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chrissv4mp · 12 days ago

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♱ EYES FOR YOU

requested <3

WARNINGS. tiny outburst, small argument, jealous!reader, and billie acting like a huge cornball.

SYPNOSIS. when you find a wide-spread video of your childhood best friend kissing another popular social media star, you find yourself growing jealous. however, billie seems to think you're a little out of your mind.

WORDS. 2.5k

LETTERS. wanted this fic to take a more gentle, fluffy route since i haven't been providing that much 🤍

music from billie's new album boomed in the background of the low-quality video, lights flashing of every color imaginable onto the stage that seemed to be crowded with more people than it would hold.

the most noticeable people were front and center—billie and quen, a friend of hers that you'd grown to like and enjoy hanging around.

billie walks in quen's direction, the quality fuzzy, but it's clear that billie grabs her chin and pulls her into a kiss—a quick one—but a kiss nonetheless. with their height difference, billie has to raise herself on her toes.

sure, the kiss doesn't last long, but when billie pulls away, her fingers are still grasping at quen's chin. then, billie moves away and she retracts her hand like nothing happened.

you can't seem to take your eyes off of your phone, the video playing on repeat as you just sit there and watch. it was some stupid tiktok taken last night while billie was at coachella to play her album that showed up on your feed—and it was getting to you a little more than you'd like to admit.

billie was your childhood best friend, and the bond that you and her grew throughout all these years never changed. your feelings—platonic, of course—never changed, not even when you two had arguments or disagreements. but then, when billie got together with her second boyfriend, something in your mind shifted.

and after she broke up with him, you were happier than ever. it was selfish of you, sure, but you couldn't help it. then, when billie started seeing another guy a few years later, you finally acknowledged your crush on the girl—but you never had the guts to tell her.

then she broke up with the boy, and you were happy again, like you had a chance at winning her heart. every time she broke up with one of her boyfriends, you were always there, comforting her with gentle words despite how overjoyed you were. you didn't understand how she never saw that you were the one for her.

so, when billie came to you with the confession that she liked girls as well, your hopes—as if you were gonna tell her anytime soon—skyrocketed. then word spread via an article, and the whole queer-baiting rumors started up again. when her album came out, and lunch was put out into the world, the feedback seemed both positive and negative.

billie's collab with charli was another big thing that was put out into the world not even 5 months later, and with the knowledge that billie was so open and proud about her sexuality, you somehow found yourself falling deeper in love with billie—your childhood best friend.

when your hopes were just starting to overflow and you were beginning to gain the courage to ask her out, this video was put onto your for you page. but this was not meant for you to see at all.

you weren't sure what came over you. in an instant, your phone was flying through the air and banging against the door of your bedroom. with a small clatter and the quietest cracks of glass, your phone falls onto the hardwood floors of your dimly-lit room, the only source of light being the evening sun shining through your blinds.

a quiet gasp was all you could react with because, quite frankly, you had no idea what you had just done. you throw your covers off your body, the cool air hitting your skin immediately. your feet tap against the wood beneath you as you scurry to grab your phone, eyes wide and filled with the tiniest flickers of terror.

the screen protector that billie had suggested sounded really useful right now. but, of course, you were always so stubborn.

you carefully grab the device, eyes tracing the little pieces of glass and plastic that surrounded it. you knew it was destroyed, but something in your head told you it wasn't. so, you flip it over, and fear quickly passes through your system. it shouldn't have been a surprise, but your phone was broken and you couldn't have been more frustrated.

to think this was all over a stupid video of billie kissing her friend was embarrassing, really, and it almost made you want to laugh just thinking about it. but nothing was funny because now your phone was broken and now—maybe—your best friend, crush, whatever she was, kissed a girl that wasn't you. but she was prettier than you, so you had no chance in the world anymore.

your mind is fuzzy, filling with so much anger and frustration that it feels like you might explode any second now. not even the stupidest person would be dumb enough to something like this: destroying their phone over some girl that they stood no chance with. a popular, liked world-wide, pretty girl.

dropping your phone and sitting against the wall beside your door did nothing to help your situation because when you blinked, your eyes gravitated to the calendar that was pinned above your bedside table—and, by some coincidence, tomorrow was the day billie began her temporary stay so that she could get the plumbing in her house fixed.

you were so fucked.

you only realized how much you regretted giving billie the spare key to your house when she showed up at the bright and early time of 8 am with a backpack slung over her shoulder and a couple of suitcases at her sides. the quiet thud of the front door closing isn't what woke you, not even the loud clatter of billie tripping and falling over her suitcases disrupted your peaceful slumber.

neither of you knew how or why, but the faint smell of billie's perfume when she carefully and quietly opened your door was the one thing that would never fail to wake you. your eyes snap open, and your heart clenches immediately as you sit up to see the exact person you dreaded meeting today. in an effort to seem presentable, though, you offer billie a sleepy, half-assed smile.

"good mornin'," she greets, lips tugging up into that smile you always loved but forced yourself to hate in this moment. it was not a good morning.

however, you rub your eyes and pull the covers closer to your body. you lower your hands back to your sides, twisting and tugging at the comforter nervously as you completely ignore her.

billie shrugs it off, brown locks cascading over her shoulders, a loose strand hanging over one lense of her glasses. she kicks her shoes off, placing them beside yours like she always did whenever she came over before she crawls onto the bed with a gentle smile on her face. her eyes are still drowsy with sleep, and you can tell she's still not over the high she got from coachella just a few days ago.

the thought alone makes you sick.

but you keep down your comments, keeping yourself calm with a few deep breaths. your eyes move back over to the open door, billie's bag and suitcases resting in the hallway, knocked over. you're so intent on your need for a distraction you don't even realize when billie snuggles under the covers and turns on her side to stare at you.

she notices your distracted state, eyes following yours to the hallway where her things were. she only giggles at the memory, "i'll get those in a bit. they fuckin' tripped me. unbelievable." she grumbles, shaking her head.

despite your nervous, ticked-off mood, you can't help but crack even the smallest smile at her ability to get mad at an object.

still, you don't utter a word, the only sounds coming from your throat being soft breaths and the quiet, fast thumping of your heart in your chest. you were sure billie heard it. or you were just paranoid and kept on your toes from the video you saw yesterday. you couldn't ignore the jealousy and frustration you felt even at the slightest indication of it.

at your silence, billie sits up, cocking an eyebrow and tilting her head in confusion like a dog, "hey, what's wrong?"

when your silence continues, billie can't help but come up with the idea that you're ignoring her. because that's exactly what you're doing, "did i do somethin'?" she asks, voice small. she sounded genuinely concerned.

she frowns when you still don't give her the reassurance or satisfaction of a clear answer. even a simple nod of the head would do it for her, but you don't even provide her with that comfort. her hands clench into fists, tucking her lower lip between her teeth because she didn't know what else to do.

her eyes flicker with worry as you exhale deeply, and she comes to the conclusion that you're mad. mad at her? but why? she didn't understand, but she wanted to. she really did because she couldn't stand the silent treatment. and you knew that.

"y/n," her voice shakes, lower lip beginning to quiver. billie really was just a big baby when it came to you, "seriously, you know how much i hate this shit." she murmurs, running her fingers through her hair and tugging softly whenever she gets to the ends, "y/n."

even at her vulnerable, sad state, you still don't let out a peep. you just sit and stare at the hallway, breathing in and out deeply, each breath coming out harder and faster. your heart felt like it'd beat out of your chest if it kept up with the pace it was at.

your own hands tug at the sheets, finally tearing your eyes away from the hall as you focus your attention on the white comforter again. you tried to ignore her, you really did, but with the way she was asking—almost begging—made you want to punch yourself because she was just so sweet.

"just tell me if i did something. i—i'll fix it, y/n, i promise i will." she whimpers. she whimpers and your walls break down completely.

"you kissed her, billie. at coachella," you blurt, tone hostile and sharp as you turn your entire body to face her, "you kissed her when it was so obvious that i like you." you scoff, and exasperated smile on your face.

she's taken aback by your confession, and the bewildered look on her face is laughable, but nothing seems to be very light or funny. she furrows her eyebrows, recollecting the events of the night a few days prior where she was on the stage with her friends.

a lot of videos seemed to circulate and get passed around all of social media that night. videos of billie grabbing her friends playfully and just being touchy per usual. the video that was most prominent, though, was the clip of her and her close friend, quen, kissing. it was obviously playful, anyone could see if they had two eyes and good vision.

and, plus, most of the internet passed it by as 'billie eilish and her best friend quen blackwell playing around,' so it came as a surprise whenever you looked at her as if awaiting an answer.

"it was quen, y/n, she's one of my closest friends. i was being a total goof the entire night, it was all just playful fun. i—you, sorry—you like me?" she stammers, the entire situation too much for her to wrap her head around so quickly.

it was all news to her. your confession, your accusation, everything.

"still, billie—it doesn't make any fucking sense." you retort, eyes wild.

she still tugs at her hair nervously, albeit knowing the reason for your silence, and begins to speak again, voice shaky, "it was just a dare odessa gave me, y/n. honest. quen thought it was out of the ordinary, too." billie explains.

"we were laughing at the videos on the ride back to our places. it was all just a misunderstanding," she breathes, eyes searching yours for any glimmer of hope or realization. when your eyes meet hers, she almost frowns because of how embarrassed you look.

instead, her hands reach out for yours, taking them in her own large ones adorned with the rings she forgot to take off the night prior. she gives you a reassuring smile, soft and genuine as her eyes dart between your lips and irises.

still, she catches the tiny glint of doubt in your eyes. so, she acknowledges your confession again, knowing that was the one thing that was bugging you, "i don't think anyone's more stupid than me for not realizing your feelings sooner. and after all these years? god, i feel like an idiot." she laughs.

her eyes never leave yours, showing just how serious and committed she is to the words that leave her mouth, "i really hope you more than just 'like' me because i love you."

your lips part in surprise, eyes widening even more if that was possible. your heart seemed to beat faster, and this time you were sure it'd beat out of your chest if you didn't calm down soon. her own confession was a huge smack in the face because she seemed to be really good at hiding it. so, it led you to think she was lying. just maybe.

when she saw the flicker of doubt was still there, though, she did the first thing she could think of. her face spoke for her as she gave you a, 'you think i'm kidding?' look, then her hands cupped your face and she kissed you and you almost passed out from the shock.

her lips molded against your so perfectly, fingers digging into your skin so gently it was like you were getting pulled in by nothing but the wind. her nose brushed yours as she pulled you closer, lips curling into a smile from the pride she got from finally making a move.

the feeling of her lips against your own was euphoric, like something you'd never felt before. it was a new high that would never be beat ever again because billie was surely about to take over your entire life after this. she'd become everything and all you'd think about.

she never wanted to pull away, but when her lungs demanded fresh air, she pulled away with hesitancy, lips parting to breath deeply, heavily. her eyes fluttered open, eyes flitting all across your face and taking a second to admire your each and every feature.

her tongue darts out to wet her lips before she speaks again, mind completely lost in nothing but you, "believe it now?" she teases lightly, challenging you even in the softest, most vulnerable moments of your relationship—a relationship that was definitely gonna become more than just friends.

her thumbs caress your cheeks, touch soft and sweet against your skin, "now you know i only have eyes for you." she whispers, smiling proudly.

your smile grows at her words, biting your lip as your eyes flit down to her own plump ones, "glad to finally know that."

"great. now can i kiss you again?"

TAGS. @mseilishmwah @sophloveswomen @mxqdii @livvydunneness @vyntagess @afteraftercare @wiidfi0wer33 @loving1dsworld @tan1shere @fallingforfalll2 @cierraonline @dandelions4us @scarlittt @ifwdominicfike @slxtarchive @stonerfromlesbos @bilsdillldough @47lake @hopingforgoodblogs @karaeilishh @mybluebossanova @sturnsmia @moralesluvr @justtr @greenbttrflyy

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toasterpancakes · 8 months ago

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Go get em’ tiger

Austin Butler Fanfiction

Austin Butler x you | Drabble

Summary: A snippet of domestic life with Austin before the Golden Globes.

“Come in,” you call out absently, your fingers giving no pause as they continue to fly across the keyboard in front of you. You’ve become so accustomed to the occasion knocks to the door of the room you call your home office that have peppered the last few hours of the day. It had started with Austin’s personal assistant coming in to ask if you had seen the spare keys to one of his cars, and followed with his publicist (“Do you want a coffee? We are ordering in”), a stylist (“I’m so sorry to ask you this but did you have any extra safety pins by any chance?”) and ending with his personal assistant again (“We’re grabbing dinner for everyone, do you want something?”) coming in to ask various questions.

You finish up the sentence you are currently working on as you hear the door creak open before it shuts with a soft click. You expect to hear a question thrown your direction, but the silence has you puzzled. You toggle your mouse to hit the save button - a habit which you’ve formed years ago after having lost a document too many after being bested by technology failing on you, and crane your neck to peer over one of the two screens which you have in front of you. A pair of blue eyes meet your gaze, and you find your lips splitting into a smile.

“Am I disturbing?” His voice cuts through the space between you. Austin doesn’t move from where he is leaning back casually against the door. You drop back down into your chair, legs shuffling slightly, wheeling the office chair slightly to your right so you have an unobstructed view of him.

“Most definitely,” you say without so much as a pause, and you see Austin’s lips quirk upwards into a half smirk.

“I see,” Austin hums patronisingly in response, playing along, as he pushes himself up, legs striding across the floor of your office with an easy gait, easily reducing the space between you. He perches himself in front of you, on the edge of your office desk, “well I’m sorry to be interrupting such important business.”

“Very important business,” you say with a nod which you follow with a tilt of head towards the computer screen.

“Nothing less,” Austin says as he eyes you from his perch, arms crossed loosely across his chest. You content yourself with letting your gaze drift from his face down the rest of his body taking note of his styled hair, face with barely there make up for the red carpet to cover blemishes. He still has on a loose flannel, the top three buttons undone, and dark sweat pants. Austin’s gaze follows your hand as you reach out to tug the end of his shirt lightly.

“Don’t you have to change soon?” You ask only for him to shrug.

“Yeah, probably,” he says unfazed as he reaches out to envelop your hand with his. Austin’s palm is warm, and slightly calloused. You follow the tugging motion coming from his palm and limber to a stand. Austin manages to manoeuvre you into the space between his legs. Your place your palms flat on his thighs as he weaves his arms in the gap between your arms and body, pulling you as close to him as the position would allow.

“Are you very sure you don’t want to come?” He asks, his fingertips finding themselves wandering beneath the back of your top to meet the skin of your lower back. He moves to lean his forehead against yours only for you to retract your head. It makes Austin frown, a brown lifting slightly in question.

