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nsharks · 1 year

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bleeding blue | apocalypse au

part seven —other parts

pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x fem!reader words: 3.3k tags: death. blood. zombies of course. reader menstruates. single dad ghost. there will be sex but it isn't here yet. slow burn!!! enemies to lovers. summary: After losing your companions, you run into a skull-masked man and his daughter. They are your last hope for survival. a/n: some chill stuff before more angst ya know

The next morning, it is your turn to slip a treat into Blue’s hand.

You can tell by her expression that the Twix bar is like gold to her. Her teeth sink in. She stifles a moan. She hisses a swear you haven’t heard yet— Fucking noodles.

It reminds you of the time Paul found a Cadbury egg for Joseph. You smile as you watch, the kind where your teeth manage to poke through and your cheeks have to do some stretching. Ghost is chopping wood somewhere on the other side of camp, but still, you decided to close the shed’s door.

Last night, you were too worn to stay in the cabin for long. You left just after Ghost shucked on some large helmet with two strange eyepieces attached to it. To see in the dark, Blue explained in a whisper. Of course he would have that. When you asked him where he was going, he’d mumbled under his breath, Gonna make sure you didn’t have any bloody followers. You hadn’t even thought of that. He must not have thought of it until you actually showed up, either. He expected you not to make it.

You don’t know how long he was out there, but by the fact that you’d woken up to his axe chopping wood instead of heads, you figured the territory was clear.

“Better than Nutella?” you ask Blue.

Grey light streaks through the shed and over her face. The smell of potential rain looms in the air.

“That’s a tough question,” she says, licking the residue from her lips. She’s eaten half. She folds the wrapper over to cover the rest and hands it to you. Sweets like these are rare. You told her you’d keep it in your bag until she wanted the rest.

“I think it’s a strong tie,” she decides and then groans, moving her chin to the dip of her folded knees. “I wish chocolate could be hunted.”

“Me, too.”

“Are you sure you don’t want the rest?” She sounds guilty. “It is your Twix.”

“No, really. It’s a thank you.” Your knee gives a nudge to hers. “As if you haven’t given me food that is yours before.”

The guilt turns into a smile.

“You know,” she then says, eyes flicking to your pillowcase bag of looted goods. “When I was looking at your clothes last night, I got an idea of how you could fix them. Can I—” she tilts her head, “Can I show you something?”

She leaves Grim with you as she departs to collect whatever it is she has to share. It turns out to be a magazine of all things. She clutches it to her chest, rolling her lips together before turning it around to show you. The bright ink is faded a little. The corners bent and worn. The date of the issue reads March 2018. There is a woman on the front - some model you can’t remember the name of - clad in a tight blue dress.

The sight is just as weird as the abandoned streets and homes. For a moment, you look down at the skin of your hands, abraded from your bowstring, and press your lips.

“Remember how I told you Ghost and I went to a military base once?” Looking back up, you nod. “Well, we were mainly there to get ammo but we also went through the barracks— that’s where they slept.”

She explains it as if you have no clue, which you don’t. Never in your life did you care about the military, except for that first day when you hoped they might come to find you in some big tanks or something. They didn't.

Blue giggles. “I found this in one of the men’s old dorms.”

When she sees your expression, she says, “It’s okay. I’m not stupid. Ghost told me his old teammates liked to look at pictures of pretty women sometimes when they got bored. Anyway, I’ve looked through it so many times. I like all the fancy clothes people used to wear.”

She begins to flip through the pages and points out a few things. Where before you sometimes zoned out, your mind distracted by survival, this time you listen fully. One page has an ad with lush grass in the background and she informs you that the shade of green is her favorite color.

“Not blue?”

“That is my name, not my favorite color." Her nose scrunches. "What is yours?”

Do you even have one? You think for a moment. What comes to mind are the flowers your mother used to grow at the house in Norbury.

“Violet,” you softly say. “Like the flowers.”

“Huh?”

“They are like… a bluish purple.”

“Oh! There are some flowers like that by the pond sometimes. Hopefully, they come back this year."

Another page she points to has people laying on a white beach with crystal-like water. Blue says she hopes to go there someday. Not to just any beach. That beach.

When she passes an ad with a young man’s face on it - someone about your own age - she pauses for a moment and looks up.

"Do you think he is cute?" she asks. A tender curiosity.

"Um," you can't remember the last time you saw a man's face besides Paul. Ghost is always covered. She holds the page up so you can see it better. A sharp jaw. Dark hair and a strong nose.

"Yeah, he is very cute. Do you think so?"

She nods and bites her lip. "Did you… have a husband before shit happened?"

"What?" You frown. "I'm not that old."

"A boyfriend, then?"

"I had," you search the memories. They feel unimportant. Buried. "I had a few people who I enjoyed spending time with in uni."

"Like sex?"

You almost choke. "What?"

"I am not stupid," she says again. "The rabbits. They do it all the time. Ghost told me that's how they have their babies, and that is how him and my mum had me."

Oh. This is the first time Blue has ever mentioned her mother and you don't know why, but it makes your stomach tight. But she doesn't add anything else about her, as if she'd just told you the sky is blue or Grim is her friend. Something so casual. Brushed aside. As if, she hadn't mentioned it at all.

You don't pry about it.

Not to a kid. Trauma, grief— you can only imagine what a young brain has decided to do with them. But for a moment, your brain tries to imagine what kind of woman it could have been, what kind of woman Ghost enjoyed spending his time with. The only thing you can picture is Blue's eyes. She clearly didn't get them from him.

Blue moves on from the picture of the man. The page she really meant to show you is of a woman wearing jeans with a belt around them. She points to it and explains you could try something like that for the jeans you found.

Right. Jeans. Along with the blouse you grabbed, you got an ugly pink sweater and some jeans that won’t fit you.

"That’s called a belt," you say. “I don’t have one.”

“I have an old shoelace,” Blue says. “How about that?”

“That could work.”

Blue tells you bluntly that you need to bathe first. You smell like those fucks, no offense. You take your new clothes and she finds you a rag. In the bathroom, you harshly scrub your skin to erase the smell of rot. You wash your hair which is slick with sweat.

On your wrist, you notice a light bruise growing where that Grey had grabbed you. Luckily, you were too tired last night for your brain to conjure up any nightmares, otherwise, you probably would've had one about it biting you. Even a bite to just your hand - to a finger - would be enough for the virus to enter the bloodstream. You don’t want to admit it, but with that revolver, Ghost saved your life again.

After bathing, you slip on the blouse and a pair of too-big jeans. Blue gives you the shoelace. You feed it through the belt loops. It works well enough. The pantlegs fall past your ankles so you roll them. You tuck the large blouse so the excess fabric won’t get in the way while you hunt. The sweater… you don’t bother with it for now. It’s not warm enough. You will stick with Paul’s old coat when you go outside.

You look in the mirror again.

You stroke your own cheek, looking yourself over. You smooth your hands over the clothes. Underneath, you feel the plush of your breasts. The muscles of your stomach. The curves of your ribs. You are almost back to your normal weight, but it is still evening out. Under your eyes, the skin remains grey. Floorboards and stress will do that to a person.

"Let me see," Blue says on the other side of the door before you open it. You can still hear Ghost chopping wood outside.

“It’s not as bad as I thought it would be.” She touches the sleeves. “These are pretty long. They will get in the way when you shoot arrows, right?”

You nod. “Can you bring me the scissors?”

After you cut the sleeves down to your wrists, Blue picks up the scraps of fabric. “Hey, you could tie your braids with these. Like ribbons.”

"I could," you shrug and give a smile. "But I think they would look nicer on you."

The shyness returns as she nods. Gently, you guide her in front of the mirror and begin working your fingers through her hair, just as you do most evenings.

You notice her staring in the mirror with studious eyes as if she is trying to understand exactly what she sees. You wonder if she ever compares herself to those girls in the magazine. An eleven-year-old you certainly used to.

"You look very pretty, Blue."

"It doesn't matter if I do," she shrugs. "It's not like anyone will ever actually get to see me."

"Well," you swallow, "I get to see you right now, and I think you are pretty."

"Thanks.” She accepts the compliment with a puckered expression, before it softens and she adds, "I think you are, too, Twix.”

Twix?

But before you can question it, you hear the front door shut and realize that the sound of chopping wood has been gone for at least a minute. It is clearly Ghost entering the cabin.

You drop your hands before you can finish the braids, stepping back.

He calls out her name.

Recalling the rifle he pointed at you yesterday, you whisper to Blue, "Maybe you should go out before he—“

But of course, his heavy boots approach. The dark shadow of him materializes in the bathroom's doorway, consuming the space with his head dipped down to fit.

You turn around to face her father at the same time Blue does. His brows are drawn low and in one hand he carries the axe. You notice a sheen of sweat at the bridge of his nose where his mask begins.

The thing is, you try to avoid being spotted alone with Blue like this. She talks to you in your shed. You interact when he is busy with things.

Ghost reaches for Blue’s hand. He gently tugs her to him. He cups the back of her head and bends down to meet her level, though he is still much taller.

"Remember what we talked 'bout?”

What did they talk about?

"I remember," she mumbles. She tugs her arm away. "I was just helping her with her new clothes.” Smoothly, she changes the topic. “What do you think? The shoelace was my idea."

Blue. You almost groan, feeling his dark eyes slowly shift over to you. You think you would rather him press the axe to your throat than share his opinion about your clothes— they aren’t exactly like what the models in Blue’s magazine wore. His stare rarely does anything other than burn holes through your skin, so it is no surprise when you feel the heat through your blouse, up your neck, and all the way to your cheeks.

You look down at your feet.

Then, a bitter memory comes to mind.

You look like you're one 'em already.

That is what Ghost said once.

For a brief moment, you wonder if he still thinks it.

He doesn’t give an answer. All he does is clear his throat. Your strange curiosity fades as he stands and looks down at his daughter.

"C'mon, kid. Start the fire with me."

"No, not yet. She needs to finish my hair, Ghost."

He allows it, but remains in the doorway, watching as you finish her braids, using the fabric as floral bows to tie them off.

It looks nice.

It rains just like you thought it would.

Not too heavy, but enough to cut your hunt short for the day, earning you only one squirrel.

When you return to camp, you find Blue crouched over the wood planter as she covers the sodden soil with a layer of mulch. Apparently, Ghost had her plant some cabbage seeds before the rain. The mulch is to stop the seeds from washing away, she explains.

Spring will soon arrive. With it, some crops to add to their meals. Good for them. Maybe you can convince Ghost to lend you a seed or two to plant for yourself.

After dinner, you sit by the fireplace with your boots off in order to warm your toes. The soft drum of rain against the cabin's walls lulls you into a trance as you listen to Ghost quietly read to Blue. Sometimes he points to words for her to try.

Tonight it is a book you recognize.

The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe.

Your father read it to you once. A younger version of yourself told him it was too boring. But now you find yourself quite liking the story about a magic wardrobe where kids can escape to another world.

Blue falls asleep on the couch. Ghost carries her to bed like usual. It is your time to leave. The rain has died down some but you already know the water has probably leaked into your shed. Lovely.

But again you are stopped by a hand around your arm.

You turn to see Ghost. He clutches the map in the other hand.

“Um. What is it?”

You slip your arm away, his grip allowing it. Is he mad about you hanging out with Blue? Did he discover your secret exchanges? Is he going to finally kick you out since you didn't die like he probably hoped?

“Sit with me.”

You raise your eyebrows. He motions for you to follow him to the table so you sit down, hands in your lap, and pick at the skin of your knuckles. He spreads the map open. He also has a pencil in his hand. Between gloved fingers, he fiddles with it before sliding it over to you.

To your surprise, he demands, “Show me where you went.”

Although confused, you abide, making a small mark over the village. Ribchester.

His eyes narrow. “Not jus’ that. Show me which way you went.”

“This way,” you say, annoyed by his tone. Faintly, you draw a line through the forest all the way to the highway. “Then I followed the road.”

He takes the pencil from you and slides the map back in front of him, sweeping his eyes over the marks you’ve made. Under the black fabric, you detect the contour of his lips pressed into a straight line.

“How many were there?”

“Not many, really,” you admit. “Do you… Are you wanting to go there?”

You furrow your brows as you recall what Blue said. They don't make trips often. It is not like Ghost has much need to.

“No.” Not looking at you, he draws a mark some kilometers south of the one you made. “I want to go here.”

“Why?”

“I need ammo.”

His voice is clinical and gruff. You definitely prefer it over threatening. As he continues, it officially becomes the most words he has ever spoken to you.

“Went to a base over here two years ago.” He points a gloved digit to a spot on the east side of the forest. That must be the trip that Blue was talking about. “Wasn’t much left. Took what I could.”

“You’re all out of ammo, then?”

He gives you a flat look. “No. But I’m runnin’ low. I don’t want to wait until I am all out to go. Need some ammo to make it there, don’t I?”

“Why haven’t you gone sooner?” you pry slowly. “Why do you want to go now?”

“Got a bit more to lose than you do.”

It is a harsh truth, inviting a sharp breath through your lungs. What he means is he has someone he loves, unlike you. Someone he can’t just leave behind on her own.

You realize that Ghost probably avoids leaving this haven he has set up for that very reason, and maybe it is also why he is particularly conservative about their supplies. Whenever they end up running low, he has to drag her along with him to get more. The threats out there can be hard to predict. You’d been lucky.

Ghost continues.

“But if you could make it through here,” he gestures back to the marks you made. The route can act as a way to the military base, but he would still have to go further, maybe 10 kilometers past the village. “Then I can make it that way with her.”

You nod slowly as you begin to wonder why he is telling you this. But then, it sinks in, a pit settling in your stomach. If they leave, where are you supposed to go?

Ghost must read the expression that takes over your face. You don't wear a mask.

“You’re comin’ with us.”

“What?” You stand up, shaking your head as you hiss through your teeth. “No. I don’t want to. I just fucking got back.”

“You’re not staying here on your own,” he growls quietly. “I’m not askin’ whether you want to go or not.”

You catch his eyes. Black glass reflects the dim glow of the fire.

Of course.

He doesn’t trust you enough to stay here.

You have no choice.

#simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost riley #ghost #cod #zombies

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trancylovecraft · 8 months

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Um hello, could you write some relationship headcanons for Lucifer from Blue Exorcist with a half human/ half angel s/o? If that’s alright with you, please and thank you. I liked your recent Blue Exorcist headcanons and I’m also excited for season 3!

(BLUE EXORCIST) YANDERE LUCIFER x HALF-ANGEL! READER: Headcannons

Thank you for ordering!

Come again soon!

• Thank you SO much for requesting aoex lucifer like OMG we need more yandere fics of him (and aoex) and I'm willing to provide

• Since angels don’t exist in Aoex as a reference I’m gonna use the stereotypical angel as a guide.

• This takes place following my other headcannons of him once he finally captures you.

• As soon as he does he notices something off about you. A lump in the back of your clothing that seemed to twitch or the way your wounds bled golden.

• Firstly he’d be absolutely stunned. Angels exist? Ridiculous! Yet as he sees your unconscious form, Wings splayed out and all there was no denying it.

• He’d totally be into it though. Lucifer views himself as perfection and you being such a holy and pure being just matches him perfectly.

• Even though you are only half, Though.

• He has a lot of questions about your heritage. Which one of your parents are an angel? Have you met them? Do archangels exist too? Are one of them your parent?

• He asks these questions in such a monotone voice yet he’s really intrigued by who sired you.

• Lucifer also asks about heaven, if you’ve been there and If there really is one and there is a god

• He asks about your wings too. Lucifer thinks they’re absolutely divine and asks (Near pleadingly) to touch them. To which you back away in aversion until his guards bring you forth, He doesn’t care whether you say yes or no. You’re his so he can caress your wings all he wants.

• Unironically calls you “My Angel” with a straight face.

• When your forced to sleep in the same bed as him he constantly strokes the feathers of your wings, Finding comfort in them.

• Will be testing your blood for any healing properties for his elixr’s. If you do then there is absolutely no way you’re getting out of this place.

