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rattyoakenbitch · 3 years

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youtubers: “don’t touch her” ₊˚ ⸝ corpse husband x reader

❝i don't wanna think about, think about you. drink up, drink up i'm so fucked up, all i want is you.❞

gif credit: n/a song: lykke li - sex money feelings die

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥

pairings: corpse husband x reader

warnings: angst, cursing, drinking, smoking, violent language, and minor mentions of anxiety.

summary: i can’t make summaries rn hhh just read it (:

“Sean, there is no way in hell I’m going!”

“Oh, come on, Y/N. It’ll be fun!”

“That’s what you always say!”

“Ugh, you and Corpse are so stubborn. At least I was able to convince him to show up! You know what you need? To get out of the house more often and come hang with us.”

“Uh huh, yeah, y’all have fun, I got some stuff to finish.”

“Yeah? Like what? Your ten hour nap?”

“HEY! Excuse me -”

“7PM, [club address], you’re showing up.”

“Sean - !”

With that, Sean hung up. You let out an exasperated huff, crossing your arms and pouting like a toddler who was just denied a toy. You were invited, or more accurrately forced to celebrate whatever the hell Sean and his friends achieved. With lives like theirs, it seemed like there was always something to celebrate.

You, on the other hand.. Well, you were just little old you. You met Sean by mere chance. It’s a very long story, but you shared some things in common, like your love for video games. However, that was about the only thing you could relate to with Sean and his little friend circle. You were more passionate about writing, as well as reading short horror stories.

Now, that’s where you clicked with Corpse Husband.

He was an underrated YouTuber, whose main uploads were narration videos on creepypastas and horror stories. That’s until he blew up with his Among Us gameplays, collaborating with big names like PewDiePie, Jacksepticeye, and CrankGamePlays (EEF!!!).

You met over an Among Us stream with said YouTubers and immediately hit it off. You shared a dark sense of humor, love for horror, and music. You knew of Corpse before, but only then did you discover that he produced music, which you absolutely enjoyed (and blasted in your house for days on end).

When you found out you lived not even twenty minutes away from each other, you’d occasionally meet up, mostly at his house considering he only went out once in a blue moon. You’d sometimes even spend the night at his place, staying up late, gazing up at the stars, getting deep into conversation and opening up about things you never blurted out to people. But when you were with Corpse, everything just came naturally. You felt safe with him, and hopefully, he felt the same.

Night approached, the clock striking 5PM. You figured you’d get ready since Sean was dead set on you coming to the party. You showered, did a minimalist glossy makeup look, and chose an outfit, which consisted of a half neon green and black skirt that stopped mid thigh, and an oversized distressed band tee which you tucked into your belt. You slipped on a pair of ripped, striped thigh-highs with mismatched colors, (white stripes on one and neon blue on the other), and your platform boots that made you look like a Bratz Doll. You didn’t bother with your tangled hair. You teased it with a brush but didn’t put any effort into styling it, since it’d get messy anyways. To finish your look, you clipped on a choker and dangled a couple of layered chains around your neck.

Corpse would tease you, saying you had a “dog collar”, but you knew he secretly liked it.

All dolled up and ready to go, you hopped into your car and followed the GPS to the address Sean sent you. Drunk couples stumbled out of the club, dates headed inside, and old wasted guys were thrown out. Oh boy, you were not ready for this.

You were the anxious, anti social type. Not because it was edgy or cool, but you simply didn’t know how to handle social situations. However, it comforted you to know Corpse would be there by your side so you didn’t need to chat and flirt with strangers.

It’s not like you wanted to meet anybody new, anyways. Though nobody was aware of it, you had feelings for Corpse. Cliche, right? You knew you shouldn’t have, but you developed feelings for him. It made you feel strange and weird, considering you haven’t caught feelings in a while.

You came up with the bright idea of slowly drifting away from Corpse to maybe help de-escalate these feelings, but you were going to run into him at the club, so what the heck.