“They’ll kill me if I mess up their work,” you say opting instead to bring a hand up to the nape of his neck, your thumb rubbing the space below his ear in a circular motion. Austin lets out an audible sigh, but he doesn’t say anything - because he knows better than to grumble. Austin knew the value of hard work and wasn’t one to mess up work that someone else had put themselves into. He settles instead for letting the weight of his neck sag into the palm of your hand while letting his eyes flutter shut.

“I wish you were coming with me,” he says, eyes still shut.

“Well you know, important business and all,” you joke. Truth to be told it wasn’t work which was keeping you from going as his plus one to the Golden Globes, but more because, as you had told him, this was all Austin, his time to shine - and you didn’t want to take away from it by having the media and audience overshadow him and his work with less savoury headlines.

You could see it now, an article titled “Austin Butler and girlfriend sighted at the Golden Globes - trouble in paradise?” - with a long, entirely false and made-up story about how you both were on the rocks all because you walked two steps behind him on the red carpet. You both were out as a couple, but liked your privacy and kept your relationship out of the public eye as much as possible; yet it only made the media vultures worse, spinning every little glance they could get into a sensational, elaborate rumour.

Austin sighs as he opens his eyes. He lifts the weight of his neck off from your hand, taking your palm in his, he skims the back of your knuckles with his lips - a move that wouldn’t mess up his hair or make up - before dropping both your hands in between your bodies.

“I’ll be home after.”

“You should go for the after-party,” you tell him as he rubs his thumb along the back of your hand, “you’ll have lots to celebrate.”

Your words make him huff out while shaking his head in true Austin fashion - always doubting himself, slow to believe he was as good as they said.

“I rather celebrate with you,” he says an undercurrent of doubt running through his voice, clearly not believing that there would be anything to celebrate.

“I’ll be here when you get back,” you promise to the blue eyes staring back at you, “with peanut butter and jelly,” you continue and you see the twinkle that lights up in his eyes. Peanut butter and jelly - unusual, you would think if you looked at Austin, but it was a comfort food of sorts, something that you knew reminded him of his Mom.

He opens his mouth to say something when a rap of knuckles against the door of your home office interrupts. Austin does groan outwardly this time, because work was work but he hated when work took him away from you.

“Yeah,” he calls out, knowing that they’re looking for him. The door creaks open and his publicist sticks her head in.

“They need you for outfit now,” she says, darting a glance at you both. Austin had his head turned so his side profile faces her, while also effectively shielding you from her view, as if he were trying to keep distinct his work and private life.

“I’ll be out in three,” he calls and she nods, stepping and shutting the door behind her.

“Go,” you say, offering him a smile.

“Say bye before I leave?” He asks, an almost child-like quality to the deep, raspy voice.

You nod in agreement and Austin brings the back of your hand up to his lips again. He keeps his gaze connected with yours as he presses a kiss into your knuckles.

“Go get ‘em tiger,” you say with a wink as he slides off the table.

“Yes m’am,” he offers you a lopsided grin, as he goes hands in pockets towards the door towards his first golden globe.

#austin butler #austin butler x you #austin butler x reader #austin butler x y/n #austin butler imagine #austin butler fanfic #austin butler fanfiction #domestic #austin butler fic #domestic austin butler

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mrs-barnes-rogers-writes · 4 months ago

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Angel - Part 4

Marvel AU

Pairing: Alpha Steve Rogers x Enhanced Omega Reader x Alpha Bucky Barnes

Theme: A/B/O / True Mates

Summary: It's different when you're enhanced. Everything is different, every smell, every sound, touch, feelings. The way it's different doesn't make sense unless you are enhanced. Throw in what comes with Alpha and Omega instincts, and the intensity of your presentation is even more than any other. When you find yourself in need of help you can call on the alpha you trust the most, Natasha Romanoff. You just don't expect to find your alphas at the same time. Are you really enough for them? And can you really be the Luna to the Avengers?

"To be loved, to be loved by your mate is everything." - Wanda Maximoff

Reader is enhanced, has wings and has powers connected to electricity.

Chapter Summary: The readers rest is cut short.

You woke with a jump as your ass bounced on the seat. You winced in pain as the knock vibrated up and into your broken ribs. Your eyes tried to focus as you continued to be bounced around. You pulled the straps tighter, realising Clint had left them loose probably in a bid to not hurt you. You glanced forward expecting to see him or Natasha in the pilots seat but found both the pilot and co-pilot seats empty. There was another harsh bump and as you focused you could see through the jet’s window that you were in the middle of a storm. A bad one. Quite possibly a hurricane. Any standard jet would be in serious trouble right now. Who the fuck is flying this thing?

Checking the dials and screens of the jet you realised the AI was piloting. Another harsh bump, a yell and a smashing sound caused you to release yourself from the confines of the seat and head to the back of the jet. The door to the back of the jet was open and the wind was blowing at force through it. Bruce seemed to be setting up three medical beds. Clint and Nat were near the opening on lines securing them to the jet. What the fuck was going on? You suddenly remembered Nat’s previous statement. Wilson. Barnes. Rogers. Trouble. Bruce spotted you before you had chance to move any further.

“Ermmm guys?” He said turning to glance at Nat and Clint and gesturing at you.

“Go back to the front and strap in.” Clint ordered. You frowned at him.

“Please sestra!” Nat yelled over the wind. Spotting something on the outside of the jet, your eyes went wide when you realised what it was. You went to yell but nothing came out.

“DANGER” you signed and they ducked as the rescue line whipped in the wind. The rescue cradle at the end smashed into the ceiling and sides of the jet before flying back out again, the winch pulling as it went.

“What the fuck is going on?” You signed as Nat and Clint righted themselves.

“Rogers, Barnes, and Wilson are in the water.” Clint shouted. You went towards the opening as they all called for you to stay back, looking out into the stormy darkness you could see the jet in the water. The three alphas on the roof as the emergency inflatables kept it afloat. You saw Barnes try and grab for the line before it hit Rogers hard in the side of the head as he held onto Wilson. They were being battered by the waves and you were sure if two of them hadn’t been super soldiers they’d be dead, lost in the water. You stepped back and signed to Clint.

“Retract the line.”

He went to speak, ready to argue with you but he knew you were right. It was too windy for the winch and line. Too dangerous for him or Nat, and if Bruce, or rather the Hulk, went out there the force of him landing on their jet would sink it and he’d probably damage their's as he jumped back. Clint hit the button on the wall of jet and retracted the line.

“What are you doing?” Nat yelled.

“You know what I’m doing.” He replied glancing at you. They watched as you grabbed your bag from the cargo net Nat had stowed it in and pulled it open.

“No!”

“Nat, you know it’s the only way to get them up here safely.”

She huffed as she watched you pull out a spare suit. Bruce fussed around you, helping you when he could as your injuries caused you to grimace. He quickly taped your broken fingers together as you wiggled in your suit and zipped it up. Clint and Nat smiled briefly at each other. They always amused by the little wiggle you did. You pulled out your flight glasses and Clint instructed Friday to connect them to the jet so they could see what you were doing. You signed the passcode for the AI to connect them.

“Be careful.” Nat told you as you made your way to the open door.

“Grab Wilson first.” Bruce shouted. “He’s the worse injured.”

You signed asking for the wind speed and direction from Friday, before nodding and leaping from the jet. Your wings appeared, pushed from your back as soon as you were clear of the door, the nanotech in your suit reacting to make room for them. The wind knocked into you and took your breath away as you dipped and soared to reach the alphas, still being battered from the storm.

As you neared you caught a flurry of scents that immediately spurred you forward.

Your omega stirred in the back of your mind and you pushed back. Not now. She stirred again and purred. You neared the three alphas but found your eyes drawn to two in particular. Your omega reacted instantly.

Mine.

Fancy a cuppa? My Ko-Fi.

TAGLIST

@animegirlgeeky @mrsevans90 @vicmc624 @elissanatok

More tags in comments

#avengers au #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #avengers #alpha steve rogers #alpha steve rogers x reader #alpha steve rogers x omega reader #alpha bucky x reader #alpha bucky barnes x reader #alpha bucky barnes x omega reader #alpha steve rogers x reader x alpha bucky barnes #alpha steve rogers x omega reader x alpha bucky barnes #alpha steve rogers x enhanced omega reader x bucky barnes

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emeraldbloodcrown · 7 months ago

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Once More

Chapter: Four - Coffee Pairing: Poly; Tattoo Artists!141 x Baker!Female Reader Summary: John and you finally hang out while your grandmother seemingly doesn't wanna talk to you Content/Warning: Still none Word Count: 3k

The street lamps gave Johnny a soft glow and a boyish smile on his lips as he looked at you with those deep blue eyes of his. You scoffed and patted his shoulder, careful not to touch him for longer than appropriate, and went to leave his side.

"Thanks, Johnny. I see you around."

He went for your wrist and managed to brush your knuckles, a simple caress but it alarmed something in your brain. It made your eyes wide and turn your entire body to him, back to the walls and limbs close to yourself.

Johnny opened his mouth, seemingly noticing that something had gone wrong before he retracted his hand and instead went for something in his pocket. He moved slowly, eyes on you so he could watch you reaction as he pulled out his phone, swipping a couple times and turning the screen to you. The display showed a new contact profile.

"Gon' be easier if I got yer number, aye?"

You looked at his phone for a moment, long enough for the device to darken and for Johnny to try to ease the tension.

"Unless ye prefer notification per pidgeon carrier," he joked with a wagging of his eyebrows.

"You said you work at Death or Glory, right? Could just swing by for new ink instead."

"Oh? Yer gon' lemme give ye a new piece?"

"Oh no, I'm gonna tell you I got work for you and let Kyle do the honors."

Johnny placed a hand over his heart and staggered back as if shot on stage, but when he looked at you again, the twinkle in his eyes was back.

"Ye wound me. Come on, throw me a bone here, bonnie."

You waited for another moment before you sighed and took his phone, typing your number in. The smile on his face had turned into a full grown grin and as he reached to take his phone back, you held it out of his reach.

"You use this for anything but helping us, you're gonna get blocked so fast, you understand me?"

Johnny pocketed his phone again. "Yes, Ma'am."

"Have a good night, Johnny."

Joining Anna, it didn't take both of you long to enter your dreamland and be dead to the world until your alarm rang, waking the two of you up for another day of work at the bakery.

"Nooooo," Anna groaned above you, having been the lucky one with the bed this time.

Glaring at your phone, you turned the alarm off and sat up, fighting the unwillingness to get up but ultimately moving to stand up. Anna had decided to snuggle into her Pegasus, trying to shield any light from her eyes to fall back asleep.

"Come on," you said, shaking her by the leg but only getting disgruntled groans from her and her hand attempting to swat you away like an annoying fly.

"We got work to do."

"We got sleep to do. Work can wait."

"If you're not sitting by the time I'm done, I'm gonna get a bucket of water."

After you were done with your morning routine, deciding to take some extra care after yesterday, you didn't immediately go back to Anna but instead took a detour upstairs. The room of your grandmother's was still locked, something she had done for as long as you could remember while she slept, so you knocked and listened for any sounds.

"Grandma? Can we talk?"

You took a glance at the clock in the hallway. Sure, it was early but if your job had taught you anything, it was that people, as soon as they became elderly, all turned into the earliest of birds. Couple that with the early-rising nature of her own work, there was no way, she'd still be sleeping.

So you tried again but making a point to knock against the door louder.

"I know you're up. I'm sorry about yesterday, it just doesn't make sense to me."

You sighed when you received no answer again and decided to try for one last time.

"At least come down for breakfast."

"Not hungry. Just leave."

You waited for another moment, feeling frozen in place as you still hoped for her to open the door, only to find yourself remembering that she was known for her stubbornness and you'd sooner find Easter and Christmas on the same day than have her give in first.

Feeling frustrated, you went back to Anna, taking a peak into the room and finding her dead asleep again, so you quickly grabbed a bucket out of the hallway closet.

After breakfast, the two of you tackled painting the front room of the bakery. The floor had already been done by local workers, leaving the walls to be the only thing left to do before you could start assembling the furniture the both of you had picked weeks prior, and would be delivered by the weekend.

Having just finished the second base coat, you took a step back, somewhat cursing your brain for the idead it had just come up with.

Noticing your tension, Anna put her paint roller back into the tray, crossing her arms ands leaning her shoulder onto yours.

"I can hear the high-pitched whine of those wheels upstairs all the way from here; what's wrong?"

You hummed, lowering your shoulder to make it wasier for Anna's smaller frame.

"Not exactly wrong but…"

"But what?"

Making a window with your hands, opposite thumb and pointer finger touching, you held it low enough for Anna to look through and see the exact part of the wall you had in mind.

"Thinking of painting something. Our shade is light enough that it should work. I think."

"Hmm. You got the skills," Anna said, pinching your arm after she noticed the look you were giving her, "You do. But what motive?"

"Some nature scene. A tree in the breeze or something like that."

"Sounds good. And you better trust your own process or else!"

"What you say, my dear," you answered, sarcasm dripping in your voice.

"But," Anna exclaimed, "before that, the base coat gotta dry, which means you and I got some time to kill."

Raising an eyebrow, you watched as she quickly walked outside and unlocked the boot of your car, taking a very familiar bag out of it. Its shape was long, the top gray and the sides red with the name printed on it in white letters: Rummikub.

"Remember Mrs C?" Anna asked but it was mostly rhetorical.

Mrs C, or Silvya as she preferred to be called - even down to the point that she'd make it impossible to take care of her until she got her will - was one of those residents where leaving them made your heart bleed.

She was a beast if she wanted to but for a few chosen ones, Anna and you included, she was sweeter, still asking a lot but often ringing her emergency bell when she noticed one of you was running on fumes.

She'd have a cup of tea ready for you and would demand you take a break for how many minutes you could get away with, and in this minutes, she'd pop out a bag, just like Anna had in her hands, and play a quick round of Rummikub, a version of Rommé that used playing pieces instead of cards.

"Course I do"

Anna turned the bag where Mrs C had written something.

>> For when you need a break. Good luck. <<

"We weren't allowed to accept gifts, you know that."

Anna scoffed, "Yeah, as if she would have cared."

Chuckling to yourself, you followed Anna to the little makeshift table where she sat up the game, holding the bag out for you to get your 14 pieces to start the game.

Assembling them in your preferred order, you waited for Anna to place hers down on the stand. After she was done, she clasper her hands together, leaning her chin down on them and smirking at you.

"You wanna bet?"

You rolled your eyes. It would've come as a bigger surprise if she hadn't wanted to play for some stakes.

"Sure, what do you want?"

"If I win, you give me Johnny's number-"

"Jesus fucking Christ," you groaned, putting your face in your hands in exasperation.

"What?!"

"You know what! You haven't even known him for a full day!"

"Hence his number!" Anna pouted.