• You move to a bigger room so you have more space for your wings.

• The clothing he gets for you will be much more ‘Angelic’ with mostly whites and pastels. Its all for his delusion of divinity with you, Even if you are only half.

• Youll live longer because of your blood. Lucifer is glad about that because it gives him more time to find a way to make you immortal alongside him.

• Homare now goes to bird care classes on her time off.

• Lucifer, When he has a good body, Likes to take you around museums (Which he rents out so you two are alone) and gets you to explain what happened in the religious sections.

• Even if you have no clue since you’re half human and weren’t born around that time, He’ll believe any gibberish you make up and listen with interest.

• Even though he is a demon, He does view himself as more of an angel so he doesn’t see any issue when you say you cant be together due to your conflicting sides. (And that he kidnapped you and touches your wings without consent, But he wasn’t really listening to that part)

• If you ever try to escape him by flying off he will catch you. Both his siblings, Their kin and the Illuminati will have no problem tracking you down.

• The worst part is when you kneel before him after being recaptured, Surrounded by the entire Illuminati as he softly threatens to clip your wings if you do it again.

• Afterwards you now wear leg weights to make it more difficult. While he would definitely clip your wings he wants to keep them in perfect condition, So you’re safe another day.

• Good luck trying to cry for your angelic parent when you’re locked in a angelically warded room!

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bloodblotz · 3 months

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Task From Heaven

Hazbin Hotel x Angel!Reader

Post Hazbin Hotel Season 1

The reader is an angel from heaven tasked by the Heavenly Courtroom to aid the Hazbin Hotel and its goal on rehabilitating Sinners.

Part 3

First things first, you have to address the look of the hotel. As an angel that was once in charge in making sure Winners were comfortable, you know that appearances play a huge role in making mortal souls feel welcome.

The hotel was just newly built so it is definitely clean, especially with little Niffty running around constantly cleaning any speck of dust but cleanliness isn’t the issue.

“It’s the decoration,” you tell Charlie bluntly. She blinks, bewildered at the prospect.

“The decor? Why what’s wrong with it?”

“There’s nothing wrong with it, it’s just not very welcoming.” Charlie’s face is reminiscent of a kicked puppy when you say this.

“Not welcoming?”

“Yes, I know that red is the colour of Hell, however, Hell isn’t necessarily the best place for Sinners.” You start explaining. “If you can decorate the hotel to stand out against the red of hell, you can create a place that won’t constantly remind them that they’re in Hell. This can improve mood, making them more likely to focus on redemption.”

Charlie stands there dumbfounded for a brief moment before she takes out a notepad from… somewhere. You didn’t see a notepad in any of her pockets.

“Mortals also do this back on Earth too. They use colour theory to make spaces feel more welcoming. For example: yellow makes a place look more homely, whilst green can make a place look friendly or cold, depending on the shade.”

Charlie takes notes, nodding enthusiastically.

“Red is already such a bold and harsh colour but with the correlation of Hell, it may be impacting how much people are willing to come by.”

“I see! So I should paint everything!”

“That would take a lot of time and effort, for now, let’s start by adding more greenery into the setting.” You grab some seeds that you prepared in your pocket that morning. Cusping them gently in your palms, you bring them up to your lips and breathe angelic life into them.

The seeds burst with life, breaking free from their shells as green stems grow and curl into your hand until thick, healthy stems develop flower buds and clusters of roots.

You head outside, with Charlie following right after you, her eyes shining with wonder. Vaggie? Well, she’s definitely a lot less impressed.

You eventually stop at a spot at the entrance and dig your heel into the ground, cringing at how dry and hard it was. You dig until you were satisfied with size and plunk the flowers into the dirt. They stood proudly, a bright blue against the hotel’s red before almost immediately wilting into a sad shrivelled mess.

You frown. Huh.

“Oh no! The flowers…” Charlie looks disheartened at the sight and maybe you do too, but you’re not sure.

“Are we really surprised that Hell can’t sustain a flower?” Vaggie pipes up, her arms crossed. “It’s Hell. Why would anything nice grow here?” The she looks over at Charlie. “I stand corrected.”

“…It must be because the soil is drained of nutrients. If we can get some fertilizer and till the soil I’m sure we could get a healthier flower bed.” You rationalize.

Yes! That was it. There’s no people to maintain the perfect pH levels in the soil in Hell. Everyone is too busy trying to survive that they can’t take care of nature. With some care and love, this place will be brimming with nature.

With a quick trip to Hell’s own version of Little Shop of Horrors, the three of you were fully equipped with gardening gear.

“These begonias would look great over by the railing.” You swish your hand, sending a wave of angelic power toward already planted seeds and a bush of blooming begonias come sprouting from the soil. Charlie gasps at the sight.

She’s never seen a plant so nonthreatening. Its leaves were spotted white with small blossoms peeking from under.

That didn’t last long. After a couple seconds of admiration, the bush droops to the ground, wilted.

Your eye twitches.

Maybe it’s because you need a plant that’s more accustomed to the heat. So you plant zinnias and marigolds. Then they meet the same fate as the previous two plants. Which makes you think, maybe a plant that likes dry soil! So you plant cactuses and succulents but they die too.

In the end, none of the plants that Charlie and you planted lived. It’s disheartening to say the least.

You both sit silently on the steps of the hotel, gardening tools and fertilizer scattered across the front lawn.

“Oh my, what do we have here?” Alastor’s crackling voice comes from behind the two of you. Your heart jolts at the sudden noise but you’re careful not to show it. Charlie, on the other hand, jumps straight into the air.

“Ughhh, what do you want now?” Vaggie groans, taking a break from rubbing Charlie’s back to glare at the radio demon.

“Why, can’t a man be concerned? You three have been going at it for nearly an entire day!”

Angel Dust whistles as he walks by, making Alastor glower at him, his smile a bit tighter.

“Just get to the point already,” Vaggie grumbles.

“Well, I couldn’t help but notice your pitiful attempts at gardening, that’s all!” Way to rub it in, Alastor. “It seems that this dirt just wasn’t made for life, hmm? Why I mean,” Alastor materializes beside you, his gaze looks you up and down. It’s almost mocking. “Not even angelic power could grow a flower in this hellish landscape! A shame, a real shame.”

“Are you just here to rub it in? If so you can fuck off already.”

“Of course not! As host of the hotel, it is my job to see it thriving, no?” Vaggie rolls her eyes. “Now, now, Vagatha. Don’t be like that, take a page from Charlie and Y/N’s book and have some faith that this hotel might actually amount to something other than wasted time and delusion!”

“You’re here for a reason. Quit stalling,” you say, your wings a bit ruffled. The implication that any effort put into this hotel is wasted isn’t lost on you or Charlie.

“If anyone needs faith it’s you, Alastor!” Charlie jumps in, frowning at the taller man. “We have actual proof that Sinners could be redeemed! This is the perfect time to start bringing in more Sinners for our cause!”

“Charlie, dearest, of course I have faith. Why, I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t want to help after all.”

“Then help us already.” Vaggie scowls.

Alastor smiles at her. “And I will!”

“You were on the right path by tilling the first, however…” He materializes beside you, plucking the flower you were sulking over. Your heart jumps at the sudden appearance. Your fright visible in your ruffled feathers, which he smiles at.

“As beautiful as that flower is, it would never survive in this landscape. That is why I propose you use plants native to Hell!” Alastor throws a book at Charlie who fumbles to catch it. When she finally does, she opens it to a random page.

Printed onto the page is a plant called ‘Rat King’. The picture depicts a cluster of long, thin roots intertwined into a ball at the base. Coming up from the roots were spindly stems which narrow leaves and small budding flowers.

“Of course, non native plants wouldn’t survive in such a harsh climate.” You said, nearly facepalming. The answer is so obvious and yet you missed it entirely. “…Thank you, Alastor.” You say sincerely.

In the background, Charlie excitedly starts flipping through the pages for the prettier plants with Vaggie occasionally giving her input.

Alastor smiles widely. “Why of course, dear! I only want nothing but the best for the hotel.” His crackling voice paired with his wide, static smile makes you feel uneasy but you shake it off. You have more gardening to do.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

Parts:

1 2 3

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin spoilers #angel!reader #charlie morningstar #hazbin vaggie #vaggie #hazbin alastor #alastor #post season 1

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bisexual-horror-fan · 9 months

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I know you’re requests are closed but I had an idea for a Mickey fic and I’m an awful writer and you’re amazing so imma just leave this here. What if reader and Mickey are both the Ghostfaces along with Nancy and they’re both like, literally insane. Like to the point where after they kill they gotta fuck then and there whilst covered in their victims blood blah. blah but in the end Nancy kills one of them and it makes the other completely fucking INSANE for revenge.

OKAY! SO! Anon! I fucking love this ask. I went so hard. I hope you enjoy this enemies to friends to lovers over 7K massive fic! I stretched out the timeline of Scream 2 because fuck you, this is fanfic and we can do whatever we want to! I love this request and where it leaves off? I already have a sequel planned and mostly plotted. So thank you Anon seriously. Also, shoutout to @mrsaltieri-real for helping me out on this one! You are the best.

—

Rating. Explicit. Length. 7.9K. Mickey Altieri X AFAB! Ghostface! Reader. She/Her Pronouns. Warnings: Reader Is A Killer. Reader Has Anger Issues. Fighting. Taunting. Teasing. Mickey And Reader Are ASSHOLES To Each Other. Blood. Gore. Murder. Death. Mild Fluff. Enemies To Friends To Lovers. Ghostface Partners In Crime Couple. Mickey Is Crushing Hard. Angst. Hurt. Crying. Emotional Pain. I Apologize In Advance.

—

“So Good To You.”

—

You never cared much for the idea of getting a college education, or at least that is what you told yourself because financially it was way out of reach for you, an impossibility. That was until you got an offer you simply couldn’t turn down, what that offer was? It was for a free ride at a college by a benefactor with money to burn and some revenge she needed to be carried out. It would be a hindrance for some, but not for you. The reason you were chosen was because of not only your previous experience with this, but your outright willingness to spill blood. So you accept, you follow her instructions to the fucking letter and arrive at school in September.

Once moved into your dorm, a few days into college you were meeting up with her in person, all the correspondence up to this point has been online and on the phone, meeting her had to be done carefully. The meeting is not even in town, the process must be delicate, and the wrong people cannot see you together lest there be talk and suspicion. When you show up and see that she is not alone you are confused, when you sit down, and she explains that you are not the only student she is “sponsoring” you are pissed.

You don’t hide this either, gripping your menu, so tightly it might bend, speaking in a hushed yell whisper, “Nancy, what the fuck?”

He, whoever he was, agreed, leaning forward and voice low, “Yeah actually, what the fuck?”

Nancy tried to have a measured response, attempting to calm you both, she set her own menu aside, fingers laced together, hands resting on top of the tablecloth. She says your name and then his, “Mickey-” you scrunch your nose, who the fuck is named Mickey? Like the fucking mouse?

“-I have to make sure this happens. You both know the motive and I figured having two of you would make this better, all the easier. I can be very hands-off and honestly, you are both such great talents. How could I choose just one of you?”

That pissed you off further. You keep your voice hushed, not wanting to be overheard, “It sounds to me more that you don’t think I can handle this myself and that I need some shitty fucking guy’s help to kill.”

Mickey scoffed, a roll of his eyes as he leaned back in his chair, his arms crossed as he said, “Yeah, you are such an empowered woman who doesn’t need any help to kill. So tough. So strong. If you are so capable, why do you need someone to fund your college career?”

You hated him. Everything about him. His stupid spiky hair, the dumb shade of blue on his sweater, his face, his voice, what he said in tone and also in content. “It’s called a scholarship. I know it’s a big word, you’ve probably never heard it, and what about you? She thinks that YOU need a woman’s help to kill, how sad is that for you?”

By the way his eyes narrowed, you feel like he doesn't like you either. Good. You don’t want him to.

The dinner is tense, but you manage to make it through and Nancy makes it clear that if you want to go or if he does that you can, but she will pull her funding and whoever is left will get to do it alone. You don’t back down and neither does he, so you are forced to work together, and you accept this fact with extreme reluctance.

The plan is for you and him to get as close to Sidney and her friends as possible, to insert yourselves and get in the right position at just the right time to make sure that this happens just as Nancy wanted. You did, and you were barely able to restrain your rage against him, it comes out sometimes, everyone else thinks it is an affectionate thing, a long-running joke of both of you disliking each other and exchanging barbs, but no one thought it was serious.

You had to get used to his presence, but that proved to be difficult, you would sometimes get so riled up after an argument with him that you felt like screaming and ripping your hair out, he got under your skin in the worst way possible. You got to him similarly it seemed, you sometimes knew he left your interactions being the one who could barely reign in his temper, part of you liked getting to him like that.

Staying away from him and avoiding any time you and Mickey were solo was a must, but sometimes you can’t help it when you are in the same friend group like this. You and he were at the same party and Sidney left to go use the bathroom, and Randy went to go get a drink, and that left you and him in proximity.

You and Mickey were both leaning against the same wall. He speaks first, “Getting real friendly with Sid there.”

You smile, proud of yourself, you were making a great impression, fantastic progress, you allow yourself to indulge in feeling pride as you agree with his assessment, “Yeah, I am.”

“She seems super invested. You do know that you need more than a low cut shirt to get her fallin’ all over herself for you, right?” He turned to face you, and you turn too as you respond, “Yeah unlike you, I am not a total slut, I am not trying to fuck her.”

“Why not?” He asked, and you laughed into your cup, making sure to keep your voice low enough just for him to hear, “Who am I? Billy Loomis? Gonna fuck her then gut her?”

He shrugs before taking a sip from his own cup, a swallow before he says casually, “I’ve read your papers in film class, derivative is your whole thing.”

“Is it now?” You ask and he says, “It is. Taking from someone great, and regurgitating it back out as if it is some amazing new or profound thought, something original all your own, when it very obviously is not.”

He was such an insufferable asshole.

You swallow what is left in your cup and then push off the wall, “I need another fucking drink if I am gonna have to be around you.”

He lets you go.

After lunch one day you, and he ended up in the same direction, you don’t want to deal with him and so you pick up the pace, walk faster, and he makes sure to speed up too, “Awe where you off to in such a rush? Gonna be late for your gender studies class, princess?”

“Gross, do not call me that shit.” You say as you adjust your backpack, rolling your eyes before you retort, “You ready to fail that test tomorrow? I know you haven’t been studying.”

His hands are thrown up, eyes skyward and a grin as he says, “Heaven forbid, I wanna enjoy the college experience and make the most of it out and about, not with my nose in a book all the time.”

“I think you could stand to be a little more well-read, you are painfully fucking dull whenever I am forced to talk to you.” Breaking off for the turn you head towards the building for your next class, he calls after you, “I am so, so hurt. Hey, don’t forget to spell women with a y, you’ll lose points otherwise, okay?”

He knew just how to really fucking bother you.

You know how to bother him, too.

A different day, you and him were meant to have a meeting with Nancy. You were waiting for her to arrive, and he was boasting about how he had gotten in with Randy and Derek, you said, “Finally, took you long enough. It’s weird, though, considering that you are the fucking worst.”

“I’m the worst?” He asked, and you nod, “Yes you are, I don’t know how you pulled it off, I have seen your acting ability.”

His hand rubs over his eyes as he asks, “You insult my acting ability now? What is wrong with it?”

“Mickey. Virgin teens faking on prom night are better actors than you are.”

His jaw drops, brows pinch together, and you pile on before he can respond, “You seem so chummy with Randy though, you blown him yet orrr?”

Nancy walked into you both locked in another augment, and she slammed the door, making you both stop. “Can you please, please, for the love of God, not fight for one day? I know it must be very hard, but do it for me?”

“It isn’t my fault she is such a frigid bitch.” He spits, and you say back, “Rich coming from the school slut, seriously, do you sweat chlamydia?”

Mickey opens his mouth and Nancy cuts him off, “Please, save it! Can’t you be the bigger person here?”

