#PITY BOON

[lunian]

oh no

but I always put my grandma first no matter what 😩

OH NO

PLEASE😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

[utilitycaster]

You have a good point. It's just weird that there are so many complains/posts/discussions about Orym, FCG or Ashton and on the other hand, the same people will tell you that "...the CR fandom will always care more for male characters" - well, apparently you do too or why else would you write so much about them and not your favorite relationship? It's just so baffling to me.

YEAH. Wow! It's almost as if you're hostile towards people talking about any flaws Imogen and Laudna have, they'll start talking about the men more because at least they can talk about them! It's almost as if, when you attack everyone who's like "I like Imogen because I think she's engaging with selfishness, which is a theme Laura has explored with incredible depth and nuance with her past characters as well," and claim they clearly hate Imogen, and then turn around and say "I LOVE FCG and Orym I think they're incapable of truly connecting to people because I'm projecting my personal feelings about my right-wing Christian upbringing onto 'guy who is worshiping a chaotic good of freedom' and 'guy who was part of the guard for Keyleth, you know, Keyleth, the character you think no one is allowed to ever question because Marisha got hate in 2017' and they should apologize to Laudna for everything they've ever done but I LOVE THEM" everyone will realize you're a massive hypocrite! It's almost as if, when you make any criticism of female characters taboo, even thoughtful analysis (and yes, thoughtful analysis is subjective, but I promise that the misogynist dudebros of yore do not talk about connecting themes across multiple characters in multiple campaigns; they say Shut Up Dumb Cunt), many people will start talking about the men!

Like...look, I think there are a number of reasons why people are targeting Orym right now, but again, before Orym it was FCG. For a while it was Ashton. Occasionally it's Chetney but usually they just forget about him. Briefly, when Laudna died, it was Fearne for the coin flip. Not on Twitter but on Tumblr some poor coward went to an anonymous vent blog and attempted and failed to start rumors of a ship war. In the end, it's totally fine if you enjoy this ship (and I've had great conversations with a number of people who are like 'it's sweet and cute but I also enjoy the other characters', and I support those people!), but it really feels there is a segment of fans who are less interested in enjoying the ship and more interested in screaming about how not everyone enjoys the ship and that, in turn, only makes it worse, because the reason I don't care for the ship is that there isn't really anything to say about it and there's way more interesting things to be said about the characters as individuals, or about literally every relationship, romantic or platonic. Like, I don't think Orym is terribly complicit - I think he's not perfect in that moment, but who is - but it really isn't about Orym, it's about avoiding the fact that there's not enough canon ship content to frost a mini cupcake and maybe if they throw enough discourse pocket sand in the air we won't notice. Except we are noticing that all they have to talk about is Orym.

[oneformybaby]

Have you ever run into other NCR soldiers who've recognized you since you left First Recon?

there have been a few. nobody i knew well.

some of them didn’t know me at all. they just see my beret and try to strike up a conversation. don’t really mind. they wanna talk, i’m fine with listening as long as i’m not busy.

[laiavarona]

Viernes de versiones: Holy diver

[eclipsecrowned]

stares at my vague eleos muse. puts her back in the closet.

[lavender-spice]

an honest man

Tyler Owens x Reader

Lily reveals the truth about Tyler's night, leading to confrontation

warnings: cussing, angst, but fluff at the end!

"Tyler Owens!" you shout , storming into your motel room. The rusty door slams with a rough shake and a deafening clang. The entire floor probably felt the shake of it but you could care less. You were going to skin Tyler alive. You beeline to the bathroom door, hearing the shower running. "Tyler you open this door right fucking now." you demand, jiggling the locked doorknob.

"Y/N? What is it doll what's the matter?" his voice is laced with concern as you hear him stumble out of the shower. He cracks the door open, hair dripping wet, shower still running. His eyes are wide, startled at your fuming expression.

"Do you care to explain why Lily says you were out 'till 2 am drinking with Kate?" he looks at you, flabbergasted. "You said you were out with Boone."

"Baby I was with Boone 'till like midnight, I was with both of them. Lily headed in with you and those two hung around. Kate was just the last to call it a night. We were up chatting real late." he replies nonchalantly. You roll your eyes.

Ever since this Kate girl rolled in Tyler's been smothering her like she's a baby in need of a blanket. He coddles her, taking attention from you. Every other word is Kate, Kate, Kate. It's like he's not even chasing for the storm, it feels like an excuse to be around her.

"I don't believe a word you say Tyler. You weren't in bed 'till 5 am, and I thought you were coming from Boone's room. Now I hear that Kate told Lily you were out 'till 2 with her, so what happened between 2 and 5, Tyler?" you demand, your voice growing angrier with each word. He sighs, stepping back.

"Can I at least finish my shower first?" he pleads. You scoff, letting go of the door. "You can go lick her boots Tyler. I'm sick of this." you storm off, leaving the room with a huff. You walk mindlessly until you reach the bar you were at last night.

You push the doors open and sit down at one of the rickety stools, ordering a Coors. And another, and another, until you're properly tipsy enough to not give a shit about where your fiancé may be. All you do is take down beer after beer, your empty stomach churning at the bubbly alcohol, your eyes getting wet each time they meet with the glistening stone on your left finger.

Tyler was a perfect man, a perfect partner. He understood you, he took care of you, and all of the sudden that's all tossed out the second some new city girl shows up. Even Lily noticed the shift in behavior. It was uncharacteristic, and no matter how mad you were, you just wanted Tyler back to being completely yours.

About two hours and a half pass by of you just wallowing in your own pity- even the bartender was shooting you looks every time you ordered another drink. By number 5, he tells you to cool down and has you close out. By then Tyler is also meandering towards you.

"Baby." he says. You don't look at him. "Y/N. Darlin' look at me."

You still refuse.

"I didn't sleep with Kate, or do whatever you think I did. I was talking to her about her accident. She had an accident years ago with an experiment gone wrong that killed her friends- we were unpacking it. We were getting to know each other. She was wanting to get to know you, too. I know it sounds bad, I know it looks even worse, but baby you have to believe me." he's begging at this point, shakily placing his hand over yours. "You're the only woman for me. The only person for me, the only one I could ever love. I can't look at nobody else the way I look at you. You mean everything to me. I'd let a tornado rip me away if it meant you could be happy forever. I never want to see you like this, especially if it's my fault. I just want to make this right honey."

Tears stream down your face. He sounds genuine, and you know he means it too. You finally turn your head, locking eyes. He's sorrowful, wiping your tears.

"Can you find it in you to forgive me?" you don't hesitate to nod. He leans over to kiss you, before outstretching his hand. "Let's get you to bed alright?" you let him lead you back to the room, feeling warm from the beer, and the affection he's showing you. This, this was your Tyler. The man you were going to marry. The caring soul you'd fallen for all those years ago.