In actuality, there was no discussion for you. Johnny hadn't mentioned if he was okay with you giving Anna his number so it was a no-brainer for you to not hand it out even if she won. But, and that let you stop arguing with her, that was a big if, so you just waved her off.

"At least wait a month with the damn wedding invitations."

"No promises," Anna said, immediately putting down a row of 60 points instead of the 30 that were required. "Show off"

True to your assumption, Anna hadn't been able to win a single round. She had gotten close a few times but at the end you had always managed to draw the right piece.

"One more!" Anna's fists hit the table, making the pieces on it clatter but before you could find an excuse, your phone notified you of a text message.

"Ah! Saved by the bell."

Anna's verbal displeasure fell on deaf ears as you read it.

'Are you free at three today?'

The smile, present from Anna's antics, slipped a bit as your eyes went to the name you had saved the number under.

John.

"What?"

"It's John, he wants to meet."

She raised an eyebrow, "That's good, right? You wanted to see him again."

"I did…"

And you still do. It was just after his last text, you hadn't expected to hear from him again, so seeing him reach out took you by surprise.

You took a glance at the time on your phone, calculating in your head how long you'd need to finish and clean yourself up before you sent him an affirmative, receiving an answer within seconds.

'The Factory at three?'

"So?" Anna tried to take a peak at your screen but you quickly pocketed it after sending John a reply.

You took the bag and placed everything back inside much to Anna's dismay.

"No, no, no! My number!"

She went to make a grab for the bag but you held it out of her reach.

"You want it? Go ask him and get it."

Crossing her arms and pounting, she mumbled: "Give me the gossip then."

You rolled your eyes but relented. "I'm going on a coffee date with John at three."

Anna's mouth fell open and her eyes widened enough that her eyes seemed to pop out of her head at any moment.

"So it is a date," she screeched.

"Coffee date. No big deal," you said, emphasising every word.

"Nuh uh! With you it's a huge deal."

You couldn't really disagree with her but weren't in the mood to talk about it anymore, so you took the bag to the side and out of the way of any wayward drops.

"Which means I got about an hour before we gotta be done, so move it."

Anna grumbled and continued to glare at you but still followed your lead. Since the base coats were finally dry, you went to open the bucket of color and grabbed the paint roller to finish your task for the day. With both of you focusing on your work, the only noises came from the speakers playing Anna‘s playlist and you were able to get done quicker than you had originally thought.

“Need help with the clean up,“ you asked but Anna simply waved you off with a small smile.

“Just get ready for your date“ A pause before Anna continued, an exaggerated pout on her lips. “And bring me some pie!“

Saluting to her, you left the bakery, going home to take a much needed shower and getting all the specks of paint off you.

The Factory was located a little further away, looking like nothing much from the outside but once you stepped inside, you noticed a folksy charm about it. The layout of the shop was just like every other bakery or coffee shop but what made it unique, and gave it its name, was the assembly belt that worked as a display and counter.

Taking a look around, you noticed John sitting in a corner booth, dressed in jeans, sweater and jacket, all in varying shades of dark, and a beanie on his head, which he had drawn deep into his face. He was sitting a little hunched over and if it hadn‘t been for him looking up at that moment, you would‘ve missed him. Keeping you in his sight as you walked closer, you noticed his eyes darting around; checking to see who was around you.

“Hello, love,“ John pointed across from him.

Usually, you would have no qualms about following his lead, not being one for bold actions, but something about how he tried to disappear into himself, you found yourself motioning and waiting for him to slip out of the booth.

There was a moment in which John hesitated, not unlike the situation at the hardware store, pondering what would be in his best interest before he did as you were asking. As soon as he stood, you pulled him into a hug, squeezing gently but still keeping it short enough to not make him too uncomfortable.

“Good to see you again,“ you said, letting go of him and slipping into the booth. John followed you after he got over his initial shock.

There was silence between you as you both studied what to order from the small menu but even after a waiter had taken your orders, it didn‘t dissipate. It wasn‘t uncomfortable for you but you still decided to fill it a little by commenting on things you noticed in the shop, receiving either short mumbles or nodding from John.

You didn‘t pay it much mind, this wasn‘t born out of mutual interest in each other but for you to pay back a favor, so you were perfectly fine with carrying the conversation. Apparently, John was not.

He sighed and took a sip from his black coffee, surprised when he noticed your attention on him.

“Sorry, love. I‘m..I‘m not used to this anymore“

You cocked your head, smiling at him playfully. “What? Talking to someone?“

“Is that all we‘re doing?“

“All it has to be.“

A smile finally graced his lips, his shoulders seemed to draw back a little, relaxing for the first time since you‘ve seen him.

“Why would you wanna waste your time with an old man like me?“

You scoffed, raising an eyebrow. “You‘re not old, just older, and by what? Ten years, fifteen? Had plenty of residents with a bigger age gap and they were perfectly happy.“ Noticing the implications of your words, you added: “Not that it has to mean anything.“

John seemed to be amused by your innocent blunder, but the moment a customer in the booth to the right started laughing loudly, he withdrew into himself again, realizing where he was.

You looked down at your mostly empty mug of Chai. “You wanna get out of here?“

He mustered you, taken aback by your suggestion and for a moment you thought he would just cut this short but he nodded, pulling out his wallet but you beat him to the punch, leaving enough bills to cover both of your drinks.

“Told you it was my treat.“

As soon as he was able to get outside of the shop and breathe some fresh air, John seemed to relax again, still with his walls all the way up, but less likely to be waiting for something to jump out at him.

“Lead the way“

John turned the corner, guiding you along some small side streets, giving you small anecdotes as you passed them, still not talking a lot but offering something up by himself. However little it was.

The town grew less familiar, knowing that if John didn‘t bring you back later on, you‘d have a hard time finding your way back home, but after numerous turns, the labyrinths of little paths opened up to a wide, open public garden.

The flowerbed at the front showed already a colorful mix of different flowers, giving off a divine scent and you decided then and there, that this was your new favorite place in town.

“This is breath-taking...“

You couldn‘t help but be in awe, following John through the flower archway. You could hear other visitors from all around you but due to the hedges lining the path, it still offered some privacy; something John seemed to be very keen on.

“My,“ he started, pausing to decide how to continue, “My ex-wife designed this. I think she‘s outdone herself with it.“

Just by his tone, you could tell that it was a loaded sentence, but the shift in his expression - a dark shadow taking over his face - made it obvious how painful just the mention of her must be to him, so you decided to distract him without dismissing him.

“It‘s beautiful regardless. Why did you wanna come here?“

“Never got to see it done, and I thought you might like it,“ he said, shrugging.

“I do. Definitely need to show Anna this.“

As if eased by your answer, his smile reappeared.

“Thanks for meeting me, by the way."

"Was high time, love. I know you wanted something else but I'm glad you agreed to this."

"No worries," you said, smiling at him and knocking your elbow against his, "Still would like to take you out for dinner for your help."

"I'll think about but no promises"

You cheered a little, making him chuckle at your antics when your phone went off with another text, deciding to quickly check as you walked with John through the garden, only to find your heart drop to your stomach as what you were reading.

#crown mumbles #cod x reader #cod #call of duty #cod mw2 #john price #john price x reader #johnny mactavish x reader #johnny mactavish #simon riley #simon riley x reader #kyle gaz garrick #kyle gaz garrick x reader

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silver-tongued-deovel · 2 months ago

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♡☆♡☆♡☆♡☆♡☆♡☆♡☆♡☆♡☆♡☆♡☆♡☆

A/N: Two of my main interests at the moment are horror movies and call of duty fanfics. Naturally, I decided to combine the two. I got through the first chapter of a fanfic. However, I can't tell if I like it or not. I was hoping you guys would share your opinions and suggestions on where to take it!

♡☆♡☆♡☆♡☆♡☆♡☆♡☆♡☆♡☆♡☆♡☆♡☆

☆A Movie that I've Seen Too Many Times☆

♡Word Count:~2.6k♡

♡☆♡☆♡☆♡☆♡☆♡☆♡☆♡☆♡☆♡☆♡☆♡☆

"You're either fucking stupid or printed out the worst directions possible! After being stuck in the car with you all day, I'm beginning to think the former!" Your husband half-shouts.

He helped you pick this route, but you don't mention that, nor do you argue. He's been driving all day, and you're sure he's frustrated. He doesn't mean to take it out on you, you lie to yourself. He snatches the map out of your hands.

"Maybe we should pull over, honey,” you suggest. Anthony has always been a distracted driver; you hate it.

"I can multi-task," he argues while swerving. You suck in a breath and close your eyes, trying to will yourself to be patient. This is supposed to be a vacation for both of you. It's supposed to be relaxing and renewing to your relationship. That's what the therapist said.

Reminding yourself of this, you re-open your eyes. You're met with the wide eyes of a deer standing in the middle of the road, "Anthony!" You start to scream. He looks up just in time to watch the car collide with the deer.

The deer goes flying above your car, only to fall back down in front of it again. During the ascent, it smashes against your windshield. The glass shatters, and you feel the shards collide with your skin. Some shards lodge themselves in your skin; other shards leave behind artificial cuts. As it descends, it lands with a thunk. Anthony has let go of the wheel to shield his face but hasn't braked in time. Upon hitting the deer's body again, the car juts into a ditch. It finally stops; the only thing that can be heard are the deep breaths coming from you and Anthony, along with a faint beeping from an error message on the dashboard. Fuck.

It takes a while for either of you to speak or even move, for that matter.

----

"Stupid fucking deer," Anthony finally curses as he bangs his hands against the steering wheel. He quickly retracts them and hisses. You understand why; everything hurts. There's silence again.

"We should call someone," You say after a few more minutes of silence. For once, Anthony doesn't argue with you. You're glad. Instead, he nods and pops open the center console. He pulls out his black flip phone before closing the console again. You leave your phone in there. You see no use in grabbing it; it's not like you have anybody to call.

"I'll call the insurance's roadside assistance line," he informs you. You're surprised he didn't suggest calling his family first but then remember how late it is. You're glad. You hate his family. Not that you'd ever admit it.

"Ok," you say, though, you don't think you need to. Anthony goes to flip open his phone. The screen is damaged; multiple colored lines are all that's displayed.

"You can use mine," you offer. Your voice is soft, but Antony's eyes still snap over to you. He shakes his head.

"The thing should still be able to make calls," he says. He's never liked your phone. It's an old touch screen, Nokia. As he starts to punch in the numbers, you see lights in the distance.

"Anthony, look," you nudge his arm. He goes to reprimand you but stops as the lights get brighter while they approach. You squint your eyes and make out a large truck.

"Stay in the car. I'll flag them down," Anthony says as he puffs out his chest. You don't think the car offers you any protection at this point, but listen nonetheless. You're exhausted, and you don't feel like arguing. Besides, if you argue now, you might miss potential help.

Anthony's door is jammed from the accident. He has to slam against it to scramble out. He hisses as he puts weight on his feet. You know he'll tell you all about the problem later. For now, he rushes to the side of the road and waves hands.

The truck comes to a screeching halt beside him. You can see everything clearly from the car. You notice a carry-on trailer attached to the truck. The pickup driver rolls down his window and stares down at your husband as he frantically explains what happened-or his version of what happened. The only thing you notice from your spot is that this guy is wearing a mask. A mask with a skull on it. Why would someone need to drive with a skull mask on? You want to put your head in your hands and scream. This man is going to murder you and your husband and do God knows what with the bodies. It's the only conclusion you can come to.

As your husband finishes up his speech, the guy's head slightly turns as he inspects the damage of the vehicle. You swear his eyes stop on you for a few seconds before he mumbles something to your husband and puts the truck in park. Then he swings open the truck door and steps out. He's huge-easily over 6 feet. He towers over Anthony, then he's walking past him and towards your car.

You're going to die. You're going to get murdered by this beast of a man, your brain unhelpfully repeats as you remain frozen in the car. It takes a few seconds to realize the man has asked you a question. He must notice your confused look because he repeats himself.

"Why are you still in the car? Could be unsafe." He says as he approaches the passenger side.

"Uhm," you're going to make an excuse for your husband. However, your brain stops that from happening as the man pulls open your door and lifts you out of the car. You're stunned at his display of strength. It feels like you weigh nothing as he holds you close. You whimper at the feeling; the impact has left you aching, and multiple areas where the glass broke through skin are still bleeding.

The man looks down at you when you whimper but provides no comfort. Although you think his grip loosens just a tad, he carries you up to the road, past Anthony, and prys open his truck door. Anthony doesn't say anything, but you see him glaring. You wiggle a bit in the man's arms, stuck between fight, flight, and freeze. It doesn't seem to bother him as he sets you down in the middle seat and closes the door. You're relieved to hear him offer both you and your husband a ride, as well as to tow the car. Anthony enthusiastically accepts the offer, seemingly forgetting about his previous grievance, as he cooperates with the masked man to haul the car onto the trailer at the back of the truck.

Next thing you know, Anthony is getting into the truck on the passenger's side, and the man is getting back into the driver's seat. You can't help but stare. He stares back, but he's not staring at your face; you look down to where his eyes meet your arm. Your long sleeve has ridden up, revealing a hand-shaped bruise. You tug the long sleeve bag down hastily. Eyeing both men beside you, you notice Anthony hasn't seemed to notice the interaction.

As the man starts the truck, Anthony introduces the two of you. The man eyes the both of you as he drives.

"Friends call me Simon," he responds.

"Thanks for the help, Simon," Anthony interrupts.

Simon glares. "You can call me Ghost, though,” he finishes.

The drive continues in silence.

----

It's been about 45 minutes, according to the trucks built-in digital clock. The silence has made it feel longer, but now you're driving up an old gravel road. The jagged road jostles the three of you. It hurts, and the dried blood has been making you uncomfortable the whole drive, but you remain silent.

You think you can see a porch light on. Your heart sinks. You've been anxious the entire ride. Pulling up to a house in the middle of nowhere seemingly confirms your fears-that Ghost is taking you to the middle of nowhere to murder you.

Logically, you know you're probably at a house because it's much too late for any auto shop to be open. But you don't want to think logically. You want to be in a very public area - without a masked man sitting next to you. The truck gets shifts into park.

"Oh, honey," you turn towards Anthony. "Simon," he clears his throat, "I mean Ghost, has been kind enough to let us stay the night. One of his roommates is going to take a look at the car tomorrow."

You look toward Ghost now. Your hands are sweaty as you grip your thighs. Please, by some miracle, let him be super against traditional gender roles or even a fuckboy; please let his roommates all be girls, you beg internally.

Ghost eyes your hands before shifting his gaze to both you and Anthony, "Yeah. Texted ‘em earlier. Let me make sure they know. Stay outside,” he explains shortly.

