Hancock popped open a tin of Mentats as they walked, taking two before holding it out for Hope. She took one, enjoying the salty-sweet flavour as it fizzed on her tongue, each bubble tingling her awake as the chem entered her bloodstream. A sense of alert clarity washed over her, tuning her ears to each metallic groan of the buildings, along with distant voices and more-distant gunshots.

A few minutes after they reached the riverbank, Dogmeat stopped dead in the road, his hackles rising with a low growl. Hancock threw out a hand in front of Hope, pausing to squint through the fog at the outline of a footbridge ahead of them. He motioned her over to the shadow of a building. Hope followed, unslinging her rifle and peering down the scope. Large, hulking shapes were moving through the mist.

“Super mutants,” she said, lowering the rifle. Hancock withdrew a shotgun from a holster tucked somewhere beneath his coat.

“How do ya wanna play this?” he asked.

“I’ve got a revolver for close quarters, but when I’ve got cover and range,” Hope patted her rifle, “I like to snipe.”

“Great, ‘cause I like doin’ the exact opposite.” Hancock grinned, a slightly fierce edge to his expression as the adrenaline of combat began to hit them both. “I’ll go cause some chaos with the pup up close, you pick ‘em off.”

“Sounds perfect.”

When Hancock said chaos, Hope realised - as she knelt in the shadow of a building, picking off the silhouettes of mutants between shotgun blasts and the flash of grenades - he meant it. The brutes were so distracted they didn’t seem to realise bullets were hitting them from more than one direction. Hancock’s much smaller shadow wove through the fog and the hulking figures as Hope aimed for headshots, dropping any which seemed to be coming at him from behind. She was so focused on that, and on keeping count of how many she’d taken out, she failed to notice the one running at her until he was almost on top of her.

“Shit!”

The brute had a huge bat with rusted nails poking from it in all directions. She rolled to the side as he swung it down, dropping her rifle and reaching for her pistol as he hefted the bat again with a roar. She sucked in a breath, scrambling back - then the mutant’s vast chest exploded in a spray of blood and viscera. The creature fell to the side, revealing Hancock, shotgun raised and a wild grin on his face. He strode toward Hope, tucking the gun away.

“Now that was fun!” He extended a hand, pulling her to her feet. “Damn, you were poppin’ em off so fast, I could barely get a shot in.”

“From where I’m standing, you just saved my ass,” she said.

“Nah, I shouldn’t have let him get that close in the first place. Slipped the net.” Hancock kicked at a great, green arm with the toe of his boot. “If you’re snipin’, it’s my job to keep ‘em off ya. But hey, we’re both still breathin’.”

“We’re both breathing, and we made a pile of dead super mutants,” said Hope. “And the sun’s barely even up.”

Hancock laughed. “That’s what I’d call a damn good start to the day. Come on, let’s book it before the chaos attracts anythin’ else. Super Mutants never have good loot.”

He turned to look at where Dogmeat was tearing at the exposed flesh of one dead mutant, his muzzle stained red, and laughed under his breath.

“Unless you’re real hungry, I guess.”

The fog had cleared by the time they reached the outskirts of Boston City, the denser city making way for trees and a cluster of ruined houses. Hope had just suggested picking through them for anything the settlers at Oberland might find useful when the teeth-tingling clatter of a Vertibird reached their ears, growing louder at surprising speed.

“Fuck! Brotherhood!”

Hancock dragged her into the side of a building as the machine swooped overhead, filling the air with a horrendous clamour which set Hope’s nerves on edge immediately.

Even before the bombs, Vertibirds rarely meant anything good.

Especially before the bombs.

Hancock usually wore his billowy white shirt open at the chest, but now he was frantically buttoning it up as high as it would go. Then he pulled off his hat and swept his hair forward to cover more of his face, before placing it back on his head, tilted low. Hope heard the heavy clang of the Vertibird depositing someone wearing power armour, then voices moving through the wrecked houses as the aircraft retreated. She put a hand in the bristles of Dogmeat’s fur as he growled softly.

“Do you think they’ll attack us?” she said.

“You? Nah. Me? Flip a cap.” Hancock grimaced. “They don’t always murder us on sight, but they sure as hell ain’t fond of ghouls.”

Hope clenched her fists, her jaw tensing. Some things were apparently perennial, apocalypse or not, and it infuriated her that stupid, violent prejudice was one of them. She motioned for Hancock to stay put, then peered around the building they were crouched behind.

“There are three of them,” she said, pulling back. “One in power armour, two in some kind of uniform. They’re just picking through the houses.”

Hancock breathed out sharply through his nose. “They’re no better than scavvers and raiders, for all their fuckin’ airs,” he said. “Think we can sneak past ‘em?”

“I think so,” said Hope. “They’re moving further into the houses. Let’s just walk. Stay behind me. You don’t look very… ghoul-y from a distance, and if we pretend to be harmless travellers, maybe they won’t pay us any attention. There’s an empty little shack just down the road, we can bunker up there until they’re gone.”

Hancock nodded, rising to his feet with Hope and staying one step behind her as they passed by the group. As predicted, they were too far away and too occupied with their task to pay more than a cursory glance toward a pair of travellers and a dog. The moment they were out of sight, Hope picked up the pace, making for a small shack with stands of dried, long-since-rotted vegetables out the front. She waved Hancock through.

“Used to know the guy who ran this place,” he said as he entered. “Guess he ain’t around anymore.”

“Oh…” Hope paused, unsure of what to say. “I’m sorry.”

Hancock toyed with a cigarette box, his eyes downcast. “It’s alright. He was old. Got more years than most. Still… gonna miss droppin’ in when I pass by.” He took a cigarette and lit it, then walked over to a locked door at the back and fished a bobby pin from his pocket. “He told me once that if he dropped off the perch, I should take whatever I wanted from back here.”