Mickey doesn’t even look at her, eyes locked with you, he says, “I know you are a real maternal figure, but I am not your fucking son so can you not talk to me like I am?”

You have to bite back the laugh you were about to bark out, and Nancy was just done, thoroughly over you both and your petty rivalry. “If you both don’t knock it off, I will call off the whole thing!”

That had you and he both turning to her, “You can’t!”

It is reminiscent of a tired parent on a car trip sick of hearing, “Are we there yet?” and responding with, “I will turn this car around!” When she tells you both, “I can, and I will if you don’t play nice at least in front of me!”

You and Mickey both know she is serious. You do your best to chill the hell out and just get through this without killing each other.

The road is long until the first kill is meant to happen. You and he have ebbs and flows of seriously deep hatred, neutral times of acceptance and even an instance or two of actually kind of getting along, at least on the surface. Below that, you still find times of hating each other.

One night after yet another tense meeting, after yet more endless frustration, you and he locked in another fight it happens without you meaning to. Both of you are just too pent-up and when he spits, “I am so tired of you being such a bitch, have you tried loosening up sometimes?”

“How would you recommend I do that in between keeping a low profile, getting closer to Sid and the rest, and keeping my grades up?” He tells you with crossed arms over his chest, “I’d recommend you taking a good dick every once in a while.”

“Does it always gotta come back to that? Just fuck my stress away and that will fix me?”

“Why not try it?” And he says it so smugly, something inside just snaps inside of you, leading to you both being in your bed. Your clothes don’t even totally come off, it is a messy hate-fuck, “I knew you wanted me-”

Your teeth sink into his throat, a sharp bite that makes him jerk back, his hips faltering as you respond, “I don’t want you, this means fucking nothing, you mean fucking nothing, okay?”

“Fine, fuck.” Another roll of his hips pulls a moan from you before he mutters out, “Crazy fucking bitch, just stop biting me.”

A terrible idea hits, and you execute it, a slap to his face as opposed to a bite and it is so shocking, catches him so off guard he has to actively fight the urge to cum. “Better?”

You ask sugary sweet, and he grits out, “I fucking hate you.”

“I fucking hate you too.”

Hate fucking when the wait for the plan to kick off becomes a somewhat regular occurrence, one neither of you chose to acknowledge unless you were splayed over a surface together.

Currently, you were in Mickey’s place. You and he agreed to head over to a party together to meet up with everyone else, you were in one of those times when you didn’t totally hate his guts, just mostly did, so you could tolerate his presence. You were getting impatient, you were a punctual person, and he was not when it came to things like this. You were tapping your foot on the bottom rung of a stool as you sat at the bar as you waited, calling out to him while he is in his bedroom, “What are you doing in there? Jacking off? I’d like to go sometime this century.”

“Yeah, I bet you like to think about that.” He called back, and you scoffed, “As fucking if.”

While you waited, your eyes flitted over the bar, and you noticed there were scattered papers about, you are so bored you start to sift through them, looks like some kind of project he was working on. You look further, wondering what it was, you skim pages and words caught on, “slice” and “blood”.

You start to look further, flip through pages, and you find descriptions of murder, violent kills, strangulation, knives stabbed into warm bodies. You read of terrible brutality and the feelings that are invoked while experiencing it. You become so absorbed in the reading when his hand touches your shoulder, you jump nearly a foot in the air, heart hammering.

“Catching up on some reading?” He asked with a grin, and you roll your eyes as you shake off his hand, “Creep.”

“Says the girl who is currently rummaging through MY shit.” Your eyes are back on the papers, ignoring what he said, and instead you ask, “What even is all this? Some fucked up project for a class?”

He takes the seat on the stool next to you, “It’s my work before coming to school.”

Your eyes go wide, you look at him, “Wait is this-”

He brightens further, “A scrapbook, yeah! I was rearranging it before you showed up, got a bit too into it, lost track of time, so I couldn’t clean it up before you came in, and then you were fucking rushing me-”

“Holy fucking shit, you have a scrapbook of your previous kills?” You flip through, detailed accounts, pictures, small souvenirs, more still. It was amazing but also infuriating, how the fuck did you never think to do something like this? Most you had was scrawled out diary entries post kill, but this was truly in depth, a testament to his commitment to wielding a knife and bringing pain.

He leans closer, starts pointing out particular details, and you have to admit, an impressive body of work, clear effort put forth into this catalogue of violence. “She was the first. She was in my math class in high school, the kind of girl who thought she was way too good for everyone, you know the type.”

His eyes meet yours, a taunting smile, and you find yourself letting out a laugh. He kept talking, and you kept listening until he says, “You are being awfully quiet.”

“Am I not allowed to be quiet?” You ask, and he laughs, “No. It just isn’t like you, normally you make your opinions very painfully known.”

You sighed, “I just can’t get over what a good idea this is, I’m fucking pissed I didn’t think of it myself.” You admit, and he laughed louder, “I got one up on you and you admit it? Fuck, it is a good night.” He gets up, collects the papers and puts them in the open box nearby. You try to stop him, “Wait, where are you going?”

You ask as he takes the box back to his room, and he says, “We have a party to get to, remember? I’ll let you read it in full another time for you to cream yourself over, alright?”

Yeah, sure, cream yourself over is what you’d do. You are simply curious about his work before you both met, you liked getting a feel for him and what he had done, it only makes sense since you are going to work together. He comes back and you both leave, but that night you had to admit is what started the shift, you started to look at Mickey a bit differently, had more respect for him. He obviously had skills to back up his talk, it was a comfort as well as just nice to get to know him on this level. No one else understood that side of you, getting to talk with someone else who has killed, he understands the depth, the complexity and more, you didn’t know how nice it would be.

After that night, you and he talk some more about it, his kills and yours, it is bonding, and it goes from hating each other and somewhat tolerating to being more like co-workers. A different night you were in your dorm room alone and both going over what your pasts. He showed you his newly minted scrap book, and you read aloud from your diary about how your first date ended in your killing the guy.

“How often have you gotten blood in your mouth?” He asks, and you gagged jokingly, “Too many times! You never think that it is gonna spray like that until the first time you slash a throat, right?”

“Seriously. Okay, okay. Least favourite part?” He asked, and you groaned, “Disposal, dead weight is such a bitch at times. Once a guy almost got away from me, I cornered and killed him at the bottom of some stairs, but once he was dead I had to drag him back UP those same stairs.”

“Fuck, how did you do it?” He genuinely asked, and you tell him, “With ropes and determination. How about you?” He hums, “My least favourite part has to be when the chase goes on for too long. Nothing worse than being winded before you even get the knife in them, feel like I can’t enjoy it properly, and I hate to do a rush job like that. It’s like the option is taken from me.”

“Lack of control is truly the worst.” You agree.

While you felt closer, a small kinship as well as more mutual understanding, Mickey could still be a bit much at times, you still clashed on occasion, but those times were becoming fewer and further between. It makes the path to the plan easier. You study on occasion, able to have meals together, Nancy is pretty pleased you’d both calmed down, and you find yourself consumed with regular daily life. The hate fucking isn’t so hateful and has also slowed considerably to a near stop.

When you got the go ahead, you and he were giddy. Alight. It caused one of the worst fights you had with him where you insisted that you be the first one to kill, you wanted to show that you could, prove yourself and also, it had been so, so fucking long since you had. Eventually, Nancy sides with you but insists Mickey be nearby in case shit goes screwy, and you can deal with that.

You revel in it. The phone call, the break in, the case and the actual kill. You being on top of her, stabbing her, running her through with one hand as your other is over her mouth. She struggles and whines, and you feel powerful, watching the light drain from her eyes the same way the blood does.

Perhaps you linger just a touch too long, but you just can’t help it. Mickey comes to get you, urge you out, and then he sees it, the aftermath. You still sitting on top of her in your costume, the knife to the hilt inside of her, and you turn, ghostly white mask with small spots of red and his breath catches. He read your accounts, you’d talked in depth, he’d killed people himself, but this, seeing it, you, post kill, was a totally different animal.

You pull off your mask, hair a mess, face sweaty with the effort, a manic smile as you ask, “What’s up?”

He lingers by the door of the balcony you were on, stuck in the threshold, the sliding glass was acting like a metaphorical doorway as much as a physical one, a turning point, one that cannot be forgotten or ignored. A shifting tide, your relationship, how he viewed you, permanently changed. His mouth feels dry, he swallows and says, “We have to go.”

“Shit, yeah, you’re right, just got a little uh-” You look down at the body, pull the knife out and drive it in one last time, you sound gleeful, “-stab happy.”

The laugh spills from you both unbidden and then, you flee the scene of the crime. Costumes stowed in bags and knife hastily wiped down. He couldn’t stop looking at you after that night. Every time he saw you, it was like you went from black and white static to live and in colour, as if he was seeing you for the first time, truly seeing you. He had it and had it so fucking badly for you, it was embarrassing.

You could get him, understand him on levels no one else could or probably ever would.

Mickey started treating you differently. You think it is because of what he saw, he finally was respecting you and sure it was part of it, but much more than you could have realized went into it. He was being much more than pleasant to be around, he was nice, fun to be around, he wasn’t an asshole like previously and slowly, much, much too slowly, after many meals bought, coffees given and notes shared you figure out that you think, he has a crush on you. It slips through even when with your “friends” and it doesn’t go unnoticed. Especially because he doesn’t hide it. He is kind, he flirts shamelessly, he makes his wants and intentions known.

You don’t know how to deal with or process that.

So you don’t.

You let him treat you better, you feel previous hate and anger melt, but you write it off as friendship, nothing wrong with that considering what you were doing. You take his compliments with a smile, you laugh off his over the top promises of “I’d be so, so good to you.” with a wave of your hand.

The plan continues on, stretches out from days to weeks, Nancy claims she wants Sidney to really suffer, and you aren’t going to question or complain.

The next kill is up to Mickey, you weren’t able to be there, but you got to see him after. Amped the fuck-up and excited, he told you about it all, how it went. “He was so pathetic, you should have seen him, begging for his life, crawling on the ground, oh my God.”

You watched him pace back and forth, animated hand gestures, his t-shirt was sticking to him from the sweat, your eyes aren’t sure where to linger, defined arm muscles or that wide sick smile. He flops onto the couch beside you, a large exhale, “It was fucking incredible.”

“And what are you feeling like, right now?” You asked as you looked down at him, and he says as his head pitches to look up at you, “I am feeling fucking starving. You want to order in a pizza?”

So you did. You ate sprawled on the floor and talked about the fact everything was meant to ramp up soon, that you and he were expected to both go in hard within the next few weeks.

It still goes on, you and both grow closer, another kill here, one there until finally there is a night where you have to murder together. The talking beforehand is frantic, both planning what was going to happen, honestly excited to do this together. You and Mickey started off hating each other's guts, but that seems so far away now, you and he were actually good friends and a united front on this plan.

It doesn’t go well at first.

The struggle is hard, you and he almost lose the two people you were planning on killing, but you manged it. Watching Mickey up close, not only that but you both doing this together, it makes something in you and your perception of him change. It is startlingly intimate, you are so in the moment, weirdly in sync with very little verbal communication, at one point you are gutting one of them while he holds them down and even through the masks, you know your eyes are locked, you can’t see his gaze, but you feel it.

It’s then. Between the smell of blood, the sweat making your black robe stick to you, over the screams of your shared victims, that all of it hits you.

It all comes crashing in, you thought he was the only one with a crush, with deeper feelings, that is not the case. You’ve come to realize that you have feelings for him too, deep and intense, scary and all consuming feelings, you care about Mickey and more than as a friend, a fellow killer, a partner in crime. You like him. Old memories flow through your mind now tinged differently, a highlight reel of neon recollection, synapses sparking, forcing you back, dragging you along to really look at those moments in the new light and context of your now fully exposed feelings. Raw and wriggling and out in the open air for you to contend with, screaming for acceptance and to be dealt with in some fucking fashion.

You had liked him for a long while and were far too stubborn and stupid to realize it. And you can’t ignore it any longer.

Snapped back into the moment you are staring. His strong gloved hands around the bitch’s throat, you can see the power he has, the way his arms strain from the effort, you can’t look away.

Once it was over, once they are both dead, you and he had to separate, and it made your mind run. You were so nervous, you trusted him completely now.

You knew Mickey was more than capable, but still, the thought of him actually being caught, you don’t know how you’d handle it. The sudden change steals your breath, you feel crushed by your new feelings, the unexpected care you feel for him.

The emotions run high during a kill night on the best of times, but the rough and rocky start, the joined act of killing, the fact the police presence as stepped up, it all mixes together. You were worried, very fucking worried, and that makes you terrified.

When you come back to the meeting point, he is already there, his mask is taken off, and you hastily remove your own. Staring across the space at each other, heavy breathing, and the look in his eyes upon meetings yours, he knows. He knows you feel differently now, and it can be felt in the air. You stride forward first as you exhale out, “Thank fuck you’re okay-”

As soon as you are close enough Mickey’s hands are on the sides of your face, pulling you to him and his mouth crashing into yours, swallowing you up in him, preventing you from speaking, stealing all words, you return his affection hastily, clumsily and with a moan of relief. Even during all your hate fucking, it wasn’t like this. There were no presses of your mouth to his, the only times your mouths were used were to bite, cause pain, or on occasion give each other some truly rough but brutal oral sex.

You are greedy, need to make up for lost time. You kiss him hard, want to make him as breathless as you are, more than the chase made him. You and he end up on the couch in his place. Costumes are long forgotten on the floor. His hands wander, touch you all over, help pull clothes away and aside, “I’ve been thinking about this so fucking much.”

A laugh slips out as you straddle him, helping him out of his shirt and throwing it aside, “Yeah Mickey?”

He takes in the view of you in just your pants and bra perched on his thighs, his hands run up your sides, fingers press over an already flowering bruise left from when one of your murder victims kneed you in the ribs. You hiss slightly, a sharp intake of air from the stab of pain, you retaliate, fingers in his hair, you thread, twist and pull. He gasps, smile widens, and he nods as much as you allow, “Yeah, been thinking about you just like this.”

“Just like this?” You grind on his lap, bare down on his clothed erection, short muted sounds of pleasure leave you both as you lose yourselves in the action, the friction before he manages to get out, “Almost, there are no clothes in the way, and I am buried deep again in that sweet fucking cun-”

You pull even harder and his sentence breaks off with a groan as you prompt him. “Stop talking and start doing.”

He was losing it. Normally whenever he hooked up with people he was sure, in total control, but you got the drop on him. He should know better, especially after all the previous very violent hook-ups.

At first, he was on top, or rather, he was trying to be, but all of a sudden a leg was around his hip and hands were on his broad chest pushing him until he fell onto his ass, back propped up on the arm rest of the couch. You settle into his lap quickly, straddling him and then lowering yourself, taking him deep, to the hilt, before he could protest. The moan leaves him on an exhalation at feeling how soaked and hot you are. His hands are on your hips, and he rocks up into you once before your hands are in his hair once more. Fingers thread anew, wrap around and twist before pulling, it makes his eyes shoot open, a harsh inhale from the pain, brows knitted together in confusion when you tell him firmly, "Stay fucking still. This is for me right now, not you."

He is shocked, stunned, your tone so harsh, leaving no room for argument, and you start to move, hips rise and fall as you ride him for all he's worth.

You look fucking stunning, gorgeous, and you feel even better.

He didn’t know he could be so into this, but he thinks it is because it’s you. He has seen you kill, seen how capable and powerful you are, he is so fucking into you, feels so deeply for you, he thinks you could carve your name into his flesh and he’d beg for more. The praise tumbles out between groan and gasps, timed with the falls and of your hips, the rolls of your body, and it makes you laugh breathy, “You are really into this.”

“Been a, fuck, while.” He confesses, and you slow your hips, “Mickey, have you kept it in your pants? Stopped fucking half the student body?”