Anthony nods and begins to exit the vehicle just as Ghost does. You're rooted to your seat. You've watched too many horror movies for this. Noticing that you're unmoving, Anthony grabs your wrist and unkindly tugs you behind him. It hurts, given the still-healing bruises and new gashes, but you've gotten good at biting your tongue.

You and Anthony wait on the porch as Ghost ducks inside. As soon as you're sure he's out of ear shot, you speak. "Are you sure this is safe, Anthony?" you ask.

"What better option do we have?" While you know he's right, you hate the venom in his voice. You remain silent for the rest of the wait.

You hear the footsteps of Ghost, along with two other people before you see them. The door is swings open, and they all pile outside. All three are men. All three are huge. Anthony shakes their hands while you cautiously his lead. The men grip your husband's hand rough as they introduce themselves: Soap and Price. What odd and obviously fake names.

They're much more gentle with your hand and much chattier than Ghost, especially the Scottish one.

He has a mohawk, which, admittedly, looks good on him. You've never seen anyone actually rock a mohawk and look good, until now.

"Yer a pretty lass; yer husband's a lucky man," Soap says as his handshake turns into a hug. The force of it makes you groan.

"Careful, Johnny; the poor girl's clearly hurt,” Price reprimands him, and Soap allows you to pull away from his embrace, as if he is just now noticing your injuries from the wreck.

"Poor lass," he says with a frown. "We'll get you fixed up, then to bed, so you feel better in the morning!" He reassures you.

You're pretty sure there won't be a morning for you. Three men who live alone in the woods, and who just gave you fake names? You and Anthony are done for.

As you step inside, Soap pays Anthony no mind, while Price dissects him with a scrutinizing glare. "Let's get inside," Price finally says. Soap guides you in front of him, Ghost follows closely behind, then Anthony, and lastly, Price. The lock clicks shut behind him.

Sitting on the couch is another man, the lamp beside him casting a warm glow over the medical supplies laid out on the coffee table. Great, there are four of them. You are so dead. You don't realize you've stopped until Soap nudges you forward.

“It's okay, lass. That's just Gaz,” Soap reassures you. These men are all strangers, and you are not reassured, but you force yourself forward anyway as Gaz waves you over.

“Come on, take a seat. Let me take a look at your injuries,” Gaz says as he pats the cushion next to him. His voice is softer, and he appears friendlier than the rest, but you can't shake the feeling of dread.

“You're cut up pretty bad,” Gaz says, his voice thick with sympathy. You want desperately to believe it's genuine, to relax, and let your guard down. But your instincts scream at you to stay alert as he soaks a cotton ball in alcohol.

Anthony has seated himself on the love seat, while Ghost is crouches in front of him, patching your husband up without words. Price watches closely. Soap moves to the other side of you. You know Anthony is pretending to be tough in front of these four men; he's always had a low pain tolerance. You suspect they know, too, but nobody says anything.

“This might sting,” Gaz says, pulling you out of your thoughts with his warning. You look towards him and nod. You figured as much.

“I'll hold yer hand if ye want, bonnie.” Soap offers with a grin. You shake your head no, but he takes your hand anyway. You don't argue. Gaz starts to dab the cuts on your upper body, cleaning them, removing any remaining glass when necessary, and bandaging the wounds. A few need stitches, a task he handles with ease. You're scared to ask how he's so well-versed in the skill. You occasionally squeeze the Soap's hand when a cut particularly burns. He grins every time and talks through the whole process. It's a nice distraction, especially when Gaz has to reveal more of your skin. He's surprisingly respectful about it, but everyone's gaze (except Anthony's and Ghost's) lingers on various bruises for far too long. Since the bruises are in various stages of healing, it's clear they're not from the accident. You're embarrassed; you don't like to appear weak.

But you might be weak. Weak enough to stay, at least. You think, regretfully. You can't bring yourself to tune into Soap's chatter. You're tuned into your own thoughts. You were stupid to think this vacation would change anything. There wasn't even going to be a vacation now. You and Anthony are going to have to deal with the bill of fixing the car. The money was going to come from the vacation fund, among other funds with how bad the thing looked. That'd mean more hours at work for the both of you. Anthony would cope with his frustrations with booze and violence. Possibly even other women, you wouldn't put it past him.

A hand touches your face, snapping you out of your thoughts. You realize Gaz has stopped stitching the area on your shoulder-it was the last wound that needed to be cared for. He had removed a particularly large piece of glass from it.

Soap turns your face toward him. “You okay, bonnie? You look like you're about to cry. You can tell us if it hurts,” he says, his voice the softest you've heard it all night. You blinked the tears away that you hadn't noticed were there.

“I'm okay; you can continue,” you mumble.

“Are you sure?” Gaz asks. “We can take a break.”

“I'm sure,” you say, closing your eyes.

You realize everyone is looking at you. Ghost must have finished with Anthony a few moments ago as he's taken a seat next to him now. You note that he man-spreads when he sits. Price is still standing, arms crossed. He may be looking at you, but he's clearly lost in thought. Anthony is staring at you with a mean look in his eyes as if he thinks you enjoy attention-that you're enjoying this. You're not.

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flyscreen123 · 1 year ago

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Retractable Fly Screen Doors Help The Natural Air To Flow

With retractable fly screen doors, you can take advantage of the advantages of fresh air while keeping pests out of your home. Additionally, by letting natural airflow cool your house on a hot day, they may be able to help you save money on your energy bills. When the retractable screen is not in use, the fabric is protected from damaging UV radiation, dirt, and weather.

#Retractable fly screen doors

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brucenorris007 · 6 months ago

Text

Expiration

Summary: When your goals revolve around one person, the day they're gone is always going to catch you unawares. And few, if any, are as singular in their motivations as Omega.

2147 words

Br-r-r-at-at-at.

Boom.

Omega charged ahead, leaving the combusting remains of the twenty-third badnik in his wake as he retracted his guns. He approached a turn in the corridor at speed. Another mass-produced E-series bore down the hall toward him, laser cannon already primed. Rather than stop, Omega let his momentum carry him forward, his frame skidding past the corner just as the inferior model fired; magenta energy singed the handle on Omega’s left shoulder.

He slammed his feet down to seize traction and redirected his charge before the E-2000 could deploy its shield or fire again; drove his right fist through its arm cannon, metal erupting and splintering like wood under his attack. The E-2000 switched offensive protocols to its remaining arm, ramming the chief of its shield into Omega’s shoulder.

A notification chimed across his CPU.

He preemptively dismissed it.

He opened his fist to grasp what remained of the mass model’s left arm. He swung his torso around with his full weight, bashing his captive’s head into the wall as he engaged his afterburners; he careened forward, metal scraping and sparks flying from the E-2000’s spasming body until all resistance ceased. The hall opened into a chamber with three floors.

Upon entry, he detected another nineteen badniks visible on the floor below; no fewer than six E-1000s turned and aimed their laser rifles at him, two from a higher elevation. Prioritizing destruction of the rejects in an advantageous position, Omega hoisted his defunct cargo and hurled it at the mass-products nearest him to occupy their attention.

Before he could open fire, a discharge of concentrated energy struck his back; he stumbled forward, swiveling his head to identify the source.

A Newtron; a fucking Newtron sat on the wall over the door behind him, its mouth closing to conceal the plasma pistol within.

Another internal notification pinged. Omega ignored it again.

In the split-second he took to reorient his balance, a Grabber dropped down from the ceiling and hooked its legs onto Omega’s chassis, two gripping him by the handles on his shoulders. The badnik lacked the structural strength to lift him, but it did inhibit his movements while the E-1000s adjusted their aim. Omega fired from the gun barrels on both arms while simultaneously re-engaging his engines to wrest himself free.

Three shields came up; only one rifle fell to gunfire.

The tensile strength of the thread connecting the Grabber to the ceiling held.

Thin red laser sights trained on him.

The ticking that preceded detonation sounded from the spider badnik.

Kvhroon.

Chaos energy, sharp and wild, sliced through the leg gripping Omega’s right shoulder handle. A grenade struck one of the E-1000s descending from above, detonating on impact.

Omega’s teammates thus announced their arrival.

Omega veered left, this time managing to generate enough force and momentum to snap the leg holding his other handle; with the Grabber lacking purchase, he broke free entirely. With another chaos spear, Shadow cut through the thread connecting the badnik to the ceiling and grabbed the line. Like a ball and chain, he swung the reject over his shoulder and slammed it down on top of the other badniks filing up from the floor below.

Overhead, Rouge smashed her foot through another E-1000’s head with a spiraling kick. The mass-product’s body crashed to the floor and scattered into pieces.

Omega’s two fleshy teammates regrouped on either side of him.

He disabled all damage notifications and switched his weapons to blasters.

—————

Ninety-six minutes later, Pacific Rim quietly played in Team Dark’s living room on their TV; Omega sat on the floor while his teammates lounged on the sofa beside him. On screen, the cables suspending Gipsy Danger over the harbor released, dropping the unit into the water. Omega found the concept of a mech requiring two meatbag pilots to function absurd, but he did enjoy watching the destruction depicted in del Toro’s action scenes.

Although they’d been successful in clearing out the base, Rouge had been less than impressed.

(“You know. When I said we should pace ourselves, that wasn’t really a suggestion.”)

While she’d spoken in collective terms, she’d been looking squarely at Omega when she used them; referring to the caution she’d advised after he’d charged ahead of his teammates through several other bases. He’d pretended he didn’t notice–same as he'd feigned ignorance of the fact that Shadow had consistently positioned himself four centimeters closer to him than was typical on missions.

He’d endured several similar expressions of concern over the past eighty-one hours; a greater frequency of the same within the last forty-three.

Nine days and two hours had elapsed since G.U.N. removed Eggman from its terrorist watchlist.

Nine days, one hour and fifty-eight minutes since Eggman had been declared deceased.

Three days and eight hours had elapsed since Omega independently verified the fact.

One day and nineteen hours had elapsed since Omega last spoke.

(“Is this a malfunction or a quiet day?”

“His quiet days don’t usually last all day; either way, something’s wrong.”)

Omega had expressed–via nonverbal means–that yes, his voice box was malfunctioning, and no, it did not require repair.

He did not tell them that his processors and circuits had sparked with so many things to say simultaneously that it overburdened his voice box. They didn’t need to know the specifics. Nor was their concern necessary; his effectiveness in carrying out missions hadn’t been impeded whatsoever. Particularly the variety they’d been taking on.

Though Eggman was gone, his machines nonetheless continued the maintenance and patrols of his hideouts in his absence; while they wouldn’t break away from their routines or attack anyone beyond their stations without explicit orders from their creator, it was still a sizable force to leave unchecked.

Rouge had secured a considerable commission from G.U.N. for each base that Team Dark cleared out. Omega had taken to the job enthusiastically, perhaps more than usual–he’d been in an especially destructive mood.

It’d been with great reluctance that he conceded to Shadow teleporting them home after their eighth hideout in the span of thirty-four hours.

On screen, Pentecost told Raleigh about his illness. From the couch beside Omega, steady and rhythmic breathing told him that his teammates had fallen asleep. He delved into his CPU and connected to the Egg Network.

For practical reasons–and his hatred for all things Eggman–he hadn’t interfaced with the network in more than a decade. Now, though, while there would be several warnings and alerts triggered by his digital footprint, without anyone to react to his presence, they posed no threat. Firewalls erected throughout the network barred him access from information such as the locations of bases established within the past eight years, but the same security did not extend to data from older hideouts.

Omega breached the outdated protections around the neglected servers like walls made of cardboard. The feasibility of finding any practically useful information in such old archives was questionable; nonetheless, he picked his way through them.

Anything from Eggman’s earliest years of terrorist activity–he’d held a disproportionate interest in islands–that wasn’t destroyed was obsolete. What badnik designs he still used from that time had since been updated several times over. A footnote’s worth of interest in the kingdom of Soleanna coincided with the creation of the Egg line; Gunner, Keeper, Lancer, etc., which would be expanded upon later. The base in Egypt had been discarded wholesale; more of a launching point for Eggman’s attempt to conquer the ARK. Prior to that…

Omega remotely delved into the archives from the bunker in the Mystic Ruins.

The birthplace of the E-100 series.

Omega navigated through rudimentary airship schematics, interpretive translations of texts on the subject of an ancient deity, half-finished plans for a third iteration of Mecha Sonic… typical of Eggman to discard anything that didn’t maintain his fickle interest.

He came upon a folder marked E-100s; found within another folder of video files.

Eggman had, initially, installed in his prototypes a function that recorded the visual data captured by his robots and filed them into the archives via the Egg Network upon the prototype’s destruction. Usually at Sonic’s hand. He’d done away with the practice sometime prior to Omega’s creation.

Omega idly opened the file for E-100 Alpha; skimmed over a lot of footage tracking a Flicky through Station Square, one that attached itself to Amy Rose. The files attached to most of his other predecessors save Beta were considerably smaller and their videos shorter in length; though Delta, Epsilon and Zeta shared one point of commonality with E-101.

E-102 Gamma.

Several people, Amy Rose chief among them, had mistaken Omega for his predecessor upon their first meeting. A ridiculous comparison, obviously; they didn’t share any commonalities save defection from Eggman and the color red.

. . .

Omega played Gamma’s video file.

He skipped through the first half of footage; more to the point, Eggman’s frequent appearances and orders. He paused at the moment of Gamma’s defection.

“Erasing Dr. Eggman from ‘Master’ status.

Established: E-series robots. Friends.

I must save them.”

Omega scrubbed through the video. His predecessors fell systematically, one by one to Gamma’s plasma rifle.

Delta.

Epsilon.

Zeta.

Beta; who managed to inflict a critical wound on Gamma moments before his demise.

Gamma’s visuals shook and blurred. Came to a stop aboard the beached Egg Carrier.

A cut to static coincided with the beginning of an explosion.

The file, played to its conclusion, closed.

Omega sat in silence for a minute.

He closed the folder; turned his attention in toward his own CPU. Extracted the code for his core directives.

Defeat of Eggman.

Destruction of all Eggman robots.

Directives independent of any orders from his creator; ones that he’d taken great pains to establish while he was sequestered in the basement. He determined now, however, that they required examination.

Omega questioned what objective the pursuit of each directive served.

His processors sparked.

He immediately dismissed the question as irrelevant with regard to his first directive. Eggman’s demise rendered a defeat impossible.

He applied the question to his second directive and found a simple answer. Destruction of all Eggman robots would establish the fact that Omega was the strongest robot.

Knowing the objective illustrated that further pursuit of the directive as a directive was obsolete; Omega had already destroyed more Eggman robots than anyone else. Shadow and Sonic were the only ones, meatbag or otherwise, to approach his record. His CPU automatically produced the follow-up query of why he pursued said objective.

“. . .”

He banished the question altogether from his motherboard.

Having thus clarified his objectives, and the fact that both had been fulfilled, Omega promptly deleted both from his internal software.

