#let the man speak davey!!!!

[incorrectuksies]

Jack: Hold on-

Jack: If black and green means radioactive, black and red means edgy, and black and blue means futuristic… what does black and yellow mean?

Race, from the shadows: According to all known laws of aviation-

Davey: NO

[us3rnam3-r3dact3d]

the rest of you, the best of you (honey, belongs to me)

Ao3 | 1.6k words | Angel's POV

Early into their relationship, Angel and Davey go clubbing. An unsuspecting incubus flirts with Angel after a run in. David tries to keep his cool.

When you met Davey, you would never have pegged him for a clubbing kind of guy. It didn’t match his burly, intimidating, minimalist vibes. Perhaps you could imagine him as a club bouncer, but when you did, you got too focused on the image of his biceps bulging through the thin sleeves of a too-tight black tee-shirt, those dark, sharp eyes scanning a crowd of bodies with practiced precision. 

Instead, you were offered with a much better outcome when you finally worked up the nerve to ask him after a few months of dating, he enthusiastically agreed, even offered to take you to an empowered club he frequented. You had expected him to shoot you down outright, or begrudgingly agree at the very best. He surprised you, like he so often did, and you found yourself just this side of tipsy, his arms around you, your bodies keeping time against each other to the beat of the deafening music. 

Davey knew exactly what he was doing. He pulled you to the dance floor as soon as you’d ordered your fruity little tequila number (which he had paid for). His left hand rested on your hip, his big fingers seeming to wrap all the way around you, the right protectively curled around your shoulders. His right hand was in the perfect position to cover your drink, which he held more than you did. He bent so his breath was hot on your neck, his nose pressed behind your ear. He seemed lost in the music and movement, but every time you bent back to seek out his lips, his eyes were scanning your surroundings, eyeing suspicious figures, keeping everyone away from you, no matter how tempting you both knew you were. 

Protective and tuned in, even when you were grinding your ass back on him. David Shaw was a man of restraint if nothing else. You couldn’t pretend that it didn’t bug you, just a bit. You were putting on such a nice show for him but he was too busy playing guard dog to enjoy it. Not to mention that he didn’t even order a drink for himself. It seemed that Davey had no intention of having fun for himself, just watching the club like a hawk while you did. 

You spun around, wrapped your arms around his neck as he took hold of your drink without missing a beat. You swayed with the music, pulled him down into a devastating kiss. You knew him well at this point, at least well enough to know that just a swipe of your tongue on his bottom lip would have his resolve crumbling, and all it would take was a nip of your teeth to pull him down into your orbit. Davey was an attentive person. Sometimes, you just had to grab that attention for yourself. 

He let out a deep, rumbling moan into your kiss, a sound you felt more than heard as his grip on your hip tightened. Your mind swam as you pictured bruises in the shape of his fingers pressed into your skin. You couldn’t hear him speak over the music, but you knew the shape of that word on his stupidly full lips. 

“Angel…” it was tinged with warning. Behave, he told you, don’t test me, don’t push me, or else. 

You knew what or else was. You happened to like or else. You grinned against his lips, pulled him down by the lapels of his leather jacket, and more shouted than whispered in his ear; 

“I’ve gotta pee!” You danced away from his grasp, weaving through the packed bodies in the dance floor, your eyes never leaving his. He was a head taller than every other person on the floor, so he kept eyes on you as you cut across the floor and past the bar, until you turned the corner to the bathrooms. 

Somebody got in your way before you could gain your bearings. You ran straight into a wide, warm chest. You stumbled back and came face to face with a man dressed in a sheer, unbuttoned shirt. His skin was sun kissed and stretched over rippling abs. He was big, but not like Davey was. Davey was built for actual strength. He was built to carry large loads over long periods, to maintain as long as he needed to, to pull cars a few yards by their fucking bumpers (a feat you’d seen him do when your Camry got stuck in a ditch a few months ago). This man had muscle, but it was all for show. Supple, shining skin over carefully targeted muscle groups. A six pack. Broadened shoulders. A ‘v’ cutting down below his sinfully tight pants. 

Not your type, but you could appreciate a pretty person even so. He smiled, his teeth white and just this side of too sharp. A long, pink tongue ran across his bottom lip. 

“Woah,” his voice left his trim chest in a pur, one hand landing on your shoulder to steady you, “easy, gorgeous. Don’t go falling for me just like that.” 

“Sorry,” you squeaked. You assumed Davey was still in the crowd on the dance floor, and your head spun to try and catch a look at him. This guy didn’t look like the type to try anything stupid, but you knew that looks could be deceiving. 

“Easy,” he repeated, withdrawing his hand. He flashed his palm to you, mock surrender. “I won’t touch.”  

“Thanks,” you laughed softly. You felt awkwardness fall over as you took a purposeful step back. “Sorry, I just-”

“No, not at all!”

“-college town, you know?” You laughed and the stranger reciprocated. He widened your space in turn and stuffed his hands in his pockets. You didn’t know pants that tight could have pockets. He was the picture of innocence, not close enough to grab you, his eyes respectfully holding yours. Not that kind of guy, it seemed. The tension leaked out of your body with your heartbeat. 

“I get it.” The stranger grinned. “Somebody as breathtaking as you, you’ve got to keep an eye out. It’s good to have a healthy suspicion of incredibly attractive people.” 

“Like yourself.” You shot back. 

“Angel,” Davey’s voice was in your ear all of a sudden. His heat was pressed into your back. You jumped, surprised, but then eased back into his solid presence. An arm thicker than your neck snaked around your shoulders, pulling you back into him. 

“Davey,” you gasped, reaching up to rest a hand on his cheek. He was bent over you, curling his massive body around yours protectively. Those dark, intense eyes were locked on the stranger, something dangerous in his face. “I ran into him. Chill.” 

“Sorry,” the stranger stepped back from you again, all hints of his playful flirting gone. “I wasn’t hitting on your mate. That’s just how I talk.” 

Mate. You mused over the word. That must have been a wolf thing, because Davey reacted to it physically. His hand tightened on your shoulder, his breath quickened on your neck. 

Davey considered the stranger for a moment longer, his eyes narrowed and suspicious, before leaning back. He nodded once, decisively, and started pulling you away. You waved absently to the stranger, but your attention was focused solely on Davey. He had this look of intensity to him that you’d never seen before. Your drink was gone, and Davey pulled you away from the bars and any chance for you to get another and towards the door. You stuttered out a protest, but his hand was wrapped tightly around yours. He pulled you along, not fast or hard enough to hurt, but enough for you to have to rush to keep up with his stupidly long legs. 

“Davey,” you gasped as cool night air slammed into you. The line to the club was wrapped around the building. If you left now, it would take forever to get back in. You shivered and locked your arms around your middle. 

“Sorry,” he grumbled. He had released your hand as soon as you were outside, and had both of his placed on his hips. He leant his head back, his eyes closed, and was letting measured, timed breaths out into the air. Puffs of breath like smoke obscured his face. “I thought I was gonna kill that guy.” 

A laugh bubbled out of you, but you realized when he didn’t laugh in turn that he was serious. 

“He was nice.” You said, defensively. “He only touched me to steady me. He stepped back right away.” 

“I know.” Davey sighed. He brought a hand up to scrub at his face. He cut his gaze to you and, after a moment, tugged off his big, leather jacket and wrapped it around your shoulders. It swallowed you up, encased you in his warmth. “I’m being… unreasonable.” 

You stared up at him for a while, watching as he squeezed one big hand into a fist over and over, tension etched across his shoulders. 

“Is this a wolf thing?” You asked softly, a smile evident in your voice. He looked back down at you, his eyebrow quirked in question. “Like… animal possessiveness or something?” 

He stared down at you in silence for a long moment before his face split into that sharp-toothed grin. He laughed low and easy, rolling his shoulders to chase away his tension. 

“Come on, menace.” He held out his hand for you, waited for you to take it. “If another incubus touches you tonight, I’ll end up in jail.” “Incubus?” You balked. “What is an incubus?”

[anonymouspuzzler]

you know what? fuck you (heartbreak gulch's my own guys)

(@heartbreakgulch courtesy of the inimitable @strangegutz & collaborators, also miscellaneous Thoughts under the cut bc it's my blog no one can stop me the doors have closed behind you)

HEARTBREAKER BULKHEAD:

Probably does not have superpowers anymore but still came from a family of considerable influence and was under pressure to inherit, pressure which he very much Broke Under.

Turned to a life of crime, definitely got in over his head with it, and essentially got rescued by Eddie, who he is Utterly Obsessed With And Heartsick For.

Has spent literal years as one of Eddie's attack dogs and generally jumping through hoops for him for Whatever Scraps Of Affection He Can Get, though he's still kind of squeamish around Literal Murder and thus tends to be assigned to supply runs and such most of the time.

Amateur mechanic and car enthusiast. Probably did a lot of McGyver-ass fixes around the Gulch-slash-generally assisted Ami til Davey was recruited.

Speaking of, was still the guy who recruited-slash-rescued Davey. They fell for each other hard and are in a committed relationship now, which has helped Buck take a little bit of a healthier step back with whatever the hell he and Eddie have going on (and helped him be a little less jealous and curmudgeonly about the Hot Young Things In Town, ie Zeki and Felix).

Absolutely not prepared to be a guardian to Minnie which has led his and Eddie's whole Relationship to enter a fun new stage of "hey man can I ask you for parenting advice nothing weird"

HEARTBREAKER DYNAMO:

Pretty similar backstory to the Villain-Coded version. Civilian turned criminal, lost his arm when he got in over his head on a job and Buck rescued him.

Has a bunch of different prosthetics he swaps out for different purposes, ie. one for combat, one to use for mechanic work, a kinda general use/everyday one, etc. That said, he goes without a lot to make sure he's prepared for a situation where he doesn't have access/one breaks or fails on a job/etc.

An alarmingly good recruit; I feel like originally Eddie kind of let him stick around as a kind of "gift" to Buck, but now that he's actually got him on jobs he's become a real rising star. Real good in a scrap and is a little more flexible with his moral lines in the sand compared to Buck. Outside of that he works with Ami a lot doing mechanics and repairs - probably interested in learning CompanDroid maintenance/repair but figures it'd be skeevy for him to push that point too much.

He and Eddie have a complicated relationship I think. They'd be kinda suspicious/distrusting of each other but also have a LOT of similarities and work really well together. To say nothing of their respective relationships with Buck.

I don't think he's Trying to Uncle the younger recruits in the Gulch but he definitely Does. He likes White a lot. He and Ami would also definitely get along really well. He is being The Bigger Man and Mature Adult and not giving Felix a wedgie no matter how badly he wants to

HEARTBREAKER(?) MINNIE:

From the same family of prominence as Buck and is currently very much on the run after a failed attempt to kill her own dad.

Extremely a city kid and is Not necessarily adapting well to Middle Of Nowhere Self Sustained Living.

Knew Of Buck but never met him before this so his whole Life and Little Criminal Commune featuring Multiple Guys He's Got SOMETHING Going On With is. it's a lot

Would like to do some crime actually but is A) still a little traumatized and adjusting to the whole Situation and B) 13 Whole Real Human Years Old.

Fascinated by Zeki's whole deal and his work but I think they would absolutely bring out the worst in each other they would fight so much. Autism to autism hostility

Having a very complicated response to White and Ami wherein she thinks they're SO cool but interacting with them at any length would make her realize Things About Herself that she's not consciously ready to confront so just like. Imagine being White and looking over your shoulder and that 13 year old is just Intensely Staring At You Unblinking from around a corner and as soon as she realizes you've seen her she turns around and runs off as fast as she can directly into a wall

Zarita absolutely hitting that Cool Just Slightly Older Kid niche for her.

[theredofoctober]

The Sand Violet: A Fallout Dark Fic

Cooper Howard (The Ghoul) x Mute Female Reader fic

Synopisis: The Ghoul known as Cooper Howard kidnaps Reader in an attempt to sell her for medicine. When she escapes and humiliates him he has his revenge.

The Reader insert is female and mute. Other features not described

TW and CW: noncon/rape, violence, death, cannibalism

Words: 6,899

Read after the cut ✂️

It’s quiet in Filly, or as quiet as it gets, the afternoon so hot as to bake the earth dark and to drive its milling residents back indoors.

Store holders draw their shutters down against the sun and crouch, noiseless with exhaustion, over whatever toil pays their way in the world.

Dogs loll snoring in doorways, and bartenders find themselves elbowing old punters aside to serve the new and many stumbling in to wet their mouths and take refuge from the warm.

You and your husband, Gray, idle in one of several junk shops in town, having little else to do until the heatwave dwindles into night.

A thick-shouldered man sits drowsily at the front desk, squinting as you traipse about his wares for your fourth or fifth rotation of the room.

“Clear out if you ain’t tradin’,” he mutters, but as you loiter with stubborn aversion to the sucking heat beyond his doorstep the man does not rise to chase you out.

Gray lays a gentle hand on the crook of your arm.

“Let’s go pretend to be interested in that thing over there,” he murmurs. “Keep the old guy happy.”

Talking Gray’s elbow, you obey, looking at his turned, freckled cheek with a want to kiss it. You’re as in love as two people can be in such times, and though the days are hard and the nights harder still, with Gray they do not feel so.

You sleep rough in sand dunes together, eat canned fruit with one spoon between you over fires you put out before the radroaches come.

Tonight you’ll find a bar and drink with what stray caps you’ve each left in your satchels, and later lie as one until the sun scrapes the night away, still tasting the rum on one another’s breath.

Or so it would have been, had fate not cracked a backhand blow across your hopeful faces.

The junkshop door bangs open against the wall, setting its bells thrashing in an angry fairy chorus. As a mean silhouette moves into the light like an eye gouged from the face of God Gray steps ahead of you by instinct, his right hand grazing the knife at his belt.

“Ah, shit,” says the shopkeeper, half-rising from his seat. “You ain’t allowed in here.”

“Says who?” drawls the stranger, kicking the door shut behind him. “I know you ain’t about to get your ass up and stop me, Davey, else the taste of lead’s startin’ to sound mighty flavoursome to you.”

Davey sits down slowly, his broad face wincing and resigned.

The newcomer is a hairless man in an ancient cowboy hat and a coat whose tatters trail, wisp-like, at the spurs of his boots. His face is like that of a red moon, sunken and cratered, and without a nose to speak of, his skull gleaming with the scars of some ancient burn.

A ghoul.

You know of such creatures, so changed by radiation that some no longer think them men, though they are human, still, for all their deviance from that race.

The stranger’s dark eyes switch the store with a slow calculation, dismissing its contents before turning at last to Gray and to your shielded figure behind him.

“I heard there was two Vaulties in town,” says the Ghoul. “And lucky me: I just happened upon them.”

“We’re not Vault Dwellers,” Gray says, curtly. “Not anymore.”

Six months ago he’d gotten into a fight with another man he’d perceived to have disrespected you, and had been turned out of the Vault on that account. You had followed, seeing no life there without your husband, though you knew little then of what lay beyond.

Quickly you and Gray had learned the way of the wastes, casting much of what softness you’d had aside but that which you held for one another.

Evidently it is not enough, for the Ghoul looks at your husband with a grin full of sly yellow teeth.

“Hell, look at you,” he says. “Those hands of yours are as tender as a new-born’s. Once a Vaultie, always a Vaultie. You ain’t built to step outside those fish tanks you lock yourselves up in.”

The Ghoul turns to peer at you, his eyes narrowed to earthen slits as Gray pushes you further behind him.

“What do you want with us, anyway?” Gray asks. “We’re just minding our business trying to live up here, same as anybody else.”

Sneering, the Ghoul says, “Yeah, well, let’s see how long that lasts. Now who’s this shrinkin' violet you’re trying so damn hard to hide from me?”

He shunts Gray aside with one rude shoulder and stands over you, eyeing you up and down as he might a saloon whore, his hands resting at his belt.

You’re glad of the cotton dress that covers you from throat to boot top, allowing him nothing of the skin that restless stare likely seeks.

“Now, ain’t you pretty,” says the Ghoul. “What’s your name, sugar?”

Trembling with anger, Gray says, “Leave her alone.”

The Ghoul shifts his jaw in an irritable motion.

“I ain’t talkin’ to you, kid. I’m askin’ her.”

“She can’t talk,” says Gray, and you nod at the Ghoul, who tips his hat back from the crenellation of his brow in mock surprise.

“That so?”

With a trembling hand you sign, yes.

“Sorry, sweetie, I don’t speak your language.”

“She’s mute,” says Gray, quietly. “Has been since she was a baby.”

You echo the statement with cradled arms, and the Ghoul’s head tilts aside like a jackal watching a man die at some lofty distance.

“So you’re tellin’ me this beautiful lady right here can’t make no noise?” he asks, slowly. “Well, ain’t that convenient. See, I’m lookin’ to make some easy money, and as it so happens there’s a whole lot of folks chompin’ at the bit to buy a woman of just that description.”

The Ghoul seizes you by the arms with a motion so sudden that you do not protest, only stumble against him, feeling a sash of bullets like some torn out length of spinal cord upon your own.

“You’re comin’ along with me, darlin’,” says the Ghoul. “Hope you don’t mind.”