He helps you change and tucks you into bed, kissing you earnestly. He murmurs sweet nothings into your hair as you breathe him in, drifting to sleep, secure in his arms.

[fabricated-misslieness]

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: tyler owens x gn reader

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 2.39k | part 2

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: not communicating and not talking about your feelings (not miscommunication since you don't even communicate)

☾⋆☆⋆☽

There's too many beds.

The one night where you guys don't manage to make it to a motel, there's too many damn beds.

The camper van can fit pretty much all of you at once, not that the seven of you will do that anyway. Dani and Dexter have claim on it, as the drivers, and will probably accept two more comfortably.

In Lilly's van there's the backseat and the floor, but if we're counting, for how many beds there are by technicality, the two front seats as well.

You always have tents and sleeping bags around too, just in case you guys can't drive everyone from any recently unfortunate communities to the nearest hotel (although you'd certainly try). To give a rough estimate, about a dozen tents?

Then there's Tyler's truck, the two front seats and the back seat, and the truck bed. It's a bit short, but it can fit plenty people curled up.

So what to choose?

You should probably stay in a car. Much more heat that way, but who's gonna take you in? The designated drivers obviously prefer their own cars, so... Dexter's campervan is pretty spacious? Then again, so's Lilly's, and to be honest she's more of a vibe than the other two, but also why would you need vibes if you're just sleeping?

Maybe you should start a fire, huddle around that? No, that's a hazard, nevermind the fact you only know how to start a fire in theory.

Let's stick to a car, then. Lilly or Dex & Dan for space... Lilly, sure, why not?

As you start heading over to Lilly's van, you hear a sharp whistle. You don't have time to wonder who it's from, as Tyler spins you around.

"You're coming with me." He proclaims, taking you by the shoulders, and you can only laugh.

"Why me?"

Tyler grins, walking you unceremoniously towards his truck bed. "Because you're you, dove." That alone sounds rather intimate, so he fixes his mistake quickly. You're just friends, after all. "And Boone kicks people in his sleep, Lilly's hair gets everywhere, Dani steals the blankets, Dexter snores, and Ben...it's pitiful how he squeezes himself into the corner whenever he's sleeping next to someone, so we always give him his own space."

Right, all good points you'd forgotten.

"So why exactly am I better?" You tease, stopping in your tracks so Tyler bumps into your back and stay close.

"You're warm." And at first it seems like that's the only thing he'll say, your only benefit, as he pauses; but then the rest comes spilling out like a toad strangler. "You're also soft, you don't steal the blanket, you don't complain when I suddenly start talking and you don't snore."

Tyler doesn't mention that the two of you cuddle when you bunk together, and that you bunk together often. He doesn't mention how tonight he'll let you cuddle up on his chest, or perhaps how he'll press his nose against yours and let you play with his hair, because simply mentioning it will mean you'll have to talk about it.

You don't want to talk about, you think; and neither does he. You don't want to talk about how there's something different with the way he slings his arm around your shoulder, or the way you knock your head against his, or how he always gives out your share of whatever (pizza, cookies, etc.) before anyone else, or how you always offer your help to him no matter what.

They're always easy things to ignore, his skinship is not conditional and neither is your kindness, but there's something about the way you look into his eyes when you say thank you, and something about the way his touch lingers.

You don't want to put your finger on it, at least not this season. You'll say it again the next season, and the next, but you ignore that.

"So then I'm your favorite person?" You turn around and bonk your fist against his chest.

He whistles again, drawn-out like he does in awkward moments, but you know it's only playful. "Don't push your luck, dove. You're like... top 5!"

"Top 5? Aww," You feign offense, plopping your hand over your own chest now, "I didn't make it to top 3?"

He splays out his hand and begins to count on his fingers. "There's my mom, then my dad, then the family dog, Liam from the rodeo, and then you."

"The family dog?" Your eyebrows furrow, and the acting seems a bit too real until the look on your face gives away to a memory of his dog giving you kisses. "Oh, yeah, okay. I get it."

"See? You get it." Tyler chuckles, spins you back around and keeps on walking.

The spot you guys picked today is drier than the last, which is something you're thankful for. It's quite far from any town, but the streetlights that adorn the far off road make you feel a bit safer that civilization is just around the corner. There's a light breeze, not too cold and not too fast, and the stars! Oh, the stars.

They're damn nice out here cause they're actually visible tonight, a little less light pollution, you think. It's certainly a lot brighter than, say, NYC or Washington.

"Ain't they pretty today?" Tyler comments, his hands on your shoulders squeezing.

"Yeah. Sparkly too. You know any constellations?"

"No," He hums, his voice holding a bit of lament. "I tried, once. I tried taking a class in college. Astrology."

"How'd that go?" You ask offhandedly, hopping onto the bed of the truck.

"Ended up being too stressed with my main curriculum and dropped the class before it got too far." He fixes a tarp over the top of the truck bed, over the exoskeleton, so not much light will shine over your eyes when you try to sleep.

"The smart Tyler Owens got too stressed?" You ask as you help him up.

"Being smart doesn't mean I have good time management." Tyler says as he sits next to you, and you shrug. Suppose he's right.

"Still pretty though." You hum, leaning your head against his shoulder as you look up.

"Yeah." He agrees. His arm comes to wrap around you naturally, running up and down your side. "Have you ever tried to come up with constellations with... I don't know, whoever you were looking at the sky with?"

"You know what? I don't think so." You raise a finger, tracing a path in the stars for a moment, trying to find something interesting.

He finds one before you, pointing at a group of stars in a weird glob shape. "There, a cloud!"

That alone gets you to let out an ugly, surprised laugh; despite how ugly you might've thought it to be, he thinks it's cute. "You trynna cloudgaze with stars, cowboy?"

"Shut up." He laughs, knocking his head against yours. "You try, genius."

After a couple seconds, you point out a distinct...cone shape in the sky. "Unicorn horn."

"Unicorn horn?"

"What am I supposed to say, cone?"

"You could've said ice cream cone, a little more age appropriate, you know?" He holds out his hand, holding out a small gap between his index and thumb fingers to accentuate little.

"Yeah, well it has no ice cream, dumbass."

"Woah," Tyler withdraws, raising his hands in surrender. "no need to get so defensive, dove."

You slap his hands only to draw them back around you. He has no complaints about that. "Clearly we both suck at this. Let's just admire the stars normally."

He huffs out a laugh but turns his gaze back to the night sky without complaint. It's rather peaceful, this moment, and so nice. Maybe it's not rare that you get comfortably quiet moments with him, nor is it ever rare for Tyler to hold you close like this, but it doesn't make it any less endearing.