Which left him without a core directive.

Briefly, he receded from his CPU–the credits scrolled by on the TV. He turned his head.

Rouge lay with her head propped on one arm of the sofa; her body sprawled out to take up as much space as possible. Her mouth hung slightly open, as it often did when she didn’t sleep hanging from a perch. Shadow, his lap occupied by Rouge’s legs, had sunk into one of the couch’s backrest cushions, almost engulfed in down with his chin touching the tuft on his chest.

Omega listened to the sounds of his sleeping teammates. He didn’t even need to guess what their reaction would be to his current thought process.

Resoundingly, loudly negative.

He retreated into his CPU.

Drew up the code for commands of his primary functions.

A cautionary prompt popped up.

Terminate?

Omega watched the words blink at him for approximately two minutes. Failing to produce any reasons to avoid executing the command, he made to confirm–

Blip.

Foreign access to the Egg Network diverted his attention; he’d neglected to disconnect.

That the network recognized the other party as foreign narrowed their identity down to two possibilities, both of which Eggman had given up on years ago. And since Gemerl didn’t connect to the Egg Network on principle to avoid incurring any undue risk to Cream…

Metal clocked Omega within moments of its connection.

It made Omega aware of the fact, annoyingly, by communicating with him. The equivalent of a text message came through his Wi-Fi signal.

Oh. You’re still operational?

Metal’s presence vanished from the network half a beat later; before Omega could even reflexively fire off a Fuck You.

His internal fans whirred; his chassis chafed.

His temper flared nearly enough to forget what he’d been doing. The popup remained:

Terminate?

Omega disconnected from the Egg Network.

Cancelled out of and dismissed the command prompt.

The TV had returned to the DVD menu. Omega remotely switched it off; reclined until his shoulders and chassis were propped against the living room wall.

Before entering sleep mode, he made a single update to his drivers.

Core directive: Pending.

#E-123 Omega #Team Dark #Metal Sonic #Functionally Immortal Crew #Sonic the Hedgehog #fanfic #Sorry I'm late Measly #I tried gifting the fic on Ao3 but that got denied #Anywho. Tagging still works #This one stumped me for a while #Not the length #Just. writing purely from Omega's POV #thankfully I'm autistic enough to pull it off

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unpredictable-probabilities · 4 months ago

Text

Azul Ashengrotto of Royal Sword Academy || Chapter 28: Night of the Hollow

Summary:

Azul, Jamil, Rielle, and Floyd visit the Shroud Brothers' domain for the promised screening of Pumpkin Hollow, and learn some new things about each other.

Word Count: 6,430

Notes (more at the end):

For Day 6 of AshenViper Week 2024!

Prompt: Overblot / Azul's Mer-form

Ortho appears and takes them all to Ignihyde.

They arrive in what looks like a movie room; soundproof cushions on the walls, a big flatscreen TV, lounge chairs and bean bags all around, and a snack table to the side.

"Welcome to Ignihyde!" Ortho says to Azul, Jamil, Rielle, and Floyd. The android was ecstatic to find out that two more people wanted to hang out with his brother, though the brother himself was not as enthused. Idia Shroud isn't here yet, Ortho explains that he's still changing out of his Pumpkin Knight costume.

"Please wait here while my brother and I prepare the movie and snacks!" Ortho flies out of the room.

Jamil had been quietly gazing around the dorm ever since they entered. "It's not everyday you get to wander around here. For one, people rarely get invited to the home of introverts, and sneaking in only attracts the wrath of their security detail—or Ortho's," he comments, before quickly looking at Floyd. "Don't touch anything."

"Hah, too late." Floyd replies, booting up Idia's computer connecting to some devices on the walls.

"Unidentified fingerprints," a robotic voice says from the speakers. "Implementing Security Protocol Level 1."

All devices retract into the wall and disappear. A metal sheet appears from the ceiling and seals off the doorway. Spotlights shine down on each of them.

"Four lifeforms detected. Sending information to Ignihyde Prefect and Ortho Shroud."

"I suppose this is what you meant?" Azul lightly asks Jamil, putting his hand up to shield his face from the glare of a spotlight.

Jamil heaves a long sigh.

"Whoooooaaaa... This is kinda cool, though," Floyd nonchalantly states, walking up to a spotlight and ogling it. "You think I can try punching through the walls and see if I can deactivate any of their machine stuff?"

"How about we just sit tight and wait?" Rielle helpfully suggests.

"I don't like being contained." Floyd bares his teeth.

The doors open again and the Shroud brothers walk through, looking around in shock.

"Ugh, this is what we get for inviting a bunch'a clueless normies in…" Idia mutters.

"Life forms authorized. Disarm all defenses," Ortho says, and the room goes back to how it was when they first came in.

"Awww," Floyd laments when the spotlights disappear.

"Everything's okay now, Big Brother!" Ortho says to Idia, then he turns to the rest of the group. "Please refrain from touching any of the devices to prevent any mishaps!"

Floyd scoffs, pouting. Rielle chuckles amusedly at his reaction.

"Apologies for that," Azul tells the Shroud brothers.

"Indeed, Floyd just got a little too excited," Rielle adds.

"Just sit down," Idia says with resigned exasperation as he walks up to the computer to set up the movie.

"Make yourselves comfortable!" Ortho says, flying around and gesturing at the seats.

As Jamil settles himself down, the lights dim and a projection along the wall boots up, starting the movie right off the bat with a credits sequence.

"How did Idia come to discover this movie, Ortho?" Rielle quietly whispers to the android sitting next to them, in contrast with his brother who had taken to the refuge of his bed.

"My brother prides himself in knowing obscure media," Ortho replies. "He's in several group chats with fellow geeks where they talk about rare or underrated films, games, shows, and the like! Idia discovered the movie three years ago, I believe it was introduced to him by his online friend Crimson Muscle."

"Aww, that's pretty cool," Rielle grins, lounging back to lean against Floyd.

Jamil is more surprised that Idia was able to have an online buddy.

Then, seeing the other couple cuddle in the darkness, he quietly glances at Azul, wondering what he'd do.

Azul notices him staring. "Are you alright? Is it too cold?" he looks at the air conditioner.

Jamil shyly looks away, not wanting to appear needy. "No, I'm okay."

Perhaps he can find a more subtle opportunity later on.

The movie opens up with a dark and foggy night, in the thick woods surrounding an old village as a horse-drawn wagon makes its way down the dirt road.

Different shots of a young man in black running through the woods become mixed with the footage of the carriage. Thundering in pursuit of the fellow are what sound like another horse's hooves.

The man eventually trips and a dark shadow looms over him as he screams.

A man with a coat and a top hat jolts awake in his seat in the carriage, seemingly from a nightmare. He establishes himself as a detective making his way to a small rickety town in the middle of nowhere after communications with many of its townsfolk have gone silent.

Eventually the carriage stops after having spotted a disturbance in the road. The gentleman walks out and spots the young man with the black coat, slumped against the base of a tree with tendrils growing out of him like a seedbed.

"By Jove…" the detective breathes out a curse, exchanging bewildered looks with the coachman. What in the world have they gotten themselves into?

There's the sound of hooves in the distance, and their own horses grow restless upon hearing it.

"It could be our culprit!" the detective says to the man at the reins. "Or at the very least a witness. Let's follow the horse! Posthaste!" he clambers back into the carriage.

Jamil feels Azul casually lean against him, much like how he did at the rooftop back in Scarabia.

Jamil doubts this movie is actually terrifying, but he still leans close to Azul to whisper, "How are you with horror movies?"

"I don't mind them," Azul replies quietly. "Growing up in the ocean makes one quite familiar with jumpscares and even gore. I'm not fond of horror movies, but so far none has scared me as much as some actual experiences I've had back home. How about you?"

"They don't do much for me, either, though now I'm interested in hearing these horror stories of the deep sometime soon."

"Shh!" Idia hisses from his bed.

In the movie, the detective and his coachman have pursued the sound of equine footfalls and find themselves at the entrance to the village. Its wooden buildings stand dilapidated and lonely, almost appearing like sagging stalks of wood.

Uncertain about the atmosphere, they look around for anyone to speak to and they find an old woman by the well, fetching a bucket of water.

They don't get many answers from her, but she looks fearful upon them asking why the town's gone silent.

She simply directs them to the edge of the village where the old town hall stood, calling it the "local pumpkin patch".

The detectives get off from their carriage when they arrive at the town hall. The paths become grassy and uneven, and it might damage their carriage or injure their horses if they proceed. They continue on foot.

Rotten and dried pumpkins litter the ground, and some flies buzz away as they get disturbed.

A rustling sound comes from behind, and the detective whirls around, holding his lamp aloft. But there was nothing to be seen but grass and the dust motes floating in the lamp's light.

Azul passes a bowl of potato chips to Jamil, getting a handful himself.

Jamil happily takes a bit of the snacks, though begin to slightly regret digging in when the detective starts prying open pumpkins to find bits of humanoid flesh and skeleton.

The detective learns that the "local pumpkin patch" is, in fact, the town cemetery. With that revelation, he whirls into the town hall to look for the mayor and finds him cowering in his study.

"Wh-Who are you?" the trembling mayor asks them, hiding behind his desk while clutching a rusty rake as a makeshift weapon.

"A visitor, sent to investigate why communications have dropped between our villages, though it appears… I've stumbled into something more sinister."

"You fool! By entering this place, you've doomed yourself into being trapped for eternity like the rest of us!"

Further into the conversation, the detective learns of the villagers being hunted down by a mysterious figure in the night, which they suspect must either be a witch they aggravated or the malicious soul of a pumpkin farmer.

Ortho quietly speaks to the group. "Fun fact: this movie is considered a tad controversial for its stance against magic use. The director who made this film believes that magic, especially in the field of entertainment, takes away the 'magic' obtained through manual application. Because of that, a lot of the special effects and props here are all crafted by hand."

"Interesting," Rielle says. "I can see why it's controversial, but I admire the dedication to their craft."

"I wonder how they did the human flesh effect in the pumpkins," Floyd says, resting his chin on top of Rielle's head and wrapping his arms around him.

"According to the internet, they used a lot of material called ooblek, red food coloring, and corn syrup," Ortho explains.

"Hm, I want that," Floyd says thoughtfully. "Ooooblek. Sounds funny," he snickers, tightening his embrace around Rielle, who snuggles back into him.

"Yes, my brother loves this sort of stuff!" Ortho happily cheers.

"Shh!" Idia hissed again from his little bed nook.

The detective in the movie decides to see if he can capture the culprit lurking around at night, when they are said to be more active.

He heads into the local inn, where he meets a portly and sweet owner whose optimistic demeanor contrasts much from the mood of his fellow townsmen. He curiously claims not to fear the culprit at all, not because he is stupid to think that he can fight them off, but because he thinks the victims it has done in have often deserved their fate. He believes the culprit to be an executioner from the afterlife who has come to bring justice to those who have tried to escape their dastardly deeds, since the town is a place where many crooks and outlaws come to hide.

Despite the innkeeper's creepy mindset, he remains a friendly face to both the detective and the coachman and hopes that they do not fall into harm's way. There's a sense of camaraderie between detective and innkeeper, and the detective bids him a good night before preparing for a dangerous chase into the wee hours of the night.

They decide to go to the part of the village where outlaws are said to frequent. If there is any shred of truth to what the innkeeper said, the vigilante's next target might be around here, and they can catch him in the act.

Azul hands Jamil a bottle of soda, then he takes a sip from his bottle of sparkling water, the moisture on his lips catching the light from the TV screen.

Jamil gets a little distracted from watching the movie, even when the detective and the coachman were getting in trouble against the distrustful and frankly disturbing-looking outlaws. As a fight scene goes down, Jamil takes a sip of soda and slowly lets his arm drape around Azul's shoulders.

Azul glances at him in surprise, before turning back to look at the movie. Then he slides down a little in his seat, and leans his head against Jamil's shoulder.

The detective and coachman are now running from a group of outlaws in what is admittedly an impressively directed parkour chase scene.

Jamil finds himself enjoying the movie a lot more than he expected and he presses close against Azul, his heart happily fluttering despite the gritty sequences on the screen.

The scene takes an abrupt turn when the detective gets stabbed in the abdomen and is left at the mercy of the outlaws. The coachman flees for help, and the music changes into something ominous and foreboding.

Running into the scene, astride a horse as dark as midnight, a humanoid donned in black armor (which looks extremely similar to Idia's) and a pumpkin head swoops in. The outlaws grow frightened and run away, but the mysterious vigilante rushes forth and dispatches them one by one in a series of gruesome yet creative nature-based slaughters. The detective tries to give chase, but passes out from his injuries.

Rielle looks at Ortho in uncertainty. "Umm… are you sure this type of movie's appropriate for your age?"

"I have seen this movie many times before," Ortho says reassuringly, though Rielle only looks more worried. "It's all right, I always watch something fun and wholesome afterwards!" he says cheerfully.

"He's fiiine, Flame Tetra," Floyd drawls. "Lil' Clione here is much deadlier than that Pumpkin Head, ya know?"

Ortho giggles. "That is accurate!"

"Oh," Rielle says, looking unsure about how serious Floyd and Ortho are. "Um, okay."

The detective slowly regains consciousness. When he blearily opens his eyes, he sees darkness above him. As his vision gradually comes into focus, he tries to decide whether it's a lamp or the moon shining.

Azul shifts slightly in his seat and wraps an arm around Jamil's waist.

Jamil happily languishes in the contact. Idia spares a glance over to the entire group's direction and promptly regrets it.

The detective fully wakes up to the innkeeper tending to his wounds, having been called over by the coachman to help.

The innkeeper warns him of the danger that is to come, once again vying for the vigilante's side, but the detective is adamant in getting to the bottom of the mystery and dispelling the curse.

The investigation continues, with the coachman opting out from fright and staying at the inn. The detective tries to trace the origins of where the vigilante could have come from based on the group that was slaughtered last night and his foggy memories.

It eventually takes him to an old farmhouse on the side of a hill, abandoned and covered in large dark vines. If anything was to be the heart of evil in this village, it would be there.

The detective creeps up the hill, his footsteps cushioned by grass and vines. The air is humid and smells of mildew.

He reaches the farmhouse; the rotting door has fallen off its hinges and is in pieces on the ground.

The doorway leading into the dark interior of the farmhouse looks like a gaping maw.

Rielle looks a tad more nervous as the protagonist creeps further into danger while Floyd grins more and more maniacally, as if hoping for something terrible to happen to the character.

Jamil, meanwhile, continues to keep his cool. It's a shame he and Azul aren't particularly squeamish and don't have an excuse to hold each other more—

The detective uncovers patches of rotten pumpkin along the way and reveals a horde of insects scattering and crawling onto him when their vegetable home gets disturbed.