His breath is hot against your ear, smelling of cigarettes and some strange chemical.

“You’re not taking her anywhere!” snaps Gray, his lean frame tense with fury. “That’s my wife!”

The Ghoul looks sideways at him, his narrow lips upturned.

“Not no more she ain’t.”

Gray pulls his knife from his belt and lunges forwards, halting only at the raised snout of a gun protruding from the Ghoul’s calm grip.

Davey stands up once more, yelling and waving one arm ineffectually.

“Hey now! Hey now!”

Caught up between two men you find yourself oddly collected, as though by desperation fear has made you the sole point of calm.

Perhaps the Ghoul feels the racket of your heart against your bones; it does not matter. You cannot allow Gray to know it beats so, nor to bound, reckless, into a bullet on your behalf

Looking into the jailhouse madness of your husband’s eyes, you sign, I’ll go with him. I’ll get away. I’ll find you. I love you.

Gray flinches, and sheathing his knife, he says hoarsely, “She says she’ll travel with you. Don’t let her get hurt.”

Davey drops to his seat in palpable relief, a single vein writhing like an albino snake along his forehead.

The Ghoul tucks his gun away with a satisfied ease, his other arm still clamping you to him.

“Oh, I won’t let a soul leave a scratch on her,” he says. “’Cause if they did she wouldn’t be worth shit to me.”

He twists you ahead of him, nudging your ankle with the toe of his boot.

“Come on, Violet,” he says, as you attempt to look back at Gray over your shoulder. “We got places to be.”

As he propels you out of the store you hear Davey half-whisper, “What hell were you thinkin' pullin' a knife on him, kid? That’s Cooper Howard, for fuck’s sake.”

The Ghoul pauses abruptly, as though jerking from the dream of some sunken childhood horror.

“Ain’t gone by that name in years,” he says, gruffly. “Don’t you go raisin’ the dead.”

Then he jostles you onwards, and the sound of his spurs and the closing door become the same funeral song.

*

The Ghoul directs you through the town into a quarter of parched woodland, his gun trained lazily at your back. He speaks little, only snapping occasionally at your unrushed pace, which through dull spite you’ve no interest to change.

The shock of your abduction morphs into a watchful cunning in which you await your moment to revolt, your silence lending greatly to the effect of submission.

Still, you are not trusted to fall behind or even aside of your ruthless captor. The Ghoul has likely walked a hundred cringing hostages to their demise at organ shops or dens of ill repute, and from those journeys knows what tricks he might expect from even so pliant a charge.

In time you’re driven on into desert terrain that goes on unbroken for miles, the afternoon heat crushing strength and moisture from you like the blood of some small animal mercy-killed beneath a stone.

That land, as you have glimpsed before, is wrought of death and casual evil.

You see one man dragging another on a leash, the latter’s knees worn through to the bone from crawling so long in the wastes.

You see ferals beheaded and lashed to sun-bleached fences, only letters marked by stones in the earth denoting what, in life, they’d been.

You see a pack of dogs eating a woman’s entrails in the remains of an old shack, one of which raises its head to watch you pass with one viscous eye like the orb of some addled sorceress.

The Ghoul observes all with the same grim cynicism, smirking occasionally, as though gleaning something blackly comic from this show of ugliness.

He only stops when the sun collides with the skyline, setting up camp in what remains of an old gas station.

You loiter by an old pump, thinking that to run or to attack the Ghoul outright would not end in your favour.

Rising from his work, The Ghoul says, “Come here, darlin’. Let’s see if you have any weapons on you.”

You shake your head, thinking of the knife in your boot and the others in your satchel as the last thread by which you might escape.

Please, you sign. I need them.

The Ghoul strides across the camp and outstretches a leather clad palm.

“Hand ‘em over or I’ll pat you down and take ‘em myself. You’ll be waitin’ for the chance to gut me in my sleep. I ain’t takin' no chances with you, sweetie. “

When you hold back he snatches a handful of your dress and begins a rough search of your body, feeling you all over from breasts to groin with a scowl on his wizened lips.

It’s only when he raises your skirt to retrieve the bowie knife from the back of your boot that something of ordinary male desire crosses his face, his stare crawling the smooth plane of your calf.

He does not touch it, though from the stillness of his observation you perceive that he would like to.

“Gimme that satchel,” says the Ghoul, gruffly. “Let’s see what you got in there.”

He rifles through tinned food and RadAway until he finds the three blades sewn into the lining of your bag.

“That’s one hell of an artillery, Violet. You know how to use all this?”

You nod shortly.

“Well, at least that’s somethin’,” says the Ghoul, and he dumps the open bag into the earth. “Pays to know how to survive in this place.”

Producing a length of rope from somewhere under his coat he takes hold of your wrists and binds them, ignoring your mouthed words of dismay.

“I’ve seen you eyein' that desert,” he says, “tryin’ to figure out if you can slip past me. You might not talk, but your face sure does a lot of yappin’ for you.”

Satisfied with the knot, The Ghoul sits on an upturned barrel and hefts a flask of water to his mouth. Your cracked tongue pushes forth in hopeless want of moisture, watching beads of it run in a careless spill upon his chin.

Catching your eye, the Ghoul says, “Want somethin', Vaultie?”

With knotted hands you gesture to the flask. Sneering, the Ghoul takes another noisy mouthful of water and pours the rest onto a grimy rag with which he wipes his face, a waste of precious contraband.

You turn away, refusing him your despair.

“Here, sweetie,” says The Ghoul, gesturing the sopping fabric. “You want water? Come get what’s left of this.”

Still you do not look at him, attempting not to think of the liquid falling drop by silver drop upon the sand.

The Ghoul scoffs.

“Think you’re too good for it, huh? Well, you ain’t gettin’ anythin’ else all night. Maybe not tomorrow, neither. So come on, Violet. Drink while you can.”

He tugs the rope cuffing your wrists until you’re forced to your knees and holds the cloth to your lips, allowing the water to drip between them. Thirst awakened, you snatch a corner of the scrap in your teeth and suck the fabric dry, aware of the Ghoul’s eyes upon you.

“Now ain’t that a pretty sight,” he says. “Just for that I’ll give you a little more.”

He takes the flask from your own bag and again soaks the filthy cloth. This time you rip it from his hand and squeeze its contents down your throat with knotted hands as though pulping some browned fruit.

“You got spirit, Vaultie,” says the Ghoul, drying his hands on his coat. “I can see you ain’t gonna be easy to tame. But I’ve had dogs before. You ain’t no different.”

Snatching the cloth back, he shoves you into the dirt with a boot squared to your chest.

“See, I told that husband of yours I wouldn’t let you get hurt, but that don’t stop me teachin’ you a lesson, sweetheart. Just as long as I don’t leave a mark on you your value won’t shift a dime.”

You lie on your side, breathless and hateful, watching through half-open eyes as the Ghoul slouches nearby to settle in for the night.

“Get some shut-eye, Violet,” he says. “We got another day or so of walkin' ahead of us.”

You keep sentinel for hours, not trusting his appearance of sleep. Once, when you inch away from the Ghoul across camp, the rope at your wrists is tugged smartly taut as he reels you in across the sand.

“Stay close,” he says, opening one eye to squint at you through the dark. “I ain’t riskin’ somethin’ eatin’ you out here. What the fuck would I sell then?”

*

You awake to the Ghoul’s hand on your shoulder, turning you onto your back as though to identify a cadaver. From the luggage draped on his shoulder you guess he’s keen to leave, compelled by some urgency not yet detailed.

“You hungry?” he asks. “I ain’t openin’ the cans till we need ‘em, but I’ve do have this.”

You glance at the strips of dehydrated meat hung from his bag and shake your head, thinking how easily it might be the flesh of a man, being that the eating of them in the wastes is not uncommon.

“Don’t say I never offered,” says the Ghoul. “I’d wager you’ll be beggin’ for it in a couple of hours.”

As he pulls you to your feet you reach towards him with your wrists, mouthing a plea to be released.

“Now, you know I can’t do that, sunshine,” says the Ghoul, not without humour. “I must have heard that one a hundred times.”

Just one. Please.

The cowboy hums under his breath, thumbing the knot that joins your arms in a display of consideration.

“What do you need a hand for, Violet?”

You shift in discomfort, and to your relief the Ghoul gets the message.

“Alright. You get two minutes to do your business. Then we’re on the road.”

Slipping your dominant hand free of the lasso he turns in the other direction, whistling as you squat in the dirt. You’re coldly surprised that he allows you this dignity.

Once both arms are unified by the rope the Ghoul nudges you before him into the desert again, uncaring of the limp you’ve developed in your fatigue.

On your way you pass a church, repaired after the bomb by some follower of that old religion, or else inherited by the new.

Beyond it lies a boneyard, brittle skeletons set up like headstones across the plane.

There are wandering salesmen naming their wares in croaking shouts as they wheel forth shopping carts before them. There are hardened men and women the Ghoul claims are bandits, firing warning shots before they get close enough to attack.

“They’d eat you up, doll,” he drawls, cleaning off his gun. “Right down to those pretty white bones.”

You cross paths with groups of whores who lift their low-cut dresses and holler at your captor, who tips his hat, but otherwise ignores their attempts to woo him. Families stagger along with children whose faces are like rotting taxidermy, mutated, or else merely warped by whatever horrors they’ve encountered on their endless walk.

At the bottom of a sloping dune you come across the remnants of a massacre, bodies cut down into gelatinous morsels afloat on a lake of blood. When you halt, trembling, at its edges the Ghoul spits at your feet.

“What’s the matter, Vaultie? Don’t you know your Great-Great-Grandpappy and Grandmamma had a hand in making the world the way it is? Your ancestors didn’t give two shits what happened to the rest of us. That blood’s on your hands, darlin’.”

You stare at him without comprehension, thinking how closely his visage resembles the dead.

Suddenly the Ghoul bends over in the throes of a coughing fit, one hand scrabbling in his bag for a vial of liquid he decants into his mouth with a feverish need. He stoops, gasping, for some time, his lashes fluttering helplessly.

As you stare on it occurs to you that you know of this illness, the thing that chars the minds of ghouls away with its dread madness.

It makes Cooper weak, and thus you know what you must watch for in him to slip his hold.

*

That night, camped out beneath a blasted tree, the Ghoul coughs again, a wheeze like that of some punctured machine at work. As he falls sideways, his hands spidering for his pack, you see the precious bottles of elixir skid across the dirt out of his reach.

Starving, half-crazed with tiredness and thirst, you drag yourself up with aid of the tree and approach the Ghoul, watching his face upturn in desolate recognition of what you mean to do.

First you snatch the bags from him, finding a knife to cut your tethers. You spread your hands, gasping at their stiffness as you roll the joints.

Being untrained in the use of firearms you carry his gun to a patch of scrub and throw it amidst the foliage, far from sight. If he turns feral he will not think of it; if he survives the fit it will at least take him time to recover.

The Ghoul’s eyes prod your back with bleak resentment as you work.

Returning to the fallen man, you point your boot at the three glass bottles left of his supply.

You want them? You sign.

The Ghoul nods; you see that he expects nothing, and that lends you a cruel edge of power.

Taking care to look into his browless gaze you raise one boot and smash the vials beneath it, letting their contents leech away into the sand. Still the Ghoul inches forward in an attempt to lick it from the dirt, forgoing his dignity in the face of survival, as is surely his habit.

You draw back a foot and kick sand into his raddled face, burying the last of his medicine in its spray.

Fuck you, you tell him. You son of a bitch.

Then you turn and begin the long walk back to Filly, and to Gray.

*

You march, bow-legged with muscle cramp and blistered ankles, both day and night, pausing only to take your RadAway or drink from the flasks the Ghoul had filled at a well the day before. The dried meat you devour in segments, knowing that you must make your food stock last, or else starve before you reach civilisation.

You no longer care where the strips came from, or tell yourself that you do not. Guilt will inhibit your survival, and you’ve seen enough of the land to acknowledge that all men here are for themselves.

On the second day of solitary travel you are followed by a grinning stranger attracted to your stumbling vulnerability. He whispers as though to a lost love as he shadows you, licking at his mouth with his cracked tongue, one hand in his pocket, upon his cock or a blade, their end all the same to you.

You have not killed before, but from what you’ve known in your six months beyond the Vault you are sure in your knife hand as you turn on him and slit his throat. It is as though some sun burned doppelganger commits the act, so little do you feel as he stills, gargling, in the earth.

Only later, taking rest in a rundown cabin, do you look at your killing arm and wonder that it has taken you so long in the desert to have spilt your first blood. You are not sorry for the stranger, knowing from his mutterings what he would have done with you beneath him.

Still, you feel yourself altered, knighted by death as its champion.

In the morning the man’s body is gone, dragged away from the road by animals, or else by people so like them that their differences are irrelevant.

You begin to ask passers-by if they have seen your husband, all of which shake their heads, or send you on false leads that weary you to the point of sickness in their length.

There is no doubt that Gray would have followed you here; his overzealous sense of morality would not abide the notion of remaining behind. Yet there seems no trace of him in this thankless land, and through your savage tutelage in its ways you doubt that you will find him.

The miles are eaten by your splitting boots, and yet more come, as though in some sequence from nightmare they will never conclude, only expand into a formless frontier. You’re in such pain from walking that you can think of nothing but its grip upon you, raising one foot after the other only through the terror that in resting you may never rise again.

It’s afternoon when you come upon the old church once more, pale as a dead tooth in the gum of the horizon. You lope towards the double doors and knock, hankering after the cool shade within.

An elderly man answers, peering out at you without expression. There is a gun in his hand, aimed in a discreet fashion at your stomach.

Raising your palms, you mouth, Safe. I need shelter.

The old man lowers his gun without apology.

“I see. Come on in, sister. I’ll see about finding you something to drink.”

You are led through a hall in which rows of dirty wooden pews face the carved figure of a martyr nailed to a cross. His carved eyes seem to dog you as you sit and accept a cup of water as though judging you for the sin of taking a life.

You look back at him, dispassionate, untouched by He you do not worship.

The priest asks, “You’re troubled, sister. What is it you’re looking for out here?”

Taking a notepad and the worn-down stub of a pencil out of your bag you write, I’m looking for my husband. His name is Gray Freeland. He’s tall. Blue eyes. Freckles. He’s from a Vault. You’d know him.

The old man reads slowly, following the text with his finger.

“Well,” he says. “I haven’t seen many living folks pass through here in a long time. Mostly I keep my doors locked, since the only people I do see are man eaters. Wildmen.

“Just the other day I chased a few of them off a body they were dragging along, thinking to cut pieces from it whenever they were hungry, I suppose. I brought the poor man into the crypt so as I could give him a decent burial.”

Again you glance at the man on the cross and see that he is weeping. Your own eyes are dry, raw from the sand winds, a travelling cynic’s.

Take me to see the body, you write, and the old priest leads you down a narrow stairway like the coil of a shell into a cool basement of stone.

On a slab there lies a corpse, the ribs opened out and plucked clean of organs, the face half devoured, marks left on the skull from scraping teeth.

The other eye, the sloping cheekbone. These, intact, you know.

“You recognise this man?” asks the old man. “Is he your husband?”

You don’t answer, just look at the body as you did the massacre, stunned beyond grief by the cruelty of the wastes.

In the notebook you write, I want a funeral for him. A burial.

“You weren’t parted from your husband by the hand of God alone,” says the priest. “Someone came between you two.”

Yes, you say. The Ghoul. Cooper Howard. He wanted to sell me for caps, or medicine, I think. I ran away.

A twitch tugs the old man’s eye like a fishing line.

You write, you know this Ghoul.

“Yes. Everyone around these parts has heard of him. He’s a brutal man. He’s killed women, children, anyone to get what he wants. If he has any sort of code at all then it’s not one I know of.”

You stare into the eye of your dead lover and inherit from it his resolve to go on.

I should leave. If the Ghoul survived, then he may come here.

Placing a veined hand on yours, the priest asks, “What did you do to him, sister?”

Not enough.

*

You stay at the church overnight, given a meal of salted meat and hard bread, and a bath in a vast tin tub. You sleep on a palette bed in a back room with clean sheets, and drink cool water that tastes only of minerals, and not the filth of the wastes.

Yours is a slumber like that of the sick, or the long dead.

Then at first daylight you’re back on the road again, forced to leave your husband’s body to rot in its chill crypt.

With no purpose but to live you trundle forth past the grotesque landmarks that distinguish each stretch of earth from the other, walk until your boots are blood soaked and your hips ache like a crone’s.

Only when your knees give out do you resign yourself to set up camp by a defunct railroad, warming a tin of soup over a pitiful fire. You think almost of nothing as you drink, beaten flat as an ancient coin by the afternoon sun and the grinding nature of your suffering.

Slumped on an old box, you look at the fire, like some offshoot of your skyward enemy, and yearn for the cool of the Vault.

Footsteps crunch in the sand at your back, and a soft male voice says, “Now there’s my shrinkin' violet. Sittin’ out here all alone.”

Before you can dart away a weight strikes the middle of your back, pitching you into the dirt in a clumsy sideways roll. Winded, you find yourself peering up into the ravaged features of the Ghoul, and think that Death in his ragged coat could not appear so cruel.