"Look!" Tyler breaks the silence suddenly, finger tracing a path in the stars. "A heart."

"You're kidding." You huff out. He's just playing with you, he has to be, especially after your miserable attempts at finding shapes in the sky.

Despite yourself, your eyes will the stars above you into the shape of a heart. Goddamnit, you think, because it's definitely a sign.

"I'm going to sleep." You tear yourself away from his grip and he laughs and tries to steal you back to him, but you fight briefly and end up winning. It's a nice victory, especially because you won over him, but it's not on par with actually finding something in the sky (and you're avoiding the sign).

Tyler chases after you, flopping down beside you. The tarp above casts darkness over the back of the truck bed, but a soft glow still shines through.

You sigh and tuck a hair of Tyler's behind his ear, to which he only laughs. "Jealous, much?"

"Oh, totally." You'd roll your eyes, but they're stuck on his.

"I won." He's triumphant, but you can only focus on how pretty his smile looks.

"You did." You reply, not fighting him on it, and slowly his amusement fades away with the deflation of his body.

"You're not making this fun." Tyler steals your hand, presses the back of it to his lips and notably does not pucker up and kiss. It might be payback, or it might be avoiding the obvious intimacy that kissing you is.

"It wasn't a competition, anyway." You remind him, and he rolls his eyes.

His attitude eventually exudes out of him with a sigh, and he lets go of your hand to push closer. His head rests below your chin, his nose against your neck, and it's not new, but it's not old either.

"I'm sick n' tired of you." He huffs against your neck as you take the opportunity to tuck the both of you in.

You hold back a laugh. "Oh, yeah? Tell me why."

His voice is muffled against your neck, and maybe the vibrations tickle, but you don't dare move away. "I won! We should be celebrating that."

"Celebrate it in your dreams." Despite it being practically the same thing as in your dreams, it actually sounds quite genuine.

"Don't be like that," Tyler whines. "let me stay up for a little while."

You put your hand in his hair, then, twirling strands around your fingers and scratching his scalp, and Tyler hates you and also loves you, because it feels so good that it pulls a groan out of him, but it's lulling him to sleep.

"You're cheating." He whines again. He's being rather childish, huh?

"It's way past your bedtime." You say in a sing-songy way. Curiosity takes over, and you pull his head away from you gently to look into his eyes.

They open once you pull him off you, just barely. Half-lidded, not by lust, but by sleep. "I just wanna hold you for a little while longer." He says, and you don't know how he does it, but his eyes have turned pleading.

"That's on you to try, cowboy." You huddle close again, allowing him to take up the same position as before.

Despite himself, Tyler sighs contently, wrapping his arms around your midriff. One of your hands is on his back, rubbing slow circles, and the other is back on his hair.

He's definitely not going to last long now.

"When's the last time you've ridden a horse?" Tyler babbles on to try to keep awake, but you can hear the sleepy lilt in his voice. "I think my last time was when I last visited home, before the season started."

"One sheep over the fence, two sheep over the fence–"

"Shuddup."

You laugh, hands smoothing over his hair again. You're not sure how you're not very sleepy right now, tucked under the blankets, in his warm hold. Maybe it's the subconscious thought of not accidentally hitting your head on the spare wheel above you, or the faraway feel of the ridges of the truck bed below you.

Or maybe it's wanting to tease him.

"Kiss me."

"What?"

You've kissed before, little playful things: cheek kisses for the camera, neck kisses to either scare you or tickle you, forehead kisses after particularly dangerous scares, hand kisses when he's trying to act all gentlemanly, temple kisses after hugs. You've never kissed him on the lips before, and actually, neither of you have ever explicitly asked for a kiss. They've always been given without question.

"Please?" He asks again, pulling back so that his forehead is off your neck.

Oh, he only wanted a forehead kiss.

You oblige happily, press your lips against his forehead and let out and exaggerated muah!

"No, not there." He pulls away almost entirely, scooting up to be face to face.

You'd laugh, if what he was asking you for wasn't a kiss on the lips. You can't lie, you've thought about it before, when the sun shines a particular way over his face at sunset, or when he's considerably too hot to ignore.

...you're going to have to talk about this tomorrow.

Except tomorrow is not today yet, and so you cup his cheek. You debate it for a moment, a yes or a no, but there's one answer clear in your mind, a yes.

You press your lips against his, and it's more subtle than that forehead kiss, and it feels so much more tangible, in a way. His lips move against yours, a languid thing, a soft thing.

You wonder if he's going to remember this tomorrow, if being as sleepy as this is equivalent to being drunk.

"Thank you." Tyler says as you part, and he settles back where he was, head against your neck. He seems satisfied now, willing to nod off.

"Don't mention it." You say automatically.

Okay you're definitely going to have to talk about this tomorrow. For now, though, you'll just hold him. It's a strange thing to say, but he's always been rather nice to hold, a big man to fill your entire hug, even if he does make your heartbeat spike.

"Goodnight." He says.

"Sweet dreams." You reply.

There's nothing else to think about but the feeling of him in your arms and the warmth of his body as your eyes draw closed.

[shotmrmiller]

y'all know davy jones who can only step on land once every decade?

right, make that Simon, but he's something else.

He shows up hours before someone's passing. An inky nondescript shadow that blends into the background, unnoticed by most. But to those whose final specks of sand trickle through their hourglass?

They see him.

An entity condemned to a lifetime of servitude. A wretched, pitiful existence. Something that saps the life out of everything it touches. Something that can't feel the warm rays of the sun seep into his skin, can't smell petrichor in the dewy morning, when the world begins to wake.

He lives yet he doesn't. An eternity of suffering, of wishing he never begged for a way out of the braided strands of hemp that had tightened around his neck for his crimes so long ago.

His freedom forfeit the moment he pleaded for it.

With a lantern that glows an eerie green, he leads deceased souls to their final destination, even the ones who resist, who cling futilely to life, to what is no longer theirs.

Some might call him death, others Hermes. The only name he's ever cared for is his own, the one that his mother had given him back when men still sailed the seas in search of treasure, when men and women alike were hung at the gallows.

But now he is a nameless servant of the natural order that guides them all.

However, he was also given a boon. One single day, out of every ten years, the tight collar around his neck comes off, and he turns human.

A man of flesh and blood.

His lungs fill with the crisp, biting air that he never feels. Cheeks sting from the cold. Fingertips numb without gloves.

For one blessed night, the heart in his chest beats. For one blessed night, his body is warm, flush with life.

And it's been this way for as long as he can remember. He would roam the docks of back then, the briny air stinging his nose, the dulled thumping of hooves resounding in his ears. The chants of drunken men coming from inside lit taverns.