You headed inside, your eyes scanning the crowd and pushing through, searching for your friend group. You spent a couple minutes cluelessly looking around the club, but to no avail. Then, it was as if a light bulb clicked on over your head; you never thought to phone Sean.

“Ugh, I’m so stupid.” You reached into your purse to get ahold of your phone when a pair of strong, manly hands and cold metal which you assumed to be rings wrapped around your shoulders, gripping you tightly.

“Boo!”

You felt your heart stop and ran out of the man’s grasp, spinning around to look at who it was.

“Oh, did I scare you?”

The man’s deep, monotone voice rumbled above the sound of the music and shouts. Then you recognized that unique and distinctive voice.

“Corpse!! What the hell?”

His nose and jaw was covered by a black mask, with a print that looked like Frank from Donnie Darko, which was also Corpse’s signature look, seen in his channel art.

Despite Corpse being a faceless YouTuber, only very few people have seen his face, including you and Glam&Gore who he featured in his narration videos. You thought he was very handsome, his baritone voice matching his appearance. You had to admit, you were a little disappointed he chose to wear a mask. You loved seeing his facial expressions, especially his precious smile that would light up the room when he’d let out little fits of laughter. But you got over it and respected the fact that he wanted to remain anonymous.

“You dickhead,” you scoffed, smacking Corpse lightly on the shoulder. Corpse towered over you, looking admittedly both intimidating and seductive. If you were a stranger, you’d probably be running off, but you weren’t scared of Corpse. He was a big softie and a teddy bear.

Corpse chuckled lowly, slinging his arm over your shoulder and leading you to Sean’s group. He was protective like that, even if you were just friends. Now you could see why Sean, at one point, speculated that you and Corpse had a thing going on.

“So, Sean forced you to tag along, too?”

“Pfft, yeah, that’s Sean for you.”

“Hey, there’s my favorite couple,” Sean joked, patting your shoulder. You rolled your eyes at his drunk antics.

“Shut up, don’t make me choke you like I hate you,” you mocked in return, eliciting a fit of laughter from the group.

“Remind me to never hang out with you losers again,” Corpse mumbled sarcastically under his breath.

The night went by in a flash. Sean, Thomas, Felix, and everyone else was blackout drunk. Luckily, Mark was there to assist them. Since Mark couldn’t drink, he would be the designated driver that night. Corpse hung out by himself, sometimes getting approached by women who he politely turned down.

You, on the other hand, were downing alcohol like your life depended on it. For you, it would take more than the average number of drinks for you to get wasted.

“Y/N, don’t you think you should slow down?” Corpse questioned cautiously, resting a hand on the small of your back.

“Does it really look like I’m thinking right now?” you drunkenly slurred, following with a giggle. You waved to the bartender, calling for another shot, which he slid over to you, but not without hesitating after noticing your state. You pushed Corpse off of you, probably more harshly than you intended, and took the shot.

“Okay, Y/N, fuck this, I’m taking you to my place. We can’t stay here and you certainly can’t drive back home when you’re drunk,” Corpse scowled, stepping closer to you. Again, you shoved him back.

“No.. No..” You sighed, holding your pounding head in your hand. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what? Y/N, you’re drunk -”

“I’m not letting you of all people take me.”

Corpse blinked. “What does that mean?” He knew you were drunk, of course, and you were probably just blurting nonsense.

All of a sudden, tears escaped your eyes, racing down your blushy cheeks.

“No.. I’m so sorry. It’s my fault.” You began to shake and tremble as tears started to uncontrollably spill down your face. Corpse didn’t waste another second to take you in his arms, hushing you. “Your hugs are so warm.. I hate it. I hate feeling this way. It’s all my fault.”

“What did you do, sweetheart? You can tell me.”

Your heart ached when you heard his pet name for you.

“I think I may like you more than you like me.. I-I didn’t mean to! Please don’t leave me. You’re all I have,” you sobbed into his white tee, clinging onto him. “I love you so fucking much, it hurts. I shouldn’t have!”

Corpse stopped for a moment, processing your words.