“You’re tougher than I gave you credit for, sweetie,” he says, conversationally. “Meaner, too. Where’d that holier than fuckin’ thou Vault attitude go to?”

He must have hidden some vials amidst his clothes, enough to revive him from his lunacy. You had not thought to check his pockets, absorbed as you were in your revenge.

The Ghoul strips you of your weapons, tutting at the banality of routine. Then he looks down at how you’ve fallen, legs apart, your prairie dress gathered up like a tangled net about your knees, and notices the undergarments cupped with sweat to the cut of your cunt.

You see, then, a stain of thought spread through him like a thirst for blood, his eyes as black as the charred stumps of headless ferals you’d seen roped to fencing on the road.

“Well, now,” says the Ghoul. “Least I’ve figured out a way you can pay me back for all them vials you stomped on.”

His voice is low, a purr of heated malice.

With the nose of his gun he lifts your skirts up to your thighs and nudges the barrel against your cunt, Vault regulation underwear done away with in one taunting motion.

“Get up, doll,” says the Ghoul. “I’m gonna do something that dumbfuck husband of yours probably never did and teach you how to ride.”

He sits down on the wooden crate and gestures with his weapon for you to rise.

“Come on, Violet. Get that old dress off and take a seat.”

He pats his thigh, and you shake your head, signing with frantic hands.

No. No. Not this. I’m married.

He doesn’t yet know of your husband’s death, it seems, for when you gesture to your wedding ring the Ghoul’s expression sours.

“I had a wife like you, once,” he says. “Soft skin, and real beautiful, like a movie star. And just like you she screwed me over, so pardon me if I don’t take the sanctity of marriage too seriously no more.”

He moves the gun again, his fingers approaching the trigger.

“Now do what I said. If you make me shoot you I’ll be sure to hit you some place it’ll hurt. You want that, sweetheart?”

You glance over your shoulder at a universe of sand, contemplating how far you’d get before the Ghoul put a bullet in your back. Perhaps he’d let you run a bit for idle fun before he shot you down.

It’s as you’re thinking this that a weight falls about your neck and the Ghoul yanks you to him by a lead of rope, half throttling you in his malice.

“Damn it, Vaultie, you ain’t runnin’ out on your payment,” he says, coolly. “I ought to whip the skin off your hide for what you did.”

You’d be nose to nose with the Ghoul, if he still had one. In his irises you see your own face, still human, so unlike his. The beauty of it has taunted this man like water the many thirsting in the Wasteland, a mirage made real, and now owed to him through your slight upon his person.

It scares you, that bitter lust. He might kill you through the thing he means to do.

Stilled by one gloved fist on the lasso, you daren’t struggle as the Ghoul peels your dress up over your head, blinkering you with the fabric. His free hand trails from your quivering throat to both breasts, taking his time with the exploration.

He wants the glove off; you feel it in the labour with which he draws a path between your thighs, near awed by the delicacy of you against him.

You wrestle the dress off your head and glare with a spiteful terror into his scarred carapace.

“How’d a pure little Vault dweller like you change so fast?” asks The Ghoul, almost in admiration. “The Wasteland ain’t barely started with you yet. Maybe you loved that boy so much it drove you crazy. Used to be songs about that, as I recall. Songs about men like me, too, and what we do when we’re crossed by snakes like yourself.”

You sign you deserved what I did to you with expressions and hard gestures he understands.

“I admit I played with you a little,” says the Ghoul. “’Cause when I see a green, pretty girl like you I want to screw you into the dirt like a smoke. Just about the only way you’ll learn how things really are when you’re in a tough spot in the Wasteland.”

He spits on his gloved fingers and bars them between your folds, watching with his head inclined as you stiffen up in pain and disgust at his entry.

“Well,” he says. “Now I know what I ought to drink when I’m runnin’ low on water.”

You think to strike him, but the lasso is braided across your windpipe merely at the flash of your eye.

“Don’t be stupid now, Violet. I know you’re a smart girl. I’d hate for you to prove me wrong.”

He takes his gloves off with his teeth and spits them in the sand. With one bare palm he touches you all over, the rasp of his strange skin like grit against your own. The other hand struggles with the opening of his pants, starving to have them open.

“What’s the matter?” asks the Ghoul, as you look down at his cock, which is as coarse as the rest of him. “Ain’t nothing to be scared of.”

He tests your opening with two fingers, and you convulse with a silent agony at their insertion, and the betrayal.

“Aw, now come on now, sweetheart. It ain’t that bad. Still, I’d use that mouth of yours instead, only I know you’d bite like a mare.”

His skull-like features press close to yours. He smells of smoke, of sweat, as most men do in the Wasteland.

“Now open those legs of yours and sit,” says the Ghoul, “before I pick some other hole.”

When you merely stare in sickened mutiny he forces you up onto his lap. You cringe as he punctures your cunt with his length, twice that of your husband’s, breaking you upon him like the bones of an enemy.

The Ghoul looks at you from under half lids, his lashes as lush and beautiful as black reeds, a surprising feature amidst such ruin.

“Hurts, don’t it?” he asks. “That’s what you get for crossin’ a fella in these parts.”

He ducks down and licks the sweat off your tits up to your neck, smacking his lips with a pop.

“Salt and tequila. Makes me miss the good old days.”

You grip his tattered coat for stability as he jounces you on his cock, thinking of the sinewy flesh under his collar, wondering if your blunt little white teeth could prise out a vein. Wondering if he still bleeds like a man, or gives but dust.

“Come on, now, little lady,” says the Ghoul. “Why ain’t you puttin' in no work? Get to it.”

He slaps your flank, but you don’t move, in too much pain from walking and the girth of him to do much but wince as in the rhythm of his arms you fall and fall upon it.

“Hope you ain’t tired already,” says the Ghoul. “We’re just warmin’ up.”

You mouth ‘ugly’ into his face, emphasising the syllables.

Your attacker leers.

“That may be, but you’re still wet for me, ain’t you? Maybe you ain’t so opposed to fuckin’ a ghoul as you let on.”

Enraged, you try to spit at him, cannot rally enough moisture to defile the smirking cheek.

“Don’t waste your water, Violet,” says the Ghoul. “I sure won’t be loanin’ you any.”

He turns you on his lap, one arm across your breasts, another at your hip, squeezing the meat there with lusting appreciation. You struggle in his hold, your joints like troughs of magma, and the Ghoul laughs against your neck.

“Still want to fight, huh? Ain’t no skin off my back.”

The Ghoul shoves you forward into the earth, and you roll there together like men. With ease he could overpower you, yet he allows you your digs and attempts to inch out from under him for the sake of some bastard fairness.

His heat, his heaviness upon you incurs a panicked need to buck him from your back. You almost succeed, except the Ghoul yanks you to him through the dirt and stones like a prisoner drawn and quartered.

Then, turning you under him, he casts a palm full of sand into your face, watching you choke and fight to rub the grains from your eyes with a vindicated pleasure.

“You know, Violet,” he says, “I may not speak your signs, but I can read some. There was a deaf fella out in Truth or Consequences I used to have dealings with, and I picked up plenty from him. I know you’ve been cussin’ and cursin’ me since the day we met. Makes it all the better knowing I can fuck you.”

Again he fills you with the rot of his existence, growling as he does so, a gleeful torturer at work. You kick at him with your boot heels as you might some mad horse, but he keeps at you, unrelenting, his grinning teeth like the cracked plains of soil after drought.

The friction of the Ghoul within you, rough skin to the soft, builds a cave there in which pain shambles out as something else.

He groans as he feels that change around him, wetness in a land so absent of it. Not once in this attack had he intended your desire, had expected only your abjection on the pumice of his want. His hands go back to your body then, to your breasts, your outstretched neck, and he touches you as a husband might, as he did his own bride, long ago.

You bury your fingers into the burning sand and pray to what God, if any, rules the wastes. By now you know Him as a man, not the weeping idol of crucifixion but one of greed and brutal caprice.

Climax—yours and the Ghoul’s—ride together like two prey animals grown to hunt in symbiosis, his just ahead of yours. He fucks you with his half-hard cock until you cease motion around him, and still does not pull loose.

The way he looks at you no man ever has, not even the rough ilk of Filly.

The Ghoul’s eyes are hellfire and tenderness; he had loved a woman like you, and hasn’t forgotten who he’d been when he’d done so. But he can love like that no longer, and though there’s something nearly gentle in the way he moves to cup your face in his hand you are only appalled by the radiance of his desire.

The fight snaps free of you in a bracing instant, and the Ghoul watches it go. Watches your face in all the motions of defeat.

“Those lips of yours,” he croons. “Even cherry pie ain’t sweeter. Now I’ve got to have me a taste.”

Then he kisses you, softly, at first, after the ripping winds of his fucking, and then with a grunt like some rooting boar he sets at you with the aggression of before, consuming you with tongue and borderless mouth until what thought there was of past romance is chipped from the gravestone of him.

The Ghoul’s hat fell off sometime in the scuffle; as he rises again you see that the weird planes of his skull are beautiful, as the rest of him must once have been.

Like some Martian fiend he appears as he crouches over your quivering nakedness, tugging your gown back on over your head as though dressing a stiff little corn doll.

“Now we’re just about even,” says the Ghoul. “And if you put even a foot wrong I’ll keep on evenin' that score.”

He sets about tying the lasso about your neck to a stake of wood in the dirt. That done, he sits back on the box and looks at you again, dusting his hat off absently with one hand.

You stare through him and up at the bile of deities that is the golden afternoon sky.

“Now you’re gettin’ it, Violet,” says the Ghoul. “The Wasteland ain’t no place for a Vaultie housewife like yourself.”

Later, one of your hands outstretches to pen letters in the sand.

I-A-M-A-W-I-D-O-W.

The Ghoul blinks.

“Well, shit. And there I was thinkin’ I’d wrecked a decent home.”

S-H-O-O-T-M-E.

“After all the fussin’ I’ve been through to get you back you ain’t goin’ nowhere. And don’t try to kill yourself, neither. I sleep with one eye open. You’re worth more to me alive, and I ain’t about to forget it.”

The Ghoul lies down beside you, arms folded under his head, content in the desert’s justice.

Only when the night slaps like a dripping cloth over you both does he speak to you again.

“I ain’t gonna sell you, Violet. You better learn to earn your keep.”

[chrchofsuicidal]

!!!: threesome, video taping, oral sex (male/fem receiving), fingering, praise/deg, creampie

the three of you wanted to do something different for once, trying to up your sex game as if it weren't kinky enough. with dave mustaine and james hetfield, how vanilla could it really be?

you were fully naked, laid across the blonde as dave watched james play with you. your ass was exposed to him, slapping at the skin, seeing it turn a bright red as you jumped and let out a whine from pain and pleasure.

"awe, you liked that?" james put on a fake sympathetic voice, "you like davey being all rough with you?" he chuckled when you nodded.

dave took the hint, him having the camera up to your face, making james hold it since he was closer.

the ginger spread your legs apart before shoving two of his calloused fingers inside your pretty pussy. you were already wet for the two of them, only turning him on more.

he thrusted his fingers in and out of you, wet, slick sounds coming from in between your legs.

"oh, there we go, baby.." dave hummed, grabbing you by your hair, forcing your head back roughly before picking up his speed.

"who's this perfect little pussy belong to? hm?" he growled, slapping your cunt in the middle of your response which only made you whine and bite your lip from anticipation.

"better answer that fuckin' question, darlin'. dave asked you a question, baby. speak up and use your big girl words for us," james spoke, grabbing your chin so you would look at him.

your eyes were all over the place, not knowing who or where to look at, so you just made eye contact with the camera lense.

"y- you two!"

your voice was soft, before dave started rubbing your throbbing clit slowly.

"that's the right answer, baby." his speed quickened again before he looked at james.

"suck jamie off while you relax on my tongue. how about that?" he stated, lifting your hips up so that your ass was in his face, lips attaching to your juicy cunt.

james couldn't pull down his jeans fast enough, him holding it for you as you kissed the tip making him shudder. he was already leaking, smothering your puffy lips with his precum before shoving it in.

you couldn't help but close your legs around dave's head and trap him there, trying to focus on both of the things happening.

"atta girl.. taking us so well, ain't ya? so pretty when your full." james huffed, tangling his hand in your hair, guiding your head up and down.

all you could do was lay there and look pretty, looking up at jame's, moaning around his cock making him moan. dave was slurping and groaning into your pussy like a starved man who couldn't get enough.

"your mouths so warm- feels so good. gonna cum-" james moaned out, pulling out before he pumped his hand up and down up to your face, aiming at your lips but of course it decided to paint your whole face.

he quickly wiped the fluid off of your face, sticking his fingers inside of your mouth to taste him.

"such a good girl for us, doll. did davey make the pretty girl cum yet?" he asked, the same voice from before coming to action.

you shook your head, pouting before dave lifted his head. lips, chin, and nose covered in your fluids.

"no?" james gave a fake pout, rubbing your cheek. "well cmere and we'll make sure you're doing it again and again, sweetheart."

your positions flipped, you on your back, while the other two were standing infront of you, pants down, ready to be inside of you.

two of them rubbed their lengths against your folds, using your slick as lube. soon enough, shoving the entirety or eachother inside of your pussy. your gummy walls sucking and tightening around them the moment they entered.

"fuck!"

the two of them hissed in unison, james throwing his head back as dave held one of your legs up, wrapping it around his waist.

"taking us so well-" he huffed, leaning down to kiss and suck at your neck. "gonna make me cum too, princess."

the pace they had was slow and rough, tears pricking your eyes as they stretched you out to the max.

"pl- please! i wanna cum-"

you pleaded, holding the both of their forearms, nails digging into their skin.

"mm? don't gotta ask, sweetheart. go on-" james panted, close to his second high and so was dave. their tips twitching against eachother made them lose it, immediately spilling inside of you as you squirted and came along with them.

"oh! oh- ohhh" was all that came put of your mouth, eyes squeezing shut as your legs started shaking violently, the two pulling out to see their seed spill like a waterfall.

"fucking hell..." dave mumbled, zooming in on your flooded pussy.

you kept squirming trying to call down from your high as the camera stopped recording, the two grabbing either side of your cheek and showered your face with kisses.

james pet your hair and dave kissed down your body.

"didn't go to hard, right? felt good?" james asked and you nodded, you head still fuzzy from what just happened.

"let's go get cleaned up then, hun." dave picked you up bridal style, kissing your face all the way up the stairs to the bathroom as james followed from behind.

- - - - - - -

SORRY I GOT LAZY W THIS ONE IM SO TIRED.... also please send in reqs! id love to write whatever you have on your mind :3

[orphicrose]

Ok so i just saw your Hosea x child reader and it was amazing (obviously) now I'm wondering if you could do Hosea x reader who's an old friend. The reader has a somewhat stable life, used to be a doctor but moved to a small cot in the mountains. They kinda keep in contact via letters but not really that often because the reader isn't too keen to gi into town and send out mail. What if Hosea has to introduce the reader to the gang at some point, like what if they are on the run again so Hosea leads them up the mountain onto the reader's property to kinda hide there. At first reader doesn't recognize Hosea because they haven't seen each other in a long time, but then he invites them all in, maybe he's even got enough room for all of them and the reader is just this sweet old man, same age as Hosea who treat everyone with respect if they deserve it, helps them out, doesn't judge etc. Hosea is just so glad that his family and his crush best friend are getting along.

Colter (Hosea x Male!Reader)

Note: In an au where Hosea takes the gang to readers home instead of colter. Thank you for the Request!

Warnings ! ! None

W/C : 1.1k

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

The harsh wind was suffocatingly cold, rugged mountainous landscape making travel near impossible. The atmosphere unforgiving, and bleak. The van der linde troops struggling to maintain life, every exhale met with a cold cloud. Huddling together in the back of the wagon to invade at each others warmth. Arthur shivered on his horse uncontrollably, him and Dutch shouting back and forth.

"There's nothing out there, Dutch!" He yelled over the heaving of ice through the air, powerful enough to pull him from his horse.

"Keep looking!" Dutchs voice broke as he shouted back.

"I know a place, keep going north!" Hosea gripped at the reins on his icy seat atop the wagon.

"You heard him!"

The group travelled the treacherous land, having no other choice but to push on. A flicker of life in the distance shining hope down on them, a small cabin revealing itself from the harsh winter.

Hosea let himself in first, letting the group know there was no danger. The beautiful heat from the raging fire hit them hard, offering instant relief from their dampened cloths. But perhaps they should have knocked, first. As a strange man had the barrel of his gun pointed at Dutchs head.

"Easy, yn" Hosea stepped forward, hand stretched in front of him.

The old man slowly dropped his weapon,, eyes lighting up at the sight of Hosea.

"Hosea! Long time no see old pal" His arms pulled the man into an embrace, Hosea appreciating the extra layer of warmth. "Caught in the Blizzard, I see?"

"Oh you know me. Always getting myself into life or death situations" He patted his old friends back and then retreated from the hug, pointing to the shivering group of people behind him. "Speaking of, don't suppose you could help a old bunch of delinquents?"

Y/n stood there for a second in thought, frail hands touching at his chin. "Well, There's not a lot of space but I don't mind sharing it for a few nights. As long as y'all don't reck the place"

"Of course, y/n. And no need to worry, we will repay your kindness. We have some skilled hunters amidst our criminals." Hosea pats Arthur on the back rather hard, an indication to his next mission.