He roamed when cars began to be a form of transportation, when children, boys, began marching to war.

He had been so busy, then.

And he roams now, in the modern age, where medicine forestalls the inescapable.

But then, you. Blood rushes to his face the moment he lays eyes on you. His throat dries, turns to the paper that's used to strip paint.

He's never seen something so beautiful. So plump with vitality, life coursing through your veins. A sweet little thing, whose dulcet voice makes his knees weak.

And when you shake hands with him, palm engulfed in his much larger one, as you ask him for his name, his tongue feels as if it's coated with tar, swollen and heavy. But he garbles out his response anyway.

"Simon."

The way you breathe it back, like a sigh from a lover, could still his heart.

Everything else is a blur, his eyes only ever focused on you when he ends up in your arms, in between your spread thighs, inviting him where no creature such as he belongs.

But he's always yearned for what was never his, and so with fervor, he takes. Grabs at soft skin, and whimpers at the fact that you're not dead with his touch. Surrenders himself to you, completely; makes the little dove under him sing until the short arm on the clock gets close to 12.

This is where he departs, with a promise he swears to never break, and wrenches his heart out of his own chest, placing it in your gentle hands.

He swears to come back for it, once every ten years.

Whenever Simon turns back to whatever he's cursed with being, he keeps a keen eye on you. And then the one time he passes by, feeling like nothing but an artic breeze to you, he sees your life is close to an end.

Simon, for once in his pathetic existence, saves a human life. The car that crashes into you at a lethal speed, does nothing but total your vehicle. It is considered an absolute miracle to everyone, except you.

That should've been your demise. That should've been it.

His little dove, too smart for her own good.

The time will soon come again, and when his head rests on your chest, listening to the lulling sounds of your heart beating, will he tell you what he is.

(maybe, or not idk)

"It's a heady tonic. Holding life and death in the palm of your own hand."

[bullet-prooflove]

Ford Mustang: Tyler Owens x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989 @hunterthecharmer @heylookwhoitis @Nameuknownthings @shakespeareanwannabe

Companion piece to:

The Mechanic - Tyler faces a problem when Boone brings his mechanic ex girlfriend back into the fold.

Rigs -Tyler reflects on history with you.

The men before Tyler have only ever seen you as a one night or a wife. They’ve never understood your tenacity, your wicked humour, or fierce intelligence. They haven’t stayed up all night arguing the semantics of classic cars, or spent entire weekends helping you restore the 67 Ford Musang someone had abandoned after it had totalled by a tornado. They don’t pick up that special orange blossom honey hand cream you use to keep your skin from cracking underneath the harshness of the cleaners you use to rid your hands of car oil.

You think about this when you turn up to your garage that morning to find a small pot of it resting on the doorstep along with a note that has Tyler’s name and phone number etched in tidy block capitals. He’d had to change it a couple of years ago, Boone had told you. One of his ‘fans’ had gotten hold of it, she wouldn’t stop calling.

You open the small jar and inhale the sweet, soothing scent before dipping your fingers into it and rubbing the balm over your hands. Today’s a paperwork day and you’re going to spend it tucked away in your office, dealing with the admin you’ve been putting off because you’d rather be underneath a car than filing paperwork.

You pin the phone number to the corkboard on the wall behind your desk, your fingertips lingering on the picture stuck beside it. It’s one of you and the first incarnation of the Wranglers, Tyler, Boone and Dani. Tyler’s arm is draped around your shoulders, his lips brushing over your temple as you smile at the camera. That had been before the tornado had disfigured you, before you’d needed thirty stitches to hold the left side of your face together.

You sit down in your ergonomic chair and stare at the jar of hand cream that now resides upon your desk. You know it’s an olive branch, Tyler’s way of reaching out after dismissing you the other day. This stuff doesn’t come cheap and it can only be picked up in one place in Oklahoma. The fact he’s made the four hour trek round trip speaks volumes.  

Acts of service, it’s always been his love language.

When Boone had first called you, you’d been adamant about not returning. You’d learned the hard way what happened when you went up against a force of nature.

“We just need help with the vehicles.” He had assured you. “You don’t have to come chasing with us.”

“Have you spoken to Tyler?” You’d asked him and you could hear his hesitation down the line.

“Not yet. I thought it was best if I got you on board first.” He’d said and you could imagine him playing with that fidget spinner he used to have as he talks to you.

“You know I would do anything to keep you guys safe.” You’d said quietly. “Just because I’m not around doesn’t mean I don’t care.”

“I know.” Boone had said. “And just because we’ve not been around doesn’t mean we don’t care. It’s hard for him…”

“It’s hard for me too.” You remind Boone because every time you walk down the street someone does a double take when they look at you.

You used to be such a pretty girl, an ex had told you after he’d given you a pity fuck last year, now you’re just damaged.

You’d used your keys to scratch a line along the entire side panel on his brand new SUV after he kicked you out of bed.

“You’re lucky I didn’t use acetone.” You’d told him when you’d picked up the phone to him screaming. “Keep on calling and I will.”

He’d gotten the message after that and you had kept yourself to yourself because you’d rather be alone than with someone who views you as charity case.

Your gaze strays back to Tyler’s phone number and you’re flung back into a memory, the one from after the hospital when you looked into the mirror for the first time

“You’re still the most beautiful woman I’ve laid eyes on.” He’d whispered against your mouth as he’d cradled your face between his palms, his thumb chasing over the black thread that lined your jaw. “This isn’t anything to be ashamed of, it’s just another part of your story.”

You’d believed him at the time because Tyler, he doesn’t lie, especially not to you. You’d taken solace in his words, held you head up high when you went out on the street, ignored the stares and things were good until they weren’t. There was another tornado outbreak out in Louisiana and Tyler, he just had to do the thing he loved even if it wasn’t with the person he loved.

You give up on the paperwork, you’re too distracted for that level of organisation. You set yourself to work on the Mustang instead, cranking up Zach Bryan on the sound system, singing along under you breath as you continue your restoration. You’re in the fight of your life with a rusty bolt when you hear a light rapping on open garage door behind you.

“I’m not done with you.” You threaten the bolt before you set the wrench down on the work bench and pick up a rag to clean your hands.

When you look up that your breath catches in your chest because it’s Tyler standing there, in those worn Levi’s he’s owned since his rodeo days and that orange flannel shirt you used to wear to bed at night.

“Sophie.” He says softly, his arms crossed over his chest as he leans in the doorway. “Can we talk?”

