#Been so obsessed with Fallout lately!!

[zoetheduckling]

I did a Piper re-design for fun

[formosusiniquis]

for @thefreakandthehair and inspired by this. Everyone enjoy some bee keeper!Eddie saving the day so Steve can play some baseball

Eddie picked up beekeeping the way he picked up most things in his life: accidentally and by virtue of following a crumb of serotonin straight down the rabbit hole of obsession. It isn't what he expected to do for a living, and at this point he does have to admit that when it accounted for 91% of his taxable income last year it is what he does for a living, but he likes that he gets to work outside and set his own hours. He likes that the regular customers he has who buy his honey are nice, and likes getting to advise people about things like flavor profiles and what they taste best with, it was the thing he liked best about his position at the dispensary that was now more of a side gig. And then there's his contract with city animal control that gets him called out to parts of the city he didn't even know existed to relocate hives a lot more often than he thought would happen.

It's a good life, and he likes that he's made it himself.

But it's the kind of life that gets him calls from people late at night when trying to finish binging Fallout before the internet can spoil it for him. He has a rule to always answer when Chrissy calls though, he isn't going to miss helping her if it's an emergency.

“I need a favor,” she says before he's even finished answering.

“Anything for you,” he agrees.

“You might regret saying that.”

Chrissy Cunningham turned a full ride scholarship for cheerleading into a business and marketing degree and she turned that into a fancy job with the White Sox that he didn’t fully understand but totally supported. He wore the free cap she gave him, and was endlessly glad that as a white guy he didn’t get gatekept the way girls like Chrissy did, since he couldn’t name a single player on the team.

And it was that endless support that had him in his full gear at the White Sox stadium with his smoker and bee vac.

Chrissy meets him at the front with a harried expression and a warm hug, “I’d say I owe you one but if everything goes right we’ll be totally square before the first inning.”

“What does that mean?” he asks, repeating it louder when all she gives him is an enigmatic smile. 

The only answer he truly gets is being shoved into a little green cart that she drives with a frightening speed. She drives them through the stadium through a route he has no hope of remembering on his own until they reach an opening that leads straight out to the field. Eddie always had a dream, as a kid, of being a rockstar, driving out onto the diamond to a sudden and uproarious cheer is the closest he thinks he’s ever come to truly experiencing what it would be like to be famous on stage.

He hams it up of course. Waves his arms to try to get them to cheer louder as Chrissy stears them toward the lifter that he’s going to have to go up to get to the swarm. And they do, the cheers becoming an enthusiastic roar, a sound so loud he thinks he could climb them up to the bees without the lifter. 

“Focus will you, you’re on national television right now.” Chrissy says, with a subtle elbow to his side.

“Yeah but how many people are watching a delayed baseball game?”

Never one to just take his smartass comments, he’s sure that Chrissy says something super witty and sarcastic back. Only Eddie made the mistake of turning his head and catching sight of the most glorious ass in the snuggest pair of pinstriped white baseball pants and lost the ability to hear. A second elbow in his side reminds his brain full of metaphorical bees that he’s on television and he doesn’t have his veil on, he isn’t about to get caught drooling on television.

The fattest ass in the stadium turns around and Eddie thinks he’s been stung. He has to be going into anaphylaxis with the way he suddenly can’t catch his breath. The guy in front of him, with a hand on his hip and his eyes trained unwaveringly on Eddie is tongue-swellingly hot. And he just keeps getting closer as Chrissy doesn’t stop driving forward.

“Steve, you’re not supposed to get this close, you're our starting pitcher you can’t get stung.” Chrissy chides.

“I just wanted to make sure that he wasn’t going to kill the bees.” The guy, Steve, says.

“He’s not.”

“I’m not,” Eddie says, shaking his head as fast as he can, like that will make things more convincing for the hot baseball guy. But he’s got an eyebrow raised giving Eddie an up and down like he still doesn’t believe him.

“Look,” he pulls out his equipment so Steve can see. “I’ll smoke them with this, that’ll make them calm so they don’t freak out when I vacuum them up with this.”

“And running them through a vacuum isn’t going to kill them?”

“It’s a gentle suck,” he says, immediately filled with a burning mortification. “It’s just enough to move them into the tank where I can relocate them.”

Hot baseball Steve has his big brown eyes open even wider, there’s a twitch at his mouth like he’s about to say something else and Eddie actually can’t have that. “Chris can we get me strapped into this thing, we want to get this big ballgame going right?”

Steve takes a couple steps back, hands raised up in a placating gesture. Whether it’s for him or for Chrissy because he didn’t listen, Eddie’s too busy putting a neon yellow safety buckle on to think about it.

He takes his time, this is basically free marketing so he’s not about to rush through or do a half-assed job. But in just a few minutes he has a vac full of bees and the game is ready to be played. The lifter gently lowers Eddie back to the ground with another round of cheers. He unclips from the safety harness and takes a shallow bow for the crowd.

Then Steve is jogging over, Eddie stands up straighter than he ever has in his life. Nervous for what is about to happen.

“You saved the game, man!” Steve has the nicest smile that Eddie has ever seen, wide and toothy. He is but a man and thus falls a little bit in love immediately.

“It was nothing, really, just part of the job, y’know.”

“Well, here’s something you probably haven’t done on the job. You have to throw the first pitch.”

“No, no, I absolutely will not be doing that.”

It’s the wrong thing to say, a mischief lights up in Steve’s eyes. He jerks his chin up at Chrissy who says something Eddie is too far away to hear into a walkie talkie. He thinks he has a guess though when the loudspeaker begins to drawl, “Laaadies and Gentlemen, our game is about to begin. Tonight’s first pitch will be thrown by our bee rescuer, Eddie Munson!”

The crowd begins to scream again, but the sound is almost like the hive's steady drone when Steve leans close enough to whisper, “It’s just ceremonial, all you’ve got to do is throw it. I’ll even play catcher for you.” And Eddie’s helpless to do anything but nod.

There’s actually a lot that has to happen before they’re ready for him to throw his sad attempt at a pitch. But that gives him the time to settle his equipment out of the way and scream at Chrissy. Still it’s sooner than he’d like before she’s shuffling him over to a big mound of dirt in the center of everything. She pushes his hat and veil back and it feels a little proud father of the bride right until she pats him on the top of his head and whispers, “Don’t fuck it up, nerd.”

His palms are sweaty, they feel too slick to get a good grip on the small, white ball. He thinks he might throw up, only across from him Steve is there. A glove on one hand he sends Eddie an encouraging little finger wave with the other. 

He can do this. 

He takes a deep breath and throws.

It’s awful. Too high and a little off center, but Steve snags it in that large, ungloved palm and the crowd cheers again like he’s done something fantastic. He’s starting to think they’re just happy to be here.

He starts to walk off the field, toward Chrissy where he knows he’s safe. But he can’t help noticing that Steve is jogging his way too; the ball that Eddie just threw in one hand, a sharpie in the other, his glove tucked tight under his arm. “Eddie, hey, you gotta take this with you, dude.”

Steve lobs it at him in a soft underhand, and Eddie still fumbles the catch, “Thanks, man, but really, I don’t-” the rest of his response dies in his mouth when he realizes just what Steve has scribbled across the ball.

“Give me a call if you’re interested,” Steve says, walking backward toward the mound Eddie just left, “I can show you my gentle suck.” He laughs at his own shitty pickup line, which is somehow more attractive than his whole hot jock thing.

Eddie thinks he must be blushing up to his hairline by the time he makes it back to Chrissy and his things. She looks too smug for it to be any other way. “Told you we’d be even before the end of the night.”

“Chris, if this goes well I might owe you a favor. Now we gotta go, I’ve got bees to relocate.”

[consciouscarrot]

flufftober day 4 - holding hands [ b.hargrove ]

billy hargrove x fem!reader

content warnings; physical fighting (not between billy and reader), angst to fluff, brief mentions of trauma, misogynistic comments (not from billy), seemingly toxic relationships but it’s not actually

notes; all my flufftober fics are turning into angst/hurt comfort, i’m very sorry if that’s not your vibe but i promise it wasn’t intentional

kinktober/flufftober masterlist

—————

the sun was blaring down on you as you sat on the bleachers, heat almost too much as the sound of students’ chatter surrounded you. you were sat with billy and his friends, you didn’t like them very much, you thought they were mean and judgmental, cruel and selfish, only caring about their social status and looking better than everyone else. you hated sitting with them, especially as they were making loud comments at a group of shy freshman girls, causing them to go red in the face and teary-eyed.

you hated it, but billy wanted to sit with them. he’d make the odd comment, just enough to fit in with the group, to seem like he thought the same way as them.

you and billy had been dating for almost 7 months, you loved each other, and you were constantly around one another, not able to bear being apart for too long, but no one knew about the two of you. you’d both decided in the beginning that it was the best decision, not wanting a public fallout if something went wrong, and wanting to keep all things new and exciting to yourselves.

at first, it had been perfect, you’d found sneaking around thrilling, loving that only the two of you knew about your relationship, only you knew about the love you shared. but slowly, you began to tire of it, and around the five month mark, you only felt guilty about lying to your close friends and family, and you hated the attention billy was getting from girls. you saw other couples in public and wanted to be like them, you wanted to be able to say that billy was yours and be able to go on public dates, kiss him in front of people and hold hands in the school hallways.

but, billy wasn’t quite there yet, he wanted those things too, of course he did, but his was holding himself back. he’d worked himself up over the months, mind whirring with self-critical thoughts until his breaths quickened and his palms slicked.

he wasn’t sure how you’d take meeting his father, not wanting you to be disrespected, as misogynistic comments were a common occurrence from the old man.

he was also worried about people saying things about him not being good enough for you, that he was just trying to get in your pants when that was not the case, at all.

and then of course, his familial situation was obviously not the best, and he was terrified of being publicly humiliated like he had been before, scared that once everyone knew about the two of you, that you’d leave him, just like his mom did.

he’s never had anything real and good, like how the two of you are, nothing pure and just for him. nothing so filled with love and kindness and respect. he’s so scared to lose you, scared that you’ll come to your senses and finally leave him. you’re his everything and he knows that things have been going too well for him lately, so now he’s just waiting for what’s going to go wrong.

you tried your best to support him, always listening to his rants or even just holding him if that’s what he needed, but it was getting exhausting for you. you couldn’t go on in this situation for much longer, feeling like you weren’t enough for him to take that next step, anxiety clouding your brain and making you worry whether he’s enjoying the female attention too much, scared that he might be out with someone else on nights where he’s supposedly staying in.

you’d eventually given up on hiding how you felt about billy, now being labelled the obsessed high school girl with a pathetic little crush. it was embarrassing, and you’d hoped it would trigger billy into defending you, into finally revealing his love for you, but he’d just given you a sympathetic look and made some comment about being a one and done kinda guy.

you’d almost broken up with him for that, heartbroken that he could say that to you, that he could let them say those things about you. he’d begged and cried for you to forgive him, promising that he would try and make things public between you.

that had been over a week ago, and you were becoming more and more disappointed, feeling silly for ever believing his empty promises.

carols voice broke you out of your melancholy, shouting some dirty joke to the boys as she shrieked and giggled obnoxiously. you adjusted your legs, uncomfortable on the cool metal, and tried to focus on getting through the last five minutes of lunch.

billy glanced over at you, you smiled softly, not wanting him to worry. you desperately wanted to lay your head on his shoulder, but you don’t think you’d be able to deal with the rejection of him pulling away or making a comment like he usually does, whatever it takes to keep you his dirty little secret.

you broke eye contact first, turning your head away and looking over at a group of your classmates down on the field. you could feel his eyes burning on the back of your head, and hoped that he won’t be too mad at you later. you love him but you really can’t keep things up like this.

you were about to make an excuse so that you could leave when you felt a heavy weight on your knee. nearly giving yourself whiplash, you snapped your head back towards him, seeing his hand on the bare skin of your leg. you lifted your widened eyes to his, mouth slightly agape.

he refused to take his focus away from you, not even when the others started to notice his show of affection.

“don’t be so mean hargrove, you know she’d whore herself out to you if you asked,” tommy h jeered, smacking his friend in the stomach and howling at his own words. billy didn’t find that very amusing, though.

before you could try and diffuse things, billy stood up, enraged, and made his way over to the shorter brunet, “the fuck did you just say?”

tommy sobered up pretty quickly when he realised that he’d overstepped, stumbling back a little, clambering down the bleachers.

“c’mon man, it was just a joke! everyone knows how she feels about you, maybe you wouldn’t mind sharing,” tommy scrambled to try and rectify the situation, but only fuelling the fire. no one had any chance to react before billy twisted his arm back and punched him in the face.

your classmates swarmed around the pair, shouting encouragement at whoever they thought would win. you gasped as tommy almost landed a fist in billy’s face, and urged the other boys to break them up. someone finally managed to separate the two, both panting and tommy was holding a hand to his now bruising jaw.

“don’t you ever disrespect my girl again, y’hear me hagan?” he spat, fists clenched and ready to jump back on the boy.

he turns away from the group, gently grabbing at your hand and guiding you towards the parking lot, apparently deciding to skip school before any of the teachers could come out and hound at him for his actions.

you grasped onto his bicep with your free hand, leaning your weight into him and unable to keep yourself from beaming up at your boyfriend.

you could see the corners of his mouth twitching, trying to maintain his pissed off expression. after a moment, he relented, smiling widely and returning your gaze.

“thank you, billy,” you smushed the side of your face into his shoulder, so relieved and overjoyed that he’d taken that step, even though he’d gotten hurt in the process.

he shook his head, smile dimming slightly, “should’ve done it a long time ago.”

he kissed the top of your head, before opening the passenger door to his camaro for you. you giggle to yourself as he walked around the bonnet, giddy and excited to go home with him.

and if you gave him an appreciating blowie on the way home, then that’s your business.

—————

any constructive criticism would be massively appreciated:) i really wanna get better at writing <3

[chlorinecake]

If it's possible, could you make a yandere enhypen story, where the reader usually goes out late at night to a convenience store for some late night snacks, but some pervert tries her, but one of the members had been following her and help her, I'm sorry if it doesnt make any sense but yeah...😀 (recently my delusions have been getting to me)

“convenient chances” 🎱 

pairing: stalker!yandere!enhypen x afab!reader

cw: harassment, violence, mentions of smoking, paranoia/anxiety, language, kidnapping, bad-ish ending lol

wc: 3.1k — read part ll and lll here

LIKE A DUNGEON with fear cementing every corner, you struggle to savor the silence in your waking life.

Doubting all and believing none, your close friend Sunoo convinced you that your nervous aches and night sweats were a mere result of paranoia. He always judged the way you’d peek over your shoulder in public as if waiting to be attacked.

Clicking sounds from your window startled your rest during the night, with nightmares of seven tall hooded strangers blinding your judgement.

You're sure everyone's experienced the phenomenon of “gaze perception” at least once in their lives, in which a person might sense or assume that a pair of predatory eyes are stalking them from afar.

You didn’t like to use the word trauma to define your past experiences, but this wasn’t your first time feeling like a cloud of trouble waited to pour down on you. At this point, all you could do was hope that your intuition wasn’t right this time.

It was only a few months ago when you broke up with your abusive ex-boyfriend, Jay. The memories still linger as if they occurred yesterday, freshly cryptic in your mind. From your point of view, he started off as a charming casual acquaintance, which soon developed into a crush and then a toxic relationship. He outlined a list of rules for you to follow when he was away, ordering you around like a child. Anytime you even came close to breaking one of his orders, he’d beat the shit out of you, saying that his rage was out of love.

From Jay’s point of view, you weren’t just an obsession, but a belonging—his favorite humanoid toy to play with. He threatened that if you ever left him, he’d come back for you one day, saying that he’d never stop watching you.

And so, you moved. Not far, but a good distance away. You didn’t feel protected anymore in your usual environment. Though, there was one place in which you felt completely safe—free from watchful eyes and hostile hands. It was the tatty old convenience store a few blocks from where you live. The place hadn’t developed much since what appeared to be a decade or two ago, but they always supplied the most tasty, high quality snacks you could get your hands on.

As silly as it may sound, the fallout shop was your haven, and you grew particularly fond of shopping there late at night when it was less crowded.

You walked passed the familiar electronic doors, the fluorescent ceiling lights sparkling off of the bleach-mopped tiles. The usually uplifting radio station was replaced with the chilling whoosh of air circulating through the vents.

“Hello! Welcome to Goldman’s 24-hour convenience,” a friendly accented voice chimed. “Hello,” you returned with a nod, a bit confused by the new face. The usual cashier was an elder women by the name of Mandy. Her laughter alone could make some of your darkest nights glimmer again.

The young man wore a name tag on his dark blue collared shirt: Jake. You couldn’t help but wonder why Mandy wasn’t working her usual night shift, but you didn’t care enough to interrogate the seemingly content boy.

Picking up a hand basket, you explored the aisle's shelves in search for something savory or sweet to snack on. Your gaze swiveled ahead of you before landing on the sight of two hooded strangers blocking your path. This time, a bit of their faces showed, revealing the devious smirks that spoke so many silent words through their sealed lips:

You can run, but you can’t hide from us, ____. For as long as we live, you’re not allowed to feel safe anywhere.

Goosebumps sprouted on the surface of your skin, nerves dancing around in your fingers until they became wobbling rods. It’s almost like you forgot to breathe due to the overwhelming terror, feeling frozen from within as the plastic basket slipped from your grasp, a loud clatter echoing throughout the store.

You remembered all of the horrible things Jay said he would do to you once he found you again. The bruises you concealed with makeup that Jay referred to as his "strawberry kisses” would have nothing on what you felt was coming your way.

“Are you okay, miss?” A kind male voice asked, snatching you from your trance and back to reality. You turned to meet the man behind you, revealing his concerned yet warm features. He picked up the basket you dropped, still processing that your mind successfully tricked you into seeing something that wasn’t actually there.

“Yes, I’m alright, t-thank you,” you smiled but it didn’t reach your eyes, looking more awkward than reassuring.

He pressed three finger's against your forehead, “I don’t think you’re being honest with me,” he frowned, your hot and damp forehead telling him that something was wrong. “I’m sorry, I haven’t even introduced myself yet,” he stuck out one hand for you to shake and the other to pass you back your basket. “My name is Heeseung,” he smiled, “I’m new in town with an affinity for convenience stores.”

“____, with an affinity to drop flimsy baskets in public,” you replied, suddenly feeling at ease from the humor. You started trailing to the ramen section and Heeseung was walking behind you. If it wasn’t for his kindness earlier, you’d probably be freaking out about how close he was. You reached for a spicy udon noodle pack that came with dehydrated tofu and seaweed sheets. Meanwhile, Heeseung grabbed a can of Spam and chicken flavored ramen.

“Speaking of your liking for convenience stores, I come here almost every night and I’ve never seen you before.“

“Well, yeah, I’m usually here earlier in the day. I just happened to need some gas and got hungry while waiting, so I decided to stop by for my favorites,” he peered into your basket, "You might wanna get some milk with those, too. It's ungodly how spicy they are!"

"I know, right? They're just so delicious, I can't resist them..."

"Still, Sapporo Ichiban instant noodles are the best! They always cook perfectly. Never too soft or too firm. It's my comfort food, honestly. I wanna hug the person who created them," he replied passionately.

"Eh, you're just gonna ruin 'em anyways."

He gave you a double look, "Are you passively judging my cooking skills or fat shaming me?"

"Neither. I'm shaming that pink block of salt you're gonna punish your organs with."