"I'm sure you do" Y/n chuckles, inviting them inside.

"We really appreciate this, what was it, y/n?" Dutch offers the man a hand.

"Thats right" He returns the hand shake and smiles warmly at the charismatic man.

"Dutch, I suppose you could call me the leader of these 'bunch of delinquents'"

"Ah, I see" Y/n gave Hosea a knowing look. Having spoken about him in the letters they shared over the years. The moment took a turn when Pearson and Javier began to heave in the injured Davey. His pale skin mimicking that of the snow that surrounded them.

"He's not going to make it for much longer if we don't do something" Abigail moved everyone out of the way as they hauled the almost corpse from the bitter cold.

"Bring him in here" Y/n waved his hand as he cleared the wooden table sat in his small kitchen.

At least 20 minutes of tireless work and tense vibes had passed, y/n doing his best to stop the bleeding and prevent infection. Davey was in a stable position, his body being warmed by a fire as he lay in a makeshift bed on the floor. Still remaining still and in a deep sleep. But alive nonetheless.

Everyone had found a space to settle in. Drying out their clothes around the room, and taking the time to finally rest. John, who had been picked up on the way, lay similarly to Davey. Still and wounded. The idiot was mauled by wolves. Luckily for him, his horse braved the blizzard enough to get him back to the group in time.

The rest of the men sipped on hot beverages made by y/n, enjoying the company of good stories and a warm shelter. Taking it in while they could, for the morning to come could only bring worse obstacles.

"I was a Doctor, years ago. Saved Hoseas life countless times. But, as most people do these days, I had bad people after me. Had to move somewhere more remote. Its really not that bad in the summer." Y/n sat, leaning on his knee on the floor with a coffee in his hand.

"Saved my life" Hosea scoffed. "You bandaged up a little scrape for me. A child could have done that"

"It was a bullet hole wound you terrible man" Y/n laughed, playfully shoving him.

They chuckled together. Listening to each other as they shared their silly stories. Ones about when Arthur was a boy, or how they'd picked up John as a child.

"We can't put into words how grateful we are for the shelter, Y/n" Dutch put a hand to his heart.

"My pleasure. Think of it as a sorry for almost shooting y'all earlier"

"Don't worry about feeding us. Pearson over here has been our designated chef for years now. I can't imagine he is about to quit now" He pointed to a larger man in the kitchen, making conversation with Swanson with a bottle in both their hands. Y/n chuckled and nodded.

"Well, good luck finding food or even fresh meat. I have to sacrifice myself once every two weeks at the moment to make it into the nearest town"

"Valentine?" Hosea questioned

"Yeah, that's the one. Not to far South-East of here" Y/n had planted an idea in Hosea's head. That would be where they will find themselves next.

The group found themselves drifting to sleep as the night grew old. Scattered on the chairs, the floor next to the fire and any space they could find. But they were warm and they were ok.

Y/n and Hosea moved to the bed, away from the swarm of people on the floor. "You are welcome here whenever you need, old friend" y/n got himself into bed and patted the empty space next to him.

Hosea gladly took the invitation and plated himself in the warmth of the blanket.

"Noted, y/n" They shared a smile, before letting themselves fall to sleep.

It had been weeks since they had left the mountains, and settled in Horse-shoe Overlook. Hosea thought about y/n most days, wondering how he was getting on. He still hadn't replied to the last letter he sent. But he will be waiting with anticipation. Perhaps he should take a trip up there soon.

[professionallyyappinabtangst]

Shaw Pack Flowers

flowers I'd give to each member of the Shaw pack and why

David - Red Hydrangea and Black Roses. the color red can mean passion love and anger which Davey has a lot of. but Davey has a lot of passion for the people he cares about especially his pack and his annoying adorable mate. While black roses mean death, elusiveness, and farewell. david has let the death of his father haunt him. and it shows a lot. while he also hides behind these high walls. He doesn't want to remember the hard stuff. but at the same time, he has to say farewell to all the bad moments to get to the good moments!

Angel - yellow and blue Irises as well as some asters of the same color! In this case, yellow means Spontaneity and hope. while the blue is Calm, trust, and intelligence! Asters mean patience and variety! because let's be real here Angel had to be really patient and calm with Davey because of the walls he built around himself. Variety part comes from whatever comes out of their mouth when their alone with David. Irises mean Eloquence and wisdom. angel can be really persuasive with their words as well as wise. like telling David to use more words instead of being quiet. they encourage David to and inspire David to be better.

Asher - Green Pansys with a mix of orange roses! in this case, The color green means Growth and harmony. because Asher had to take the mantle that David lacked. they both had to grow up earlier than they expected. But Asher has come to terms with this. of course with the help of Baaabe. if that makes sense. Orange roses however mean enthusiasm and passion, his passion to protect and make sure the others around him are okay he's been doing it to David for the longest. so sometimes he forgets to be happy for himself.

Baaabe - I'll narrow it down to 2 roses. because I love them too much- Peach and a deep purple but in the cases of the roses, peach means sincerity, gratitude, and sympathy. they are grateful for the people they have met thanks to Asher. they can be very sympathetic to Asher.. (and a really big shit-talker when they wanna be )they listen to him and comfort him through his imposter syndrome moments. while with the dark colored rose in this case it means admiration. they have grown to admire the things about the new life they've embarked in (as well as the gossip). They've grown to admire themself with Asher's help. after all, he makes it clear they are his muse.. his monarch.. his everything.

Milo - Red Lakesuprs and Purple Carnations- now Milo can be a very prideful man and he has every right. so in his case, Red means Passion love, and anger. because he can be a very passionate man.. wether it's about his height or his body. he's gonna tell you about it. ( he's also gonna brag about his mate. he's also gonna yell at you if you insult his wolf form-) And Lasksuprs mean almost exactly that. Levity and haughtiness. (I still love you though) While purple Carnations...the color purple can mean Luxury in this case. why? this man has dress socks. he only wants and likes the best. and he's not going to deprive himself of that. after all, beauty likes beauty. and surprise surprise Carnations mean pride and beauty

Sweetheart - Pink Black-eyed-susans! sweetheart is an overworking person with the best intentions (even if it means scaring the shit out of your mate or even breaking into their home! ) but none the less The color pink can Mean Playfulness, fun, and youthful but in this case, were only gonna go for playfulness and fun. because when they're not scaring their mate. they can be a joyful person to be around. though they can be hesitant to reach out for help. while the flower itself means Justice and Encouragement. they have a strong sense of justice and will keep it that way. if 2 wrongs don't make a right. they find a way. and they encourage the people they care about to speak up for themselves. like they've started to do.

Samuel - Black roses with a mix of blue asters much like David sam has been surrounded by death ( he literally died ). but also rebirth and sprinkle a little bit of courage. Sam has been through a lot. and he knows it. And tries to move one for it. he's not as clean as the standard he can hold others too. and he knows that. he tries to work on that. now for the blue asters part- the color blue in this case is going to mean calm and intelligence. after all, when taking care of someone who lacks/ doesn't care to take care of themselves take calamity and patience ( throw in some southern love too ). and asters mean patience and variety.. remember what I said about that calamity part? yeah patience is important here too.

Darlin - Red Snapdragons with matching red Alstoemrias.. in this case, red means passion, love, and anger. with Darlin has a lot of. they have a passion. hell, they chased their ex for almost 2 years after they had to let go of a friend. they love everyone but themselves at times. a lack of self-preservation will do that to you. and snapdragons in this case mean strength and resilience. you can take a look at them and tell they've been through shit. but they keep going. it takes strength and a passion to. ( and a cowboy who will scold you for not taking good care of yourself if you don't ) and the Alstoemrias means friendship in this case. darlin cares and takes friendship very seriously. ( they were willing to kill a vamp turned by old blood. they care a lot ).

and now the other things everyone gets In their bouquets! green gladiolus, basil, and white birds of paradise. in the case of the green gladiolus the color green means growth. they've all grown in one way or another. basil because they all deserve some love and good wishes! and white birds of paradise. the color white can mean purity most of the time when you talk about it..but right now it means simplicity. because of the simple life they want to live. with the joyfulness their mates give them.

@dawnofiight here you go (this took longer then it felt-)

[aggro-my-beloved]

📙 (L, Y, Z) -> Milo, David, James

(if you dont want to do three, then you can do just Milo)

🌷

Thank you so much, Rach! I live your content, honestly. Congratulations on 50 followers!

thank you for the ask, star! <3 hope you’re having a good night and don’t hate me but I haven’t listened to a james audio (yet!) but i will happily write for our precious davey and milo :)

L = Little ones (How are they around children?)

Y = Yuck (What are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?)

Z = Zzz (What is a sleep habits of theirs?)

L → Milo strives to go above and beyond for children that aren’t even his own. Partly because he feels the need to prove to himself that he is not his father, and to prove to sweetheart that he can be humble and mannered toward more than just his cat. He’s always volunteering to babysit for his unempowered friends, or gets incredibly giddy when they get invited to a baby shower…

“Another already?” Sweetheart reads over the recent invitation to yet another couple’s announcement that they’re expecting.

“Can you believe it? It’s like dominos…” Milo giggles as he winds his arms around their waist.

“Wonder where we fall in line.” His mate murmurs quietly, interlocking the fingers settled on their hip. They turn to stare fiercely at one another, daring for the other to give the go-ahead.

“You know I’d never say no to a little practice, sweetheart.” The way his tongue curls as he speaks their name has them riled up in seconds. No other words needed to be said, after all, their actions that night spoke much louder.

David’s grumpy attitude is rated e for everyone, and children are no exception. Hard as he may try to make it clear, though, young ones gravitate towards him like a magnet. Just last week at their favorite sit-down restaurant, one little boy in particular kept peeking over the booth David was sat in and asking him the most ridiculous questions, followed by more absurd comments. For a majority of the night, the alpha kept his cool until Angel brought their new friend up on the drive home.

“He seemed to be really interested about you.” David only lets out a breathy chuckle.

“Kids never seem to learn when to sit still and stop talking. Kinda reminds me of someone else I know.” They lock eyes, and Angel is transported back to their first date, where she admittedly did agitate him with their boundless queries.

“You happen to be fond of this someone you know.” They point out with a smirk.

“I know that, you menace. Who said I wasn’t fond of the former?” This is all the prompting Angel needs to pester their husband the rest of the way home. From names, to nursery themes, it’s all they’re going to be talking about with their mate for the rest of the week. Or until David can finally get a clue.

Y → David doesn’t find a condescending attitude attractive AT ALL. It’s different if someone wants to take the lead, he realizes there’s certain circumstances where he needs to take a step back but having mutual respect in a relationship is everything to him. And if his partner has problems with his pack mates or his friends, he is always quick to cut them off, he’s too loyal for unnecessary drama.

Milo isn’t a fan of tardiness or non-communicative people. The man has abandonment issues, what do you expect? Anytime Sweetheart tells them they’ll be home by 9:00 and 9:02 strikes, he’s having heart palpitations and wondering the worst. Poorly dressed people also get on his nerves, because he doesn’t just look at it as having poor fashion sense but that the person isn’t trying to look good. Not even for themselves.

Z → David snores like a mf TRUCK, so loud angel has to wear earplugs or turn on a noise machine. He always denies it when it’s brought up or he finds Angel asleep on the couch some nights when it’s REALLY bad but deep down he knows it’s true. He probably has a deviated septum but refuses to go to the doctor to let them look and see what options there are. And god help Angel if they manage to drag them there, he’ll probably be debating with the doctor, too.

Milo talks in his sleep. Nothing coherent though, just tiny mumbles here and there or a choked breath that always scares Sweetheart to the point where they cloak themselves out of instinct. Some nights where he dreams vividly, the two can hold a somewhat understandable conversation for a few minutes. He won’t remember it the following morning, but Sweetheart will be hanging on to every word as blackmail for the future. How do you think they get him to play all those horror games?

Join the sleepover!

[newsiesgolgotha]

The Passion of our Lord Jack Kelly

Gospel: Kelly 14:29-15:39

Racetrack said to him, “Even though all become scabs, I will not.” Jack said to him, “Truly I tell you, this day, this very night, before the bell rings twice, you will deny me three times.” But he said vehemently, “Even though I must die with you, I will not deny you.” And all of them said the same.

They went to a place called Central Park; and he said to his disciples, “Sit here while I pray.” He took with him Racetrack and Davey and Les, and began to be distressed and agitated. And he said to them, “I am deeply grieved, even to death; remain here, and keep awake.” And going a little farther, he threw himself on the ground and prayed that, if it were possible, the hour might pass from him. He came and found them sleeping; and he said to Racetrack, “Anthony, are you asleep? Could you not keep awake one hour? Keep awake and pray that you may not come into the time of trial; the spirit indeed is willing, but the flesh is weak.” And again he went away and prayed. And once more he came and found them sleeping, for their eyes were very heavy; and they did not know what to say to him. He came a third time and said to them, “Are you still sleeping and taking your rest? Enough! The hour has come; the Son of Manhattan is betrayed into the hands of sinners. Get up, let us be going. See, my betrayer is at hand.”

Immediately, while he was still speaking, Jesdus, one of the twelve, arrived; and with him there was a crowd with clubs, from the bulls and the scabs. Now the betrayer had given them a sign, saying, “The one I will kiss is the man; arrest him and lead him away under guard.” So when he came, he went up to him at once and said, “Jeck!” and kissed him. Then they laid hands on him and arrested him. 

A certain young man was following him, wearing nothing but a newspaper. They caught hold of him, but he left the newspaper and ran off naked.

They took Jack to Snyder; and all the bulls and the scabs were assembled. Racetrack had followed him at a distance, right into the courtyard of the Spider; and he was sitting with the scabs, warming himself at the fire. Now the bulls were looking for testimony against Jack to put him to death; but they found none. For many gave false testimony against him, and their testimony did not agree. Then Snyder stood up before them and asked Jack, “Have you no answer? What is it that they testify against you?” But he was silent and did not answer. Again Snyder asked him, “Are you the Cowboy, the Son of Manhattan?” Jesdus said, “I am; and 

‘you will see the Son of Manhattan seated at the right hand of The World,’ and ‘coming with the tumbleweeds of Santa Fe.’”

Then Snyder tore his clothes and said, “Why do we still need witnesses? You have heard his blasphemy! What is your decision?” All of them condemned him as deserving death. Some began to spit on him, to blindfold him, and to strike him, saying to him, “Prophesy!” The scabs also took him over and beat him.

While Racetrack was below in the courtyard, one of the employees of Snyder came by. When she saw Racetrack warming himself, she stared at him and said, “You also were with Jack, the man from Lower Manhattan.”But he denied it, saying, “I do not know or understand what you are talking about.” And he went out into the forecourt. Then the bell rang. And the employee on seeing him, began again to say to the bystanders, “This man is one of them.” But again he denied it. Then after a little while the bystanders again said to Racetrack, “Certainly you are one of them; for you are a Newsie.” But he began to curse, and he swore an oath, “I do not know this man you are talking about.” At that moment the bell rang for the second time. Then Racetrack remembered that Jack had said to him, “Before the bell rings twice, you will deny me three times.” And he broke down and wept.

As soon as it was morning, Snyder held a consultation with the bulls and the scabs. They bound Jack, led him away, and handed him over to Governor Roosevelt. Roosevelt asked him, “Are you the King of New York?” He answered him, “You say so.” Then Snyder accused him of many things. Roosevelt asked him again, “Have you no answer? See how many charges they bring against you.” But Jack made no further reply, so that Roosevelt was amazed.

Now at the rally he used to release a prisoner for them, anyone for whom they asked. Now a man called Weisel was in prison with the rest of the strike-breakers. So the crowd came and began to ask Roosevelt to do for them according to his custom. Then he answered them, “Do you want me to release for you the King of New York?” For he realized that it was out of jealousy that Snyder had handed him over. But Snyder stirred up the crowd to have him release Weisel for them instead. Roosevelt spoke to them again, “Then what do you wish me to do with the man you call the King of New York?” They shouted back, “Crucify him!” Roosevelt asked them, “Why, what evil has he done?” But they shouted all the more, “Crucify him!” So Roosevelt, wishing to satisfy the crowd, released Weisel for them; and after flogging Jack, he handed him over to be crucified.

Then the soldiers led him into the Newsie Square; and they called together the whole town. And they clothed him in a purple cap; and after twisting some papes into a crown, they put it on him. And they began saluting him, “Hail, King of New York!” They struck his head with a pape, spat upon him, and knelt down in homage to him. After mocking him, they stripped him of the purple cap and put his own cap on him. Then they led him out to crucify him.

They compelled a passer-by, who was coming in from Brooklyn, to carry his cross; it was Spot of Conlon, the leader of the Brooklyn Newsies. Then they brought Jack to the place called Golgotha (which means the place of a skull). And they offered him seltzer mixed with water; but he did not take it. And they crucified him, and divided his clothes among them, casting lots to decide what each should take.

