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[fayefics]

wasteland | part 2

part 1

and we’re back! sorry this took me a bit, i wanted to restructure some things. i think this part is (hopefully) a little more structured/detailed since part 1 was more of a rambling of ideas. thank you for the support and i hope you enjoy!

c/w: canon typical violence, panic attacks, implied assault, implied sexual violence, murder & death

reader is definitely a little unwell and mischievous (but who wouldn’t be in a post apocalyptic world)

word count: 2.9k

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Within the first hour of your crash and subsequent capture, your captors had proven not to be the smartest survivors in the world. They were strong, yes, but if they meant for you to be some prize bound to them for the rest of however long any of you survived in this wasteland, then it wouldn’t be a matter of their wit that kept you all alive. It would be of pure brute force.

You had come to accept this fact. You had also come to accept that if they were taking you with them, and if you couldn’t fight your way out, you could probably outsmart them. They were gross and downright awful, but that was the standard nowadays. It was the standard taught to you at past settlements, and this shared knowledge amongst the wasteland gave you some insight. If you could just bear the initial pain, maybe gain favor with one over the other, you could manipulate them into a fight that would hopefully end up with them doing enough damage to themselves that you could carefully sneak away with all their supplies, leaving them abandoned and alone in the dust.

There were just two of them, after all, and if things got too rough, you knew you would always try to fight again. You weren’t the strongest out here, but you picked up a thing or two by surviving this long. You vowed that you weren’t going to die without a fight at the hands of some lousy, greasy scavengers who just happened to have a faster car.

The more they talked, though, the less confident you were.

You didn’t know how long it would take to get back to their so-called “boss,” but from all the groups you’ve been in, you remembered that most scavenge trips take at least a week to return home from their destined locations. You didn’t know where their home base was or if they even had one, but you could only hope you would have enough time to get these two idiots to turn on each other. Or to kill them yourself.

If not? Well…you’d cross that bridge when you got to it.

You finalized your plan within that first hour. You knew you were no better than any other desperate, starving survivor out here, but some pride filled you, knowing you at least still had some semblance of your brain left.

But nearing the end of that genuinely awful hour, your captors had moved to attempt to bash your ankles in - quite literally throwing a wrench into all that planned confidence. You didn’t even have a moment to process that maybe the world was more savage than all your careful plotting could handle because, on the horizon, a new and stronger force was coming to uproot them. Uproot you, like some damn harbinger of death.

Great. Just great.

The KorTac Dog, as the rumors and legends so nicely named him, was a mountain of a man. You could tell that much was true even as he was still barreling towards your crash site in the dunes. His vehicle — some modified monstrosity that roared like an actual living beast — was decked out in armor and spikes. You couldn’t even tell what kind of car or truck it originally was. From this close, though, you could see that your one captor’s eyesight seemed to be failing him. The flag he called out as a skull was instead a crudely painted wolf. From a distance, perhaps it could look skull-like, and maybe that’s where all these rumors of death on wheels came from. Only those watching the KorTac clan’s carnage from hundreds of yards away could spread rumors of them. Things were bound to get lost in translation.

What wasn’t lost on you was how the Dog’s vehicle was built to be intimidating. Unlike your once small and camouflaged car, this hunk of metal was meant to be seen. Smoke billowed out in ominous plumes, and along with the frankly terrifying sound of its engine, you knew that this man didn’t care that he drew attention to himself.

He probably craved it.

Craved the battle. The raids. The bloody war that he could win solely from his own two hands.

You couldn’t stop the tremors of terror that began to spread through your body. Your captors really were idiots if they thought they could reason with a man like this. And you? You were an idiot for thinking you could ever survive out here alone if people were crafting vehicles of war like that for fun.

Slimy was packing up anything he could into their little off-roader, which in comparison looked like a child’s toy to the gruesome machine that was hurtling towards you all. Wrench was arranging anything he could spare from your scrapped vehicle and supplies - including you.

Your carefully crafted plan withered the second they had mentioned the incoming rider. It had been crushed into a finite dust when they actually asked who was on their way towards you three. You suppose it really shouldn’t matter to you who was on their way. You knew by leaving the last settlement that if you didn’t find another sanctuary soon, you would eventually die out here - either by people like these two idiots or withered away all on your own.

But if you were going to go out, it might as well be from a legend, right? from someone who was practically a god out here. It would feel like dying with some dignity left in you. Like you would still live on in rumors and stories, not just scatted remains. At least, that’s what you kept telling yourself. It helped stop the impending panic attack.