He scoffed, "This anti-Spam movement is outrageous! I'm starting an online protest where you'll be the number one convert."

"As if I'd ever try that...stuff," you rejected.

"Welp. More for me, I guess," he mumbled, digging into his jacket pocket.

“Dammit, I forgot my wallet in my car,” he said, placing his basket high up on the shelf. “If you see anyone try to take my stuff, kick ‘em in the shin for me,” he said before running out of the shop.

Analyzing your surroundings, you noticed that a few groups of shoppers and some solo snackers began raiding the bread aisle. You distracted yourself by heading to the refrigerator section, considering Heeseung’s recommendation of getting a smooth beverage to accompany your spicy noodles, tossing in a pack of strawberry flavored Pocky's on your way.

That’s when you felt an arm wrap around your waist, pulling you in before giving your head a sniff, his nose was wet and cold like a dog as he inhaled your scent. “What the hell are you doing?” You barked, pushing the creepy stranger away.

He was a middle aged man with a receding hairline and a few scars decorating his thin chapped lips. You wondered how many of those scares came from women he tried that “arm around the waist” shit on.

“Sorry, doll. I’m a hugger and figured you might've needed one,” he grinned, revealing the gnarly set of teeth that lined his grey gums. You couldn't tell if it was his foul breath or filthy clothes that smelled more like smoke. Either way, you were thoroughly disgusted by him.

“Well, you should learn to ask before throwing yourself on people,” you retorted, reaching for a container of banana milk.

“You like swallowing bananas, cutie? I bet I could force four of 'em down that pretty mouth of yours,” he slithered while adjusting himself in his pants.

What the hell is wrong with this guy, you thought to yourself.

You tried to ignore his lunacy, only for him to grip your ass like a stress ball, landing a harsh slap across the curve of your jeans. You yelped at the sting, your own words being caught in your throat from the shocking act. You couldn’t believe that this freak actually just did that to you.

He met your eyes with a wink, smelling his hand as if you just provided him with an expensive perfume sample, "You got a lover at home, sweetheart?"

Tears dared to pour from your rage-ridden eyes as you balled your fists so tight, your bones might break. That's when a protective figure filled your blurry peripheral vision, stepping in front of you to block the man off as he tried grabbing you again, pushing him with such a force that he lost his balance.

“The hell do you think you’re doing, y'scrawny mother fucker,” he growled, pulling up is pants.

“You can’t do that kind of sick shit to people, pervert! Now get the hell outta here or I'll call the police,” the younger boy fought back.

“I was just trying to have some fun, kiddo. Ain’t nothin' wrong with that. I bet honey doll misses me already,” the older man went on, licking at his lower lip.

“I’ll knock every last rotting tooth from your mouth if you don’t leave in the next five seconds-"

“Hey, what’s going on over here?” Jake asked in the middle of the commotion, the older man already fleeing the scene. Jake looked at the younger boy first before eventually meeting your eyes. You wish you could hide how shaken up you felt. The container of milk was bleeding out its strong banana scent on the once spotless floor, tears finally streaming down your cheeks.

“Oh my God, Jungwon, what happened,” Heeseung came running over, asking the boy who defended you. “It was nothing,” you interrupted before Jungwon could answer, the three boys standing dumbfounded around you in a puddle of banana milk. “Do you need a ride-" “Don’t worry about me,” your voice cracked in embarrassment.

Is there any way to explain how the world made you ashamed of your own tears?

You left your basket behind, apologizing to Jake who had to clean up the sticky mess. You didn’t wanna leave just yet, afraid that the older guy might be waiting for you outside, so you went to the ladies restroom instead to call your friend Sunoo.

“____?”

You cleared the lump in your throat before answering, “Sunoo,” you began shakily, “I need you to come and pick me up from Goldman's.”

“You sound terrible, is everything okay? You’re worrying me, what happened?”

“I’m sorry, Sun. Everything’s okay, I just really need you right now.”

“____,” he sighed. You suddenly felt guilty for even calling him.

“Sunoo, if you can’t make it, I won’t be mad at you,” you said in between the silence, trying to encourage him to make a choice.

“I-I can’t, well, I can, but, not soon, at least. I’m only an hour away, if you’re willing to wait that long.” The pity in his voice made you wanna cry all over again. Looking at the time on your phone, it was six minutes til midnight, and you refused to haul your best friend out on the road this late. “No, that’s alright, Sunoo. I’ll just call an Uber.”

His side of the phone fell quiet for a moment. “____, I know how much you hate Uber's. Don't do that to yourself because of me."

"I'll be okay, Sun, just get yourself some rest."

He paused before asking, "Are you sure?”

“Yeah. I’ll talk to you later, okay?”

“Of course! Call me when you get home!”

You finished up in the bathroom, mentally preparing yourself to face the strangers beyond the not-so-comforting walls of the restroom. To your surprise, Heeseung and Jungwon were still in the store. Huddled around Jake at the checkout counter, the three of them took loud sips from steaming cups of ramen. “Hey, ____,” Heeseung began, resting his snack on the counter. “We could help you file a report against that guy, if you want.”

Jungwon met your eyes with his own sincere ones, “He should pay for the way he treated you.” Jake put your basket from earlier on the counter, dry items taking the place of the previously wet ones.

“Do you still want these," he asked shyly. After everything that happened, you felt empty in more than one way. Some warm broth and noodles is exactly what your body needed at the moment. You nodded, handing Jake a $20 bill. Beeping sounds immediately met your ears as he scanned your items with a strange haste. You looked back to Heeseung and Jungwon.

“Getting the police involved will only make it harder for me to forget this ever even happened. Thank you for your concern, though,” you smile at the humble pair before they took the final gulps from their ramen cups before discarding them.

“Here’s your change,” Jake chirped, handing you the plastic bag of goodies. “Thank you,” you bowed, heading to the exit.

“Y'sure you don't need a ride?” Jungwon asked. You flashed him your phone screen. “Uber,” was all you said before walking into the black of the night, the sliding doors closing behind you.

According to your smartphone, you should expect your chauffeur, Sunghoon, to arrive shortly in a black truck with tinted windows. The vehicle came speeding through the parking lot, a chill wind hitting your features. The truck was so dark, that it almost blended into the night. He rolled down the window, looking you up and down.

"Name?"

"Uh, ____," you said, his blunt question catching you off guard.

"Get in," he replied, directing a thumb to the back seat, unlocking the door as you slid in, bumping into another passenger. Immediately caught by his dark eyes, the boy waved slightly, muttering a deep “Welcome aboard,” before fixing his gaze out the window again. The truck sat idly as Sunghoon delayed taking off, exchanging a few hushed words to the guy sitting in the front passenger's seat.

Click.

The backseat doors opened from both ends, Heeseung, Jungwon, and Jake joining you in the black vehicle. "Scoot over, Niki," Jungwon complained, trying to get comfortable in the crammed space. That's when you saw one last person join you all in the truck, his face capturing the moonlight like a thief.

"Sunoo?! W-what are you doing here? I thought you were an hour away!" All he did was frown in response. He always made that face whenever he was hiding something from you. "Sunoo," you pressed, nudging his shoulder.

"Oh please, would you just shut the hell up already," the hostile driver growled at you.

You screwed your eyes brows in confusion, "What's going on here," you inquired, now feeling anxiety start to creep up on you.

"The very thing I warned you about before you abandoned me," the front passenger bit back.

That voice. You knew exactly who it belonged to.

It was Jay, your looney ex-lover, sitting right in front of you. An angry yet pitiful scowl contaminated his handsome features.

You pushed through Heeseung, reaching for the door handle, only for Niki, the quietest yet scariest one, to snatch your wrist, pulling you into his tantalizing grip. "Let me go," you yelped, only for Jungwon to harshly cover your mouth.

Screech.

Sunghoon pulled off at a dangerous speed, causing your bodies to shake in the truck. Heeseung crossed his legs cooly as if he wasn't just casually talking with you in the store, “So when do we get to have fun with her, again? It’s not like she did any good entertaining me through conversation.”

Jake rolled his eyes at Heeseung, “I could’ve used your enthusiasm when I had to stuff that fat old chick in the freezer. Alone. On top of that, I had to mop the floor quintillion times before the blood stains got out.”

“At least you’d make a good house husband,” Sunghoon joked.

You felt your heart sink to the pit of your stomach at Jake’s confession: He killed Mandy.

"I'm sorry, ____," Sunoo whispered, fighting back tears as he hid his face from you.

Everything was starting to make sense now.

The visions of seven hooded boys.

The clicking sounds you'd hear from outside your window at night.

The way you could never shake the feeling that you were being watched.

Jay’s past words echoed in the back of your mind:

"If you ever decide to leave me, don't ever think that you'll get very far before I catch up. I'll always be watching you."

You bit Jungwon's hand, causing him to retreat his palm from your flushed face. "Sunoo, you betrayed me! You told me that I was paranoid when you knew exactly what was going on behind my back! I felt safe with you...I trusted you! And you fucking lied to me!"

"God, I've had just about enough of her nagging," Niki said, landing a fisted blow across your face. As you faded out of consciousness, Jay tried to soothe your daze.

“Even though I betrayed you and beat you, it was only my funny way of expressing how much I love you. Can’t you see that I did all of that out of love?”

You could still hear Sunoo pleading for your forgiveness in the background as you held onto the last strand of your consciousness.

"I've been watching you for a long time, love. You always try to escape me and I never understood why you just wouldn't listen to me. All I've ever done is love you and try to protect you. This time, I’ll make sure you’ve learned your lesson.”

And that was the last thing you heard before retreating to the vacancy of your mind, floating around in the silence of your oblivion. Left in the hands of seven reckless boys who’d successfully lured you into their cat trap, you didn’t know what to expect once you’d open your eyes, but you knew it wouldn’t be anything good.

In that time, you came to the unsettling conclusion that broken toys were Jay’s favorite, and if you weren’t already broken upon being found, you would be by time he’s done playing with you.

☆ ᴀ/ɴ: in no way, shape, or form does this fanfic intend to romanticize unhealthy relationships or abusive behaviors. i simply write for entertainment and creative purposes. thus, reader discretion is always advised.

☆ ᴘ.ꜱ: special thanks to the fabulous anon who requested this piece! i played around with the plot a bit, but I hope you all enjoyed reading it! if you guys would like a version of this story with a happier ending, let me know in the comments!

☆ taglist (based off of users that personally requested to be on my taglist, my faves, and people that I've noticed interacting with my yandere content) ~

@fanficfactoryfoxxx @ashgonedash @yourmomscuntis2tighy @yngwife @03sunoos @kaykay11sworld @maryismad @gigiramirezsblog @hoonsyo @en-thralled @haechansheart @night-en-shining-armor @cutiejseong

[ghoulfuckersincorporated]

🔸 Index Of Works 🔸

Asks and submissions are currently OPEN! Please read the guidelines here before submitting.

🔸 [Long-Form One-Shots]

AO3

☢️ A Week's Vacation in Goodsprings, Nevada

Raul Tejada x Female Reader

One-Shot, Ask Submission (18+) / 9.9K

You're injured during a routine trip because you refused to listen to Raul, and he's none too happy about it. However, the down time you take to heal is also the perfect cure for the tension between the two of you.

☢️ Shoot the Moon

Norm MacLean x Female Reader

One-Shot, Ask Submission (18+) / 30.1K

Vault life has never truly agreed with Norm MacLean. A bit of an invisible outcast thanks to his general disposition, the son of Vault 33's Overseer is growing lonesome as he reaches true adulthood. That is, until a transfer of personnel puts him into the path of someone who finally makes him feel seen. Will the expectations of others get in their way? Can Norm find the courage and strength to live the life he wants to live?

☢️ Carnal Lessons

John Hancock x Virgin!Female Reader

One-Shot, Ask Submission (18+) / 20.0K

John's always had a 'thing' for innocence. When he meets you, a runaway vaultie looking for a new place to belong, that 'thing' gets him into far more trouble than he could have ever anticipated.

☢️ Duplicity

Prewar!Cooper Howard x Female Reader

Ongoing Work (TBC), Ask Submission (18+) / 11.4K

You've been forming a relationship with Cooper Howard over the last several months, one that isn't exactly becoming of a married woman or a man in the middle of an acrimonious divorce. The chemistry between the two of you is undeniable from the moment you meet, but when the alcohol starts flowing and passions flare, will you be ready to fully plunge yourself into an affair with the handsome star? For those who want their prewar!Cooper a little darker.

☢️ As A Dog

Cooper Howard/The Ghoul x Female Reader

One-Shot (TBC), Ask Submission (18+) / 7.1K

After an especially tense moment, Cooper's companion decides she can't handle his bullshit. When she changes her mind, though, he decides to make her prove she really is sorry for leaving.

☢️ Grunt Work

Cooper Howard/The Ghoul x Female Reader

One-Shot, Ask Submission (18+) / 3.9k

Cooper's favorite vaultie companion is pressing her luck as of late and requires some correction.

☢️ Working Girl

Cooper Howard/The Ghoul x Female Reader

One-Shot, Ask Submission (18+) / 5.4k

You knew when you took this job that it wouldn't be easy, but you didn't know you'd be expected to sleep with ghouls.

☢️ Bloodletting

Cooper Howard/The Ghoul x Female Reader

One-Shot, Ask Submission (18+) / 2.8k

No one told you menstruation would be such a nightmare in the Wasteland when you left the vault. Fortunately, Cooper can offer some relief.

☢️ Close Quarters

Cooper Howard/The Ghoul x Female Reader

One-Shot (TBC), Ask Submission (18+) / 2.4k

Crammed into a tight space and hiding from supposed deathclaws, you and Cooper have some sweaty, silent time to kill. Fortunately, his thigh makes as nice a seat as any.

☢️ Smooth Skin

Cooper Howard/The Ghoul x Female Reader

One-Shot, Ask Submission (18+) / 3.1k

Cooper is obsessed with the pristine nature of every little thing about his brand new vaultie companion. When she sleeps, he takes a chance to look closer.

☢️ A Fair Trade

Cooper Howard/The Ghoul x Female Reader

One-Shot, Ask Submission (18+) / 3.9k

Taken captive by a man who runs an outpost, things get even hairier for you when your captor can't pay an owed bounty to a particularly intimidating ghoul. Then again, maybe trading hands wouldn't be so bad...

🔸 [Links to Short-Form Works/Drabbles/Headcanons]

Fallout 3 Short-Form Works Fallout: New Vegas Short-Form Works Fallout 4 Short-Form Works Fallout (2024) Short-Form Works Ghoul Biology and General Lore Discussions

[nylqnder]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐘 𝐎𝐅 𝐔𝐒 | 𝐉𝐀𝐂𝐊 𝐇𝐔𝐆𝐇𝐄𝐒

summary: at a wedding, you and jack are forced to reunite, bringing up the question of whether or not you are truly over one another.

warnings: not entirely proofread, a bit of angst, kissing, probably more i just don't know

a/n: based on ‘the story of us’ by taylor swift. kind of obsessed with this...

word count: 2.19k

If you asked your past self where you saw yourself in a year, you likely would’ve said this scenario. You would’ve been at the end of the aisle, Jack waiting for you to join him at the other end.

Instead, you’re standing heartbroken in a pink bridesmaid dress, waiting for the groom and his groomsmen to appear. You hear the grand doors of the church open, and loud, boisterous laughter enters the hall.

“There you are!” You say, spotting Quinn amongst his groomsmen. You try not to look past him knowing that Jack, being his best man, would be right behind.

Quinn looks down at his watch, scrunching his brows. “We’re right on time.” He says.

“Early is right on time. Right on time is late.” You tell him. You fix his crooked tie, also adjusting his boutonniere.

You look up at his face, reading a tinge of nervousness. “You ready?”

Quinn and Sara had been dating for 6 years before he finally proposed. Being childhood friends with Sara, you had been there from the beginning of their relationship and their very first dates, to just a year ago when you helped Quinn pick out the ring.

Their love had coincidentally brought you your own. A couple of years ago, Quinn introduced you to his younger brother, Jack, and the sparks flew instantly. It was near instant attraction for both of you, Jack asking you out after getting to know one another. You used to think one day, you’d be in Quinn and Sara’s shoes, getting to tell people the story of your relationship for years to come.

However, you and Jack were now standing on opposite sides of the room, doing your best to avoid the other.

It had been a while since you guys had broken up, and if you were being honest, you’d forgotten exactly how you guys ended. The last month of your relationship was filled with constant fighting. It was something of a simple miscommunication that led to your fallout and the story of you guys was now looking more like a tragedy.

You hadn’t spoken to him since the day after the breakup when you exchanged items left at one another's place. And now you were being forced to walk down the aisle next to him as you were Sara’s maid of honour and Jack was Quinn’s best man.

“Yeah, so ready.” Quinn replies, a familiar grin forming on his lips. You couldn’t imagine someone more perfect for Sara to get married to.

“Okay, get in your places guys!” The wedding planner says.

Quinn stood at the front, the rest of you guys lining up behind him. You felt him accidentally bump your shoulder as he stood beside you. His familiar cologne was overpowering your senses.

“Take my arm.” Jack mumbles, sticking out his elbow.

You do as he says, linking arms. The doors open, revealing the beautifully decorated interior. The organ began and Quinn made his way down. You and Jack were next, making your way down the aisle at a painstaking pace. You spot Jim and Ellen in the front row of the pews. Jim shoots you a smile while Ellen places a hand on her chest, whispering something to her husband.

You loved Jack's parents. You still love them. At the engagement party, happening just after you and Jack broke up, they spoke to you, letting you know how upset they were when they found out. They had always been the nicest to you, from the moment Jack introduced you to them. Even now as you were broken up, they made sure to keep up with you and the happenings in your life. You easily recognized where Jack got his traits from in the kindness of his mother, as well as the passion and drive of his father.

You reach the end of the aisle, splitting from Jack as he stands behind Quinn, you going to where Sara was about to be. You felt his eyes still on you, but you didn’t dare look at him.

Soon, Sara walked down the aisle and read the vows you’d helped her perfect. The ceremony was beautiful and you were over the moon for your friend and her now husband.

Everyone from the wedding party headed back down the aisle, Jack not linking arms with you this time. You head back into the lobby, and the wedding planner informs you that there is a car outside to take you guys to the reception venue, which is a restaurant a couple of minutes away.

Sitting in the back of an SUV, you and Jack remain silent towards one another. Luke was a welcome presence, being a buffer as he was forced into the middle seat despite his large stature. He kept the conversation going, mostly with Jack.

You’re thankfully kept busy the moment you’re in the restaurant, helping greet guests and guide them into the room. As dinner comes, you are somewhat thankful that Quinn and Sara placed you in between Luke and Brady, two guys who have seemingly endless topics to discuss.

Dinner is soon over and the newlyweds enjoy their first dance. You can’t help but find him across the room. He had abandoned his tie, the top buttons of his shirt undone. He’d obviously abandoned the urge to avoid tousling his hair, now a wavy mess compared to the styled state of earlier.

Sara and Quin find you shortly after their dance. Sara engulfs you in a hug. “I’m a married woman!” She squeals.

“Yes, you are! You’re a married woman who’s clearly had a couple of glasses of champagne.” You chuckle. “I’m so happy for you guys.”

You give Quinn a hug before Sara pulls you close to her. “Have you talked to him yet?” She asks.

“Um not really, he said about three words to me when we walked down the aisle and that’s it.” You reply.

