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prettymrswright · 1 year ago

Text

drake & drive

tank full of gas

fill up my cup

see, where could i function?

can i pull up?

i need a buddy

it don’t hit home

‘til i’m alone, now

you know wassup, drake’n & driving..

pairing: riri williams x black!fem reader

content: angst under-tones, smut-leaning (18+),slightly toxic!riri, substance use (weed & liqs people, no hard drugs), flashbacks, intoxicated confessions, emotional conversations, riri is a lover-girl indenial, reader can make ri jump through a cheerio with little to no effort.

background: riri tugs with her feelings after the dragged out will-they-won't-they troupe going on between you two. her trust issues won't allow her to fully commit, but now she's wondering if she'll be regretting that decision.

a/n: my first ri fic, this is my baby! speaking of, shout out to my baby @dejaonline for the collaborative efforts on the picture as well as her input on the plot. this was made with her in mind, fully inspired by her (she's a riri girl🤭) and this song that has crack ROCK in it. i hope you guys luvvv, and as usual, i gotta remind y'all;

taglist is pinned to my page! if you want to be tagged for someone specific OR if you wanna opt out of any tags, gone fill out that form for me. taglist: @dejaonline @inmyheadimobsessed @kisskourt @ventingfanfics @saintwrld @vampzxi @vixentheplanet @pinkwright @sapphicvqmpires @verachii @shuriszn @shurislover "aight, nigga, you gone be upset when i take your money again," ri laughed, taunting her bestfriend, key. "yeah, yeah just put up, mf." key takes out his cash and begins counting it. every year at the fair, the two of them would place a bet on who would win at balloon darts, a tradition stemming from a conversation on who has better 'aim'. they walk up to the post and place their tickets down. "yo my man, set us up real quick," ri called out to the older gentlemen behind the counter. he turned around, eyes meeting with the two, and laughed aloud dropping his head. "you two, again. y'all are something else," he says, still smiling, setting down two pairs of 6 darts for them each. "this is for my redemption, unc, this is personal," key says, picking up a dart and practicing his form. "i won't be losing again." "yea, we'll see about that." ri laughs. "you know the drill," key starts. "most balloons in 5 rounds wins. price goes up by 5, we at 20 bills this year." ri picks up a dart and tosses it straight through the middle, popping her first balloon. "yo!" key exclaims. "you on some cheating shit, we ain't even count down!" "you talking too much, nigga," ri shrugs him off, making the attendant laugh once again. the two of them went head to head, leading up to them being neck to neck in the final round. going back and forth through both hits and misses, key set off his final dart, popping a bright blue balloon right at the top, ultimately beating ri. "let's fucking go!" key yelled out, doing his lil victory dance. ri stood with a strong, angsty pout rested on her face, as the sore loser she was. "whatever, nigga," ri rolled her eyes and slapped the andrew jackson faced bill in key's hand. key takes his prize and extends it out to ri, mocking her pouting. "you can have this bear!" she smacks his hand away from in front of her, almost making him drop it, causing him to burst into laughter. .. the two of them walked around the park, snacks in hand, taking a break from their previous festivities. after hearing/feeling a ping, key takes his phone out his jean pocket and opens the text.

“come on,” key motions ri.

“where we going?” asks a puzzled riri.

“over by the ring toss,” he points. “i got a good friend of mine i want you to meet.”

“ughhh,” ri heavily groans. “your social, friendly ass. why we always gotta be around people, why can’t we just kick it, just us two?”

“i know, i know, my bad, ri,” key says throwing his hands up. “but i promised her i would link her once we were in the same area, and it so happens that was this. it won’t be for long.”

“man, whatever,” an aggravated riri puffs out. “just don’t expect me to be miss congeniality or no shit.”

“you a trip, ri,” key lets out a hearty laugh. “be nice, please.”

the two made their way over, meeting with two girls, one brownskin, sitting at about 5’5, one darkskin at 5’3.

“wassup, key!” you smiled warmly, embracing your old childhood friend.

“it’s been a long time,” key smiles back.

“yes it has,” the girl beside you intercepts. it was your best friend val. she went to school with the two of you as well, and has a had a crush on key since then.

“oh, shit, val!” key basically runs over to hug her. “damn, girl, where you been!”

she giggles at his excitement. “i’ve been around! back and forth from study-abroad in italy.”

“okay, i see you, you on your shit! that’s wassup,” he daps her up.

“thank you.” she smiles, the two of them allowing their hands to linger in holding position.

feeling the tension building, you clear your throat, not being able to conceal the smile that was creeping up. the two finally pull apart and pretend to straighten themselves out. your eyes shift their attention from key and val and found themselves attached to a small girl with braids, standing to the left of key and directly across from you.

“oh, shit, my bad,” he apologizes and places his hand on the girl’s back. “this is my best friend, ri. ri this is val and y/n.”

she didn’t seem very interested. her eyes were glued to her phone in her hand, and her body language was very stand off-ish.

“hey, wassup.” she says without looking up. that was very rude of her. key didn’t roll with rude people. to give her the benefit of the doubt, you just summed it up to possible shyness.

key aggressively taps her back, forcing her to look up, a stern look on his face.

ri finally looked up and could feel her entire body freeze in place in the middle of the 95 degree weather. you were the most beautiful person the young engineer had ever laid her eyes on. your glowy, rich, melanated skin, your mocha brown eyes, the long, thick lash follicles that decorated them. your thick, curly hair that surrounded your skull in but a very small fro. it was as if you came straight out of a magazine, 90s edition. you being taller than her didn't help the fact that she felt as though she was looking up at a goddess. "hi," you gave a nervous laugh, in attempts to mask the awkwardness of the situation. your smile. so big and so warm. could light up an entire room. your lips, the perfect shape. they even had a brown tint around the circumference of them, naturally being lined. everything about you was mesmerizing to ri. if she stared any harder or any longer, she probably could count each follicle of hair rested on top of your head. "hi-i, um.. my bad, I'm--" ri frantically began looking for the words to appease the awkwardness, and stumbled on almost all of 'em. "ri. right? key just said it," you help her out, quietly giggling to yourself. not the strongest start. but she was cute. "right. and um--" she begins, and you already know she's getting ready to ask you to announce your name.. again. "Y/N. you aren't the best listener, are you?" you taunt her, a smile on your face. "oh-- nah, my bad, i just.. got a lot on my mind, today, that's all." ri lies, wiping the sweat forming on the back of her neck off with her palm. "right," you laughed, somewhat condescendingly. you turned your attention back to key. "y'all got plans for the rest of the night?" "yes," ri rushed out. "nah," key answered simultaneously, both of the friends' responses mending over each other. key shot ri a look before continuing his sentence. "we just freeballing, doing shit as we go."

ri was irritated. she wanted to spend time w her boy, and not only is their one on one time being interrupted, here was this pretty, saddity chick getting smart at the mouth. making her look somewhat of a fool. not knowing, the young prodigy could do that all on her own. she'd be lying however, if she said she wasn't intrigued. "have you guys gotten on the ferris yet? i gotta get some good selfies at the top. you know, influencer shit," val says, comedically. "nah we haven't, we could head over now before the line gets long," key suggests. "sounds good. don't worry, ri, after this, we'll be out your hair." you flashed her a quick smirk, letting her know you were aware of her irritation. and out of her hair, you weren't. you were in her hair. in her brain. in her life. in her room. in her bed. she couldn't escape you. but this time, she didn't even want to.

the follow months after your initial meeting, the two of you had quickly became inseparable. it started out with exchanges of memes, followed by texting all day, then tying up the phone, falling asleep on facetime. eventually those things led to dates, and sleepovers..and hookups. the two of you were enjoying yourselves, no doubt. it was as especially hard for ri, however. ri didn't do the relationship thing. she did it once, got her heartbroken, decided that wouldn't happen again. and it didn't. miss love 'em, and leave 'em she was. but you. you made her think. you made her learn and explore parts of herself she didn't even know existed. you made her feel important. powerful, even. naturally, she didn't know what to do with that influx of new feelings and information. so she did what any confused and slightly scared person would do; run. it was hot and cold with riana williams. one day, she made you feel loved and on top of the world. other days, she made you feel like you killed her cat. and you'd think the mixed signals would be enough for you to do way with it altogether. but when riri loved on you, it felt as if there wasn't anything you could not do. it was very clear and obvious that the two of you brought the absolutely best out of each other. you complimented each other so well, in every way. same interests, same ambitions. you even mimicked each other's mannerisms. when it was good, it was so good. but the more serious it got, the more at stake your feelings were.

she would constantly remind you. how much she would not, could not, be in a relationship. how much she didn't see the point. how much of a waste of it time it was. besides, she couldn't have no love shit fucking up her focus. what was understood, didn't need to be explained. and if she didn't remind you with her words, she sure as hell reminded you with her actions. until one day, you were pushed past your limits.

a half-asleep, sluggish riri, lugged her body to the door after hearing a 4th round of hard knocks ricocheting off of her door.

“who the fuck is bangin’ down my shit,” she cussed to herself.

“i’m comin’, damn!”

she swung the door open to be met with a drenched from rain, and very angry you.

“what the fuck, riri.” you semi-yell.

“woah. what happened to you?” she genuinely asked, moving over to let you inside.

“what happened to me?” you scoff, with shock at her audacity. “you were supposed to pick me up over an hour and a half ago, ri.”

“oh, shit.” ri’s face dropped at her realization. she was supposed to pick you up from school, as she promised. all public transportation was delayed, and it was entirely too pricey to uber. “my bad.”

this is the 3rd time she forgot.

“your bad? it’s horrible outside ri. you weren’t even a little concerned about my whereabouts?”

“I said my bad, y/n, damn, what you want, a love letter?” ri spat at you.

“I can’t believe you.” you laughed to yourself, almost fully in disbelief of what was going on right at that moment.

“it’s common fucking courtesy, to come to your girl’s aid when in need, but your promise? which I didn’t ask for by the way, then made it a responsibility. and you failed to show or do either.”

“man, whatever. you got here all on your own just fine, ain’t it? what, your side nigga came and got you, hm?”

“you are un-fucking believable. naturally this is my fault. you know what I am sick and tired of your shit, you must think I’m some sort of d—“

you were interrupted by a voice following behind riri, accompanied by footsteps.

“ri, who’s at the door? come back to bed.”

immediately your entire body froze in place and your eyes began to well up on command, against your will. everything went still. the silence that filled the room could be sliced with a razor. your eyes met with the girl standing behind riri, her tall, slim, athletic build wrapped around in a silk robe. then shifted to a guilty riri, staring at the floor in shame. "fuck." she let out a guilty whisper. so this is what she had been doing. why you had been left out in the cold rain, damn near across town. fucking other girls, occupying her time with things that were clearly more important than you. "i-is, this your gi-" "nah, she not." ri says rather quickly, not even letting whoever this girl was finish her question. your bloodshot-red eyes darted to the young engineer with a piercing glance. she gave you back a shrugged off look, seemingly in attempt to double down on her answer, just this time with way less confidence. once processed what she'd done, guilt sprung onto her again. you turned around to head bolt out the door. "y/n--" ri attempted to stop you, to say god knows what. the pain you felt was venomous. you just needed to get out of there. "fuck you, riana." your harsh and emphasized words slicing through her one syllable at a time. you left and never turned back. as hurt as you were, you refused to put yourself back through the emotional turmoil again. you were aware the two of you weren't in a relationship, and be that as it may, if that were the case, boundaries should have been set on what you two should and should have not been doing. and being that they weren't, you and your feelings got wrapped in all of ri's sweet words, and dramatic love professions and believed that maybe her mind would change. you'd been hurt before by her, but never like this. you'd never dream she'd go as far as this. ri's guilt and regret was eating her alive, bit by bit, piece by piece. she loved you. she knew it, you knew it. however, her self-sabotaging ways would not allow her to flourish in love, or damn near anywhere else. she called and called, and texted and texted till her phone glitched out. she sent letters to your house. once you blocked her, she texted and called from other numbers. she even popped up at your house on a couple occasions to no success. she looked crazy, hell, she FELT crazy. after awhile, she decided it'd be best to leave you alone, give you your space.

i mean, maybe this just proved it. how unworthy she was of love, of you. so she did what she knew best. she slept around, girls in and out her house. she sold promises and dreams. she did any and everything to distract herself from the fact that she is downright, indubitably, outrageously, in love with you. and no matter how or how much she tried to fill that y/n shaped void, it would never suffice. months would go by, and all her shenanigans would come to a cease. no matter what she did, or where she would go, she would think of you. everything reminded her of you. every song, every show. as much as she had fucked this one over, she so badly wished to just see you once more. at least to apologize properly. ri wasn't the type to vent or be vulnerable, but if it was anybody she would do for, it was you, and key. key wouldn't hear the end of it. but he would never fail to let her know how bad she messed that one up. key was supportive always, but he would always hold you accountable for your shit. you'd been away on a study-abroad trip in germany, growing, flourishing, in more ways than one. you weren't really tripping about love. you'd been seeing people here and there, but it really wasn't your focus. this past weekend would be your last weekend, and you'd be heading back home to your city. ri and key were chilling in her living room the day of your return, having a regular weekend kickback, talking shit, shooting dice, you know, regular best friend shit. "how many times i'mma tell you, you can't beat me in no strategic shit, no day," key says laughing, picking the money they had both put up from off the ground. "man, whatever, you just got lucky," she playfully nudges key's shoulder. ri takes out her phone, and opens her instagram, going through some stories, when she gets to val's story. when she clicks the pink/orange ombré circle, she sees a boomerang of you, throwing your hands up, jumping next to your suitcase, right in front of the airport, with the caption, 'my best friend's back in town!!! mimosas on me :)'. it had been posted 4 hours ago, so you had been back for a little time. she wondered if she should mention it. just in the case that key knew anything. "so um.." she started. " i hear y/n's back in town from her trip.." "aw man, don't start that shit, leave that girl alone" key says shaking his head. ri immediately sucks her teeth, in annoyance, as if she wasn't trying to pry. "nigga, what you mean, I can't make a statement? I just said I hear she was back, not I was gone go hunt her down, damn." defensive she was. cuz it didn't all the way sound like a bad idea. "yeah..aight," key semi-chuckled at the defensive girl. "yea i think she just got back this morning."

"from a school trip, or some shit, right? that's wassup." ri plainly expresses her pride for you.

she looks back down at the post being held captive by her thumb, just examining you. you were glowing. your skin was radiant, hair growing, shape filling out; you truly looked— happy.

riri didn’t wanna get in the way of that. she just.. wanted to be another reason that you were happy— for real this time.

“fuck it,” ri thought to herself, deciding that she would finally reach out. on some calm shit though, you know. if she got rejected, she got rejected, at least she tried.

looking at the time it was 9 almost 10 o’clock, and she decided that if she was gonna make any type of move, it would have to be right now and while she was by her lonesome.

“ahhh,” ri stood up, fake yawning into a fake stretch. “aight my nigga, i’mma head out. i’m super tired, I’mma make it a early night.”

“naaa, already? you whack! what happened, can’t hang no more?” key teased, initially not realizing why it was she really was eager to leave.

“it’s not even like that,” the small girl started. “i just got stuff to do, that’s all.” she got up and gathered her things before semi-rushing out the door.

“mhm. leave her alone, ri!” key says mid chuckle. he could always figure her out.

“bye!” ri slammed the door shut and rushed down the steps and over and into to her black 2022 kia sedan.

she takes a deep breath and huffs out an exhausted sigh, juggling the thoughts of you through her mind. she unlocks her phone and goes to your contact, examining the details with her warm cocoa brown eyes, the same name and picture there from when you were ‘hers’.

after going back and forth for 20 minutes she finally presses the ‘imessage button’ and goes to text you.

5, 10 minutes go by and she’s a nervous wreck. ‘fuck,” she thought to herself. “i should’ve listened to key, i should’ve just left her alone.’

she goes to delete her message and the thread until she saw your text bubble pop up.

you, 1 not having her blocked, and 2 responding in the first place was a green enough flag for her. she decided she needed to see you. she had to see you. all this courage being built up by her own delusion needed to be acted on immediately, without a second wasted, or else it would continue eating at her.

‘can i pull up on you?,” she sent. before you could even respond, she came anyway, and parked a few houses down.

as she awaited your response, she reached in the back seat, bringing in front the black plastic bag with a bottle of don julio, a carton of lemonade, and two ice cups she had previously bought that afternoon for her and key.

her nerves were certainly jumpy, so she decided she would sip a lil something, just to take the edge off. she poured the liquid courage and the citrusy chaser into her ice cup, and sipped directly from the rim, neverminding the straw that was placed in the bag.

remembering the j she rolled that afternoon also, she takes it out her pre-roll case rested in her cup holder and lights it ablaze. after blowing out the potent flame, she lifts it to her aquaphor’d lips, cl and welcomes the wavelength of smoke through her mouth/nose and into her bloodstream, french inhaling with shut lids.

no matter how badly she wanted to see you and talk to you, she wasn’t confident in having too sober of a conversation, in fear of her thoughts consuming her and her fucking this up once again.

she felt all her muscles and joints slowly relax into each other, the smoke parading through her system. involuntarily, it was beginning to arouse her as well, but those feelings would have to take a backseat on this one. she wasn’t on that, tonight. I mean shit, if you was, but her main focus was getting her lady back. at least the best friend portion of you.

after her 4th pull, her phone buzzes in her lap, and she almosts drops the blunt trying to get to it.

you lived about 10 to 12 minutes away from her, so that’s roughly how long she lingered down your block, trying not to look so desperate, but fuck it— she was.

desperate to hear your voice again, to smell your warm vanilla and musk scent, to hear your laugh, to hear you call her, ‘riana.’ in that stern, warning voice.

‘i’m out front.’ she sent her final text before she would see you for the first time in months.

ri began to get even more jittery, her hands and the back of her neck producing sweat quicker than normal, awaiting your arrival. she couldn’t tell if it was her nerves surrounding the situation, her being cross-faded, or both.

after what felt like forever, there you were. even more beautiful than remembered. she watched intently as your toned figured came walking down your brownstone, and forward to her car.

your now grown out, awkward length hair, tucked away into knotless braids fell down to the small of your back. a light grey short-sleeved cropped tee, lettered ‘brat’ in black letters, decorated your torso, black cotton shorts hugging your hips. your feet placed in white socks and dark grey yeezy slides.

you approached the vehicle, more at ease being that she had illegally dark tints on her windows, preventing you from seeing her see you.

you opened the door, and as soon as you entered, all the memories came floating back instantly. the lights on the roof, the smell of weed and baccarat rouge mixed together, her hand rested on her lap, thumb and ring finger through silver ring bands. her seat laid all the way back. her looking at you like— that.

“hello, riana,” you say plainly, in a joking way.

“hello, y/n,” she replied, smirking inbetween the sentence.”

it’s silent for a second, before you decide you didn’t want this to be awkward, no matter how you felt previously. you made the conscious decision to fill up the air.

“so,” you began. “i’ve been summoned. what’s going on?”

“well don’t say it like that,” she replied. “I just wanted to check in, make sure you was ‘aight.”

“oh please, riana williams, check in?” she laughed in disbelief. “checking in tonight of all nights? it’s been months.”

“i mean shit, iono what you got going on,” she began, slowly leaning into what she knows best. mess. “you probably been up under some nigga or some, why would i interfere in that?”

“okay,” and that was your cue. immediately you get irritated and reach for the door, preventing this from going any further down the sinkhole.

“okay, okay, wait, wait,” she tugged on your arm restricting you from moving.

“no, riana, it’s always the same shit with you. this is what you called me outside for?” you spat.

“no! no, i’m sorry, I— i’m just,” she breathed for a second, trying to get herself and her words together. “I’m working on it. I’m a work in progress.”

you scoffed and folded your arms, leaning back in your seat. “yeah, okay.”

“i’m serious, y/n/n,” she called your nickname given by her. one you haven’t heard in so long, yet the sound of it was so familiar and so sweet on your ears.

“I did, and said a lot of fucked up shit to you, when we were together, I can admit that,” her intoxication began to aid the word flow out of her brain and through her vocal cords.

“together? i was never your girl. remember? those were your words.” you shut down her insinuation.

“and that was another mistake I made, if not the biggest. i should’ve made you a priority and stayed consistent, I’m sorry, y/n/n. you deserved way more than I gave you,” her confessions began to roll out slowly but surely.

hearing her words and the sincerity in them made your eyes fill up with tears, playing tug of war with your need to stay tough and the need for release. to take that weight off your chest.

immediately she senses the tension around you and places her hand on your thigh and grips firmly.

“well, why’d you take so long!” the jig is up. the pain is all throughout your voice, tears beginning to flow out. “why’d you take so fucking long to realize that, riana?”

“y/n—“ she begins, fighting her own tears herself.