The truth was, you had never faced a foe more formidable than the two in front of you. Survival was more of a hide, scavenge, and hide-again sort of situation for you. and you were good at it, for the most part. But actually having to confront a warrior like the Dog face-to-face might break whatever slim sanity you were holding onto.

The man was getting closer. You could tell now that he wasn’t wearing a mask like you thought. It was some kind of hood - like a medieval executioner would wear. His vehicle had one word on the bumper, painted in bright red for all the world to see as he came barreling toward his victims: JÄGER

You just knew it had to mean something violent.

He wanted to be intimidating; that much was clear. He had made a name for himself out here, and you doubted he would let his reputation plummet to something even close to regarding the word “merciful.” It would have been better to run. Your captors' vehicle was fast - that’s how they even got you in the first place. All three of you could have been out of his way by now, but no. They were scared, which was fair, and didn’t want to risk it. And now you just happened to be caught in the scheme of two of the most idiotic people the wasteland still had to spit up.

The Dog had clearly taken note of the fact that none of you were fleeing if the now slowing vehicle was any indication. You thought, maybe even hoped a little, that he would just run the three of you over. Grind up your organs under those monster truck tires. Maybe pick his teeth with your bones. But no - he stopped.

Maybe he liked to play with his food.

Both of your captors had their hands raised up, even had their guns and knives on the dirt away from them. You guessed they were trying to make the situation seem like a harmless negotiation meeting. They had tied your hands and legs earlier, as well as placed a cloth gag in your mouth to keep you from hollering at them to leave while they worked. You had to admit, it really did look like they were offering you up as some enticing meal. A placating gesture for their escape.

All too soon, the war machine JÄGER rolled to a stop a few feet before you. A dust cloud puffed over your shaking boots - the vibrations from the rumbling engine enough to move the ground around you. The Dog had yet to dismount his vehicle, but he leaned back. Crossed his arms. The bastard looked relaxed - amused even.

You heard Wrench gulp from behind you.

The Dog was clearly waiting for someone to begin or lead the negotiations they had prepared. Why was he so accepting of this? Had this happened before? For some reason, the idea of a so-called war dog accepting negotiations didn’t sit right with you. You kept your head bowed, trying to remember some past rumors that might save your life - just in case.

As silence passed, the monstrous man before you finally let out an unimpressed sigh.

“What’s all this then?”

His voice wasn’t what you expected. Higher than the deep baritone you were expecting and accented. A bit scratchy, but if he had to shout over that still-rumbling engine every day, then his vocal cords were bound to take some damage. But still, it was weirdly nice to hear someone so…calm. Commanding. You didn’t know how long that would last, though. His fingers were twitching - clearly a short fuse. You could feel his eyes scanning the three of you, probably unimpressed with what he saw but still not attacking anyone.

Yet.

Maybe these idiots had some semblance of an idea after all. It made your skin crawl. You knew you could, at the very least, survive a little longer with these two, but the Dog was an unknown. And unknowns meant danger.

Slimy, the leader of your captor duo, finally gestured with his hands to the bag of rations, two gallons of fuel, and you. “We saw you coming - wanted to make an offer so we could get home safe.”

You couldn’t help but look up. The silence from the man before you was going to kill you. As you did, the Dog tilted his head, looked you over again, and hopped out of his vehicle.

By god, he was massive.

Here, bound and gagged on your knees, you really did feel like a sacrificial lamb for some demi-god. You quickly turned your gaze back to the dirt, praying for the first time in years. The closer he walked to your trio, the quicker your heart rate spiked. You swore you were going to die just from his presence alone.

“Why the girl?” he asked. It was nearly a whisper as if he were baffled by the idea of a human offering.

“We just got her; she’s fresh. Probably a tight lay.”

You couldn’t help the sob that left you. God, you hadn’t felt this miserable and weak in eons. You thought you were tough, but you had just been lucky. Everyone knew the wasteland was hell, but you had become numb to it. You hadn’t been at the receiving end of this kind of treatment before - you had never been captured. You had only run, hid in camps or makeshift civilization, and ran again to the next point of safety. You only knew what kind of plan to form thanks to the stories and tricks traded by other non-warrior survivors like yourself at the places you found yourself in. You thought you could handle it when the time came, but this? This was breaking you.

The Dog’s boots stepped into your vision. You wanted to keep your head down, to at least give yourself the false hope that looking away will save you. But then his gloved hands grabbed your chin and lifted your gaze to meet his. It was surprisingly gentle for a madman. You went with the motion, too afraid of what would happen if you resisted, but you couldn’t stop the tears that began to flow.