You.. felt the same?

Corpse had to tell you. You were drunk, but he needed you to know.

“Y/N, I -”

Suddenly, you had a moment of clarity. Realizing how close you were to Corpse, you backed away, wiping away the mascara tears under your eyes.

“I - I think I had too much to drink.. I just need a smoke..”

Without giving Corpse the chance to protest, you ran off into the crowd, struggling your way through.

Corpse began to get worried when you didn’t come back. He waited impatiently on the barstool where you left him, anxiously playing with his rings.

He was just about to get up and look for you, when he caught a glimpse of you stumbling out the exit with another man who guided you, gripping your arm tightly.

Corpse fumed, his face going red and heartbeat speeding up. He went after you, knowing damn well you didn’t know this man.

The man took you to his car, placing you atop the trunk, your legs dangling over the edge. He stepped in between your legs, caressing your face. Everything was a blur. If your mind was clear, you wouldn’t be stupid enough to trust this random guy, who was probably ten years older than you.

“You’re too pretty to be crying,” he whispered, leaning in closer to your face, until a yell stopped him from proceeding any further.

“Hey, asshole, she’s drunk! Don’t you fucking touch her!”

“C-Corpse?” You hiccuped, hopping off the trunk to get a look at the approaching figure. It was indeed Corpse. His eyebrows were pressed together angrily at the sight.

“You know this dude?” the man said loudly and smugly, just to get a reaction from Corpse. “Relax, my man, I’m just tryna take this pretty girl home.”

“Well this pretty girl happens to be mine, and I won’t let you take advantage of her,” Corpse growled.

You stood by the stranger, clinging to him as you watched Corpse’s face twist into an expression of heartbreak when you didn’t budge. He then noticed the bruises around your arms and wrist, supposedly from the man’s strong grip. He was unbelievably furious.

“Ha, doesn’t look like she’s your girl anymore.” The man’s lips twisted upwards into a devilish smirk, only pissing Corpse off some more. Oh boy, was he ready to snap. He reached into his pocket, when..

“Wait,” you managed to slur out, breaking up the argument. You reached out towards Corpse like a child. His facial expression immediately softened. He gave you a loving smile and immediately took you into his arms, holding you protectively.

“Now, I suggest you get in your car and never come back,” Corpse threatened.

“Oh, yeah? Or what? I’ll kill you and take your girl, you motherfucker!”

Without hesitation, Corpse took out his switchblade, looking the man in his eyes.

“Say that again?”

You watched as the stranger’s whole tough act fell apart. Without another word, he ran to the driver’s side of his car, fumbling with his keys.

“Yeah, that’s right,” Corpse mumbled, not taking his eyes off the man until he reached his own car. You held his hand the whole way, processing what had just happened. Corpse noticed your distant expression. You got into his car, shutting the door and slumping back into your seat. He tore off his mask, taking in deep breaths to calm himself. Then he looked back to you.

“Princess?”

You looked to Corpse, your eyes teary. “Hey, Corpse.” You didn’t seem to be as drunk, your mind a lot clearer after the incident. “D-Did you mean anything you said back there? About the..”

“About you being my girl?”

Corpse took your hand in his, squeezing it comfortingly. He leaned forward and cupped your face with his free hand. “Absolutely.”

With that, you leaned towards him, hesitantly pressing your lips to his. Your lips tasted of alcohol, but Corpse didn’t care. He was admittedly taken back, his breath hitching, but he released the tension from his body and kissed you back, pulling you over to the driver’s seat atop him. There wasn’t much space, forcing you to press closer to Corpse, deepening the kiss.

Still being a bit drunk, you were clumsy and kind of ‘out of it’.

“I’d hold onto something if I were you,” Corpse mumbled, breaking the kiss momentarily to guide your hands to grip his shoulders. But you were impatient and reconnected your lips with his, no doubt causing him to blush even more than he already was.

You couldn’t help yourself and giggled into the kiss, causing Corpse to chuckle along with you, departing from the kiss again and resting his forehead against yours.