“i loved you. i love you, I’d give my last to you, you made me look like a fool and I STILL chose you. you’d make me feel like I was on top of the world and the next minute you’d rip the ground right from underneath me. and crashing down I came. still wanting you. still needing you.” you express, each word lifting a brick off of your chest.

“i don’t know, okay!” ri blurted out, choking on her words. “i’m fucked up, i’ve been fucked up for a long time. i could never keep or maintain a good thing in my life because i’d be waiting for it to end or for it to be thrown in my face. i’d want one thing in my mind and something totally different comes out my mouth. but it’s you, it’s always been you,” you stared through her bloodshot red eyes, finally receiving the truth and holding onto every word.

“you lit a fire under my ass, you forced me to look at myself. no one has ever done that to me—FOR me before. you make me crazy. you make me want to be a better person. you make me want to destroy ever person even SLIGHTLY responsible for causing you pain, including myself,” her face was glistening, wet tears reflecting off the brake lights of the car parked in front of her. she didn’t give a fuck how she looked anymore.

“i spent every night since we parted ways replaying all the things i’ve done to cause our separation over and over and over, drowning in my reality. I’d take it all back, good and bad, just to see you smile at me the first time you ever did. there was so much love in your eyes. and i watched it wither away, piece by piece. And i’m sorry, baby. I’m so sorry.”

you reached over and held her by the sides of her face, wiping her tears with your thumbs and gently kissing her lips. the sensation of your soft, warm lips made her cry even harder. the first time she felt that hug in months. nobody felt like you.

you hopped over into her seat and straddled her, not breaking the kiss. her hands roamed down your sides and over your ass as she pulled you closer to her. if she was dreaming, she’d be taking advantage of every moment.

you began to slightly move your hips along her leg, whining in her mouth, her mimicking your sounds in equal bliss and pain.

she wrapped her hand around the end of your braids and tugged slightly, exposing your neck and leaving soft, french kisses all along the middle.

“riana,” you breathed out.

“baby, please,” she pleaded. “let me fix it.”

you wanted to let her tear you apart. destroy your clothes and do away with them. you wanted to take out all your hate and love for her out on her body. you wanted to go right back to the every day you knew it as.

but you knew better. you learned better. y/n today is not the same y/n from months ago.

“i love you, riana.” you confessed aloud and hopped back into the passenger side.

“but I can’t let you back in. not this way. not right now.” you set your boundary, no matter how much it hurt. and decided it was time to go. you had overstayed your stay.

head down, eyes low, she just woefully nodded. she understood and she had to respect it. she made her bed, it was time to lay in it. but she would never give up.

“hey,” you bent down in her vision after stepping out the car. “we’ll see each other again. under better circumstances. bye, ri.”

you closed the door and headed back to your apartment, shedding more and more silent tears.

ri layed in the driver side seat in agony. counting down the days until that day. the last thing she wanted to say to you playing over and over in her head.

“i love you too, y/n. so fucking much.”

#Spotify #riri williams #riri x reader #dominique thorne #black sapphic #riri fic #prettymrswright hot ficpic #riri x you

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nosenipped · 28 days ago

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respond to the following prompts out of character, then tag others you'd like to get to know a little bit better.

roleplayer name: lucien!

pronouns: deez / nuts. ( he / they. )

muse name(s): jackson overland frost. :3 his name is so fucking english i literally can't type this without giggling. he's got a korean name too, but im not revealing it because of plot.

preferred communication: discord or DMs. i'm still getting used to the mechanics on tumblr rn so. 😭😭 but there r some features in tumblr's DMs that kinda tick me off, so discord's the home place for communications for me. i run a shit ton of accounts on different platforms too, so if i don't reply it's bc im out of energy or im busy with work. 💔

experience: started in pokémon. got traumatized. went to animerp. also got traumatized. the cycle repeats for about 6 years.

preferred roleplay type: dependent on the day! i've always preferred writing something fluffy as opposed to angsty, ( but the lines are very thin for this muse ) only because jack's already a VERY angsty character and as a whole and i feel if i kept writing angst i'd run out of material quickly.

pet peeves / dealbreakers: forced shipping &&. self—inserts that seem too inserted, eg. forcing themselves onto my muses. ( i realize it's essentially the same thing but trust there's a difference. ) i've only ever shipped muses after messages of development and if i see potential. it's also a matter of personal comfort.

i've had past experiences where people took it too far with their muses and got personally affected by their relationship which is INSANELY unhealthy.

another one is just ship jealousy? i've personally NEVER experienced it as the receiver before, i hope i never do anyway, but we're all friends and grown—ups here im sure we could just write without any hidden agendas. i've had people close to me suffer from this before and it's incredibly sad &&. pathetic, y'all don't do that pls.

best time to write: evening or like. really early in the morning LMAOOO. i'm a night owl most of the times so if im not getting to anything in the morning or afternoon, it's mostly all churned out at night. ( but ofc that doesn't mean i'm not active during the morning or afternoon. )

are you like your muse?: to a large extent, definitely. i wouldn't go as far as to call us twins tho? even if some people do, there's just some things that we see differently.

for starters, unlike this loser, i can swim. /silly i got medals to back my claim.

i'm definitely not as dense to love as this dude is, and i'm able to differentiate platonic and romantic ties. this SUCKS so bad knowing he's also a womanizer in the last books .. i need his ass GONE.

in terms of similarities, i truly see him as something of a vessel to articulate my grief and anger as well as nostalgia through my boyo. :3 and since i've practically rewritten his ass to incorporate book and movie and mythology lore ( it gave me a MIGRAINE during my work i swear ;; the amt of effort i place into him needs to go widespread to my course. ) parts of me are also within to fill the plot holes. <3

i offer my jack frost to write with you all with my heart and soul on the line, so it really means a whole lot to me whenever people love him.

i got tagged by @lcafman ! WAAAHHH ELLIE ILYSM /p ONE OF MY POOKIES AND A GENUINELY GREAT PERSON TO GET TO KNOW. <33

＊ tagging ... @nerdynanny ， @toothcollct ， @saheira ， @seachant ， @fatedarrows ， @chieftain-of-berk ， @pcterpan ， @wishfulmuses ♡ feel free to participate if you'd like!! ( ^��^ )

#drop　ᴼᶠ　𝖒oo͟n𝓯all　🌙．#𝕕ash　₎₎　games　＇　𝗠𝗨𝗡．

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stars-n-spice · 9 months ago

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I have a lot of thoughts regarding the first three episodes that are bouncing around my brain and I'm going to try and wrangle them up here in this post-

They will probably not be coherent or in order of the episodes or what happened but they're thoughts-

Spoilers for TBB S3 under the cut!

Hemlock is such a dickwad, holy shit. What a great antagonist, kriffing hell. When he made threats to hurt Crosshair in response to Omega's disobedience?? FUCK.

Crosshair and Omega my beloveds,, they have my hearts, I love them so much

Crosshair's shaky hands. I can see the floodgates of all the angsty art and fics that are going to come out of that. IT AFFECTING HIS AIM??? Gods above- If we get a scene of someone holding his hands while they're shaking I'm going to lose it

I'm a fucking clown for thinking we'd get Crosshair's reaction to the news of Tech's death. Absolutely CLOWN. Like they didn't give us Echo's reaction to Fives, of course they wouldn't give us Crosshair's to Tech's

Speaking of Tech,,, I think I speak for a lot of us when I say that special trooper in all black is totally him,, right?? The scrawny ass legs?? The goggles on the helmet?? Fuck,, I even think I saw the guy limp away.. It HAS to be him

THEY HAVE A DOG NOW!!! That's so sweet :(

You guys do not understand the immediate reaction I had to seeing Omega older with the new hairstyle (which I love). Fucking burst out into tears at the sight

Nala Se is so dead. So dead. I've never seen a more deader alive character than Nala Se.

Also my hopes for Emerie helping them or turning out good or something went down the drain :(

OMEGA IS FORCE SENSITIVE??? like,, that's what they're implying right??? They wanna have DNA or whatever to make Palp clones yeah??? Is that were this is going??? FUCK.

On that note, if she IS force sensitive I really really really wanna see Asajj helping her out with that because I think that would be fucking NEAT

Omega making a Lula doll out of straw took me out :( I was holding my own Lula plushie and crying

Crosshair is such a little shit. I love how he was trying to dissuade Omega from escaping with him by saying shit like, "If I got the chance, I'd leave you behind" and the moment that Omega's like, "I've got a plan" he's like "What do I do?"

Them hijacking a whole squad's ship was fucking hilarious though, get fucked

"Tech had me memorize all the plans." - "Of course he did." <- bawling my eyes out.

SO DOES THIS MEAN WE HAVE TO WATCH OMEGA GET CAPTURED AGAIN?!?!

OK ONTO THE ADVENTURES OF HUNTER AND WRECKER

ECHO ALREADY FUCKING LEFT??? <- i knew we wouldn't get like,, a conversation or a reason,, it would just be he left off screen and we've got to deal with that

Echo my love come back :(

On another note,, Wrecker and Hunter's beat up armor is such a good look but also ouch because it shows all the shit they've been through since the last season

Y'all don't understand how great it is to see my man again (Wrecker ily so much)

SPEAKING OF MY MAN!! The little,, fucking touches of reassurance he kept giving Hunter?? How he was being a voice of reason?? making sure Hunter didn't do anything reckless?? :((

I know that man is tired and he's trying so hard to hold the last remaining bits of their squad together and it hurts so bad but I love him so much for it

Clone Cadets :(( they don't really look like clones though :/ but to be expected ig....

THEY'RE GONNA TAKE THEM TO PABU :((((

the lula and tech's goggle shots took me out

Hunter fumbling around with Tech's datapad :(((

Wrecker carrying Gonky upside down with the harness was fucking amazing, oh my god

"Defective AND effective" DAMN RIGHT YOU TELL HIM 여보!!!

'slither vines' fucking ass name

makes you wonder what else hemlock is cookin up

Wrecker laughing and talking with the clone cadets :(

GONKY TO THE RESCUE

Either next episode we're going to get Hunter & Wrecker back on Pabu or continuation of Omega and Crosshair crashing their ship somewhere and Omega potentially being captured again and Crosshair eventually being reunited with Hunter & Wrecker (pretty please)

Anyways,, thankfully the episodes weren't as devastating as I thought they would be but I know it's only going to get worse from here before it (hopefully) gets better.

#i have a lot of emotions #man #now i have to wait a week for the next episode??#man this is going to be painful #tbb #tbb spoilers #tbbspoilers #the bad batch #tbb s3 #tbb s3 spoilers #tbb omega #tbb crosshair #tbb hunter #tbb wrecker #tbb tech #tbb echo

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headfullofpresley · 2 years ago

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To The Grave

Pairing: Elvis Presley x reader

Summary: Your brother doesn't like you dating around in general, but he has a particularly bad feeling about the guy from work who takes you to the Memphis fair.

Word count: 5,5K

Warning(s): brother!Elvis, angsty, Elvis is not famous (he could be since there's no indication if he is or not, i just wrote it in mind that he's not), mentions of Anita, some sexism, hints of SA!! (not detailed), violence, mentions of/possible murder, strong language.

Author's note: this was supposed to be a "overprotective brother!elvis follows his sister when she goes on a date" kinda vibe but ofcourse, i got carried away and it turned into much more. also, the ending is absolute shit HA! just pretend it isn't. hope y'all enjoy nonetheless. <3

masterlist

Tonight was an exciting night for you. Finally the guy you had been crushing on for the past year asked you out on an official date and you had been over the moon for entirety of the day. You had become fast friends with your co-worker Dean when you started your job and it was impossible not to fall for him – he had a charming smile, beautiful brown eyes and golden locks and he always said all the right things.

You were smitten and in a state of dreaming about the man the second you saw him, but leave it up to your older brother to rain on your parade.

“He’s probably expectin’ to get under your skirt,” the blue eyed monster on your bed mumbled, flipping through one of your magazine’s he had picked up from your nightstand.

“Shut up. Not all men are like you,” you spat at your brother as you stood in front of your full length mirror, applying a red tint to your lips. You had made an effort tonight – the evenings were still warm in mid September, so you had decided on a short black and white mod dress, matching them with a pair of faux leather loafers. Your hair and make-up took you way longer than usual but you looked good. You felt pretty.

“And you ain’t gonna wear that,” Elvis said as his eyes found your silhouette in front of the mirror, his head leaning lazily in the palm of his hand. His fingers were still flipping pages even though his attention was fully on you.

Your dress was short. Not scandalously short, but with the way it stopped at the mid of your thighs, you’d probably have to sneak out of the house before your father woke up from his pre-dinner nap. You wouldn’t listen to your fathers’ protests and you definitely were not going to listen to those of your brother.

“You know, if you wanna boss someone around and act like Dad, go to Anita’s house and convince her to get knocked up or something,” you rolled your eyes at him, dropping your lipstick in your purse before you walked over to your vanity table and sprayed some perfume in your neck. He narrowed his eyes at you in annoyance, watching how you happily rubbed your wrists together to spread the sweet scent around.

“We broke up,” he mumbled softly, ruffling the pages of the magazine a little so his words were less audible. But you heard them.

“What? El, you’re an ass. Call her and make things right,” you told him as you placed a hand on your hip, looking at him like a mother would when scolding her child.

Elvis was three years older than you, and loved to remind you of it, but you liked to tease him and act like you were the oldest sibling instead.

He scoffed, throwing the magazine to the pillows as he sat up on the edge of your bed. “Who said I did anythin’ wrong?!”

You raised an eyebrow at him and he sighed, giving you a roll of his eyes now as he got up and walked to your wardrobe, taking a cardigan from a hanger. “It ain’t your business, anyways. Put this on,” he said as he held out the piece of clothing to you and you just laughed, shaking your head.

“It’s September, Elvis. And it doesn’t go with my outfit, I’m not wearing that,” you told him as you grasped the cardigan out of his hand, flinging it onto your bed as you walked out of your bedroom. He followed immediately, slowing down in pace as well as you tiptoed through the hall, peeking around the corner to see if your father was in his chair in front of the TV. He was – head falling back as he was drifting off into a slumber, not bothered by the noise of the news he put on as soon as he came home.

“How old is this Dean figure again?” Elvis whispered as he placed a hand on your shoulder, leaning down on you to prevent you from moving as he looked into the living room as well. You sighed as you dug your elbow in his stomach, making him back off but not without earning a flat handed slap against your upper arm. You squealed softly, rubbing your arm as you shot him a glare. “He’s old enough. None of your business,” you threw his own words back at him, slowly walking out of the hall and through the living room to the front door.

Elvis couldn’t stop you from leaving and he stood there for a few seconds, contemplating on what to do. He walked to the door where you stood, reaching for his carkeys so he could drop you off at the Memphis fairgrounds but as you opened the door and he heard the running engine of the baby blue Ford Thunderbird that stood by the side of the road, he was too starstruck by the car to notice you making moves to leave the house.

“The fool has nice taste,” he mumbled to himself, eyes widening as you were about to close the door in his face. He pulled it back open and grabbed your arm, pulling you back inside.

“Dad! Y/N is going out!” He barked at Vernon who immediately opened his eyes at his son’s loud voice, grumbling softly as he looked at you and Elvis standing by the door. Vernon sighed in annoyance, waving Elvis off as he put his head back against the chair and you laughed at your brother, digging your nails in his forearm so he’d let you go. His grip tightened instead. “Look at what she’s wearing. You’re gonna let her leave the house like this?” Elvis yelled again and you gasped, trying to tug your arm out of his grip.

Your mother came out of the kitchen and walked over to you two, slapping Elvis’ arm with a kitchen towel. The fabric was damp, making the smack harder than he expected and he let go of your arm, pouting at Gladys as he grabbed onto his own arm.

“Leave your sister alone and come help me in the kitchen if you want to eat,” she told him and you grinned tauntingly at him, pressing a kiss on Gladys’ cheek before you quickly ran out of the door. Your father was too sleepy to be interested in your evening plans – thank God.

Elvis sighed in annoyance as he moved to the window, watching you get into Dean’s car before it drove off and turned the corner at the end of the street.

You had been on dates before and while he never liked the guys that you went out with or brought home, he had never been this bothered to see you leaving with someone. You were his younger and only sister and while he loved driving you up the wall most hours of the day, you were the bestest friend he could ever have.

He’d die if something would happen to you and for some reason, he had a bad feeling about your date tonight. He had a bad feeling about Dean.

“I’m leaving!” he announced to his mother as he was already stepping into his shoes by the front door, slipping his comb in his back pocket. His mother came rushing back out of the kitchen once more with a deep sigh blown out in the air – she could already guess what he was about to do.

“Make sure she doesn’t see you,” she told him as he opened the door and he smiled softly, nodding. “Oh, and baby? You’re doin’ the dishes when you come back,” she pointed out to him before she turned around and went back into the kitchen to start on a dinner for two instead.

“We’re not here for candy apples, pay attention,” Elvis hissed at Scotty, keeping his voice low as he tugged his friend back by the neck of his shirt. Scotty nearly choked as he stumbled back on his feet, sighing as he was dragged further away from one of the dozen snack stands the fair had to offer. The blonde male slapped Elvis’ arm off and fixed his collar, following his friend through the crowd in a slow pace. You were a few feet ahead of them, your arm linked through Dean’s and you seemed like you were having a good time.

Scotty thought he’d be having a good time as well when Elvis picked him up and told him they were going to the fairgrounds. Go on a couple of rides, get a few drinks, pick up a pretty lady or two. But no, he was expected to play an amateur detective.

“You don’t have to whisper. She can’t hear us!” Scotty yelled on purpose, laughing as he startled Elvis who immediately looked your way to see if you heard. Impossible with all the noises around them, but you’d have a fit if you knew he was here.

“Just keep walkin’, Moore,” he ordered, shoving Scotty ahead of him with a soft laugh.

You were having the time of your life. Dean was a gentleman and tried to win you prizes at nearly every game you walked past. He bought you any food you wanted and you two talked about work and shared interests. It felt different than when you’d have a conversation with him during shifts and you were still floating high on that pink cloud… until Dean decided to have a couple of beers after you came out of the haunted house and things were starting to take an ugly turn.

He was getting handsy – hand dipping a little lower to your ass every time he’d slip his arm around your waist, trying to kiss you even when you politely told him off. He was tall and strong, too strong for you to stop him when he grabbed your arm and pulled you away from the crowds. You were roughly pushed against a couple of stacked up crowd control fences, the metal coming in contact with your back roughly due to the force of Dean’s strength.

Your date was all over you as soon as he had you trapped between him and the fences. You planted your hands against his chest to push him off but failed miserably, not able to gather enough strength in your weak arms. He could already sense your next move coming as you raised your knee to kick him in the balls and he quickly placed his leg in between your legs, the alcohol on his breath overwhelming you as he forced his tongue into your mouth.

Your body froze for a second. Your mother had always prepared you for something like this. She always told you to be careful and here you were, dressing up in your shortest dresses to go out with men who probably didn’t care about anything else other than your body. They’d take what they wanted and that was that. Elvis was right and Dean wasn't better than the others. He might even be worse.

You had to scream. Yell. Call for help.

Your mother told you to scream at the top of your lungs when you’d be in danger, no matter if it made you look crazy or not.

You grabbed onto Dean’s hair as you bit down on his tongue as hard as you could. When he pulled back with a painful yelp, you pulled on his hair as hard as you could to get him off of you. Yet again, you failed and before you knew it a large hand grabbed onto your jaw and you were once more trapped.

Elvis was in near hysterics when he lost you out of his sight, that gnawing feeling in the pit of his stomach growing and growing as the seconds ticked by on the clock. Scotty tried to calm him down, tell him that you were probably in one of the rides, but as he saw the state Elvis was in he figured this was serious. This was more than Elvis just being an overprotective brother. Scotty didn’t protest as he followed Elvis to the back of the snack stands and rides, looking for you and your date.

Aside from some couples making out in the darkest spots on the fairgrounds, no one was back here and Scotty was about to suggest to go back and see if you were among the crowd again, until they both heard a scream. And another. And another. Elvis followed the sound like a police dog on duty with Scotty hot on his tail.

You screamed at the top of your lungs when Dean’s hands slipped under your dress. The screaming and struggle didn’t stop him at first but he was getting annoyed, looking at you with drunk angry eyes as he raised his hand. You closed your mouth, bracing for the impact of his flat hand but it never came. Instead, Dean was pulled off of you and when you opened your eyes, you saw Elvis landing a punch against your date’s jaw.

Scotty was by your side immediately, gently tugging you further away from Dean and Elvis who had now made their way to the ground. Elvis was on top, repeatedly punching the other man in the face and he didn’t stop until Dean’s nose cracked, blood staining his face and your brother’s knuckles.