He seemed so sad looking at you. Like he had just stepped on a puppy’s tail and was trying to figure out how to make it up to them. You knew he could feel you trembling, and it made you all the more sick. You didn’t want his pity. You were a survivor; you knew you were, but god, this was terrifying. Something must have hardened in your eyes, something he must have recognized. His own narrowed at you - were they blue? or green? You couldn’t tell but damn him, they were pretty - and he let your chin go.

Wrench shifted behind you, clearly unsure of how this was all going down. The Dog shifted to stand behind you, effectively becoming a barrier between you and your captors. He could easily snap your neck, shoot the other two, and take whatever supplies he wanted at this point. Slimy and Wrench didn’t seem to take note of this - instead, you heard them chuckle something along the lines of “I think he’ll take her.”

Again, your captors were complete idiots.

The Dog was tense behind you. It felt like one wrong word, and all three of you would become the next story that built up his gruesome reputation. If he was going to kill you all, you much would have preferred a vehicular slaughter. Now that you’ve seen him up close, you are sure that you don’t want to die by those hands, looking up into those unfortunately beautiful and gentle eyes. It would be too much for your brain to process.

You would probably thank him as he closed the final chapter of your miserable little life.

No. No, you couldn’t think like that. You would get out here, somehow. Even if your captors were beginning to anger him, maybe you could still appease him. Better to get on his good side than stick with those two weasels.

The Dog had said something during your panic-induced interlude. Something that had caused your captors to cease their excited chattering.

“What?” Wrench squeaked. You didn’t know he could make that sound.

“No.”

Oh. Oh, you were fucked. This behemoth didn’t want the trade. He didn’t want you. He was just going to kill all three of you, take whatever he could carry, and be on his merry way. Your captors finally seemed to register this if the sound of panicked shuffling was any indication. They should've kept a weapon on them. Idiots, Idiots, Idiots-

“We can negotiate! KorTac always does negotiations, right?”

“We negotiate with survivors, not mutts like you,” the Dog spat. “You took a random girl captive and used her as a piece of meat to trade. Worse than the worms, the both of you.”

“A mistake! One we’re sorely sorry for, but please take anything else, and we can-“

“I said no.”

Bam. Bam.

Gunshots. You didn’t even hear the Dog take out his gun to shoot them. He was fast, precise too. Your once captors’ bodies slumped to the ground with sickening thuds. You were surely going to follow.

Another sob forced its way out of your throat, causing the man to turn back towards you. He had holstered his pistol again before he kneeled in front of you, making sure you couldn’t look at the dead behind you.

“Don’t cry, Mausi, they are gone now,” he said. He gently raised his hands, afraid to spook you. “I am going to take these binds off now, and then we will go home, ja?”

Home? His home? Oh. Oh, he did want you. Your frazzled mind was trying to keep up with all of this while panic was simultaneously erasing your rational thinking. But some hindbrain survival part of you was kicking in. If he took you, it was no different than those two from before. You could manipulate him, too. You could still survive.

He still hadn’t touched you, which was a good sign. You nodded, and finally, those tight ropes around your ankles and wrists were gone, skin rubbed raw from the harsh treatment. He let you take the gag out yourself, and when you didn’t immediately bite him or make a move to run, he settled back on his haunches, pleased.

“What is your name?” he asked, still so gentle for someone you were convinced was made of nothing but violence. You shook your head, unsure if you were ready to give up something vulnerable and buried to this stranger. He sighed and leaned closer, “You don’t have a name?” Seconds ticked by. The fear of angering him with your incompetence was gnawing at your bones.

“What did you call me? Mouse? That works,” your voice came out rough from all the straining and crying, but still, he huffed. It was not entirely a laugh, but it was close enough to slightly lower your guard.

“It’s pronounced Maus. Say it like that, Liebling,” he said, rolling the word out slowly. You took a shallow breath.

“Maus.”

Damn, if those eyes crinkling didn’t relieve even more of your terror. “Very good,” he patted your knee, then raised himself to stand over you again. “You may call me König.”

König. It sounded intense, something more powerful than just Dog. You wondered if he knew the rumors about him, wanted to ask if he knew what people called him out on the road. That would have to wait.

König looked behind you, sighing at the work he needed to do. “Well, Maus, you just stay put, and I’ll get you somewhere safe very soon.”

You weren’t sure where you were headed precisely. You were even more unsure if this König could be trusted. But as you watched this mountain of man scavenge whatever he could from your ex-captors’ belongings, waving whenever he caught you staring at him, you began to hope that your new plan would work out just fine.