“I’m sorry, you’re just so fucking adorable when you giggle.”

You hummed in response, offering Corpse an innocent grin as you pecked all over his face.

“I’m so glad you’re mine.”

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kuroopaisen · 3 years

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09:03 am || iwaizumi hajime

➵ iwaizumi can’t find his favourite jumper.

wc: 831

warnings: implied f!reader? maybe? can be linked to tiny love if you so desire

a/n: yue my love, this one’s for you. i’m not sure if you’ll see this, but if you do, i hope you’ll enjoy (sorry it’s shorter hhh). i value and appreciate your honesty and how willing you are to discuss and stand up for your thoughts. believe it or not, but i’ve learnt a lot from you. and, most of all, thank you for not only sharing these things with me, but also for supporting me in turn. i adore you and your feral racoon energy dksjklfdj

Iwaizumi likes to think that he’s good with the cold. He rarely complains about it – he rarely complains about anything, actually – and he’s done plenty of morning runs to know what cold really feels like.

But even he’s susceptible to a chilly five degrees. And the one thought running through his head during his jog back from his morning classes is that he really, really should’ve brought a jumper.

His warmest jumper was a good six years old, bought absentmindedly at the beginning of a particularly cold winter. It’s only grey, and so well-worn that the inner lining was soft as that Godzilla plush he’d coveted when he was six (not that he let anyone know about that). Iwaizumi isn’t the type to get too attached to physical things, but there’s something about that jumper that rooted a deep attachment to it in his mind.

Maybe he felt it symbolised something. Maybe all the memories he’d had in it had weaved themselves amongst the cheap fabric. Wither way, there was something sentimental about it.

After all, it had persisted through half a decade, and proved itself worthy enough to fly across the Pacific Ocean with him.

Twice. He’s gone through the laundry twice. And not a peep of that beloved grey sweater.

He sighs, rising to full height. There’s no chance he left it at uni, is it? No, but he didn’t take it to this morning… And he’d seen it the other night. He knows he put it in the wash.

He grunts, stalking out the laundry with clenched fists. How hard was it to find one jumper? Sure, any other jumper would do, but now it was about the principle.

He frowns as he approaches your door, not quite sure what he’s planning to ask you. Maybe you’ll have a more observant eye than him, if possible.

He knocks on your door thrice, as he always does.

“Come in!” You call, your voice light and cheerful. He’s glad, at least, that you seem to be having a good day.

He opens your door with a sigh, stepping into your exceedingly warm room. Your little heater appears to be working overtime, planted next to your desk but somehow emanating throughout the entire room.

You swivel round on your chair, eyes round and curious as you look at him.

Iwaizumi’s breath catches in his throat.

You’re perched on your seat with your knees drawn up to your chest, tucked under… his jumper.

Oh fuck. Oh shit.

“Everything okay?” You ask, tilting your head at him.

That just made you cuter. Shit—

“Uh, nothing,” he shakes his head.

“You sure?” You blink at him, a little baffled.

He wants to curse himself out.

You shouldn’t be so cute, just sitting there. You’ve made no effort to look ‘nice’, with messy hair and bags under your eyes, but somehow that adds to your charm.

But you’re gazing at him so innocently, in his jumper, like there’s nothing strange about it. And perhaps it is, in your mind. But his heart is saying otherwise. You look like you belong in it; like this is something so natural, so expected that he shouldn’t even so weird about this.

“Yeah,” he says, suddenly remembering that you’d asked him a question. “Good luck with your work.”

“Thanks,” you smile.

His ribs feel like they’re about to crack.

He nods, turning around. You’re out of sight, but you’re certainly not out of mind. He can tell that image of you in his sweater, as innocuous as anything and certainly not as big a deal as his body is making it out to be, will plaster itself at the back of his mind for a long time to come.

An ill-advised thought zips through his mind as he leaves. He stops at the threshold of your room, his back still turned to you.

You frown a little. Is everything okay?