It was nine o’clock in the morning when they crucified him. The inscription of the charge against him read, “The King of New York.” And with him they crucified two Delancey bruddas, one on his right and one on his left. Those who passed by derided him, shaking their heads and saying, “Aha! You who would strike against The World and form a union, save yourself, and come down from the cross!” In the same way Snyder, along with the scabs, were also mocking him among themselves and saying, “He saved others; he cannot save himself. Let the Cowboy, the King of New York, come down from the cross now, so that we may see and believe.” Those Delanceys who were crucified with him also taunted him.

When it was noon, darkness came over the whole land until three in the afternoon. At three o’clock Jack cried out with a loud voice, “*אין” which means, “I ain’t got nothin’ if I ain’t got Santa Fe!” When some of the bystanders heard it, they said, “Listen, he is calling for Crutchie.” And someone ran, filled a sponge with dirty seltzer water, put it on a stick, and gave it to him to drink, saying, “Wait, let us see whether Crutchie will come to take him down.” Then Jack gave a loud cry and breathed his last. And the freshly printed newspapers were torn in two, from top to bottom. Now when Pulitzer, who stood facing him, saw that in this way he breathed his last, he said, “Truly this man was Manhattan’s Son!”

*How to translate the following into Hebrew:

“I’m sorry sir, but that item seems to be out of stock right now. If you like I can place it on back order and notify you upon its arrival, or perhaps I could direct you to another establishment which may have it.”

In Hebrew all this translates simply: אין.

[sl-newsie]

Teach Me To Love Hate You (Race x Fem Jet OC, enemies to lovers)

Here I am to request again! (*insert evil laugh*) So Race is doing so bad in school that he has to get a tutor. The problem is he gets stuck with this posh Jet girl and they absolutely hate each other. Tutoring is a mess. But one night when Race goes out to play cards against the Jets he’s playing against her, but she’s all dressed up! Turns out she’s a card shark, and wins by flirting with her opponent to get in their head. Her strategy works, and by the end of the night they're practically dating.

Davey’s POV

“Another F, Mr. Higgins.”

Our math teacher, Mr. Johnson, hands the man sitting in front of me his test. No surprise that Race failed considering he spends all his time goofing off. I’ll admit since I’ve met Jack and his gang I myself have relaxed a bit but not too much to have my perfect grades drop.

“Very impressive, Mr. Jacobs.”

I’m handed my own test, which I passed with flying colors. The bell rings and signals for us to head home.

“Go ahead, Davey,” Race groans. “Rub your perfect score in my face. I hate school!”

I gather my things and sling my bag over my shoulder. “I know book smarts aren’t your thing. Um, have you maybe considered being tutored?”

Race huffs and pulls out his cigar to stick in his mouth. “No way! I’ll keep my own perfect score of failing before I team up with one-a those bookworms-”

“Well that’s too bad, Mr. Higgins.” Mr Johnson approaches us. “Your failing grades have led the school to force me to assign you a tutor. You are to stay after school every weekday until 5. You will continue this until your grades improve.” The teacher gestures to the door. “Your tutor is waiting for you in room 215.”

I can’t believe it. Neither can Race.

“Are you serious? God, outta all things…”

The flustered student gets up and struts out of the room, causing me to rush after him.

“Maybe it won’t be so bad? It’s only-”

“Dave, of course it’s gonna be bad! I’ll barely miss the card tournaments at 6!” We reach the end of the hall where room 215 is. “I’m gonna be locked up with some ugly stiff trying to teach the unteachable-!”

“You must be Anthony Higgins,” a woman’s voice speaks as the classroom door opens.

Race rolls his eyes. “Yeah, that’s- Holy Jesus!”

Amanda’s POV

This is what I get? This is what I get for keeping good grades? Being forced to tutor someone? Mrs. Smith informed me this morning that I’ve been assigned to tutor someone all because I’m one of the top students. I don’t even go to Manhattan High! I’m only here for the math class! Sadly West Side High doesn’t have any higher up math classes, so I have to commute to ‘Hattan. 

I take a deep breath as I wait in the empty classroom. Just get through it one day at a time. The sooner you help him improve the sooner this headache will be over. The sound of approaching chatter alerts me to the door. Putting on a perky face, I walk over and open it. Outside I recognize Davey from math club, and the other must be the student I’m supposed to meet.

“You must be Anthony Higgins.” 

The man in question rolls his eyes and turns to me. “Yeah, that’s- Holy Jesus!” His jaw drops and I swear he’s having a stroke.

Davey waves a hand in front of him. “Um, Race? You ok?”

The blonde boy nods slowly, still gaping at me. I feel my patience slipping. Ugh. I am not staying after school to be ogled!

I grip the man’s shirt and drag him inside. “Thanks for dropping him off, David. I’ve got my work cut out. See you tomorrow!”

“Bye, Amanda!” The kind Jacobs man waves and shuts the door.

Race is still quiet. I steer him to a chair and push him down to sit. “Listen up, Higgins. We both don’t wanna be here. So let me make this perfectly clear: pay attention and smarten up!”

Higgins shakes himself awake and gets a lopsided grin. “Well hello, doll. Y’know friends call me Race-”

“I’m not your friend. I’m your tutor.”

My firm tone turns Race’s grin to a scowl. “Don’t remind me. I don’t think I’ve met you. I’dve remembered your lovely attitude.”

I stiffly take out some worksheets and slap them on the desk. “You’ve got some nerve, Higgins. I’m from West Side High.”

He snickers. “Ah, one-a Lorton’s gals. That’s where the attitude comes from!”

I roll my eyes. “Riff’s just a good friend. That also means that you shouldn’t try anything, understand? Just do these worksheets and we can be done for today. My whole life doesn’t revolve around school, and unlike you I actually have plans that don’t involve goofing off.”

“Well,” Race says cockily. “Since neither of us wanna suffer through this, whaddya say you lets me go early?”

That little-! That’s it. No more playing nice. I stiffly walk over to the door and lock it. It’s against school policy but I don’t care at this point. This cheeky moron is not gonna pin me for some softie!

“Hey! Why’d you-?”

I steer Race back into his seat with a firm hold. “Worksheets. Now! Before I really give you something to stress over!”

He’s shaken but still tries to keep confident. “Like what? The heartthrob you’s give’n me?”

“Like a black eye, dumbass! Now get to work!”

Race’s POV

God must have a sense-a humor ‘cause that tutor session felt like it took fifty years! It don’t help that my tutor is a stuck-up goody-goody. Jeez, for a moment I thought she was cute. I didn’t even get her name.

“Ey, Racer. Ya with us?” Jack asks.

“Um- Yeah. Just think’n,” I mudda as we enter the Jets’ hideout. 

“You? Thinking?” Albert laughs. “Never thought I’d see the day! What’s got you so worked up?”

“He has to be tutored now,” Davey explains from behind.

I roll my eyes. “Gee, thanks Davey! Why not announce my failure to the whole woild, why dontcha?”

“Don’t feel too bad, Race,” Crutchy tries to comfort me. “It took me a while to understand math too.”

“What I don’t get is how are ya so bad at math when ya count cards like a madman?” Spot grunts. “You’s bedda not get us kicked out.”

This week’s card tournament is be’n held in the West Side. I ain’t too noivous ‘cause Riff’s always too busy boast’n ‘bout his new construction job to play the game. That and Baby John’s poker face ain’t worth dirt. I can see through him like glass. So far the turn up looks pretty bland. Maybe folks is get’n tired-a losing? Where’s the competition?

“Evening gents,” Riff greets us as we gather ‘round the table. “We’s just wait’n on a few more players, then we’ll start.”

“Is Bernardo coming?” Davey asks.

The Jet leader smirks. “Wouldn't you wanna know, Mouth? Expecting Liliana to show?”

David blushes and looks away. Sure, he gets a pretty goil tonight. Of all people I expected Davey Jacobs to be the last guy to find a date.

“What about Mouthpiece?” I ask. “Can’t a guy see his own brodda?”

Riff shakes his head. “Bernardo called to say he can’t make it either. Only Baby John and Amanda are left to show.”

“Besides, one Higgins is enough to handle,” Jack groans. “We don’t need the matching pair.”

I’d hoid of Baby John before but the odda name ain’t familiar. With my luck it’ll be some ditzy dame who don’t know a spade from a shovel-

“Well well, hello again, mister Higgins.”

Amanda’s POV

“Are you kidding me?” I gape as I peer through the window. 

“What’s wrong?” Baby John asks from behind.

“Race is here, that’s what! That ding-dong plays cards here?”

“Actually he ain’t no ding-dong,” Baby John points out. “Race is one-a the best players in New York.”

I snort. “If he’s so smart, why do I gotta be forced to teach him basic algebra?” Perhaps that’s a question no one can answer. “Don’t matter. He’ll bend either way.”

“Gonna lay on the shark charm?” John questions with an arched brow.

“Ya bet.” I don’t always play by the rules. My secret is that after school I play tournaments as a card shark by flirting with players. Some frown at it but I’m proud of my acting skills. Plus any little money I can make goes towards helping my parents.

Baby John goes ahead and sits next to Riff at the table while I stand behind Race. 

“Well well, hello again, mister Higgins.”

The man’s head jerks up and he spins around to look at me with surprised eyes. It’s as if he can’t decide that I’m real. He looks between me and Riff with a stunned expression.

“Amanda, I see you know Race,” the Jet assumes.

My lips press into a firm line. “Yeah. Through tutoring. Now since we’s not at school can we actually have fun and play some cards?”

The oddas just shrug and begin to assemble the deck, while Race looks at me like he just won the lottery.

“Amanda, is it? Golly, I’ve never pinned you for a card gal!”

“There’s many things you’d be surprised by,” I say in a sultry voice. My suave charm automatically draws Race in and I see him starting to lose his senses. 

“Th- That’s some getup you’ve got on, sweetheart,” he mumbles.

His compliment is refreshing. Usually guys just eat my appearance right up with no thought-a be’n nice. Tonight’s outfit is a polka dot cocktail dress with a sweetheart neckline paired with simple red heels. I may be a card shark but I still got my dignity.

“Thank you,” I say whole-heartedly, but then regain my attitude. “I was starting to think ya couldn’t use that mouth for anything odda than back-sassing. Ready to lose?”

Race stares for a second then turns back to start gathering his delt hand. I decide to sit next to him for a better shot of distracting him. If I can get the oh-so-great Racetrack Higgins to falter at cards then I’ll have really set a record. Tonight’s game is Hearts and fortunately my hand is halfway decent. Lotta high cards plus the queen-a spades. Just enough to turn the tables and give everyone 26 points.

“You’ve been taking a lotta hearts,” Race says after a while, then says in a lower tone: “Wanna bet that you’d steal mine as well?”

Ha! He’s trying to play a card shark at her own game! This is too funny.

I pull on my best flirting smile and bat my eyelashes. “You tell me, handsome.”

That did it. Race’s face goes beet red and he goes back to staring at his cards. A few more hands go by and I continue to keep the lead. Luckily the oddas are too consumed by conversation to notice, all except Race. But for good measure to keep him distracted I slide my leg over to brush against his. This gets him shaking and all but hot and bothered. It’s working, but then why does a part-a me feel guilty? It ain’t a question that Race is a jerk sometimes but he’s still kinda handsome- No. I have a job to do. There's no holding back.

“Last hand. Who’s got the queen?” Davey asks as we all turn in our final card.

My smirk outshines all their oblivious faces. “I do!”

Jack chuckles. “You lose, Amanda.”

“Actually…” I fan out all the hearts I’ve collected. “I win!”

Everyone takes a double-take and groans. Another victory!

“Alright, you know the rules,” Riff grunts. “Pay up.”

The guys grudgingly take out their contribution and toss it onto the table. Maybe now I can afford to buy mom some good kitchen knives.

“Good job, Amanda.” Leave it to Crutchy to be the pro at sportsmanship. “You’re almost better than Race!”

“He’s right,” Spot agrees. “Hear that, Higgins? Ya got competition!”

The man in question has a stern look on his face. Instead-a answering he abruptly gets up and sulks down the hall to the bathroom. Sore loser. Can’t he take one defeat without holding a grudge? 

“We’s gonna head back,” Jack calls. “Send Race over once he’s done.”

The ‘Hattan fellas make their way out, leaving me with Spot ‘nd the Jets. Soon enough they too walk out and leave me alone to count up my winnings. After a few moments I hear footsteps and turn to see Race fuming with what looks like anger.

“You got spunk, sweetheart,” he remarks slyly. “Not many dames can get into my head the way you do.” All of a sudden he struts forward and leans me back to lay against the table. “Almost makes me wanna soak ya for that, but then that’d be wasting that pretty face-a yours.”

How is he so strong? Also why are his eyes suddenly quite catching-? Ugh! Get a grip, Amanda! Just take the money and go.

“You’re lucky Riff ain’t here right now,” I growl. “Oddawise you’d be talking through a mouth with no teeth for saying that.”

Race scoffs. “You batted your eyes at me, sweetheart. What’s your angle?”

“It’s part of the game! Jeez Higgins, you’re so used to card tournaments I thought you’d already know what a card shark is!”

“So instead of being one-a Bernardo’s sharks, you’re an actual shark?” Race dramatically clutches his chest. “That hurts. That hurts deep, sweetheart.”

I hiss in frustration. “Stop calling me that!”

“Why? ‘Cause every odda bum ya flirt with calls you that? Just how many guys have ya swindled to give you cash?”

In a fleeting moment of anger I slap Race across the face. “I ain’t your usual lady of the night, Higgins! For your information, every cent I earn through card games goes to my folks! Unlike you I use my skills to help people instead of boasting ‘bout it like a spoiled brat!”

Race blanks for a second but is still angry. “Boasting? I ain’t the one boasting, sweetheart. I’ll admit my skills is good but it’s Jack ‘nd the oddas that boast ‘bout it!”

“Then why do you suck at math?” I jab. 

“Maybe it’s the same reason why a clean-cut goil like you is a card shark,” Race replies. “I gots bedda things to do.”

“That don’t mean ya should throw your education in the trash!” I argue.

“I ain’t as smart as you, sweetheart. I know when to admit I’m no good.” 

Race suddenly gets a saddened look and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t feel bad. It ain’t his fault he’s not book smart but that don’t mean he’s useless.

“You still don’t get it, Higgins. Life’s more than just academics. But you still gotta put up with the tough stuff.” I loosen up a little and put a hand on his shoulder. “If you’re willing to cooperate, I could still tutor ya.”

Race laughs. “Ha! That’s a good one, sweetheart. Going soft on me?”

That son of a-! “Alright, fine! Go and fail math for all I care!” I lean forward and shove him against the wall. “To think I actually felt sorry for you, you snarky, hot, cocky-!”

“Whoa whoa whoa!” Race’s face lights up. “Lay that on me again?”

“I was an idiot to think you’re a decent human being-! Ah!”

The blue-eyed man tilts over and plants a kiss on my lips. In my shocked state I don’t know whether to pound him or kiss him back. The gesture melts away my anger in pure ecstasy. God, what’s this guy doing to me?!

“You think I’m hot, sweetheart?” Race gets a cheeky smile. “Can’t say I ain’t flattered. You’s a scrumptious catch too.”

My face twitches as I try to form a rebuttal. “I- I… I-!”

“Well, whaddya know! I got the card shark speechless!” Race softly places his own hand on my shoulder. “I say we’d make a great pair, hm? Before we kill each odda, whaddya say to a milkshake at Doc’s?”

He’s got me hook, line, and sinker. As a card shark I’m not supposed to fall for anyone I play- where did I go wrong? Race is a pain! Yet still kinda cute… Ugh! Why does luv gotta be so complicated?!

“I- I ain’t good with luv, Race,” I mutter. “The only hearts I’ve been dealt with are cards. I ain’t a normal date.”

No matter how hard I wanna look away, Race’s eyes still capture me in a helpless trance. I’ve been disassembled from a cunning card shark into a pathetic mess. All I can do is stare as the man runs a hand softly across my cheek and looks down at me with kind eyes; a completely opposite demeanor than 10 minutes ago.

“I don’t want a normal date, Amanda. A normal date picks at my habits and says I gots a gambling problem.” Race bumps his nose on mine. “You wouldn’t say that, wouldya?”

My breath hitches. “No, you- you’re amazing at cards. Anybody who says oddawise is a joker.”

Now Race’s face is mere inches from mine. “Still up for a date?”

A sassy grin spreads on my lips. “Think ya can handle me, Higgins? I am still your tutor, after all.”

He rolls his eyes. “Just lemme kiss you, ya mouthy tutor.”

And I do. Over and over and over, Race kisses up and down. All talk-a math and school drips away and I give in to this new-found feeling. 

“Never thought I’d fall for a bookworm,” Race mumbles between kisses.

I lightly smack his shoulder. “Remember this ‘bookworm’ just schooled you in Hearts, Higgins. You lost, remember?”

Race chuckles. “Yeah. Lost my own heart to you too, sweetheart.”

Tonight really was a successful game after all.

[messenger-of-stupidity]

Redacted Incorrect Quotes Pt. ?

Haha you really thought my lazy ass was gonna work on WIPs? Nah. Have some redacted incorrect quotes based on tweets I saw, either on the app or screenshots of.

No I don’t care if the dashes are uneven.

Redacted Masterlist

----

Angel: *Flirting poorly with Davey at the grocery store* Hey so do you eat food often?