“Don’t you ever fuckin’ touch my sister again,” Elvis growled in the other man’s face as he grabbed the collar of his shirt, pulling him up before he slammed his head back on the ground. Luckily for Dean they were on grass, or his skull would’ve been probably cracked by now. “If I see you around her again, I’ll break more than just your nose,” Elvis leaned in closer to Dean’s face, grabbing his face to dig his fingertips into his cheeks harshly. Your date couldn’t do anything but look up at the man above him with wide eyes, soft whimpers getting stuck in his throat. “And if you start runnin’ that fuckin’ mouth of yours, I’ll rip your goddamn tongue out. Understood?”

You ripped yourself out of Scotty’s weak grip and ran over to your brother, grabbing onto his shirt to pull him off of your asshole of a date. Elvis knew the best thing to do here was to let go and get off of Dean, but he couldn’t stop himself from ramming his head into the dirt and grass once more.

“ELVIS! ENOUGH!” You screeched in panic as you saw Dean’s eyes roll into the back of his head, pulling your brother off of him with all your might. Scotty rushed over to help and as Elvis got back up to his feet, he immediately wrapped an arm around you. As you noticed some people coming closer to see what was going on, you grabbed onto Scotty’s arm and started dragging them along with you as you made your way back to fairgrounds. They got the hint as soon as they saw the couple creeping closer to Dean and when one of the girls let out a panicked scream, panic settled in not only your stomach but also that of Elvis and Scotty.

“We have to split up,” Scotty called out as he stopped running, looking at you and Elvis. A duo of police officers on patrol walked right by you and you quickly covered Elvis’ bloody knuckles with your hand as his arm was still wrapped around your shoulder.

Scotty was right. With your brother’s hair looking so ruffled and the tiny splatters of blood on his shirt, he looked suspicious. But you couldn’t leave him alone and he sure as hell wasn’t going to leave your side.

“Go home,” Elvis told Scotty, giving his friend a little nod. “Take my car and go home. We’ll get out of here, go!”

Scotty didn’t want to leave, but as more police men got a whiff of what happened at the back of the damned bumping cars attraction, he knew he didn’t have a choice. He sighed as he took Elvis’ carkeys from him, telling you two to be careful before he turned around and disappeared into the crowd.

“Take my hand and act normal,” Elvis whispered to you as a police man made eye contact with him. Elvis didn’t shy away, instead giving the man that was looking at him through the heads in the crowd a friendly nod as he slipped his hand into yours. He winced softly as your fingers came in contact with the cracked skin on his knuckles and you apologised softly, walking along with him as he gently tugged you through the sea of people. You were both trying to act as normal as you could, but it seemed like that one officer was suspicious of your brother and you.

“He’s following us,” you whispered as you walked closely to Elvis’ side, looking over your shoulder. Elvis tugged on your arm.

“Don’t look,” he warned through gritted teeth and you immediately looked in front of you again. The officer wasn’t giving up, pushing people out of his way with quick apologies rolling off of his tongue to get closer to you and Elvis.

Elvis could sense the man coming closer and closer again and when another officer popped up a few feet ahead of you, your brother quickly pulled you along to the ferris wheel. He ignored the protests of the people waiting in line as he roughly shoved them aside while striding forward.

“You have to buy a ticket!” The employee at the attraction barked in annoyance, but Elvis ignored him and quickly pushed you into the cart when the previous people were out of it. Elvis sat next to you, trying to pull the safety bar down but the employee kept his foot down.

“Ticket first or out!”

“Look, man. This is my lady, I’m kind of proposing,” Elvis whispered, sending the man an overexaggerated wink and a feigned smirk. The man narrowed his eyes in suspicion, noticing the blood on your brother’s hands as he once again told you two to get lost.

You learned forward to look at the man, raising your hand to grab onto the bar as well. “Listen here, mister. Put this goddamn bar down right now or I’ll shove that little girl’s cotton candy so far up your a-“

The employee was distracted by your foul mouth as you pointed at the little girl in the front of the line and Elvis took the opportunity to pull down the safety bar as hard as he could, clicking it into place. The operator of the ferris wheel shrugged and with lack of interest for his job, he got the attraction running again, sending you and Elvis further away from his co-worker and higher in the air.

“What if he’s dead?” You broke the silence as the ferris wheel stopped again to let people out and you were half way at the top. Elvis sighed as he ran his hands over his face and into his hair to slick back the darkened locks before he looked at you.

“I don’t give a rat’s ass if he is. What happened out there?”

Now it was your turn to sigh and you clenched your hands around the safety bar as you thought back about Dean and how he forced himself onto you.

“Did he… did.. d-did.. something happen?”

You looked at your brother as tears clouded your vision and he immediately wrapped his arm around you, pushing you into his side. You hid your face in his chest, biting back more tears as you slowly shook your head.

“He tried… but he didn’t. He kissed me and grabbed me, but you were there before things could get that far,” you whispered and he placed his hand on the back of your head, fingers tangling in your hair.

“I knew it, I fuckin’ knew it. Didn’t trust him from the moment I saw his smug face. Didn’t I tell you?”

When you lifted your head out of his chest and he saw the look in your eyes, the muscles in his face softened and he sighed deeply. Now was not the time for “I told you so’s”.

“Shit, I’m sorry, little one,” he quickly apologised as he hung his arm around your shoulder again, hand rubbing your arm. “I hope he’s fuckin’ dead,” he mumbled under his breathe as he looked down, immediately noticing some cops that were still lingering around. That one cop who had followed you was waiting by the entrance of the ferris wheel, for God knows what. Elvis should’ve never nodded at him the way he did.

Elvis gasped softly as you smacked his chest and he looked at you with wide eyes, placing his hand on the spot you just hit him.

“How can you say that?!” you cried out, hiding your face in your hands. You didn’t care about Dean, not in the slightest, but if he really was dead… that would make your brother a murderer. And murderers went to jail. For a very very long time. Before Elvis could speak again, you already beat him to it, words coming out muffled and broken.

“You’ll g-go to p-prison and I w-won’t see.. see.. y-you anymore. H-how can you d-do this to me?”

“Hey, c’mere,” he sighed as he wrapped his arms around you, hugging you tightly. He pressed his chin on the top of your head, his stomach dropping for a second. He hated seeing you cry and while he had made you cry countless of times before when you were younger, that was all fun and games. They had never experienced anything as serious as this and he had absolutely no idea what would happen to them as soon as they would get off this ferris wheel, but he was going to make sure you’d be safe.

Maybe the words that he spoke next were nothing but empty promises, but he needed you to calm down. An idea popped in his head and perhaps it was dumb and wouldn’t work at all, but he did not want to go to jail nor did he want to put that burden on your shoulders.

“Look at me,” he whispered as he grabbed your face in his hands, thumbs wiping your tears away as the ferris wheel stopped at the top. “I ain’t going to prison, silly. I know you want my room, but you won’t get rid of me so soon,” he laughed softly and you looked at him with a pout, not laughing at his joke. You knew he was trying to cheer you up but you were still terrified of losing your brother and feeling guilty of having him become a criminal because of you.

“Listen, little one,” he said as he looked down again, quickly turning back to face you as he noticed the officer looking up. He let go of your face and wiped your tears away, trying to remove a mascara stain from your cheekbone. “Once we get down, we’ll pretend we’re a couple. Remember Valentine’s Day two years ago when you were single and Anita was out of town and we went to see a movie with couple discount?”

You nodded as you sniffled, inhaling a deep breath of fresh air as you ran your hands through your hair, trying to fix it and make yourself look a bit more presentable again. “Okay, good. Pretend we had a fight up here. I’ll think of something to tell him once we get down,” he said as he grabbed your hand, inspecting your nails for a second. Long and sharp enough.

“Scratch my face or slap me… something that’ll leave a mark,”

You widened your eyes as you looked at him. You pulled your hand out of his grip as you opened your mouth to protest but as you noticed cops were still lingering, you knew this was your only option.

Maybe you two would fail horribly and the cop would see right through you, but it was worth trying.

“Count it down,” you told him and he nodded, but you didn’t give him the chance to finish counting, smacking him across the face before he could get to number three. You made sure to scratch him along the way, your nails scraping his cheekbones and he grunted softly, wiggling his jaw a little as he glared at you.

He didn’t miss the small grin on your face.

“You enjoyed that way too much,”

“Shut up, Elvis, this is serious!” you told him as you dug a handkerchief out of your purse and he allowed you to wipe away as much of the blood on his knuckles as you could.

“You were the one who was smilin’,” he grumbled, rolling his eyes but you ignored him as you shoved the handkerchief to the bottom of your purse.

As the ferris wheel started moving again, you looked at him and he gave you a small nod and smile. You sighed and tried not to think about your nerves too much, acting as casual as you could as the attraction came to a stop and the still annoyed employee let you two out.

“Guess her answer was no, huh?” he yelled after Elvis, pointing at the scratch on his cheek with a grin and Elvis pulled a mocking face at him before he tugged you along with him.

“Keep your arm behind me,” you whispered quickly to him. He slipped his arm around your waist and you put your hand on top of his, lacing your fingers together so his knuckles were hidden behind your palm.

“Let me do the talkin’,” he told you as he noticed the cop coming closer.

The officer’s lips curled into a smug grin as he stood in front of you two, eyeing you both up and down as he placed his hands on his hips.

“Seemed like you two were in a rush. Everything all right?”

The cop had no reason to stop you two at all. He never noticed the blood on Elvis’ hands or the hint of panic in your eyes. He just wanted to have a closer look at your brother.

Elvis plastered his most friendly smile on his face, nodding as he looked at you, squeezing you closer to him. “The lady wanted to get on the wheel before she had to go home. You know how impatient these females can get,”

You had to bite your tongue to stop yourself from gagging with the way your brother and the officer were laughing about that comment. You knew it was feigned from your brother’s side, but to know it was probably real from the cop’s side made your skin crawl.

“I see. Must be a feisty one, claws out and all,” the cop grinned as he nodded at Elvis’ cheek and Elvis felt you tensing up next to him, squeezing your fingers that were laced with his in warning.

“You bet. Got my hands full with this one,” Elvis laughed loudly before he turned to you, pressing a kiss on your temple as he whispered a quick apology. You just nodded and laughed along, pretending it was the funniest thing you heard.

The cop didn’t see the small blood spatters on Elvis’ shirt and hummed softly, looking at you for a second before he returned his attention back to your brother.

“Someone was attacked about fifteen minutes ago, so just be careful out there, all right?”

You both feigned shock and you took it a step further by placing your hand on Elvis’ chest and playing the part of ‘scared girlfriend’ as you hugged into his side. Elvis had to bite his tongue to hold back a laugh and kept his other hand out of the cop’s view as much as he could, nodding.

“Don’t worry, miss. You look like you know how to stand your ground and your boyfriend here seems like a good protector,” he smiled, looking at Elvis a little too long. Elvis didn’t notice, but you had to hide your face in your brother’s chest as you felt a laugh tickling in your throat.

The officer let you go and you couldn’t believe he actually bought the poor act you and Elvis just performed. You thought it was weird that the cop had followed you all the way to the ferris wheel and waited for you to get off, but as you and Elvis were off the fairgrounds, the puzzle pieces were all falling together.

“H-He was t-totally flirting with you!” You hiccuped with laughter as you and Elvis walked to downtown Memphis, your brother a few feet ahead of you because you had been laughing non stop and yelling out in the open how a cop was coming on to him.

He was annoyed, but not really. He didn’t give a shit about the cop nor about the fact that he flirted with him. It seemed to have gotten Dean and what happened off of your mind for a little bit and you were laughing, and that was all he wanted.

“Shut your face or I’m tellin’ Mom that you took money out of her purse last week,”

You stopped laughing as you gasped, jogging up to him. He grinned as you narrowed your eyes at him, grabbing onto his arm. “One word to Mom and I’ll tell Anita you sleep with that one eyed stinky teddy bear when she’s not there,” you told him, a grin appearing on your face as you let go of his arm and crossed your arms as you walked. “Oh wait, that’s right. She doesn’t stay over anymore, because she dumped you,”

He stopped in his tracks as he glared angrily at you. You stopped walking too and laughed, not bothered by the murderous look he was giving you.

“She didn’t dump me. It was mutual,”

“If that’s what you want to believe, suit yourself,”

“I’m telling Mom about the money,” he said, giving you a sarcastic smile as he started walking again.

You were quick to follow him with a soft whine and he grinned as he swung his arm around your shoulder, nodding to the diner across the street.

“I can be persuaded to keep my mouth shut,” he smiled as he was already pulling you along, raising his hand at a car that stopped for you two to cross. You already knew what he was hinting at and rolled your eyes, following him inside the restaurant nonetheless.

“Thank you, El,” you told him as you sipped on your milkshake, watching him pop a french fry in his mouth. “For tonight. I.. I don’t know what would’ve happened if you wouldn’t have been there,”

He looked up at you as he grabbed a napkin, wiping some salt off of his fingers as he smiled softly. He reached an arm out across the table and placed his hand on top of yours, squeezing it softly.

“I would say listen to your older brother, but I get it. You’re young and you want to find love, but not everyone can be trusted. Not everyone is… good,”

“You’re only three years older and besides, I don’t think I will take dating advice from someone who had a bombshell girlfriend and then probably did something shitty to get dumped by her,”

“Really? You’re goin’ to ruin this moment? Now?”

He pulled his hand back as he rolled his eyes and you threw your head back with a laugh, watching with a grin on your face as he continued eating his food with a shake of his head. He couldn’t hold back a laugh of his own though, flicking a french fry your way.

“I was kiddin’,” you grinned as you took the fry out of your milkshake where it landed and popped it into your mouth. “I promise I’ll listen to you next time. You’re better at reading people, anyways,”

He nodded in agreement, wiping the corner of his mouth as he smiled at you. “The only man you can trust is me,”

“What about Dad?” you questioned with a laugh, raising an eyebrow at him.

“Fine, he can be number two,” he chuckled, looking at you. He raised his arm and reached it out to you again, sticking his ringed pinky out to you.

“Not a word to Mom and Dad. We’re takin’ this to the grave,”

You sighed softly, nodding as you hooked your own pinky around his. You kissed the back of your hand and allowed him to pull your hands to his face, kissing the back of his own. You let go of his pinky and sipped on your milkshake, watching other patrons in the diner.

“To the grave,” you mumbled, not having another choice than to agree. Your parents would be in hysterics if they found out what happened, especially your mother.

You had no idea if Dean was still alive or not and you weren’t sure how you felt about that. Even if you would feel bad, you would always stick by your brother’s side. Neither of you had ever broken a pinky promise, not silly ones and not serious ones.

This promise was an extreme one. Someone might have died by your brother’s hands tonight and you were part of it. You felt somewhat of an accomplice.

Like it was your fault even.

But you’d be damned to let your brother end up behind bars, even if it meant keeping someone's death a secret.

#elvis presley x reader #austin!elvis x reader #elvis presley angst #austin!elvis angst #elvis presley imagine #austin!elvis imagine #elvis presley fanfiction #austin!elvis fanfiction #elvis presley #elvis #elvis 2022 #elvis presley history #elvisaaronpresley #elvis presley fluff #austin!elvis fluff #brother!elvis #tamwrites

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silver-wield · 11 months ago

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I'll admit, I don't tend to keep track of the dev teams for the various FFs beyond 7's so finding out Toriyama was responsible for 13 explains why I hate it so much lmao.

Ffxiii is all his. His scenario, his script, his characters but the designs are Nomura's.

But in a nutshell he ripped off ffvii.

Lightning is Soldier Cloud and by LR comes complete with a "real self" she locked away to be strong enough to protect her precious baby sister who's her entire world and she goes into crystal stasis for and kills god for blah blah blah and if you feel there's echoes of Cloud's promise to protect Tifa in there you'd be right on the money because Toriyama is a rip off artist.

Snow is also Cloud, but he's also Zack. He's the real boi all simpy for his one true love, but also super positive until he loses her for the millionth time and becomes emo Cloud because AC Cloud wasn't depressed because he was dying nauuuu it was all because he was emo and in LR so is snow. He's the most emo donchakno. Most angsty. Even more angsty than Soldier Cloud--I mean Lightning.

Serah. If you can't guess who she's based on going off the multiple death/revivals, being a super speshul priestess who sees alt timelines for no reason--literally no reason was ever given for why she's like Yuel--the excessive use of pink, being some uwu damsel in distress etc etc then I can't help you. 13-2 is the biggest flop of the trilogy because he tried to make his Aerith puppet the MC and she was too fucking dull and annoying to carry the plot.

Sahz is your angry dad Barret. Vanille is Yuffie. Fang is your tough secretive Vincent, and Hope the leftovers of Aerith that didn't fit into Serah, so the mother being unfairly gunned down, the dad being some distant educator type etc etc.

What about Tifa? I hear y'all ask.

Tifa and the Avalanche derps are also in the game, not that you'd realise. Lebreau is Snow's childhood friend who runs the local bar and looks after him and the trio who assist Snow on his lil adventures.

Top left is Lebreau and yeah, she looks a bit like Tifa. Toriyama was so salty he made her an NPC, which shows his contempt for her, and it's why Tifa's still getting shitty costumes and undermined in Ever Crisis.

Toriyama will never let go of the fact Tifa's Cloud's lover over the girl he wrote. And if y'all wanna know why Aerith is so toxic it's because Toriyama loves love triangles.

Look what he did to Yuel, Caius and Noel. Was there any need for that weird shit? Yuel's a child. Caius is an old man in his 40's and Noel is a teenager, but sure, let's have some weird ass shit happening between them all because that's good gaming 😬

Toriyama should never be allowed to head up a scenario team.

#ship war #for the plot #for the fandom

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thatdodoanonx · 1 year ago

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Hey dodo, I hope you're doing better now. I really wish i could help you out in some way or another and that you get help financially so you can leave to find a safer place to live. I'm really happy we met and whenever we interacted it always brought me such joy, and i just want happiness for you too. Nobody deserves being treated in such ways, i hope you're safe ❤️

Hey, man. Glad to see you again. I really missed you and I'm happy I left some good impression. Sorry I wasn't able to answer sooner , I was busy the last few weeks, so I'll use this opportunity to update y'all.

First thing I find I did have a bank account with money my dad left for me and my siblings (each one of us have their separate account) and since I'm legally adult I was able to open it and pay both of my college Depts and my siblings' too, I'll receive my credit card in a week or soon. there's a small amount of money left but I don't care, this the only form of freedom I was able to receive and my mom can not do anything about. It's nice

Second and speaking of colleges both of my brothers left for their (both of them out of the town). It's both scary and good at the same time. One thing I won't have them hanging around my head and reporting every move I do to mom but at the same time I miss them y'know? That means it would be me and her. Alone. With no one around. But on the good side I return from my college pretty late so we don't talk much.

I unfortunately started to fall back into some bad habits, you see food has been my source of comfort since I was in high school that why I used to be fat back then and my mom made it her mission to remind me. I catch myself eating unhealthy food and that came consequences. So I have both Calcium and vitamin D deficiency and alot of my teeth got damaged because of it, yesterday was my 4th visit to the dentist this week. I rescheduled another visit after my mid term exams.

Lastly things between me and mom are calm for now mostly because I come from my college pretty late. We only had 2 fights now and you guessed it both them after my visits to the doctor. First one because I wasn't in the mood to talk to her (idk about you but getting 2 shots of Anesthesia and whole ass Root canal treatment makes you a little angsty y'know?) So ofc she took an offence to it and started yelling me at am and call disrespectful and stuff. The second time I told her at this rate I'm not having kids but my body won't be to handle it as a joke (while there's some truth to it) , again she got mad for no reason and started yelling at me and said something along the line of "everytime we fix you you have to go back to this (f-slur) shit??", I didn't have the energy to tell her she's the reason I'm not having kids.

That's all my the major stuff that happened, currently studying for midterm so I won't be able to available soon. Thanks to anyone who took time time to check on me. I'm forever grateful to you. Until next time 💖

-🦤

#ask #dodo talk #update

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demetriandelibinaryboyfriends · 1 year ago

Text

@ckfemslashnetwork

COBRA KAI SAPPHIC SUMMER WEEK 3 BAREFOOT

***

When the morning came we Were cleaning incense off your Vinyl shelf ‘cause we lost track of time again Laughing with my feet in your lap Like you were my closest friend

“How’d we end up on the floor anyway?” you say “Your roommate’s parents’ cheap-ass screw-top rosé, that’s how” I see you every day now

And I chose you The one I was dancing with In New York LA No shoes Looked up at the sky and it was

The burgundy on my T-shirt when you splashed your wine into me And how the blood rushed into my cheeks So scarlet, it was The mark you saw on my collarbone The rust that grew between telephones The lips I used to call home So scarlet, it was maroon

When the silence came we Were shaking blind and hazy How the hell did we lose sight of us again? Sobbing with your head in your hands Ain’t that the way shit always ends?