You knew he was seeing other people in between your fucking for a while, but when you and he stopped, did he not get his fill elsewhere? He shrugs, tries to seem unbothered, but it’s hard when his hands are gripping your hips so tightly, browns pinched together, you clench on him and his head is thrown back against the arm rest of the couch. Sweat is down his temple, tendons in his throat as he swallows thickly, “Been busy.”

It is all he can force out. This is serious. Mickey the slut stopped screwing anyone else because he was crushing on you so severely. He did really like you, holy shit. Not an act at all, he was so consumed with you that fucking other people wasn’t something he wanted.

The emotion radiating off him is filling you, bleeding back into you, and you let it take you without trying to show it too heavily. You fucking care about him, you really fucking do.

Your hand below your waist, quick fingers bring you to your peak twice in short succession as you ride him before he finds his own high. The first time is frantic, needy, more about getting it out of your systems after so long without. It is undeniably satisfying and thoroughly enjoyable.

The next time happens that same night. With reheated Chinese and in his bed. You talked about it all, how the kill that night went and in the process worked yourself up once more and made the shower you shared after your time on the couch utterly pointless from how sweaty you got again.

After that night, you were together. You and he often fucked, maybe more than you should, but you just could not get enough. You’d been so busy that you hadn’t really fucked anyone other than him since getting here over a year ago. Times in your dorm or his, shared showers, traded oral in places that you shouldn’t like between library stacks. Once you had sex in the band pit of the theatre, your hands over his mouth and his over yours as you worked to keep quiet, him thrusting up into you, and you are slamming down on him as you worked each other over, bringing him and yourself to Earth shattering pleasure.

Both of you kept it more hush, hush, but another secret just added to it. You didn’t run from your feelings, nor did you attempt to hide how into him, you were. The dates squeezed in everywhere you could also try to make up for your stubborn bullshit earlier. Affection was, often, moments of tenderness and vulnerability in private were shared.

There is a moment that you keep coming back to.

Another kill. You and he are blood splattered, you had a quickie next to the body, a rushed moment of passion with you pushed over a desk. Your legs were shaking from the strength of the orgasm he fucked out of you. Over the past while you’d gotten much more comfortable with him taking control, it wasn’t a fight for dominance, it was shared responsibility that you give into as often as he does. His cum was leaking out into your panties that you had just pulled back into place. You were heaving, body slick, and resting for a moment when he comes around the desk. His mask is pulled up, and he leans down, gloved hands come to your face, one hand holds the knife in his leather clad grip, the other holds your cheek. You feel the knife handle against the opposite side, and he moves in, he kisses your forehead half-in-half-out of his killer garb, and you melt. You smile up at him and he returns it.

The lies and secrecy shouldn’t turn you on like this. Lying to Sidney and everyone else, the high you are both on from so far getting away with it is immense. You and he are too perfect of a fit.

It’s the day of. You and he are about to head out when the urge strikes. “Hey-“ Your hand quickly reached out and grabs his wrist, pulling him back from the door, so he was stood facing you again. His hand dropped to your waist, and he smiled down at you, that stupid damn devastating smile you used to hate that you now couldn’t see yourself living without, “- before we do this, there’s something I wanna tell you. Just in case.”

He noticed you looked almost nervous, weight shifting from one foot to the other, he had never seen this emotion on your face before, and he knew exactly what was coming before you took a deep, unsteady breath and opened your mouth to speak again. “I lo-”

“Don’t.” He said quickly, eyes wide, raising his hand to place it over your mouth, an action you had both done to each other God knows how many times in a much different context. “Save it. Tell me after we’ve won, okay?”

You rolled your eyes slightly, prying his fingers away from your mouth. “God, you’re such an overdramatic dork, Mickey. Okay.”

It was stupid. You shouldn’t have listened to him. You should have said it.

You and he and Nancy were in the theatre with Sidney. The monologue was underway, big speeches, reveals, shock and awe. You’d been watching from afar, waiting for your cue to come in, when it happens all too quickly. Sidney made Nancy so angry so fast, unable to control herself, and she points the gun and with a simple move of her finger, the trigger is pulled and all of a fucking sudden just like that night your world is coming crashing in. He wasn’t expecting it, the bullet holes in his chest pour blood out rapidly.

You are frozen in place. Rooted to the spot. You watch as his body falls. Here then gone. Stole from you in a single moment, no time to react, nothing to do, no time to process either. He was ripped from you, and it takes a moment for everything to come back into focus. Sidney and Nancy are struggling, and you find the strength.

You move.

The weapon in your hand is used on Sidney, not the way you’d intended to, the butt of your own gun is smacked full force on the back of her head. You knock her out and let her fall to the stage. You are left standing there with Nancy, who is wondering what you are doing. You are holding up the gun, pointing it straight at her, questioning her in the same way, “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

“Why are you pointing that at me?” She asked in seeming disbelief, and you scoff, “Why do you think?! I heard you! I heard what you said, I watched you shoot Mickey, I know you want me dead next, right? Clean up the loose ends?”

You spit it at her with vitriol before you do your best impression of her annoying voice during her speech to Sidney, “There was a big scuffle, and you-” your foot kicking Sidney’s boot for emphasis, gesturing down to her with your other hand, “-shoot Mickey-”

Saying it makes you sob. Tears start to stain your cheeks, “I cannot believe you! Bringing us here, making us do your dirty work, and you were planning on killing us the whole fucking time!”

“What, did you really think that he’d get away with it? His big plan about blaming the movies? What jury would believe that-” She shouts, and you stomp your foot, “Shut the fuck up, that isn’t the point!” You weren’t going to tolerate her speaking ill of him, not while he is still bleeding out in the band pit, you kept talking, “You double-crossed us!”

Your gun moves down, and you shoot, getting her in the knee. She crumples under the weight of her own body. She is on the ground, and she is the one sobbing in short order. You make your way to her, you step onto her busted knee, grinding your boot down into it and revelling in her anguished screams. Blood gushes and you still are not satisfied. You sink down, you lay into her. First the gun across her face, teeth are knocked out, displaced and rattle as they roll across the wooden stage.

You hit her again and again, next the gun is dropped, your hand takes over, punching her, nose breaks, cartilage cracks, bones snap, she is coughing and wheezing and weak. Your knife is removed from the holster stored in your boot, and you hold it to her throat, “You are such a stupid fucking bitch.”

She was delirious, and you slammed her head against the stage, “Look at me when I’m talking to you!”

Her eyes are unfocused, but they are on you, “This is your fault. You are going to die, but you didn’t have to. You killed him first, and now I’m gonna kill you.”

The response is weak from her dry cracked lips, “Why?”

“Why?” You asked, a bitter laugh, you hold the knife closer to her throat, “Dumb cunt wants to know why? Sure, I can tell you.”

A deep inhale before you say, “You brought me here under false pretenses, made me work with one of the most annoying and insufferable people I have ever met in my life, forced me to be around him and in the process made me realize that…”

You can’t bring yourself to say it, but you instead say, “-That I care about him. That I needed someone else who could truly understand me on this level, who cared, who showed me how I deserved to be fucking treated and then, you just…You kill him, snuff him out, like he was nothing!”

You feel the tears falling again, “After all we’ve done to make your fucked up dream of a revenge plot come true, and you expect me to just lie down and take it when you kill him?!”

You can’t see her properly, not through how watery your eyes were. A steadying breath before you say, “And the way you did it. With a gun? It is insulting! Where is the intimacy? The care? The artistry, if he had to die by murder, he deserved better! Do you care about the art form at all?!”

You are tired of her, the anger and sadness had been bubbling up, it all comes to a head and bursts, the knife slices through her throat, she is choking on her blood when you tell her, “I’m not playing along, I’m not doing your stupid plot, not anymore. I’m rewriting it, Sidney’s gonna live.”

You don’t stop there. The knife is forced into her over and over. By the time you are done, her stupid white unflattering white suit is stained completely red.

Getting up from the complete mess, you look over your shoulder, Sidney is still passed out. This is your chance to run, but you can’t. Not yet.

Your steps are tentative, your knees hurt from how long you were on them while hunched over Nancy’s body while you were killing her. Your hands shake, and you peek over the edge of the stage and see him down there, amongst upturned band chairs, and your breath is stolen. You and he hooked up down there weeks prior, and now he was down there, looking wrong, totally fucking wrong. He looks lonely, and you hate that, you move quickly, one hand on the edge of the stage, and you jump down, it hurts your ankles from the height, you don’t care.

You stay there with him. You cling to him, you are reminded of that conversation, your least favourite. Dead weight. Quickly going cold, lifeless eyes staring up, past you, to some point on the ceiling, unseeing. You let yourself cry. You want to say it, tell him the depth of your feeling want to force the words out, you want to tell him you love him, but now it doesn’t feel right at all. He should have been able to hear those words from you while he was alive, while you still had a shot at a future together, whatever it would have looked like.You let yourself say this at the very least.

“You were right…” You sniff, you wipe at your cheeks and say, “The time we had was short but fuck. You were so good to me. I should have let you be good to me sooner. I should have been better to you, too.” The next words sit heavy on your tongue, no matter how much you want to they are left unsaid, and you make yourself leave him.

Before you do, there is one thing that feels necessary, like you have to. Hands cradle his face, one hand still holding the knife, and you lean down, you press a blood stained kiss to his forehead, near his hairline just like he did to you before. A mirror of that previous act of tenderness on a scarlet tinged afternoon but so much sadder because it was the last moment like this you’d ever have with him and again still, it was totally wrong. He can’t feel it, because he’s dead.

You get up and with one last forlorn look to him, you run.

Sidney wakes up unscathed but dazed, Mickey dead and Nancy too. You hadn’t revealed yourself, she hadn’t seen you, Nancy and Mickey hadn’t made mention of you, you’d been wearing gloves and there was none of your blood or DNA at the finale’ site, so you got away with it. They think the last person is still at large, but they have no clue who.

Your sadness is understandable, your real grief is able to be spread around, it is believable that it is for Hallie and Derek and everyone else but Mickey on the surface. You and Sidney drift apart. You tell her it’s too hard and she more than understands, she was initially suspicious at first, but you were too good an actor, your alibis too well planned and airtight.

The unmarked account that your tuition came out of was still full. You intend to transfer to a different college next semester. You can’t stay here, the idea of graduating from here without Mickey is horrible. You need a new state, a new school, a fresh chance to try and attempt to move on. It’s after winter break at that new school that you meet.

The events happened over a year ago, and you were still not doing good. Still sad, you wonder how you can ever process this pain, this total loss, no way can you talk about it, no way another person could ever understand.

Until that is one fateful day, you get a knock at your apartment door. You answer it and standing in front of you is a ghost, one person who you thought, just like everyone else, was dead, and maybe, perhaps, the only one who can relate to you.

Brows furrowed and gripping the door, so your legs won’t buckle, you asked nervously, in total shock and disbelief, “Stu Macher?”

He grinned with a point to himself, “That’s me. Can I come in?”

#Mickey Altieri X reader #slasher x reader #Ghostface x reader #BHF asks #BHF writing #HERE #HAVE IT #ENJOY IT #FUCK #FINALLY #Been working on this one for a WHILE

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skyloftian-nutcase · 6 months

Text

@gryphonlover, here you go friend <3

(AO3 link)

Fluffvember prompt - "Us against the world," comforting a loved one

Four was… not in a good mood.

He hadn’t quite parsed out what the issue was. All he knew was that Wind was speaking too loudly, Sky was being too attentive, Warriors was teasing Legend too much, Legend was getting too irritated about it, Twilight was spending too much time with Wild, Wild was being too somber, Hyrule and Time were gone too long—

Clearly, Four just wasn’t in a good mood.

Sighing, the smith walked away from the camp, grabbing his sword as protection and a means to sort this out. When he was far enough away, he gripped the hilt of the blade firmly, eyes squeezed shut as he frowned.

Okay. I need to figure out what’s wrong before I snap at someone.

Drawing the blade, he felt the magic trickle through his arm and into his mind and heart, chiseling away with searing heat until he was ripped apart into four pieces. The transition was never pleasant, but the end result was hopefully helpful.

Red immediately burst into tears.

“What the hell?” Blue asked, startled and irritated. “Could you put up a sign or something before you just explode like that?”

“Okay, okay, what is wrong with us?” Green asked, waving his hands. “Red, why are you crying?”

“Our friend almost died!” Red hiccupped, rubbing his face in an attempt to calm down.

Vio blinked. “Is that what this is about?”

“Of course it is, genius,” Blue fired back. “You think we could get over it in a day just because he got better? He’s still suffering from it.”

“A-at least we made peace with the Champion,” Red added, his stream of tears starting to slow. “B-but… it’s… it’s still a lot…”

Green sighed, looking away. “Yeah… I guess it is.”

“So now what?” Blue huffed. “We duke it out until we’re too tired to be upset?”

“Or we could talk about it,” Red offered feebly.

“We just did!” Blue argued, throwing his hands in the air.

“Emotions aren’t just… that straightforward and you know it,” Vio explained, crossing his arms. “You wouldn’t be pissed if that were the case.”

“That’s literally how the magic makes me,” Blue snapped. “I’m always pissed.”

Green rolled his eyes. “No, you’re not.”

His blue reflection turned to him, face flushed, but the fight blew out of him with a sigh. “I’m just frustrated, okay? Red’s right – that was a lot. And like… there’s still so much to process.”

“Did we do the right thing with Champion?” Vio asked. “Confronting him the way we did?”

“He apologized,” Red reasoned. “Was that not enough? He seemed better.”

“What about Rancher?” Green asked quietly. “Is he really okay?”

“He is,” Vio said firmly. “He is and we know it. He might just heal slowly.”

“That’ll make me sad to see,” Red mumbled.

“It’ll be aggravating to see,” Blue clarified. “He’s a Hero, it isn’t fair to him to be down like this. I want to beat the crap out of that Shadow.”

“The Shadow’s dead.”

“Is he thought? You think he can be defeated that easily?”

“We don’t know anything!”

“What about that dark magic for his transformation? You think that made him more vulnerable? We should talk to him about it!”

“He’s still recovering, it’s too soon for that!”

“But I’m worried!”

Blue growled, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Is this helping or just making things worse?”

“At least we’re getting it out in the open,” Green reasoned with a shrug. “That has to count for something.”

Red watched all of them before hugging himself. “I think… I think no matter what, the important thing is that everyone is better than they were. That has to count for something. We should hold on to that.”

Vio smiled at his red reflection. “He’s right. We’re not going to be able to address everything all at once, and that’s okay. We need to take this one issue at a time. We’ve already worked on mending our relationship with the Hero of the Wilds. That’s a good enough start for me.”

“But I still feel upset,” Blue resisted a little tiredly.

“Maybe y’all just need a hug.”

The four aspects of the Hero jumped, startled, and whirled around at the sound of the familiar voice. Twilight stood in a clearing, eyes a little wider than they should be but smiling reassuringly nonetheless.

“When did you—” Green asked, trying to slow his racing heart.

“Sky had mentioned you’d left camp. I beat Wars here,” Twilight explained lightly. “I’m glad Champion warned me about your ability or I’d be really confused.”

Blue let out a disappointed scoff. “That little snitch.”

“It’s pretty cool, right?” Red asked excitedly.

Twilight chuckled. “Yeah. It is.”

There was a pregnant pause after this, everyone waiting for some sort of way to avoid the suggestion Twilight had made, and the rancher pressed onward. Holding out his arms welcomingly, he tipped his head to the side. “Well?”

The four glanced at each other, red eyes eager, blue defensive, purple curious, and green resolute. Then they gripped their swords in unison, slowly fading back into each other, and Four took a steadying breath as the world pieced itself back into a single image. He felt dizzy for a moment before blinking and looking back at Twilight, who was still waiting, and damn it all if everything he hadn’t just hashed out welled in his heart and soul and begged for comfort nonetheless.

Biting his lip, he slowly made his way to his friend, sinking into the embrace. Twilight held him so tightly, almost tight enough to make breathing hard, but he was warm and there and alive and by the goddesses if that wasn’t reassuring and soothing, Four didn’t know what was.