Love Tyler? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[seeminglydark]

‘Johnny!’ he turned, familiar voice that had lulled him to sleep for the past 5 years, staving off nightmares with a calm and even flow. Caro was standing in the street, grinning at him, though he could read the edge of nerves in their eyes. That was the kind of reading he was good at, people. His heart skipped.

‘Caro. What are you doing here? I-I thought you were on tour.’ He stood still, feet frozen in place, feeling like the butt of some joke, but Caro just took a hesitant step toward him, that big bright smile they were known for shining in the dark, the twinkling lights from the grocer bouncing off their pale skin and atrocious ski jacket. They shrugged, fidgeting.

‘When you live alone, and you don’t have family or close friends to spend the holidays with,’ they began, looking sideways past him, grin faltering, ‘sometimes you get tired of being peoples pity invite. I know we’re just barely gettin’ to know each other again but… well. I thought maybe you might feel the same way.’

He blinked, disbelief coloring his tone, ‘You’re… saying you’re here to spend Christmas with me?’ They shrugged again and met his gaze, hopeful smile, bright eyes. He started to laugh, but it wasn’t a mean hollow laugh, it was an infectious joyful one, confusion and humor and before he knew what had happened, they’d leapt into his arms, knocking the breath out of him, while he tried to confess he only had a turkey tv dinner and a half bottle of strawberry Boones Farm between his laughter. How could they just show up unannounced.? maybe they could order Chinese or something, he thought, hanging onto them like his life depended on it, and it would be alright after all.

✨I haven’t had much time to draw since I’ve been visiting my hometown and spending time with my mom, but I had a chance to make a little something for the holiday season today. Enjoy! Johnny and Caro are from my webcomics Seemingly Dark and Mil-Liminal.✨

[after-witch]

Horrorfest: It Knows Not How it Sounds [Yandere Vampire Chrollo x Reader]

Title: It Knows Not How it Sounds [Yandere Vampire Chrollo x Reader]

Synopsis: He's going to kill you--and this is how you react? Curious, curious, curious.

For Horrorfest request:

Vampire! Chrollo could be interesting? He fits the image of a vampire well, with his inclusion of religious imagery, goth aesthetic and his personal search for his self (his “soul“). Perhaps he becomes interested in one of his would-be meals, being attracted to their humanity and their perspective on his vampirism (maybe them seeing it as a curse, not a boon)

Word count: 1565

notes: yandere, vampire, some descriptions of blood, mild wounds, dying; Chrollo is a pretentious asshole even as a vampire

Humans are so very interesting. And so very predictable.

Chrollo Lucilfer knew the first truth at an early age. He has learned the second truth over the years, the decades, and then the centuries. 

For instance, humans always seek comfort. That is certain, whether they are rich or poor, old or young, beautiful or ugly. They want to be held and warm and fed; they want someone to comfort them when they cry; they want to be told that, in the end, things will be alright.

This is true even for the humans that he kills, for so often in their last moments, they cling to him, desperate, wanting him to be their savior even as he is the one draining their blood. 

Therefore, it does not surprise him too terribly when your shaking arm reaches up for his face; when your increasingly exhausted expression takes in the sight of him, eyes wide, looking for kinship or absolution or someone to tell you it will be just fine.

It takes his victims some time to really comprehend what is happening, after all.

It is usually at this point that (if they haven’t already--not everyone is so slow on the uptake) they realize what he is--vampire--and he goes back to lapping at his victim’s blood, enjoying the way their muddled dying thoughts are spiked with a renewed bright acidic terror. 

The taste is not his only reward. There is the entertainment, as well. The thoughts of the dying. 

The thoughts come to him like moving pictures, flashes; not only visuals but sometimes words. Monster. Him, covered in blood. I don’t want to die. Lovers, children, things left unsaid. Mother. This word, so common, most often paired with the foggy memory of a chubby hand held in a larger one.

Your eyes widen after a moment and ah, there it is. Like a clock. “Vampire,” you mouth, lips that were perhaps once rose-red now growing paler, the more he blood he takes from you. 

“Yes,” he breathes, and you make the softest of sounds when he nudges your head back with his hands, giving him access to the open, bruised weeping puncture wounds he’d created earlier. Your blood still flows freely enough, and he laps at the edges before he begins to suck from the wounds. 

He wonders how he must look from your eyes, though he may see it soon enough. His pale skin and dark hair. The fangs jutting from his mouth. The blood on his lips. Even his clothing, silken black with delicate lace. A storybook vampire, he supposes; all that’s missing is the smell of dirt and decay, though that is perhaps a stench better left to his more unhinged colleagues than his own delicate scent of roses and musk; purloined perfume bottles were easy to come by when you could simply kill the ones who set them on varnished bureaus. 

But what pulses through his mind is not pure abject horror at the sight of him or fleeting, terrified thoughts of a life that will be incomplete.

Instead, it’s something that startles him so fiercely that he yanks himself away from your neck:

Pity.

Pity, pity, pity. For him--for him! 

A warm almost sour sensation lingers behind on his teeth, and he licks it away. He has never, in his centuries of killing, been… pitied. 

Your head rolls a little to the side, eyelids drooping, but you gain enough awareness to realize that he’s no longer feeding on you. Your voice is a soft croak when you do speak, words spoken as if you don’t understand why you’re even permitted to say them at all. You should, after all, be dead. 

“Why did you stop?”

He considers you for a moment. He keeps a grip on your shoulders--you might just fall, if he lets go--and makes you face him. Finally, he mirrors your question. But only to satisfy his curiosity, or so he tells himself. 

“Why do you pity me?”

Your eyes widen again, but this time not in the realization of the monster before you. You likely don’t know how he felt your pity. He doesn’t care to explain it to you, either, and after a few moments you furrow your eyebrows.

If he weren’t feeding on you, it might be a cute expression. Perhaps it still is; even lambs to the slaughter can have their charms.

“You’re…” You swallow. “You’re a vampire,” you say. But that usual horror is replaced with something else, something Chrollo wants to stick his finger into and pull out so he can see it more fully. Pity, yes yes, but something more. What is it? And why do you feel it so strongly that he couldn’t stand the shock of it?

When he doesn’t respond, you continue. 

“You have to kill people to survive.”

He snorts. 

“That’s never given me pause before.”

And oh, the way you look at him is absolutely beautiful. Your eyes glisten with tears--not from the pain, surely, but for him?--and your lips, nearly colorless though they are, curl into a pretty pout. 

“But it should, and I’m so sorry it doesn’t.” 

You wince, the shock perhaps ebbing away, letting you feel the pain of your ripped flesh more fully than most of his victims have time to do. But you don’t even press your hands to the wound, and he likes you better for it.

But still. You pity him because he’s a killer? What a waste of the emotion. 