You were standing hollow-eyed in the hallway Carnations you had thought were roses, that’s us I feel you no matter what The rubies that I gave up

And I lost you The one I was dancing with In New York LA No shoes Looked up at the sky and it was maroon

The burgundy on my T-shirt when you splashed your wine into me And how the blood rushed into my cheeks So scarlet, it was maroon The mark you saw on my collarbone The rust that grew between telephones The lips I used to call home So scarlet, it was maroon

And I wake with your memory over me That’s a real fucking legacy, legacy And I wake with your memory over me That’s a real fucking legacy to leave

The burgundy on my T-shirt when you splashed your wine into me And how the blood rushed into my cheeks So scarlet it was maroon The mark you saw on my collarbone The rust that grew between telephones The lips I used to call home So scarlet it was maroon

It was maroon It was maroon

***

YOOOOO LOOKIT ME, FINISHING ON TIME FOR ONCE

...well, barely, but still XD

Anyways, I remember when Midnights dropped last year, I was lowkey FLOORED because there were not one, not two, but THREE YasMoon songs on there??? Like maybe I was just a little biased because that was at the very cusp of my life-ruining hyperfixation, but STILL. I was very akjdnshkuefdyurgfuygfeuksy about it for several days straight XD

I've always wanted to write an angsty Maroon fic for these two, and already kinda dipped into it here, here, and here. This is basically an expansion on these! This is kind of a companion piece to my ongoing 10-minute All Too Well YasMoon fic (snippet here, btw!) since it goes into more detail about the dance scene in that one.

Btw!!! The kiss in this fic is 100% what I headcanon their first kiss was <3 It takes place circa October of their freshman year, so well before they started hanging out with Sam in the beginning of S1.

(Yes I do in fact think they started macking on each other within a few weeks of meeting at the beginning of freshman year ajsdnhkufduh Like they both have the confidence and the popularity that I think they'd just dive right into it with the intention of writing it off as "just bestie things" if one or both of them realizes they're not actually gay XD)

Hope Moon's POV isn't too purple prose-y ^^; I kind of struggle to write her sometimes because she seems like the kind of person who's very poetic in how she describes things and people (i.e. "I dreamed I was a drop of dew glistening in the moonlight"), very possibly to the point of being insufferable/cringey XD It can also be tricky to describe how much (I genuinely believe) she loved Yasmine without it coming across as like...idk, corny? Or over the top? But since this is romance fic, that's probably okay maybe? I guess not being that spiritual myself, I sometimes have a hard time incorporating Moon's spirituality into her character in what feels like a genuine and realistic way.

Fic preview under the cut! Y'all are lucky I stopped when I did so you just get the fluffy bits and aren't subjected to the absolute gut punch that the second half is inevitably gonna be XD No particular TWs for this section aside from mentions of (canon-typical) underage drinking and drug use and some descriptions of a make-out session.

As always, moodboard pic credits available upon request :3

@karatecaulfield pspspsps!!! I Marooned them!!!

***

“What the fuck.”

Moon yawned in tired confusion, trying to piece together why Yasmine was so distraught.

“Mmmm. What?”

“We stayed up all fucking night.”

Yasmine nodded at the vast panoramic window, her face outlined in a faint orange glow. It took Moon a moment to realize it wasn’t just from the city lights.

Somewhere along the way, among the smoking and the laughing and the making out and the easy conversations, dawn crept up on them. The tree-covered hillside was bathed in rosy light, yellow porch lamps and streetlights mingling with the first rays of sun.

“Oh my god.” Under the haze of drugs and alcohol and sleep deprivation, Moon felt the alarm catch up to her. “Are we gonna die, Yas?”

“No, idiot.” Yasmine jabbed her shoulder—hard, but still affectionate. As was Yasmine’s way. “You’ll just be kind of tired later. And we can use my espresso machine.”

“Because my dad says if you don’t sleep, you’ll start seeing spirits and demons—”

“Your dad also licks LSD tabs enough to show up the damn tootsie pop owl, Moon.”

Moon snorted, lifting a foot from where it rested on Yasmine’s leg and kicking her lightly in the stomach. The other girl only cackled, emanating the same smug victory as always.

And god was it hot.

“I seriously can’t believe we pulled an all-nighter for no reason.” Yasmine laughed, one hand starting to absentmindedly massage Moon’s feet. “I haven’t pulled an all-nighter since I was like 12.”

Moon frowned. “What were you staying up all night for in middle school?”

“Oh, you know.” Yasmine clicked her tongue. “My mom wouldn’t let me ditch school on my 13th birthday, so I stayed up as a protest. I really didn’t want to like…cross the threshold of finally becoming a teenager while trapped in the shittiest place on earth. So I tried to put it off as long as I could.”

“Did it work?” Moon gave her a coy look.

“Oh, shut up.” Yasmine snickered, shoving her a little harder than before. Moon fell to the carpet in a giggling heap, feet still leaning against Yasmine’s stomach.

It was a strange sort of comfort, she thought. The effortless ease of being with a best friend.

A best friend.

Something Moon hadn’t had for a long while. Possibly not since early elementary school, where she had a bad habit of befriending girls just as strange as her only for them to move away the next year.

But then Yasmine happened. And it seemed that, unless disaster struck, she was there to stay.

“So be straight with me.” She gave Moon a searching look, drowsiness slowing her movements. “Did you secretly—”

“Be straight with you.” Moon cut her off. “You were Frenching me like your life depended on it 4 hours ago, and you want me to be straight with you.”

Yasmine’s entire face flushed. “You know what I mean!”

“Yeah, and you used the funniest possible wording for it.”

“You’re so annoying.”

You think so? Doesn’t look like that from where I’m standing.

Yasmine wasn’t open about fondness. But Moon could always feel it, hovering in the air in a sort of balmy, indescribable energy.

“But real talk.” Yasmine went back to scrutinizing her. “Did you secretly do one of those like…weird Wiccan spells when we burned the incense? To make time speed up or whatever?”

“No.” Moon had to smirk. “You just like hanging out with me. You wasted an entire night on me that you’ll never get back.”

And so Yasmine had. She could tell Moon tomorrow that she never wanted to see her again, and it couldn’t erase the hours they’d spent with their auras interlaced in that beautiful living room. The time their souls spent weaving into one blinding beam, like the first ray of sunrise over the Valley.

Yasmine answered with an eyeroll, but her cheeks were still undeniably red. Moon savored the taste of a rare victory.

“You like hanging out with me, Yasmine Pyne,” she taunted playfully. As though voicing it again would cement it into something more tangible. More permanent.

“Oh, bullshit.” Yasmine scoffed—albeit one devoid of any real disdain. “I invited you over to dance around my house and get crossed with me because I hate you.”

And Moon burst out laughing, because that quick, deadpan wit had to be her favorite thing in the world.

She hoped it would always be a short reach away.

“Speaking of the incense, though!” She sat up, suddenly reaching for a roll of paper towels on the ebony wood coffee table. “We should get back to work.”

They’d made quite a mess earlier, the remains of amber, cedar, jasmine, and copal sprawled across the decorative record shelves that Yasmine’s parents had never stored a single record on. Until about an hour ago, they were diligently cleaning it up.

Or maybe it was 2 hours? Moon wasn’t quite sure when they got sidetracked.

“How’d we even end up down here?” Yasmine glanced at the white carpet below them, which at some point they must have decided was a better seating arrangement than anything else the room had to offer.

“This probably helped.”

Moon plucked the empty rosé bottle from where it had almost rolled under a navy blue couch. The wine really was exceptionally shitty grade, for being from Yasmine’s mother’s padlocked liquor cabinet.

But Yasmine figured out the combination long ago, as well as the fact that the crappier the wine was, the quicker her mother would completely forget it existed.

Yasmine laughed, and Moon didn’t think it would ever stop being addictive. Full, beautiful, showing off dimples that only glowed their brightest when the frosty walls came down.

“We’re ridiculous. Loveseat over there’s worth 4 grand…and yet here we are.” She patted the floor, rolling her eyes.

“Should we move, then?”

“Mmmmm…no. That sounds like a lot of work.”

Yasmine ran thin, delicate fingers down Moon’s leg. Serenity trickled across her body, more cleansing than settling into a warm rose bath.

She leaned back, reclining on the carpet and closing her eyes. For a moment she swore she was floating, suspended in the sunrise with Yasmine backlit by the approaching morning. Both of them one with the sky and the vast infinity beyond.

She had so much to say, but wasn’t sure how to voice any of it without sounding silly.

Does she know she’s my peace? Does she know I never knew what bliss could really be until we entwined ourselves? Does she know I haven’t been this happy in a long time?

Does she know I’m falling in love? Does she know it scares me?

Does she know I still want to hold on as hard as I can?

“God.” She opened her eyes to see Yasmine smiling down at her—the kind of rare, unrestrained affection she could get used to. “You’re the coolest person I know, and I get to see you every day. I’m the luckiest bitch in the world.”

Moon thought she was, too.

***

Their shoes were kicked off at the foyer entrance, forgotten.

Yasmine led Moon around the hall’s velvet centerpiece, twirling with one hand on her friend’s waist and the other on a glass of merlot. The marble floor was cold against Moon’s feet, but her cheeks were burning.

It all felt like an elegant princess ball, straight out of some fairy tale picture book. Well…a princess ball if True Love’s Kiss was completely fucking unattainable, anyways.

She never should’ve agreed to this—“practicing” for the Halloween dance with Yasmine, of all people. Now she was an undignified, blushing, well-on-her-way-to-being-crossed mess.

Not like Yasmine was doing much better for herself.

Already half-drunk, her merlot swayed this way and that as she pulled Moon through the foyer. She giggled and hummed along to the soft pop music drifting from the boombox from the corner, green eyes bloodshot and slowly drifting shut.

Moon knew on some level that disaster was eminent. But the entire scene was so gloriously strange and delightfully ridiculous that all she could do was go along with it.

“We are so dumb.” She sniggered the words in between puffs from a bong, intermittently put down on Yasmine’s rose gold couch.

“Yeah. We’re idiots.” Yasmine erupted into a devilish grin, completely unperturbed. “But you’re having fun, aren’t you?”

Moon playfully blew a puff of smoke into Yasmine’s face. “I guess I am.”

“Tooooold you this was a great idea.”

One more lap around the centerpiece before the night irreversibly shifted.

A tiny misstep, and Yasmine’s leg collided with the velvet arm of the couch. She yelped, toppling forward and sending burgundy sloshing from her wine glass.

Gray-green eyes stretched wide with horror as Moon felt something wet on her. It was as though Yasmine banished her altered state with sheer force of will, now fully cognizant of the unfolding catastrophe.

“Shit. Moon. I’m so sorry.”

Her hand flew from Moon’s waist, covering a pained gasp. Moon surveyed the damage.

It wasn’t that bad. Just a dark red patch on a relatively unimportant floral-printed t-shirt. Nothing a good dry clean couldn’t fix.

But Yasmine was looking at the discolored smudge like Moon had been shot.

“Hey. It’s fine.” Moon rested a hand on her shoulder. “It’ll come out. Promise.”

Yasmine only whimpered, shaking her head. She nearly slammed her glass on the marble, putting it down in a rush so she could use both hands to inspect Moon’s shirt.

“God.” Her face twisted in disgust. “I’m such a moron. I’m sorry. I can’t believe I did that.”

“It’s okay!”

Moon forced a chuckle. Perhaps if she laughed this all off, so could Yas.

She found herself desperately wanting back the Yasmine of a few minutes ago, all giggles and easy smiles and clumsy movements. Too often she was a hot coil, ready on a moment’s notice to surge into a burst of concentrated, destructive energy. Never allowing herself to loosen or cool down.

It’d been nice to finally see her let all that go.

“It just looks like another rose in the pattern.” Moon shrugged. “Or…a carnation, maybe. Probably too dark to be a rose. But the shirt’s kind of a watercolor design anyways, so. Doesn’t look that out-of-place.”

“But I ruined it!” Yasmine ran the fabric through her fingers, staring at the stain like she was trying to will it away. “Now people are gonna see you and think you’re some kind of…I don’t know, sloppy alcoholic loser. I’ve seen my mom’s maid try to get out stains like this, and they’re a bitch.”

“Hey. Yas.” Moon ruffled her hair affectionately. “It’s just a shirt. I can get another one just like it.”

“Yeah, but…I was a big fucking dumbass, and now you have to go to the trouble.” Yasmine stepped back, looking up to meet Moon’s gaze.

Her face was pressed into a deep frown. Moon slid her hand back onto her friend’s shoulder.

“I thought wine would be fun, but it was all so stupid,” Yasmine muttered, eyes darting away.

“It was not!” Moon rolled her eyes. “You’re being overdramatic. What would it take to convince you I’m not mad?”

“Why aren’t you?!” Yasmine practically wailed it. “Like, you’re not showing nearly enough concern over this fashion disaster! Imagine if anyone at school saw you like this. They’d never take you seriously again. Start calling you ‘Moonshine’ or some shit.”

“Yes, but they aren’t here.” Moon shook her head, fond smile tugging at her lips. “You worry too much about things that haven’t even happened yet. Take a deep breath, okay?”

“I still can’t believe I was that stupid.” The other girl’s frown morphed into an embarrassed pout. “Like. Ugh. Practically pouring wine on you like some sort of dumb fuck because I forget where my own fucking couch is. I’m—I’m really sorry. I’ll buy you a new shirt if you want.”

It was strange—this minor thing sending her into near hysterics. She was never one for even small apologies, let alone making a huge, borderline groveling show of them. There was a cognitive dissonance in it—this facet so drastically different from any of the Yasmine Moon had seen.

And yet.

Something about Yasmine’s flustered, self-conscious blubbering, Moon thought, was so beautiful.

And that was about when it hit her.

In a matter of weeks, Yasmine had clawed her way to the top of the school food chain, pulling Moon right along with her. They were practically royalty, hallways clearing out for them to walk through and geeky classmates not even daring to look them in the eye.

Moon could have anyone she wanted now. Half the jocks were constantly ogling her, any one of them more than content to be a trophy on the up-and-coming cheerleader’s arm.

But she wanted Yasmine.

She could have kids from every high school in California vying for her affections—presenting her with gifts and flattery and sensual touches and promises and everything in between—and her choice would be the same every time.

She plucked up her own wine, sitting on a nearby table, and took a long sip. The warmth of the alcohol bubbled through her like a holy elixir—and in a single, elevated moment, she made up her mind.

Yasmine was still mumbling apologies and bemoaning her tiny moment of weakness when Moon cupped her cheeks, pulling them together.

Heat coursed from her purple-painted toenails to her tanned cheeks and everywhere in between. It was like sinking into a hot tub on a cold winter night, jets pressing on her from every direction.

And for what felt like a while, Moon let herself lie suspended in the moment. Not taking in a thing but the dazzling now.

Yasmine tasted like strawberry bubblegum lip gloss, and her mouth was soft and sensual and perfect—like the stars had always aligned for Moon to end up there. Smooth, manicured nails cupped the back of her neck, massaging every runaway hair and every hidden crevice of skin.

The only reason Moon pulled away was to center herself. Make sure she hadn’t done something completely insane.

“Moon.”

Her name was almost inaudible.

Yasmine stared in quiet disbelief, completely motionless. Moon held her breath, waiting for everything to process.

When it did, there was no horror on Yasmine’s face. No disgust. No shame. Not yet, anyways.

She was in awe.

“Why the hell did you stop?”

The sheer aggression of the statement caught Moon off-guard. She scarcely had time to think before Yasmine was holding her chin, yanking her forward and slamming their mouths together.

They pulled apart and crashed together again and again, fire and fervor and sheer, insatiable hunger blazing hotter than every star in the sky. And even tingling with a euphoria that felt eternal, Moon couldn’t help but think this was a long time coming.

She’d always had a feeling her and Yasmine’s auras were destined to interlock—far more than hers had with anyone else’s. And she’d always had a feeling they wanted each other.

It was a tension that hung in the air, coloring the space between them in vivid, pulsating pinks and reds. The ever-present agony of wanting the flavorful candy stored on top shelves, but never sure how to get it. The frustration of entangling themselves when they hugged goodbye and realizing that a brief hold would never be enough.

The way when they touched, they didn’t want to let go.

No, they were always meant to end up that way. And come what may, Moon would not question the wills of fate and the universe.

Especially when it gifted her the most beautiful thing she ever felt.

Sunset light streamed in through elegant bay windows, and the whole foyer glowed like topaz. In between kisses Moon saw it wash over Yasmine, outlining her in peach and orange and finally deep scarlet.

She was brighter than a goddess.

Dusk was pleasantly warm against Moon’s arms. Pure, relieving, freeing. Peaceful as the rhythm of evening crickets and the hum of distant 101 traffic.

The beginning of something beautiful. Not merely the last touch of daylight before the world was taken by darkness.

Then again, for someone named after the brightest thing in a black sky…

It only made sense the most radiant moments of Moon’s life would be on the cusp of nightfall.

When Moon looked out the windows again, the sky was deep red, and the clouds glowed like rubies.

#cksapphicsummer #yasmoon #yasmine x moon #moon x yasmine #aesthetic #moodboard #yasmine cobra kai #moon cobra kai #fanfic #fanfiction #cobra kai #cobra kai season 1 #cobra kai season 2 #cobra kai season 3 #wlw #femslash #lesbian #sapphic

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mamamittens · 1 year ago

Text

Alright, ngl, I fully planned on writing this week but work decided it was time to do inventory again. At the literal last minute.

I. Hauled. Ass.

And tomorrow I'm probably going to be counting a fuck ton of shit sooooo RIP IG

Anyway, as a small apology lemme talk about the au of Sweet Child, Grow (now the nickname for "How our Seeds Grow"). And fittingly, I'll start with the name!

I actually didn't think too much about the name before rolling with that but it's kinda genius in hindsight because now the two read as "Oh, sweet child of mine, how our seeds grow" which sounds awful wistful don't it? And sweet. I like it. And it's very poignant considering the au is all about little reader growing up with the WBP.

Also! I did write a fair bit for the next chapter but it felt short and I thought I could more or less squeeze in a few chapters now that the narrator (child reader) is way less angsty about being kidnapped and not as observant so there's less wordage to get across here. And as I did I realized I accidentally wrote in a little plot hole in the first one.

See, reader's supposed to really love animals. But what happened to their den den mushi? The snail from the beginning? So I'm taking a moment to answer what no one has asked.

They didn't get to keep the snail until well after they returned since it's apparently pretty easy to convert them into 'phones' so to minimize shenanigans, they just withheld it until they felt they could trust reader.

And since in Grow the reader is just a scared kid, they get to keep the snail with a normal shell. Reader named him 'Cream' even though they weren't supposed to because it's not 'their' snail. It's the marine's snail. Little reader has gotten better at hiding how attached they are to their issued snail at whatever base they're on but not very well.

As a treat, here's a little snippet!

Oh! And before I forget!

I'll try to remember y'all that asked to be tagged in the next update but I make no promises! If you're super concerned about it though as soon as it comes out you can also read not only Sweet Child but Grow as well on AO3! Or maybe follow the tag for the story??? Idk how reliable that is, I don't really follow specific tags on Tumblr ngl

AO3 is currently experiencing some minor issues (8/30/23) though, so please be patient if it won't work immediately and perhaps check back later!

Anyway! Thanks for being patient everyone, as well as the fairly positive-ish neutral reaction to my new rule concerning asks for updates! It's a lot less stressful thinking about which fics to update now that I have a hard line. I'm afraid the personal clash between pathological demand avoidance and people pleasing is incredibly uncomfortable to grapple with at the best of times. And it leaves me feeling like either a raging bitch or a doormat 😬

I'm hoping to get some writing done soon but with inventory in full swing tomorrow I won't be surprised if I just pass the fuck out when I get home. Istg I opened cult of the lamb for a quick sesh and next thing I knew it was 9 (my bad entirely. I know damn well that game is very hard to put down- always one last thing I can do before going to bed but it's never just one is it???)

Speaking of which! I gotta go to sleep now lol

#one piece #platonic yandere #oh sweet child of mine #how our seeds grow #mittens update

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12gaugefalls · 1 year ago

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Isn't it lovely?

(Bo Sinclair x @ninakuli)

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A/N: this is for @ninakuli but y'all can read it too! Im so sorry it took me so long to post this but I hope you can forgive me?? I hope you all enjoy!

Tw: hella angsty, language, arguing, Jonesy gets kicked but shes completely fine and the tourist gets what he deserves, Boham is his own warning, Ninas chaotic self. Let me know of anymore.

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(No ones POV)

It had been a long summer day, Ambrose had turned into a hell scape with how hot it was. But it seemed the heat wasn't the only thing that was boiling. Bo hadn't been feeling his best for the past few days, the heat had only amplified it, and nothing seemed to be going his way. First, Nina had pushed him off the bed at some point in the night and he had woken up on the floor. Second, Vincent had beaten Bo to the kitchen, something that rarely happened, and had drank all the coffee Lester makes before leaving in the morning. So, he had to make a whole new pot. Third, Jonesy had started barking at a leaf again, causing Bo's already bad headache to get worse... It really seemed like the world was out for him today.