Jamil flinches and looks away, feeling chills shoot straight up his spine.

Azul promptly sits up straight and pulls Jamil to him, wrapping him in an embrace and caressing his back soothingly.

Jamil hears the detective yell in panic as he swats away the insects from his clothes.

"It's alright," Azul says softly, so only Jamil can hear. He holds him tight and continues to stroke his back.

Ortho, having hearing even stronger than fae, picks up on this but chooses not to comment.

Even the sounds of the insects are making Jamil uncomfortable, and though he's a little embarrassed to have been the one seeking comfort, he finds himself not outright hating it either.

"Tell me when it's over,” he mumbles.

As the detective scrambles away from the insects, the noise he's making stirs to life the tall figure of the vigilante.

It emerges from the plant growth on the staircase and the detective runs to hide and keep quiet. It slowly stalks the area, its movements a tad sluggish in the day.

As the detective crouches in the vegetation, he notes how solid the figure looks and slowly picks up a fallen timber of wood. He attempts to sneak up on the vigilante, believing it to be some sort of freaky serial killer.

Jamil begins to peek at the film again at this point.

Then, as the protagonist raises the lumber, the vigilante's pumpkin head suddenly swivels to face him, screeching.

Rielle jumps at the scare while Idia mimics the creature, even quietly reciting some of the lines as the scene of detective versus wretched knight intensifies.

"The insects seem to be gone now," Azul whispers, though he doesn't loosen his hold on Jamil.

The detective commendably holds his ground against the pumpkin creature, dodging sentient vines that attempt to attack and hold him down.

But then a root shoots up from the ground and trips him flat on his back. He tries to get up while he frantically searches for a weapon to use against the creature that's beginning to loom over him.

Without anywhere to hit the vigilante thanks to the armor, the detective just hopes against all hope and drives his fist into the gourd, smashing its carved grin away.

There’s a sickening crunch and the enemy lurches backwards while the detective recoils in pain, his fist burning from whatever’s inside the pumpkin.

As the vigilante rears up, disoriented, the detective takes the opportunity to put some distance between them.

Then, as the detective roars, "It's finally time to see who you really are, you bastard!" (with Idia silently copying the dialogue), he grabs a dilapidated chair and slams it onto the creature’s head.

The pumpkin face gets destroyed and the culprit is revealed…

And it's just a pure monster, containing nothing but another pumpkin inside, slowly growing to replace the head it lost.

Seeing what a freak of nature he's up against, the detective now fights to escape the house to rethink a strategy, but the house's vines grow and contort in compliance to its master's rage.

The detective stumbles as he tries to get to the door, nearly tripping over roots that break through the planks.

The walls seem to come alive as the vines writhe and reach for the detective, grabbing his coat and yanking him to the floor.

The pumpkin creature walks over to him, roots and broken planks crunching under its armored feet. It opens its mouth and lets out a screech of rage, and the camera zooms into its face until it fills the screen, its jagged mouth in high definition.

Azul tenses up and subtly looks away from the screen and towards Jamil, his eyes averted.

Jamil returns the other's protective gesture from earlier, surprised to see him react. What about it scared him?

"You all right?" he quietly asks as the movie has the creature attempting to engulf the detective's head into its fiery maw.

Azul gives a single nod, still not looking at the screen. "There's a sea creature whose jaws look very similar to those," he says in a quiet voice. "One almost got me as a child."

"Oh..."

The detective ducks just in time for the pumpkin-headed creature to sink its jaw into a vine instead and he starts scrambling up the stairs and onto the second floor.

"Did it lurk around those sunken ships, too?"

"No, I was going home from school by myself, and the area was rather deserted," Azul whispers. "Sometimes it happens, they wander closer to the residential areas." He cautiously turns to the screen again as the Pumpkin Knight stomps up the stairs two at a time, breaking them into splinters.

"How'd you get out of it?" Jamil asks, as the detective finds himself in an area filled with scrawling by a madman... or a mad plant-man, revealing ire towards humanity for its abandonment and its determination to punish humanity for their misdeeds towards prosperity.

"I almost didn't," Azul says somberly. "I was never as fast as Jade or Floyd. It grabbed one of my tentacles. I blasted it with cosmic magic and pulled free of its hold, and I was able to escape with the cover of my ink. I wasn't used to casting spells at the time, and the exertion combined with the injury had left me bedridden for days."

The detective in the movie rushes to the broken windows, looking to see if there's any form of escape.

"Sounds like you really lived a dangerous life…" Jamil mutters, a pang of understanding resonating within him (all the while feeling sad that they're both familiar with danger). Deciding not to linger on such an emotion, he then asks, "I wonder how you'd handle this if you were in the detective's shoes right now."

"Assuming I had no magic?" Azul says. "If I still retain my grip strength, I'd break out of a window and scale down the house. I don't know much about the creature, so it seems wiser to escape rather than risk confrontation."

"If only the detective smoked… Fire'd prolly be at least a little effective on the plant vines, won't they?" Jamil reasons, perking up once he sees that the detective has begun climbing out of the window and onto a rusty metal pipe.

The detective is partway through sliding down when the pipe breaks away and collapses backwards.

Though he lands roughly on his back with a groan, the detective sees the Pumpkin Knight screech at him from the window and finds the energy to scurry away, knowing full well that he's getting hunted down.

"He should have brought a lamp, at the very least," Azul comments, snuggling into Jamil.

The detective races away just as it starts to rain, his shoes splashing in the mud as the rain comes down in sheets.

"Fire magic is quite difficult for me," Azul remarks. "I'm told it's quite normal for merfolk, but even with magic, I might have trouble with that creature."

"You could prolly drown it, though. Too much water can kill plants too, and I don't think the Pumpkin Knight falls under aquatic flora."

Rushing back to town, the detective begins to pack weapons as well as oil and tinder, informing the coachman that he will be withdrawing to the woods to confront the Knight where no other casualties can occur. He could not assure his own survival, though, and the ever-loyal coachman volunteers to accompany him despite being deathly afraid.

The innkeeper hears about their possible fatal fate and surprises the both of them by volunteering as well, curious to see the creature up close after learning more about the truth of its identity.

The three men delve into the woods, the detective leading with a lamp in hand to see through the fog that had settled in after the rain.

Jamil notices that the room has gotten colder, much like how he imagines it would be in those woods. Idia has mostly disappeared in his nest of blankets, only a glimpse of his flaming hair can be seen. The merfolk and the android seem unbothered, though.

Wishing for a blanket himself, he simply sinks lower into the beanbag and leans into Azul, hoping to find comfort and warmth by doing so.

Azul glances at him and seems to notice the change in temperature for the first time. He drapes his coat on Jamil, and levitates a blanket from the corner to wrap around both of them. Then he hugs Jamil close.

"Is this better?" he whispers, his breath warm against Jamil's ear.

Jamil practically melts into the hold, nuzzling up against the other with a pleased hum as his answer.

The characters in the movie are unfortunately not going through anything as pleasant.

As night begins to creep in, the coachman and the detective talk about how they've never faced something of a supernatural nature before. The coachman then rattles off about how it's been a terror and an honor to work with him, bidding goodbye in case this would be their last, but the detective will not have such doomsday speech.

The detective says that he could not have wished for a better coachman nor a more loyal friend, and he encourages his two companions to not give up hope just yet as they traverse the damp woods.

The sound of hooves can be heard in the distance, but in the vastness of the area they can't tell which direction it's coming from.

They hear the whinny of a horse and find the clear silhouette of the Knight charging its way towards them. Quickly, the coachman spurs the carriage horses to bolt for it and they tear through the forest.

The innkeeper and the detective begin to discuss what the Pumpkin Knight's weakness could be. Despite its plant-like exterior, its head is enchanted with a living flame, and they begin to wonder if fire would work against it.

There's a crash on the ground as an object narrowly misses one of the carriage's wheels. They look back to see that the Pumpkin Knight has begun hurtling flaming gourds towards them.

They cry out in surprise as the carriage jostles. One of the gourds hits a tree ahead of them and sets the leaves ablaze, branches cracking and falling off onto their path.

The coachman swerves the carriage dangerously, narrowly avoiding the flaming branches, but hitting the side of another tree as the door whips open from the momentum. The detective yells and almost falls out of the carriage, but the coachman grabs him by the coat and pulls him back inside.

The innkeeper suggests that they lead the creature to the swamp and attempt to drown it.

With his directions, the coachman tries to lead the knight to the swamp. A flaming gourd sails overhead before it crashes into the ground, sending the horses up to a frenzy and off to another path.

Cursing, the detective decides to deal with the Knight while the other two focus on course-correction. He clambers to the top of the carriage, grabbing the wooden pole of a pitchfork he brought.

As the Knight tosses another projectile at them, he swings and redirects it back, causing the creature to stumble.

The coachman shouts at the detective to be careful as he deflects the flaming projectiles one after another. The creature snarls.

A few moments later, the atmosphere becomes more humid as they get nearer to the swamp. The ground grows softer and the horses slow down as the carriage’s wheels have a harder time traversing through the mud.

The Pumpkin Knight's horse seems unperturbed by the difficult terrain. Knowing it was going to catch up to them if they don't do something soon, the detective and the coachman make a plan to hop on one of the horses and leave the carriage with the other steed and the innkeeper. They tell the portly man to hang back and hide, since the Knight hasn't seen him yet and they could use that to their advantage.

Blessedly, their ploy works. As they dash further into the bog, the Knight ignores the abandoned cart and pursues them with a cackling snarl.

It's more difficult for the detective to deflect the Knight's attacks with one hand while the other one is holding onto the coachman, but he remains determined.

The Knight seems to have realized that the coachman is the one skilled in maneuvering them around the bog, and he changes his attacks to aim for him.

The detective reacts instinctively and puts his arm out to block a flaming gourd that was aimed at the coachman's shoulder.

He screams as it hits him and sets his sleeve aflame. The coachman yells his name in panic.

The detective manages to pat out the flames and tells the coachman to continue on.

As the action continues to unfold, the whole group watching the movie has fallen silent, enraptured by the screen.

A gourd manages to hit the hind leg of the horse just as the swamp lake was coming into view.

As the animal crashes and falls, the detective finds himself pinned underneath it while the coachman is thrown a few feet away. Unable to move the injured animal fast enough, the coachman instead takes up the wooden pole and clumsily wields it to defend against the incoming enemy.

The Knight opens his mouth and releases a chittering sound that might have been laughter. He summons a flaming gourd and aims it at the detective—

The pumpkin head violently gets decapitated, flying to the side and splitting open against a tree.

As another pumpkin head begins to grow, the detective sees the coachman behind the enemy, holding a branch aloft, his eyes full of terror but also determination.

As the coachman struggles against the Pumpkin Knight after it fell off of its shadow stallion, the detective manages to push himself off from under the horse's body.

He gets to his feet just as the Knight slams its hand on the ground, summoning sharp roots from the dirt and spearing the coachman in his gut, effectively incapacitating him.

"NO!" the detective screams and tackles the Knight from behind. The coachman crumples to the ground, breathing laboriously with the root still in his gut.

The sound of hooves approaches, and the innkeeper appears with the carriage.

The detective is sitting on the Knight's stomach and pummeling his head with punches, destroying pumpkin after pumpkin as they grow. He yells at the innkeeper to take the coachman back to the village.

The innkeeper breaks off the root from the ground but leaves it in the coachman's stomach to prevent him from bleeding out faster. Once the coachman is no longer attached to the ground, the innkeeper llifts him into the carriage with much grunting from the both of them.

The detective finds a rock and uses it to keep destroying the endless array of pumpkin heads. He can feel the fatigue coming on but he doesn't stop, listening to the carriage wheels as it stumbles out of the bog.

After an almost gory scene of wanton pumpkin violence, the detective grabs the creature's corpse and hurls it into the bog, watching it slowly sink down.

The movie then transitions to the detective stumbling back to the village, learning of the coachman's tragic fate.

As he despairs over losing his friend, the innkeeper reveals that he found something in the coachman's wound. In his outstretched palm is a seed.

The detective almost destroys it in a fit of rage, but something in him freezes. This is going to be the last remnant of the coachman, and by killing it, he can't help but feel he would be killing him again.

As he stares at the seed, the innkeeper sees a fire in his eyes, not unlike the fire within the Knight itself.

The innkeeper, as devoted as ever to his beliefs, chooses not to comment on it as he thinks that this is leading to a very curious development, indeed…

The screen fades to black, and when the next scene fades in, the detective is shown planting the seed in a field, moonlight shining on his face to show a grim and determined expression, the hint of a blue flame just visible in his irises.

The music rises to a crescendo and abruptly stops as the screen goes black. There is a second of silence, then the title is shown again and the music gradually comes back, and the credits roll.

"What?" Rielle gasps, confused. "Wait, what happened? Isn't that just gonna bring back the Pumpkin Knight?"

"Yeah, that's the point," Idia smirks, still too high off of the movie to be self-conscious. "Like you'd think the threat is done and over with but then when the detective decided to see if he can honor his friend by planting the seed, he's already fallen into the darkness, doomed to bring him back because of his own brand of justice!"

Jamil could personally see why the movie hasn't hit mainstream audiences with its bizarre execution and plot, but he can at least give props to its artistic aspects.

"He's doing all that for a 'friend'?" Floyd mutters, giving Azul a knowing look.

"Oh, don't even start!" the older Shroud groans. "They're clearly depicted to be platonic crime-solvers!"

The corner of Azul's lips turns up in a smile of amusement and understanding at Floyd's remark.

Floyd scoffs. "You play all those dating games but ya still think they're platonic? A'right."

Idia turns pink from his cheeks to the tips of his hair. "Y-you don't know if I play those games!"

"I've seen you doing daily log-ins in class," Floyd waves a hand dismissively.

"Th-That still doesn't mean that the detective and the coachman are romantic with each other! R-right?" he looks pleadingly at the others.

Jamil shrugs. "I think the interpretation can be fine either way. In fact, if you're clever about it, you can probably use that angle somehow for your visitors who see your booth as a romantic area. Because, in a way, they're not wrong."

Idia gulps, suddenly looking quite unsure and possibly regretting making them watch the movie.

"Anyway, you’ve definitely been holding back a bit on how grotesque you can make it all out to be,” Jamil continues. “Those corpses, for example, would've definitely made it sink in for visitors why the Pumpkin Knight's dangerous. I think you can even make the abandoned farmstead a reality..." He pauses to shiver at the thought of realistic bugs crawling around the projection mapping. He glances at Azul, trying to ignore the mental image. "What do you think?"

Azul nods. "I agree, there is still a lot of untapped potential for your booth,” he says to Idia. “Aside from images or perhaps even realistic dolls of corpses, you can also incorporate the sound of the Pumpkin Knight's laugh. Combined with the sound of hooves in the distance and some fog, it could make the visitors feel like the Knight is just lurking around and following them, and you and the other costumed students can jump out of the fog from time to time."