I’m a weak, weak man, he thinks to himself. The heat in your room is unbearable now, but his desire to say the next few words are even more so.

“Keep it,” he says, looking at you over his shoulder. “It looks good on you.”

The words would’ve been enough for you to combust on the spot.

But it’s the little smirk that really does it.

Has your room always felt this warm? Or is it finally time to turn your heater down? Because your face feels really, really hot. A ‘I need to dump my head into a bucket of ice’ kind of hot.

You hadn’t intended to steal his jumper. It was just the first thing you’d found in the laundry this morning that was clean and looked warm. You’d planned to put it back before he got back from university; you’d just lost track of time.

But it’s yours now, apparently; even though it smells so much like him. That was one of the reasons you’d absentmindedly picked it up.

Oh, shit.

You’ve got it bad.

#iwaizumi x reader #iwaizumi hajime x reader #iwaizumi x you #iwaizumi hajime x you #iwaizumi hajime #haikyuu x reader #tiny love #fluffvember 2020

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purkinje-effect · 5 years

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The Anatomy of Melancholy, 48

Table of Contents. Second Instar, Chapter 15. Go to previous. Go to next. TW: frank discussion of human experimentation. There’s two ways to dehumanize someone: tear them down or put them on a pedestal.

_____________________________

“Thank you again for the meals,” ‘Choly told Ick the next morning. “And the use of your vehicle. And your help. And, well. Everything.”

“Just sad I can’t drive ya right back to the base an’ drop you off,” the mummy Furrier replied as he stacked up the bowls by his wash basin. “Straight shot down cuts right through where you say the Rust Devils set up house. Mmm, though. The route to and fro will be clear soon enough. And then. Then the Riverhawk can take you both ways whenever you like.”

“Will that ever include a route down Pawtucket Boulevard?” Sticks thought aloud with whimsy.

“Wouldn’t have to worry ‘bout that, if you’d just move to Voire,” Ick started again, unable to resist the bait.

“We... really have to get going, Mister Ick,” ‘Choly interrupted, pulling Sticks toward the opening of the Furrier’s house. “The sooner we get back to Deenwood, the sooner we can return.”

The ghoul and old man both exchanged an endeared laugh as they were separated once again. Outside, ‘Choly mounted Angel, and they were on their way to retrace the path back to the military base. Even with the visor cutting the glare of the morning sun, ‘Choly could recognize the difference between his default physiology and how he’d felt on a heavy dose of Day Tripper. It wasn’t a painkiller, but hell if it hadn’t distracted him from his pain and exhaustion. He did his best not to complain of his stiffness, not to risk sounding ungrateful for Ick’s rather lavish amenities.

Once they had crossed out of Downtown back onto Pawtucket Boulevard, ‘Choly cleared his throat.

“Can I ask you something?”

“I don’t think I could keep you from asking things,” Sticks replied, surveying for crabs. “You’re like a little kid seeing the world for the first time.”

He paused to re-steel himself.

“We weren’t together, before... were we?”

The ghoul scoffed a laugh, only to sober and straighten his gait.

“Oh. You were serious. Uh.” Sticks whet his lips, and chewed at them. “I wouldn’t have even given it half a thought back in the day. I’ll admit, I’ve been a lot more open minded as of late. Supposing I can owe that to being a bit lonely, but it’s not like I’ve done much in terms of remedying that. I... I don’t know.” He tossed a glance to the chemist riding a Handy, but kept his eyes on the road. “What, did you think of me like that before I, y’know?”

“My memory isn’t working like it should.” ‘Choly choked up on his deep flush. “I think it’s what was damaged worst by being frozen. Regardless, if I did like you before, I... hhhH-I think I really like you now.”

When Sticks stopped in place, ‘Choly thought at first he’d spotted a threat. But when Angel continued on ahead of him, he stopped the Handy and turned to look at the ghoul.

“Tch. Don’t know why I’m even surprised. You’d watch monster movies and then take a thirty minute shower after. Guess I’m still all looks and no substance.”