----

Sweetheart: Curious George is not a monkey because he has no tail. He is an ape. He will grow into a silverback gorilla and kill the man with the yellow hat in a display of dominance.

Milo: I’m literally just trying to read to Aggro.

-----

Milo: I love when kittens yell, but their heads are too big so they squint.

----

Guy: Roommate broke up with boyfriend that cooks for us. Excuse me while I go die.

----

Angel: In 1920 we took children out of the coal mine. In 2020 the most popular game on the market is minecraft. 

Baabe: Children yearn for mines.

-----

*3 AM*

No one:

LITERALLY no one:

Asher, in wolf form: I wonder if I can break the record with how loud I can lick my paw.

-----

Darlin: If civilization crumbles, I have a little flashlight in a drawer somewhere.

---

Sweetheart: Paul McCartney’s “Wonderful Christmastime” is about friends practicing magic but when someone walks in they have to play it cool.

Milo: No. It isn’t.

Sweetheart: *starts singing* The moon is bright, the spirits up. We’re here tonight, and that’s enough. *whispers* This is the part where someone comes in. *Continues pointedly* Simply having a wonderful christmastime!

----

Angel: My husband gives people a thumbs down instead of flicking them off when driving. He reports that a thumbs down makes them a lot more angry.

----

Adam: I would be such a good “dead wife”. Like, can you imagine how good I would look in a dead wife flashback sequence? Someone make me their “dead wife.

----

David: As a kid I thought Simba was crazy for running away after the death of Mufasa. But now watching it as an adult, I get it. It did look pretty incriminating of him leading Mufasa to that gorge. Witnesses saw him singing “I just can’t wait to be king.” A persecutor could do some real damage with that conviction.

----

Honey: I don’t like the saying “don’t speak ill of the dead”. It always struck me as disingenuous. People are multi-layered. Yes, I did light up a room. But I also stole my roommate’s milk to make mac and cheese blackout hammered. Let’s acknowledge both sides.

----

David, giving a pep talk to the pack: For anyone feeling down, just remember Velveeta cheese has been on the market since 1918. If trash cheese can succeed, so can you. And for anyone who likes Velveeta cheese, I’m sorry. I’m sorry you like trash cheese.

----

Angel: Lying awake thinking about the time I ordered a giant magikarp plush from Japan but then got refunded because the plushie got crushed under a shipping container.

----

Asher, and maybe Guy too: I’m here if you need moron support. It’s like moral support but I’m stupid.

-----

David: If I have to throw a party for my pack, it will be breakfast. Not lunch. Not dinner. It will start at 8:30 am so there is a valid reason for no one to come and I can kick them out before noon because I only promised breakfast, not lunch. The introverts will win even if it kills me.

----

Milo and Ollie: My cat has no responsibilities, but all day he walks from around the house, from room to room, with this sense of purpose, as if he has a long to-do list of tasks no one asked for. Just a weird small furry dude going about his little cat errands.

----

Freelancer: Aww my microbiome fancies some high quality fermented foods, does it? A little kombucha perhaps? I don’t give a shit. I’m a megabiome, I do what I want. I’m having a fanta lemon. I’ll swallow coins.

-----

Lovely: I would be an awesome drug dealer. Like, can you imagine? *giggles* We don’t have coke, is pepsi okay?

-----

Freelancer: Math professors be wildin like “a man tossed a coin, find the probability of him getting a head?” BRO WHEN WAS THE LAST TIME YOU GOT A H-

Huxley: I wanna reply back same to my data analytics professor so badly!!

------

David, at the pack solstice parties: I, myself, am understaffed at this time.

----

Milo with Marie watching Aggro for him:

-----

Asher: Fuck your zodiac sign, what button do you press when it says “press any button to start”

[misskattylashes]

I have had to say something because I am fed up with all the hate directed towards Alex. And Miles being painted as some tragic Victorian heroine sitting at her window weeping, waiting for her handsome prince to return to her.

Does Miles look unhappy to you? He has a successful career, great friends, a lovely home and most of all, his beautiful little dog. Has it ever crossed your mind that he might be happy single?

Has it ever crossed your mind that maybe him and Alex could possibly have a relationship? They constantly share clothes, Miles has frequently slipped up...only recently speaking about when they’re sitting on the sofa of an evening with their acoustic guitars. How do we think Alex got the idea from Miles of having a screen that reflects the audience, recommended The Mysterines to support AM in the UK, asked Miles to appear at The Emirates Stadium in June, and most of all support the band in Ireland? It’s not done by osmosis. Alex and Miles have a relationship. Whether or not it is sexual is not for me to say. But just because you don’t see them together doesn’t mean they aren’t friends. They live within minutes of each other in London and share many mutual old friends – including the rest of AM and the likes of Tyler and Davey.

I hear many people say when it is suggested Louise is a beard, that Alex would not do that. Alex became famous at 19. He was young and impressionable, and once again I am not saying whether any of his relationships have been fake, but once he started to blossom it was pretty obvious he was going to be a heartthrob and a big selling point to the US audience. His cute little bromance with Miles would have become problematic so he may well have been advised to enter ‘straight’ relationships to keep up the hetrosexual image. Yes he is now a grown man, but fear of coming out can be crippling but it doesn’t mean, in private a person doesn’t have fulfilling relationships. He is probably bound by iron-clad contracts to do certain amounts of publicity, and if spending a few days a year with a girl he’s friends with, who will also benefit from the relationship, means he can live the rest of his life in peace with Miles or whoever he is in a relationship with then let him do it.

Most of all stop turning Miles’ life into a fan fic. I write them myself but I perfectly appreciate the real Miles and Alex aren’t the ones in my imagination.

[us3rnam3-r3dact3d]

Angel/Davey night club WIP snippet

I have no plans or title or anything. Idk when/if this will be finished, but hey! Just running off vibes. One person expressed interest and that’s enough for me!!! Enjoy!

-

Davey knew exactly what he was doing. He pulled you to the dance floor as soon as you’d ordered your fruity little tequila number that he had paid. His left hand wrapped around your waist, his big fingers seeming to wrap all the way around you, the right protectively curled around your shoulders. His right hand was in the perfect position to cover your drink, which he held more than you did. He bent so his breath was hot on your neck, his nose pressed behind your ear. He seemed lost in the music and movement, but every time you bent back to seek out his lips, his eyes were scanning your surroundings, eyeing suspicious figures, keeping everyone away from you, no matter how tempting you both knew you were.

Protective and tuned in, even when you were grinding your ass back on him. David Shaw was a man of restraint if nothing else. You couldn’t pretend that it didn’t bug you, just a bit. You were putting on such a nice show for him but he was too busy playing guard dog to enjoy it. Not to mention that he didn’t even order a drink for himself. It seemed that Davey had no intention of having fun for himself, just watching you like a hawk while you did.

You spun around, wrapped your arms around his neck as he took hold of your drink without missing a beat. You swayed with the music, pulled him down into a devastating kiss. You knew him well at this point, at least well enough to know that just a swipe of your tongue on his bottom lip would have his resolve crumbling, and all it would take was a nip of your teeth to pull him down into your orbit. Davey was an attentive person. Sometimes, you had to grab that attention for yourself.

He let out a deep, rumbling moan into your kiss, a sound you felt more than heard as his grip on your hip tightened. Your mind swam as you pictured bruises in the shape of his fingers pressed into your skin. You couldn’t hear him speak over the music, but you knew the shape of that word on his stupidly full lips.

“Angel…” it was tinged with warning. Behave, he told you, don’t test me, don’t push me, or else.

You know what or else was. You happened to like or else

[deeptrashwitch]

Meeting and doodles (secondary timeline)

"Hey, Davey, are you free?" Samantha asked to his friend when he finished his photo session.

"Just finished, what do you need, Sammy?" David asked as he started to put down his camera.

"I have to go to a military base near here, I want you to come with me." She said with a shrug.

"A military- Why on earth did you need to go there?!"

"I need to go get something and to see someone."

"Ah, you're going to drool over the dude from last time? The block with a mask?" He asked with a raised eyebrow.

"David! Shut up!" Sam shouted all blushed.

"Seriously, Cohen, I don't understand what you saw in that guy, but I'll go anyway."

She just grumbled in response, but soon they were driving to the military base Sam needed to go. David, in the other hand, simply was drawing on his sketchbook surprisingly steady despite being on a moving car. He hummed while he draw, sometimes looking at the roads outside of Washington and doodling a bit of the trees and the river.

"So, a base near Washington, something I should know?" David asked without looking at Samantha

"We're going to the base where a Task Force is staying, a British one." Sam said with a hum.

"Okay, and why did you ask me to come?"

"Hmm? Oh, I wanted you to meet someone...and I'm the one that drives always."

"...Fair enough."

They arrived shortly after and the car was checked for anything that could be forbidden, and they had to wait for a while until they had permission to enter. When they hopped off the car, a man was already for them and Sam smiled warmly at him. David scoffed with a mocking smile when he noticed his friend expression, and simply looked at the man...he seemed decent and since Sam was happy, all good apparently. Also, he stayed aside while he saw how unconsciously the both of them went a bit soft talking to each other, especially the man as far as he can tell.

"Wow, I never expected to see the L.t like that." A man said arriving, which called David's attention.

"That's the Lieutenant of this place?" David asked surprised.

"Ehh, not of this base, but it's my Lieutenant." The man said with a shrug. "But what's a civilian doing here exactly?"

"I came with her." He said with a shrug, pointing at Samantha.

"So you're the one Ghost wanted me to meet?"

David raised an eyebrow. "Ghost?"

"His nickname." He said pointing at Ghost.

"Huh, a bit dramatic, huh?"

"The mask speaks for itself." The man joked, then extending his hand. "I guess that since they wanted us to meet, I should introduce myself. Sergeant John MacTavish, at your service, you can call me Soap."

David smiled and shook his hand. "David Cooper, pleasure to meet you, Sergeant."

Soon they looked where the other two were, just to notice they were already gone.

"...Seriously, Sammy?" David murmured with a sigh.

"Sammy?" John asked curious.

"Samantha, I call her Sammy, you get it."

"Ah, I see." He said with a chuckle. "Well, at least I know Ghost is pretty much responsable, so probably they just went to get something and talk."

"Then this goes for long, Sam speaks a lot."

"And Ghost's a good listener, so...we need to find something to do meanwhile."

David raised an eyebrow. "Don't you have duties or something?"

Soap nodded with a smirk. "That'd be the case, but I'm quick enough to finish everything correctly and quickly."

"I envy you, y'know?"

Then David sat against a wall to take out his sketchbook and start drawing the buildings, and Soap seemed interested in that. Soon he sat beside the civilian, peeking over the sketchbook with interest. David smiled and let him see, noticing John was also murmuring something.

"Something's wrong?" David asked.

"Ah, I was just wondering how long you've been drawing, you're really talented."

"Oh, well...I learned when I was young, then perfected it during college."

"Are you an artist?"

"I guess I qualify like it, I'm a photographer."

"That makes sense." Soap said, nodding. "Honestly, it's great to see it, it looks so realistic. Thanks for letting me look, by the way."

"You're welcome, and by the way, do you draw too? You seemed to be murmuring something about the style of my draws..."

John nodded with a smile. "I do draw as well, as a hobbie. I don't have exactly a title or anything, but I have talent."

"Nice." David said with a chuckle.

They started to speak a bit, at first on a friendly manner. Surprisingly, soon it kinda became flirty as they kept speaking for a while leaning against the wall. Especially David was focused on the Scottish man as he started a new doodle with calm. At some point, he smiled and looked at him.

"You could be a great model, y'know?" David said with a chuckle.

"What?" Soap asked confused.

"For real, you're quite handsome and you could make a great model for my photo shoots."

Soap blinked surprised and chuckled. "Well, that's quite the compliment, huh? But I have to decline."

"May I ask why?"

"Safety, mostly. There's no way I can make myself so notorious, it would put...many things of mine in danger." Soap explained with a bit of mistery.

"A family, I assume?"

"More like my life."

David sighed and nodded. "I see, I can't blame you...but it still a shame, you could've been quite popular."

"Haven't you thought of being the model yourself? You're a good-looking lad as well."

"I would, but someone has to take the pictures and I'll be damned if I have to leave my camera to someone else!"

Soap laughed, and then they saw how Sam and Ghost came outside again, which made them share a smirk. Anyway, David simply closed his sketchbook and stood up, offering his hand to help the Sergeant. Soon they were walking towards those two, still chatting among themselves. And when they were near enough, they could notice how Samantha and Ghost shared a knowing look for a second.

"Why the look to you dark knight, Sammy?" David asked with a side smile.

"No reason, Davey. But I assume you got along with the Sergeant?" She asked with calm.

"Quite," he said with a smirk, "have you enjoyed your private time with your Lieutenant?"

"Shut up, you idiot."

Meanwhile, Ghost looked at Soap with a raised eyebrow hidden behind his baclava. "Good chit chat, Johnny?"

"You can say that, L.t." Soap said with a shrug. "Interesting one, you know."

"The man or the chatting?"

"A bit of both, I guess."

Soon it was time for the two civilians to go away, so Samantha hugged slightly the Lieutenant while her friend chuckled on the background. On the other hand, Soap offered his hand to David with a smile.

"It was good to meet you."

David shook his hand with a charming smile. "Likewise, Soap, and hey! The offer of being my model still up!"

"I still refuse, but thanks for the offer." Soap said with a smirk. "You'll have to find someone else, bonnie."

"Bonnie?" David asked confused. "What does that mean?"

Samantha chimmed in. "He's calling you beautiful, you moron!"

"Oh...OH!" David exclaimed before laughing. "Sorry, sorry, my bad."

"Don't worry, anyway, see you around hopefully." Soap said with a chuckle.

"Why don't you call me instead?" David said as he extended a piece of paper with his number. "We can talk later, Sergeant~"

Then Samantha and him walked back to the car, and drove away in silence. For a while they said nothing before Sam side-eyed David a bit weirded out.

"What did I just witness before?" She asked.

"Me flirting with the Sergeant you and your boyfriend introduced me to." He said with a hum.

"No shit, Sherlock. I mean, why you looked like you found your muse?"

David just took out his sketchbook again and continued to work on the doodle he was making of Soap, smiling as he worked on his eyes. "No reason."

"I call bullshit."

"...Sammy."

"Yeah?"

"Shut up already."

[nevadas-night-time-novelist]

Oh, speaking of those madcom x knocked up reader, I’ve been meaning to ask… Do you think you could do some with Chopper Dave, Q-Bert and Skinner? You don’t have to ofc just. Asking

Cant be any characters left surely @_@ xD

Dis gon be looooong, get a snack or two, and some water.

Knocked up [Chopper Dave, Q-Bert, Skinner]

CW: AFAB reader, gender neutral, pregnancy warning

Dave

You were lounging on Dave's bed, waiting for him to finish fetching his charge back, a strong grunt with powers unmatched by any. They were highly favoured by all in the building, and your boyfriend shared in that admiration.

Killing time by playing games on your tablet, awaiting your man to ambush him with the news. You'd missed a cycle, and decided to take a test, which sat in the bathroom bin wrapped in toiler paper, cross marked. Positive.

It's not like you'd been actively trying for a child, but you weren't being careful either, let nature take her course and that course was parenthood. The door slid open, and your lover stepped in, beaming when he saw you. "Ello love,"

He removed his hat, placing it on the coat rack before strolling over and giving you a sweet kiss. "hope you 'aven't been too bored waiting for me, pigeon." His love of the sky invaded everything in his life, even his pet names for you, always something to do with birds.

"Hi Davey." You greeted back, nuzzling into his palm. "No, I've been playing GruntCraft. Built some silly things in creative mode. You wanna see?" He took off his jacket, revealing his sweaty t shirt, when he was out of the sky, his jacket cooked him.

"Sure thing, hen." He sat next to you, his hand massaging your back instinctively, his love language being physical touch. His fingertips sent pleasant shivers up your spine.

You shifted your character around and showed off some of the builds, getting a laugh as you showed off your giant wool sheep, with actual sheep inside it's hollow body. "Davey, there's something important I need to tell you."

"Your sheep building skills are baaahhdass. I already know." Dave grinned at you, his suave British charm making your heart flutter. You rolled your eyes and kissed his cheek, he was a goofball and you loved that about him.

"Its important, Dave." He lifted his arm, and you cuddled close into him, his familiar scent calming you down, yet exciting you too. "We're gonna have a baby."

Confusion crossed his features. "You what bird?" His brows knitted together. "That's a daft joke."

"It's not a joke honey. You can check in the bathroom bin, there's a test in there. You and me, we're having a baby." Dave's eyes lit up and he covered your face in kisses, his stubble scratching up your chin.

"We're pregnant? Really? Oh pidge we're gonna have a little aviator! Ach, we can paint their room to look like the sky, hang little planes up, and and-"

"Easy tiger," You laughed, music to his ears. Just when he thought he couldn't possibly fall deeper in love with you, you were going to carry his child. "we've got months to prepare. Besides, what if he or she prefers boat?"

Dave let out a dramatic gasp. "Then they're no child of mine!" He snorted and chuckled, unable to keep his fake shock up for a mere moment.