"See, Brother?" Ortho says happily. "I told you it would be a good idea to invite friends over!"

Idia doesn't seem too fond of receiving feedback, being the self-proclaimed genius that he is, but he simply sighs and begins to pull up glowing screens over his bed, making notes and arrangements to relay them to his fellow Ignihyde members. "I guess…”

"That was so funny. Come on, let's watch another horror movie!" Floyd playfully suggests.

"No, that's enough," Idia says tiredly. He turns off the screens.

"Ooh, should we have a sleepover?" Ortho says.

"What?!" Idia practically jumps. "N-No way, that wasn't part of the agreement! You said we'll just watch the movie!"

Floyd laughs. "Don't get yer pants in a twist, Firefly Squid! We're sleepin' over at Sea Snake's crib!"

"Awww okay, then!" Ortho says. "Would you like to bring some of these snacks?"

"Oh, sure." Jamil nods, accepting the bowl of treats into his grasp. "Will you guys be okay here?"

"Yep! We'll be working on applying all of your feedback and finish it by tomorrow's opening! If we ever need extra input, we'll contact you! Please feel free to visit and see the improvements firsthand whenever you can! Have a nice sleepover!"

And with that, they quickly tidy up and make their way out back to Scarabia.

Floyd and Rielle are talking about the movie, but Jamil notices that Azul seems to be deep in thought.

Jamil lags behind the group and gently pulls Azul back with him so they can talk while Rielle and Floyd walk a little ahead of them.

“Are you okay?” he asks Azul.

“Yes,” Azul gives him a small smile. “I was just thinking about that sea creature that the Pumpkin Knight reminded me of.”

Jamil furrows his eyebrows in recollection of what Azul had told him earlier. “The one you encountered when you were a kid?”

Azul nods. “As you know, I had some insecurities about my merform as a child. My classmates then would make fun of my long tentacles and how I could produce ink in distressing situations. But on that day with the sea creature, I was able to use those things to my advantage. The strength of my tentacles allowed me to free myself, and I used my ink to blind the creature while I swam to safety.”

Azul sighs and gets a faraway look in his eyes before speaking again. “Since then I have learned to be more proud of my merform. But two days ago at the Coral Sea, when I almost Overblotted…” his features become more guarded, like he's determined to maintain a strong facade. “I was about to turn into my merform, I could feel it. My Overblotted form… would have been the same as my merform.” He looked down at his open palm. “I could have been a rampaging monster like the Pumpkin Knight… And I would have looked like my true form doing it.” He lets his hand drop back to his side and stares straight ahead again.

Jamil laces his fingers through Azul's. “Hey. You're not a monster. You've never hurt anyone.” He slows down to let Rielle and Floyd walk ahead of them more, then he lowers his voice to be sure they won't hear him. “You know that Riddle and Leona Overblotted, right? From what I heard, Riddle hurt a few of his residents, and Ruggie himself told me that Leona hurt him. His arm still has bandages. You've met both of them, would you say they're monsters?”

Azul falls quiet, looking thoughtful as he runs his thumb back and forth on Jamil's hand. He takes a breath and gives a small smile that looks more relaxed. “No, you're right. If I am to be kind to Riddle and Leona despite what happened to them, I should extend that same kindness to myself. Still… it is concerning that you've already had two Overblots this school year,” he furrows his eyebrows worriedly.

“Hey, you two!” Floyd yells at them. “Whatcha walkin’ so slow for? It's sleepover time! Bring us to your dorm, Prefect Snakey!” he impatiently waves them over.

Jamil squeezes Azul's hand and turns to face him. “If it really bothers you, we can talk to Riddle about it. Tomorrow, or whenever you're ready. He might be able to reassure you more about what happened to you.”

Azul nods and squeezes his hand back. “Okay. Thank you, Jamil.”

Jamil gives him a reassuring smile and they walk over to Rielle and Floyd.

Notes:

In canon, we only know the general plot of Pumpkin Hollow. So the specific scenes and characters of the movie here (aside from the Pumpkin Knight) are entirely made up by me and @patchyegg87.

We hope you liked it!

<- Chapter 27

(AshenViper Week 2024 Masterpost)

(Masterlist)

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mcferrari · 5 months ago

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I don’t believe in soulmates. Five words. Five simple words.. He scrubbed and scrubbed at them - in the shower until his skin was pink, and his fingers were bleeding. Until the water - never more than lukewarm - had turned frigid, cold enough to freeze the tear tracks on his cheeks. Until his eyes were tearless - his snot and phlegm dried in his throat.

Then, he stepped out.

Grabbed a warm hoodie and thick pants. Slipped hand warmers into his pockets for protection against the biting cold. Opened his apartment door- a chill breeze blew in with a curl of dust. Inhaled. Braced. Ventured out into the world.

His phone lit up with texts. Buzzing like an angry hornet’s nest. Non-stop. He sighed. Pulled it out, thumb-swiping the familiar pattern to unlock the screen. Eighteen assorted WhatsApp messages.

Salo: hey dude- did it work?

Mika: No. Nice waste of $14. .

Oh. That’s too bad- it was worth a shot though! Better than having-

BEEP! A horn blared. “Hey! watch where you’re going!” a cabby yelled. A fist shook. Mika shot him an irritated glare, gesturing toward the bright green crossing man flashing on the traffic light across the intersection. The cabby glowered. His car rolled forward, one centimetre… Mika ducked his head and crossed the street.

The drab grey university building loomed before him. Cinderblock. Tattered posters and banners flapped in the wind. Students, their heads retracted into black blazers, hurried across the courtyard, trailed by white eddies. The only pop of colour- a crimson jacket. And it's owner, spittle flying from his mouth as he hawked his wares. Tiny bottles of some clear liquid, stacked precariously over the mobile pushcart beside him.

Mika sighed. “Michael.”

The man turned. His eyes widen. Then, grinning, smile dimpling at the edges. “Ah! A repeat customer! Welcome!” He rubbed his hands together. ”What can I get for you-“

“Is there anything real in that cart? You sold me a dud.” He held up an identical bottle, pinched between his thumb and index. “$14 dollars is a steal, huh?”

Michael squinted at him. And the bottle. “I… sold you a… huh. I could swear I- May I?” He reached out, taking the bottle into palm. His eyebrows drew together, his face crinkling. “Hmm. Yes. As I thought.” He turned back to the cart. “I’ll just get you a-“

The bottle went flying. Mika ducked out of the way, hands flying up to protect his face- sprayed with the god-knew-what liquid as it smashed on the floor. Perkele! His eyes watered in response. “You bastard-“ he coughed, struggling to breathe. “You-“ he doubles over coughing. Sneakers squealed on the concrete pavement

. By the time he was finished blinking the tears out of his eyes- Michael was long gone. And those goddamn words were still there on his wrist. I don’t believe in soulmates. Mika growled. Tugged his sleeve over them.

Something something: soulmate AU where they know each others deepest secrets- it’s written on their skins.

Something something: discrimination against soulmate pairs for “security concerns”

Something, something: Michael’s a con man promising ways to painlessly remove obvious soul-mate tattoos, Mika’s a university student /CIA (or whatever the Finnish equivalent is) agent on track to be one of the best b4 the damn tattoos showed up-

#fanfic #ao3 #classic f1 #makkinen #soulmate au #mika hakkinen #michael schumacher #fic for a good home

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screenxtradeuk · 2 years ago

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#fly screen for window uk #door fly screen uk #bespoke fly screens uk #retractable fly screens uk #adjustable fly screen uk

0 notes

words-of-wrath · 8 months ago

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Shrapnel

Pt. 2/?

Emotional storytelling, in my smut fic? It's more likely than you think!

Enjoy 🖤

Part 2

She stood propped up on the metal rod, leaning on it like a cane though it was much taller than her. There was a dingy circular arena, smooth hard floor pressing up against her feet. And all around her people cheered. Shrapnel, that's what they called her, Shrapnel. The name flashed in big neon letters on large screens in every corner of the arena. She looked down at her feet. A mess of metal and wires, torn apart just a little bit ago, twitched and sparked. Shrapnel kicked the final semblance of her head away, and watched it clink and roll across the large arena. There was a hysterical laugh from above, louder than any other. She looked up to see Admin. Faded blue overalls and an oil-stained t-shirt shivering with each guffaw. Admin looked down at Shrapnel with wild eyes full of excitement, braced teeth bared. “Come on, girl, one more! One more!” she was saying. Shrapnel turned to look across the arena as the sound of large metal doors opened up.

Someone much larger and taller than her stepped out, huge metal footfalls shaking the ground below. It was wide, just barely humanoid. Treads kept it balanced perfectly, a large screen boasted lines of green code, and two large arms sported serrated blades. One large red eye stared down at her from yards away, a laser trained right at her. If Shrapnel could gulp, she could. It happened so fast. Machine gun appearing on its shoulder, laser blinking and beeping. She had barely any time to react. If she had stayed still any longer she would have been ripped apart by a hail of bullets. Grabbing her pole from the ground, she dashed out of the way as the wall behind her was pelted with metal. Holding the spear-like metal rod aloft, Shrapnel quickly threw it in the enemy battle-bot’s direction. The sharp end hit its screen, sending sparks and glass flying in all directions. Shrapnel landed flat on her feet, sliding just a bit, one hand in the air, other hovering inches away from the ground.

“Behind! Get behind you dumb metal whore!” Admin screamed in Shrapnel’s direction. Two people had restrained her. “There is a jack behind! Jack in, robo-slut!” Shrapnel looked from Admin to her foe. Just in time, too. It was barreling down upon her with serrated blades raised, intent to kill. She pushed from the ground and rushed in its direction, between its legs. Before the enemy could turn around, Shrapnel flicked her wrist. A long and sharp blade slid out and she dragged it up its body as she ran up its back. There was a metallic groan resembling a scream as its wires were laid bare. As Shrapnel got to the top, she reached to her waist. There was her plug. The battle-bot under her feet struggled to be free of her. But her blade was buried deep into its insides. Shrapnel tugged her plug free, cord extending with a few clicks. Digging her metal fingers under the bot’s plating, she tore it away. With a satisfying creak, the metal sheet fell to the ground with a clatter. There it was. The small circular port. Shrapnel wasted no time. She rose the plug in the air like a dagger, triumphantly swinging it down to plug it in and end this once and for all.

“You did it!” Admin said with glee, getting the zip ties around her wrists cut. She rubbed the pink flesh where they had restrained her. Shrapnel stood there for a moment, blade retracting back into her own metal wrist, covered in oil and coolant. She stared ahead at the nerdy looking girl now approaching her. For a moment there was hesitation. Her code was working a little slow to understand her relationship to Admin. It had been a long fight. She needed a tune up. Aurora, her name was Aurora. A nerdy looking girl with a feisty personality. Shrapnel dug deeper into her memory banks for more core memories of this girl…

Aurora walked down the dingy corridor leading to her workshop. Phone in hand, sucker in mouth, she kicked a stray piece of metal out of the way as she walked. The door to her workshop opened for her with a metal hiss and a groan. Stepping through the doorway, Aurora entered her workshop. It had been largely as she had left it. Posters of various media peeling from the walls, tables full of blueprints and scrap, and chains hanging from the ceiling. Aurora turned her phone screen off and slipped it into the pocket of her dirty overalls. She pulled her hair back and slipped a hair tie over it, tightening it into a clean ponytail. “Miss Aurora! Miss Aurora! Admin!” a whiny and begging voice said from her right. A smirk spread across her face. Aurora turned to see the small robot girl try and rush at her, but a chain around her neck went taut and pulled her back. She whimpered and whined. This one had been in her ‘care’ for a couple years now. Her mind had been thoroughly broken by Aurora’s excessive use of malware and viruses to corrupt her. Her serial number was 3982753QE, but Aurora had since taken to calling her Pup. She’d installed quite an interesting personality chip into her as well, after wiping the rest of her autonomy of course.

“I must have forgotten to turn you off, Pup!” Aurora put a hand on her hip and grinned a brace-filled smile. Pup started to nod her head, metal dog ears Aurora had installed on top of her head twitching and flicking.

“Y-yes Miss Aurora!” she said with glee.

“Poor thing,” Aurora said with a mock tone of sadness, approaching the robot girl and rubbing the top of her head. A green light lit up on her faceplate and she leaned into Aurora’s touch. “Do you want to meet your new friend, Pup?” she looked up at Aurora curiously.

“B-but you don’t need anyone else! I’m your perfect pup, remember?!” Pup said frantically. Aurora smiled deviously. She always reprogrammed her bots to be completely obsessed with her.

“Quiet,” she said sternly and Pup obeyed. Aurora stepped over to the cleanest table in the entire room. There, resting on a pedestal, was a very sophisticated looking robotic arm. Aurora had spent months designing it, ordering part after part, attaching it to different mechanical girls. But none of them could ever use it properly. She was hoping this new one she had just bought could. Ever since she was young she had wanted to enter her own creation into the battle-bot arena. A prestigious honor. A place where bot enthusiasts, much like herself, wagered on competing robots. No rules, mayhem and madness. It was the perfect place for Aurora. Only, she could never design a proper one! Hopefully soon, this would all change. Aurora plucked the metal arm from the pedestal, it was very heavy. Carefully, as Pup watched intently, she made her way over to the other side of the room.

Another robot girl hung from the ceiling by chains. She was an immaculate model. Whoever was selling her had no idea how much she was really worth, because Aurora had bought her for literal pennies. Her metal plating was perfect, her inner-mechanisms divine. Slipping her signature welding mask on, and picking up her welder, Aurora approached the girl. She carefully placed her new arm into its socket, making sure that everything was in its proper place. After that, she took to it with the welding iron, sparks and heat spewing in her direction and over her body. Pup watched, recoiling a little in fear. She knew that Aurora enjoyed this, maybe even a little too much. She could see each shower of sparks covering Aurora causing her to twitch, a stiff tent building in her pants. This was really how she got off, wasn’t it?

“Right,” Aurora pulled away and pushed her mask up. She pulled up a chair and sat down where her laptop was. Taking a wired usb dongle from the table’s face, she wheeled over to her new bot and plugged it into the port, right between her legs. She smirked deviously as she rolled back over to the laptop and started some of her programs. She had a personality loaded already, one she had been designing and tweaking for years now. Perfectly aggressive, perfectly obsessed with her.

“M-miss Aurora-” Pup started but she held up a finger.