Sara groans. She was one of the biggest campaigners of your and Jack's relationship. Sara was the one who pushed Quinn to introduce you two, saying she ‘had a good feeling’ about the pair of you.

“Quinn get Jack to talk to y/n/n.” She says to her now husband.

“I can try but… I don’t know he’s weirdly cagey when people bring you up.” He says.

Both you and Sara furrow your brows, Sara speaking the words you are thinking. “What do you mean by that?”

“I don’t know. The other day my parents started asking Sara about you and they asked him why you guys broke up and he didn’t want to talk about it.” Quinn explains. “Then he just left the room.”

“Oh my god, he hates you.” Sara gasps.

“Wow, thanks Sara.” You say sarcastically.

“He doesn’t hate you,” Quinn says, dispelling what his wife said. “If he hated you he would not hesitate to trash talk you.”

“He doesn’t trash talk me?” You ask.

“No, definitely not. He just doesn’t like to talk about you for some reason.” Quinn shrugs. “Listen, we’ve gotta go see some other people but… If I were you, I’d try to talk to him.”

You bid goodbye to Sara and Quinn as she moved on to talk to his aunt and uncle. Suddenly you were left alone, despite being in a crowded room. Your normal comfort would be to find Jack, as he was always so good at talking to anyone. You recalled the many times Jack effortlessly introduced himself to people, becoming friends with them in less than a couple of sentences.

You stood to the side, your hand fiddling with the satin strap of your dress. Trying to look busy, you pull out your phone, scrolling through social media and responding to random texts. You were grateful when two familiar-spirited boys joined your side.

“Hey y/n!” Trevor practically shouted, scooping you up.

“Trevor, put me down!” You squeal, kicking your feet that are a couple of inches off the floor. He set you down, Cole pulling you into a hug right as you were on solid ground.

“How are you boys?” You ask them.

Cole and Trevor tell you about their lives, speaking about their respective seasons, their summers so far, as well as their love lives.

“So are you and Jack back together yet?” Trevor asked.

You nearly choked on your drink as he asked that question. “What?” You ask.

“When are you and Hughesy gonna smarten up and get back together?” He rephrases.

“We’re not getting back together, Z.” You tell him.

“Bullshit,” Cole says in a sing-song voice.

“I’m serious.” You say. “We’ve both moved on.”

Cole and Trevor exchange doubtful looks. “Yeah? And how come neither of you brought a date even though you both had plus ones?” Trevor asks.

“Just because we’ve moved on doesn’t mean we’re necessarily seeing other people at the moment.” You say.

“Well, I happen to know that somebody also hasn’t dated since the break-up…” Cole says, sipping from his beer bottle.

You’re rendered silent, looking down at your pedicured toes peeking out of your heels.

“Aha! We got her.” Trevor grins.

“Just go talk to him, please,” Cole says. “It’s honestly painful watching this. It’s like you’re in a contest to see who can act like they care less. And you’re both losing.”

You catch his eyes from across the room, his pride forcing him to pull his gaze away. “Yeah, not happening.” You sigh.

You throw back the rest of your drink, going over to the bar to get a refill.

“Quinn and Sara would like to invite all couples to come to the dance floor and celebrate their love with our newlyweds!” The DJ says into the microphone.

You take a seat, watching couples crowd the dancefloor, Jim and Ellen joining hands as a perfect example of love.

“Come dance with me.”

You look to your right, Cole standing there with an extended hand. You give him a soft smile, taking his hand and following him to the dance floor. His right-hand rests innocently on your waist, holding your hand in his. You sway to the music, slow dancing with the boy who has become one of your best friends over the past couple of years.

Suddenly, there’s a familiar figure to your left. “Mind if I butt in?” Jack asks.

Cole drops his hands from you, passing you off to Jack. He gives you both an enthusiastic thumbs up, walking off.

Jack’s hand finds its familiar spot on your hip, yours resting on his shoulder. Your hand still fits comfortably in his, calloused skin bringing an odd sense of comfort. You find it hard to meet his eyes, his gaze bearing down on you.

“You look really pretty.” Jack says.

You finally bring yourself to look up at him, his soft eyes meeting yours. You yanked back to a time when you were his. His features are all the same, all the more comforting. You resist brushing back a lock of hair that falls over his eyes, no longer your job to do that.

“Thank you.” You say softly.

The pair of you sway to Wonderful Tonight by Eric Clapton, an oddly comfortable silence filling the air between you. You can’t help but think of both Quinn and Sara, as well as Cole and Trevor urging you to confront Jack. Whether it was the alcohol in your system or the proximity of Jack that was driving you, all the thoughts you’d had decided to spill out.

“How’d we end up this way?” You ask.

You feel Jack still, no longer gently swaying to the music. His gaze looks over you and to the other side of the room at nothing in particular, his eyes just needing to look at something that’s not you.

“I’m not scared to admit I miss you, Jack.” You continue. “I just want to know if it’s killing you the way it’s killing me.”

Jack finally meets your eyes, and you try to read what he’s thinking. You don’t know if it’s just you trying to see what you want to see, or if it’s what’s really there, but you swear you can see a tinge of happiness from your words. Jack stays silent just staring into your eyes, so you speak again.

“It’s in your hands now. I’ll lay my armour down if you’d rather try this again.” You say. You can see Jack thinking, and processing your words. “I don’t want to fight you anymore.”

In one motion, Jack sweeps down and connects your lips. The familiar feeling of butterflies fills you, something you got any time he kissed you, even when you had been dating for over a year. Jack’s hand drops yours and instead comes up to the side of your face. His attempts to pull you closer are futile, your bodies already pressed against each other.

The song comes to an end, your lips leaving Jack’s. A small smile, one you’d missed having in your life, is present on his face. You can’t help but grin back, happy to start a new chapter in the story of you and Jack.

[stat1cheart]

Been kinda obsessed with Fallout lately (specifically Fallout 4). Hancock is my favorite character I love him so much

I HATE drawing hats though so it’s taking some practice to figure how to draw his </3

[jungkoode]

𝐅𝐔𝐂𝐊 𝐌𝐄 𝐔𝐏 | 11

˗ˏˋ car literature ˎˊ˗

"Halfway across the country to escape your parents' expectations, only to find their voices still echo in your head. Maybe freedom isn't about how far you run, but what you choose to hear when everything goes quiet."

next | index

⋆｡°✩ chapter details ✩°｡⋆

word count: 7.5k

content: jungkook being late, y/n offering him a ride, coffee mainsplaining, new friendships, jimin being a book nerd, jin reserving tables, professor namjoon kim having dimples and giving you a helping hand on your assignement

✧ author's note ✧

OKAY HI LOSERS!!!! Chapter 11 is here, right on schedule like the little miracle worker I am. I actually have ch11, 12, and 13 all done and ready to go but I'm sticking to my posting schedule because SOMEONE (me) knows she'll burn out at some point so you better savor this while it lasts.

Anyway, about Y/N having a car: yes, she has one because I said so and Jungkook doesn't because he's a whole-ass LOSER LMAO. I did love weaving in the reason behind the car though and connecting it to her messy complicated relationship with her parents. God I love how human she is??? Like, she's so conflicted—grateful for what they've done but suffocated by their expectations. THE COMPLEXITY. I'm obsessed with my own creation, forgive me.

I'll give Jungkook some credit here (GASP) because while he has the self-awareness of a potato, he IS observant and perceptive when he wants to be. Boy's too busy coping with humor and deflecting for his own good though. You'll see what I mean… eventually.

Also can we talk about how much I'm LIVING for Y/N and Jimin's growing friendship?? I love how Y/N makes friends for such different reasons—Yeji is the one who makes her feel like she doesn't have to have her shit figured out, Irya is the emotionally intelligent one, and Jimin?? They bond over their shared love of literature and books and isn't that just chef's kiss beautiful?

And I refuse to apologize for the text messages. REFUSE. The texts are staying because I love writing them too much. Deal with it.

FINALLY THOUGH!!! NAMJOON MAKES HIS ENTRANCE!!! MY KING!!! I've actually had him planned since chapter 3 (don't get it twisted), there are hints if you paid attention. But now he's finally here in all his dimpled glory and we love him. Jin, I understand you completely, babes.

ANYWAY. Chapter below. Enjoy bobs bobes and bobas!!!

⋆｡°✩ read on✩°｡⋆

ao3

wattpad

The sound of Jungkook stubbing his toe for the third time this morning is, objectively speaking, fucking hilarious.

You hide your smirk behind your mug, pretending to be deeply invested in your FYP as another muffled "shit—motherfucking—” echoes from his room. The apartment has been a symphony of chaos for the past fifteen minutes: doors slamming, drawers banging, what sounds suspiciously like a guitar being knocked over (followed by more creative cursing).

And okay, maybe you're a little evil for enjoying this so much. But come on. Mr. "I Pretend To Have My Life Together" finally overslept, and you get to witness the glorious fallout while calmly sipping your morning coffee. The universe gives you so few gifts. You're allowed to savor this one.

His coffee sits next to yours, made exactly the way he likes it—because yes, you've noticed how particular he is about his precious coffee routine. Two shots of espresso, a splash of oat milk (regular milk upsets his stomach, not that he's ever admitted it), and just a hint of vanilla syrup. You absolutely refuse to acknowledge how or why you've memorized this.

Something crashes in the bathroom. Griffin, lounging on the windowsill, barely twitches an ear.

"Has he always been this much of a disaster?" you ask the cat. Griffin's slow blink feels judgmental. Fair enough.

More thundering footsteps. A drawer slams so hard you feel it in your teeth. You scroll past a video of someone's cute dog, not really seeing it, too focused on tracking the hurricane that is your roommate having a morning meltdown.

"Fuck—where is my—" His voice cuts off abruptly. 

You can practically hear him running his hands through his hair, tugging—that thing he does when he's stressed.

Your phone buzzes with a text from Yeji.

𝐘𝐞𝐣𝐢🖤: 𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚘𝚗 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚕𝚞𝚗𝚌𝚑?

You're typing back a quick 𝚢𝚎𝚊𝚑, 𝚞𝚜𝚞𝚊𝚕 𝚜𝚙𝚘𝚝 when Jungkook bursts into the kitchen like he's being chased. His hair is still wet from the shower, shirt only half-buttoned, and—oh. 

Oh no.

He's wearing The Jeans. 

The ones that make his thighs look like they were carved from marble. 

The ones you specifically remember clawing off him that first night, back when he was just Hot Stranger From the Bar. 

You take a very deliberate sip of coffee and absolutely do not think about that.

"Late for something?" you ask innocently, like you haven't been cataloging every crash and curse for the past quarter hour.

He whirls toward you, and for a split second, you catch him completely unguarded—flushed, disheveled, one hand still trying to button his shirt. Then his eyes narrow, landing on the coffee mug next to yours.

"Is that—"

"Just drink it, Rogue." You cut him off, rolling your eyes. "Unless you want to waste more time making your own."

The nickname slips out without permission. You blame it on the early hour, on not having enough caffeine yet. Not on how he looks with his hair still dripping, water darkening the collar of his shirt. Definitely not on how the morning light catches the silver ring on his hand when he reaches for the mug.

He takes a sip. His eyebrows shoot up.

"This is—"

"If you say 'perfect,' I'm dumping the rest down the sink."

The corner of his mouth twitches. "Actually, the extraction time on this is slightly—"

"I swear to god, if you start mansplaining coffee to me at—" you check your phone, "—eight forty-seven in the morning, I will personally ensure you never make it to wherever you're going."

"It's called sharing knowledge, Phoenix." He's already moving again, a blur of motion that somehow manages to look both graceful and completely chaotic. "And the optimal brewing temperature for espresso is—"

"Do you ever just hear yourself talk and think 'wow, I'm really like this'?"

"—between 195 and 205 degrees Fahrenheit, which you'd know if you actually paid attention when I—" He freezes mid-rant. "Wait, what time did you say it was?"

"Eight forty... eight now."

"Fuck. Fuck." He runs both hands through his hair, making it stick up even worse. "I can't be late to this one."

You can't help yourself. "Don't you skip Film Theory like, twice a week?"

"That's—that's different." He's practically vibrating now. "This is the one where we're presenting our—where the fuck is my phone?"

"The thing you set down right here when you grabbed your coffee?" You tap your fingernail against his phone, which has been sitting next to your elbow this whole time. "This phone?"

He lunges for it, and you definitely don't notice how he has to lean into your space to grab it, or how he still smells like his stupidly expensive shower gel. The screen lights up in his hand and—wait.

"Is that Griffin as your lockscreen?"

"What? No." He shoves the phone in his pocket too quickly. "It's—shut up."

"Oh my god, it totally is. Is it the one where he's sleeping in the—"

"I'm gonna be late," he cuts you off, already halfway to the bathroom. You hear him banging around, probably looking for his cologne. The one that makes him smell like rain and...

You glance at the time again. At this rate...

"Want me to take you?"

His head pokes around the bathroom door, hair falling in his eyes. There's a bit of toothpaste at the corner of his mouth that he hasn't noticed. 

"What?"

"My car?" You try to sound casual, like you're not offering to save his ass. "Unless you'd rather take the subway and definitely be late."

He stares at you like you've just started speaking in tongues. 

“You got a—" His brow furrows. "Wait, you got a car?"

"No, I'm offering you a ride on my imaginary unicorn." You roll your eyes. "Yes, I have a car. Had it for like, two weeks now. How have you not noticed?"

"I've been busy!" He disappears back into the bathroom, voice slightly muffled. "And since when do you—why would you even—who has a car in New York?"

"People who don't want to deal with the subway at 2 AM after work?" You raise your voice so he can hear you over what sounds like him knocking over every single bottle in the bathroom. "Also, time check: eight fifty-one."

"Shit." More crashing sounds. "Okay, yes, fine, please drive me, I'll never make fun of your tea collection again."

"That's a lie and we both know it."

You drop your mug gently in the sink, leaving washing for later in the day, next to his. Then grab your bag, your sunglasses too—from where they're perched on top of your head. Walk to the door and wait for Jungkook to finish spraying his perfume before he’s darting out of the tiny room and positioning himself next to you. 

Then you’re out, glasses sliding on as you lock the door. The movement is automatic, practiced—something you picked up during those long drives when the sun would hit just right and—

"Okay, Gossip Girl," he snorts, cutting into your thoughts.

"You haven't even watched Gossip Girl."

"Excuse you, I'm a man of culture." He's half-jogging to keep up with you, which is... something, considering his legs are approximately twice as long as yours. "Blair Waldorf is an icon and Chuck Bass is—wait, no, seriously." He catches up as you reach the elevator. "Why do you have a car? In New York? Who are you?"

The elevator doors slide open with their usual concerning screech. You step in, leaning against the back wall as he follows, hitting -1 with his thumb. The fluorescent lights make the shadows under his eyes more pronounced—definitely up too late gaming again.

"When I signed the lease," you say, watching the numbers tick down, "Miguel mentioned there was an unused garage spot included. It was actually one of my prerequisites."

"Prerequisites," he repeats slowly, like he's tasting the word. When you glance over, he's looking at you with an expression you can't quite read. "You came here on your own?"

You shrug, suddenly very interested in a scuff mark on the elevator floor. 

"Yeah."

"Where from?"

The question hangs in the air between you. It's such a simple thing to ask, really. Basic getting-to-know-you stuff. But something about the way he says it, soft and curious, makes your throat tight.

"Small town," you say finally. "The kind where everyone knows everyone's business and the most exciting thing that happens is when someone paints their fence the wrong shade of beige."

He doesn't laugh like you expect. When you risk another look, he's still watching you, head tilted slightly.

"Must've been quite the change."

"That was kind of the point."

The elevator jolts, making you grab the rail. He doesn't move, somehow keeping his balance like he's got magnets in his shoes or something. Imbecile.

"So what, you just... packed up and drove to New York?" There's something in his voice—not quite disbelief, but close.

"I mean, I applied to NYU first. I'm not completely insane." You're aiming for light, casual, but it comes out a bit defensive. "But yeah, basically. Loaded up the car, picked a playlist, and..." You wave your hand vaguely.

"Just like that?"

"Just like that."

He's quiet for a moment, and you can practically hear him piecing things together. The way you never talk about home. How you tense up when anyone mentions family. The fact that your room is filled with things you clearly bought after moving in, nothing old or sentimental except—

"The bear," he says suddenly.

"What?"

"The stuffed bear on your bed. The really old-looking one." He straightens up, like he's solved a puzzle. "That's why you got it. It's from before."

Something uncomfortable squirms in your chest. 

“Okay, Detective Kuko, maybe focus on not being late instead of psychoanalyzing my childhood toys?"

The elevator dings, doors sliding open to reveal the garage. He pushes off the wall, but you catch his reflection in the mirrored doors—that little half-smile that he always pulls when he’s being particularly insufferable.

"You know," he says, following you out into the dimly lit space, "for someone who claims to hate nicknames, you sure throw around a lot of them."

"I have no idea what you're talking about, Rogue."

His laugh echoes off the concrete walls. "Whatever you say, Phoenix."

The car beeps when you press the button on the key fob, its sound echoing off the concrete walls of the garage. It’s a rundown 2010 Honda Civic, the kind of car that blends into the background of every suburban parking lot. 

The kind your father refused to buy you when you were eighteen and wanted to transfer to a college campus just a bit further away. 

Funny how that worked out for him. You ended up buying this one yourself, and now you’re in New York City—a hell of a lot further away than that first suggestion.

But your chest tightens at the thought, like it always does when you let your mind wander back there. 

What were you even aiming for? 

Retribution? 

Vengeance? 

For what? Daddy not wanting to get you a car? When they’ve paid for your tuition all this time, made dinner for you when you stayed up late studying, and even sat through all of the Avengers movies with you despite hating superhero flicks. Your mom would always cut up fruit for you during finals season, leaving little notes on the kitchen counter that said things like You’ve got this! or Proud of you! in her neat handwriting. 

A mix of guilt and frustration gnaws at you. Because what kind of ungrateful asshole feels bitter about something so small when their parents have done so much?

And yet, here you are. Feeling it anyway. 

It’s not like they were bad parents—strict, sure, but not bad. They just wanted what was best for you, didn’t they? 

So why does it still sting when you think about how they dismissed your creative writing journal as a “waste of time” or how they steered every conversation toward practicality and success? Why does it feel like every decision they made for you came with strings attached? Like love was something earned through achievements instead of something freely given?

You grip the keys tighter as if that’ll stop the spiral forming in your head. Because it’s not fair to them, is it? They did their best. They didn’t know how suffocating it felt to have every move scrutinized, every choice second-guessed. 

And maybe—just maybe—you’re blowing it all out of proportion. Maybe they weren’t controlling; maybe you were just too sensitive. Maybe this whole mess is on 

you.

But then again... wasn’t it their fear that kept you tethered to that small town for so long? Their insistence on safety and stability that made leaving feel like rebellion instead of growth? 

You shake your head, trying to shove those thoughts aside. It doesn’t matter now. You’re here. You made it out. You’re independent and capable and—

“Wow,” Jungkook’s voice cuts through your inner monologue like a knife, dragging you back to reality with all the subtlety of a sledgehammer. “This car sucks.”

Your head snaps toward him as he stands there, one eyebrow raised in judgmental amusement. He’s leaning against the passenger door like he’s too good to even touch it properly.

Without thinking, you slam the driver’s door closed with more force than necessary. “Changed my mind,” you snap, glaring at him over the roof of the car. “Go walk.”

He laughs, already folding his stupidly long legs into the passenger seat. "Aw, come on, Phoenix. I'm sure it has... character."