The door clicked open to reveal a small chem lab tucked behind the vegetable stall. Hope joined Hancock in fishing through drawers filled with a variety of raw materials, liquids and rotting fungi. She had to muffle a shout of excitement when she pulled open one to find a dozen glass jars filled with Daytripper.

“Ooooh, jackpot!” Hancock leaned over her shoulder to take a bottle, shaking it. “These are homebrew, but ol’ Doug was damn good at it. I know some pre-war ghouls who swear it’s as good as the original.”

“I’d be surprised if the pre-war stuff could even get you high after two-hundred years,” said Hope. “They’d lose potency if you so much as left them in a hot car.”

“Which is exactly why these are better,” said Hancock, winking at her. “You don’t have to eat the whole fuckin’ bottle. Let’s take ‘em all. Waste not, want not.” He opened his bag and began packing the little bottles into it. An idea occurred to Hope, dangerous and enticing.

“Hey, Hancock. I followed the train line down from Tenpines to Oberland. Same route we’re taking back up. Aside from a few wild dogs and some feral ghouls, it was pretty quiet and actually kinda scenic. Be a nice route for some Daytripper.”

The smile which spread across Hancock’s face could light a city. “You’re speakin’ my language, sunshine,” he said, his voice low and warm. “I’m keen. Word to the wise, don’t take too much on the road. Gotta have your wits about ya… just in case.”

“Oh, I’m well practiced where Daytripper’s concerned,” said Hope, grinning.

“Well then,” rumbled Hancock. “I’m lookin’ forward to it.”

The clanging of power armour had receded far enough into the distance that Hope and Hancock were both keen to move on rather than use the shack, its air musty from the rot of the vegetables, as a lunch stop. Hancock lingered quietly at the threshold for a moment, hat held in his hands.

“Rest in peace buddy. Thanks for the gift.”

They walked a little ways further into the forest, stopping at the rail bridge where the road met the train line. Hope dug through her bag, withdrawing some jerky and a jar of what seemed to be tato chutney. Hancock contributed some sharp brahmin cheese and a tin full of crackers - made from razorgrain, apparently - to dip in it. If Hope squinted a little, their lunch was almost like a charcuterie board.

Almost.

“Can you tell me much about these ‘Brotherhood of Steel’ people?” Hope asked, between mouthfuls. ”Nick seemed to think they were bad news as well.”

“Yeah, he would… they’d scrap him for parts. They’re bad news for pretty much everyone, and worse news if you’re not human.” Hancock paused to shove a chutney-laden cracker in his mouth. “They ain’t been seen in the Commonwealth for decades - not in force, at least - but travellers bring news and none of it’s great. From what I’ve heard, they’re some kinda… religious military cult obsessed with collectin’ pre-war tech. If that means rippin’ it outta vaults or settlements, well… too fuckin’ bad for those folk. They say they’re gonna to use it to rebuild civilisation, but everyone knows that’s a load of bull. They’re out for power.”

Hope’s appetite abandoned her.

“You’re saying they could attack settlements?”

“Maybe not attack ‘em, but they’ll expect to be ‘given’ whatever the fuck they ask for.” The look on his face told Hope this ‘giving’ was not likely to be optional.

“You mentioned they hate ghouls…” she said, darkly.

“They hate all non-humans. Ghouls included.” Hancock pulled a face. “Not like that’s anything new. Ghouls ain’t exactly welcome in a lot of places.”

“For fucks sake, why?” Hope threw her head back. “It never changes, it’s always something. It’s the colour of your skin, or the shape of your eyes, or your fucking political beliefs.” She sighed. “Every ghoul I’ve met - well, aside from Bobbi - every ghoul I’ve met has been perfectly nice.”

“You’ve met feral ghouls, haven’t ya?” Hancock’s voice was quiet.

“Yeah, but-”

“That’s why.” He turned to Hope, meeting her blue eyes with his black ones. There was a deep pain haunting them, and when he spoke, his voice was heavy. “A lot of folk see a ghoul, and all they see is a monster that could turn feral any second. It’s fear. It’s also a load of bullshit - ghouls don’t turn feral all of a sudden, it’s a process - but it’s still what plenty of folk believe. At least, it’s what they say they believe.” He laughed, bitterly. “Some people just like hatin’ everyone that’s different.”

Hope was quiet for a long while. There was steel in her voice when she broke the silence.

“I need to get the warning out, make sure every Minutemen settlement has somewhere safe for ghouls to hide if the Brotherhood show up.”

Hancock’s brows shot up. “Wait, you have ghouls in your settlements?”

Hope nodded. “It’s part of the agreement. Any settlement that wants ongoing Minutemen protection is obliged to offer safe harbour to anyone who needs it, and a home for anyone willing to pitch in and help. That includes ghouls.”

Hancock was very still for a moment, wearing an expression of wonderment. “...I could kiss you.” His voice was wobbling. “That’s the best news I’ve heard in years.”

“Much as I’d love to take you up on that,” said Hope, with a flirtatious smile, “it was Preston’s idea. I hadn’t even met a ghoul yet, feral or otherwise. You’ll have to kiss him.”

“Shame, doubt he’s as hot as you,” Hancock chuckled. “Think he’ll settle for a thank-you bouquet?”

A vision of Preston’s baffled panic at a bouquet-carrying Hancock attempting to land a kiss on him flashed into Hope’s imagination, and she snorted with laughter.

“Yeah, I think he’ll settle for that.”

First Chapter

Chapter 6

Chapter 8: COMING SOON

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