He was slightly disappointed in himself that he couldn’t handle this alone. Usually the Four Sword helped him hash out these issues in a healthy manner.

But, he supposed as he felt a few trace tears fall, sometimes a hug was just what someone needed.

#writing #fluffvember #lu four #lu twilight #linkeduniverse #linked universe #talking about one's feelings is good #but I find sometimes that doesn't make the feelings any better - it just acknowledges them #so Twi is helping Four release them too <3 #because I love hugs lol

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slocumjoe · 1 year

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A ramble about Preston Garvey and a self-indulgent revision of the entire Minuteman questline

TDLR: The Minutemen faction sacrifices writing and Preston’s character as a means of shoveling errands and busywork at the player.

Preston’s issues as a character are entirely Doylist, meaning the fault of outside forces. His writing, his concept, his themes, those are solid. This is not a racehorse that broke its leg and was still sent down the track, like some characters. This is a horse that was hale and hearty, but they made it run in circles around cars in the parking lot instead of putting it in the race.

This essay is not going to be my most coherent one. Preston’s issues are so apparent, so in your face, it kinda feels like a waste of time explaining it. Just look at him and anyone with two braincells to rub together can see. But a lot of things in Fallout 4 sticks with me, even when I’m not in a Fallout 4 mood. Preston is one of those things. So neglected, so misused in the game, I couldn’t stop thinking about the bastard.

Before we get into what Preston is, in-game...what was he meant to be?

And you know what?

He’s close to Danse, post Blind Betrayal.

Preston Garvey started his military career as a fresh-faced, bright-eyed young man, who wanted to be another gun protecting the Commonwealth against whatever would harm it. He always had his faction’s best interests and ideals in mind. The first to wave the flag, the first to say the motto, the first to pick up a gun for it. He didn’t want heroism, or glory. He wanted to make the world a better place. It sounds cookie cutter, cliche, so sugary-saccharine. But this is the wasteland. This is in a world where everyone else seems content to succumb to futilism, to pretend there is no Better for the world.

Preston Garvey is, inherently, part of a rebel army. The Minutemen were a militia, a guerilla army of farmers and their children, banding together against the oppressive totality of raiders, mercenaries, anyone who would rather gnaw on bones than build to ensure everyone was taken care of. The Minutemen are the fuck you, we want to recover and heal faction, to the raiders’ fuck you, I have a right to wallow in the ruins.

The legend herself, the icon, the Queen, Ursula K. LeGuin once said; “The trouble is that we have a bad habit, encouraged by pedants and sophisticates, of considering happiness as something rather stupid. Only pain is intellectual, only evil interesting. This is the treason of the artist; a refusal to admit the banality of evil and the terrible boredom of pain.” The MInutemen might look like your average, boring heroes (we’ll get into why), but it is inherently badass to look at the literal End of the World and decide, no, actually, we don’t want to lie down and die.

Preston Garvey is not a boy scout, the Minutemen are not mall cops. They are furious, determined, and most dangerously, optimistic.

A young Preston Garvey joined under a blue banner, served under it for years...and watched as people who saw money, power, glory, took that banner and tied it into a noose.

Joe Becker died, and having not chosen someone to take over as General, all of the colonels squabbled for the position, wanting the fame, the cushy office. These people weren’t Minutemen, not at heart. The faction had grown so large, there was bound to be people looking only at the resources, what was in it for them. Preston, still a young man, but quickly losing his naivety and faith in his fellow Minutemen, watched as these colonels dropped their altruistic acts and demanded they get theirs.

And then Quincy happened.

The Minutemen were in disarray, following the Mirelurk invasion of the Castle, lacking a home base and their radio communications. But Colonel Ezra Hollis, potentially the last Colonel who gave a shit, heard that Quincy was under siege by Gunner forces, and he led his small, out-gunned squad to do whatever the fuck they could, until another Colonel came to provide the needed fire support. Hollis’ Minutemen succeeded in driving the Gunners back, and holding them off, but their help from Colonel Marbury never came. Preston watched as his Colonel refused to give up and let Quincy fall...and he watched as Clint, a ten-year veteran, betrayed everyone, chose money and a winning team over what was right.

Quincy fell. Preston Garvey watched as the refugees fell in a line, running for safety. Watched his comrades, who he had been fighting against impossible odds with for days, dropped with them.

Preston Garvey died, and I can tell you where. At one house, to the right, down the street from the museum, where the last other Minuteman lay dead in a yard. Where he became the Last Minuteman. Even if there were others who would call themselves such...they weren’t Minuteman, not really. The real Minutemen tried to save Quincy. Everyone else, who gave up, never believed at all.

Preston was still fucking furious at the hedonistic cruelty people indulged in and called inevitable. But he was alone, a failure, and had lost any reason to believe that there was a possibility of continuing. A point, a reason, yes. But the optimism...without that, there was no Minuteman army.

Preston is Danse Post BB, because he’s freshly disillusioned from his faction, horrified at the truth and betrayal. He has lost his identity, his values, unsure of where to go, if there’s anywhere to go. And then...salvation walks down the street of Concord, and walks him and his group back up the road to Sanctuary. Sanctuary.

And then comes in the fucking dialogue system (FDS) and the fucking radiant system (FRS), armed with folding chairs, to beat Preston Garvey’s rich character into a bloody, twitching pulp. We cannot talk about Preston without talking about how his faction questline plays. We simply have to, because it’s like a shotgun wedding from hell.

Let’s start with the very first quest in the Minutemen. Preston, while running for his fucking life from gunners, then ferals, then raiders, has somehow heard through the grapevine/radio he doesn’t have that Tenpines has a Corvega raiders issue. He asks you to do it because he’s busy guarding Sanctuary. Okay.

You go to Tenpines, Corvega, and back, and whoop, you are now Minuteman general.

You START THE MINUTEMEN as THE LEADER. Even fucking MAXSON waits for you to at least bump Danse off before making you a Paladin, but nope! Starting at the top, ending at the top. This kills progression in all senses. There is no sense of gaining ground, the Minutemen start with a General. Skyrim gets mocked for making you the leader of all factions, but good god, at least you had to earn it by sticking with them.

So, bad start.

Then you do some settlement stuff...which is handed to you in the worst fucking way. The FRS.

Where is Preston getting this information? How are people sending it out? Ignoring the logistics...it’s just boring. You talk to Preston sometimes, and he always says Go Here, Do This, Come back. Do this enough times, Preston wants to retake the Castle. At this point, you don’t have any men, it’s just you and Preston- wait, who the fuck are these people?! We’ve had soldiers this whole time?! Who hired them?! You take the Castle and it’s admittedly cool, if not a pain to restore for all your- okay, wait, I can only bring settlers? Where are all the men I supposedly have, there’s three soldiers here! Three soldiers, this is just a Clearing the Way radiant quest, but the moving in folks helped me kill the mirelurks!

Ugh, fine. You keep traveling, Preston gives you more- Preston?! I killed a Mirelurk Queen specifically for the radio tower, so I could get quests from the radio! Why is Preston still dispensing quests? It discourages you from talking to him, because you’ll get busywork cluttering your quest log. You can’t talk to Preston Garvey. You can’t fucking talk to him without doing him a favor first.

Y’know what makes this even more abominable? You are said to have soldiers, who could be doing this instead! Why am I going after kidnapped settlers when we have soldiers?! The General still has a kid to find and the Institute to explode! SPEAKING OF...

The Commonwealth Provisional Government was started by the Minutemen, and ended by the Institute. This is never brought up again. And it’s not even Preston who talks about it, it’s Nick. The Minutemen have very real reason to want the Institute gone, and a good excuse to get the player to want to destroy the Institute beyond “grrr synths/they took my baby.”

Anyway, you go get artillery from Ronnie Shaw at some point, build it in your settlements, and...make your farmers man them. Not soldiers. I know you can deck out your settlers with armor and weapons, but the fact that you have maybe 5 constant, non-random encounter soldiers, all at the Castle, is...it makes it feel hollow. Where is my army, Preston? Who am I leading?

So, you do the Main Quest, blow up the Institute. Blah blah. Blow up the Brotherhood, too. Blaaaaah.

Either way, let’s get into fixes. And by fixes, I mean, complete rehaul.

First thing’s first. The entire questline is bad. It’s radiant quests and then boom boom Institute. It starts and ends the exact same way, you being the general. Second thing, we need to go back to the old dialogue system; no more YES, NO, WHAT, SARCASTIC. Actual dialogue. Back to Fallout New Vegas’s system, that relied on all stats and perks. Actual conversations with branching paths.

Saving Preston at Concord is fine. Works. It’s the first radiant quest that sucks ass. Throw that system out entirely, and I do mean entirely. Don’t save it for anything, it needs to go. It cannot remain. No being sent to Tenpines because Preston heard from a little birdie.

Instead, you work with Preston and the survivors to fortify and set up Sanctuary.

First, you work with Preston to shore up Sanctuary’s defenses. As you work with him, he’s polite, but curt. Professional, but not warm, open. He expresses gratitude, but definitely not trust. He doesn’t know you, he doesn’t know what your motives or wants are. You can tell him about Shaun, but he’s still not sure about you. He can’t afford to be and will tell you that outright, but...he needs someone to go see if anyone survived Lexington or Concord. He knows his other Minutemen split up with other survivors, he doesn’t know if they made it out. You can offer to go find them, or stay and protect Sanctuary. If you go, the other survivors will set up Sanctuary on their own without your help.

If you stay and Preston leaves, you plant crops with Marcy, getting to know her and potentially, she cracks and shows some vulnerability. She doesn’t soften right away, she’s still traumatized, but you get to see why she’s the way she is now. She just lost her baby, her home, all of her friends and family. Was just failed by the people who swore they’d protect them all. Betrayed by them.

Then, you work with Sturges to get a water pump/purifier running. Sturges will tell you about Quincy in some detail, explain how it went to shit. He talks about how the Minutemen were needed more than ever, but crapped the bed at the last minute. Sturges says he thinks there’s a place in the world for the group, but with the last living soldier clearly reeling from everything that’s happened, he thinks it’s safe to say the Commonwealth is on it’s own.

Next, it’s the bed situation with Jun. He barely says a word, only quietly thanking you for your help. If you choose the right dialogue options, he’ll say you remind him of Colonel Hollis, very brave and kind, even when it was a bad idea to help. Hollis didn’t survive, but you did. Maybe it’s not all bad, maybe Hollis wasn’t wrong, just of bad luck.

After, no matter who goes to find the bodies of the other Minutemen and Quincy locals, some Corvega raiders attack Sanctuary when they come back. It’s only a small scouting party, looking for Mama Murphy. You kill them, and Preston is freaking out and about to pack up and keep everyone moving farther. It’s up to you to calm him down and offer to go kill them. If you’ve picked certain dialogue choices before and Sanctuary has a high defense score, Preston will join you on the trip to Corvega. It’s on this journey + throughout it you can tell him about the fate of his comrades, or he tells you. If he doesn’t accompany you, you two talk about it when you get back to Sanctuary after killing Jared.

Either way, It’s here that Mama Murphy tells you about Diamond City, not in the museum.

You do the main quest now, and when you get to Diamond City, you overhear people talking about the Quincy massacre, and what a shame that the Minutemen are gone. Someone talks about how McDonough forced all the ghouls out, and they moved up to the Slog, but now the Slog is having mutant troubles. From there, you can go decide for yourself if you want to do the Minuteman questline. The first few quests were just to organically show you the settlement system, dialogue system (the old, good one), and dungeon crawling, the explore-loot-return loop. It’s here that the Minutemen branch off from the main quest.

If you choose to save the Slog, you have the option of saying you’re there on Minuteman business, even if you’re not a Minuteman. Choosing this is what gets you in the faction proper.

You can keep finding settlements and offering help. Doing this, Preston eventually catches word through Diamond City Radio and demands to know what the fuck you’re doing. You have a lot of options to choose from, but only the altruistic, optimistic ones will earn Preston’s trust. Anything else, he might just try to kill you, if you, like, say you’re doing it for money. But if you’re doing this for good reasons, he’s on board. Surprised, unsure this will end well, but...hey, if you want to try, he won’t stop you. If Sanctuary has enough settlers, defense, and you’ve turned enough settlers into guards (which have a different character tag, when assigned to defense posts), Preston will offer to accompany you, and that’s how you get him as a companion.

So, you and Preston wander around, doing quests, and helping out settlements. Help enough settlements, they’ll realize hey, we’re all on good terms with this Minuteman, and this person who’s basically a Minuteman...let’s just get the Minutemen back, yeah? People band together, settlements you’ve provided for will get settlers on their own. Eventually, people at settlements approach you and offer to help, what needs doing? If you have a settlement quest/errand, you can assign them to it, and they’ll complete it for you. This snow-balls until you’re taking over the Castle, for all these guns-for-hope to gather around and manage trade routes and work. You get the radio tower. You get an army. You get artillery, automatically built at every settlement in a designated spawnpoint.

It’s here that, by popular vote, you’re offered the position as General...but you can turn it down. You can hand it to Ronnie, or Preston. Both of of them agree, no, the people and the new Minutemen want you, but they’ll take it if you pass enough dialogue checks. Ronnie will run the Minutemen like a hardass, fierce and cynical to deter a second collapse, but Preston runs it like a community. He believes that cynicism was what killed the first Minutemen, and that constant reminder of who and what they do this for will keep motives pure. No matter the general, the Minutemen are now a solid force in the Commonwealth, stronger than ever, making everyone piss their pants. And it got this way because you wanted to help.

It’s at this point that Preston’s conversation about his depression unlocks, and his romance.

But the fun begins when the Gunners take a modicum of offense to all this.

Sanctuary is put to the sword, the Castle is attacked, and best of all, the old Colonels show their face, either on the side of the Gunners as bosses, or trying to weasel their way into the Minutemen again. Preston loves killing all of them, hates sparing or talking them down. These fuckers left him, Quincy, the Commonwealth to die, they are traitors, they are pure scum.

The Minutemen, they fight back. You take squads into Gunner camps and clear house, take it over. People stop working with or hiring the Gunners because they don’t want to piss off the General, whoever that is. The Gunners aren’t on the ropes yet, but they’re staring down Minutemen barrels and it’s only a matter of time before this explodes into someone getting wiped off the face of the earth.

Somewhere in-between looking for the Institute, you get kidnapped by Gunners and taken to Quincy. They’re using you as either a hostage, intending to kill you to prove a point, or torturing you for fun, taking the piss out of the idea that the puny militia could ever stand up to- hey, why am I hearing gunfire?

Preston and the Minutemen storm Quincy, putting it under a siege not even the Gunners could ever have hoped to accomplish. If the Minutemen were dog food, the Gunners are kitty treats. It’s a swift, brutal execution of every green-wearing bastard. They don’t even have time to prepare before Preston himself kicks the door down and frees you, then runs back out to continue bashing people’s heads in with his rifle. You meet up with Ronnie, and she points you down Preston’s warpath, gently asking if you can go stop before he gets himself killed trying to throttle Clint. As you chase him down, you see Clint up on the highway, looking down, before he walks away, presumably to meet Preston.

You can go find Preston, kill Clint before he gets to him, or go kill Baker first. If Preston gets to Clint, you’ll hear him screaming bloody murder before they start the fight. They’ll fight until you go finish Clint off. Once Clint drops, Preston has something of a nervous breakdown. Ronnie and other Minutemen show up, she takes over and tells you to finish clearing Quincy with the other soldiers while she gets Preston out of the fight. You can listen to her, or insist you stay with Preston. If you stay, you clear the way for Ronnie’s group to get back behind Minutemen lines just outside of Quincy. Baker can be killed by NPC Minutemen, so you don’t have to worry about it too much.

The Minutemen have Quincy again, Preston is recovering from his panic attack, and Ronnie is foaming at the mouth at the idea of going at Gunner HQ. You can agree or disagree. If you’ve been killing the Colonels, Preston will think that the Gunners are in such bad shape, it’s only a matter of time before they kill themselves with infighting, just as the Minutemen did. If you’ve spared the Colonels, he’ll want to finish off the Gunners, as they’re still too organized and armed to leave alive. If Ronnie is General, the Minutemen attack Gunner HQ anyway, no matter what, but if not, the player can influence Preston or make the decision themselves.