Nina had seen that Bo hadn't been feeling his best and apologized profusely when she found out she pushed him off in her sleep, he had just brushed her off. So, to help him feel at least a little better, she started to do things that would help Bo out. Cleaning, doing laundry and even tidying around Ambrose! She called Lester to pick up some of Bos favorite beer so he could have it after work.

It was all going to plan... Until it wasn't..

Three tourists were brought in, completely unannounced. Lester hadn't seen them come through due to getting beer for Bo. So when the two women and one guy came into Bos shop, you could imagine how surprised he was. He quickly texted Vincent to tell him and of course got no text back, Bo sent the two girls up to the House of Wax, while he 'talked' to the guy. Turns out the guy was stronger than Bo thought or he was sicker than he thought.

The man had been injured but so had Bo. Jonesy had gotten into the mix trying to help him and ended up getting kicked by the tourist. This is when Bo lost it, he was already not feeling good, his day was shit, the tourists came in unannounced and then one had the audacity to kick his dog?!

Needless to say Bo saw red..

When all was said and done Bo texted both Nina and Vincent just as Lester was pulling up. Bo turned around and started to yell at him, asking him where the hell he had been. Lester had tried to explain to him that he was just out getting something but accidentally slipped out it was for Nina. He hadn't said that it was technically for Bo.

Nina and Vincent shortly arrived, Jonesy hot on their trail (she had run off when Bo went ape shit), when Bo caught sight of Nina, he started to yell at her too. Blaming her for Lester leaving his post and endangering them all. At this point, Nina started to cry, she had just wanted to do something nice and ended up getting yelled at for it.

"I'm sorry! I-I just wanted to do something nice!" She cried out.

"And what the fuck could be so damn important for you to call Lester about it?!" He screamed at her. "CANT YOU DO ANYTHING RIGHT?!" Nina took off towards the house after that, Jonesy leaving after giving Bo an ugly look, leaving the three brothers standing in the middle of Ambrose. That's when Lester and Vincent exploded.

"You know she called me to pick you up some beer, right?! She was trying to be nice!" Lester shouted before hitting Bo's arm.

"And she's been doing things around the house and around Ambrose all day!! Hell, she even cooked dinner!" Vincent signed quickly. The more and more his brothers talked, the more Bo felt like an ass. The two eventually stopped their ranting and Lester looked at him.

"You betta apologize to that sweet girl before I kick your ass.." And Bo knew he would do it, so he started walking back up to the house.

Bo had never been good at apologizing, not even to his own family. So he was lost on what to do, by the time he got up to his bedroom door, which was shut by the way, he still had no idea what to say. But he still knocked, hearing the soft sniffles behind the door only served to make him feel worse. A soft 'come in' was heard before he opened the door.

Nina was sitting on the bed, hugging Jonesy close. Jonesy, who gave him the dirtiest look Bo had ever seen a dog give, only moved closer to Nina.

"Look, darlin... I'm sorry I yelled at ya.. I didn't know you were trying to do somethin nice for me and.... Im sorry alright?" He was trying his best and thankfully Nina saw that.

"I really just wanted to help.. I didn't mean to make it worse.. I'm sorry" Her voice was soft as she spoke.

Bo sighed as he sat on the bed, moving Jonesy out of the way and pulling Nina into a hug, which she gladly returned. "I know you're sorry, sugar, but you don't need ta be. This one's on me. I'm the one at fault and Im the one who's sorry. Do you think you could forgive me?" He gently pulled her face up to look at him.

"Always..." She said softly. "I'll always forgive you, Bo." Bo pressed a small kiss to her lips as she said that.

At least not everything went wrong today... <3

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A/N: Okay... Wow that was one of the longer ones I've written but I think it turned out great! I hope you like it and Im really sorry it took so long again @ninakuli please forgive me! But I hope you like it!

And please suggestions and feedback are always appreciated! Have a lovely day/night!

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danses-with-dogmeat · 2 years ago

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R! Male! FO4 Companions React to Sole Being Tortured

(Ask) It’s been a while since I’ve read something angsty so… FO4 R!M! companions react to watching sole get tortured and when given a moment to rest, sole still tries to comfort him and asks if he’s okay.

Alrighty! After several years of writing (it seems) and re-writing and proof reading and overthinking, here is part two!

And I'm sorry! I hope you like feeling bad, cuz that's what this one is all about! (Although, the endings are somewhat happy 😅)

Included Below: Deacon, MacCready, Nick, & Preston

And Part 1 is Here (Danse, Hancock, & X6-88)

Also, y'all better buckle your seatbelts and get comfortable, cuz this here is a long ass post, but I hope you enjoy!? Maybe? It is pretty violent though, so make sure to check the TWs.

Serious Trigger Warnings for what's under the cut: violence, injuries, gore, burning, guns, knives, lynching, torture (duh), suicidal thoughts, foul language, allusions to r#pe (nothing explicit, but still, if it makes you uncomfortable please just sit this one out), and all around bad vibes ahead, so please proceed with caution!

Deacon:

Deacon’s wrists burned as he felt a rough material fasten too tightly around them. The world was still shrouded in darkness behind his heavy eyelids, but the distorted sound of nearby voices was unmistakable. As was the horrid feeling of that same rough material winding around his neck. He felt a pressure tug back on his windpipe, the feeling of it thrusting him forwards into full consciousness and miraculously giving him the willpower to wrench open his own heavily lidded eyes.

Deacon squinted and flinched his face away as the deep orange of the setting sun crashed into his sensitive irises, the sheen of the nearby water only exaggerating the thing’s brightness through the ineffective curtain of ruined buildings ahead of him. He blinked rapidly, his head still foggy from whatever the hell had been tossed in his drink back at the bar, the bar with Sole, where he had, against all his own wishes, found himself falling asleep against the table... It was all coming back to him, as he slowly made out his surroundings. They were… familiar, but his clouded mind couldn’t figure out quite why. He licked over his lips, his mouth uncomfortably dry and his skin cold and clammy as the feeling of his own body began to return to him.

“S–” he started, before stopping himself abruptly.

Even if they are here with me, I can’t say their name. This all was clearly planned, and if these people know about me and Sole, about how close we are, and how much I…

Deacon tried to swallow down his nerves, his Adam's apple bobbing with the effort of it as he forced the movement on his parched and restrained throat. His memories returned to him slowly, and then it all suddenly became clear.

The bar, Jamaica Plain, Sole getting food, the damned drink, this place… This place.

If he hadn’t been so impeded by the effects of whatever drug was used on him, Deacon would’ve known this place in less than a heartbeat, and his eyes widened as it all suddenly hit him.

Who the hell was responsible for this shit? How could anyone know? Could this be just a coincidence?

He nearly scoffed at that idea.

Not likely. Definitely not with my good luck.

Deacon's eyes darted from side to side, and he found difficulty in turning his head, as feeling seeped down into his aching muscles once again. The spy tugged his hands apart, or tried to, and found them bound with thick rope. The same was true for his ankles behind him, and his knees below.

Right. So that's what that feeling was before...

Upon trying to look down, he discovered that his neck was bound as well, that it was holding him upright, that there was a pressure more than uncomfortable, more than just a simple dryness, but a pain in the way his throat supported a good portion of his weight. With a quiet grunt of effort, Deacon raised his eyes and head to the point above him.

A protruding wooden beam jutted out overhead, the rope around his neck was strung up and wrapped around it, loose enough not to haul him up and cut off his airway, but tight enough still to hurt.

How the fuck did these bastards find me? They were dead. I saw to it that there was no way for them to trace me, for years… How?!

“Finally awake?” Deacon heard an unfamiliar voice behind him, and he took in a breath.

Don't give anything away, Deeks. Just another interrogation. We're great at those.

"Wouldn't you like to know?"

The man behind him didn't give him so much as a scoff before Deacon felt a heavy blow to the back of his head.

"No funny business, agent."

"Oh, so you haven't heard of me, then? Funny business is kinda my forte."

Deacon turned his head as much as the rope allowed, chancing a glimpse at his captor as the large man circled around him like a predator stalking prey.

"I don't care whach'er damn forte is.” The man growled, “After we're done with you, I'm bettin' you won't think yer so funny."

Deacon hissed comically.

"Yeahhhhhh, I don't know. Lots of folks have tried. I think you might be underestimating my abilities a bit here, pal."

"Quit talking to that piece of shit, Jace." Another voice came from beyond Deacon’s vision. "Ma said not to. This one's tricky. He'll get in yer head, 'n such."

Oh good, he’s got a friend. Well, the more the merrier, I suppose.

"From the sound of it, I don't really want to be in either of your heads. I don’t do well in big, empty spaces.” Another blow hit him, this time landing hard against his cheek and making his vision burst red.

“Stop talking down to us like yer in any sorta position to.” The first man, Jace, spat at him, as the other rounded into Deacon’s line of sight.

Certainly the two were related, but he could’ve already inferred that. They were both big guys, with strong backs and seemingly dull minds. Hardly criminal masterminds, though… no, these guys were textbook henchmen.

But what the hell do they want with me? Could this really just be some random coincidence? Much as it was starting to seem that way, Deacon’s conscience wouldn’t let him accept that. Not with the place from his past they’d dragged him to, not with this rope around his neck.

“How can I?” He said, stalling to try and sort through his thoughts, “You guys make it so easy.”

They know I’m an agent, I know that much, but they definitely aren’t Institute types. Could be Brotherhood, what with the jughead intellect, but still… This all seems too personal for that.

“I said cut it out!” Jace’s large, balled fist made its acquaintance with the side of Deacon’s head once again, and he felt the point of contact begin to throb painfully.

“Don’t let him get to ya. He’s jus’ doin’ it on purpose. To get a rise outta ya.”

“Yer just gonna stand there an’ let him insult us? After all he’s–”

“Enough banter, boys. My turn.” A woman’s voice sounded from behind Deacon, and he strained his head, looking the gray-haired woman in the eyes as she wound around his front to face him.

“Go on, Donny.” She said to one of the boys without breaking Deacon’s eye contact, and the second man nodded before setting off behind Deacon’s line of sight.

Hm. This must be ‘ma’.

“Nice kids you’ve got here, lady. Yours?” Deacon asked, willing the pounding in his head to cease so he could focus.

I’ve got a feeling this one may be more of an adversary. The dramatics of all this do point to some kind of villain.

She kept her gaze locked to the spy as she stood in front of her remaining son, her piercing eyes as dark and lusterless as her faded hair, as tired as the worn lines creasing her face.

Had he ever seen her before? Deacon couldn’t quite recall.

“I’ve gotta say,” he continued, “I hope you’ve got better manners than Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum. You know, for my head’s sake.”

“Shut your fucking mouth.”

Guess not.

“You don’t know how long I’ve been waiting for this moment.” Her lips barely moved as she spoke, tasting the words and letting them settle on her tongue like a fine vintage before they left her mouth.

“Oh yeah, me too.” He shot back quickly, “But you know what’d be even better? If I knew what the hell any of this was about.”

“How many years since that day, in this very same place…” At last, her sharp eyes left him, looking away, lost in thought as she gazed back over the horizon and into her memories.

“Since the day my sons lost their father, and I lost the man I loved.” The piercing cold of her gaze jutted back to lock onto Deacon once more, and his brows raised at the intensity of it.

“All because of you.”

She lunged towards him, her words like a whip for all the violence they promised, and from this distance, Deacon truly could make out the details of her face, the color of her eyes, the lines upon her skin that told her life’s story.

It all washed over him at once.

The woman’s words, the two boys, this place, this rope. He knew who she was, though he’d only met her a handful of times. The men and women in the gang weren’t too eager to discuss their personal lives with each other, if they even had one, but he remembered this woman. She was more enthusiastic than most about the cause, even when she was busy rearing her boys while her husband wreaked havoc by Deacon’s side. All those years ago…

Until he’d left.

Until they found him. Until they found Barbara… After all that cruelty at their hands, Deacon’s conscience wouldn’t grant him the luxury of considering the rest of the gang’s personal lives, their families. On that day, he saw nothing but red, felt nothing but fury and heart-wrenching guilt. He’d thought he’d paid for his crimes against synths all these years, but what he’d done to the other UP Deathclaws… He never wanted to think he’d have to pay for that.

Guess I was wrong.

“Listen, Wilma,” she tensed visibly as he spoke her name, as though it was a crime against humanity for his foul lips to form something so dear to her. “I get it, what I did was wrong, maybe. But I lost my wife that day, the woman I lo–”

“She was a synth.” Wilma hissed at him, now so close to his face that he could feel her searing breath against his throbbing cheek.

“That thing was the very filth you once swore to destroy. It didn’t deserve mercy, and you didn’t deserve vengeance. My husband was doing you a favor. Without him, you would’ve never known the truth. Instead of thanking him, you killed him.” Deacon flinched as she spat at him, close enough to taste her hatred, but too far to bash his head against her nose.

“You murdered him. In cold blood, and now, you betray your past even further, drag the name of the UP Deathclaws through the mud, even after everything you did to destroy us. You put real people’s lives at risk, for them. For those things!” Deacon fumed as Wilma began to pace in front of him, her tone harsh, hands gesturing feverishly as she kept her furious gaze locked to his. He could feel his face, normally so well-controlled, starting to curl into a snarl of its own volition, and he had to bite his tongue to keep from interrupting her.

She’s so emotional, maybe I can get her to give something away… Somehow escape this. Stall long enough for Sole to realize my absence, track me down and get here before they have the chance to pull the rope around my neck.

“The Railroad is as selfish and dangerous an organization as they come.” Wilma continued angrily, head lashing from side to side as she paced like a cornered Yao Gui.

“Enabling those imposters, those crimes against humanity to infect our lives. Tell me, were you always so disloyal? Was there ever a time you were honest about your devotion to the cause you fought for? I told my husband never to trust you, not with the way you reacted after that first lynching, I told him you were a sympathizer, but he chose to trust you. To let you go off on your own, in good faith that you would keep to yourself.”

“I did keep to myself, I was living on a farm, in the middle of–” Deacon bit back the words of retort, and took a deep breath, forcing a lid over his boiling emotions.

I can’t reason with her, I know that. What I say isn’t going to matter. I just need to keep her talking.

He shook his head as much as the noose would allow.

“How the fuck did you find me?”

She smirked at his question as a sick sort of pride flashed across her face.

“It was hard, I won’t lie to you. All these years tracking your movements, waiting for the perfect time, for you to let your guard down. But you’re pretty smart. Those were good tricks you played, good efforts, with the faces and such, it might’ve fooled anyone else. Might’ve kept all others off your tracks. But despite your famous attention to detail, you never did bother to meet my brother in law. He’s a renowned surgeon, you know… Well known for such procedures as this,” A rough, wrinkled hand came up to grasp firmly at Deacon’s jaw, tilting his head from side to side as she observed the newest façade he’d donned.

“Well, it makes it pretty easy to find folks like you. Though, I must say, this face really isn’t one of my favorites. The one you had, what, two years ago? That one was good, you had that strong jaw, and those cheekbones that really made the color of your eyes pop. Made me a little flustered when I first spied you walking out of that medic’s cabin, but apparently this one’s worked well enough for you. And I must say, I am quite grateful for that new partner of yours.”

Deacon’s breath caught in his throat and he quickly jerked his head back. Her hand released him, and a small grin quirked her lips.

Shit, shit, shit, shit. Shit.

“Without that… Sole, was it? Yes, well, without them, I don’t think you ever would’ve let your guard down so foolishly back in that bar. You were always so careful before they came along, I really should give them my thanks.”

At that, the woman turned her head, and Deacon’s gaze followed her eyes to the other brother, the one who had vanished.

The one who now had a firm hold on Sole’s battered form as he dragged them roughly into Deacon’s line of sight.

His stomach dropped and his blood ran cold at the sight of them. Sole’s face was red and swollen, purple bruises littered their exposed arms and legs, their clothes were torn and covered in dark mud and crimson, and they were bleeding heavily from a nasty knife wound on the side of their neck.

“What’s so special about this one, I wonder?” The woman droned on, clearly paying Deacon’s poorly masked agony no heed, “They a synth too?”

He heard the words close to his ear, and finally, Deacon ripped his gaze from his partner to try and jam his head into the woman’s nose, but she was swift as she drew her head back and away from him.

“Well, we both know there’s only one way to find out.”

Fire burned through Deacon’s veins, and he began to struggle against his restraints, pulling desperately at the ropes securing his wrists and legs as hard as he could, until he felt the material begin to burn his flesh from the friction.

He didn’t care. He didn’t care about anything right now, anything except them.

“Donny, you still have your knife on you?” She asked, her cruel voice almost giddy in pitch.

Deacon gritted his teeth to the point of pain, his struggling proving fruitless as his mind went a million miles a minute trying to find the words, the actions, the anything to stop them, or even slow them down, give him time to think, to get Sole fucking out of this.

“Course, mama, always.”

The man holding Sole’s arm used his free hand to pull a long combat knife from the sheath on his belt, the sharp tip glinting in the growing darkness of the night.

“You remember where abouts that chip is that I told you about?”

“Sure do.” The bastard answered his mother with a sickening grin.

His grip tightened on Sole’s limp arm, they flinched at the contact ever so slightly in their dazed and weakened state, and as Donny turned to press the knife to his beloved, Deacon couldn’t take it anymore.

“Hey! Okay, alright, enough! Enough. Please.” Deacon shouted, his pulse rapidly pounding in his ears as panic rose through his chest. A panic unlike anything he’d felt since, since…

“You don’t have to do this. Look, Sole didn’t do anything wrong. I did. I was an asshole, alright, I was the worst scum there was, and I deserve this, I really do. Please, do whatever you want to me, make me hurt, make me suffer and bleed and, and die. I don’t fucking care, okay? But don’t hurt Sole, please.”

Deacon’s desperation made his voice shake, and he couldn’t fail to notice the way his partner came fully to consciousness then, the way that they immediately began struggling in Donny's grasp, the way that the tears came to their face as their mottled mind realized what it was exactly that Deacon was telling these people to do; and god it hurt, to see the pain in their eyes, to see the way they wanted to object, the way they shook their head and tears streamed down from their perfect eyes onto their perfect cheeks and their shoulders shook with every ragged breath.

I can’t let these people hurt them any more.

“Please.” He continued desperately, forcing himself to wrench his gaze from Sole and look the woman ahead of him in the eye, “Please, don’t do this. Because despite what I was, what I did, the only thing Sole ever did wrong was care about me. It’s my fault, everything is my fault, not theirs, never theirs.” Deacon felt his voice begin to falter as a savage heat rose to his cheeks, “Sole’s good, not like me, please just, let them keep being good. Please. Let them go.”

There was a brief silence as Sole’s lip trembled, as Deacon tried in vain to hold back a sob, as Donny and Jace both looked to their mother for direction, as Wilma just stared into Deacon with her dull eyes, shining with something the spy couldn’t quite perceive.

“Wow.” She finally whispered, even as she stood close beside Sole, Deacon could hear her.

“I never thought we could be so lucky…” She turned away from Sole, approaching Deacon slowly and he felt his body tremble with barely checked hatred for the woman before him.

“So lucky,” she continued, her voice cold and measured as the sting of a piercing needle, “As to find someone whom you care about so deeply. So we can make you suffer as I did.”

For once in his life, Deacon was utterly speechless. He knew he deserved this, deserved to suffer, and he thought one day he might be forced to pay for all he’s done, but never like this.

He never once thought he would find someone he could care about as deeply as he does Sole, never thought he’d be able to trust anyone again, but god, he did. Deacon trusted them with his life, with the secrets of his past, with his true and unguarded self, and he loved them, more than he ever could love himself, more than he had loved anyone since Barbara, and even then… perhaps more even than her.

They didn’t deserve this.

That, Deacon knew from the beginning. He didn’t deserve them, but he let himself live with it, let himself be happy, because Sole insisted that that’s what they were. They were happy with him, and all he’d wanted to do was try and be happy in return.

Then he remembered.

He doesn’t get to be happy. Not properly, not ever, because of all he's done. He should’ve fucking known that, so he could’ve distanced himself from Sole early on, as he did with everyone else, as he meant to do with Sole, before they captured his heart.

Now he remembered why he did it.

As if I needed another fucking reminder.

“You bastards… He’s suffered enough!”

Sole’s shaky voice piped up from where they knelt behind Wilma’s form, and Deacon’s eyes widened as they threw themself at the man beside them, dislodging the knife from his grasp and sending his ass into the mud. The spy’s struggles renewed themselves as Wilma whipped around to face his love, where they lay sprawled out on the ground, grasping desperately for the dropped knife with their bound hands.

Come on, come on!

Deacon pulled and tugged and threw himself forward, setting his sights on Wilma to knock her over, to stall her so Sole could get free, but the rope around his neck tightened to the point of suffocation before he could reach the woman.