"Get out of my car."

"The duct tape on the mirror really adds something, you know?"

"I will leave you here."

"Is that a Fast and Furious sticker? Did you actually—"

"One more word about my car and you're taking the subway."

He holds his hands up in surrender, but he's still grinning. 

"Wouldn't dream of insulting your..." His eyes dart to the dashboard where the check engine light has been on since you bought it. "Unique vehicle."

"I hate you so much right now."

"No you don't." He starts fiddling with the radio, because apparently personal boundaries mean nothing to him. "Oh my god, is this a cassette player?"

You swat his hand away. "Touch my radio and die."

"But—"

"My car, my rules."

"What are you gonna do, make me listen to your sad girl hours playlist?"

You turn the key in the ignition, the engine sputtering to life with its usual concerning cough. "Bold of you to assume I'd share my playlists with someone who butchers Mayer's solos every night."

"I do not—" He sits up straighter, actually offended. "That was one time, and the strings were new, and—"

"Slow Dancing in a Burning Room doesn't need your creative reinterpretation, Rogue."

And fuck. Why did you have to bring up that specific song? The one he was playing two nights ago, like it was just for you and him in the quiet of the night. 

"Didn't know you were such a Mayer purist, Phoenix." 

You check your mirrors, definitely not watching how he slouches in the seat, all long limbs and morning-messy hair. 

"Seatbelt, Kuko."

"Is that your favorite Mayer song?" 

God, why is he doing this? Making small talk about music like he didn't just watch you have a whole crisis about your car? 

"I guess." You mutter, exiting the garage once and for all.

You merge into traffic, grateful for the excuse to focus on something other than how he's angled his body toward you in the passenger seat. 

But then, because he can’t leave things alone…

"You know any others?"

You lick your lips. Two beats of silence. 

“Some ring a bell." You finally say. Swallow. Change lanes. Don't think about summer evenings and vinyl records and— "It's just that one... brings memories."

Silence, again.

You can feel him watching you, that way he does sometimes when he thinks you're not paying attention. Like he's trying to solve a puzzle but keeps finding new pieces.

Then he sighs, a soft chuckle that does absolutely nothing to your stomach. Nothing at all. 

“Guess I'll have to play some more for you." His voice drops slightly, just shy of teasing. "You know, expand your musical taste."

And what the fuck are you supposed to do with that? With the way he says it—like a challenge, like a promise? With how the morning sun catches his ring when he drums his fingers against his thigh, keeping time to whatever song is playing in his head?

"Bold of you to assume I want to hear more of your mediocre guitar skills."

It's weak and you both know it. 

But he lets you have it, just huffs out another laugh and turns to look out the window. 

And you absolutely do not notice how the sunlight catches the edge of his jaw, or the way his shirt is still slightly wrinkled from his rush this morning.

No. No, you don’t. 

"Wait, you're telling me you've never read Donna Tartt?"

Jimin's scandalized whisper makes you grin as you both push through the library's heavy doors. There's something endearing about how genuinely offended he is by this gap in your literary education.

"In my defense," you whisper back, following him up the stairs to the second floor, "I was a bit busy reading whatever my parents deemed 'appropriate' until, oh, about six months ago?"

He glances back at you, something knowing in his eyes. It should make you uncomfortable—usually does, when people look at you like they understand. But with Jimin, it feels... okay. Maybe because he was there that night at your apartment, quietly positioning himself next to you like a gentle buffer against the chaos.

"Okay, but now you have to read The Secret History." He leads you to what's clearly his usual spot—a corner table partially hidden behind the Classical Literature stacks. "It's like... Dark Academia meets murder mystery meets Greek tragedy."

"You had me at murder mystery, honestly."

He pulls out a chair, dropping his bag with practiced ease. "I actually have my copy here somewhere. The spine's basically destroyed because I've read it so many times, but—"

"Let me guess—you're one of those people who annotates their books?"

His cheeks flush slightly. "Maybe?"

"Oh my god, you totally are." You slide into the chair across from him, already feeling more relaxed than you have all day. "Do you use different colored pens? Have a whole system?"

"...you're making fun of me."

"I would never." You scoff. "I'm simply appreciating your dedication to the literary arts."

He tries to maintain his pout, but you can see the smile fighting through. 

"You know what? For that, I'm not telling you where the secret coffee spot is."

"The what now?"

"Oh, nothing." He starts unpacking his bag with exaggerated nonchalance. "Just a hidden corner where they don't enforce the 'no drinks' policy. But since you're so judgmental about my annotation habits..."

"Park Jimin." You lean forward, lowering your voice conspiratorially. "Are you telling me there's a way I can read and caffeinate without having to dodge the library police?"

"I don't know..." He draws it out, eyes twinkling. "Can you be trusted with such powerful knowledge?"

"I will literally annotate a book right now. Any book. Pick one."

His laugh is barely more than a breath, but it's warm, genuine. 

“Okay, okay. But first—what's your stance on dog-earing pages?"

You gasp. "What kind of monster do you think I am?"

"Just checking." He grins, finally pulling out his battered copy of The Secret History. "Here. But I want detailed feedback on all my margin notes."

You accept the book carefully, noting the well-worn spine, the sticky notes peeking out from between pages. "Did you... color-code your tabs?"

"That's it." He starts gathering his things. "I'm leaving."

"No, wait!" You grab his arm, laughing as quietly as you can. "I actually love it. Really. Show me your system?"

He settles back down, mock-glaring but clearly pleased. "Fine. But only because you actually seem to care about books, unlike some people."

"Let me guess—Yeji ditched the second you mentioned the library?"

"'Sorry, babe,'" he mimics Yeji's voice with surprising accuracy, "'but I only enter buildings with books if they also serve alcohol.'"

You snort. "That tracks."

"Speaking of tracking..." He pulls out his phone. "Want to see my reading spreadsheet?"

"Your what now?"

"It's color-coded by genre, with separate tabs for—"

"Jimin?"

"Yeah?"

"I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship."

His smile could power the whole library. "Just wait until I show you my TBR organization system."

And you find yourself smiling back, real and easy, as he launches into an explanation involving multiple apps and something called "reverse timeline sorting." Because yeah, okay—maybe making new friends isn't the worst thing in the world.

Even if they are terrifyingly organized book nerds who probably alphabetize their bookmarks.

Also, the thing about being an English major at NYU is that you end up sharing a lot of classes with the Comparative Literature kids. 

It's not really surprising when you think about it—you're both basically studying books, just from different angles. 

While you're deep diving into English and American literature (thanks to your very traditional parents who would have probably had an aneurysm if you'd picked anything more "experimental"), Jimin's out here analyzing texts from all over the world, looking at how different cultures approach storytelling.

Which is how you end up in at least three classes together this semester. 

Modern Literature with Professor Sullivan on Mondays and Wednesdays (where Jimin always has the most interesting takes on international influences), Contemporary Poetry Analysis (where he somehow manages to connect Emily Dickinson to some obscure Korean poet you can't pronounce), and that one Friday afternoon workshop that everyone dreads but somehow becomes bearable when Jimin starts drawing parallels between Western and Eastern literary traditions.

It's actually kind of perfect. Your English major foundation gives you the deep knowledge of Western canon that his program requires, while his Comparative Literature perspective opens up whole new ways of looking at texts you thought you knew inside out. 

Like right now, as he's explaining how Japanese magical realism evolved differently from its Latin American counterpart, you're seeing 100 Years of Solitude in a completely new light.

Plus, it's nice having someone who actually gives a shit about books. 

Yeji, bless her chaotic heart, thinks anything written before 2010 is "prehistoric," and your other friend from Modern Lit only reads SparkNotes. 

But Jimin? Jimin color-codes his annotations and has strong opinions about Oxford commas. 

Which is probably why, when he suggested studying together, you didn't even hesitate. Because yes, okay, maybe you've been a bit... selective about making friends since moving to New York. 

But someone who understands why you got emotional about Woolf's use of semicolons? That's the kind of friend worth having.

"Okay, but consider this," Jimin whispers, sliding his Contemporary Literature notes across the table. "What if we compared Murakami's use of magical realism with García Márquez? Because I swear there's a connection between Kafka on the Shore and 100 Years of Solitude that no one talks about."

You lean forward, scanning his impossibly neat handwriting. Of course his notes are color-coded. "For the Modern Lit essay?"

"Yeah, Professor Sullivan mentioned wanting unique perspectives, right?" His eyes light up the way they only do when discussing books. "And since you're taking Modern Literature and I've got Comparative Lit Theory this semester..."

"A cross-course analysis?" You tap your pen against your notebook, mind already racing. "That's... actually brilliant?"

"Really?" He perks up, then immediately remembers to lower his voice when someone at the next table glares. "Because I was thinking, with your focus on contemporary Western literature and my background in Eastern literary traditions—"

"We could explore how different cultural interpretations of magical realism intersect!" You're probably too excited about this for a library setting, but whatever. "Jimin, you're literally a genius."

He ducks his head, but you catch his pleased smile. "I mean, you're the one who brought up the cyclical narrative patterns in class last week. I just thought maybe we could..."

"Collaborate?" You're already flipping to a fresh page in your notebook. "Please tell me you're not working with anyone else for the final paper."

"Was kind of waiting for the right partner." He gives you a pointed look. "Someone who wouldn't just make me do all the work."

"Unlike some people we know?"

"I'm not naming names, but..." He glances around conspiratorially. "Let's just say I've already witnessed Yeji's approach to required reading in our shared Literature and Gender class last week."

"Do tell."

"She showed up to discuss Virginia Woolf's A Room of One's Own and asked, completely seriously, if it was about interior design." He shudders dramatically. "Then tried to argue that her TikTok research should count as academic sources."

You have to stuff your fist against your mouth to muffle your laugh. 

"She did not."

"Direct quote: 'But professor, this BookToker made some really good points about, like, the feminist undertones and stuff.'" He pulls out his laptop, already opening a fresh document. "So, partner? I mean, we're only two weeks into the semester, but I can already tell you actually read the material. Plus, I've got access to some really interesting papers on Japanese magical realism through the Comparative Lit database."

"Only if you let me buy you coffee at Jin's after this." You pause. "Wait, is that weird? Am I being weird?"

His smile is soft, understanding. "Not weird at all. But only if you let me show you my favorite translation of The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle. The annotations are chef's kiss."

"God, you really are a book nerd, aren't you?"

"Says the person who got excited about cyclical narrative patterns."

"...touché."

He starts typing, fingers flying over the keys. "So, structure-wise, I was thinking we could start with a brief overview of traditional magical realism in Latin American literature, then transition into..."

You settle in, watching him outline your shared project with the same methodical care he probably uses to organize his bookshelf. 

And maybe it's the quiet of the library, or the way afternoon sun filters through the stacks, but something in your chest feels lighter. 

Because this—this easy back-and-forth about books and ideas—this is what you came to New York for.

"Oh!" Jimin's whisper breaks into your thoughts. "We should definitely include the cat symbolism in both texts. Speaking of..." He glances up from his screen. "How's living with Griffin?"

"The cat or his stupid owner?"

The words slip out before you can stop them. Jimin's eyebrows shoot up, a knowing look crossing his face that makes you want to hide behind your textbook.

"Why? Wanna talk about his owner?”

"I meant—that's not—he is stupid!" You grab your water bottle just to have something to do with your hands. "Whatever. We should focus on the magical realism thing."

"Mhm." He's still giving you that look. "Whatever you say. But you know, if you ever want to talk about... cats..."

"I will literally throw this book at you."

"The annotated one? You wouldn't dare."

"Try me, Park."

His quiet laugh makes a few people look over, but you can't bring yourself to care. Because somehow, in the span of an afternoon, you've gained both a study partner and what feels like a real friend.

Even if said friend is now wiggling his eyebrows at you every time you try to redirect the conversation back to Murakami.

Your phone buzzes against the table, making Jimin glance up from his color-coded notes. 

𝐊���𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚛 𝚞 𝚛𝚗

You roll your eyes, typing back quickly.

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚕𝚒𝚋𝚛𝚊𝚛𝚢 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚓𝚒𝚖𝚒𝚗

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚠𝚑𝚢

The three dots appear. Disappear. Appear again. Your screen lights up with his reply.

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚛 𝚞 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚑𝚘𝚖𝚎

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚒𝚍𝚔 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝟷𝟻𝚖𝚒𝚗? 

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚗𝚎𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚒𝚜𝚑 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚘𝚞𝚝𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚎

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚒𝚝 𝟺𝟶

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝟺𝟶????

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚠𝚝𝚏 𝚠𝚑𝚢

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚍𝚘 𝚒𝚝 𝚙𝚑𝚘𝚎𝚗𝚒𝚡

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚘𝚖𝚐

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚢𝚘𝚞,𝚟𝚎 𝚐𝚘𝚝 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚍𝚘𝚗’𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝟺𝟶 𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚞𝚝𝚎𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚘? 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝’𝚜 𝚜𝚊𝚍 

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚗𝚎𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚕𝚘𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚘 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚌𝚞𝚖? 🥺

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚜𝚑𝚎𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚞

Your fingers hover over the keyboard because—what the fuck is he saying right now? What does he mean?

But then.

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚌𝚞𝚖𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚒𝚗 𝟻 𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚜𝚎𝚎𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚖𝚎

Fucking bitch-ass motherfucker. 

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚏𝚞𝚌𝚔 𝚘𝚏𝚏

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚜𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚘𝚞𝚜𝚕𝚢 𝚝𝚎𝚡𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚖𝚎 𝚠𝚑𝚒𝚕𝚎 𝚏𝚞𝚌𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚘𝚗𝚎???

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚗𝚊𝚑

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚜𝚑𝚎𝚜 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚊𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚘𝚘𝚖

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚞 𝚝𝚑𝚘

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚐𝚛𝚘𝚜𝚜 🤢

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚍𝚘𝚗’𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚋𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚘 𝚍𝚘

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚒𝚍𝚔 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚜𝚞𝚛𝚎 𝚜𝚑𝚎 𝚍𝚘𝚎𝚜𝚗’𝚝 𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚊𝚕 𝚖𝚢 𝚎𝚡𝚙𝚎𝚗𝚜𝚒𝚟𝚎 𝚜𝚑𝚊𝚖𝚙𝚘𝚘

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚞𝚛 𝚜𝚑𝚊𝚖𝚙𝚘𝚘 𝚒𝚜 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚝𝚊𝚛𝚐𝚎𝚝

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚊𝚕𝚜𝚘 𝚠𝚎 𝚛 𝚍𝚘𝚒𝚗 𝚒𝚝 𝚒𝚗 𝚖𝚢 𝚛𝚘𝚘𝚖

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚒𝚖 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚊𝚗 𝚊𝚗𝚒𝚖𝚊𝚕

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚍𝚎𝚋𝚊𝚝𝚊𝚋𝚕𝚎 

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚊𝚕𝚜𝚘 𝚠𝚑𝚢 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚗 𝚝𝚎𝚕𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚖𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚖𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚐𝚒𝚟𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚖𝚊𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚝𝚒𝚙𝚜? 

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚞 𝚍𝚒𝚍 𝚜𝚞𝚌𝚑 𝚊 𝚐𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚝 𝚓𝚘𝚋 𝚕𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝟻 𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚞𝚝𝚎𝚜 𝚙𝚑𝚘𝚎𝚗𝚒𝚡

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝𝚜 𝚎𝚖𝚋𝚊𝚛𝚛𝚊𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚐

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝙸𝙽𝚂𝙸𝚂𝚃𝙴𝙳

𝐘𝐨𝐮: "𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚖𝚒𝚜𝚎 𝚒’𝚕𝚕 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚒𝚝 𝚚𝚞𝚒𝚌𝚔, 𝚙𝚑𝚘𝚎𝚗𝚒𝚡”

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚍𝚜 🙄

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚍𝚘𝚗𝚝 𝚊𝚌𝚝 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚞 𝚍𝚒𝚍𝚗’𝚝 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎 𝚒𝚝

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚊𝚕𝚜𝚘 𝚜𝚑𝚎𝚜 𝚋𝚊𝚌𝚔

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝟺𝟶 𝚖𝚒𝚗 𝚙𝚑𝚘𝚎𝚗𝚒𝚡

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚏𝚞𝚗 𝚍𝚒𝚜𝚊𝚙𝚙𝚘𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚑𝚎𝚛 💅

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚞𝚛 𝚌𝚞𝚝𝚎 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚞𝚛 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚔𝚎𝚍 𝚞𝚙 𝚙𝚑𝚎𝚎

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚜𝚝𝚏𝚞 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚐𝚒𝚟𝚎 𝚖𝚎 𝟺𝟶

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚢𝚘𝚞’𝚛𝚎 𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚜𝚝

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚎

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞’𝚛𝚎 𝚋𝚞𝚢𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚖𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚏𝚏𝚎𝚎 𝚝𝚘𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚛𝚘𝚠

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚌𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚐𝚛𝚒𝚏𝚏𝚒𝚗’𝚜 𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚋𝚘𝚡 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚊 𝚠𝚎𝚎𝚔

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚑𝚎𝚕𝚙𝚜 𝚞 𝚜𝚕𝚎𝚎𝚙 𝚊𝚝 𝚗𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚗𝚒𝚡

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚊𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚏 𝚜𝚕𝚎𝚎𝚙

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚜𝚠𝚎𝚎𝚝 𝚍𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚖𝚜 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚖𝚢 𝚖𝚎𝚍𝚒𝚘𝚌𝚛𝚎 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚍 𝚐𝚊𝚖𝚎 😏

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚍𝚒𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚍𝚒𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚞𝚜𝚎 𝚊𝚗 𝙴𝙼𝙾𝙹𝙸???

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚠𝚑𝚘 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚍𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚖𝚢 𝚊𝚗𝚗𝚘𝚢𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚛𝚘𝚘𝚖𝚖𝚊𝚝𝚎

Read 4:47 PM

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚒 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚢𝚘𝚞’𝚛𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚜𝚎 𝚊𝚜𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚕𝚎

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚋𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚋𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚜𝚎 𝚜𝚑𝚎𝚎𝚝𝚜

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝙰𝙽𝙳 𝙾𝙿𝙴𝙽𝙸𝙽𝙶 𝙰 𝚆𝙸𝙽𝙳𝙾𝚆

Read 4:48 PM

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚒 𝚑𝚊𝚝𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚜𝚘 𝚖𝚞𝚌𝚑

Read 4:49 PM

You shove your phone in your bag. Whatever. You've got actual priorities here—like making real friends who appreciate literature and don't judge your drink choices (does he?).

"Actually," you say, straightening up and pulling out your Modern Lit syllabus, "let’s go to Jin’s right now. Because I could use a caramel frappuccino, and I'd love to hear more about your take on Murakami's symbolism."

Jimin's whole face lights up. "Really? Because I have thoughts about the significance of wells as transitional spaces in—"

"Lead the way, book nerd." You start packing up your stuff, already feeling more centered. "But fair warning—I will absolutely judge your coffee order if it's anything boring like plain black."

"You order everything with extra whipped cream, don’t you?”

"It's called having taste, Jimin. And yes, I want the little chocolate sprinkles too."

His laugh echoes through the stacks as you both head out, earning a few glares that you can't bring yourself to care about. Because this? This is exactly what you need. Good conversation, sugary drinks, and someone who gets genuinely excited about literary analysis.

Your phone stays silent in your bag. You don't even think about checking it.

After all, you've got more interesting things to focus on—like whether Jin will let you convince him to add extra caramel to your drink, or finally having someone who understands why you cried over that one Sylvia Plath poem.

Because honestly? There’s just something deliciously satisfying about choosing exactly how you want to spend your afternoon. 

And right now? That means ordering the sweetest drink on the menu and diving deep into a discussion about magical realism with someone who actually gets it.

Sometimes the best kind of freedom is just... doing whatever the fuck you want.