Laying siege to Gunner HQ cements the Minutemen’s place as the strongest army in the Commonwealth. With this ending for the Minutemen, non-important/notable raider hideouts will be cleared automatically, either because soldiers killed them, or the Minutemen were so oppressive, they couldn't find anyone to raid. Other factions will speak more carefully to you, be gentler when describing their intentions. Maxson and other BOS soldiers, if you join them, will mention that being so close to the Castle was unintentional, and they’re nervous about the Minutemen turning their artillery on the Airport. You’ll have a harder time getting the Brotherhood to go to war with Minutemen in this ending. Everyone in game will acknowledge what the Minutemen become, through your efforts.

If you let the Gunners dissolve, you’ll see Gunners having left for raider groups, groups of them killing each other, Gunners trying to get in with the Minutemen. Those Gunners, if you’re general, you can take them on, kill them, or turn them away. General Ronnie will kill them, General Preston’s choice depends on if you have been more merciful, or grudge-holding. People will comment on the Gunners wasting away into little more than scavengers, and with enough time, if you go to Gunner HQ, you find it empty and abandoned. People are less scared of the Minutemen this ending, as they didn’t obliterate the most dangerous local army in a show of total force and revenge. The Brotherhood is more likely to go to war with you, less intimidated, but the Railroad will offer their spy network if you agree to help them rehabilitate and save synths, provided you’ve spoken positively of synths.

Either ending, the Institute will try to destroy the Minutemen, as they destroyed the Commonwealth Provisional Government in the past. But now, the Minutemen have the firepower and intel to destroy the Institute, or take it over, if you so choose. Even if you don’t follow Shaun, if you choose to or convince General Ronnie/Preston to spare the Institute and use it for the Commonwealth’s benefit, you are left with it under your control, enforced by the Minutemen.

So. What does this revision do?

I dislike when people portray him as an innocent, gentle little sunshine boy, and not as an army vet who survived where none of his fellow soldiers could. This man has an edge to him. He isn’t a small sad puppy, he has something of a mean streak in canon. In this revision, Preston has opportunities to demonstrate layers of his character, showing how his trauma and guilt has effected him. You get to see it for yourself, rather than hear about it. You can see him break down in Quincy, you can see him resist the idea that strangers can have good intentions, you can see him rebuild his hope for the Minutemen and himself. And you can also see him lose patience for people who have wronged him, want to cut down anyone who would threaten his people, be kind of irrational and lashing out.

I also dislike that the Minutemen have no visible effect on the wasteland, nothing you can actually see. No one else sees it, either. Here, people will acknowledge the Minutemen’s power. And, c’mon, in game, you are the only one doing anything. In this rehaul, you get things started, but people will be active participants in restoring the Minutemen, will build settlements for you. You can go decorate and fiddle around, but you won’t have to worry about water, food, beds, and defense, they’ll get it sorted themselves. The busywork is also passed off to soldiers, who you could potentially catch in the action as they clear out mutants or save kidnapped settlers.

And the finale of facing off against the Gunners, and either destroying them, or brushing them off as a decaying tantrum with guns, gives the Minutemen something to do for themselves, beyond the Institute. You’d have to lock off Quincy and Gunner HQ, so the player can’t clear them without going through the questline, but that’s fine, other quests do that. But the Gunners are never brought up, not really. It also lets Preston confront his greatest trauma and come up victorious, even if it hurt, and when deciding on the fate of Gunner HQ, lets him evolve as a person and take influence from the player, depending on their relationship.

I think, as the de facto companion for his faction, Preston’s arc needs to be directly tied to it. The other companions don’t really have this either, but Preston got the short straw in that he was his faction. Everything came from him and was turned in to him. He became a dispenser for quests instead of one person in this group, with his own ideas about how to run it, his own fears and guilt about how it failed the first time. He doesn’t reflect the Minutemen, their ideals. Who they are as a collective.

Deacon, Danse, and X6 have their own massive writing issues, but it’s clear that they are representations of their factions. Deacon is an all-over-the-place trickster type trying to keep shit together, the Railroad is a clown car trying to smuggle slaves to safety. X6 is a cold, ruthless, logical Terminator, the Institute are cold, sterile, ends-justify-the-means scientists. Danse is a stern, no-nonsense soldier with a good heart under the Power Armor, the Brotherhood is a tight-knit brotherhood, an army with good intentions that often forgets who those good intentions are meant to serve.

Preston...he’s a good guy, a traumatized one. The Minutemen...you have 5 nameless “Minuteman Soldier” NPCs, and Ronnie. So...the Minutemen is Preston, Preston is the Minutemen. He isn’t allowed to be Preston, who is a Minuteman. He’s Preston the Minuteman.

That’s a damn shame.

#preston garvey

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itsthewritergal · 1 year

Text

they always find me - B.Barnes x reader

Summary : Bucky isn’t the only one Hydra has kept captive.

TW: cages, being locked up, biting, scratching, anxiety, some implied PTSD but never fully mentioned

Bucky had been here before, Hydra agents dead around him. Steve and Nat to his left and right. He was exhausted, muscles screaming for him to stop, but he didn’t dare slow down or give himself a second to think on the pain.

“That must be the last of them”Nat said noticing the lack of new agents, Bucky searched around the base, desperate not to find a single other agent

“You think?” Steve asked brushing himself down,

“Can we get the file and get out then?” Bucky asked, he always felt on edge in Hydra bases. Especially when they were quiet,

“You guys go ahead, I’ll hang back just in case anyone else decides to show up” Nat said with a tight smile

“Good plan, Buck lets go”

Steve and Bucky made their way through the base, twisting and turning round corners, kicking doors down in search of the control room. Tony hadn’t been able to find a single blue print for the base so Steve and Bucky were going in blind.

“Steve,” Bucky said as he turned a corner

“What’s wrong Buck?” Steve asked

“We’ve got an issue” he said stepping further into the room,

Steve gasped as he turned the corner, rows upon rows of metal cages lined the corridor. Each one seemingly empty, or so Steve thought until he heard a whimper in the corner.

“What was that?” Steve asked Bucky, who was already making his way down the corridor, ripped each door off it’s hinges and frantically searching each cage,

The whimpers got louder the closer Bucky got, his eyes fell on an odd looking shadow and something told him to move closer. He took a few steps closer towards the corner of the cage, one similar to the one he had been held in,

“Buck?” Steve called out

“It’s ok” Bucky said as his eyes fell on the curled up body in the corner, the body whimpered and shrunk away again “I’m not going to hurt you” Bucky said crouching down.

“Buck?” Steve said entering the cell,

“It’s a girl” Bucky explained to Steve “She’s terrified”

“Buck, be careful we don’t know what she can do”

“Please” The girl spoke quietly

“We’re not going to hurt you” Bucky said “Come into the light” The girl held Bucky’s gaze firmly, not daring to move a muscle

“Buck, step back” Steve said noticing the murderous look in the girls eyes,

“Can you tell me your name?” Bucky asked, remembering how his name is the one thing that kept him grounded for the longest time

“Y/N” she said, her voice cracked a little,

“Y/N my name is Bucky, I’m not going to hurt you. This is my friend Steve”

“Hyrda?” She asked

“No, no, not hydra” Bucky affirmed

“Then who?” She asked

“We’re the good guys” Steve said gently,

Bucky held out a hand to Y/N, who shied away from his hand.

“It’s ok, we need to get you out of here” Bucky said

“Can’t” She said

“They can’t hurt you now” Bucky promised, Y/N shifted a little closer to the light. Bucky managed to see the bruises and cuts which littered her face.

“Guys, we need to go” Nat said running into the room “They’ve sent backup”

“Come on Y/N, I’m not leaving you here” Bucky said

“Please, no” Y/N said shrinking back into the corner,

“Buck we’re going to have to leave her” Steve said

Bucky looked between Y/N, and Steve, his heart racing. “I’m sorry” He whispered, picking Y/N up as firmly as he could without hurting her. And followed Nat and Steve though the corridors.

Her screams filled through the base, Steve and Nat fighting off as many of the agents as they could.

By the time they had reached the Quinjet, Bucky had been bitten, and scratched to pieces. He placed her down in the corner, she scrambled to get away from him, squashing herself into the smallest space that fit her.

“I’m sorry” Bucky said crouching next to her “I had to get you away from them quickly” He tried to explain, a hand was placed on his shoulder

“Leave her for a minute Buck” Nat said quietly,

Bucky did as he was told and sat himself a little away from Y/N.

The journey home was hours, around the first hour mark Bucky handed Y/N a small bread roll, she initially stared at him in disgust until Bucky ripped a small piece off and ate it himself, proving he wasn’t going to harm her. She then took the rest and gnawed on it hungrily.

“Progress” Steve offered a simple smile to Buck to returned back to his seat away from her,

“Y/N” Nat sat taking the floor next to her “My name is Nat, it’s nice to meet you” she said gently, Y/N eyed her up and down before returning to her roll, “Hydra can’t get you here”

“They will” the words chilled Bucky to his bones “they always find me”

“Not anymore, see we fight Hydra a lot, and they’ve never won against us” Nat said softly

“Where are you taking me?”

“To our home, first I’ll take you to our doctor to she can make sure you’re well and then I’ll find you a room, one with big windows and a door that can stay open if you’d like” Nat said thinking back to what made Bucky comfortable when he first moved into the compound

“I’m sorry” Y/N said looking to Bucky

“For what Y/N?” Steve asked

“Biting and scratching your friend” Y/N answered

“I know why you did it” Bucky said gently,

“Can I?” Y/N held out her hands, Bucky was unsure what she mean but held out his flesh hand to her, she pressed her palms flat on the wounds she had inflicted, and within a few seconds the wounds were merely red marks on his arm.

“You’re a healer” Bucky said

“Hydra were trying to use my power, I can heal but I can also hurt, badly” she admitted

“You don’t have to use your power if you don’t want to, not anymore” Steve said

“Please don’t lock me up again” She whispered

“We won’t, we won’t ever lock you up” Bucky promised, his hand moving to hold hers,

“Promise?”

“I swear it”

“Ok, and I’ll promise not to bite you again” She said with a ghost of a smile

“That’s a deal” Bucky smiled.

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#bucky fanfic #Bucky angst #Bucky Barnes #Buck #bucky #bucky x reader #bucky x reader fluff #bucky x you #bucky x #bucky x reader angst #bucky barnes x fluff #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barns imagine #bucky barnes x #bucky barnes fluff

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saturn7162 · 3 months

Text

warning: this is bad.

why do you 6 people read these

“White is going to what?” Black asked with rage boiling up and taking over the calm film that usually covered his words.

“White said that she was going to have Pink shattered. She said that we were well past leniency with her and-” Blue had started, holding her pearl in her palm.

“That’s quite enough. This is the third and last time I will hear about this issue.” Black raised a hand and stood up from his throne. He towered over Blue, causing her to step back slightly as he reached his full height for his Diamond form. His eyebrows furrowed and he opened his eyes to reveal a nasty glare. Blue saw how his lips curled into a snarl, how they pulled back to reveal a perfect set of sharp, serrated, flesh tearing, pitch black teeth. She saw how his hands balled into fists that shook with anger, how his knuckles popped with how hard he was curling them. His pupils dilated, then reformed, then dilated again, then they grew larger and filled his visible eyes with the darkness that they held before he closed them. Blue could practically smell the anger, the hurt, and oh the rage that came off him in waves. She winced as he stepped forward, his boots hit the floor with a loud clang. Strong waves of wrath swept up from his steps and almost knocked her over.

“Pearl.” He said swiftly coming to a stop and standing tall, closing his eyes and turning his nose up.

“Y-yes my Diamond?” His pearl said, saluting him and fixing his posture.

“Don’t stutter.” He said, opening an eye halfway to look at him, causing him to jolt up straighter.

“And make sure White doesn’t know I’m coming. I want my words to her to be as much of a surprise as they can be.” He said through gritted teeth and closed his eyes again, walking forward as his gems opened the large door to his palace. The usually sunny sky of Homeworld turned black and clouds swirled together in the sky. Rain came down hard, sheets of it hitting the ground at once. Thunder struck repeatedly and the storm began.

Black’s horns twinkled in the light of the lightning that struck often. The bolts illuminated his face and displayed how much fury dressed it. Instantly, gems got out of his way and bowed, mutters of “Your Radiances” filled the halls as Blue trailed behind him.

In her own palace, White stood in front of Pink who was sat on a ledge, a look of terror etched onto her face as White explained her behavior and how she will be shattered. As the sky turned and Black’s storm was made clear, White smiled, oblivious that his rage with be directed at her and not at Pink. Surprisingly, Black made no noise when he walked through the halls, complete and utter silence surrounded him whenever he was upset. He quickly turned corners, strutted down corridors, ducked through doorways until he reached White’s chambers. A growl erupted in his throat as White’s gems had the door open.

“WHITE” Came his booming voice echoing off the walls in her room. Blue flinched, covering her ears quickly. Yellow, who had started following them a few minutes ago, did the same, having to kneel with how much anger flowed off of Black. White swiftly turned around, smiling at him.

“Oh Black! You’re just in ti-” White’s Pearl tried, but was quickly cut off.

“SILENCE!” He shouted, slamming a foot down and shaking the room greatly. White’s pearl quickly shut her mouth.

“Oh Black dear, there’s no need to-” White said, bringing a hand to her mouth and closing her eyes.

“I SAID, SHUT. YOUR. MOUTH!!” He boomed, stomping closer to her. White closed her mouth as well, bringing her hands down to her sides and stepped back just a little. Fear started to creep up onto her features as he came closer. Black towered over her as well, the tips of her hair coming up only to his chest. With anger, he grew. He snarled as his body grew larger to accommodate his emotions. A ledge grew from under White, bringing her up to his face. He slammed his fists onto the ledge and jabbed a large finger into her chest, causing her to trip over and fall backwards.

“I have HAD IT UP TO MY EARS WITH YOUR BEHAVIOR WHITE.” Came his now deeper voice. His pitch black eyes gazed down at her, making it known that he was not happy.

“I GIVE YOU CHANCE, AFTER CHANCE, AFTER CHANCE TO IMPROVE YOURSELF, AND NOW I HAVE HEARD, THREE SEPARATE TIMES THAT YOU’RE PLANNING ON SHATTERING PINK?! WHAT ARE YOU THINKING?!?” He threw his arms up, before slamming them down again.

“W-Well I-” White started.

“RHETORICAL QUESTION.” He shouted at her.

“I’m taking your pearl away from you.” He snatched her pearl up in one of his hands, causing her to squirm slightly as he dropped her into his crown. He then lowered his head down to where pink was and carefully she stepped on, crawling into his crown as well.

“Do you know how many times you’ve locked Pink in that castle of yours?” He said, raising his head to glare at White. He narrowed his eyes at her and snatched her by the collar of her shirt. She looked up at him, scared of what he might do. He scoffed in disgust before setting her down. He engulfed himself in black, returning to his original diamond form. The ledge White was on began to shrink and she fell to her knees, hands on the ground as she contemplated what had happened.

“Blue, Yellow. Come now. Let’s leave her be.” He softly took their hands and walked out, having the door close behind them. The storm began to dwindle, and while it did not stop, it did calm. He walked the Diamonds back to their rooms and then walked back to his. He sat down in his throne as his Pearl scampered up to him.

“Did everything go well my Radiance?” Black nodded, motioning him and the other gems to leave.

“Pearl.” He called, making him turn around.

“Yes My Diamond?”

“Here. Take her.” He reached into his crown and softly grabbed White’s Pearl in two of his large fingers, handing her off to his Pearl. His pearl nodded and walked her out with him. As his door closed he sighed, sinking back into his throne. He reached his hands into his crown and softly took Pink onto his palm. He carefully moved his arm back down, bringing her to his face.