News quickly spread about your immanent baby, Dave gushing to everyone about his wonderful partner and their soon to be physical form of love for each other.

Bossman seemed to zone out when he talked, nodding along with the occasional "Mmmhmm."

Q-Bert rolled his eyes anytime the subject was brought up. "Are ye actually gonna buy somethin' or are ye jus' gon' waste my time again?"

Skinner was amused, letting him talk freely as much as his heart desired. "It's very rare that babies are even conceived in all of Nevada, let alone one right in this base. I'm sure they'll be a wonderful boost to morale."

None of the chefs gave him the time of day, he wasn't there for guns, so they had no interest.

Doc seemed sceptical to begin with, but would sometimes offer his own advice, having had a hand in Deimos' birth, and raising the little ankle biter. "Best advice I can really offer? Sleep when the baby sleeps. Don't try and sleep regularly, you'll be on baby time until they settle."

The mysterious grunt who seemed to build up the SQ didn't speak to anyone most of the time, would silently listen to Dave going on about anything and everything. "Hey listen, if uh, y'see anything sweet out there, like candy or chocolate, would you mind bringing some back? Pregnancy cravings are a bitch when you don't got much to work with." And faithfully, they'd always end up with something you'd enjoy.

Evenings and nights were blissful for the most part, a snack in hand while Dave talked about his day, interesting things he saw while flying, or a brief rundown of whatever the leader was up to that day. He was always massaging your feet which ached thanks to the added weight, or your tummy so he could hopefully coax a kick out of his little one.

"Does it hurt? When they kick." He perked up one night, hand over your active baby's writhing.

"No, but it's weird. Nice, but weird. At least we know they're healthy." You smiled, and Dave rested his head on your stomach.

"Aye, want nothing more than to have a healthy mite."

"What about yours?"

"Ey?" You poked Dave's gut.

"Your baby, does it kick?"

His cheeks turned red. "Oi! Cheeky bird! Don't insult my love handles. I'll have you know I worked very hard to get this dad bod for you."

Sleeping together was nice, you'd sleep on your side, a pillow between your legs, since it was most comfortable, and Dave would have an arm around your belly, spooning you from behind, keeping you safe in his grasp.

He'd cut back slightly on his drinking, slowly but surely becoming less indulgent on intoxicants to have a good time, enjoying just living in the moment with you, working towards the future.

Decorating the new nursery was a lot of effort too, he'd always work up a sweat painting, decorating, building baby essentials, it helped slim down his figure a little, but he was still plenty squishable and lovable.

He still had a job to do, indebted to the silent boss of the building, always flying them back and forth even if he wanted to hang around the closer your expectant day came. Alas, he was out flying when the action kicked off.

Bossman luckily had been passing by when you called out for help, and he rushed off to get Skinner, who easily picked you up and carried you to his office with care. You cried out for Dave, but he was absent, and Bossman was constantly pacing, calling him over the radio constantly.

"Don't worry, even if Dave isn't here, you're in safe hands." Skinner reassured you, wiping your forehead with a damp cloth.

"Why did he have to go out today?" You sobbed, this was scary, you had to face this alone, and he promised he'd be here for you. But he wasn't. "I hate him!"

Skinner nodded to his nurse, who took over caring for you while be busied himself at your other end. "You don't hate him, you're just upset he's not here." The nurse was kind, he was doing his best to soothe you. "I'm sure he's on his way as soon as possible."

Hours later, the door slid open, and Dave came running in. "PIGEON!" He yelled, running to your side. "I'm so sorry, boss wanted a lift to the otherside of Nevada and I-I I'm sorry!" He was crying, clearly upset about not being here the whole time.

"You're here now at least." You took Dave's hand. "You're here for the worst of it." He didn't leave your side, even as you crushed his hand. Eventually, you successfully delivered a baby girl, which Dave had insisted on naming Ava.

Q-Bert

You and Q-Bert weren't dating, more of a situationship. Both had urges, and could help each other out, and that worked fine. Until it didn't.

He was at his usual post, chewing tobacco behind his shop, legs crossed and propped on his desk, arms folded behind his head. You stepped up to his space, and he lifted his head, shadows cast over his eyes.

"Alright lovely?" Bert greeted you with a grin, his brown stained teeth coated in fresh poison. His accent was intoxicating, everything about him was. From a foreign land, with a strange voice and weird customs, like .... Haggis.

"Hope you've brought your wallet, 'coz I ain't able to scratch yer itches right now, as nice as the break would be. Mmmhh, actually, scratch that. Maybe if yer wantin' somethin' quick."

"Not right now, Bert. There's uh, a slight issue with our... thing." You felt flustered, even when he was being a perverted bastard, it was still charming. Bert spat his chew into the bin to his left and sighed.

"Yer callin' it off? Guess I should'a seen it comin'." His lip stuck out, he'd have to find someone else to bunk with now, which was gonna suck. But of course a pretty thing like you would move on and find someone willing to commit with them. He knew he couldn't, and he'd told you that. Commitment issues, never one to settle down.

"No, hear me out Bert." Rip off the bandaid. "I'm pregnant, and you're the father." That made him freeze up.

"Ye... yer sure about that?" You nodded to him, throwing your positive test onto his desk. "...'Ow do I know it's my wee bairn?"

He was starting to get under your skin. "You think I've been getting cosy with the other guys? Really? You think that I'm like that?"

Q-Bert got to his feet, raising his hands. "Nay 'course not. I just.. Shit.. Look I've had a few flames who pulled a stunt like this, they were lying just tae get tae me money."

"I don't give a fuck about the money!" You snapped at him. "I thought you knew that." Turning you back to him, you heaved out a sigh. "Look, I can do this myself if you don't want a part in it. Bossman, Skinner and Doc will be more than happy to help." As you began to head back to your room, arms wrapped around your middle.

"Nae, don' go. I'm sorry. A've been fucked over a lot in life, orite? Gettin' close to people ain't really been ma thing. But you, fuck, a've let a few of me walls down fer you. I canne promise you commitment, that's a big ask and I canne agree, but I'll do everything I can to keep you an' our wee bairn in good hands."

As previously stated, Bert isn't a good support system, unless you directly tell him what you need. He doesn't take hints well, but you can tell he's trying his best. "Ye look like ye could use a drink."

"I can't drink while pregnant, remember?"

"Oh.. right yeh." Bert would visit your quarters more often, bringing snacks he'd gotten in exchange for a few favours. His profits were biting a little, but a few bullets in exchange for your favourite candy was a worthy sacrifice. "Look, I got some of yer favourite crisps."

You graciously accepted his offerings, feeling like a dragon atop a snack hoard while your knight added to your pile.

Even when he was behind the desk, he'd have time for you. You could have the comfiest chair in his little room, or if he was laying back and lounging, you could cuddle into him, he'd rub your aching back and hips. Even as you got heavier, he didn't complain too much, just adjusting himself slightly to deal with the baby weight.

Sometimes he'd invite you back to his room to sleep next to him, missing the company. Despite saying he'd probably find someone else to share his time with, he didn't.

Other times you'd fall asleep alone in your bed, and wake up to his arms around you, his face buried into your back, hair, or shoulder. The distance between you and him made his heart ache, as much as he hated to admit it. He'd grown too fond of you, and he felt insecure, worried that something would ruin this piece of happiness he'd come to enjoy.

But... the pain never came.

With you, god with you he felt secure. He felt safe. And for the first time, in a long, long time, he felt genuinely happy. Of course you were different, you were carrying his baby for christ-sake. You'd sheltered and protected him, loved him like no other, and he finally opened his eyes to the fact.

One night you were laying in bed, and he entered, expecting you to be asleep as usual as he settled next to you. "Och..." His hand grazed your arm, softly and sweetly. "I love you so much." His stubble scratched your cheek as he kissed it.

"I love you too Bert." You mumbled tiredly, and he froze.

"Yer... awake?" You let out a noise of confirmation, and his face turned beet red, but it was thankfully masked by the darkness. "I.. dunno what tae say."

"Nothing, I'm tired and want to sleep, we can talk about it tomorrow, okay?" You carefully rolled over, facing him, seeing his expression soften in the dim light of the room.

"Alright love," He leaned in, kissing you tenderly, a hint of minty mouthwash on his lips.

It was another day in his office, lounging on him while he stroked your hair, chewing his tobacco and humming away when something ran down your legs. "Did ye just piss on me?" Q-Bert looked mortified. "If ye needed tae go ye shoulda said!"

"No, that's... You need to go get Skinner." The walk around the base would've been too much for your tired legs, so it was easier, and safer, to have the big doc carry you around.

Skinner suggested an epidural, which you decided to take. It hurt like hell to start with, but he swore it would make delivery easier for you. After hours and hours of body straining work, the G3 proudly announced. "It's a boy! And a chubby one too! Look at his fat little face!"

You looked at Bert, face sweaty and flush. "Magnum it is then." He'd asked you if you'd consider naming the child after a gun, which ... was weird but hey, why not.

Laying with a now settled newborn in your arms, Bert leaning over the bed to rub his cheek softly. "I'm gonna need tae get a beby holster."

Skinner

It started a few months ago, your favourite doctor snuggling you into the crook of his arm as you prepared to sleep, him absentmindedly scrolling down his social feed until something caught his interest.

"Hmm.. Seems an old friend of mine birthed a child recently." You were nearly in dreamland, his sudden voice waking you up slightly.

"Really? Interesting." You yawned, not out of disinterest, but pure exhaustion.

"What's even more intriguing is the fact she's a G3, like me. And her partner is just a normal grunt. It would seem my kind is capable of producing offspring after all. Curious." Sitting up slightly, you glanced at his screen, seeing a proud looking G3 with a baby in her arms, her partner equally as delighted with their little hybrid baby.

By all accounts, it was just like any other baby grunt, tiny enough in size, the only large feature from their mother they currently possessed were the thick, long eyelashes. "Drs. Eleanor Porter and Malicious Magnificent welcome their newest family member.. Proving once again life overcomes all in Eden.

Porter and I used to study together, both preferring to aid the hurt instead of shed blood like our other G3s. I'm glad she's doing well." Skinner's eyes lingered on the child, the beaming smiles on the tiny family's faces.

"Do.. you want a baby?" He looked at you, his smile carved permanently into his features. To some, G3s were Frankenstein monsters, to others their defining features made them more beautiful.

His massive hand cupped your cheek, eyes softening. "With you? Of course. I could think of nothing greater than being the one who gets to create a life with you."

"C'mere beautiful," You held his face in your hands too, giving him a loving kiss on his teeth. "you're gonna be the best dad."

Skinner set his tablet down, getting comfortable next to you. "We're going to have to closely monitor your heat cycles, picking out the best time to....Procreate." He was incredibly embarrassed about it, being posh and prudish was by default built into G3s.

A few months of trying and you could now share the happy news. "Hey smiles," You wandered into medbay, seeing him rummaging around in his new supplies.

"Hello dear!" He set the box down, coming over to greet you with a hug and a kiss, his usual greeting to you. "I got some new bits from our friends, something you might like!" He took your hand and guided you over, pulling out prenatal vitamins. "It took a while to find these, but I managed to strike a deal with an Employer, and she helped me out."

"An Employer? Honey, are you sure you know what you're getting into? They're... Not the best people." You wondered what this had cost him.

"This one is! Dreamer is a compassionate one, I told her about our dreams and she offered to help."

You knew vaguely of the Dreamer, the sandman of Nevada, one who walks in dreams. "No strings attached?"

"None! She's very nice, if you make the effort to seek her out. But it is a lot of effort, let me tell you that."

You got on your tiptoes and kissed Skinner. "Okay, I trust you. I guess I should start taking these now, right?"

"Hmm? Oooh!" Skinner looked excited. "Are you-?"

"Yes!" He picked you up in his arms and spun you around, his face glowing with pride.

"We're having a baby!!" He stopped spinning and nuzzled his face into your neck. "Oh, boy, girl? Both? There's so much to cover! At least I get to do this with you, my other half, my better half. You're in good medical hands, only the very best for my sweet partner."

Being with him was a breeze, everyone loved the medic and his partner, and would lend a hand at any chance to either of you. Bossman agreed to paint the nursery, going with a yellow theme since it's a rare colour out in the world, and it's gender neutral. Plus he has a box of rubber ducks he can use for more decor

A few old crates from Q-Bert with a little TLC made a stable crib, stuffed with anything soft the team could find, from pillows, to blankets, to stuffed toys. This baby was going to have the whole base lending a hand to raise it, a sense of community and duty falling on everyone.

Skinner made sure to get you into his office routinely, checking up on both you and baby, quivering with excitement every time. "I think it's about time we can use the ultrasound machine to have a good look at our little one!" He was an excited puppy, eagerly patting the medical bed while pulling the machine over.

"This will be cold, fair warning." Your stomach chilled as he carefully applied the gel, and the two of you looked to the screen as he guided the device over your womb, catching sight of a little figure wriggling around inside.

"Oh my, so tiny." You smiled sweetly, seeing the budding life inside of you for the first time. "Half of you, half of me, all perfect." Skinner put the device down and kissed you tenderly.

"All the perfection comes from you, my dearest." You interlaced your fingers with his, his massive hands making yours look tiny by comparison.

"Nope, you're a perfect man, you were built to be perfect." You kissed him back, giggling slightly as his eyes widened before closing, he leaned into you and let out a content sigh.

"Have I ever told you how much I love you?" Skinner's eyes were half lidded, he was maddeningly in love.

"A few times, here and there." You joked, this man told you daily of his affections, how you were absolutely everything to him.

Months flew by, your expected date drawing closer and closer, all while doted on your massive man. There was nothing in this world he wouldn't do, foot rubs, pregnancy cravings, massages, holding your hair as your body went through morning sickness. Sweet butterfly kisses on your belly, music to help stimulate your daughter, time spent cuddling up and talking to the little one... Who was getting rather big.

"I think she's growing a bit too much, don't you?" You looked mildly concerned at your latest ultrasound, and down to your stomach. "What if she's getting your genes? How am I gonna deliver a massive baby?"

"Well... I suppose. She is sizeable, I could induce you, she's a little early for sure, but we have the means to support her if she is." Skinner tapped his chin. "Entirely depends on what you think is best for you two.

I could also perform a C-section, which would negate the need for a natural delivery with such a huge baby. That would put you out of action for at least six weeks however. It's quite a burden on your body. But equally, I suppose the natural route could do that too."

"I think... Induction would be easiest. Do you think we could maybe.. do it sooner rather than later? Like... Today? I'm just worried if she gets any bigger, it's really going to do a lot of damage to my body."

"T-today? I'll have to call my nurse in, but yes, I could do, if that's what you want." Skinner kissed your cheek. "I promise you dear, I'm going to do everything to make this easy for you."

Skinner made sure you were well medicated though an epidural, he was careful and considerate, as he promised he would be. Delivery was slow, making you weak and exhausted, but eventually, your baby girl was welcomed to the world.

As expected, she was a large baby, tiny claws at the end of her fingers, a tuft of grey hair already forming on her head, she had a set of lungs on her, wailing out for the base to hear.

A darkness came from the corner, an Employer taking shape, had you not been so numb and sore, you'd have freaked out. Purple eyes full of stars formed, and a soothing voice rolled out. "You've done well, I'm proud of you." She was ethereal, almost made of smoke, body gliding over the tile floor.

Carefully Dreamer laid a hand over your forehead, and at once you felt relief and relaxed. "I figured it only right to visit my gift to you, life is truly precious, especially at such a tender time" She turned to Skinner. "Take care of them, I know it doesn't need saying to you, but, all the same." And she was gone.

In that time, your baby had stopped crying, still in her father's arms, swaddled safely in a purple star covered blanket, and he handed her to you. "She's happy, she's healthy, she's absolutely everything I'd hoped for. My darling, there's nothing else in this world I could ask for."

"How about... we call her Celestial?" You smiled with tired eyes and Skinner kissed you.

"Blessed by the dream-weaver, I see no other name befitting of such a wonderful infant, gifted by the stars above." And baby Celeste was truly a blessing.

[him-x-her]

Vee is for Vampires - Chapter 2

Author: @sinnysuicide AO3: SinnySioux Vamp!Ville x F!reader Wordcount: 2k + Warnings: Will be smut. 18+ only. Read chapter 2 on AO3. Previous Chapter ❥ Next Chapter ❥ Fic Masterlist

Chapter 2: “Burn The Hat”

What a strange evening.

I stand in the shower for an eternity, feeling every muscle in my body release its tension. My lungs fill with shower steam. I lazily turn the power off, towel dry my hair and walk sleepily to my bedroom. Once my hair is dry and I’m in my silk pyjamas, I lay back and stare at the ceiling.

As soon as I close my eyes, his green eyes force their way into my vision. His milky white skin. His pink and plump bottom lip, begging to be bitten. I cannot shake the image of him. It feels as though he is next to me, breathing the same air, close enough to kiss… I toss and turn for hours.

“This is fucking ridiculous!” I say out loud, in the darkness, disappointed at myself for my new obsession with the handsome stranger. I imagine him on top of me, my body sinking into the Egyptian cotton as he bites and sucks at my collarbone, and eventually fall asleep.