“I have lived for centuries,” he tells you, speaking as if to a child, learning lessons at a father’s knee. “I have seen things your mortal mind could not comprehend. I have seen kingdoms rise and fall, seen civilizations turn to dust.”

He can practically see the cogs in the clock of your mind turning. Perhaps you will be one of those who foolishly asks him for the gift. He has rarely given it, and he wouldn’t give it to you; but he wouldn’t tear you apart for the audacity as he has some others. Your death would be merciful, calm--you’ve earned that. 

But when you speak again, you don’t ask him to make you into a vampire.

“But you must be so lonely.” Your words are sudden, fast. Perhaps you don’t realize you’ve said them until it’s too late to wonder if you’re being too presumptuous, because you stumble over your next words. Or perhaps you’re just that emotional over the thought of him, and wouldn’t that be a delightful novelty?

“Everyone around you dies… your-your family. Friends.” You shake your head, blinking as a few tears finally do drop from your eyes. “You can’t live a normal life… you can’t go out in the sun.” You look up, as if you’re imagining the warm feel of it on your skin.

It’s a sensation he has long since forgotten, but to you it must be as normal as breathing. “I-I can’t imagine how sad that must be. To never be truly warm. To not see the flowers reaching up to the sky or see the grass in the morning, all green and dewy.”

Your arms, no longer trembling, wrap around your chest. 

“I just…” You don’t look at him when you say these last words, but you don’t really need to, do you? Not with the way your voice is choked with emotion, the way tears fall so prettily from your eyes. “I’m so sorry that this happened to you.” 

You are a wonder, truly. Bleeding from the neck, no doubt light headed from blood loss, in the face of a nocturnal creature who moments ago was draining the life from your body… and you apologize to him?

When you live for centuries, you often lose the ability to be surprised. But here is that sensation, now queer, once again. And all because you happened to take an unfortunate shortcut through the park on this night, making yourself easy prey for him to pull into a darkened alley and feast. 

Now, though, he finds his hunger satiated. Or at least satiated until he finds another victim. Someone less worthy to stay alive than yourself, of course. 

After some consideration, he leans backward, and releases his grip on you. His hands ache for the warmth of your skin underneath him, and not for the usual voracious reasons. 

Yet another curiosity to add to his growing list. 

You look at him like he’s lost his mind. Maybe he has. 

“Aren’t you going to kill me?”

Perhaps, if he weren’t who he was, he might feel it too--this feeling of pity. Because you have no idea what he intends to do, and what it will mean for him to keep you alive now. 

You have no sense of the impulsive need that has rooted itself in his brain, a need he hasn’t felt since he was a young fledgling of a vampire. He wants to know you; know what you think and why you think it.

What life has created you so earnestly that you can feel genuine sympathy for a creature like him? Have you known hardship, and it was an impulse to sympathize? Or has your life been so unmarred by difficulty that the pty came easily to you, pure, sweet thing? 

The most important question of all, he thinks, as he pulls you closer to him and shushes the soft sounds you make--

Will you continue to pity him once he has taken you for his own? 

[ghostly-penumbra]

Ectoberhaunt 2023. Day Nine

"Dragon"

Ao3 and as a stand-alone

“Would you like a drink, Danny?”

“Just some pop, please.”

Danny’s boss snorted but accepted easily enough, handing Danny a can of cool Pepsi whilst he twirled his whiskey.

“So, do you like your job, Danny?” His boss asked without preambles.

Danny didn’t really need to think about it, he answered honestly, “Yeah, it’s chill. The pay is good and I’ve been kinda nocturnal since I was fourteen so the late hours are no problem for me. The tips are great too, and the patrons are… wild, yes,” his boss huffed a small laugh at Danny’s understatement of the night-club goers, but didn’t interrupt him, “but no one has, like, tried to punch me or something, so I don’t mind.”

“That’s good.” His boss said softly and drank some more of his whiskey. “Look, Danny, contrary to what you may have heard of me, I am not in the habit of conquering other realms and enthralling their rulers, so know that you are not my vassal and I don’t want your Kingdom. I don’t even want my Kingdom! I’ve quit! But! You don’t look like you want to leave.”

“I would very much like to keep my job, if that’s at all possible.”

Lucifer Morningstar, owner of the nightclub Lux and Danny’s current boss (so far, at least), put his tumbler aside and gave his full attention to the young man sitting across from him.

“I don’t want you to leave, either.” The Devil said. “You’re a good employee and even Maze likes you!” He said this like it was either the biggest honour or the biggest abnormality.

Mazikeen was cool, even if a tad violent, so he took the comment both ways.

“But you do know that it’s not a good look for the King of Ghosts to be working for the King of Hell, right? No matter that I’m retired or that you are alive.” He rolled his eyes at the last bit.

“Yeah. That’s, I’ll get an earful for that.” It would be from the Observants, though, and he really didn’t care for their opinion, so it would just be a minor annoyance.

“And whether you stay at Lux or not, the pantheons have certainly taken notice.” Mister Morningstar rolled his eyes again and looked at Danny with pity, which, yeah, inter-pantheon relations was not something the Ghost Zone wanted or that Danny was interested in engaging with.

“Ah, yes, the rammies.” He made a face at that. He really didn’t want any god (lowercase g, all of them) snooping in his realm to see what his relationship with the Devil was.

But if shit was going to hit the fan anyway, why not keep his well-paid job?

“It’s not a problem for me,” the Devil kept saying, “I’m happily retired! For you, on the other hand, they’ll see you as my vassal if you don’t really get anything out of this, –no, a weekly salary with legal benefits means nothing to these beings.” He said before Danny could interrupt. “If there was something I could just give you as a boon–” He stopped and a large smile slowly spread on his face. “That’s it! I am a genius!” He stood up and began pacing back and forth whilst Danny just clutched his can of pop.

“Uh, what is it?” Asked Danny, sipping his pepsi.

“I will give you Hell!” Ignoring his employee choking on his drink, the Devil carried on. “We can say you are my apprentice, or you can be my actual apprentice if you want me to teach you the ropes, and I will give you the Key of Hell and you can add it to the Ghost Zone! No one will be stupid enough to give you any trouble for it, and I will finally get my annoying family off my back.”

“But they’ll be on mine!” Danny protested once he stopped choking. “I don’t want to have Hell! I didn’t even want to be King of the Ghost Zone, I was just the dumbass that defeated the old one! I- I just wanna get through college, afford my half-life, and become an astronaut…” He put his head in one hand, the other one holding the can against his forehead.

Why this? Why couldn’t he be fired for sleeping on the bar, like a normal person?

“Oh, please, Danny, you’re a young King, hardworking too; you must want more than that.” Mister Morningstar looked him in the eye not obstructed by pop and spoke slowly, with intent, “Tell me, Danny, what do you desire?”