“--Oh hhh h-all the substances,” the chemist blurted out, only to smear his face in stupidity. “That’s not what I--”

Sticks pressed onward again with a frown, and ‘Choly and Angel followed.

“I can’t handle this right now. I’m still adjusting to learning a day ago that you’re even alive. I feel like we’ve both got a lot to work through here. Give me a minute. I’ve got to grab some shit.”

“...That’s not a no.”

“--Mister Carey,” Angel scolded, stopping far back a ways to separate the two, while the ghoul went inside the restaurant at the Sampas Pavilion.

At a distance, the chemist could tell the ghoul had gestured around the front door not unlike some kind of secret handshake. He thought perhaps it had been him gesticulating while he spoke to himself, but a few minutes after he’d vanished inside ‘Choly understood it to have been disarming a handcrafted home security system of sorts. Recalling that Sticks had done the same upon their departure affirmed his presumptions.

‘Choly dismounted Angel and took to his cane, to get out of the street. The pavilion itself lay across the road from the restaurant, a slab of concrete with four latticed metal pillars connected at the top. He stood in the center of it, and stared up into the metal work. Nearly ladder-like, he thought. He tried to remember what the phrase Jacob’s ladder meant, but Sticks approached him now toting a satchel, and the deliberation sublimated.

Meeting no resistance, they went the rest of the way down to the base in silence. ‘Choly took Sticks in the West entrance, to avoid Rust Devil activity. The biometric scanners seemed to have the ghoul on file from previous visits to the base, and didn’t object to him. The same Mister Gutsy met them once they passed the first boom barrier.

“Captain Carey, you’re late again. The General was starting to worry the enemy had gotten you. I see you’ve brought the entrepreneur Sticks with you. Explains why you were waylaid. The General has indicated he cannot be permitted on premises without escort. Do not let him out of your immediate company.”

“So good to see you, too,” the ghoul shrugged off.

“I don’t intend to take my eyes off him,” ‘Choly insisted, watching as Sticks took the lead of even Green Seven to meet General Francis. He bit at his lip when he realized how it must have sounded, but said nothing further.

Sticks opened the General’s office door to let them all in, and he waved enthusiastically to find she had her Assaultron with her.

“Oh, Helen. It’s so wonderful to see you,” he greeted with lyric. “How are the kids?”

“I am inorganic and Olivia is sterile,” the robot replied. “In the possibility you are suggesting that her supervision and maintenance of the base’s robotics redefines them as her adoptive children, they are exceptionally lethal and high-functioning as usual. Thank you.”

Once the office had shut again, Olivia marinated on the cold shoulder, and undesired company, only to warm into a chuckle.

“Good morning,” she grinned. “Considering you survived the trip, I’m to expect you have good news.”

“The Furriers agreed to help,” ‘Choly blurted out. He bit his tongue, not to lash out at knowing she’d drugged him before.

She clasped her hands together in a stiff pleasantry, knowing exactly why Sticks had come. The ghouls made eye contact, but said nothing to one another. She knew better than to pour any of them a drink.

“For your trouble, I believe a promotion is in order.” She stood. “How does... Colonel Carey sound? It’s only right.”

Thrown for a loop, ‘Choly had to process the proposition for a moment. When she gave him a persuasive grin and a murmur, he scrunched his face up in cognizance of the ramifications of the title.

“I’ll bite.” He sat to ease his posture and smooth his confidence. “Funny you mention it. MKExcell would be to my pay grade, then, wouldn’t it? The sachem agreed because Sticks promised the Furriers a hundred units of X-Cell. Love to know how they’ve managed to form such an unrepentant habit for a confidential chem.”

Her face slacked, and she crossed her arms behind her back to pace. Sticks made himself comfortable leaning in the far corner behind the door.

“You’re a few centuries behind in debriefing. It’s not necessarily on topic, but I suppose I can catch you up, since the other day a history lesson sounded like why you came to Deenwood in the first place.” She glanced over to Sticks, who neither budged nor seemed to care. “What the Furriers want is called X-Cell-Root. It’s the earliest and least stable test formulation of X-Cell.” She paused only a moment to make eye contact with ‘Choly again. “Are you sure I couldn’t interest you in a drink?”