“What are we going to do with you Pink?” He said softly as he realized she was asleep. He softly put her back into his crown and fluffed up his hair to make it comfy before he too fell asleep.

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tvshowspoilers · 7 months

Text

OFMD episode 7 thoughts

Already know I want that robe Ed has! Dude it’s beautiful and I love the blue

Ed getting the breakfast ready is the cutest thing ever

I’m forever going to be crying that we didn’t see them cuddle! DAVID WHY

Also Ed’s little hum as he’s going down the stairs is precious

Aww Stede being so sweet about the twine on the tray when Ed is so nervous about it (you can hear it in his shudder breath when he says he panicked) (Taika why are you so good at making me feel emotions lol)

“you know that night that I died?” ED. BABY YES HE KNOWS

Still dying about Izzy coming in while they are in dead and his fucking smirk and AGH And Ed is just like, yep saw that coming

AND I AM NEVER GOING TO FORGET THIS LINE “ it’s good to see that it’s not just a ship that’s been good and truly….docked”

Oh yes on second viewing that clock is fucking sus….Zheng Noooo

I actually love Auntie

Also ED IS A CONFIRMED OPEN MOUTH CHEWER lol

Ed’s reaction the the letters “I love that you did that” awww…I hope he finds them! And Stede’s little self deprecating laugh, aw he needed Ed to say that

Dude you can totally tell Ed has never been skipped over…look at the little scoff he does and disbelief

I love love goofy Ed and Stede so much

Also this (Ed’s little speech about drinks tattoos and paps) is something I could totally see Taika saying to a newly famous person??

The revenge boys!!! I love it and Jackie’s little “the Swede will be happy to see ya!” Hehe

Ed’s so nervous for Stede like Stede was for Ed

So Ed’s soft look (outside) was him looking at the fish basket and thinking of a simpler life…so at this point he was already thinking about leaving and Stede and stuff? Expecially after the convo with Izzy? Cause his eyes get really sad.

I still don’t know how to process the fight with Zheng…just that I agree that he was double upset about loosing his found family

I know the little moment of Stede saying “you don’t sound that happy” hurt me cause Ed’s face is like nope and flashbacks to “what makes Ed happy is you” OOF

But, I don’t think it was a full breakup…but it was a discussion that was bound to happen at some point and I’m proud of Ed for explaining he and Stede went over the boundaries he tried to set, for realizing he wasn’t ready for this relationship yet and that he doesn’t know what he is……And that Stede was open to their relationship being “whatever” until Ed is ready

But god I’m still upset about his word choice and it’s been almost 24 hours since this episode dropped “last night was a mistake” still hurts very bad cause like I said…pipeline in Stede’s head to “I was a mistake”

I think it was an alright conversation until Ed said he was leaving (leaving Stede first so he doesn’t get hurt which is what I expected in s1 but figured would happen this season…tho not like this and this close to the season finale…yikes)

And Stede’s reaction about the fish, damn Ed was so proud of that fish…but my two cents, he wasn’t being malicious I think he was just saying one fish does not make one a fisherman

Oh but the “fishermen and pirates are nothing alike like” damn

Steak Knife is lovely

I think laughing at the guy was part drunk Stede and also him covering up the pain of his other kill…idk how to explain

Also we can still hear the ROP screams and stuff during the first part of the credits

Once again, love freaking fang and that roach made mud baths a thing

So yeah, rewatching this episode…it was alright and then got painful toward the middle and definitely second hand embarrassment worthy at the end but I thought it was a decent episode. Of course it had pacing issues but that’s MAX’s fault, not David’s

#ofmd s2 spoilers #our flag means death #spoilers #ofmd #stede bonnet #blackbeard #edward teach #blackbonnet #gentlebeard

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cantstoptheimagines · 11 months

Note

DEAR JOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHNNNNNN

“Dear John” (John B Routledge | Outer Banks)

Summary — Your relationship with John B finally comes to an end.

Requested by anonymous — DEAR JOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHNNNNNN

Warnings & Other Tags ➳ Angst; discussions of past relationship problems (breakups and falling out of love, misunderstandings, suspected cheating, trust issues, etc.); the prompt might make you think of he who shall not be named if you know literally anything about Taylor Swift lore.

Notes ➳ Word Count is 596. ➳ Reader is gender neutral (they/them). ➳ Send me your favorite Taylor lyrics to receive a blurb.

the disappointment on your face was enough to make john b drop his gaze. flashes of red and blue lit up the night as shoupe released your ex-boyfriend from the cuffs around his wrists.

“got into a fight at the beach with some other kid,” explained shoupe. “he said you’d take him if i dropped him off?”

you nodded quietly, rubbing at the goosebumps that exposed themselves on your arms. the cool breeze in the air wasn’t doing you any favors at the moment.

shoupe disappeared, leaving the you alone with the boy you had once been close with. letting out a sigh, you muttered, “you can’t keep telling him to bring you here.”

“i know,” nodded john b. “i’m sorry. it’s just — i don’t know. if i don’t come to you, there’s no one else for me. and this is the only way i can get you to even look at me anymore.”

you nearly drifted into his arms at the sight of his chocolate eyes. that is, until you remembered all that had happened between the two and restrained yourself.

“i think that’s something you should talk to sarah cameron about.”

he shook his head at your words, eyes brimming with with a layer of tears now, “nothing happened. what you saw was just me trying to comfort her, okay? she was going through a tough time. what’s it gonna take for you to believe me?”

he took a step closer and almost smiled when you didn’t back away for the first time in what felt like forever. he admired your features, wanting nothing more than to intertwine his fingers with yours like he used to.

“i’d never do that to you,” he whispered. “i loved — no, love you. i’ve hardly been able to function since you left. you can even ask jj, pope, and kie! they’ll tell you the same thing—!”

you placed a hand on his clothed chest when he was only a breath away. any closer and you might find yourself back in his arms, despite still holding onto the distrust in your heart.

you knew there was a chance john b could be telling the truth, but the voice in the back of your head kept demanding to know what would happen if he wasn’t. if this was all just some sick joke to him.

in the end, however, it seemed your doubts always won the fight.

“go home, john b,” you said, gently pushing him away until your touch could no longer reach him.

he watched as you stepped inside for a brief moment, appearing once again only seconds after doing so. in your hands was a cardboard box, which you quickly placed in his arms.

“next time you tell shoupe to bring you here, i’m not answering the door,” you said. “you’re on your own.”

he didn’t get another chance to speak. you vanished from sight, locking the front door of your house behind you. john b felt the first of many tears roll down his cheek.

glancing down, he found nothing but memories inside the box. a few of his old t-shirts you liked to wrap around your pillow at night, some photos you had taken together, and even the spare key he had given you to the château.

but what caught his attention the most was a sealed envelope he didn’t recognize. written across the back in dark ink were two simple words. ones that he knew were only a mere introduction to the heartbreak he would face upon reading the letter’s contents.

‘dear john’

#2023 #requested #swiftie song blurbs #dear john #outer banks #outer banks blurbs #outer banks blurb #outer banks x reader #john b x reader #john b blurb #john b blurbs #john b routledge x reader #john b routledge blurb #john b routledge blurbs

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theknightofivanhoe · 5 months

Text

Justice League: Question’s Hard Drive Ch 4: Assembling the Team

Table of Contents

In a dark, dilapidated warehouse laden with dirty, rusted crates and oil drums, a tall, black-haired man with a thin moustache, wearing brown trousers and jacket over a black shirt was following another man whose jaw was as large as a brick, his hair neatly trimmed and chocolate brown.

“So Colonel…” the moustached man spoke up in a smooth, slightly deep voice as they walked on, “Been meaning to ask you something,” “What? Five years not looking attractive already, Lawton?” asked the brick-jawed colonel Rick Flagg, who did indeed wear the formal dark blue suit of a US army officer. “You ‘do’ remember the other option’s no years at all? I.E, years of having a head?” “Hey, I’m well aware five was the agreement.” the mercenary Floyd Lawton, codenamed Deadshot, clarified to him. “Just want to let you know,” he continued as Flagg led him on through the grimy building, “A little girl of mine’s just made it to eighth grade.” Flagg only inclined his head to the man, but turned back and kept walking. Floyd decided to prod a little further. “Surely it’d be possible to schedule a vi - ” “This is serious stuff we’re assigning you for, Lawton.” Colonel Flagg flatly interrupted him. “Missions for CADMUS leave no room for family reunions.” Halfway through walking, Floyd felt himself twitch in surprise and a certain amount of outrage. “Excuse me?” “You heard me, soldier.” Flagg stated, leading Floyd towards a table. “Just be glad your little tyke’s going places, while you stick to the task at hand.”

Despite the withering scowl on his moustached face, Floyd took a chair while his boss towered above him on the other side of the table. “So, what costumed chumps do I draw a bead on this time?” he asked, deciding to cut to the chase. “It seems our League friends have set out to hamstring CADMUS’ activities.” Flagg explained to him. “There has been a breach at one of our office buildings by two individuals connected to the League who have claimed valuable data.” “Any way we can track them?” Floyd questioned, deciding to push aside the whole daughter issue, for now at least. “We have already sent out recon units to pick up a trail just until a team can move in and recover this data.” Flagg told him. The convict/mercenary smirked up at the bulky, imposing colonel. “I was just gonna say, if they even get your info as far as the Watchtower, we’re basically asking to go through the last mission all over again.” “Glad you remember.” Flagg cut in with a growing frown. “And in case you forget, we’re one explosives specialist short thanks in no small part to your trigger-happy stunts.” “Okay, okay, I know, Plastique was a big loss. So any fresh recruits you’re calling in for this one?” Floyd asked, aware of Flagg’s rather low opinion towards him and others who operated outside the law. Flagg gave him an even darker look.

“Lucky for you, Lawton, CADMUS is sending you on this mission in good company, the sort that’s every bit the same lowlife criminal scum as you.” This idea of ‘good company’ got Floyd raising an eyebrow. “Once the data is tracked, you’ll be taking point while your mission leader handles everything else.” Flagg stated as he folded his powerful arms. “And this leader…” Floyd responded with a finger to his pointed chin, “Anything in particular I should know about him. Or her?” “Yeah, there is. That he’s had some previous…connection with one of our targets.” The colonel grimaced for a moment before continuing. “Also, I was against calling him up from the very start, but my superiors won the debate. *And* he’s someone I’m sure you’ll get along with. Famously…”

With a mind as sharp as his shooting, Floyd couldn’t help but catch something else in the colonel’s plan. “There’s something else too. Why does it somehow sound like you’re not gonna be on this one?” “You’re right actually.” Flagg grimly answered. “I won’t be joining you on this one. Getting this data back from these two Leaguers requires types that are too nasty even for them. And I don’t fancy mixing in with those who are nasty even by your…already low standards.” “Right. Don’t want the true American hero dirtying his patriotic pinkies with all the blood that comes with saving his great ol’ coun - ” Both hands smacking down hard on the tabletop, Flagg leaned towards the mercenary in aggravation. “Watch it, Lawton…” he snarled, the backchat grinding on his nerves. “I may be leaving you in this guy’s capable hands just in the hopes of wiping that stupid grin off your face.” “Boy, I can’t wait.” Floyd half-growled, sarcasm laced in his voice like poison in a dart. The colonel seemed to be restraining himself from physical violence, straightening and breathing in lightly. “Well, now that you’re filled in…” he said as his eyes darted past Floyd, “Your stuff is in that case.” The moustached assassin turned and saw a grey rectangular case on the floor. “The mission leader will debrief you on the data recovery, including what you’ll be up against. You’ll take a chopper and report to him at Miss Waller’s helipad. So get suited up, pronto.”

“So…heard you guys have had a little trouble with some data…” The tall, lanky-looking man, whose whole face was cloaked by the shadows of the half-lit office, threw himself back into a chair in front of a desk, behind which sat the short-haired, heavyset black woman smartly dressed in a blue jacket, Amanda Waller, one of the heads of the CADMUS organisation. The glow of her desk’s lamp reflected off the man’s hair, which was styled in a greased-up pompadour, while his eyes shone with a certain desire for some thrills and spills, possibly even for violence in the bargain. Behind him stood a tall, burly henchman.

“You heard correctly. This theft has been unlike any other mission the League has staged.” Amanda Waller informed the man sternly. “Previous activities have always ventured into reckless shows of force, teams of these abnormal beings and disguised vigilantes staging all-out assaults on whatever their enemies, including CADMUS, throw at them.” This man, who had been selected for this new mission, listened with merely a casual amount of interest, having heard news (particularly through the criminal underworld grapevine) about the Justice League’s attempts at heroics. “So what about this one? Please, indulge me” he persuaded with plenty of confidence and cunning in his smooth, charming voice, before the frowning, no-nonsense Waller set a folder onto the table.

“These two intruders left all of the building’s security personnel utterly incapacitated. Currently they are in traction.” she continued. “Did our gallant heroes attempt any negotiations before doing this?” the stranger inquired. “I have to admit, I’ve not known any of their type to get so down and dirty.” “Negotiations were never offered. Clearly the League has grown uncharacteristically desperate.” Waller explained as she looked from the man to the folder. “Those in condition to speak gave descriptions that match those of the individuals detailed in these profiles.”

She opened the folder and the pompadour-sporting figure turned his focus to the two sheets and photos of the perpetrators behind this theft. First was the man in the fedora and tie, his face completely blank, no eyes, nose or mouth anywhere. There seemed to be only skin where his face should be. The newly-recruited boss had heard of some guy like this snooping around a few streets and alleys before. What truly caught his eye, though, was the young woman in the other profile. Through that horned mask, her dark eyes held arrogant majesty and unbound ferocity in equal measure. Her proud, smooth face, around which silky black hair elegantly cascaded, was enough for him to simply lock his gaze upon her ravishing beauty, his eyes gleaming as thoughts started to pour into his mind.

“These two choices indicate how aggressive the League has become lately.” He glanced back at Amanda Waller upon hearing her further elaborate on the robbery. “Most dismiss Subject A himself as a crackpot, an eccentric digging into conspiracy theories that needn’t be dug into.” “And yet he has data too sensitive to your little operations.” the man reminded her, leaning back in his chair nonchalantly. “A colleague of ours, Roulette, recommended you for CADMUS because, young man, she has reason to believe that you have a past…” Waller went on, folding her hands together, “A past with Subject B; Subject A’s recent partner. She joined the League after your little encounter with her in Gotham City. Her days with the League ended when a vendetta of hers against another mobster turned her into a maverick, too unstable and rash, even for the worst of their circus freaks.” “I always liked that babe…” The lanky man’s voice grew silken with interest as he eyed the file on this ‘maverick’ his employer referred to. “I need you to be serious about this…” Waller warned him with a glare as the tall henchman’s eyes darted to his boss in the faintest hint of apprehension. “A pair of misfits not stifled by the League’s scruples makes the loss of this information all the worse. We are aware of what Roulette has said about you, but calling you up for this mission, mobster background or no, was not a decision taken lightly.” “Hey, don’t sweat it, your royal majesty…” the mysterious figure boasted with a raise of a hand. “You’re looking at the guy who offed his own outdated uncle and gave the Gotham syndicate a new face. The old timers have had their fun, now it’s time for us daredevils to step into the spotlight. Just give me any more tips, say, their whereabouts, and we’ll be onto the suckers, packin’ a lot of heat…” “Well, someone’s eager for some action.” Waller observed, placing the profiles back into the folder.

“CADMUS has assembled the strike team that will retrieve this data. With your rise through the ranks of the Gotham mob and previous experience against Subject B, you’ll be taking the lead.” She pressed the touchscreen computer on her desk and a screen on the wall behind her lit up all ghostly-blue.