The thing about Jin is that he treats his coffee shop like it's a kingdom and he's the benevolent (but definitely judgy) ruler.

"Well, well." He quirks an eyebrow as you and Jimin push through the door, the familiar smell of coffee and old books wrapping around you like a hug. "Where's the demon child?"

"Yeji's allergic to studying." You lean against the counter, already eyeing the pastry display. "Breaks out in hives if she gets too close to academic pursuit."

Jin snorts, wiping his hands on his apron. "That tracks. Haven't seen you in a few days—were you actually at the library? Or is this some elaborate cover story?"

"Studying, actually." You gesture to Jimin, who's hovering politely beside you. "With actual books and everything. Jin, this is Jimin. Jimin, this is Jin, who makes the best coffee in the East Village but will definitely judge your order."

"I don't judge." Jin's mouth twitches. "I merely... evaluate life choices."

Jimin waves shyly. "Nice to meet you. Yeji's mentioned this place a lot."

"All lies, probably." Jin's already moving to the espresso machine, hands automatic in their movements. "What can I get you both? And Y/N, before you say it— no, I will not make you one of those abominations with eight pumps of syrup."

"Rude." You straighten up, pretending to study the menu like you don't order the same thing every time. "Fine. Latte with cold foam?"

He rolls his eyes, but there's fondness there. "Let me make you something better. Just got a new blend in—Ethiopian, hints of blueberry. You'll love it."

"Bold of you to assume I can taste anything beyond sugar."

"Trust me." He turns to Jimin. "And for you?"

"Just an americano, please."

You whirl around. "That's so sad."

"Shut up." Jimin shoves your shoulder lightly. "Not all of us need a sugar high to function."

"Your loss." You're already heading toward your usual spot—eyeing the different tables and settling for the corner one with the best lighting and a perfect view of both the street and the counter. "Come on, I'll show you where—"

"Ah ah." Jin's voice stops you. "Not that one."

You turn back, eyebrow raised. "What? It's empty."

"Someone sits there."

"I literally see no bag?" You gesture at the conspicuously empty table. "No books, no laptop, no nothing."

"Someone," Jin repeats, voice somehow both firmer and more amused, "sits there."

"But—"

"Y/N." He gives you that look, the one that somehow makes you feel like a kid being gently scolded. "Pick another table."

You glance at the mysterious empty table, then back at Jin, then at the table again. Because what the actual fuck? Since when does Jin reserve tables? And for who? 

But he's already turned back to the espresso machine, humming something under his breath, clearly considering the matter closed. 

"Come on." Jimin tugs your sleeve, pointing to another corner. "That one looks good too."

You let him lead you away, but not without throwing one last suspicious look over your shoulder. Jin pretends not to notice, but you catch the slight smile playing at his lips as he starts grinding coffee beans.

Weird. Very weird.

You sigh loudly, and woah okay you’re starting to sound like Yeji now. Her energy is definitely rubbing off on you. You take your stuff out along with Jimin and start chatting right away.

"All I'm saying is," you whisper-rant to Jimin, still bitter about this morning, "if someone makes you coffee, you say thank you. You don't launch into a TED talk about optimal brewing temperatures like some pretentious—"

The bell above the door chimes, and holy shit.

HOLY. SHIT.

The man who walks in is... 

Well, first of all, he's tall. Like, unfairly tall. 

And he's wearing these round glasses that should look dorky but somehow don't, perched on a face that belongs in one of those aesthetic academic Pinterest boards. His blonde hair is slicked back in a way that screams 'I definitely know about wine pairings', and his light blue dress shirt paired with navy pants is giving very much 'yes, I read Proust for fun.'

But it's the way he carries himself—confident but not cocky, with a laptop bag swinging gently by his thigh—that really catches your attention. 

That, and how Jin's whole demeanor shifts when he sees him.

"Joon!" Jin's voice is different—warmer, maybe? "The usual?"

The man—Joon, apparently—smiles, and oh. Oh. That's just unfair. Because he's got actual dimples. Like, dimples dimples. 

They chat for a moment, their conversation too low to hear from where you're sitting, but you catch Jin gesturing toward... wait. 

Toward the table. 

THE table. 

The one you were just exiled from.

Namjoon nods, that devastating smile still in place, and heads straight for what is apparently his designated spot in Jin's kingdom.

You narrow your eyes. Who exactly is this mysterious dimpled giant with table-reserving privileges? And why does Jin look slightly pink around the ears as he starts making what is presumably 'the usual'?

"Hey?" Jimin waves his hand in front of your face. "You good?"

"Sorry, just..." You tilt your head toward the table-stealer. "Trying to figure out who managed to get permanent dibs on prime real estate in here."

Jimin turns, trying (and absolutely failing) to be subtle about it. Then he makes a small choking sound.

"Oh god," he whispers, whipping back around. "That's Professor Kim."

You blink. "Professor who now?"

"Namjoon Kim? From the English department?" When you continue staring blankly, he adds, "He teaches Literary Criticism in my major? Published in like, every major literary journal? Youngest professor in the department?"

"That's a professor?" You peek over again, watching as he sets up his laptop with methodical precision. "Why does he look like that?"

"Like what?"

"Like..." You gesture vaguely. "You know. Like that.”

"Please stop staring," Jimin hisses. "He's brilliant and terrifying and I have to present in his class next week."

"Terrifying?" You snort. "The man has dimples, Jimin. And his glasses are literally round. He looks like a very tall teddy bear who probably reads Keats for fun."

"He once made someone cry by asking them to explain their interpretation of a Emily Dickinson poem."

"Okay, but was their interpretation wrong?"

"Y/N."

"What? I'm just saying—"

Jin appears with your drinks, setting them down with more force than strictly necessary. "Stop gossiping about my customers."

"We're not gossiping," you protest. "We're... conducting academic observation."

"Mhm." He raises an eyebrow. "How's that new blend?"

You take a sip of whatever fancy coffee he made you, and... oh. Oh.

"This is..."

"Better than your sugar milk?" His smirk is unbearable. "You're welcome."

He walks away before you can argue, heading back to where Professor Dimples is apparently grading papers, judging by the red pen in his hand.

"Don't even think about it," Jimin warns.

"Think about what?"

"Whatever you're plotting. I can see it on your face."

"I'm not plotting anything!" You take another sip of your annoyingly perfect coffee. "I just think it's interesting that Jin never mentioned having a designated professor spot in his shop."

"No."

"What? I'm just being observant."

Jimin looks like he's regretting every life choice that led him to befriend you. "Can we please just focus on Murakami?"

"Fine." You pull out your notes, but you can't help stealing one more glance at the mysterious professor. "But just so you know, anyone who makes students cry over Emily Dickinson is definitely going on my list of people to investigate."

"I'm pretending I didn't hear that."

"Whatever helps you sleep at night, Jimjim."

20 minutes pass by. 20 minutes of Jimin humming as he searches articles on the web. 20 minutes of you two now doing your individual assignments for your different classes. 20 minutes of you nearly losing your mind over yours. 

"Who," you groan, slumping over your laptop, "decided that writing a comparative analysis of post-modern narrative structures was a good idea for week two? Week two, Jimin. I still haven't figured out where half my classes are."

Jimin chuckles, leaning over to point at something on your screen. "Look, if you connect these two themes here—"

You lift your head just enough to glare at him. "I will literally pay you to write this for me."

"No you won't."

"You're right, I'm broke. But I'll owe you my firstborn."

"Still no."

"My soul?"

"Bold of you to assume you still have one after declaring an English major."

You're about to argue that your soul is perfectly intact, thank you very much, when you feel it—the weight of someone's gaze. You glance up and oh fuck.

Professor Dimples is looking right at you, one eyebrow raised slightly above those round glasses. Because of course he heard your entire breakdown about his colleague's assignment. Of course he did. 

You drop your eyes back to your laptop so fast you probably give yourself whiplash. Maybe if you slouch low enough, you'll just... dissolve into the floor. That's possible, right? 

Jimin swats your arm. "Stop being dramatic."

"I'm not being dramatic," you whisper-hiss. "I'm just saying, who assigns a five-thousand word analysis before we've even figured out the coffee situation on campus?"

"Having trouble with Professor Lee's class?"

You freeze. Because that voice—deep, warm, and definitely coming from right next to your table—belongs to exactly who you think it does.

Slowly, you look up. Professor Kim is standing there, coffee cup in hand, looking far too amused for someone who apparently makes students cry over poetry.

"I, uh—" Words. You know words. You're literally majoring in them. "No? I mean, yes? I mean—"

"She's struggling with the comparative analysis assignment," Jimin supplies helpfully, the traitor. "The one about narrative structures in post-modern literature."

"Ah." Professor Kim's dimples make an appearance. "Mind if I...?" He gestures to the empty chair at your table.

What are you supposed to say? No? To the professor who apparently has permanent dibs on the best table in Jin's? Who probably knows seventeen ways to destroy your GPA with a single red pen mark?

"Sure," you manage, shooting Jimin a panicked look that he completely ignores.

Professor Kim settles into the chair, setting his coffee down carefully. "The thing about post-modern narrative structures," he says, like he's sharing a secret, "is that everyone overthinks them."

You blink. "What?"

"It's actually quite simple." He gestures to your laptop. "May I?"

You turn the screen toward him, watching as he scans your document. His brow furrows slightly, and you resist the urge to slam the laptop shut and run away.

"See, here—" He points to a paragraph. "You're actually onto something interesting. The way you've connected the unreliable narrator to the fragmented timeline... that's good. You're just getting caught up in the academic language instead of trusting your instincts."

"My... instincts?"

"Mhm." He takes a sip of his coffee. "Tell me—without thinking about theory or criticism or any of that—why did this particular narrative choice catch your attention?"

You open your mouth. Close it. Because honestly? "It reminded me of those dreams where you're trying to remember something, but the memory keeps slipping away? Like, you know it's important, but every time you get close, it sort of... dissolves?"

His smile widens. "Write that."

"What, the dream thing?"

"Exactly that. In exactly those words." He leans back, looking pleased. "That's what post-modern literature is about—the messy, fragmented way our minds actually work. Not the polished academic analysis we think we're supposed to write."

From behind the counter, you hear Jin snort. "Are you corrupting my customers with your literary theories again?"

"Always," Professor Kim calls back, and something in the way they smile at each other makes you think of your earlier observations.

"Thank you," you say, already starting to rework your intro paragraph. "That actually helps a lot."

"Any time." He stands, gathering his coffee. "And Y/N?"

You look up, surprised he knows your name.

"Don't worry too much about Professor Lee's assignments. He likes to seem tough in the beginning, but..." He adjusts his glasses with a slight smile. "Let's just say I've heard his Emily Dickinson lectures. Man cries every time."

As he heads back to his table, you turn to Jimin with wide eyes.

"Did that just happen?"

"Yep."

"And did he just..."

"Give you permission to basically write your paper in normal human language? Yep."

"Huh." You look between your laptop and Professor Kim's table, where he's already absorbed back in his grading. "Maybe the dimples aren't so terrifying after all."

"Please stop talking about our professor's dimples."

"I'm just saying—"

"Whatever you're about to say, don't."

Fair enough. You turn back to your laptop, fingers hovering over the keys. 

Maybe this assignment won't be so bad after all.

Even if you do kind of want to investigate why Jin keeps stealing glances at Professor Kim's table and thinking he’s being subtle about it. 

next | index

⋆｡°✩ taglist✩°｡⋆

@cannotalwaysbenight @livingformintyoongi @itstoastsworld @jimineepaboya @somehowukook @stuti2904 @chloepiccoliniii @kimnamjoonmiddletoe @annyeongbitch7 @jkrailme @rpwprpwprpwprw

© jungkoode 2025 no reposts, translations, or adaptations

[370005]

sollux & terezi on beforus are in the business of ruining lives (for fun and profit)

details + bonus doodles under cut

ive been in a beforus mood lately so im thinking abt what the trolls lives could have been like.

sollux and terezi are white collar criminals. i wanted to give her the seer curse of Seeing Things even though she isn't a player, so she utilizes her infinite outcome matrix analysis abilities to forsee tragedies specifically caused by negligence. there was definitely a point in her childhood where she attempted to be a mothmanesque figure, warning potential innocents of upcoming events and terrorizing the people responsible for totally preventable misfortune.

but then she grew up and realized that the people who were responsible for shoddy architecture, massive layoffs, and general societal injustices didn't have a conscience to torment. They were gaming the system for money $$$ and you had to hit them where it hurts. she used her proclivity for predicting small-scale catastrophes to predict how said ensuing scandals would affect the stocks for the entities involved. you can't make the executive heads feel bad about dropping 30% of their staff to feed their own salaries, but you can definitely manipulate the market and ruin their public perception until people are papering their hives with the company currency

sollux, who worked the BSE as their best surveillance analyst, clocked terezi as a front runner when she showed up out of absolutely nowhere and scored huge profits after two consecutive PR disasters led to the bankruptcy of like 8 corps and heavy damage to their subsidiaries. it was kind of impressive, but he had a job to do yaknow? terezi, who was immediately on the run from the beforus finance cops and had to be sneakier and meaner with her manipulation, and sollux became completely obsessed with this criminal mastermind who was VERY easy to track. she was always behind the scenes in every major upset but sloppy about it. he probably should have turned her over to the authorities the second he knew her location. but, let's be honest, can you resist a pyrope on a mission?

after a very tumultuous rivalry that swung red and black like a centrifuge they eventually join forces because it turns out terezi doesn't have any inside info. she's just acting on VERY good hunches. there's honestly not really anything illegal she's doing PERSAY. and then sollux joins the efforts and uses his forensic experience to make her a lot harder to track, as well as collecting sensitive info and facilitating scandals that will rock the bottom line of anyone they consider an enemy. terezi is very into the networking part of it, amassing a silent army of business associates who can do the dirty work for them, either through bribery or blackmail. she knows how to get people to do what she wants >:] it's a bit morally dubious but it's all for the sake of the people.

lots of fun moments with these two, like when sollux brainstorms a series of possible connections that could insinuate that a group of people have been too careless in their various embezzlement schemez and theres a big tower of cards begging to be toppled. or when terezi comes to a sudden realisation that a potential whistleblower's nerve is about to run out and they've gotta act NOW if they want to benefit from the fallout.

these two are always hiding from the 9+ cumulative life sentences they've accrued and the financial ruin theyve rained on corporate beforus. as a result, they pretty much only have each other, and maybe a handful of their most trusted affiliates. kind of hard to nourish any type of relationship when the people close to you are in danger of being implicated in your many crimes and all of your enemies are incredibly wealthy, powerful, and influential. i imagine their luck runs out one day and they're disappeared from society without a trace.

[metalpincer]

Hello lol it's been a while. So, update on things, as you can see I haven't posted any art in foreverrr. School + depressive episode + hyperfixation death is a crazy combo. On that note, I have decided to post art again, in doing so making this acc multifandom. I still plan to make my animatics and animations, just at my own pace whenever I feel like it lol. I kind of put pressure on myself to keep pushing art out which led to me just not posting at all, so working on that haha. So what have I been up to? Mostly drawing ocs and focusing on school. Here's some of my recent art ^^

I made my own Wreck-It Ralph Oc, then got really obsessed with the fake game they came from. I have been having a BLAST worldbuilding. Cowboys vs aliens bullshit lol.

Late-night convos with a friend of mine also led to a beautiful relationship between my psychotic robot, and my friend @beebfreeb's oc, Rock

but yeah that's what I've been up to. I may post more Fallout stuff, but who knowwws.

I truly appreciate everyone who has taken the time to check out my work and like it, and I hope you enjoy whatever I create in the future.

[mrzombielover]

Hello! Perchance, ur request is still open? I'd love your take on something that's been rattling in my brain. If you can't disregard the rest of the message, no worries! 😊 Human!Adam x Angel!Reader, I'd love an obsessed Adam who grew close to the reader after the fallout of his relationship with the trio (Luci, Lilith, and Eve). After being kicked out of Eden, he separates from Eve for years which is when he meets, well, you.

omg hi yes reqs are open!! everyone reading this pls send me more adam stuff the brainrot is realll and i need him in a way that’s concerning to feminism

also i just wanted to say thank you again for all the kind words you leave on my slow ride series it is so sweet and motivating :,)))))

warnings: none || wc: 842

When everyday in heaven is a perfect day, you tend to find yourself becoming bored. You fulfill your duties, chitchat with the other angels, eat your fill of the sweetest fruits and lay to sleep on the softest clouds. You can sunbathe, go for a swim, see your closest friends however much you prefer. Heaven is, well, perfect- it was designed to be. Everyone else is perfectly satisfied, you should be perfectly satisfied.

So why do you find your mind wandering?

When everything is perfect, you’ve found lately that you’re lacking a sense of fulfillment. Of purpose. And above all else, you’re bored.

This is when your habit started. It’s harmless, really, you just had an itch of curiosity that needed to be scratched. Sure, your job had basically nothing to do with the humans on earth, but they were so fun to watch.

There’s not many of them right now, but they’re all so fascinating, especially the little ones. You couldn’t fathom it, being mortal. Originally, you thought they lived such trivial lives, but upon closer inspection, they’re not so different from your own.

After the fall, they’re completely separated from you now. You wish there was a way for you to let them know that there were still angels watching over them.

Your favorite, though, is Adam. After eating the fruit of knowledge, he’s different. As to be expected, though, when he suddenly has knowledge of good and evil, concepts he couldn’t even fathom before.

He’s funny. It’s terrible, some of the things he says, and even worse that you find it amusing. He’s charming, in a way.

One day, you just can’t help yourself anymore. It hurts you to see them struggle. Since leaving the garden, they’ve known pain and suffering. Struggle. Hunger. And though you’ve never experienced those yourself, the thought brings you sadness. You can’t imagine suffering so, and there’s a sense of guilt because you know that you have the power to make things easier for them.

You feel such pity, watching them, so far away, as they lament about missing the garden. Adam says that, most of all, he misses the fruit. The berries here never seemed to be as sweet.

It’s no coincidence when, not long after, he discovers a bushel of all the fruits he’d missed. It nearly brings him to tears when he takes a bite, the sweetness on his tongue and juices rolling down his chin. And it’s not much, but the pride that blooms in your chest as you watch is the best thing you’ve felt in millennia.

So you leave more gifts for them. You ought to be more careful, you’re pretty sure you could get in trouble for this. But if you’re not actually talking to them it’s fine, right? That’s just a line you won’t cross.

“Holy fuck-“ You dropped the basket you were holding. “It’s you!”

That startled you. How had a human managed to sneak up on you??

“I knew it-!”

You quickly shush him, looking around anxiously.

“I’m really not supposed to be here,” You say quietly, but you crack a small smile. He smiles, too.

You straighten up, and you mean to leave, but then he grabs your arm.

“Wait!” You can feel the blood pumping beneath his mortal flesh against the skin of your arm, what a strange feeling. “You have to leave already?”

You pause, biting the inside of your cheek as you consider it. Oh, you really shouldn’t. But you’re missing the warmth from his touch on your arm already.

Though you know it’s wrong in every sense of the word, you figure a few minutes couldn’t hurt. So you sit with him. You tell him about heaven, how every day is perfect, how one day he’ll forget what any of this feels like. And he tells you about Lilith and Eve, and how lonely he is down here. You tell him you wish you could fix that, frustrated by your own incompetence.

“Trust me, you’ve done enough,” He laughs, but hes putting a hand on your shoulder reassuringly. The touch is innocent, but it (embarrassingly) takes a great effort to keep your wings still.