“Just tell him why I have to play your middle man,” Sticks snipped. “Better from your mouth than mine.”

Any composure she had crumbled apart like a fallen cake. She poured herself a drink, and sat to keep herself from pacing.

“MKExcell... subsisted of ten branches of research. The results of seven of them went toward formulating what is now known as X-Cell. The next step was to refine and perfect the performance chem. During the war effort, there were many fields of study as to how to create the perfect soldier. There... was also talk of creating the opposite: a chem which could weaken opposition without lethal intent. X-Cell-Root exited prototype phase about two years before the new world order began. X-Cell circulated on the black market for a good bit until its high addiction rate began to indicate that even spaced out usage bioaccumulated the compounds in the user. Withdrawals effectively disintegrate the user’s immune system, and eventually begin deteriorating all sugar compounds in the body.

“...And that’s where you come in, Melancholy. Like I’ve said, I’ve read up on all the DIA documents on base, and I’ll admit I brushed up on you once you arrived. The Psycho branch of research was one of the three that didn’t actively contribute to the formulation of X-Cell, but you did good work. Good, loyal work. You wanted to know what your return to active duty would have entailed? They wanted you to work on phase two of MKExcell--MKExceed.”

‘Choly’s face drooped in stupor, but she rattled on undeterred.

“As I’ve told you, I was already on base working on the project when the nuclear exchange transpired, and I continued my research despite the apocalypse. X-Seed remained lethal for years. I ran out of test subjects, and worked with what I had on hand, collecting ferals and raiders alike. I extended the offer for voluntary testing to the locals--the Furriers--in exchange for weapons and first aid provisions. All they ever want these days is chems.”

“--I’m sorry, but I don’t understand.” ‘Choly rubbed at his head in exasperation, being given on a silver platter what he had sought. “The Furriers all but told me outright that they’re descendants of enlisted soldiers dispossessed from Deenwood.” She sighed and shoved an anxious smile behind another sip of liquor, but he didn’t stop there. “If Deenwood’s casualties were, from the sound of it, at a consequence of chem testing, not radiation, then how did you become a ghoul?”

Sticks couldn’t contain a sarcastic snort, only to hold up his hands when she glared his way.

“I... was not forthwith regarding on base survivors. Confidentiality of MKExceed, you know.” Olivia softened. “The original drive to continue the MKExceed project was the hope that it might provide a... cure. I was exposed to an X-Seed formulation that instigated an acute onset of cancer. Using several Fusion Cores, I rigged a way to give myself radiation treatments. I’ve never said I had the strongest command of radiology.” A taut self-conscious smile pulled her into herself like a drawstring. “At least it’s bought me all the time in the world to continue my research. I’ve managed to formulate an X-Seed that doesn’t mutilate those exposed to it. And while I've also successfully created a stable formula of X-Cell without addiction rates, I haven’t yet ironed out the hefty side effects of withdrawal symptoms that come with X-Seed. You might find some legitimate benefit in X-Cell-Squared, all things considered.”

She reached into her desk to produce an inhaler with four ridged ampuoles jutting back from the actuator and perpendicular to one another. When she set it in front of ‘Choly, he gawked at it, then around the room for advice. Angel said nothing. Sticks shrugged. Olivia’s enthusiasm only increased. He inhaled sharply and accepted it.

“I’ll have to think about taking it. In private.”

“Quite fine. First one’s on me.” She unclenched when he pocketed it. “It will take me about a day to synthesize the amount of chem the Furriers are requesting. The three of you are to stay on base until I can send you on your way with it. Keep Sticks in check, won’t you, Colonel?”

“What, you don’t trust me?” Sticks muttered playfully, falling in line and more than ready to get out of the same room with her.

“Old habits die hard,” she replied as they left.

“Don’t they ever,” ‘Choly sighed under his breath.

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