The stranger glanced up at the five mugshots of this new team he would be in charge of. First was a man in a dark red bodysuit and silver mask, his left eye lens a white slit while the right was a circular orange targeting reticle. The second was a young Asian woman with short, neat black hair, a cold expression on her face and a crimson transparent visor over her eyes. Her shoulder armour, coloured the same as her visor, was segmented not unlike that of a Samurai warrior while a katana was slung on her back. The third was another man in a pale grey bodysuit, his whole face obscured by a mask sporting dark red, bug-eyed lenses and a pair of small antennae on either side. The next team member was stranger-looking; a slim, white-skinned man in a black top hat and dark grey jacket. The round black shades only added to his sinister appearance. Even more abnormal than him was the last member, who apparently had once been a human woman. Every inch of her skin was coated with golden fur, speckled with brown spots. The team leader noted the woman’s ears that took the form of a wild cat’s, her nose shaped into a snout and white eyes with pale green slits hungry for action.

“Well the pyromaniac hasn’t the best track record, but they’ll do.” he commented with folded arms. “Deadshot, Tsukuri, Firefly, Shade and Cheetah have been selected specially for the purpose of tracking this data, in addition to having prior engagements with the League.” Amanda Waller explained. “For a mission as sensitive as this, CADMUS has no room for small-time roughnecks.” “Trust me, lady,” her new employee promised with no small amount of pride. “With a rising star, that’s me, at the helm, these guys will really turn things around for your little operation.” “And remember, my friend…” Waller started methodically as a sliver of blue from the screen flickered across one side of the man’s face, “It’s not often we call on those from the criminal underworld to protect this country and its government…” “Well today we’re the lesser of the two evils, ma’am.” Waller just kept her stern face on this man despite his interruption and continued. “At this critical inflection point, money is no object for CADMUS. Whatever happens, this mission must, and ‘will’ end with us having that data right in front of us. You and your team shall obtain it from those two misfits…by ‘any’ means necessary.”

Chapter 3

Chapter 5

#dc comics #dcau #huntress x question #helena bertinelli #vic sage #amanda waller #floyd lawton #deadshot #the question #justice league #justice league unlimited #bruce timm #jlu #dc animated universe #fanfiction #fanfic #dcau fanfic

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llliiinnnaaa · 5 months

Text

Reprisal | Chapter Ten

coriolanus snow x gaul oc

Summary: Ten years after the Tenth Hunger Games, Coriolanus Snow is under Dr. Volumnia Gaul’s wing as a Gamemaker alongside her niece. Unbeknownst to either of them, they’re both being prepared for a much greater task.

Warning: This story will contain explicit violence against adults and children alike (I mean, it’s Dr. Gaul AND Snow) as well as explicit language, and sexual situations.

***This fic is in no way, shape, or form, me endorsing or co-signing the horrific shit Snow does, nor am I trying to romanticize it. Also, apathy and will be the main driving force of any remnants of a relationship between my OC and Snow’s character. So if you’re interested in something very romantic and fluffy…it’s not gonna be this.

Thank you for reading!

Snow lands on top .

Coriolanus’ jaw clenches and relaxes, repeating the words to himself throughout the reaping, his leg shaking lightly with the impatient, silent pattering of his shoe against the marbled floor.

“ They’ve replaced Dr. Crane’s subject with Martia Glint’s, and only revealed they had done so in front of the President. ” Philo had said only that, randomly, out of nowhere, Snow having not even realized he had snuck back inside.

It was laughable, almost.

Almost .

Livia glances at her husband, his chest just barely heaving, his leg just barely moving, and her dark blonde brows furrow in concern, her own thoughts running wild with whatever might be the issue – though she has her suspicions.

Certainly it’s due to her surprising him at breakfast with a little red dress, trimmed in delicate lace, the garment waiting on the table beside his coffee and breakfast.

She watched his blue eyes study it, picking it up and staring before looking at her.

“ . . . That’s why I cut my trip short.” She had explained, smiling. “Mother took me to the clinic yesterday because I wasn’t feeling right . . . I’m so far along they could see it was a girl .”

He swallowed the lump in his throat, his mind actually drew a blank line as he thought of his future, her future, now that they’d have a child to raise and incorporate into it, as well.

Then his thoughts began to turn.

Had she known and just not told him? Had they not agreed to hold off on children until they’d accomplished the goal in their careers that they were already so near to reaching?

Had she planned to do this without telling him?

Snow started to feel somewhat trapped, but nevertheless, he bore a smile and watery eyes – filled with tears of joy or sorrow, he couldn’t tell for certain.

“ Is she healthy? ” He asked, his question sparked delight in Livia’s grey-blue eyes.

“ She is. ” She assured him. “ I counted all ten toes and fingers myself, her heart sounds strong . . . she’s healthy, and she’s beautiful. ” She added.

He could at least appreciate the poetry of finding out he’d take part in bringing a new life into the world on the same day District children would be reaped to be possibly taken out of it.

His hand had come up to splay across her stomach that hadn’t grown much at all, not enough to make either of them think she had been pregnant.

Horror stories had been heard of women going the entirety of their pregnancy without realizing it, only to deliver it themselves.

His lips turned downward at the thought of his wife ruining the sparkling white of their bathroom with the mess that is birth, bringing their baby into the world on the cold floor, no medication to dull the pain he can only imagine to be excruciating.

Coriolanus had then thought of his mother, sweet and naive as she had been, too good to die the way that she had.

Livia would be different, he had decided then and there, as he wrapped his arms around her where he sat at the table, and pressed his cheek against her while her soft hands had rubbed at his shoulders.

One of those same hands now rest on his thigh, stopping the motion of his leg.

He looks at her, seeing the worry on her made-up face.

She thinks you’re this way because of her, because of her pregnancy, he tells himself.

He’ll explain it all when they leave.

Looking at Dr. Gaul makes him sick.

He hasn’t felt this exact pain of betrayal since the girl he refuses to name anymore.

Volumnia had practically raised him in his profession, she encouraged him, mentored him, guided his every move to ensure his success.

He assumed she would do the same – possibly more so – since she had been the one to pair him with her own niece.

Did she not want to see Tawny succeed? To carry out the Gaul legacy of Gamemaking?

His mind drifts, worry then seeping through.

Does she know? He asks him, beginning to wonder if Dr. Gaul had seen the little glances Snow and Dr. Crane would exchange. If she had taken notice that every now and then, he would lose his own control for just a split second and his blue eyes would trail to Tawny’s full lips, picturing them on him, around him, moaning out his name. . .

Perhaps replacing Dr. Crane’s subject was a punishment, a way of lashing Coriolanus and Tawny for their lack of propriety .

Heterochromatic eyes meet his as she announces the last two tributes from District 12, the boy and girl showing on the screen, her stare lingering.

Usually he’d offer a small smile of acknowledgement, endearing and admirable because of how highly he thinks of her.

But he can’t bring himself to do so, now, his jaw tight and gritting, his blue eyes doused in rage.

He refuses to pretend, he refuses to play nice.

Dr. Gaul is one of several on the Board that has now made an enemy of him, whether she realizes it or not.

He decides that perhaps she does realize it, based on the knowing little nod of her head to him.

She had done just what she said she would.

The private pool of their apartment building is empty, everyone inside with their eyes glued to a screen, viewing the coverage of the Reaping that Lucky Flickerman was currently reiterating.

It’s just Tawny, her third fruity cocktail, the sun, and the sparkle off the blue water that she’s laid out beside in a drunk, exhausted haze.

She stays like it for hours, reapplying her sun cream as best as she can, eventually lying down in one of the cabana’s until her skin starts to burn.

After her sixth hour, her forth drink, and the sun starting to set, she feels a pull at her foot.

Opening her eyes, her dad’s crawling in as best as he can to lay beside her.

She reeks of sunscreen, strawberry syrup and liquor, her eyes look red from crying – and also the sting of her sunscreen getting into them after mingling with her tears – she’s pathetic, defeated, completely not a Gaul, at all.

He hasn’t seen her this way since Tullia was killed.

“Tawny Owl,” He starts with her childhood nickname, the very thing she had been named after . . . he doesn’t quite know what to say next, having been informed of what had happened by Dyess.

Tiberius didn’t appreciate that his sister nor Tawny’s husband hadn't attempted to even take up for Tawny – or even make her aware of a situation they both seemed to know of.

He didn’t like that the embarrassment of his daughter had come across so personally.

Tawny lays on her side, covered up to her chin with her towel, sniffling in her half-asleep, half-wasted stupor.

“I’m so humiliated.” She whispers it hoarsely, her father’s wrinkled fingers wiping at her tears as he says, “You did the best you could do, Tawny. You did your best. If it wasn’t good enough for any of them, then that’s their problem.”

“President Ravinstill looked at me like I was . . .” She trails off, struggling to put it into words, the expression on the man’s face having been that of slight annoyance and concern – he looked at her like she was mentally unstable.

She had to have been to speak out of place to him.

And the way Dyess spoke up and asked the President to excuse her, as if she did have something wrong with her and didn’t know any better.

“ . . . I’m so humiliated.” Is all she says, again, to finish her thought.

“President Ravinstill’s on his last leg, Tawny. He doesn’t know if he’s coming or going.” He states, scoffing, pulling a small, sad smile from his daughter. “I wouldn’t give a damn what he or anyone else has to think of you. Not your aunt, not your husband, not Snow. Not even me or your mother.” He continues. “If you know you are good at what you do, if you know your work deserved to be in these Games, if you know you have earned every bit of the respect owed to you, then that is all that matters. You keep your head held high and you figure something else out.” He finishes.

“Because I’m a Gaul? And that’s just what we do?” She sarcastically scoffs it out, having already accepted that she’s never going to live up to her maiden name.

“Because you’re a Tawny .” He says, instead, as if it’s much simpler yet far more important. “And keeping your head up and figuring something else out is not something inherited from me, or your aunt, or your grandparents, or great-grandparents . . . it’s not something that comes with the ancestral name. It’s something you learned how to do when it was just you and your mother while me and your brothers were away. It’s something Tawny does. Not Gauls as a whole.”

She wants to argue with him, she wants to tell him that it indeed is something she inherited from him, having seen him do so himself for decades – particularly when he returned from the war with part of his leg gone, his sons all dead, and his wife gone to spend time in the company of other men.

He was nonchalant about his leg – prideful – but still nonchalant, as if navigating and re-working how he did certain things to better accommodate part of his missing limb wouldn’t be an uphill battle or nuisance beyond belief.

He grieved his children, putting their medals and flags on display in their living room.

He was patient with her mother — far more patient than Tawny would have ever been able to be had she returned home from fighting in a war to find her spouse had been selling themselves and didn’t stop upon her return.

But he rarely complained about any of it, he rarely made fuss, he kept his chin up and worked through all of it. He figured it out.

“Now, you can be a Gamescientist or a Gamemaker – or Head Gamemaker – or a Housewife, it doesn’t matter. You’ve earned all of it all the same.” He concludes with a shrug, wiping at more tears that streak down her face.

“I think I’ll just be a housewife for right now.” She states with a chuckle despite still crying, trying to harbor some of the positivity Tiberius is exuding.

“Well, then, I know you’ll be the best damn housewife one could be.” He states for certain, a laugh now coming from her as she says, “I love you.”

He pats her cheek, smiling widely as he replies, “I love you even more.”

He kisses her forehead and sits up, sighing out, “Now, come on. Your mother is cooking dinner. Don’t make me suffer through it alone.”

Another laugh leaves her as he grabs her hand and helps pull her up, Tawny wrapping the towel around herself so she won’t be out in a swimsuit just for anyone in the apartment building to see.

Once they reach the apartment, Tawny holding tightly to her father’s hand to keep from stumbling around, Tiberius announces, “Look who I found!”

“Oh, wonderful, just in time for dinner.” Minerva says back from the kitchen, kissing her husband’s cheek as the two of them join her.

She gently pats Tawny’s cheek with her palm, kissing her other cheek and hugging her, not caring that Tawny’s skin is sticky with reapplied sun cream, sweat, and liquor that is surely seeping from her pores at this point.

“It’ll work out, dear.” She assures Tawny, patting her back a couple times before pulling away.

“I’m going to shower, then I’ll eat.” Tawny informs them.

Dyess is finishing his dinner, having not waited for Tiberius to retrieve his pouting child from the pool.

He doesn’t acknowledge his wife as she walks past – still quite cross with her about how she behaved earlier in front of the damn President himself, irritated that she had left without telling anyone.

Tawny doesn’t acknowledge him, either.

She showers, scrubbing herself clean, already feeling somewhat better when she’s finished.

Joining her family in leisure shorts and a tank top, she steps out of her room.

“We have a guest.” Her mother says, having heard her before Tawny rounds the corner to the kitchen, stopping in her tracks at the sight of him.

Coriolanus stands to his feet upon seeing her.

She said she’s going to spend her summers by a pool from now on, that she’s quitting , Philo’s words come back to him as he looks at her.

Initially, Snow had been disgusted by Mr. Marius’ recount of Tawny’s words.

But now he has to force his eyes from catching on her chest, or her exposed thighs, and keep from picturing her in a swimsuit, stretched out in the sun.

He’s still in his suit he’d worn to the Reaping, he and Livia doing their diligent fair share of mingling afterward.

He looks just as beaten as she does, his polite smile he’d worn for her parents and husband dissipates.

“I’m sorry to intrude,” He starts it with a lie, “But I’m afraid we need to discuss some things concerning our work given the sudden turn of today’s events.”

She’s tempted to glare at her husband whose seated on the sofa next to her father, watching Capitol TV, pretending not to be listening to their conversation.

“Yes, we do.” She agrees, looking to her mother.

There’s nowhere safe for them to speak freely in here, not without whispering or just writing what they want to say on a piece of paper and sliding it back and forth.

Minerva takes notice of their hesitation and clears her throat to get their attention.

“The roof.” She mouths to her daughter.

It’s a small reminder that she’s also on Tawny’s side in this.

Not a word is spoken between Snow and Dr. Crane as they make their way up to the roof.

It isn’t until they’re breathing night air, doused in firework residue that Tawny asks, “What did Dyess say to you at the restaurant?”

Coriolanus takes in a breath, their affair the last thing he wants to speak about at the moment.

“Our work – which was supposed to be featured in the Games in a couple days – was replaced, and neither of us had been made aware of it, which caused you to unofficially resign, and set us right back to square one. But you want to discuss what petty thing your husband said to me a couple nights ago? That’s your concern?”

“The way he was acting – he knows . Even if he doesn’t realize it just yet, he does, in fact, know. And being that my career is already shot to oblivion and all I’ve got left is my reputation as a decent wife: yes . Yes , Mr. Snow. My husband finding out I am for certain having an affair is my concern. Because I can’t have a failed career, and a failed marriage.”

“Oh, please, Tawny, that’s not –”

“It’s not what?!” She cuts him short, raising her voice at him. “You have a scandal and it’ll probably be a pat on the back for being such a charmer, I have a scandal – a failed career, a failed marriage –”

“ – Your marriage failed ages ago!” He’s had enough, snapping it out, sick of hiding it, sick of covering up the truth that’s so badly needed to be free.

Sick of keeping Dyess Crane’s secret for Dr. Gaul, when Dr. Gaul can’t even remain loyal to him.

Tawny furrows her brows, her face twisting in confusion.

“ What ?” She asks him, looking at his back that he turns to her to gain his composure once more.

He wants to be able to better articulate what all he’d been needing to, ever since he found it out himself weeks ago.

Reaching into the pocket of his suit jacket, he’s plucking the syringe that had first been discovered in Dyess’ office trash.

The syringe her own husband had used to overdose her subject on iron.

He turns to her, grabbing her hand in his, placing the syringe in hers.

She furrows her brows, looking at it.

“What’s this?” She asks him, popping the cap off to see the thick needle before replacing it.

“Your late anniversary present from me.” He mutters.

He does think of it as his present, now, despite it being from Dr. Gaul originally.

She was going to let Tawny be blindsided with Dyess’ arrest, the mandatory dissolution of their marriage before he’d be shipped off as a Peacekeeper.

But Snow had taken matters into his own hands, beating Dr. Gaul and Dyess both at their own individual games.

Killing two birds with one stone.

#coriolanus snow #coriolanus snow x oc #coriolanus snow smut #young!coriolanus snow #coriolanus snow x gaul oc

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