Adam doesn’t move his hand away this time, and you cautiously raise your hand and put it over his. You turn to look at his face, and his eyes flicker briefly to your lips.

Then he leans closer to you, and presses his lips against your own, in the same way you’ve watched other humans do. It’s an odd sensation, he’s so warm, and causes a feeling you’ve never felt to stir in your chest. and this time, your wings do flutter.

you’re utterly speechless when he pulls away, already longing for his touch again. but you’ve already spent too much time here, and on top of all the rules you’ve broken lately, that was probably a big one.

you stand up hastily, and you feel a pang of sadness at the look on his face.

“I’ll see you again, I promise,”

He can’t wait.

reblogs + comments greatly appreciated :)

[fazedlight]

Why am I obsessed with the rift?

From my first fic to the many many many many season 5 fics I've written, to the fic where the whole thing could've been averted in season 2, to my no-villain-era-for-Lena in season 3 (twice) and season 4 fics......... I seem to have developed a bit of a rift pattern.

A reasonable person might ask: Why?

There's something that itches in my mind: I think either woman would've been fully justified in walking away from their friendship, and yet they ultimately didn't.

It starts with Kara, who is ultimately a fractured person. She deeply values the truth, and yet she's forced to live with various lies, unable to be her full self.

Her identity is in the in-betweens. She feels adrift between two cultures, she knows her alien state while reaping the privilege of passing, she hides core aspects of herself on a daily basis. I'm sucked into the rift, in part, because of who she is and how she struggles to put it all together. I think her frustration will resonate with anyone who's stuck in the in-betweens.

Kara's struggle for identity plants the seed for the rift. The bigotry of society meant she had to have a secret identity in the first place, and keeping the secret from Lena was certainly reasonable for a time.

We can debate endlessly about when Kara should've told Lena - I think it's really hard to find the line between "too soon" and "too late" - but it ultimately doesn't matter. Because it's Kara's kneejerk reaction to Lena's kryptonite that forms the first sort of betrayal, not the secret itself.

Kara screws up - she says something she regrets, she doubles down when threatened and scared. These are common mistakes... but we have super-level circumstances, so we get super-level consequences. And the engine she has inside her that fears loss (which she's suffered to a level that is unimaginable to anyone on Earth) kicks in. She can't lose another person she loves.

But who is she holding onto?

In the series, and in flashbacks, we watch Lena's progression from idealistic techie to cynical recluse. While she's experienced loss and isolation, that's not the cause of her shift.

It's in experiencing her idol and protector become the madman who kidnaps her. It's in realizing her best friend has betrayed her by taking the one thing that could've saved her brother. It's in moving to a new city to start over, and meeting a mentor who uses her to start a global invasion. It's in her partner in scientific discovery being a pawn to her brother, colluding behind her back.

And then there's the final downfall. Her new best friend - her trusted confidant, her hero, the one who made her feel not so alone anymore - is the super who denigrated her, maligned her, spied on her. Lena had two important people in her life at that point, and she sacrificed one for the other... only to find out the other was a lie.

With betrayal after betrayal - Lex and Andrea and Rhea and Eve and Kara - she loses faith that anyone is above their worst impulses.

So she falls to her own.

How can good people do bad things?

There's a saying I heard around MIT sometimes: there are no technical solutions to social problems. It's easy to forget - when you're surrounded by people seeking to improve the world via science and engineering - that you can't solve humanity via technology or logic or rules. Lena forgot this.

Myriad marks a shift in the rift. Kara lied to Lena, antagonized her, spied on her - but her wrongs were directed towards Lena. Lena's initial response - the petty manipulation and the plan to out Kara - were directed back at Kara.

But then the rift fundamentally shifts.

At this point, Lena's wrongs are no longer just about Kara - she's trying to brainwash the world. She mindcontrolled Malefic and enslaved Eve. This went beyond the fallout between two friends.

It's clear that her intentions are still good here. She's not a megalomaniac like her brother, she's not forming an us-vs-them mentality like her stepmother. She's an anti-villain at this point in the story - desperate to find what's true, in a world full of lies.

It's a hard line to walk, acknowledging Lena's trauma and well-intentioned motivations while realizing she's still ultimately culpable for her own actions. But it's important to try to balance, because Lena is still redeemable.

But getting back to the relationship itself - Kara played a large role in pushing Lena to the edge of her trauma, which was entirely motivated by Kara's own trauma.

You hide things so you don’t lose people. I run from people who hide things. I guess we were bound to explode.

Lena says this in my first fic mentioned earlier, and it summarizes the rift as succinctly as I can put it. Their traumas were incompatible, and their relationship should've failed.

And yet.

Delving into how the CW screwed up the rift could be its own essay. They gave us a complex and layered situation, only to gut it with It's a Super Life (beloved/beloathed), the narrative retroactively justifying Kara instead of examining her foils, glossing over Lena instead of delving into her ethical blindspots. The rift was cancelled.

What does that leave us with?

Well, I guess it left me seeking the rift, over and over again. I'm certainly not the first author to do a rift fic, and I doubt I'll be the last. There seem to be a few different approaches:

Some authors delve into the nuance, having the two characters hash out what they've been through in a way that feels balanced and real. In particular, I love the @searidings fic with the birds i'll share this lonely view. I don't think I have the skill to pull off that type of story.

Some writers lean heavily on one "side" or the other, often with lots of grovelling. This never resonates with me, because at some point in a relationship there has to be the realization that it's "us vs. the problem", rather than "you vs. me". In my mind, these fics miss the layers of trauma that led to the rift.

Some authors make the rift not matter. If you put the characters through hell and back, the anger will lose its thrust, and they'll be left wanting to heal.

I fall into the last category.

There's a moment from permanence by @itllsetyoufree that I especially love, where - in the aftermath of season 6 - Eliza asks Lena why she forgave Kara. Lena can't answer.

We like to think we're logically driven. But in my experience, forgiveness - and a host of other emotions - never work that way. Sometimes "sorry" cuts it, sometimes it doesn't. A lot of times, forgiveness comes from the realization that someone genuinely wants to connect, and that the fallout was relatively unimportant in the grand scheme of things.

Of course, when your fallout includes extra levels of gaslighting and a bit of global brainwashing, making it relatively unimportant requires something drastic.

That's where I end up landing. Putting my blorbos in Situations helps them see the other in a new light - see the other's genuineness, the other's fears, the other's love. Often times, this comes with the simultaneous threat to someone's life (though that's not necessary, especially if it's earlier in Lena's breaking point cutoff).

I do assume - and sometimes imply - that they're also having those discussions, working things out in the background. Because of what I put them through in my fics, I don't think those end up being explosive discussions. It's about figuring out the practical aftermath of what the heart already knows at that point.

Whether I deliver on that is ultimately up to the reader, but that's my approach. Because at the end of the day, love is about cherishing and understanding the person in front of you - flaws and and traumas in all. These stories are driven by loving both characters, and trying to see them the way they see each other.

The rift is a story about love and connection - how those things can't happen without embracing someone else's trauma and without understanding one's own imperfection. Because that's what's at the root of all of us.

And that's why I write the rift.

[degenerateworm]

Need to know what your Wesker from the gaming HCs thinks of The Institute from the Fallout series. It's a caricature, so sterile and advanced compared to the wasteland it surrounds that it's an intentional narrative turn, dripping with allegory and metaphors to the dangers of assuming the role of creation.

I'm so deeply unwell trying to figure out if he'd get ideas, or cringe, OR BOTH, or be uncomfortable, or be too comfortable.

I am so so so curious what he thinks of Big MT - their situation, how they were all brilliant minds akin to his own with stunningly similar teachings that were destroyed by one man to prevent them from enacting bloody ruin - and the resulting insane Zero, Eight, Klein, Dala, Morbius and Borous. How they behave, how they echo out their original selves incomprehensibly, stuck in obsessions they can't shake any more than they can regenerate their brains' neutered nerve endings.

I can think of so many games that echo out the 'hey science, Do Not build the torment nexus, please' thing oh nooooo lol

Thank you for reading!

What's up Nshtn! Thanks for the ask!

---

In my opinion, his reaction would differ varying on what part your Wesker is from, mainly either pre RE5, or post RE5.

Pre RE5 Wesker would find it laughable that these game developers were actually trying to say something about scientific discovery, something that has been said a million times before.

He'd look at Big MT and view it as a failure, but one with so much promise. Including all the Think Tank members.

They had made so many incredible discoveries and inventions; Saturnite, the retrieval harnesses, cloaking tech and cyber dogs.

But their demise only showed their lack of ambition in Albert's eyes. They didn't go far enough. And they weren't aware of the traitor in their midst before it was too late, and they had all been turned into shadows of themselves.

Albert Victim Blaming Wesker.

In his eyes, they deserved it, because they were weak. And Albert? He is simply different™.

---

Post RE5 though is a whole different story.

Albert will empathise with the scientists, yet he will quietly admire Mobius' determination to stop the others before they can cause further damage to the Mojave.

After all, Wesker has now been humbled, irrevocably. He sees that even if he did succeed in his mission of spreading Urobouros, he could have damaged the world beyond repair, being what his so called 'godhood' could fix.

And he could have hurt you.

Secretly, Albert wishes he was like Mobius; wishes he had been able to see the reality in his complex fueled delusion, and stopped himself before he lost such a great part of himself that he felt empty inside.

Miraculously, Albert has you to help heal him, but he can't help but wonder what would have happened if you weren't there.

Would he go entirely mad, like the scientists of Big MT? He can only speculate.

But he knows that despite losing so much, he's gained a lot more than what he had.

Albert Whumpsker. He'll be okay.

---

Sorry I didn't get to cover the Institute in this one, I'll mull it over the next few days and if you want I can post that too. I hope you're satisfied, and thanks again Nshtn!

[transparentkinks]

How the contract became void

another Lone x Charon fic I know they're not popular but i'm obsessed with this man. I want him to hug me so bad. I think aside from Lily Charon probably gives the best hugs in all of fallout.

Falling for her was wrong, he knew it. No matter how she treated him she was his mistress. He just couldn’t help how he felt though. It was like a weight he carried with him wherever she led them. 

He’d stop if he could, but he was bound by contract to follow her. What she did scared the fuck out of him most times, much to his concern. He was never scared. He could list all the occasions he was actually scared for a master on one hand, and all of them were her. He’s never worried for the safety of a master as much as her, nor longed to actually make them happy. She honestly didn’t have to say a word, he jumped at any chance he saw to make things better for her. He felt foolish for it, he probably disgusted her, but the things she does, the way she does them, the way she treats him. He didn’t realize it till she almost died, but her getting hurt, putting herself in danger, it terrified him. 

Because loath as he was to admit it, he would miss her. A lot. He wasn’t sure he could really go on without her. He couldn’t go back to how he lived before her. He felt like he could die when he wasn’t sure she’d wake up. The only order she ever gave him was to run for his life, but if she asked he’d set the world on fire for her. 

It didn’t help that she was fucking beautiful. He felt disgusting for it, but he couldn’t help fantasizing about her. She haunted his dreams, that pretty face and tight blue suit. In his dreams she’d come to him late at night and use him like previous masters would try to, and for once he loved it. He’d wake up in the morning hard as a rock wishing just for a moment that she was a wretched enough person to use him, and all day he’d think of the dream’s memory of her skin on his. But she was so damn kind, to him and everyone they met, but especially to him. He thinks she sees him as a friend, and he appreciates it more than she could know. 

Lately they’ve been staying in Megaton, and while people weren't exactly courteous to him, she insisted that people treat him with, as she put it, “basic respect,” something he watched her demand for Gob as well the few times they’d visited the saloon.

He hoped she cared for him genuinely, even just as a friend. Ever since she’s made her recovery he couldn’t stop thinking about the times she offered to give him his contract, or threatened to tear it up. He wondered if she’d let him stay, if she’d let him not be her slave or her employee or whatever she called it but her partner, working together on whatever she thought was important. He worried that if he told her she didn't own him anymore, then she’d leave him. She’d said it before, that she hoped he’d be able to go off on his own one day, but he dreaded that thought. He wants to do things for once, and all of them are with her. 

Ever since she gave him the only order she’d ever given him, he’s known he can’t, won’t, follow an order like that again. He will not leave her in danger ever again. If he has things his way, he won’t leave her period. Ever since the day he turned up in the underworld, having finally carried out the first order she’d ever given him and wondering why the hell he listened to her he’s felt a remarkable sense of self-determination. He didn’t feel like he was a passive observer in his life anymore. He felt a need, a desire to act like he couldn’t remember.

For once he wanted, and when he took action to get what he wanted he was able to take it. It was incredible. He was doing the most mundane things, but it was blissful. Lone always asked him what he was thinking, asked for input in the decisions she made. She asked him if he’d mind doing things for her, never a request. He’s been testing the waters, asking her for things, and she seemed almost delighted to do whatever he asked. She’d talk to him endlessly about everything and nothing, and yet the second he tried to say something she’d get as quiet as a mouse, listening intently to anything he had to say. 

She made him feel normal. Made him feel respectable, like a person and not an object or tool. Sometimes, she was even affectionate with him and it made him feel alive. She’d touch his face after fights sometimes, so softly, so light, making sure he was okay to move on. The first time she did it he nearly cried, he was expecting a slap when she raised her hand since she managed to take down most of their opponents and he managed to get shot, but instead she touched him so gently. Looked him in the eye and asked him if he was okay. Recently she’s been hugging him, asking him occasionally for a hug, and it was nearly a religious experience. He found himself hoping every night would be a night where she felt the desire for a hug.

Still, he couldn’t dream of telling her how he felt, or asking for the affection she gave freely. She was kind, profoundly and loudly accepting of ghouls, but he didn’t know if she would keep that attitude if he laid his ugly heart at her feet. Plus, she was still in the aftershocks of everything that happened. Since the purifier he could tell, she was just going through the motions. It was driving him nuts, but he had no clue what to say. She just seemed ready to fade away. Her actions in the wastes were even more suicidal than normal and when she woke up he was more concerned that she nearly died than she was. She’s been listening to his complaints though. She listened when he yelled at her to rest when she woke up from her coma, she listened when he said she needed to spend some time at her home in Megaton, and she listened when he told her a beer doesn't count as dinner. He figured since they live together he’d just keep an eye on her, but he just got more worried the more he watched.

At least she listened.

He just prayed she wouldn’t do anything risky.

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

She was gonna kill him, the smarmy asshole. She was still reeling at how different the surface was, but owning people? Abusing them even though they were doing what you told them to? She expected things to be different on the surface. Honestly she was surprised that everyone up here doesn't all look like Gob or Fawkes with how intense the radiation was. Some days walking through the wasteland made her wonder how long she had left with her smooth skin. She knew things would be different, but she didn’t expect this cruelty. She’d read about this in books, but it was supposed to be ancient. It was supposed to be dead long before the old world even considered the war. Still, somehow, practically the whole town acted like it was normal. What was wrong with these people? 

There’s no reason someone should be so confused by being treated with basic respect. Her first visit left her shaken, and she hasn’t spent a cap at the place since. She wasn’t always fond of stealing, but in regards to the information she needed she didn’t mind going behind his back. Unfortunately it seemed essential to visit on occasion to conduct business. Every visit made her skin crawl. Nova acted weird, angry and also resigned and good at acting friendly even when she had this dead look in her eyes. Gob was basically a shell of a living being, pouring drinks and waiting to get yelled at or hit. She avoided the place like the plague. Honestly at first she tried to avoid the city too.

Over the next few months, she slowly made progress at hunting down her dad and learning how to survive the wastes. Enough to lose her dad in the process and nearly kill herself for some fresh water. She liked to believe she helped, she disarmed the bomb in megaton, found three dog and helped keep him on the air, took out the Enclave base and helped the brotherhood of steel, helped that kid in grayditch and helped the water flow, but she still wasn’t sure how she could help Gob and Nova. It drove her crazy every time she went back to Megaton. Even getting the house for free didn’t make the city more appealing to her. It did give her a slight respect for the children of atom though, apparently the only people in town aside from his peer in bondage to treat Gob like a person. She was setting up a decent base at grayditch, but she, and since she’d bought his contract, Charon, can't deny the appeal of running water. 

“Can I head down to the bar?” Charon asked her, stepping out of the house. She was sitting outside of her house, mulling over her goals and general problems in life over a rum and nuka she poured herself. 

“You’re on break Charon, you can go wherever, no need to ask.” She replied. She mentally patted herself on the back for the conversation. He was feeling more comfortable actually doing stuff on the breaks she insisted he get instead of sitting in a corner doing gun maintenance. Plus, he felt comfortable asking her for stuff. She was beginning to worry that he’d never warm up to her, but this last two months he’s been getting much more expressive. It was a rather drastic change, but she wasn’t complaining. In fact it made her unreasonably happy. She felt like she was getting a chance to get to know Charon all over again and she was loving every moment of it. It didn’t help her with keeping her composure around him though. 

“I’ll need you to buy for me” He said. 

“Why? I pay you.” She answered with a furrowed brow. 

“You can use the money you paid me, but they won’t sell to a ghoul” He clarified, taking a chair next to her’s. She groaned. 

“That’s some bullshit, the person selling is a ghoul” She whined, looking up at the sky as if that would make this weird world make sense. 

“That’s how it works” He grunted out. 

“If you just wanna drink I can mix you something.” She moved to get up, but Charon stopped her by placing a hand on her shoulder. 

“No, don’t bother” He spoke, looking down over the town silently by her side. 

“So, why do you wanna go?” She hazarded a question. He took a few moments to speak up. 

“Been a while since I've been a customer.” He spoke quick and gruff. Lone gazed across the city to the lights of Moriarty’s bar. Fucking bastard just had to run a bar. She could tolerate a night there for Charon though.

“Lemme get my stuff” She got up, and this time Charon didn’t stop her. She wasn’t sure what this meant to Charon, if it was important to him or not, but if he was asking her for something, especially something so reasonable, she wasn’t about to be telling him no. 

The walk to the bar was quiet, broken only by asking him what he wanted before they entered. 

“Two beers, we can drink together.” Was his answer. 

“You want to drink with me?” She teased with a grin. He just grunted and looked away, handing her the caps. It was pretty uneventful buying the beers, receiving her normal hello’s and Gob seemed happy to see her as normal, though he never really said much. It seemed like Moriarty was somewhere in the back and Nova seemed to be laughing genuinely with the girl with family up in Arefu. Charon was silent, but content company. He seemed relaxed, like he would get when back in her house, himself sat in front of a pile of guns to work on with some beers. When he’d let her talk his ear off without so much as an annoyed grunt. 

Tonight, He seemed content to listen to her pull Nova and her friend into conversation and sip at his drink. Even though he was being silent, she couldn’t help glancing at him when she could. 

She knew a lot of people would look at her weird if she talked about it, and she knew that it was super fucked up, but she found herself quiet smitten with him. He was quite handsome in his own way, something that many people would look at her sideways for but he was, and she loved spending time with him. He had a weirdly dry sense of humor that she appreciated, he didn’t seem annoyed by her ramblings, and he was really fascinating whenever he diverged information from his crazy long life.

She didn’t feel so alone or alien to the wasteland when he was with her. He had this way of quietly understanding her. He seemed to pick up when she was upset, he had this way of pulling her back when she was seeing red. When she talked she knew he listened, and he gave short but surprisingly good advice. 