…

“Vee? What is Vee short for? Like Vincent fucking Price? I can’t BELIEVE you let him walk you home. He knows where you LIVE now. COMPLETE horror show!” rants Larissa on speakerphone as I gradually begin to lose the will to live.

I sigh heavily at her judgement. I could care less what she thinks. I consider excuses to end the call before she squeals in excitement. “Oh my god! Cute guy from the bar is calling! I gotta go!” and with a click I am alone with my thoughts.

Was it unwise to let him walk me home? I mean, he did rescue me from almost certain sexual assault. That has to count for something.

It’s a lazy Sunday. I clean my apartment, practise a bit of self care, and generally feel utterly restless. I switch on the tv for a bit of background noise.

“Today’s top story: two London men violently murdered. Police appeal for witnesses.”

I spin around on my heel and catch their faces, sure enough, the faces of my two attackers. “Fuck…” I whisper. My heart starts to race. He walked me home; I nearly invited a killer in. At the same time… surely, they deserved it? I didn’t see Vee use a weapon? Maybe they were drunk and choked on their own vomit? Maybe he didn’t mean to kill them?

“Oh god!” it dawns on me; what if I was an accomplice?! This is bad. I need to speak to him; to corroborate our story. How the fuck am I going to find him again? I spend an hour pacing my apartment, thinking about how to find him and talk to him. I decide on driving back to the bar, and looking for him around there. Maybe he would be looking for me too. I try to ignore the voice in my head telling me I am insane and going to get hurt.

I put on a pair of black skinny jeans and a simple black crop top. I need to make a bit of an effort in case I decide to go inside any bars. I put on a matt dark red lipstick and pop it in my clutch purse. I grab my car keys and speed out of the apartment complex.

I sit in the bar car park, uncomfortably close to an array of flowers left on the ground for the two pieces of shit who tried to hurt me. I wonder if the public would be so generous if they knew the type of men they were. I tap my steering wheel nervously, biting the inside of my lip. I sit listening to my favourite band, AFI, allowing the screams of Davey Havok to settle me.

An hour passes, it’s now 9pm. I feel utterly stupid. What are the chances of finding him, really? This is an utter waste of time. I turn the key in the ignition, when suddenly I notice a shadow in my rearview mirror. I turn the engine, and the music, off and listen. I see a man in a flat cap and… are those converse allstars? I swear Vee wore those the other night. I quietly exit my car and stealthily watch him. He chuckles, wiping what looks like blood (?!) from his lip and trudges forward. His balance is off, as though he’s been drinking far too much. Suddenly, he stops and looks up.

“You?” he laughs “Looking for trouble?” He ambles forward as I bite my lip, searching my brain for something witty to say.

“Looks like I found it”, I say, matter of factly, my chin raised to feign confidence. He closes the distance between us with a stride and looks down at me; his eyes that same glittery green, sparkling with curiosity and interest. His gaze drifts down to my lips and my heart starts to quicken. A smile makes his way across his lips as he tilts his head back to take all of me in. His teeth flash white in the dimly lit space.

“What did we say about walking around in the dark, hmm?”, he muses, “Vampires!” his eyes widen and he giggles.

I breathe him in. He smells woody, with a distinct smell of whisky. I think about licking whisky from his skin before I remind myself of the task at hand. “Vee… you killed those guys” I whisper, solemnly.

“Who? Oh, the pigs who tried to touch you against your will? Are you not relieved?” It is hard to argue with this logic.

“I, er, well… yes, but… I’d rather not get arrested for being an accomplice to murder!” I stumble through my words, wondering dismally why the fuck I bothered.

He leans back against my car and laughs wholeheartedly. “Shh, Vee, this is not funny!” I say, exasperated, but also trying not to laugh. He is adorable when drunk. Is this the same man who killed two men the other night? He stumbles and I grab his arm to keep him upright.

“Dammit, Vee, get in the car. I’m taking you home.” I roll my eyes as I open my door and get in.

He giggles again “Will you protect me from vampires? Garlic doesn’t work, just so that you’re aware!” He manages to get in without injuring himself and I sit beside him. I have a killer in my car: now fucking what?

“Okay, um, where do you live?” I ask, unsure if this is a good idea.

“Bloodlust Tower” he answers, unwavering.

“What??” I hiss, a little scared now.

“Beaufort Tower” he replies, grabbing my phone, “Let me type the postcode into your route planner”. I hook my phone to the speaker and my last played song starts again. Type O Negative’s Black No.1 begins to play, and I quickly turn it down, self conscious.

“You like Type O? Not just a beautiful face then!” he exclaims, turning the volume up. I blush furiously and try to maintain my composure as I set off on the 90 minute journey.

“Oh, uh, yeah… I love alternative music but I’m going through a gothic phase at the moment. I guess the sadder the music, the more beautiful it is… to me, at least”. I instantly regret the overshare but Vee leans in, placing a hand on my knee.

“I feel the same. It’s nice that you get it” he sighs, leaning back into his seat, “Music is my safe space. Whenever things get heavy, my guitar is always there for me”. He looks wistful.

“Oh… you play guitar?” I ask, imagining how on Earth this man could be any more attractive to me right now.

“Oh, yeah, um… I used to play professionally, in a band, we toured all over the world but, uh, yeah… that’s over now” he says, solemnly.

“You’ll have to play me something” I say, breaking my driving concentration to look at him and give him an earnest and encouraging smile. I’m certain I see him blush; though it’s hard to tell as he is so pale.

“So… what is Vee short for? Because I’m sure it isn’t Vampire” I laugh.

“What makes you so certain?” He implores.

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe just the knowledge that no good mother would name their child fucking Vampire!” he laughs heartily and I join in; the conversation flows and our connection feels so natural.

“It’s, Veel-uh, spelt V-I-L-L-E. It’s, um, it’s Finnish”. So he ISN’T English, I knew it!

“Wow, I’d love to visit Finland. Have you ever seen the northern lights? I can’t imagine anything more beautiful” I sigh.

“I can” he whispers, I look over and we lock eyes for a moment. Oh god, is he flirting? I suddenly feel hot; I need to change the subject.

“So, um, should we talk about the dead guys?” I say, sheepishly.

“Why?” mutters Ville “They’re dead”. I don’t see how he doesn’t think this is a problem.

“Ville…” he takes a sharp intake of breath as his name rolls off my tongue. I pretend not to notice. “I’m scared of being arrested and thrown in prison for a crime I didn’t commit, and I… I guess I’m scared for you too.” I can feel his eyes on me.

“You have nothing to fear, neither of us will be going to prison. Just trust me, okay?” I sigh.

“Okay, okay, I won’t bring it up again.” He smiles.

“Good… because I want to talk about you.” he smirks.

We talk about our tastes in music and find quite a lot of overlap. Ville loves Type O Negative, obviously, and is a total fangirl for Black Sabbath. He tells me he met my favourite band, AFI, at some award show. I half smile because I don’t believe him.

“So you grew up here?” He asks.

“Yeah, not London, but in England. I wish I could say I’ve travelled lots but I really haven’t. I’d love to quit work, travel around Europe….”

“Why don’t you?” he interjects.

“Money” I say honestly “Can’t say I have a sugar daddy, unfortunately” I smirk.

“What about your family? Parents?” asks Ville.

I pause, my heart heavy, “I, er, they died when I was six”.

Stunned, he whispers “I’m so sorry”.

I tuck a lock of hair behind my ear. “Don’t be, I barely remember it” I smile dishonestly. “I think we’re here?” I pull into a large and long gravelled driveway; there are tall black ornate gates. Did I take a wrong turn? There is a keypad for entry.

Ville leans over. “Six six six”, he says.

“Seriously?!” I roll my eyes and type in the code, and drive right in. I pull up outside a grand stately home. It’s dark, and how I long to see it in the light. There is a small fountain out front. I imagine how beautiful this could be in the warm sun.

Ville gets out of the car and walks around the back “Oh, um, you’re really fucking welcome” I mutter, before he opens my door and offers me his hand. “Very gentlemanly” I giggle, taking his hand “Thanks.” I climb out of the car and shut the door. I look up at the tall building in wonderment.

“Are you coming?” Demands Ville, palm outstretched. I take his hand and follow him inside. The hallway is illuminated by a large glass chandelier. I spy a plush dark red velvet chaise longue, a matching soft rug, black candelabras. The mood is dark but romantic.

“Vee is definitely for vampires” I whisper; as Ville laughs out loud.

“Am I that transparent?” he asks.

“I don’t know, let’s ask your gothic decor, shall we?” I smirk, teasing him. I have no idea what the fuck I am doing following a dangerous man into his remote home, but I must admit that part of me would be just fine if he murdered me on the chaise longue by candlelight.

He starts to climb the large wooden staircase, carpeted with - you guessed it - a dark red velvet runner down the middle. Ville turns back and looks at me “Come.” He demands.

My heart sinks. “Ville, I don’t know what kind of woman you think I am but-“

“I owe you a song”, his face softens as he interjects, his lips part, his eyes plead.

“Okay” I say, warily. He takes my hand and leads me upstairs. There are beautiful oil paintings leading up the stair case. Night scenes, moons, woodland creatures on canvas. He is definitely a night owl, in love with all things dark, and I can’t help but find it endearing.

He reaches his large pale hands, adorned with pewter rings, in front of him and thrusts them into two tall wooden double doors. It’s so dark, I blink several times to acclimatise to the void in front of me. Ville reaches in his pocket and moves around the room, clicking his lighter. In a moment, the room is illuminated by beautiful black candlesticks. The walls are red, of course they are. Another chaise longue. A beautiful double mirrored vintage black wardrobe. In front of me is a huge four poster bed. The ornate wood is black, the sheets are what look like dark red silk. Everything about this room is elegant, but I can’t shake the air of loneliness that lingers within the walls.

“Take a seat, my darling” he purrs, and walks to the corner of the room. He removes his blazer jacket, throwing it to the ground. He’s wearing a black vest, his luscious milky skin glowing in contrast. I notice the swirling pattern of thorns down one arm; a beautiful intricate tattoo sleeve. I perch on the chaise longue, fearing that lying on his bed would send the wrong message. I’m not about to sleep with him at the drop of a hat, no matter how attractive he is. He grabs an acoustic guitar from one of several stands: he has quite the collection, and walks towards me.

He stops a couple metres from me and sits down cross legged. He tunes his guitar whilst my eyes wander. I realise he’s removed the hat and he has the most beautiful darkened curls of hair. I imagine running my hands through them as his face is buried in my… Christ, I need to get a grip. All of a sudden he begins to play;

“You can't escape the wrath of my heart

Beating to your funeral song

All faith is lust for hell regained

And love dust in the hands of shame

Let me bleed you this song of my heart deformed

Lead you along this path in the dark

Where I belong until I feel your warmth

Hold me like you held on to life

When all fears came alive and entombed me

Love me like you loved the sun

Scorching the blood in my vampire heart

I'll be the thorns in every rose

You've been sent by hope

I am the nightmare waking you up

From the dream of a dream of love

Let me weep you this poem as heaven's gates close

Paint you my soul scarred and alone

Waiting for your kiss to take me back home

Hold me like you held on to life

When all fears came alive and entombed me

Love me like you loved the sun

Scorching the blood in my vampire heart”

As he sings, I feel his pain. He closes his eyes and bares his soul. He has a deep voice when he speaks, but when he sings his range is amplified. The hairs on my neck stand on end and my skin tingles. I just want to hold him; to comfort him.

“Ville… that was…” I am breathless “that was beautiful.” He looks up and smiles wistfully at me. Spontaneously, I stand and walk over to him. I kneel in front of him and wrap my arms around him. His back is stiff and strong beneath my palms. The smell of whiskey still lingering. He does not move. My fingertips reach up to caress the curls at the back of his head and I bury my face in his neck. “Ville… who hurt you?” My voice breaking; his body softens and his large hands make their way around my back.

He nuzzles into my neck and sighs deeply. Whispering, he says “I have been lonely for so, so long. I have spent years holding on to the faintest hope that love would find me…” I tense my arms to hold him tighter and he begins to pull away.

His hands grasp my shoulders lightly. He pulls away from my neck to look into my eyes. His face is a mere inch from mine. His beautiful green eyes searching mine for something. “Who ARE you?” he implores.

I blush “What do you mean?”

His eyes drop to my lips. “Where have you been, baby?” I stop breathing. The world stands still. His lips crash into mine.

Our lips move together as he tilts his head. I feel him run his tongue lightly between my lips, begging for entry. I open my mouth to take a small breath and his tongue claims mine. Lapping, massaging, caressing my tongue with his. His hands on my back become heavier as he pulls me toward him; removing the small gap between our bodies. My knees find themselves either side of Ville’s waist as I straddle his lap. I run my fingers through his hair, pulling, teasing. Suddenly, Ville breaks the kiss “I can’t!” he pleads, looking torn.

“W-what?” I whisper, dejected.

“You deserve more than this, a sober man for starters. You are far too good for me-“ I silence him with my index finger on his lips.

“Shh” I soothe him “You are enough; don’t try to convince me - or anyone - that you are less.” I kiss his forehead lovingly and he lets out a contented sigh.

Again, he whispers “Where have you been, baby? I wanted you for so long”. He looks into my eyes with yearning. “I’ve been here, waiting for you. Only you, Ville.”

His bright eyes and smile light the darkness around us. “Let’s not do this on the floor” smirks Ville as he pulls me to stand and walks me to the foot of his enormous bed. My hand begins to shake in his as my anxiety makes itself known to him. Ville strokes his hand up and down my arm as comfort; “I’m not expecting anything at all. I just want you to feel comfortable”. We sit on the edge of the bed and he cups my face with his pale hands, and kisses me sweetly. I kick off my boots and shuffle up the bed. He follows suit and we lie, arms wrapped around each other, exploring our mouths with our tongues.

My fingers wrapping around his curls, he giggles. “You like the hair, huh?” He asks.

“Mmm” I reply “Burn the hat”; he smiles into our kiss.

I lean back to look at him. His eye lashes are longer than I realised up close. There are tiny wrinkles either side of his eyes from smiling and laughing. He has a slight stubble and soft, plump, pink lips; a bright white grin and beautiful emerald green irises. My fingers travel the thorn sleeve from his wrist to his elbow. He shivers and closes his eyes. “What?” I smile.

“You” he replies “Your touch, your skin…” he signs as his eyes wander “I am demonstrating excellent self restraint right now”. He grins wickedly.

“Oh?” I raise an eyebrow.

“Please, baby” he sighs “I’m trying to be a gentleman”.

We spend hours talking about our hopes, our dreams, touching, giggling, kissing. He promises to take me to Finland; and to play me a song every morning on his guitar. He wraps his arms around my waist and pulls me to him, nuzzling into the back of my neck, and we fall asleep in each others arms.

…

I have never slept so well in my life. I roll over to find Ville on his back, still sleeping. It’s still so dark in his room but I can see a strip of white light around the black out curtains. It must be morning. I gently sneak out of bed to grab my purse and find my phone. I have a couple of hours before work, so I have a half hour or so to snuggle with Ville. I crawl into bed on all fours, trying to wake Ville with light kisses on his forehead, temples, cheeks.

“Wow, you sleep like the dead!” I mutter. I place my palm on his shoulder and shake him gently. “Wake up, I have work soon” I purr. I dial the sensuality up a notch and start to lick and nip at his neck. He jolts and his limbs stiffen. I trail the tip of my tongue from his neck, up and around his jawline, until I reach his bottom lip. I nip it slightly with my teeth and he grabs both of my wrists and swiftly twists himself on top of me.

His eyes are not green, but dark. He kisses me deeply, but I sense something is off. He’s silent, he’s rough… something is not right.

“Ville… stop!”. He grabs my jaw with his hand and forces it aside. He moves to my neck and bites down. I feel his sharp teeth and scream.

He jolts back, as if woken from a dream. His eyes are light green and wide; his mouth crimson with my blood “Oh god… FUCK… I am so sorry!” He loosens his grip and I scramble from the bed, grabbing my heels and my purse.

I am trembling and crying and running through the darkness. HOW is his home this dark?!? I reach the front door and hear him running down the staircase. “Please! I’m sorry! Let me explain!” My legs threaten to give way underneath me as I hesitate, part of me wanting to give him a chance. My neck hurts and I place pressure on it. I move my hand in front of me and gasp at the bloody mess on my fingertips. He reaches a hand towards me and I shove my hip into the door with full force. It swings open and the sunlight bears down on his arm; I watch his pallid skin sizzle and smoke in the bright light. He screams in pain and falls backward and I run to my car. I pull the door open, fling my belongings into the passenger seat and lock the doors. The adrenaline pumping through my body, I drive fast towards the large ornate gates. I type in 666 and speed away from this nightmare, a flurry of tears raining across my steering wheel and my lap. I hear myself sobbing but I persevere until I am home.

I rush into my flat, lock the door and fall to the floor; I cry and cry until I am empty. I step into the bathroom and observe the damage. Two puncture wounds on my neck. Just when I am sure I have no tears left, I begin to cry again. I cleanse the wound and flinch at the sting. I bandage myself up the best that I can, lie face down on my bed, and sob until I pass out.

AO3: SinnySioux; more to come 🦇

Graphics by saradika-graphics