“To protect everyone I care about, anyone that needs it, to help them.”

“Mm, kind of basic and boring but-”

“And to reach the stars, to sail through them in the infinite night.” Danny blinked hard and shook himself off. “That’s not cool, sir.”

“Dual Obsession?” The Devil said, easily ignoring Danny’s complaint. “Not very common; befitting for a King. So what you want to do is help. You can do it being King of Hell!”

“That doesn’t sound likely.” Danny’s response only made his boss’s smirk return, and then the Devil really began his sales pitch.

How, if Danny became the new King of Hell, he could totally help redeem the souls of the damned, and since he was already King of the Ghost Zone, he could take the damned souls of the innocent there if Heaven refused to open the Gates for them, wankers that they were.

“What do you mean innocent souls in Hell?”

That only made the Devil lean in cheerily, “Oh?” He asked. “Haven’t you heard?”

Sold souls, of course. From people who sold their soul to delay their loved one’s death, to wronged firstborns whose parents wanted power no matter the cost. All of them, in Hell.

“That’s not fair.” Danny said with clenched fists.

“Well, it’s not like I have a neutral realm where runaway, wronged souls could take refuge in.” Mister Morningstar said, knowing he had the young adult hooked.

“I-” Danny tried to speak, but felt his core thrumming writhing him. He wanted to help. “I will… consult it, first, it’s- it’s too much.”

His boss nodded sagely, and once again looked him in the eye. “I will extend your insurance to your family and include dental.”

Danny would still consult it with Clockwork and his friends, but he knew he was sold.

[drawitblargit]

”She heard King Renly declare the Lady Brienne of Tarth the victor of the great melee at Bitterbridge, last mounted of one hundred sixteen knights. “As champion, you may ask of me any boon that you desire, If it lies in my power, it is yours.” “Your Grace,” Brienne answered, “I ask the honor of a place among your Rainbow Guard. I would be one of your seven, and pledge my life to yours, to go where you go, ride at your side, and keep you safe from all hurt and harm.” “Done,” he said. “Rise, and remove your helm.” She did as he bid her. And when the greathelm was lifted, Catelyn understood Ser Colen’s words. Beauty, they called her… mocking. The hair beneath the visor was a squirrel’s nest of dirty straw, and her face… Brienne’s eyes were large and very blue, a young girl’s eyes, trusting and guileless, but the rest… her features were broad and coarse, her teeth prominent and crooked, her mouth too wide, her lips so plump they seemed swollen. A thousand freckles speckled her cheeks and brow, and her nose had been broken more than once. Pity filled Catelyn’s heart. Is there any creature on earth as unfortunate as an ugly woman? And yet, when Renly cut away her torn cloak and fastened a rainbow in its place, Brienne of Tarth did not look unfortunate. Her smile lit up her face, and her voice was strong and proud as she said, “my life for yours, Your Grace. From this day on, I am your shield, I swear it by the old gods and the new.”

—A Clash of Kings, Catelyn II

[everydayyoulovemeless]

New Vegas companions (+ulysses)with a teen Courier? Like how they treat the teen and such

FNV Companions (+Ulysses) With A Teen!Courier

➼ Word Count » 1.3k ➼ Warnings » None ➼ Genre » Platonic

Boone's not entirely keen on the idea of traveling with someone so young. He feels that you shouldn't be out here at all and would tell you to go home. Of course, you don't remember your home, and once you tell him as much he feels obligated to (reluctantly) take you in. For a while, it'll be you, him, and Manny hanging around in Novac, with the two of them taking turns teaching you how to snipe effectively. After a few weeks, you need to continue your path to find Benny, and Boone agrees to go with you, if nothing else, then to protect you from the horrors of the outside world. He's still set on the idea that you're way too young to be out doing things like this, but if it's something you have to do then he'd rather it be him that goes along with you than anyone who might be a bad influence on you, especially considering you've lost all you're memories. He's a reluctant father figure, who'll stop at nothing to ensure you don't fall into the hands of the Legion, or worse, die.

Arcade isn't sure why anyone who forgot how to gamble would want to travel all the way out to Vegas, let alone Freeside. You didn't even have enough money to bypass the guards to get into the Strip when you entered the Old Mormon Fort for the first time, so whatever plan you had before traveling here is lost on him. He only begins talking to you out of pity and confusion, wanting to learn more about your motivations for making such a long hike for a payout that would surely never come. His pity for you only grows, and he'll quickly agree to come along with you wherever you plan on going next. You don't seem to remember anything at all so he'll do his best to reeducate you on the basics. Medicine, survival, reading, he'll cover them all in due time. He truly does feel guilty that you, some kid from who knows where, got caught up in such a large mess of things, and hopes that by staying with you he can make up for the acts this world has committed against you. He sees a bit of himself in you: a lost kid with no more home or family to turn to, no one to confide in, and he hopes to one day take on that familial role for you.

Raul can't help but feel a little bit embarrassed that he had to be saved by a kid with brain damage, but either way, he's happy to be able to leave Black Mountain. He'll follow you out of a mixture of gratitude and curiosity as you remind him a lot of himself back when he still lived in Mexico City. That being said, he is just the tiniest bit overprotective over you. He'd hate it if you ended up with the same fate as his family and would stop at nothing to ensure he never has to go through something like that again. The longer you travel together, the more he feels like he's found a younger sibling to watch over again. He'll tease you and generally be his sarcastic self, but he's definitely a lot softer on you than he would if you'd been an adult. He almost feels as if it's his responsibility to help raise you and keep you alive and healthy, and that's exactly what he ends up doing.

Lily would consider it to be a downright sin for her to just let you wander around on your own! So, whether you agree to it or not, she'll become your full-time grandma throughout the rest of your travels. She's just as doting to you as she would be to any of her other grandchildren and always makes a point to check in on your health and overall well-being. Grandma couldn't have her little pumpkin sad or starving now, could she? That being said, she does her best to fit in the occasional home cooking she's so famous for back in Jacobstown. Not much really changes with Lily. She's still the sweet, old grandma who adopts you regardless of everything, the only real difference being that she's more stubborn with coming along with you. Kids shouldn't be out and about without any chaperon, after all!

Cass doesn't really have much of an opinion on it. You're a kid, so what? Everyone around you was a kid at some point. She does, however, have a small soft spot for teens who aren't afraid of what the waste has to offer, and you've had to make it all the way out to the Mojave Outpost from somewhere, haven't you? She'll pat the barstool beside her, gesturing for you to come and sit down before (secretly) sliding you a glass of whiskey that the two of you share. She wants you to start from the beginning: what are you doing here? And where are your parents? She grows to respect you quite quickly and finds herself feeling some kind of connection with you. Maybe it's because you're a lot rowdier than most others your age, maybe it's 'cause of how unbothered you appear, or maybe it's the determined way you carry yourself? Either way, she's taking her place beside you to get revenge on whoever was fucked up enough to try and kill a kid.