The other brother rushed towards the downed ex-vault dweller before Wilma waved him away.

“Get to the other one, take hold of his rope and don’t be afraid to tug if he gets rowdy.”

“No…” Deacon choked out as Wilma roughly kicked the knife out of Sole’s hands, sending the blade spiraling through the sparse grass over to her son, where he was picking himself up from the ground with a look of vehement wrath upon his mud-splattered face.

“I’ll getchu fer that.” He spat, even as Wilma’s booted foot made contact with the side of Sole’s head. Deacon winced hard as he heard his partner groan in pain, feeling with his own body each of the blows that the vengeful widow dealt to their already battered body.

“Now behave yourself, ya shit, or I’ll make this even slower for ya.”

“We’ll get out of this, Sole.” He told them, the belief in his voice as false as the features of his own face. “We’ve gotten out of worse before, haven’t we?”

“Pull that rope there, Jace.” Wilma spat at her son, and Deacon felt a burning pressure against the skin of his neck.

“I’m telling you the truth this time.” He managed to rasp, and he heard Sole choke out a sob from where they lay crumpled on the filthy ground.

“You know what to do, Donny. Let’s get this over with.” The gray-haired woman turned her eyes once more to rest on Deacon’s nearly defeated expression. “Don’t do it too fast though. I wanna hear ‘em scream. The way yer daddy did, all those years ago. I wanna enjoy their suffering. The way this bastard did as your father lay dying.”

Deacon’s face scrunched with rage as he continued to struggle, the burning pressure on his bound limbs hardly registering in his one-track mind as he fought with everything he had to get to Sole before Donny’s knife could touch them.

“As you say, ma.”

Sole whimpered as the man knelt beside them, barely conscious after the older woman’s assault on their body, and Deacon felt a hot wetness burn its way down his cheeks.

In the darkness, he could barely make out their moonlit expression, couldn’t see quite when Donny took the knife to them, but he could damn well hear it.

Sole’s scream felt like boiling lead tearing through his veins, and he couldn’t hold back his sobbing anymore. Deacon began screaming a slew of nonsensical profanities, struggling all the more, even as the rope around his neck tightened to the point of suffocation, pulling his knees off the floor, burning and digging into his flesh in the same way the delicate tip of the knife was descending upon the skin of the one he loved most in the world.

What can I do, what can I do, what can I do?! How can I stop this? There has to be a way. There must be a way! Goddammit Deacon, fucking think you useless piece of shit!

His eyes clenched closed, the gears in his head all but broken as another shriek of pain jolted his body and scattered every thought and memory he’d ever had in an effort to just escape before that knife had the chance to tear into Sole’s head far enough that it’d be too late.

Think, think, think, think. Fucking think!

“That’s enough.” A new voice sounded, and Deacon’s eyes shot open.

“Minutemen, open fire!”

The spy’s desperate gaze tore from his partner across the clearing to the man who appeared within his peripheral vision. The harsh, metallic cranking of Preston’s laser musket sounded behind him before the scarlet ray burst forth, taking Donny squarely in the shoulder.

The man cried out, dropping the bloodied knife to grasp at his injured appendage, even as the other two minutemen began to open fire on Wilma and Jace.

“Pull that rope there, Jace!” She shouted desperately, “We’re not leavin’ ‘till we finish this!”

Wilma was crazed as she shouted at her son, and a new sense of panic rose in Deacon’s chest as he felt the loop around his neck increase in its pressure, hauling him up until his knees couldn’t even graze the muddy ground below.

The furious widow managed to wrench an old revolver from its worn leather holster at her belt and she began firing. Through vision clouded by his own watering eyes, Deacon looked on as one of the three minutemen saviors took aim at the man behind him, and fired. The rope slackened and Deacon heaved in a gulp of air as he came clattering back to the ground. That same man who’d downed Jace ran over and knelt behind him, beginning to undo the rope around his neck, and the binding around his wrists.

“No.” Deacon tried to tell the man, but it only came out a croak from his damaged throat.

No, help Sole, dammit. Help them, not me! Please.

Nothing left Deacon’s throat. Even as he continued to struggle with his breathing, as he tried to plead with the minuteman at his side to leave him and help his Sole.

Even still, as Deacon’s eyes rested on his partner, as they shakily rose from the ground, the back of their head matted with blood from Donny’s knife, even as the widow raised her revolver and set her sights on his partner, his love, his Sole, Deacon couldn’t shout a warning, couldn’t voice a gasp, couldn’t scream their name… even as Wilma fired a shot.

Deacon tried. He tried to scream, to wrench any pitiful something from his useless throat, to voice his agony as he saw the bullet tear through Sole’s shoulder, but still, no sound left him.

In the next instant, Wilma turned to Deacon. She raised her gun with a wild smirk on her face, a madness in her eyes that he could make out even from where he still knelt upon the ground, and she took aim. He heard a shot go off, and closed his eyes tight as he awaited the sting of the bullet burying itself within him.

Yet, no such feeling came. Deacon blinked his eyes open just in time to see Wilma collapse to the floor, another minuteman lowering his weapon as he looked down at her body somberly.

Across the way, Preston knelt by his downed friend and General, wrapping his scarf around the bullet wound in Sole’s shoulder, and whispering words of comfort Deacon failed to hear. Soon enough, the binds around his legs loosened, and he couldn’t even spare the man who aided him a second glance before he began to move towards his companion.

“Sole.” He tried, but it wasn’t more than a raspy whisper as he collapsed to the ground beside Preston, one shaking hand unwittingly reaching for their injured shoulder, while the other sought to caress their bloodstained face.

All of the previous hesitancy Deacon’s ever had with them was gone in that moment. All of his discomfort with intimacy, his unwillingness to let slip his true feelings, all of his reservations about caring for someone with everything he had in him, they were all rendered completely obsolete in light of his desperate relief. Sole blinked up at him tiredly, the weakest of smiles touching their lips as Deacon’s face swam into focus. Preston laid a heavy hand on Deacon’s shoulder, squeezing it tightly before picking up his musket and ordering the others to do something or another with the attackers.

Deacon didn’t care. He didn’t pay attention. If his captors were all dead, that was it, if they were alive, they wouldn’t be for long; and all that mattered now was Sole. He pulled them closer, trying to make them more comfortable, stroking his hand over their face as tears threatened to spill from his eyes for the umpteenth time that horrid day.

“A-are you alright?” Sole asked him in a quiet voice tinged with pain, their eyes half-lidded in their exhaustion, and Deacon choked.

Am I alright? Are they fucking kidding?

He nodded to them vigorously, using his thumb to gently wipe away the tears that fell from his eyes onto the skin of their cheeks.

“Y’know,” He croaked out weakly, “I have been better, not gonna lie.” Deacon took a deep breath, and one of Sole’s hands came up to graze the bruised and torn flesh of his injured throat. He brought his own hand up to meet it, to grasp theirs in his and hold it tightly over his chest, reveling in the feel of their strong pulse against his trembling fingers.

“I’m just relieved you’re still here with me.” He breathed.

He heard them hmm in reply as his lips brushed their hairline, reaching around to feel gingerly at the wound on the back of their head.

“Shit. I’ve got you.” Sole flinched inwards, burying their face in his chest at the feel of his fingers over their tender wound. “Hold on, okay?”

Deacon tore apart the bottom of his shirt, folding the separated strip of fabric over and pressing it to the back of their head, hoping with gritted teeth that all this damage wouldn't be permanent. That one day, maybe, they could both put all this shit behind them, that they would make it out of this. That Sole would be okay.

If they weren’t, I wouldn’t need some deranged widow to end it all for me. No, if Sole doesn’t make it out of this, I’ll finish that shit myself.

“Um, sorry to interrupt,” Preston piped up from behind him and Sole, “But I’ve sent for a medic from Jamaica Plain, they should be here soon to help.”

“Good,” Deacon managed, turning his head without taking his eyes and hands off of Sole, “Thank you. Preston.”

“No need to thank me. I only wish we’d gotten here sooner.”

Yeah, you and me both.

“And oh, Deacon, um…” The minuteman’s voice lowered to a hushed tone as he continued, “One of the people, the woman, she’s… well, she’s still alive. We have her here, if you want to ask any questions… or anything.”

Questions?

Questions?! No…

“I don’t have any questions for her.” Deacon said lowly, and hate swirled deep in his chest at the thought of the one who did this to his love sitting quietly only meters away, still living, while Sole writhed in pain for crimes they had no part in.

“Oh, uh, alright. Well, we–”

“But I have one question for you.” Preston’s brows furrowed for a moment as Deacon fixed him with a cold, hard glare, so different now than it’d been only a moment ago.

“There still a noose hanging from that beam?”

MacCready:

“They never listen. Never. I know I’m not an authority on like, anything, but come on. This? Really? No caps, all dangerous and stupid.”

MacCready kicked a tin can with a weathered boot as he muttered to himself in the quiet of the Commonwealth. The late afternoon sun bore down on his shoulders and neck as he glared at the ground and stomped along the ruined road.

“It was clearly a trap. Helping Bunker Hill with some raiders? Yeah, going to their death, more like.”

MacCready made his way to a dilapidated building, leaning his sniper rifle against the faded gray bricks before plopping down beside it. He let his head fall back against the wall, the shade partially cooling his heated temper; yet still, he couldn’t keep his incessant grumbling at bay.

“Not risking myself like that. Not with Duncan still waiting for me. He’s finally better, and now, what? Throwing my own life away for the benefit of some strangers? Why can’t these people handle their own damn problems?”

He tore the hat from his head, wringing the fabric between restless fingers as he felt an uneasiness bubble in his stomach.

“Why didn’t they listen? Everyone around here knows about that place. Nobody ever comes out of East Boston Prep school. Everyone knows that!” MacCready was shouting by the end of his rant, barely-checked frustration present in every word. He had to do it this way though, once they went inside, once they saw the place, they’d come back and he’d tell them. He’d tell them what he never gets to.

I was right, Sole. I was right, and you know it. Never shoulda gone in there, huh?

As much as he wanted to, MacCready couldn’t smile at the thought. Instead, he gulped, feeling a bead of sweat creep down from his temple. Something twisted within him, and he felt his hands begin to tremble.

What if they didn’t though?

Sole’s stubbornness was legendary. He should know, better than anyone. It outdid even his own, which he was always impressed by. No matter the argument, they always seemed to win out, and he couldn’t believe that was about to change now.

Something’s wrong.

A small voice whispered at the back of his head. It’d been there about an hour, muted and small, but there, nonetheless, and he’d tried to ignore it. For the first hour. Then the second. Now it's been almost three, and the voice was getting substantially louder.

I have to go back.

Screw the argument. Screw their foolishness and my own. Screw them ignoring me when I tried to tell them. It’s not worth it. Losing them over something so freaking stupid is not worth it.

MacCready groaned as he stood, snatching his rifle and beginning a brisque trek back to the old prep school. His thoughts changed drastically on the journey, from annoyance at having to double back and waste time like this, to a dull panic that rose in his chest, making his breath come out in short gasps, and his heart thump all the more frantically against his ribcage. Now, he wasn’t mad about the argument, but at himself. It’s been too long, and they could be hurt, they could be captured, his Sole could be…

How could I be so dumb? To risk losing them over this? For what, pride? A chance to be right? Dammit. Me making it out alive means next to nothing if they… If they’re… If something happened to them.

Why the hell would I take the risk?

MacCready was running by the time the school came into sight, but he slid to a stop at the entrance, gasping for breath as he tried quickly to come up with a game plan.

Going straight in through the front door seemed like a suicide mission, and a back door probably wouldn’t be much better. The raiders would definitely have traps, if not an ambush set up, but maybe if their focus is on Sole… He shook his head vigorously, trying not to let those thoughts pierce his consciousness.

Windows. His mind suggested.

Right.

The building was littered with them, and though some were boarded up and the rest were filthy and hard to see into, maybe he could make them work.

MacCready climbed the ruined stairwell to a nearby building, trying to remain as low-profile as possible in case they had lookouts of their own. He had no idea what to expect, except a group of raiders that was a lot more organized than the average savage bands that roamed the Commonwealth. These ones were known for their ruthlessness, for their adept ability to kill or capture anyone that was dumb or desperate enough to enter their territory.

How could I let Sole fall into their trap? Why. Didn’t. They. Listen?

The sniper worried his teeth against the inside of his cheek unwittingly as he set up his rifle over a concrete ledge, peeking through his scope and into the windows across the way.

He was right before. They were difficult to see through, but a select few were clean enough for him to get glimpses of the inside, and there, he saw movement. MacCready focused all his energy trying to discern the people within. He knew what Sole had been wearing, knew every part of them like the back of his hand after all their time spent together, and now that would be more valuable than ever.

There were three raiders passing by a set of windows in increments, possibly doing patrols around the building, and another two on the highest level that didn’t seem to move from their posts.

Guarding something maybe.

Or someone.

MacCready gulped hard, trying to steady his breath. He had a small window of opportunity here, and he couldn’t afford any misses on account of his unpredictable breathing and erratic heartbeat. The sniper wasn’t a rookie shot anymore, and even if he was, he couldn’t afford even the smallest margin of error here.

There were three windows that were already broken, probably from the raiders’ own shots down at any passerbys below, but for now, MacCready was grateful for it. With the silencer on his rifle, he could shoot two or three of the patrolees through the broken windows without making a sound. If he timed it right, they could all go down without any further detection until he killed one of the guards, given that the other was in the same room; however, if he was fast enough, MacCready could likely get the other guard down too, breaking a window in the process, and all would be injured or dead before they knew what hit them.

He took another deep breath.

At least my time with the Gunners was good for something. Hold on for me, Sole. I’m coming.

One more breath, and one patrolee taking a proper position through the first broken window, and MacCready took aim, willing his heartbeat to stay predictable through all of these shots.

No mistakes.

No mistakes, or Sole is as good as dead…

If they’re not alrea–

No! No thinking that way. Enough. I’m getting them out of this. I have to.

His finger tightened on the trigger, and he–

MacCready’s body seized as a blood-curdling scream rang out through the windows of the school.

He knew everything about Sole, knew their personality, their emotions, their thoughts, their body, almost as well as he knew his own. He hadn’t spent more than a few hours away from them in months. He knew them. And that scream… That was undoubtedly theirs.

I’m out of time.

MacCready grit his teeth, trying to ignore the tears that threatened to fill his eyes, and the throbbing in his chest at that horrid sound, and before his target could pass by the window completely, he took the shot.

One down.

The next would pass the other window on the upper floor shortly, he hoped. Luckily, he was right.

Two down.

This was where it got tricky. He took aim back at the first window, hoping that the third patrolling raider’s investigation of his buddy’s body would bring him close enough for MacCready to get a clear shot. An arm appeared in the window, barely enough of a target to hit, and not nearly enough for a killing shot.

The sniper watched closely as the arm jerked back from the window, and then the raider bent down, his head coming into MacCready’s sights for only half a moment, but it was enough, and the third patroller was downed.

He released his held breath, closing his eyes for a brief moment before snapping them open and taking aim at the final window on the top floor. The two guards were still at their posts, and MacCready got them in his sights as one turned his head to talk to the other.

They could be talking about the noises downstairs. I need to do this now.

He saw one nod, before both their bodies began to shift abruptly, and they both moved forward in tandem. MacCready’s finger went to the trigger, he held his breath, and fired. His heartbeat sounded loud in his chest as he peered through his sights, as he waited for the shot to land. And it did.

But not on the guard.

Sole was alive alright, he realized as his eyes widened and his mouth tugged open in shock.

They’d jumped him. Jumped the guard, trying to take him down on their own, weaponless, and before MacCready could utter a noise, or even suck in a breath, his bullet landed deep within his companion’s shoulder.

“No!” He shouted, as he watched the force of the impact throw them backwards, and immediately the guards began to descend upon them, dragging their injured body away from his sight.

“No no no no no, Sole, no! Come on!” His fist bashed hard against the windowpane as he slammed down over and over again, heat and frustration filling his body, and regret tearing at the seams of his chest and forcing tears into his eyes. “Dammit!”

His head fell to his hands, eyes closed tight as he dug the heels of his palms into his eye sockets and rubbed hard.

"What did I just do?" His breath shook as it escaped him.

Why?

Why this? Why me? Why them? Haven’t we both been through enough? Now this? Are you fucking kidding me?

“I’m so sorry.” MacCready muttered to the concrete walls, letting the raw guilt and anger rise in his body, before allowing it to settle deep within him. He dragged his hands away from his face, and snatched up his rifle, slinging the large gun over his back before pulling out the .44 magnum Sole had once gifted him.

I’m gonna get you out of there, baby. I promise. I’m gonna fix this.

MacCready set his jaw and started down the stairs.

If it’s the last thing I do.

The sniper burst through the front door, all caution obsolete as he imagined the blood spilling swiftly from his partner’s wound.

From the wound he inflicted.

MacCready shook his head at that, dark blue eyes laser focused on every corner of the room, every shadow, as he brusquely made his way up the stairs and closer to his Sole.

He peeked around the corner as he made it to the proper floor, eyes and ears wide open for any sign of activity, and he heard it.

Low voices. The one speaking was certainly a man, the guard maybe? And the other… The person sounded hoarse, cruel, his voice rough as a deathclaw’s hide, and as chilling as a quiet metro tunnel.

His laugh made MacCready’s skin crawl.

“...wound of theirs, they'll break soon enough.”

He heard from the horrid voice, and the other man agreed.

MacCready began slow steps towards them, trying not to linger on the meaning of their words too long.

I’ll get Sole out of here long before you assholes have a chance to break anything.

“We should go take a walk, eh?” A woman’s voice sounded now, a little louder than the others. Closer.

The response must’ve been nonverbal, but the footsteps towards the door were unmistakable, and MacCready quickly ducked behind a corner as the two guards stepped into the hallway. He peeked around the wall slowly, eyes focusing and hand pivoting just before the pair noticed him, and he took a shot, catching the male guard in the side of the head.

Where I was supposed to hit him the first damn time.

He took aim at the next guard, but she shot back first, her gun already at the ready, and he had to duck behind his corner once again. MacCready’s ears rang as a puff of dust sprang up in the wall where the guard’s bullet landed.

“Mother fucker, we got him, Zeller, but he downed Red Finger!” The woman shouted over her shoulder, and heavy footsteps sounded once again.

“Back in here.” He heard the chilling voice command, then more footsteps, quicker this time, and MacCready brought his hand around the corner, chancing a blind shot before the woman disappeared from the hall fully.

“You’re here for the vaulty, right?” The man, the leader, MacCready guessed, shouted from the other room.

“What’s it to you?” He shouted back, as a snarl crept into his voice.

“Nothin’.” The bastard chuckled. “Nothin’ at all. Feisty though, ain’t they? Make a good raider, I’d say. But if I have to kill ‘em to rid myself o’ you, I won’t fucking hesitate. Ya hear? So you’d better put that gun o’ yours down, and slide it this way. I wanna see it in the doorway here.”

MacCready’s hand clenched hard around the handle of his .44, teeth gritting to the point of pain as he thought through some sort of plan. Any sort of plan. Anything at all.

A loud smack sounded from the room, followed by a sharp intake of breath and a whimper. Sole had never made that sound before, one like that, one of defeat and pain and fear. They’ve never needed to. Because they’d always been together.

Together, these bastards would’ve been a piece of cake. The pair of them would’ve been back at Bunker Hill right now, shaking peoples' hands and sharing a drink over their victory, if he’d just done what Sole suggested in the first place. Now though…

“Better hurry, snipe. Not sure how much longer your friend can take this. Be a real shame to lose ‘em before having any real fun.”

MacCready practically growled at his words, the implication making his gut twist in fury and disgust

“I’ll get you out of this, Sole.” He told them firmly, as he bent to drop his pistol to the floor, “I will.”

He slid the thing over, all the way to the doorway, just as the raider leader had asked, and stood still, his hand slowly reaching behind to grasp at the handle of his sniper rifle.

“You’d better be gettin’ that rifle off your back too. Don’t know what kinda raiders you’ve been dealing with, but I ain’t so dumb. Only a fool’d leave his gun behind. Slide that one over too, come on.”

Shit. MacCready mouthed, nails digging into the wood of his handle as he pulled the gun over his head.

“Oh, and sniper, thanks by the way. That shot of yours was right on the money. They don’t got too much fight in 'em when they’re bleedin’ out like this.”

MacCready flinched at the pained groan that came from the room, and with a feeling of cold resignation that he refused to acknowledge, he slid the sniper to the doorway.

“I’m sorry, Sole. Sorry about all this, sorry I–”

“Oh, shut your whinin’ mouth and get on your fucking knees.” The man appeared through the doorway, slowly, tactically angling himself to prepare for a shot from MacCready, though he assumed the sniper was unarmed.

This Zeller guy was huge, his metal armor bulky, his eyes cold, and brow set low as he grinned sadistically down at his soon-to-be prisoner.