[fayefics]

The old school lack of transparency on tumblr is amazing because you assume the people you follow must all be equivalent to you and then you see someone write “I brought my youngest to college today” and someone else write “my mom wouldn’t let me listen to Ariana Grande when I was a kid” and then your head explodes

[fayefics]

call of duty shitposts because I can't draw normal things

[fayefics]

TW: ED behavior

You’re driving Ghost crazy, and not in a good way.

He thought you were close, he thought he could trust you. Yet ever since you moved in with him, you’ve been keeping secrets.

He knows body language, and he definitely knows yours. It shocked him the first time he walked in on you cooking in the kitchen, only to be met with fidgety fingers and inconsistent eye contact. Odd. Nothing seemed out of place, so he just chalked it up to you being jumpy from suddenly sharing living spaces with someone.

But then it kept happening, and there didn’t seem to be any rhyme or reason to it. Wednesday night at 9:06. Sunday morning, 11:13. Sometimes it would happen several times in an hour, whenever he’d walk into the room. Over and over, something was giving you shifty eyes and a racing pulse, and it was driving him up the wall.

The common denominator is the kitchen, he knows that much. A cursory sweep comes up with nothing every time, so one day when you’re gone at work and he’s home, he goes all out. Bug detecting equipment, pulling everything out of the cabinets, scouring through cookbooks and the trash and every crevice he can find.

Nothing.

He’s able to put everything back in time, but he remains empty handed, and that makes him suspect that you’re far smarter than he realized.

And then he finally gets a break in the case. One day he’s walking around in socks, and it’s not until he’s nearly to the kitchen that the floor creaks under his foot, causing a flurry of movement in the kitchen. He crosses the space in just a few quick strides, as smooth as if he were making entry on a building, focus narrowed with freakish precision on catching you in the act.

His hand materializes on your wrist before you can let go of the thing you’re frantically burying in the trash. You’ve never seen him like this before, looming over you with his fingers clamped tight around your arm and his eyes crackling with energy.

Dammit. And you’ve always been so careful.

Ghost drags your hand out of the trash, and his eyes drop to the chocolate wrapper you have clutched in your fingers. He blinks at it a few times, just to convince himself he’s really seeing what he thinks he’s seeing.

“What are you doing?” He asks slowly, his gaze coming back up to your hot face.

“I was… um… eating some candy.”

“Why were you hiding it?”

“Uh…” your mind races to find an acceptable answer, something that won’t make you a target.

“Wait.” Ghost scowls, releasing your hand and taking the wrapper from your fingers. “This is about your knobhead ex, isn’t it?”

“I-I guess.”

Ghost lets out the largest, most relieved exhale you’ve ever heard from him, closing the trash and slamming you into his chest so suddenly that it makes your lungs automatically release some air.

“I thought you were trying to kill me, love.” His arm tightens around your shoulders. “All this time, you didn’t want me to know you were eating sweeties?”

Your, “Yeah,” comes out muffled with your face still smashed against his chest.

“Don’t do that. Don’t hide things from me. You’re allowed to eat whatever you fucking well want.”

Oh, okay.

He fucks you good that night, no longer withdrawn into his own head. He sleeps like a baby, too, and kisses you sweetly off to work the next morning. For several days you catch him smiling and shaking his head a little every time he looks at you, like he just can’t believe you made him suffer like that over something so ridiculous.

And it seems like every time you sit down for dinner now, you’ll find a little package of your favorite chocolate sitting next to your fork. How he gets it there every time without you seeing, you have no idea. To be honest, you’re getting kind of tired of the taste, but you still smile at him and grab his hand from his thigh, leaning in for a little kiss before you take a bite.

[fayefics]

white people go like “is anyone going to redesign this nonhuman evil character as a poc?” and not wait for an answer

[fayefics]

“You’re so quiet, what’s wrong?” I’m creating my own fantasy world to escape from reality so shut up.

[fayefics]

Tips for writing those gala scenes, from someone who goes to them occasionally:

Generally you unbutton and re-button a suit coat when you sit down and stand up.

You’re supposed to hold wine or champagne glasses by the stem to avoid warming up the liquid inside. A character out of their depth might hold the glass around the sides instead.

When rich/important people forget your name and they’re drunk, they usually just tell you that they don’t remember or completely skip over any opportunity to use your name so they don’t look silly.

A good way to indicate you don’t want to shake someone’s hand at an event is to hold a drink in your right hand (and if you’re a woman, a purse in the other so you definitely can’t shift the glass to another hand and then shake)

Americans who still kiss cheeks as a welcome generally don’t press lips to cheeks, it’s more of a touch of cheek to cheek or even a hover (these days, mostly to avoid smudging a woman’s makeup)

The distinctions between dress codes (black tie, cocktail, etc) are very intricate but obvious to those who know how to look. If you wear a short skirt to a black tie event for example, people would clock that instantly even if the dress itself was very formal. Same thing goes for certain articles of men’s clothing.