She found she trusted his judgment. She knows he’s gone through and done a lot, but deep down, she thinks he’s a good person. He wanted to do good by others, at least she knew he wanted to do good by her. She hoped so at least, sometimes it seemed like he minded her health more than she did. 

He would get her food and drinks without her asking. He’d set up camp and secure it if he could, only letting her help if she asked and wasn’t injured. She couldn’t step outside without him warning her about anything and everything that could be a threat. His reads on people were surprisingly accurate. If Charon didn’t like someone,eventually she’d usually either find out something horrible about them or they’d try and kill her.

She wasn’t naive enough not to notice people started treating her differently when she started traveling with him. He was a formidable presence, he knew what he was doing. For the longest time she’s been relying on being likeable and strong enough to defend herself, but most people didn’t really believe she could defend herself till they were already dead at her feet. Charon looked like he could kill a person, and it was surprisingly useful at avoiding conflicts. Not that Charon couldn’t handle himself in a fight. His style was brutal, and she loved watching him fight. 

He was so tall, and really, really strong. More than he had any reasonable right to be. He made her feel safe, something she also felt a bit guilty about. She apparently owned him to protect her, so says the contract, so he was certainly good at his job. Of course he was going to be protective of her, yelling at her to get behind him and taking care of her wounds. It didn’t stop the butterflies when he would pull her back into him during combat or check her over after a fight. 

She unfortunately was rather smitten, and she didn’t think those feelings would be changing any time soon. The way she caught herself just staring at him, she was hopeless. She’d heard people say awful things about him, but she liked looking at him. She really liked looking at him. 

She felt awful about it. I mean, she owned the man and she was lusting over him? She didn’t exactly have a lot of experience, the vault being what it was, but that didn’t stop her mind from wandering. 

She’d seen him without his shirt on, she couldn’t help but wonder how nice it would feel if he let her touch him, if he let her sit in his lap, how nice it would feel if he would hold her. She wondered what it would feel like if he let her explore his body. If he’d let her lay on his chest, what it would be like to hear his heartbeat, what his hands on her would feel like. If he’d be patient with her in her inexperience, if he’d be rough with her like Nova would talk about. She wondered what affection from him would look like. She found herself daydreaming of it often.

Especially right now, him slouched in the corner of the bar. He was lazily sipping at his drink, he seemed almost happy. She wondered what him smiling at her would look like, feel like. And those arms, she could see them flexing when he lifted his drink. What it would be like to feel those muscles, she wondered if Charon would ever let her touch him like that. Between her daydreams and idle banter with some of the coolest people in Megaton, she was just beginning to feel like she might have a nice time at Moriarty’s for once, when-

Crash

“Fuck” Gob dropped down behind the counter.

Nova ran to behind the counter. Lone stood to look at what was happening when Charon stood with her and grabbed her shoulder. Nova was dropping glass shards in the wastebasket, Gob scooping up the glass where he could and mopping at the liquor with a rag. 

“What the fuck was that?” Moriarty leaned down over the railing, making his way down the stairs. 

“I just accidentally knocked over a bottle of whisky, I'm getting it cleaned-” Nova tried to explain to him. 

“Bullshit.” Moriarty spat. “I heard Gob first!” He stormed over to Gob and pulled him up by the shirt collar. 

“I’m sorry sir, I’ll-” Gob's hands were up to protect himself, and indeed he needed it. Lone knew Moriarty was fucked, but the way he just started beating Gob was brutal. If Charon hadn’t started leading her out of there, she wasn’t sure what she would have done to the bastard. The second she tried to step forward he was already hauling her back, and she had little ability to stop him considering him hauling her out of there looked something akin to a person dragging a doll behind them. 

The walk home was silent. Her mind was reeling. She was crying, quietly as she could. Charon didn’t say a word, just walked her home and went through his nightly routine like nothing happened. She just sat on her couch, thinking and frowning and wringing her hands, trying to calm down. She couldn’t avoid it anymore. Megaton might actually be a nice city without that asshole. Doing nothing, just living with it, going there, bringing her business, avoiding it, all felt like she was being complicit with what Moriarty was doing. 

But who was she to consider this? She may as well be as bad as Moriarty. She was complicit. There she was lusting over her fucking slave in a fucking black market dealer and slave owner’s saloon. She owned Charon, just like Moriarty owned Nova and Gob. It was sick, made her feel disgusted with herself. It was a heavy feeling. 

But she couldn’t just let Charon go, he’d walk off and find someone else to own him at best and maybe? Kill her at worst. She hoped he wasn’t in a mood to kill her once he’s free. She hoped the day would come when he’d tell her he'd like his contract and he’d let her know him as the person he would make of himself. Maybe it was wishful thinking, and she’d die before he could take it back. Maybe he’d like to never see her again, I mean she owned him. She wouldn’t blame him if he truly saw her as just the same as Moriarty. 

But it didn’t matter what anyone thought of her. These people were okay with this, she had to do something. There had to be a way to get rid of Moriarty. The world would be a better place without bastards like Moriarty in it. He’d lived so long without anyone hitting back at him. He deserved any shit she could throw at him, and she could do something about him. Maybe she can’t hunt down and kill Charon’s problems, but she could definitely kill Gob and Nova’s. Not all of them sure, but definitely one.

The fridge slammed shut, Charon drinking down a cold nuka-cola. She felt guilty oogling him in his state of undress, just a tank and old beat up canvas pants. Any shirt he wore was tight around the chest and shoulders. She knew from experience just how strong that man was, and it made her feel weird, and that made her feel gross, so she pointedly stared at the glass, the perspiration from the cold dripping down the bottle. Nuka-cola in the bloodstream would be lethal, less than a shot. Needle marks are easy to hide, not like people would be checking his filthy ass. 

“You goin to bed soon?” Charon grunted out. 

“Yeah-” She glanced away. She had plenty of empty needles in her medkit. She could pick a lock, not get caught. “I’ll be up in a bit.” 

“Mmhm” He made his way, shuffling up the stairs. The lights up there went out. She knew Charon would be out soon. She made her preparations. The door squeaked on the way out, but no one was about when she stepped out into the dusty night air. 

Her walk there was casual. She had no bag on her, just her jacket and a gun tucked in her waistband. When she got there the bar was closed. The lock was a simple pick, the door rather quiet. It was dark inside, no one lingering down in the parlor. Her steps up the stairs were light, his door a slightly harder pick than the front door, egotistic asshole. 

He was dead asleep when she got in there. She closed the door behind her, slipping quietly up to his bed. He slept without his jacket, and she wasn’t all that surprised to see track marks. Makes her job even easier. She injected him with two syringes of med-x, to make sure he wouldn’t be able to wake up screaming from the various unspecified chemicals sugar and carbonation about to make their way to his heart. Then she injected him with two syringes of the main event, just to make sure. She smiled when she felt his pulse start to skyrocket. She felt his muscles slack, and she slipped out of the room. Her heart was hammering in her chest as she made her way down the stairs and out of the building. She locked the door behind her, and felt a rush of adrenaline wash over her as she walked home. Running would be suspicious, so she walked, shaking, the whole way home. 

The house was dark and quiet when she got back, the low creak of the hinges cutting through the silence. She threw off her jacket with a sigh, about to sit on her couch when she heard the door squeak open again. 

Whipping around, she saw Charon’s hulking figure in the doorway. He was tense, pushing the door closed with a thud of finality. 

“Hi, there- Charon. What-”

“What were you doing out?” He questioned. 

“I was just- going for a walk.” She mumbled. “Clear the head-” 

“So you had to break into Moriarty’s to clear your head?” He interrogated. 

“You saw that?” She giggled nervously. 

“What did you do?” He was frowning. She sighed, gripping her pants. Could she even really admit it? Admit to murder? Charon’s helped her in a fight before, but did his views on that extend to killing a guy in a city? 

“I was-” She paused. “I couldn’t not do anything anymore.” She mumbled. Charon crossed his arms. 

“So?” He grunted. 

“So Moriarty is gonna be dead come tomorrow morning” She spoke quietly. Charon let out a chuff of a laugh. The look he was giving her was strange. 

“If you say so” He turned to the stairs. “Go to bed now” He spoke with a voice of finality. She just sighed and followed him up the stairs. 

She woke the next morning to the sounds of yelling outside. She rushed downstairs to see what was going on, where Charon was already sipping his coffee and looking out the front door’s window. 

“What’s going on?” She questioned. 

“Looks like you were right. Sheriff's calling some sort of meeting.” He nodded to the window. She walked over and looked through herself, and indeed it seemed a lot of people were gathering around the bomb. 

“Guess I should go show my face” She sighed, shuffling on her boots. “You don’t gotta come with if you don’t wanna” She sighed, opening the door with a low creak. 

“Where you go, I follow” He answered simply, following her out the door. Making their way down to the center of town, she could better make out words in the argument going on. 

“Who’s gonna run the place now?” 

“He was the one organizing shipments! How can we?”

“I’m not drinking outside next to the fucking bomb!”

“Now folks hold on!” Sheriff Simms yelled out. “We’re gonna go through his stuff to get our own connections, and Nova has assured me that she and Gob can keep the place running as long as we can get shipments sorted. Nothing is closing!” He assured the crowd. People got quieter, but it seemed everyone was talking to someone about what’s going on. 

“I’m not surprised he kicked the bucket, old fuck could never kick a bad habit” she picked up from somewhere nearby and felt her anxiety lighten. Then Simms locked eyes with her and it all came flooding back. 

“Lone!” He called with a smile. “Good to see you in town, we could use our local hero with all this drama.” He chucked. 

“You need me for something?” She questioned. She heard Charon grunt in annoyance behind her. 

“Yeah, you’re able to get across the wasteland pretty fast. Any connections we learn about I was hoping you could reach out to. Moira is helping where she can but we don’t quite know where he got all the bulk liquor. Could help right this mess real quick” He spoke cheerily, though she could hear the slight pleading tone. 

“I can do that, just let me know, okay?” She grinned back. 

“Thanks Lone, it's appreciated” He patted her on the shoulder before moving on to chat with other Megaton locals. She briefly considered heading up to craterside supply, but she caught Cromwell’s eye and figured heading home was safer than getting pulled into a conversation with him trying to get her to convert again. 

“Wanna head out?” She looked back up at Charon. He just grunted, which she supposed worked as agreement. She sighed as she entered the house, slouching tiredly down into a chair with the finality of the closing door. 

“Thank fuck no one-”

“Why’d you do it?” He cut her off, leaning against the wall between the front door and the stairs. She glanced away, feeling rather awkward. 

“I don’t know” She sighed. “I Just couldn’t watch that shit anymore. This town is better off without him.” 

“Mhmn” Charon stepped in front of her, leaned down to place a hand on the armrest. He seemed to be sizing her up. “You risked your life to help Nova and Gob.” 

“It was mostly because I was sick of seeing his ugly mug,” She spat. Charon just laughed at that. That turned her attention back to his face.

“So seeing what he did, that made you angry?” He probed. 

“Yeah,” Lone replied. 

“Good.” Charon sat down next to her. She looked at him, a cautious grin on her face. 

“Good?” She echoed. 

“Yeah, Good.” He smiled at her, he actually smiled at her and she wasn’t sure her heart could take it. She was gripping her hands in front of her, trying not to jump up and hug him. “Why are you looking at me like that?” 

“Like what?” She felt a bit taken aback, moreso after having him smile at her. 

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

The way she was looking at him, it was doing things to him. She had this starry eyed look, her face was blushing all pretty. She was shaking, and she wouldn’t take her eyes off him. “I don’t know,” It felt presumptuous to call it what it seemed like. “Like you’re excited.” 

“Sorry” She quickly glanced away from him. 

“It’s not bad” he clarified. “I just want to know why”. She paused for a few moments.

“He was a disgusting, horrible man. Everything he did- Gob didn’t deserve that. Gob and Nova never deserved any of that” She sighed out. He couldn’t help but think back to last night. He expected what happened to Gob. He’d seen, received, treatment like that and worse. Last night she saw that, and took it upon herself to risk her life and home in Megaton just to sneak into Moriaty’s room and try to kill him in some way that couldn't be tracked to her. There was no way this would benefit her, and the people she helped didn’t even know she did a thing. 

“No one will even know you did anything. Gob and Nova didn’t ask, they’ll never know what you risked for them”. How much planning did that take? Wait, why did she avoid telling him why she was looking at him like that by confessing to murder? She couldn’t even look at him now. Was she-

“That’s okay” She spoke. She spoke like it was nothing. He stood and her eyes immediately flicked to him. Her gaze was doing something to him he wasn’t proud of. He leaned over her, propping himself up on the arm of the couch. Her eyes were wide, and she was definitely looking at him now. She looked anxious, lovely as she looked. 

“I want my contract. Better yet, tear it up.” He stated. Just as he hoped, she grinned a million-watt grin and jumped up to hug him. The feeling was blissful. He felt pathetic, being so moved by such simple affection, but he couldn’t remember the last time anyone else actually hugged him, or touched him kindly. The feeling she gave him was addictive. 

“Omygosh Charon of course!” She cheered. She then seemed to register that she was hugging him and moved to let him go. “Sorry, I didn’t ask-”

He cut her off, choosing to prolong the hug. He wrapped his arms around her and lifted her up into his arms. She yelped as her feet left the ground, before giggling and wrapping her arms around him. 

“I'm so glad you’re ready for this Charon, Lemme-” She started to shimmy in his grip. 

“Don’t worry about it, it doesn't matter.” He spoke reassuringly, earning him another giggle. And it didn’t. She really has just been waiting for him to take him up on her offers, it wasn’t some sick taunt. She bought him, intending to set him free. Fuck, she was trying to buy his freedom the whole time. She paid thousands of caps for no reason other than to help the random ghoul who barely said two sentences to her and was rude the whole time.

Still, he leaned down and placed her on her feet. Despite his assurance the second she was on her own feet she was rushing us the stairs. It wasn’t long before he saw her nearly tumble down the stairs with contract in hand as she rushed back to him. She was giggling, just plain giddy with excitement. 

“Do you wanna do it or should I? Or do you wanna burn it?” She held up the contract to him, that stunning grin pointed at him. This past few months he’s been realizing just how much he craved seeing her happy now that her light seemed to be dampening, and he couldn’t remember her looking more happy or excited as long as he knew her. It was touching really, she was excited for him. He couldn’t help but smile back as he took the contract in hand.

Looking at it, it was hard to really sort out in his mind how this paper held so much power over him, or how it stopped. Then he looked at her. His master who wanted no part in owning him. His master who intended from before caps exchanged hands to buy his freedom. Who ordered him to prioritize his life over hers, the one thing ingrained in him not to do. 

“Let's burn it” He spoke with a grin. She nodded and grabbed her lighter from the counter. 

“Burn it in the sink?” She suggested. He answered with a nod and a grunt. She offered him the lighter and he took it gladly. He held the contract over the sink. The paper was rough and weathered, the writing barely legible. He lit the lighter with a flick, held it to the edge of the page. Watching it catch, the bright red of the burning ember creep up the paper as the ash fell into the sink, it was beyond cathartic. It was like he was finally finishing what started breaking in him the day she told him to run. He held it till the embers reached his fingers, relished the heat and small biting pain of it’s obliteration. He dropped what remained in the sink watching his contract burn completely to ash. Glancing to his right, he saw Lone leaning against the counter beaming at him. 

“So what do you wanna do now?” She questioned, leaning up onto her palms. 

“What do you mean?” He asked. He knew what she meant, he just dreaded the conversation. His blood was rushing like he was in battle. Was she going to kick him out? He guessed he couldn’t blame her, but he wouldn’t enjoy it. 

“You’re free, so what do you wanna do with your life?” She explained. “You can do anything you want. You don’t gotta listen to me or anyone.” He couldn’t suppress a frown at that. 

“I would-” He looked at her. “I’d like to stay with you, if I can.” He hoped she’d let him stay. “I can still work for you-”

“I honestly don’t want an employee.” She spoke, and his heart sunk. “But I’d love for you to stay Charon. However long you want to.” Looking at her, she seemed nervous. He wondered if she was afraid of him leaving. 

“I’d like to stay, but I should probably tell you something first before you decide to let me stay.” He warned. She looked at him expectantly. 

His heart sunk, suddenly he felt horribly guilty. She was too kind, she wasn’t responsible for him now. Thinking about it now, it was kind of awe-inspiring. This beautiful woman like some fucking guardian angel of the wasteland really took the time and effort and expense to buy his freedom and help him figure out how to be his own person while tackling her own shit. Looking back on it, it finally clicked. She’d been easing him into making decisions, providing input, self-direction. And he’d hated her for half of it. Who does that for someone who didn’t even want to talk to them the first time they met? 

She deserved to know that the man she was feeding and housing was lusting after her, she didn’t deserve to have to have that in her house. She deserved the chance to know and kick him out. He knew he could make it on his own, he had the skills. She’d already helped him so much, he owed her this. “I’ve,-” He could feel his heart in his throat. “I’ve fallen for you. And you don’t deserve to-”

“Oh Charon!” She cheered delightedly, rushing forward to hug him and effectively cut him off. He placed his hands on her shoulders hesitantly. 

“You’re okay with that?” He probed hopefully. 

“I felt so bad about it, I didn’t want to say anything. I mean I owned you but, I-” He could feel her hands balling in fists, gripping the back of his jacket. “I really like you Charon, I like talking with you and looking at you and spending time with you and I would honestly be sad if you left. And I definitely like you” She took a steadying breathe. “Like, ah- Like romantically.” She stuttered out as she pulled back, hands still on his shoulders. She was looking at the floor. 

“You’re-” He was utterly stunned. He’d never in a million years would have thought she would actually like him back. “You’re serious?” He could see her face was blushing furiously. 

“I am, and I’m glad you’ve fallen for me.” She kept a shy grin on her face, though her eyes wouldn’t meet his. He couldn’t believe it, I mean he was a ghoul, not even human and she likes him? She’s always beautiful, but she was practically an angel in that moment. Fuck, if she actually wanted him, he would worship her like one. Did anyone deserve to be this lucky? Did he? 

“Fuck Lone” Charon dropped low to his knees in front of her. At this, her eyes finally flicked to meet his. Her hands moved their way higher up his shoulders to where his shirt gave way to the skin of his neck, thumbs tracing his skin softly, and he reveled in the touch. 

The morning light shone in through the gridded sheet metal of the house and it lit the frizz of her hair like a halo. He wasn’t sure what to do with his hands, but she was grinning that shy grin at him, lifted a small cautious hand to his cheek. He raised a shaking hand to cover hers, and her fingers were soft and cool to the touch. “I don’t deserve someone like you. A pretty little thing like you doesn't belong with a ghoul like me. It's not safe for you.” Her smile dropped.

“Charon,” Her voice creaked out, soft and thick. “There's a lot of thinking I've been doing lately, about where I belong.” She was speaking slowly, like she wasn’t quite sure how to quite put the words together. “It seems, I do not belong anywhere.” Her eyes kept flicking away and then back to his. “ I believe in my skills, and I believe in yours. Charon, you make me feel safe” She forced her gaze to meet his. “So I want to belong with you.” 

“Goddamn” He sighed, leaned into her shoulder that was now level with his head. She wrapped her arms around him in an embrace and he couldn’t help but shiver at how good it felt. She was so soft, so gentle with a tattered man like him. “I want to belong with you too.” He admitted. 

She smiled, leaned away from him just enough to lower her face to his and ever so slowly, leaned in to kiss him. Never in his life could he remember such loving affection. Her lips were so soft, just like her kiss, he was gasping when she finally leaned away from the kiss. Suddenly he was absolutely ravenous for the feel of her lips again. He could kill for the taste of it again. She moved his hands ever so gently around her waist and he was overcome by the feel of her beneath his hands. 