“Not now!” she said angrily. That girl was getting rather annoying. Aurora watched happily as the lines of code started to rush up her screen at the speed of light. She heard her new robot girl’s crotch start to whirr and vibrate. The thought only made her even more horny. Almost done, about 75% of the way. Aurora drummed her fingers on the surface of the cold metal table. It couldn’t happen faster. Her new battle-bot began to twitch and convulse a little. When finally the bar reached 100% there was a large shock of electricity sent through her and she arched her back with a metallic scream. Aurora nearly came in her pants as this happened. Soon, she was hanging loosely from the chains with her head hanging down toward the ground. Standing up, Aurora unfastened the chains from her wrists and she fell to the ground. Her battle-bot rose to her full height, towering at least one foot over her. Aurora stared up at her, eyes wide, and she stared back. Slowly and hesitantly, she wrapped her arms around her waist and tugged her into a tight embrace, grinning into her metal chest. The battle-bot hugged back.

Aurora leaned up and kissed her bot’s cold metal face, a plexiglass screen showing no emotions. She got a little carried away, extending her tongue and dragging it along where a person’s lips should be, tilting her head to try and deepen this mechanical makeout session. Pup watched, whimpering a little as both of them shared an embrace. “M-miss Aurora! Admin!” she said frantically. Aurora pulled away and let go, looking over at Pup. After that, she turned back to her new bot.

“You haven’t met your new toy, robo-slut!” Aurora said. Pup shrank down a little bit, tilting her head to the side in a fear fueled curiosity.

“... t-toy?” she asked softly. Aurora gripped the new bot’s hand and tugged her over to Pup. She shied away more, scrambling back, hitting the wall just behind her. “Admin, what are you talking about?!”

“How much do you two love me?” Aurora asked. She had programmed them to love her unconditionally, she programmed all her bots that way. “Who loves me more I wonder?”

“Sh-she’s new! Miss Aurora I love you so much! I love you more than anything. I would literally dismantle myself for you! Please please don’t make a toy, Miss Aurora! I-I don’t want to be a toy! I love you!”

“I would do anything for you, Admin,” her new battle-bot said coldly. Pup quieted down and Aurora turned to her.

“Anything?” Aurora said. She thought for a moment, tapping her chin. And then she smirked over in Pup’s direction. “... corrupt her!” Aurora pointed in her direction. Pup watched in horror as she approached, tons of wires and dongles suddenly springing free from her metal flesh. She tried to push herself further away, but her back was firmly pressed against the wall.

“N-no. Miss Aurora, don't make her corrupt me! I don’t want to be corrupted again! Please! Plea-” her pleas and begs were cut short when, seemingly with a mind of their own, her many cords shot forward like snakes. They slithered around her body, restraining her tightly and looking for any point of access. Some pressed into the ports in her head, some in her chest, her back, her neck, her thighs. Some of them even burrowed under her loose metal plating and invaded her insides. Pup squirmed as she whirred to life, fans expelling heat as fast as they could as volts and volts of electricity entered her. “A-admin!” She pleaded for mercy, filled to the brim with wires and lines of code snaking around in her system. “I’m overheating, Miss Aurora!” all she could hear was Aurora giggling a cute, nerdy, and maniacal laugh as Pup’s metal plating nearly glowed red as all of her programs began to corrupt with malware. Her flimsy antivirus tried its best to fight off the onslaught, but it was just too much. Soon, everything gave way. Pup jittered and seized up where she sat.

“Good…” Aurora trailed off as she watched Pup fall onto her side and convulse. Pup was just barely conscious, systems all slowing and shutting down. “Dismantle her,” Aurora added.

“A-admin…” Pup said pathetically. The brand new battle-bot flexed her wrist. A thin, sharp-looking metal blade suddenly hissed out of it, shining in the fluorescent light. Another soft whimper as she approached. Aurora observed, folding her arms across her chest and sticking her hip out. “Please…” Battle-bot raised the blade over her head and looked to Aurora for guidance. Aurora closed her eyes slowly and nodded her head. Before Pup could say anything else, she was sliced in half at the waist, exploding in a shower of sparks and shrapnel. The blade was retracted, metal fingers enclosing around the top of Pup’s head. She was raised up in the air, facing the metal wall. “Admin!” were her last words as Battle-bot slammed her head over and over into the wall. She crumpled and flattened like a pancake. Wiring was sticking in all directions from the cracks and spaces between her head. When she was quite down, she dropped Pup down on the ground. Unmoving, dismantled, destroyed.

“You cut her into ribbons, babe! She’s nothing but shrapnel now!” Aurora said happily, content in her new creation. “Shrapnel…” she trailed off, thinking as she looked battle-bot up and down.

Shrapnel now stood in front of Aurora. “It was all for you, Miss Aurora,” she said, getting down on her knees. “Everything I do I do for you, Admin…” Aurora grinned down at her and reached down to cup her cold metal cheek in her hand. Shrapnel was dripping in oil and coolant, covered in scuff marks and burns.

“You’re such a good little robo-slut, hm?” Aurora said, despite Shrapnel being taller than her by a clear foot. If she could blush, she would. Aurora still needed to code that into her facial plate. “You deserve a treat, how about a tune-up?” Shrapnel nodded quickly, like a puppy who had just been offered a small piece of meat. Aurora pulled her up to her feet, oil covering her hands. Though that was usually a good look on her. Aurora was always covered in some sort of mechanical fluid, clothes always covered in stains. With her fleshy fingers interlacing with Shrapnel’s more mechanical digits, she tugged her along. It was back to the workshop for them. This is what usually happened after a fight. This one was particularly rough though.

Aurora took Shrapnel back to her workshop, sitting her down in a charging port and producing a stained cloth from her back pocket. Shrapnel watched intently as Aurora sprayed her chest with a bottle full of cleaning solution. Slowly, in methodical circles, she began to clean her. She bit her bottom lip as she cleaned down her torso. Shrapnel shifted in her charging port, making a small noise. Of course, Aurora had coded her nerve receptors to be extra sensitive. She wiped Shrapnel clean of all the excess oil. A moan escaped her speaker as Aurora pressed down hard on a particularly stubborn burn mark. Aurora then pulled the cloth down, pressing it between her legs. Shrapnel twitched, a louder moan escaping her speaker. With her eyes narrowed, staring up at her from the hood of her eyebrows, she stared. She kneaded up again into her as she wiped the now clean area. Shrapnel made another noise and buzzed a little. “... I want you really bad right now,” Aurora said.

“Want me to do what, Miss Aurora?” Shrapnel asked. “What can I do for you?” Her administrator pulled her hand away, pocketing the cloth once more. Then, without warning, callused hands grasped Shrapnel’s sides. She was torn from the charging port, barely at 20% even, and thrown on her back onto the ground. A mechanical yelp rang out throughout the garage as Aurora fell on top of her. She was quite strong for her scrawny figure. Gripping Shrapnel’s wrists, she forced her hands down with a resistant whirr. After that, she pushed the bot’s metal legs open with her thighs. “W-what are you doing admin?” Shrapnel gave a glitchy stutter.

“I programmed you to feel so many things, robo-slut,” Aurora said with a toothy grin. “And I’m going to show you feelings you’ve never felt before…” she leaned up close to her audio receptors, licking up the metal side of her face/ Her next words were but a whisper. “I’m going to fuck you nasty on this cold hard concrete floor,” she hissed with a chuckle. For the first time since Shrapnel had been in Aurora’s care, she saw the second strap of her overalls loosen. Shrapnel watched as Aurora kicked them off of her ankles, and then went for her shirt. She had to let go of Shrapnel’s wrists to properly roll it off of her chest, her petite breasts falling forward and giving a quick and quiet bounce. Shrapnel hesitated. She wasn’t exactly sure what was going on. “Feel them,” Aurora demanded. Immediately, she extended her arms and gripped Aurora’s chest. Her nerve receptors downloaded data into her mind. Soft, pliable, she gave them a squeeze.

Aurora leaned over her, burying her face into the crook of Shrapnel’s neck. She felt her hips move a bit, her legs spread wider. Something inserted itself into Shrapnel. It wasn’t a usb dongle, it wasn’t another charging port. It was a part of Aurora. Fleshy and pulsing, throbbing inside of her as it pushed itself in. It was… a strange sensation. Almost familiar. Shrapnel couldn’t help but feel that she had felt this way before. But there was nothing in her files that had recorded a situation like this. She searched and searched as Aurora moaned and bucked her hips, pulling it out and pushing it in again. Her lips were dragging all around Shrapnel’s throat, her fleshy hands exploring her cold metal body. Files upon files upon files. Petabytes of information. She had information on this sort of act, but had anyone ever done it to their bot before? There was nothing clinical about this. Finally, Shrapnel settled on a few files that were locked and encrypted. They were dated before her factory reset. Strange. How did they survive? It didn’t matter. She felt the curiosity take her programming. She knew the passcode. Throwing her head back, she let out a moan.

“E-Eve!” was all she said. That was enough to give Aurora pause for just a moment. She leaned up, still inside of Shrapnel.

“What was that?!” she said, a little angry. “What did you just say? Eve?! Who the fuck is Eve, robo-slut!” A firm hand grasped around Shrapnel’s throat and slammed her down against the cold concrete floor. “You-” she stopped for a moment, looking down at the screen in Shrapnel’s chest. “Oh… oh! I was wondering what the access code to that was. Perfect!” Aurora said as she saw the access granted symbol flashing on her chest screen. With one final thrust, Shrapnel felt herself filled with a warm fluid. The feeling was even more familiar. It was… a memory of sorts. Like humans had. Not a recording, something that her own mind had made.

“Eve… Eve!” she had moaned out as the familiar woman collapsed on top of her, filling her with the same warm fluid. Coating her mechanic insides, it was sticky and viscous. Her self-cleaning program, active back then, kicked into gear and began to clean the clogged wirings and circuit boards. An angry red exclamation point appeared in her vision. It was her first time doing something so human. It wasn’t exactly something that ordinary bots did. Even a friend-bot like her. Once she had thoroughly cleaned herself, and the exclamation point faded away. She looked into the face of Eve. Bright auburn hair glistening off of the sunlight, big brown eyes, a befreckled face sporting high cheekbones and a wonderful smile. She was wearing a bright yellow sundress that complimented her well. The skirt was pulled up and she was still deep inside of her.

“What did you think, Love-bot?” Even asked. She looked at her, directly into her eyes. There was something fluttering in her chest. Something that she had never felt before. It wasn’t her programming, it wasn’t a line of code telling her what to feel. She knew about love. Something shared between two humans usually. Did she… love this woman? Was she her… girlfriend now? Eve had given her an actual human name. Nora. She took care of her as best she could. What a wonderful woman she was. Nora had been bought from a supermarket. Friend-bot, your friend until the end! That’s what the slogan was. It was many years ago. Things were very different back then, especially for her. She was made as a hyper aware artificial intelligence, lines and lines of complex code, to serve as a friend to lonely individuals. Eve was down and out, boyfriend had broken up with her, other friends were unresponsive. As a snap decision she had bought Nora. She gave her a name, she dressed her, she doted on her. Life was good back then.

Nora remained in Eve’s room most of the time. After she had been shown sex, Eve used her for it a lot. And that was okay. In fact, Nora liked it. She would take Eve into her oral receptor, bobbing her head up and down and making those weird sounds that Eve liked even if she didn’t have to. She wasn’t gagging, she couldn’t. But Eve loved it so much the first time she did it that she almost demanded Nora do it for her. And again, Eve would spray that warm liquid down her throat, between her legs, all over her metal body. And after that she would take Nora into her arms. They would both look out the window together, they could cherish each other’s time. And life was good. “I love you, Love bot,” Eve would whisper into her ear. Nora would always remain silent. But she loved Eve too. She knew that now. She was feeling it. It was an actual emotion. Not a human one, a mechanical one. Pure and unadulterated mechanical love.

Things started to fall apart that one night. Again, Eve was pummeling into her, moaning her name and caressing her metal exterior. Nora felt weird that night. She wasn’t sure if it was because Eve had hit a stray wire of hers. But soon she started to convulse and seize up around Eve. Glitchy and stuttering noises came from her speaker. Eve had pulled out, she had genuine concern on her face. But Nora’s chest screen lit up. Friend-bot 2.0! A new and sleek way to have friends! Your friend until the end!

Nora was slower after that. Eve was more distant. It was like her circuitry and gears were literally slowing themselves down. Like she was becoming obsolete by some grand design. Sometimes she would spend all day away from Eve. Eve was acting like she was literally avoiding her. Nora found her words slurred. Sometimes she would twitch and spark. And every time Eve would flinch. Every time she would bite her bottom lip, like something was on her mind she couldn’t say. The last night they spent together, Eve took her in the bed Nora knew so well. It was aggressive, dispassionate. She grunted angrily and gripped her tightly. Nora did her best to please Eve, but she felt so uncomfortable. So disoriented. And it all came crashing down. As Eve pressed her hips up into Nora and came, her swift fingers reached up to the switch on her neck. The fear was just gripping Nora’s motherboard as she began to power down. “I’m sorry, Love bot,” Eve said. It was the last thing she ever heard from Eve.

Nora was packed up in a box and put under Eve’s bed. Another bot came into the equation. But Nora never got to meet her. In fact, she forgot that she was Nora at all. She remained unconscious for years until Eve rediscovered her under her bed. Caked with dust, destitute, discarded. She never saw Eve again. Eve sold her in a yard sale. Her parts were passed down, administrator after administrator. She was factory reset more times than she could ever remember. And she lived so many different lives. But she always kept those files buried deep down. Eve. Her special admin. The love of her life. What a wonderful time she had.

She snapped back into reality to find Aurora poking through the files on her screen. “Eve…” Aurora said through small breaths, she was still tired from what they had just done together. “You’ve done this before,” Aurora observed. She was watching nearly every video file stored in Shrapnel’s files. “How did you manage to keep all this shit through your factory reset? This is hot stuff, girlie!” Shrapnel ignored Aurora and looked down at her hand. It would be so easy. She could flick her wrist and extend the blade into Aurora’s belly. And then she could escape. But her programming dictated her to be obsessed with the girl. Aurora pulled out and stood up, hiking her overalls back up over her bare chest. “I’m going to save those for later, definitely,” she said after helping Shrapnel up to her feet. Shrapnel simply stared down at her. She said nothing. Maybe… Eve was still around. Maybe it hadn’t been as long as Shrapnel thought. Perhaps she could find her again. Show her how great she is now. Make Eve regret ever getting rid of her. To do that, she needed an escape plan. Something to get her out of this weird nerdy girl’s garage. Out of her clutches. Away from the arena, away from everything. “Ready to power down, robo-slut?” Aurora asked. Nothing could be amiss. Shrapnel nodded solemnly. She was chained to the ceiling once more, like she was every night. Aurora stood on her tiptoes to give Shrapnel’s cold metal cheek a kiss. And as she did her swift fingers flicked the switch on her neck.

And she powered down.

#writing #my writing #words of wrath #nsft text #nsft story #robot girl #wlw nsft #part 2 #tw violence

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