Open bars / cash bars at events usually carry limited options. They’re meant to serve lots of people very quickly, so nobody is getting a cosmo or a Manhattan etc.

Members of the press generally aren’t allowed to freely circulate at nicer galas/events without a very good reason. When they do, they need to identify themselves before talking with someone.

[fayefics]

currently imagining a mad max world situation with könig…

part 1 of ?

c/w: violence, suggestive content, reader is in a not great situation, if you have ever seen a mad max movie you know women do not have a great time

-~-

you're wandering the wasteland - its been years since you've felt like a "normal" human being. the world around you has gone to ruin, leaving only the strongest or most desperate as its survivors.

you're not even sure which category you fall into anymore.

all you know is survival. sometimes it means finding a scrapped together civilization, but those rarely last long enough to be safe. to the majority of these so -called "leaders", survivors like you are commodities meant to be used in bargains and deals. to others, you’re nothing more than another piece of meat under the screeching rubber of their wheels. it’s getting harder to deal anyone let alone figure out who is safe to be around anymore.

the last place you were at fell apart rather quickly, as they all do. resources ran low, and sensing war on the horizon, you quickly booked it out of there with what little you had. your vehicle wasn't the greatest, but it was fast enough to get you out of most danger.

until it wasn't

-~-

“she’s pretty, ain’t she?”

one of the scavengers who had found you cackles as you whip your head away. you don’t remember much of the chase, just that your car was wrecked and these greasy looters were taking anything that was salvageable. apparently, that meant you too.

“boss might like her - or maybe we can keep her to ourselves,” the other says. he’s fidgeting with a wrench a little too close to your ankles. you had been attempting to shimmy your wrists out of their bonds for the better half of an hour now, but nothing was working. and now? these two no longer had the distraction of looking through your belongings. it was just you and them.

you had seen that primal look in men’s eyes before. women were rare in the wasteland, especially unaccompanied like you were. but while you may not have been as strong as some other warriors you’ve come across, you’ve learned how to fight dirty. you’d bite and claw and maim and kick if it meant just a second more of your body remaining as yours.

the first scavenger smirked - a nasty rotten thing. slimy. maybe that's what you'd call him if your new future was stuck with these two idiots. he nodded over to his partner, who quickly got into position - weapon raising over your legs. you knew what was coming; braced your body for impact, bared your teeth-

vroom

“the fuck is that?” the second - wrench, you decided to call him - grunted out. slimy bolted up and looked around over the dune that acted as the cover for your crash site.

“shit.”

“what, mate? what is it?”

“shit! SHIT!”

slimy started packing everything into his off-roader, not evening bothering to pull you along. wrench let out a sigh through his teeth.

“listen man i’m not quitting my fun just because some ass is driving by-“

“it’s not just ‘some ass’ you dumb fuck! it’s KorTac’s Dog.”

KorTac. the name was familiar. it was some bandit clan that had taken over a city years ago. they had water, food, supplies - but more importantly healthy men. and this “Dog” was notorious on the road. you remember hearing of him in terrified whispers at past camps.

don’t let the Dog see your campfire. he raids everything.

if you see him keep your eyes to the ground. show respect.

i heard he could break a man’s spine with one hand.

“how do you know it’s him?” wrench trembled. his partner pulled him to the side and pointed.

“the skull flag. and see that mask? i’ve heard about that fucking mask,” he said. “must have saw the crash.”

vroom. VROOM!

he was getting closer.

“no way are we going to outrun him, man…”

they both turned to you. a dreadful understanding sunk in your stomach.

“maybe we can bargain for safe passage.”

as the sounds of a very large, very fast vehicle approached ever closer; you could only hope that this Dog knew how to play nice.

-~-

hope you enjoyed! i'll try to update this again soon.

[fayefics]

‎♡‧₊˚navigation

welcome to my blog! i am hoping to use this space to create and reblog some fanfics! i’m currently making my blog +18 only as just a precursor to any mature content i may write and reblog so please no minors or ageless blogs

i will eventually make a masterlist with my works tagged under specific characters/fandoms and i will also try my best to create an emoji key for each genre of writing i make :)) i also primarily write through the lens of an afab reader so i will do my best to tag anything correctly!

if you have a specific character or idea you want me to write a quick drabble about please send an ask! i might open up commissions for longer fanfics down the line but right now i’m leaving it to just smaller things. thank you!!

masterlist

wasteland (mad max universe with könig):

part 1 part 2