Veronica gets a bit excited when she sees a teen approaching her at the 188 Trading Post. She thinks you're the cutest thing and would love to come along! She's constantly thinking up outfits she thinks you'd look great in, just little accessories here and there to really spice up the 'vengeful vibe' you seem to be going for. She's like the sister you never had, or at least never remembered having, and she takes that role very seriously. You need dating advice? She's your girl to go to. Want to be a better fighter? Allow her, you're amazing new best friend, to offer you some pointers. You want a group to back you up? She'll bother the Brotherhood for as long as she needs before you're accepted into their bunker. Honestly, she couldn't have asked for a better person to come along and break her out of her boredom. The two of you will cause problems like no other, but that only means you both know how to have fun and make the most of your situations.

Ulysses holds a lot less resentment toward you as he believes you're naivety was abused by the NCR. That being said, when you come wandering into the Divide, he definitely puts it in your head that the NCR isn't any good and that you're a victim to this world as much as he, and the rest of the Divide, were. He'll try to brainwash you into viewing the world the same way he does: a cold and heartless mess. He takes you under his wing in a sense, raising you to be a strong and determined warrior against both the NCR and the Legion. He's invested so much energy and thought into you that he feels it'd almost be a waste if he doesn't. If you decide you're not going to follow his path and carve your own, he wouldn't have any qualms about fighting you the same way he would had you been an adult, he'd just feel it'd be a misuse in potential. He'd be a mentor figure to you, a dangerous and smart one, but a teacher nonetheless. There's no room for compromise, and he'll turn you both into a two-man army to ruin the two flags that run rampant throughout the Mojave.

[polutrope]

"Why! wed my Tinuviel fairest of the maidens of the world, and become a prince of the woodland Elves -- 'tis but a little boon for a stranger to ask," quoth Tinwelint. "Haply I may with right ask somewhat in return. Nothing great shall it be, a token only of thy esteem. Bring me a Silmaril from the Crown of Melko, and that day Tinuviel weds thee, an she will." Then all in that place knew that the king treated the matter as an uncouth jest, having pity on the Gnome, and they smiled, for the fame of the Silmarils of Feanor was now great throughout the world, and the Noldoli had told tales of them, and many that had escaped from Angamandi had seen them now blazing lustrous in the iron crown of Melko. Never did this crown leave his head, and he treasured those jewels as his eyes, and no one in the world, or fay or elf or man, could hope ever to set finger even on them and live.

The Tale of Tinuviel in The Book of Lost Tales II

[radioactive-reactions]

Just a quick little idea for a reaction, could you maybe do companions (and maybe Mr. House) finding out that the Courier is a pre-war ghoul?

Of course! The New Vegas fandom has just celebrated Mr. House's 4th birthday, so consider this my small contribution.

Ghouls were anything but uncommon in the Mojave, but those who had lived through the Great War were particularly exceptional. Everyone knew about the ghoulish Courier - zombies rising from the grave made good saloon talk, after all - but only those closest to them were trusted with the knowledge of just how old they were.

Raul is just happy to have another viejo around to commiserate with. Invariably, he begins to keep the two up long into the night trading stories of the Old World - and more often than not, the Old World's failings - around the campfire. "Hey, boss, you... you remember Cuna de Lobos? Ahh, the bomb dropped right at the end of Season 91, just when Catalina was about to show everyone what she'd been keeping stashed under her eyepatch. My grandmother would have killed to see it. She could have, too."

Boone is as unflinchingly stone-faced as ever, and his thoughts are quickly summed up in three succinct words: "I pity you." There's a moment of consideration, a realization that he may have gone too far, and he tries again. "You and all the... others. There are a few in the service. You knew what came before. Saw it with your own eyes. Christ, the rest of us must be like kids playing dressup to you. In your shoes, wouldn't have bothered staying around to see how it'd all turn out. No point."

Veronica has a million questions. Try as the Brotherhood might to hoard pre-War knowledge, she's never come quite as close to a living, breathing repository of it as she is now. "Wait, wait, back up, like... five steps. You're telling me you could walk into the bunker anytime you please and totally school Elder McNamara and you've just been sitting on that?! Oh my God! Okay, okay - is it true that every kid back then was raised by a robot slave? A-and did you really have to ritually encase all your food in Jell-O before you ate it?"

Cass gives an impressed whistle, looking the Courier up and down just to make sure they haven't actually been feral this entire time. "Fuck me. Uh, that's not an invitation - I don't want anything falling off. But that'd make you, what, two-hundred-something? Older than the Republic, the way they tell it. We've got some Rangers like that, supposedly the ultimate badasses if you look past the bad knees and the death rattle... but between you and me, I think you've got a sturdier claim to the title."

Arcade freezes up at the news, getting that awkward, wavering smile he always flashes when he's backed into a corner. "Wow. Uh... hey. Just so we're clear, I in no way endorse - o-or endorsed - the whole Enclave 'cleansing of the world's tainted' thing. I'd like to think that goes without saying, given the way my life has gone since then, but... just so we're clear. Uh, if you need any kind of specialized care, please just say the word. I've given Beatrix enough topical collagen to fill a bathtub... if one inexplicably wanted to do something like that."

Lily doesn't quite seem to get it, bless her heart, but enough careful explanation does slowly get her to regard the Courier as more of an equal than a grandkid. "MY MISTAKE! YOU DON'T LOOK A DAY OVER A HUNDRED, DEAR. WHATEVER YOU USE, I'VE JUST GOT TO GET DOCTOR HENRY TO MAKE ME SOME! IF I HADN'T MADE A PROMISE TO MY HUSBAND, REST HIS SOUL, I COULD JUST EAT YOU UP."

Mr. House predictably uses this as ammunition to further his own plans. There's no change in the face on the flickering screen, but whatever cold mental calculus drives him moves the Courier up a few spaces in his strictly regimented list of priorities. "Then you, more than anybody, understand what we have to lose - or rather, what we have to gain. Put another way, you are in a unique position to understand the resources at my disposal. Imagine the luxuries you enjoyed before the barbarians in Washington reduced you to this base, hardscrabble existence among the ruins of their shortsightedness - and I think you'll appreciate that ruins isn't simply a turn of phrase here. Imagine having them again: not just the house and the car, not just the material indulgences, but the structure that made them possible - will continue to make them possible. We alone know what's been lost, and we alone hold the potential to see it returned."