“You’re too fucking perfect” He sighed into her embrace. She chuckled in his arms and he felt his warped skin pull back to actually grin.

“Oh Yeah?” She seemed amused. 

“Yeah,” He knew he was already addicted to her touch. “I could worship you.” At that she actually laughed. 

“I didn’t take you for the pious type” She jested, trailing her fingers about in a blissful trail. He was soaking in any ounce of touch she offered him.

“I can be” He leaned back, hands refusing to leave her form even as he met her eyes. “For you.” Her eyes fell to the floor. Her cheeks were bright red. “Can I show you?” He risked the question. 

“I-” She stuttered out. He felt a bit smug at leaving her at a loss for words. “Okay” She finally managed. He let his hands grip the soft fat of her hips as he guided her back onto the couch. 

“You tell me the second something hurts or is uncomfortable, okay?” He spoke seriously as she took her seat. She met his eyes and nodded with that sweet smile of hers, and his lips were on her’s again, his kiss more forceful than their first. He let his hands roam her torso and down to her outer thighs. Everywhere he touched earned him little shivers and noises against his lips. She sounded incredible. He could die happy like this, her body happy to be in his arms and the taste of her lips on his.

He pulled away. “I want to make you feel good.” He met her eyes. He enjoyed this point of view, her all flushed under him in his arms. She nodded and he descended to her neck, lips working marks down to the collar of her suit, ghosting touches as his hands roamed to her breasts and inner thighs and the skin between them. He moved a hand up to the zipper of her suit and she arched into him. Pulling the zipper, her skin was flushed beneath with a thin sheen of sweat. She helped in his efforts to shrug off the suit and roll it down her body. He pushed her tanktop above her breasts and leaned back to relish the sight of her exposed to him, the way he could watch her shaky breaths make her chest heave. 

Looking at her face, she met his gaze with a smoldering look. He wanted to lave his tongue against every inch of her skin, he wanted to know the taste of her and imbibe her scent till it was engraved into the deepest parts of his mind. 

He once again dropped to his knees before her, grabbed her right leg by the ankle and pulled it to him. He began placing kisses atop her foot, working his way up her leg, kissing his way around her knee and up to her hipbone. Then he grabbed her left leg and did the same. She giggled under his touch the whole time squirming a bit but overall compliant in his grip, looking down at him so fondly he felt his heart could explode. Her giggles, her skin under his hands, he couldn’t remember ever experiencing such joy.

He smoothed his hands over her stomach, kissing around her belly button. His hands swept up her ribcage, finally fondling her breasts and earning him a lovely groan as he kissed beneath each breast before kissing his way up her sternum, through the valley of her breasts to reach her throat. He leaned back and grabbed her wrists, taking his time kissing up her arms before returning to her torso. 

“Charon-” She sighed his name and it was lovely. She leaned down and he eagerly leaned up to meet her lip. He still had trouble comprehending that he was kissing Lone, he was touching her body and she enjoyed it. She wanted him. Her hands were trying to touch him, his hands and arms and face and chest. She leaned away from the kiss and her smile fell. “Charon? Are you okay?” Her hands on his face swiped under his eyes, and he realized he was crying. When was the last time he did that? 

“I’m okay, I'm great” He gasped out. He could feel his heart in his stomach. He didn’t want this to stop. He didn't want to stop touching her, he didn’t want her to stop touching him. “I just thought this would never happen” Her smile returned and the dread disappeared into the shape of bliss. 

“I thought the same” She giggled. He didn’t think he’d ever tire of the sound. It didn’t make sense, the thought that she couldn’t have him. He’d do near anything for her touch. “I was worried that you’d never never like me, much less want me.” 

He sighed. He knew he was cold to her for a long time, he never quite knew what to make of her kindness to him. He knew he was just trying to protect himself the way he’d been doing for centuries, but he still felt guilty. “I’ve been dreaming of this Lone” he admitted. She was smiling, pushing at his jacket and shirt. “I can’t believe you want to touch me.” She just shook her head with another chuckle, pushing at his clothes. 

“Oh Charon, I’ve always wanted to touch you.” She leaned to kiss him again, and he could hardly believe his ears, or what was left. He lifted his shaking hands to remove his jacket and shirt, breaking the kiss to do so. Lone immediately brought her hands to his chest, and he was mortified at the sound he made. She started kissing at his neck and chest and he had to steady himself by gripping the couch as the feeling of her touch rocked through him. 

“Lone-” He sighed, and he was possessed with a need to have his mouth on her again. He brought his arms around her waist and leaned down to kiss at her chest. Her hands flew to his head, running fingers through the patches of hair there. He brought his mouth to her chest, licking around her nipple and she made a lovely sound. He trailed a hand down to the waistband of her panties and she gasped. “Can I touch you here?” He asked. 

“Yes-” She sighed out. She leaned back into the couch and he propped himself over her. He felt her legs frame his hips, her hands lifting to trace his chest. He cupped her over her panties. 

“Have you ever been touched here before?” He asked. She seemed nervous around affection. He’s had sex before, but never like this. Never with someone he cares if they feel good. He couldn’t mess this up. He knew he’d have to be gentle, but if she had as much experience as he expected she would need eased into the experience. 

“No, we did some heavy petting but we’ve never went- um” She had a hard time keeping eye contact and putting her words together it seemed. “We never went under the clothes.” She was blushing all the way down her chest. 

He couldn’t say he was surprised, but he was definitely more conscious about how this was about to go down. He feared hurting or intimidating her. He didn’t want her to get scared, what if she got intimidated and she’d never touch him again? “Remember, we can stop whenever you want. We don't have to-” 

“I want to” She insisted. “I’ve-” She pointedly looked away to get her words straight. “I’ve thought about it a lot. About being with you. And I trust you. I feel safe with you. As long as you want to I-” 

“Oh I want to.” He reassured. And wasn’t that a nice thought? She’d fantasized about this. She’d never had sex before and she’d fantasized about them having sex. She’d seen all the wasteland has to offer and she still fantasized about him. 

He made her feel safe, and god, the realization that he made her feel that way felt incredible. Beyond the satisfaction he takes from his work, he was downright proud that she trusted him, he made her feel safe. Safe enough to trust him with her body. He began to rub her, carefully but firmly through her underwear and the way she squirmed was all he needed to reassure himself that she wanted this. “-And I'm going to make you feel incredible.”

She wanted this and she trusted him to make her feel good, and he’d be damned if he didn’t make her fantasies worth it. He rubbed her a little firmer, till she was making these soft little noises trying to hold her voice back. Then he tugged down her panties, pulling them off her and enjoying the sight of her cunt. He dropped a hand down to feel her and she was delightfully wet. 

He slunk down her body and put his tongue to her. He worked slowly, savoring her taste and her noises and the way she grabbed his head and whimpered his name. He worked a finger into her, leaning away momentarily to speak over her pulsing cunt. 

“You feeling good baby girl?” He spoke teasingly, thrusting his finger to earn himself a whine. 

“Yes!” She gasped from her position, head curled down to look at him and legs clutched around his face and shoulders. “Feels real-” He dropped his mouth back to her and she whined incoherently, bucking into his face. He could feel her slickness across his face and it felt incredible. If an angel showed up and told him he had died, and he was in heaven now, he would believe them without a second thought. “Good, Charon!” Her voice pitched at the end. 

He used his free hand to work down his pants and trousers, being way, way too tight for his liking at the moment, and with the way she was moaning for him it was only getting worse. He worked a second finger into her slowly before beginning to scissor her. He worked his tongue over her clit lazily, looking up at her face and savoring the flavor. He felt the way her heels ground into his back, relished the pressure as he worked her. He slowly pressed in a third digit and she arched her back beautifully, working herself through the feel of it. 

Soon she felt loose enough for him to feel confident he won’t be hurting her by fucking her and he leaned away, pulling his fingers from her to taste her on his skin. She whined at the loss of stimulation. Then he stood to remove his pants and she widened her eyes in surprise. A part of him felt smug at her shock, the rest needed her to know she’s okay. 

“Remember, we can always stop.” He reassured. She nodded, grinned, raised her hands to pull him into her embrace. He kissed her, and it was something warm and filthy, the taste of her slick shared between them. He reached down to stroke himself before picking her up. Her legs quickly latched around his waist and her arms around his neck. 

“Where are we going?” She asked as he walked up the stairs. 

“Your first time isn’t going to be on the couch.” He chuckled out. She giggled in response. 

“Fair” She replied. Up the stairs and down the hallway Charon placed her gently back on the bed before leaning down to kiss her again. He ground himself against her and she groaned into his mouth. She felt so warm and soft and wet against him. He repeated the action until this dick was thoroughly soaked. He looked into her eyes as he lined himself up. He rocked his hips forward slowly, dropping his thumb down to her clit. She moaned as he leaned away enjoying the view of her body arching under him, savoring the feeling of her ever so slowly adjusted to him as he patiently fucked himself into her, gentle as he could manage with his size. 

“Charon-” She gasped out as he finally bottomed out. It was blissful, the tight grip of her pulsing around him, throbbing with each circle to her clit. Her voice calling his name went straight to his dick. 

“I’m going to start actually moving, okay?” He checked with a grunt. 

“Okay” She gasped. He enjoyed seeing her so affected by his actions. He pulled himself out to the tip, before sliding back in gently. The little gasp she let out was lovely. She was rocking her hips to meet him, and the visual was addicting. His thrusts sped up the longer they went on, losing themselves in the motions and noises of each other’s bodies till the quick slap of skin on skin filled the room around them. 

“Yes-s-s-s” Lone groaned out voice hitching with each thrust as he changed the angle of his thrusts. “Charon!” She arched into his grip, and he could feel her hands clawing up his back. She responded so well to every one of his actions. 

“So fucking perfect Lone” He moaned, losing himself in feel of her. 

“Ah, Ah, Charon!” Lone threw her head back with a yelp and he felt her thrash in his grip as her eyes rolled back. He could feel her pulse hard around him and the feeling of it pulled him over the edge. He pulled out and gripped the sheets hard as he came, and when he was once again able to process the world around him he found himself looking at her staring at him, starry eyed. He leaned down to kiss her, slow and deep. 

“How do you feel?” He leaned away from her lips to check on her. 

“Really, really good-” She sighed. “ I still feel a little floaty.” He leaned to his side and rolled to his side, pulling her close to him. 

“Good” His voice felt gruff after what they’d just done. It still felt so surreal, holding her in his arms. Feeling her bare skin under his hands. She was just so beautiful to him. He couldn’t get his head around why she would want him, but it felt too good to question. He knew already he’d kill a man to keep her in his arms. 

“I-” She seems to glance up at him, trying to make herself meet his eyes before seeming to quickly lose nerve, tucking her face into his neck. “I-” He felt her huff against his skin. “I love you.” She spoke out small and fast. “And I know maybe it's moving fast but I-” He leaned down to kiss her before she could get caught in one of her anxious tangents. 

“I love you too.” He spoke quietly. It felt strange to say, but it felt true.  He couldn’t think of a thing he wouldn’t do for her. He can’t name a single person he trusts more. He can’t imagine wanting to do anything that didn’t involve being around her. She was this blinding light in the wasteland, determined to do what she wants, and it seems history follows her. He didn’t understand how she was patient enough to wander all around the wastes helping people, how she was able to act with so much understanding no matter how many people tried to fuck her over. 

Charon could never remember feeling loved, but he knew in that moment, her eyes peaking up at him with this lovely little smile as her hands refused to leave him, looking at him with so much joy and this soft adoration; he knew in that moment he was loved by her. It felt better than anything he could have ever imagined. 

Then she was visibly trying not to frown, he could tell she was trying to hold the tears back, her chest heaving. She was always a horrible actor and a worse liar.

“You mean it? You don’t resent me?” He could see those cogs turning in her head. He’d seen her meltdown like this before, when something happened and she felt especially overcome with guilt or dread. 

“Why would I?” He tried to challenge her train of thought. 

“I bought you and I owned you and you had to risk your life for me and-” She wasn’t looking at him anymore, could see the little lines of tears down her face and it made his heart drop. He didn’t understand her sudden mood drop but he wanted to do anything he could to make her feel better. 

“I-” He tried to start. 

“And how different am I than fucking Moriarty or Paradise falls or Azu-” She was leaning away, not looking at him.

“No-” He tried to interject. 

 “Oh my god!” She gasped out. “The shit I’ve dragged you through, and I.” 

“Stop” He felt a bit angry, maybe its just how he felt when he saw her sad. 

“I’m just so sorry Charon” She sniffed out. She raised her hands to cover her face and he immediately interceded, grabbing her face instead. 

“Lone, look at me.” She reluctantly met his eyes, her hands over his. “Thank you.” 

“B-”

“No, you listen to me. I-” He closed his eyes with a huff, leaned his forehead against hers. “I can't even piece it all together myself, my conditioning, how I spent the last few centuries. But you’re the first person to care in a long fucking time.” 

“But I bought-” She was quietly sobbing at this point. He kissed her, and it seemed to stun her enough to quiet her a bit. 

“What you did was try to buy my freedom. You didn’t realize what you were signing up for but when you realized it you tried anyway. You tried to give the contract to me, tried to give me the money to buy it from you, tried to destroy it and I threatened you for it. And you still cared about me, trusted my input, asked for my input, you’ve been kind.” 

“Sorry, I’m-” She did have a habit of saying that for no real reason. 

“Do not apologize” He met her eyes and spoke firmly. “You’ve given me more than I ever realized I could have, You waited for me to feel ready. You never ordered me to do anything.” 

He could see her open her mouth to argue. “You know what I actually think did it? The only command you ever gave me was to ignore your peril and run for my life. That’s the opposite of what I know I’ve been trained to do.” He could see her breathing start to even and he felt less angry and- sad? Looking at her crying face. 

“All those people you mentioned were mean fucking bastards. You know what Azurakal ordered me to do? The ways he made me hurt people?” He tried to explain. 

“But you kill for me-” He was getting annoyed at her baseless need to demonize herself. 

“Azurakal had me torture people who couldn’t pay.” He pressed a hand over her mouth, frowning at her. “Told me to hurt people in every way a person can be hurt, nothing was off limits and it was sick. I dreaded his every word. Paradise falls steal a person’s ability to think for themself. Moriarty I'm sure did whatever he wanted with Gob and Nova. Anything he’d let customers see he does ten times worse behind closed doors, I guarantee. For all you or I know you could very well have saved both of their lives. I know you saved mine. “ 

Her hand was on the wrist of the hand covering her mouth, but when he moved it she seemed to just open her mouth a bit in shock. Then she closed her eyes and mouth and huffed. She tried to wipe at her eyes but the tears kept coming. “We were having a nice moment and I-” His hand returned to over her mouth. 

“You’re allowed to be upset.” He moved his hand to pull her tight to his chest. He could feel her hands were shaky. “It’s all fucked up.” He reassured. “But we have each other.”

“Yeah” She seemed to relax in his grip. Her breathing wasn’t as shaky. “I feel lucky to have you Charon.” She finally looked up to him, eyes not as wet having pressed against hist pitted chest. “I love you”

“I love you too,” He answered. She finally seemed a bit calm again in his arms. She did cry a lot though, she’d better drink something, and she’ll need to wash and- “ I'm getting you a water.” He rose to get up from the bed, but Lone was latched around his waist as best she could. 

“Boooooo!” She complained. “You should stay and cuddle me.” 

“We can after you drink something, crybaby.” He grabbed her by her hair to pull her into a kiss. Shocking enough for her grip to loosen. 

“Booo! Tato! Tato! Tato!” She mimicked throwing tatos at him from where she lay, flopped dramatically over the bed and he sighed. Yeah, he loved this woman.

[warlockcctv]

One of the simplest changes Honest Hearts could’ve made was just including a leader for the Sorrows or Dead Horses that comes from those groups.

Daniel and Joshua are fine, I like Joshua despite the many issues he has and the weird obsession the rest of the internet has with him. They are still religious missionaries who make massive decisions for what seem like helpless tribals who would surely be killed if not for: A white ex-racist (he’s working on it), a really tired Mormon (who granted is supposed to be Asian not white but still. In an unmodded game he is white so most players will encounter him that way), and a racially ambiguous Courier.

None of these people belong to these groups, they may be accepted but at very few points do the groups from HH get to advocate for themselves or make their own decisions. I would have loved to see a divide in the community based on the ideas of its members not “which white guy is more right”

I’m sure I’m far from the first person to make this observation but I’ve been doing a lot of Fallout TTRPG work and the tribals have been a difficult thing to approach.

One hand almost every group is classic fallout and nv are at least discernible groups with histories and identities even if that is just murder hobo (not all of them, I’m looking at you jackals and vipers in nv) but at least it’s not all Bethesda Raiders.

On the other hand, none of them have been particularly sensitive to actual native cultures they clearly rip from. Sulik (and fallout 2s depiction and direction of tribals) is obviously seeping with stereotype. Honest hearts probably makes the best attempt in any fallout so far and test we still can’t trust two long standing native groups to make their own choice? One of two white Mormons should do it instead.

I know I’m probably late to the party but I haven’t given Honest Hearts a proper play through and payed attention in almost 3 years. This stuck out almost instantly after meeting Joshua again.

[whocaresstillthelouvre]

👍🏻2024 Faves👍🏻

Thanks for the lovely tags! @sawymredfox and @jolapeno

Books Listen, I'm terrible at reading now that I make too many make 'em up scenarios in my head and have to write them out. I'm going to give you recs of comics I read this year.

Astonishing Spider-Man (Scott Aukerman can do it all folks.)

Disney x Marvel (Very wacky, love the Donald Duck What If? Wolverine.)

Ultimate X-Men (Peach Momoko's stories are just as amazing as her art.)

Monster High (I'm definitely older than the target audience but it's cute and fun af.)

Fantastic Four (I'm not just saying this because of the Pedro of it all, but the newer comics have been amazing. Looking at you, #8)

Transformers (Holy crap. I only started because my husband loved them and WOW the story. I'll read anything Daniel Warren Johnson writes.)

I CANNOT WAIT FOR ABSOLUTE MARTIAN MANHUNTER IN MARCH

Movies (* are rewatches)

I Saw The TV Glow

Holdovers*

Marcel The Shell With Shoes On

Dicks: The Musical

Late Night With The Devil

Y2K

Here's a list of classic movies I ALWAYS rewatch: Philadelphia Story, Auntie Mame, What's Up Doc?, Mr Blandings Builds His Dream Home, Horse Feathers, Rear Window, Night of the Hunter

TV Shows (* are rewatches)

Smosh and Smosh compilations. Pretend it's on TV.

RIVALS

Ghosts (both CBS and BBC*)

Taskmaster

Narcos*

Fallout

Artists/Albums

Tortured Poets Department by Taylor Swift

God Said No by Omar Apollo

Hit Me Hard & Soft by Billie Eilish

Short 'n Sweet by Sabrina Carpenter

SOS Deluxe: LANA by SZA

Charm by Clairo

SO MUCH The 1975 for the latter half of the year.

Went through mild relisten obsessions with Interpol, TV On The Radio, Bloc Party, Oasis, James Blake, Jeff Buckley, Frank Ocean.

(Guys, I used to listen to metal and hardcore.)

Tagging: @ohheypedrito, @mothandpidgeon, @schnarfer, @almostfoxglove, @perotovar