If the asshole doesn’t just shoot me now, that is. But if he’s kept Sole alive this long…

“Quit your worryin’. I ain’t gonna shoot ya. No, no, I wouldn’t do that. You really did a number on my army, here. Damn near all of ‘em’r dead, but that’s okay.” The raider’s steps shook the old, creaky floorboards as he approached MacCready where he knelt in the hallway. “Ya know why?”

MacCready glared at him as the leader knelt down in turn, coming face to face with the mercenary as his unnerving grin persisted.

“Cuz you’re gonna be their replacement.”

MacCready opened his mouth, but the raider was too quick, the butt of his double barrel coming down on the side of his head before a sound could escape him, and the world went black as a blinding pain exploded from his temple.

“Sleep tight, sniper. When you wake, you’ll join Zeller’s army.”

–

“You should just give it up. I’m never signing your fucking contract, you ugly piece of shit!”

MacCready’s eyes blinked open at the sound of Sole’s snarling voice, metal bars and the fogginess of his brain obscuring his view of his partner as they sat, tied crudely to a chair, in the center of the room.

Zeller knelt in front of them. His canines gleamed in the low light of the dusty room as that sinister, toothy grin continued residing upon his chapped lips.

Quick as a bullet, his metal gloved hand shot out, cracking across Sole’s cheek in a backhand smack that left them reeling to the side. Even with the heavy chair beneath them, they’d have toppled over completely, if not for the rough shove from the other raider’s boot pushing them back in place. The blood roared in MacCready’s ears, droning out all other sound as he clambered swiftly to his feet.

His hands grasped tightly at the bars of the cell they’d put him in. His duster was gone, as was his scarf, his ammunition, the knife in his boot, all of it. He was left in his shirt, pants, socks, and nothing else. Even his hat was gone.

Shit…

MacCready glared ahead in thought, his sight still bleary, but coming into focus as a metal obstruction caught his eye. There was a nail poking out the side of the wall of his cell. It was rusty and slightly bent, but hell, it was better than nothing. Lithe fingers wrapped around the head of it, pulling hard until it came out, along with a small puff of dust. He tried to keep from coughing as he brought the small nail into his grasp, staring down at the thing with furrowed brows before shoving it into his pants pocket.

Who knows, could come in handy if I get desperate enough…

The sniper wracked his fuzzied brain, willing the throbbing to ease so he could come up with some proper kinda plan, any sort of plan. His consciousness ached in more ways than one as a spear of regret stabbed through him. He couldn’t believe how idiotic he’d been. Letting Sole come in here alone? Waiting so long to return to them? Damn, it wasn’t the first time his pride had screwed him over, but for it to have put Sole into this situation, to make them go through all this pain, because of his stupidity?

I can’t be responsible for another death, can’t sit by and watch as, as…

He shook his head firmly, eyes closed tight as though that could stop him from seeing the horrendous potential future of his life without Sole.

I can’t do that shit again. Not again.

“A few days without food outta loosen their hand, eh boss?” The remaining raider asked. Zeller tutted his tongue, shaking his head as he looked up at his one remaining henchman.

“Nah, this one’s stubborn. Gonna take more than that... Say, why don’t ya hand me those pliers over there?”

MacCready’s eyes widened as he felt his stomach churn inside him.

“Don’t you freaking touch them!” He snarled through the rusted bars of his cell, “Take me, damn it! They’re not thinking clearly. Let me do it instead! I’ll sign whatever the hell you want!”

His hands gripped the bars tightly, knuckles turning bone-white as his nails dug painfully into the rusting metal.

“Aw, dammit, that one’s awake again. Look, kid, you’d better keep your fucking mouth shut, or ole’ Knifepoint here’s gonna have to put you out again.” MacCready stared in horror as he saw the leader reach back, the other raider handing him a pair of rusty pliers as Sole’s chair began to shake in their effort to get away from him.

“You’ll get your turn, sniper, don’t you worry. Fer now though…”

“Sole, s-stay calm, okay? We’ll get out of this.” MacCready tried to keep his voice steady, even as he felt a desperate sob rising in his throat. “We will, just hold on for me.”

“Go an’ shut him up, will ya? I’m trying to work here.”

Zeller’s cruel eyes turned back to Sole as the other raider stomped towards MacCready’s cell, and he quickly backed away from the bars, clamping his mouth shut while silently willing Sole to be strong.

They’ve always been so damn strong…

He couldn’t believe the person they still were, not after all they’d been through. MacCready doesn’t say it enough, but since the beginning, he’s been impressed by them, in awe of them. Sole’s kindness, their selflessness, how much they can still care… After everything he’d lost, MacCready was none of those things. Even now, when he was sure he’d do anything for Sole, his pride and stupidity, his selfishness was what got them into this whole mess, and he knew, if they didn’t get out of it, he’d never be able to forgive himself. He’d already fucking shot them. Sure it’d be a miracle if they got out of this, but even more, he’d be lucky as hell if Sole ever wanted to see him again after this was all over.

He knows he wouldn’t.

But we have to at least get out of this. I can’t let them fall because of me. I can’t fail, can’t leave Duncan…

MacCready flexed his fingers and toes in frustration, his whole body clenching with rage as he saw the way Zeller tore haphazardly at Sole’s restraints and harshly grabbed their right hand. A grunt of pain escaped his partner as the cruel asshole tugged at their injured arm, his metal grip crushing their hand between his fingers as he brought the pliers up towards their index finger.

“We’ll start out easy. These grow back better than teeth do, that’s for sure.”

With that, Zeller clamped the pliers down on their first fingernail, and tugged.

Sole’s scream rattled MacCready’s bones, and he tasted blood on his tongue as the pressure of his teeth split his lip.

“There,” Zeller growled. “One down. You just let me know when you’re good and ready to sign that contract, else I’ll just keep on goin’.”

Silence followed as his cold eyes flitted to Sole’s, and MacCready longed to see their face, wished they could see him, that he could give them some comfort. As furious as they should be with him, he wanted his partner to know they weren’t alone, that he would get them out of this, no matter what it took.

“No? Nothing to say? Alright, fine by me.” Another scream through gritted teeth tore through MacCready’s ears, and he felt hot tears rising to the waterline of his widened eyes, bloodshot and clouded with anger. The tears stung as they cascaded down his cheeks, his eyes unable to leave the sight of Sole’s bloodied fingers as he took a step forward, wishing with everything he had that it was him in that chair instead of the one he loved.

He sucked in a breath as his foot landed, picking it up again swiftly, as he felt something stab into his foot.

What the–?

Holy shit.

He’d almost forgotten about it completely, and now he was glad as hell that they’d only taken his boots and not his socks. Bobby pins. Three of them, he always kept them in his sock. He’d never had to use the damn things before, he spent more time grumbling about the way they sometimes stabbed him than thinking they were ever really gonna come in handy, but now… He wished he could buy his past self a drink and give him a hearty slap on the back.

Just hold on, baby.

After almost an hour, Sole’s screams had died to throaty whimpers. The raider leader had gone through every one of their fingers before throwing the bloodied pliers to the side. Now he stood before their shaking body, a grimy rag wiping off the reddened metal of his gloves before he brought the square of fabric down to rub over Sole’s wounds cruelly.

The bastard laughed as they tensed at his harsh touch.

I’m gonna kill him in the worst freaking way, MaCready vowed.

His body felt hot and feverish, the rage swelling deep within him, boiling his blood and setting his mind ablaze with cruel thoughts of his own. He imagined shoving those pliers down Zeller’s throat, shooting out both his kneecaps, or bringing the butt of his combat knife down over each of his bare knuckles, just hurting him. Hurting the bastard so bad that he couldn’t speak in that sinister growling voice, couldn’t smile his haunting smile, couldn’t do anything but whimper and sob, and then die. Die, leave this place, die and leave Sole in peace, die and never have the opportunity to be this cruel to anyone again.

Still, even after all this, Sole remained as strong as they could. Still, they refused the contract, still they spat in Zeller’s face when he got too close, and he didn’t have to see their face to know their expression. That stubborn look, the look as sharp as the nails upon a Deathclaw’s freakish hand, the one that burned brighter than a molten forge, that promised resilience and defiance. God, he loved to hate that look when it was aimed at him. But this shithead? The asshole in front of him? He deserved every violent liberty Sole could ever take against another human being, and every cruelty MacCready could imagine. If running with the Gunners taught him anything at all, it was how to make people suffer, how to be a monster. He always tried to avoid becoming like them, but this asshole deserved to be the exception.

MacCready waited. He hated it, more than he hated dust and raiders and even feral ghouls, he hated sitting by and watching as Zeller toyed with his companion, as he tore them apart and held back just enough to keep them conscious. Finally though, when the sun’s orange glow had receded from the windows, when the bluish hue of the moon washed over his love’s sweat-slicked skin, Zeller decided he’d had enough for the day.

“Help me throw ‘em in the other cell, then you take first watch.”

Sole had held on for so long. Hours they’d sat and taken Zeller’s abuse, and finally it was enough to render them unconscious. The two raiders undid Sole’s ties, hauling them from the chair and letting their body drag over the hard floorboards before tossing them carelessly into the open cell across from him.

He could hardly even see them, as the cell door slammed shut, shadowed as they were in the corner of the room. MacCready’s eyes followed Zeller as he strolled past his cell, as though the cruelties he’d inflicted upon MacCready’s partner were less than nothing to him, as though he’d spent his day farming tatos or counting caps. It made MacCready’s gut churn.

Bastard.

Waiting. Waiting was what he had to do now. MacCready had to find an opportunity to pick his lock, and now that Sole was in another cell, he needed to be sure he at least had one pin left to get them out, too in case the raiders did something with their cell key before he could kill them both.

His eyelids were heavy as he sat near to his gate, half acting like he was so close to the bars only to be able to catch a glimpse of Sole. It was partly true, he was desperate to see them, but also, he just needed to be close to the lock. It was going to be tough too. MacCready wasn’t the best locksmith there was, Sole had proved to him a hundred times or more that they were better at it than he was, but with their fingers the way they were, their injuries… It really was up to him. Even if he was a master locksmith though, it’d still be hard. The lock was only on the outside, meaning he’d have to cram his hand out through the bars, reach around, and try to pick it blind.

But it has to work. There’s no other way. I’ve run out of options, and I can’t let Sole go through one more moment of this hell.

He was nearly asleep by the time his opportunity came. The guard sighed in frustration as she tried to light the cigarette between her teeth, the flame refusing to catch as her lighter ran out of oil. MacCready closed his eyes quickly as her gaze swept over him, feigning sleep as he leaned against the side of the cell. There was a moment of silence, and then a creak as she stepped away to find another lighter.

MacCready shot up, barely sacrificing time for a glance in the raider’s direction as he pulled a bobby pin from his sock. He shoved his hand through the bars, sticking the pin, along with the nail he’d found, into the lock. The nail was no screwdriver, but it would hold tension all the same. At least, he hoped it would.

He listened intently as he fiddled with the lock, hoping to whatever god there was that he would hear the telltale click before the guard returned.

A noise sounded from the room over, some boxes or furniture being shoved around, and his pace quickened. In his desperation, the first pin broke, and despite himself, MacCready cursed under his breath. He pulled the second pin out as quickly as he could, shoving it into the lock and turning to where he felt the least amount of pressure.

I’m close. He thought, sticking out his tongue in concentration.

Footsteps sounded nearby, and the distinct smell of cigarette smoke told him he was out of time.

But I’m so damn close.

He decided to risk it, fiddling more with the lock, trying to keep his movement from becoming too jerky. If he broke this pin, he’d damn near be out of options.

“Come on.” He whispered, and the raider appeared in his peripheral vision.

The lock clicked, and MacCready’s heart soared. He pushed the nail in harder, shoving it the rest of the way, until he felt the gate jump slightly and finally pop open.

He sighed hard, relief washing over him prematurely as the raider’s gaze fell to the sound. She was only a few feet away now, her cigarette butt crushed under her boot as it fell to the floor, and she rushed towards him. MacCready pushed open the gate, moving towards the raider quickly, trying to reach her before she could pull her pistol from its holster.

He got to her just in time. The raider opened her mouth, sucking in air and ready to warn her leader, even as her fingers grasped the handle of her gun, but MacCready was faster. The mercenary had lost his fair share of fist fights, but he prided himself on being pretty damn scrappy, and now was no exception. With the collective built-up fury that’d been boiling deep inside him for hours, MacCready landed a right hook to the woman’s jaw. A loud pop sounded, and he felt his knuckles crack as he made contact, but he refused to let up. MacCready swung again, this time a little sloppily, with his left hand, catching the raider in the temple and sending her reeling the other direction. In an almost automatic action, his knee came up next, catching her in the groin and then again in the stomach, and his sore hand tore the pistol from her grasp, backhanding her temple with the butt of the handle.

She crumpled to the floor without so much as a shout, and MacCready barely even paused before dragging her unconscious form into the empty cell beside his. He slammed the gate shut, and pulled to ensure it was locked before making his way to the back.

He had to help Sole, and he wanted nothing more than to break open their cage and pull them into his arms, to apologize to them, to tell them everything will be alright, but he couldn’t. Not until Judge Zeller was dealt with.

He took quiet steps towards the next room, holding the raider’s pistol at the ready and hoping beyond hope that the damn man was still asleep. MacCready peeked around the corner of the room, noting a small area at the other end that was shielded by a makeshift wall.

Bet that’s where his bed is.

Creeping forward slowly, MacCready held his breath with each step, willing the creaky floorboards not to give him away.

Almost there. The nightmare is almost over.

He gulped as he finally pressed his back against the makeshift wall, took a breath, and then peered around it. As soon as his eyes made out the empty mattress, MacCready felt a blinding pain in his nose as the crack of a shotgun butt jammed into his face. He barked in pain, jerking his head away as the loud bang of the gun firing went off beside his ear.

It’s a double barrel, his addled mind reminded him. One more and he’ll have to reload.

Chancing an injury, MacCready thrust his hand around the corner of the thin wall, but Zeller didn’t take the bait. A second shot sounded less than a second before the buckshot ripped a scattering of holes in MacCready’s left arm and side.

“Shit.” He muttered, barely able to see through the tears, blood and pain surrounding him, but he had to take the shot. He had to. His pistol sounded before he even made his way fully around the corner, catching Zeller in the shoulder as he finally came into MacCready’s sight, and he fired again as the raider struggled to load his shotgun with an injured shoulder. This time, he caught the bastard in the throat, and even as he gave up on the ammunition and raised his gun to catch MacCready with the blunt end of it, blood sputtered from his mouth and ran in thick rivulets from his opened throat. Through the pain, through the blood and tears and relief, MacCready grinned at the raider’s suffering. The enemy’s eyes glazed over in pain, a horrid choking sound spilling from his crimson lips as his shotgun clattered to the floor, one thick hand coming up to grasp at his injury desperately, but they both knew it was no use.

“Take what you deserve, you sick bastard.” MacCready spat, and shot a hole in the raider’s stomach.

Zeller crumpled to the floor with a sputtering gasp, twitching as his life slowly and painfully drained away from him. MacCready wouldn’t torture the monster, not like Zeller tortured everyone he met, but he wouldn’t allow him the reprieve of a quick death either.

Reaching down slowly, MacCready grabbed the shotgun, and tugged the ring of keys away from Zeller’s pocket as the raider’s body twitched in pain.

MacCready’s side burned, his head was pounding, his nose draining blood like he had an endless supply of the stuff, but he couldn’t give less of a damn when he wrenched Sole’s cell door open.

“Sun’s not even up yet, really gonna start now?” Sole grumbled, a beautiful stubbornness in their voice, even as they huddled in the fetal position at the back of the cell.

He tried not to wince at the way they tensed at his touch as he laid a hand on their shoulder. “No.” He whispered, “I’m never gonna let anyone touch you like that, not ever again. You’re safe now, Sole.”

“Mac?” They twisted quickly, brilliant eyes wide as they adjusted to the sight of him, and MacCready felt more tears burst from his eyes as he took in their battered face, as bloodied and bruised as his own, but it was still their face. Their glorious, lovely face that he couldn’t imagine life without, the face that he loved, against all odds, the face he wanted to wake up seeing every day for the rest of his life, and then some.

God, he loved them, and he almost fucking lost them.

“Mac!” Finally they could make him out in the darkness, and concern flashed over their face. “Are you okay? Oh my goodness–” They reached both hands up to grasp at either side of his face, and he couldn’t help but push into their contact, despite the pain of their fingers over his tender skin.

In the next moment, they flinched away with a gasp, reminded of their own injuries at the end of each of their fingers. Tentatively, MacCready reached both his hands towards them, folding their hands delicately into his own before guiding them to his lips.

“I’m so sorry, Sole.” He breathed, ghosting the soft skin of his lips over their knuckles in a series of apologetic kisses. “For all this shi– For, just, everything. I left you, even when I knew there was danger, I let you get captured, let you get injured, hell I even freaking shot–”

“It’s not your fault, MacCready.” Sole interrupted him quietly, their eyes holding a hundred sympathies within them as he met their gaze. “I didn’t listen to you, you tried to warn me.”

“I know, but–”

“MacCready.” Their grip on his hands grew firmer for a moment. “Listen to me. It’s not your fault.”

A fresh wave of hurt washed over him, and he couldn’t help but shake his head in disagreement, not trusting his voice to hold if he tried to argue with his partner.

“Do you understand me? It’s not your fault. I need you to know that, I need you to know that I don’t blame you, okay?”

Sole withdrew their hands from his, opting instead to wrap them carefully around his shoulders, pulling him into their embrace. His arms returned the gesture, trying to avoid their injured shoulder as his fingers clenched desperately to their back and a sob of relief wracked his body.

“I never blamed you.” They whispered, their lips pressing briefly to the side of his head as they reveled in their closeness to one another.

“I almost lost you.” His voice shook as the realization hit him once again, and despite his pain and their own, he clung tighter to them.

“You didn’t though.” The palm of their hand stroked softly over the back of his head. “I’m not going anywhere anytime soon, okay?”

He sniffled.

How the hell can they still want to be with me? How can they not want to ditch me as soon as they can? How can they forgive me? After I got them into this, even if they said I didn’t, we both know–

“Did you hear me, MacCready? I’m staying right here with you, baby, I’m not leaving, okay?”

He nodded shallowly, still sure that his ears were playing tricks on him, but for once, he was happy to fall for it.

“Okay.” He whispered, and closed his eyes, breathing slowly as he held Sole close to him, and vowed to never let them go again.

Nick:

“Let ‘em go, Pick. Your art gallery is full, and they were just trying to help.”

“Oh, and they will help. They really will. Sh sh, don’t look so afraid, my sweet.” He bent down, his dark eyes locking to theirs as a hand ghosted over the side of Sole’s face. “Or do. Your choice, I paint what I see, so you decide on the expression, and I’ll make it the one they all remember.”

“Don’t listen to him, Sole.” Nick said quickly, noting the panic in their eyes as Pickman stood to his full height, and moved behind them. “He’s just trying to shake your nerves. We’ve gotten out of worse binds than this.”

Nick swallowed hard as Sole’s eyes stayed firmly locked on him, avoiding the circling predator as Pickman took in the sight of them.

How this shit happened, the synth would never know. One moment, the three of them were working together, taking out the gang of raiders that had gone after both them and the homicidal psychopath that was now hungirly prowling around his companion. Nick had thought they could work something out. The man had helped them. He’d stood by their side as raider after raider descended into his lair, speaking politely and clearly as he warned them of a coming attack, or urged them to dodge out of the way as he swung his knife in their direction. They were winning, and Nick was just beginning to think they’d all get out of this unscathed, that maybe the three of them could head back to Diamond City, see about having a trial and putting this perp where he belonged, where he couldn’t hurt anyone any longer, but where he’d be safe for years to come. Maybe they’d even drop off some paint and canvases for him when he was finally behind bars, just for helping them out when they were in need.

They certainly wouldn’t be doing that now. Nick could guarantee that much. His teeth gritted together as Pickman pulled out his knife, and Sole whimpered at the sight of the blade so close to their exposed neck.

He wouldn’t. Nick thought, hope present in every letter of the words as he breathed them through gritted teeth.

Pickman only smiled cheerfully, tapping the flat of the blade against Sole’s cheek as he tutted at them.

“Not to worry yet, m’dear. Only pulling this one out to clean her off. The canvas only calls for one person’s blood. Mixing gets messy.” The man pulled out a pocket square from the inside of his jacket. Nick wasn’t sure if the intended color had been such a dark crimson, or if the silken fabric had been used to wipe his blade so many times that the color had fully permeated the fibers. He’d like to think it was the former of the two, but he wasn’t optimistic.

Why the hell does he need us? Nick tried to work out the perp’s intentions as he slowly swiped the cloth over his blade, humming as he did so. I’ve got nothing to give, no ‘paint’ for his canvas at all. And Sole… Well, he’s got a dozen and a half dead raiders just in the other room, what does he need their blood for?

Even from across the room, Nick noticed how uneven his companion’s breath had become, how their eyes glistened and their brain worked to try and find a way out. He wished he could do more. He wished he could’ve stopped this psychopath well before this. Wished he hadn’t been so sloppy with his handcuffs as he tried to wrestle the man’s hands behind him when he noticed his wild gaze resting on Sole, intending to strike them down even as they wrestled with the raiders out to get him. Nick wished he hadn’t been unbalanced so easily, wished the raider had hit his mark on the homicidal maniac rather than the synth beside him. The bullet wouldn’t kill Nick, hell, it had only phased him for a moment or two when it hit his arm, but it had been long enough for the psychotic scoundrel to lock the synth’s arms in place behind one of the large pipes in his underground lair, with his own damn handcuffs.

Man, Nick felt like a fool. At least Pickman killed the rest of the raiders before they could get to Sole, but even as Nick tried to warn his partner, as he shouted out to grab their attention, his voice echoing off of the brick walls until they finally turned to look at where he was restrained, it had been too late. Pickman took the end of a raider’s pipe rifle to the temple of Sole’s head, downing them before they could even register the sight of the man coming at them.

As Pickman tied Sole to a chair, slowly and intricately, with a smile on his face, as if this was as much of an art in and of itself as the actual act of painting, Nick was trying to convince him to let them go. Pickman didn’t even seem to hear his pleas, or his threats, he only seemed to even notice the synth when he heard him struggling in vain against his handcuffs. Even his skeletal hand couldn’t wriggle its way out from the tightened manacles.

Damn me. Nick cursed.

Why the hell had he had to buy the best cuffs in the business? He knew they wouldn’t budge easily, if at all. He’d been sure of that when he bought them. He thought that fact would make him safer, not practically ensure the demise of the one person he loved, and who loved him.

Something ached deep in his synthetic chest at the thought.

Nick thought he’d been happy before them. What with living contentedly in Diamond City, with the agency, and Ellie, the occasional visit from Dogmeat, the kids trailing behind him, asking question after pesky question as he tried to get a lead on a case. That was as happy as he’d been in a long time, but damn… All that was nothing compared to how he felt now. He’d never loved anyone before, sure, he’d liked a lotta folks, and the old Nick sure had loved Jennifer, and had given the synth Nick a hint of what that feeling was that everyone always sang about, but what he had with Sole had been entirely different. It wasn’t a hollow ache, or a longing, like with Jennifer; with them, it was a burning need, a living fondness, an effortless joy that he felt deep within himself, in a place he’d never known existed prior to their place in his life. Nothing and no one had made Nick feel so incredibly alive as Sole did, and now, they were going to die because of him. The frustration and anger at the thought rose up in him, boiling his coolant and making the whir in his head rattle off the walls of his synthetic skull.

Not if I have anything to say about it. He vowed. He couldn’t just sit by anymore, he’d tried talking, he’d tried struggling, what else was there? Nick’s glowing gaze wracked the ground and walls around him, searching for anything that could be of use.

If only I could detach my arms. He thought, shaking his head and clenching his jaw.

The buzzing in his chest went into overdrive as Pickman circled around, the sharp blade glistening in his hand, now clean as could be.

“Much prettier now, don’t you think?” He thrust the blade into Sole’s face, and they tried to recoil as best they could within their restraints. Faintly, Nick heard them pleading with the man before them, tears spilling over their cheeks as their mouth moved desperately, hasty whispers passing through their trembling lips as they begged Pickman for their life.

“Ah ah, come now. Shhh. It will be alright, darling.” Nick heard him say, and the synth’s body jerked unwittingly as Pickman’s blade pressed against his love’s soft cheek, the honed edge collecting the stream of tears draining from their desperate eyes. “This face surely isn’t the one that you want to be remembered by, is it now? You know the answer. Come on, sweetheart, say it with me.” He brought his other hand up to their face, grasping their jaw between his scarlet-stained fingers and moved their head from side to side.

“Noooooooo.” He drew out the word mockingly, and Sole’s body wracked in an unwilling sob as his motion drove the blade deeper into their cheek. “That’s right.”

“Enough, Pickman!” Nick roared, his voice rasping with desperation, “Leave ‘em alone. We helped you. You let us go, let them go, and I swear, you’ll never be bothered again. Synth’s honor.” Thankfully, Pickman released Sole from his grasp, pulling the knife from their cheek, leaving a thin, red line where it had punctured them as he turned to face Nick.

Even from this distance, Nick could see the way his ghostly eyes gleamed with insanity.

“How right you are.” He said, his voice coming out uncharacteristically monotone, as if he was truly upset about Nick’s accusatory tone. Pickman was plenty of things, but impolite was not one of them. “You have my thanks, my dear. But you know that already, don’t you?” He turned back to Sole then, his face leaning in close to theirs, and he whispered something inaudible from Nick’s place on the other side of the cavern, but Sole’s sobs redoubled as he pulled away with a grin. As painfully artistic with his words as he was with the carnal paint for his canvas, the madman began waxing poetic about all of the possibilities for his next work of art, and Nick’s efforts to find a way out hastened.

I’m running out of time.

Pickman’s painfully proper tone of voice droned on as Nick struggled once more, his yellow eyes darting to the weapons scattered throughout the room. All were too far to reach with his legs, to pull closer to him; and even if he managed to escape his cuffs, Pickman could surely dispatch Sole before he had a chance to cock the weapon, take aim, and fire.

This psychopath's got us in a real pickle, hasn’t he?

The synth tried to keep his mind focused on the present, but he couldn’t help but grit his teeth at the bout of merciless hindsight that seemed to punch him in the gut and wrench out his coolant pump. Sole is too good, and they had me believing others could be that way too. There’s a reason criminals don’t get a second chance out here, a reason why most shoot first, and talk never. It’s a good way to get yourself killed. Get the people you love killed. Get into rotten situations like this one.

Damn me, I should know better than this.

Nick felt an uneasy tremble crawling up his spine as the talker across the room went silent, and his synthetic arms struggled all the more as his need for haste became ever more apparent. He froze at the sound of a click behind him.

The cuffs? Nick thought desperately.

He pulled in earnest at the metal, hoping beyond hope that they were somehow faulty, that he was somehow stronger than them, but as he continued to struggle, they still refused to give way.

Goddammit. Then what the hell was that noise?

Sole’s scream of pain pulled him from his thoughts, and yanked at his gaze from where it rested over the back of his shoulder. Now Nick’s head jerked to face his partner ahead of him, to the place on their arm, where a stream of dark liquid ran from the crook of their elbow, down through their fingers, and onto the canvas Pickman had placed below it.

The madman tutted at them as he pulled the knife away from their flesh with a theatrical flourish.

“Now, darling, we’ve only just begun. Just gotten the canvas wet, is all.” He leaned in close to their face, his breath stirring a stray hair curtaining their eyes. “You don’t intend to keep this up all the while, do you? It’s hardly polite. I’m trying to work.”

With that, the man aimed his knife down at Sole’s leg, his long fingers pulling at the fabric of their trousers as he began to saw through the material. A large square of fabric was pulled from them as their breathing picked up, and Nick’s eyes narrowed.

Would he really be one to staunch Sole’s blood flow? Surely not…

And he was right.

Pickman balled the chunk of fabric up in his fist as he moved his face close to Sole’s.

“Not good for concentration. The noise, I mean.” With that, Pickman shoved the bunched bit of fabric between their lips, silencing them. He reached for his canvas again, examining the work there, before moving it below Sole’s other arm.

“This is in case you’re a lefty, darling. Want all of our bases covered, don’t we?”

Sole tried to shout something at him, likely a phrase containing profanity, but their crude gag muffled their desperate noise. With the irritating sound now at a more manageable volume, Pickman continued his work, digging his blade deep into their arm, just above their wrist, just above the artery.

Nick swallowed hard, and his hands were trembling as he witnessed the way theirs grew limp beneath their red veneer. Through the trembling, he felt his good hand ghost over the screw of his bad one, and Nick’s eyes widened.

That pesky old thing. Always having to stop to tighten it, so I don’t go and lose everything below my wrist. Sole said I should find a more permanent solution than the worn screwdriver in my pocket. Now though… Now Nick was grateful beyond words that he hadn’t changed a thing about his faulty limb.

“Hold on, Sole. Just hold on.” He mumbled as his fingers moved feverishly over the loosened screw, twisting and feeling as it became more and more unstable.

Pickman dragged his blade away again, once he deemed the canvas saturated enough.

Christ, it made Nick want to gag; the way it looked, the way Sole’s skin had paled, their eyes grew weary, their muffled screams died down to nothing but whimpers as their blood continued to flow.

“I’ve perfected the ratio over the years.” Pickman told them, holding up the canvas for Sole to see. They looked like they were going to be sick, and Nick wouldn’t blame them if they were.

This goon certainly is. One of the sickest I’ve seen. And that’s saying something.

“Yours ran quickly. Probably the adrenaline. But no matter, now we can get to the main event.” A cruel smile was still tugging oddly at the sides of his lips as he turned to face Nick, and the synth stilled his struggling, trying his hardest to look defeated as the madman fixed him with his wild eyes.

“You’ve got quite the privilege here, mister Valentine. My artistic process is traditionally a mystery to all but me and my muses, but you… What ever am I going to do with you? I doubt you’ll appreciate my work when it is finished, else I would ask your opinion. I do so crave constructive criticism.”

“You want my opinion? Start using paint, ya loon. Oh, and how about you quit betraying the people who are just trying to help you. Or else, I think this little artistic endeavor of yours is gonna get you killed one day. Maybe sooner than you think.”

The screw slid out of its tunnel in his wrist, and Nick cleared his throat as the small piece of metal hit the floor. He pulled, and his hand loosened.

Trying not to grit his teeth at the pain of it, he gave another tug, working to dislodge his skeletal hand entirely, but the wires kept it tethered to him, and the cuffs stayed firmly in place.

Damn it.

Pickman was oblivious to the synth's efforts, but the artist's grin persisted as he shrugged.

“Perhaps. When that day does come, though, I will have left behind a legacy. An artist never dies, not so long as their work remains.” The mad bastard winked at Nick, before turning back to Sole, their eyes widening as he flicked his knife at them once more.

“It’s never enough, you see?” Pickman continued, his voice echoing off the bricks behind Sole’s chair. “We have to start with something on the canvas, even if it is a bit messy.” He circled behind them, his lips set in a comical pout as he spoke down to Nick’s companion.

“Or else the image doesn’t set quite right. You understand?” The same hand that held the knife went up to grasp at Sole’s head, forcing them to nod, and they released a whimper, their chest shaking under their rapid, shuddering breaths.

“See? Of course you understand. You’re a clever one. That’s what I’ve always heard.”

Nick’s arms strained where they were attached behind the pipe, his skeletal hand barely clinging on, as the blinding pain told his mind that he was desperately in need of repairs. He tugged, and another wire severed at the force against the strong metal of the handcuffs.

“Now, darling, smile for me.” Pickman’s knife dipped down to the front of Sole’s face, and their wide eyes followed the glinting blade as the point lodged into the apple of their cheek, and they screamed. Even through the rag, Nick could feel the noise rattle every one of his circuits.

Now. I have to go now.

The synth closed his eyes, grit his teeth together, and he pulled. With his own growl, he wrenched his skeletal hand clean off, severing every wire in the wake of his desperate power.

Pickman was too preoccupied to notice his prisoner’s freedom at first, as he pressed the canvas to Sole’s face, smearing their own blood against them, attempting to capture their likeness in the most horrific way.

Nick moved quickly, but quietly as he could, stooping low to grasp at a revolver that had clattered to the floor. He considered the weight.

Loaded. Good.

Now he moved rapidly, cripplingly afraid his luck would somehow run out, now that he was so damn close to saving them. He stepped beside the pair, his love and the psychopath, his revolver pointed to Pickman’s chest, pointed where a bullet rightfully belonged, pointed home.

“Look at that.” Nick heard himself say as he cocked the gun loudly from his place beside the madman.

“Sooner. Than. You. Think.” He leaned close to Pickman as he pulled the trigger, not taking his eyes from the man until he saw the light leave them, until he fell to the ground, and into a dramatic splatter of his own carnal paint.

Call it artistic justice, I suppose.

The knife had fallen from his hand, and into Sole’s lap, and Nick dropped the revolver, picking the blade up quickly as they let out a muffled sob below him. He pulled the fabric from Sole’s mouth, and they sucked in a breath, eyes wide, body still trembling, as their blood dripped down their face. They were pale, their hands shook as Nick undid those bonds as well, each swift cut of the knife that had assaulted them bringing them closer to freedom.

When he finally had them free, Nick turned his eyes to meet theirs, opening his mouth to speak, but Sole’s gasp cut him off.

“Oh, Nick…” They whispered as they reached for his injured wrist with bloodied hands. “Are you alright?”

Nick nearly choked at that, his throat felt like it was seizing up as he reached his good hand out to caress the unmarred side of their face.

“Sole, you’re just too damn good, you know that?” He smiled at them, the relief evident in his shining eyes. “I’m fine, more than fine. Ya know why?”

They bit their lip, tears leaving glistening tracks down their perfect cheeks as they looked into his eyes.

“Because of you, because you’re alright. If you weren’t… I wouldn’t know what to do, love.”

“But I am.” They said, their voice strained, “You don’t have to worry.”

Nick could tell they were trying to make light of it, with the way they smiled and tried to keep their voice steady. But their hands were still on him, still clasping at his handless wrist, and they were shaking, even as their lower lip began to tremble.

Nick’s good arm wrapped around them, pulling them from that wretched chair, and down against him where he knelt on the floor, and he felt them collapse into him, arms flying up to grasp around his neck.

“Shit, Nick, I was so scared.” Their sob came from beside his ear as he held them tight.

“I know darling, I know. I was too.” He said quietly, his face flinching as he felt their body tense at the word darling. A word that had been his to call them, one that had meant affection, and devotion, and trust, and companionship, but now was something that he had called them. That Pickman had used in that sickeningly polite tone of his, and Nick fumed at the thought of that psychopath taking it away from him. At almost taking Sole away from him.

Nick didn’t have it too bad, not really. He knew that. He had a great job, a couple of close friends, a good secretary, and people weren’t nearly as ruthless to him as they could be, but now… He had it better than he ever thought he could, than he felt he had any right to. All because of Sole. They were too good, too kind, too selfless, and damn it, he loved them for it.

And they loved him.

He could never get over that, the way they said it to him, like it was the most obvious thing in the world, like it was so easy for them to love someone like him. He couldn’t imagine that that was the truth.

Nick squeezed Sole tighter as he felt a few more sobs wrack their body.

“But hey,” he said finally, as he felt their breaths grow more deep, more controlled, “Can’t take us down that easy, can they?” He pulled away from them as they nodded, a weak smile forming on their lips, and wrenched the bottom of his trench coat up over his lap, where he could pull a strip of fabric off to tie around their wounded arm and wrist.

He couldn’t do it himself with only the one hand, but Sole offered theirs to help him situate the strips of fabric over their first wound. They fixed up the other together, and he pulled one last strip off to dab gently at the cut on their face.

“There.” He whispered as he pulled the cloth away, their cheek was still red and puffy, the cut still open and angry, but the blood was all gone. As long as they didn’t look at the floor or the canvas, the blood was gone.

“How bad is it?” They asked, one hand reaching up to delicately touch the gash on their cheek.

“Oh, it’s not so bad, sweetheart. It’ll heal up just fine. Just wait and see.” He leaned forward, slowly, and softly as a breath, he let his lips graze over their cheek, just above the wound. Their hands grasped his face, and they returned the gesture, with their lips upon his.

He grinned as they pulled away, never so thankful to feel someone’s breath fan over his face, and Nick got lost for a moment. Lost in his partner’s eyes, the way they still held a light to them he’d never seen in anyone else, to the way their lips curled in a grin, even as they just began to regain the color in their skin, and the way their heartbeat thudded through their fingertips where they rested on either side of his marred neck. They were the essence of everything he valued in this life of his, if you could call it that. With Sole by his side, he’s not sure how he could refer to his existence as anything else.

“Not quite sure about this one though.” He said with a persisting smile, holding up his skeletal wrist before them, “Think it’ll heal up?”

Preston:

Preston’s head swam. He brought a hand up to rub at his face, feeling a deep heat permeate his body from the air surrounding him. His heartbeat pulsed in his ears, and an uncomfortable wetness coated his skin as his hand moved up to a sore spot near his temple. There was a crustiness to the area surrounding the wound, and Preston wondered briefly how long he had been out.

What happened to me?

He brought both hands to the soil beneath him, pushing himself up into a seated position. The source of the heat made itself known to him as he lifted his gaze to the large bonfire to his left. A tall, dark building swam into view through the smoke, the walls lit only by the flames licking at the starry sky.

Right. Saugus Ironworks…

It all began coming back to him.

Finch farm, they’d still been having trouble with the Forged, even after Jake left their ranks. They’d needed help, needed the Minutemen.

Preston had been almost giddy when the mission provided an excuse for him and Sole to go in together. It’d been ages since the pair had had the opportunity to work side by side, and he’d thought it would be easy…

How could it have gone this wrong? With Sole by my side, it feels like anything is possible, no mission too harrowing, no task undoable. How am I here now, lying in the dirt, without Sole?

Panic rose in his chest, sending shockwaves through his muscles and forcing them to move.

I have to find them.

Preston pushed himself up to a standing position, sucking in a breath as he felt a stab of pain in his side. His leg nearly crumpled on the first step forward, and his arms ached as he brought his laser musket to his chest, but the minuteman gritted his teeth and continued towards the steel building ahead of him.

He peered through the window and into the room where the entrance to the factory lay, blinking as he noticed his own reflection looking back at him. His clothes were tattered, singed black in places, smoking in others, stained scarlet. His hat was gone, his scarf in tatters, and his head wound was thickly crusted over with his own blood.

No wonder they left me for dead. I sure look it.

But he wouldn’t let that stop him.

It was coming back to the Lieutenant now. All those raiders, the way he and Sole had maneuvered around the breath of their flamers, a dangerous dance as they seamlessly worked together to down the horde surrounding them before the pair of them could be burned alive.

They’d gotten through most of the raiders, too, until the guy in the power armor showed up. Preston hadn’t even seen him at first. The man had been on the roof, and even as he started raining down grenades on him and Sole, they couldn’t find a clear shot.

It was fuzzy in his mind, but Preston remembered frantically pushing his partner out of the way.

He’d never recalled moving quite so fast in his life, never thought he could be so rough with the one he loved, but he had to get them out of the way. Preston hadn’t even given a thought as to what would happen after the fact, it was just an instinct, there hadn’t been any thought involved at all, no plan, no fear for his own well-being.

He hoped it was enough.

I just hope they’re still alive. Damn me.

That was all he remembered. After that… Just blackness.

I guess I should feel lucky to be alive…

But he couldn’t feel anything apart from his own distress at the thought of losing his partner, his best friend, his General, his love. It was unthinkable to him. Sole was… they were unkillable, indestructible, they could make it through anything with their unwavering determination, their heavy guns, and that reassuring smile that’d saved Preston’s life more times than he cared to count. They were perfect, and if he lost them…

No. I can’t.

With that, Preston’s energy surged, propelling him forward, into the steel building, and up to the entrance to the factory. His grip tightened on his musket as he stepped inside, trying to keep his footsteps light as he entered the large room. He kept his eyes peeled for the enemies he expected to be surged by, but the building was as quiet as the outside had been.

Preston’s brows furrowed as he peered around the room, his footsteps quickening with each moment he spent in silence, each moment that the chaos he was sure would come never appeared.

“Where are you, General?” He said under his breath as he entered the next room.

Someone should be here by now. Some guard, some sign of The Forged, of Sole, of a struggle, of some corpse, even.

Preston shuddered as an unspeakable image thrust itself into his mind.

“Please don’t–” He stopped himself from speaking his plea aloud, afraid some force might hear it and seek to make his worst fear a reality.

If you’re gonna take them, you should’ve taken me first. Don’t let me be the one to find them.

Preston’s steps quickened to a run, and his once hesitant movement grew frantic as he slammed the metal doors open, as he looked through each room rapidly, his attentions focused on one sight and one only. Even if some of The Forged had decided to appear, he’s not sure he would’ve noticed.

Sole is the only thing that matters. The only sight I need. I just need to see them again, to hold them, to hear their voice. Then, then we can make it through anything.

How could we have been so wrong about this mission?

Sole was the most capable person he knew, the most trustworthy, the most dependable, and he promised from the moment he met them that he would never let them down. How could he have miscalculated this so badly? He should’ve known.

Known about the numbers, known about the firepower, known how they use their location to their advantage. They’d been through this before, dammit, and The Forged hadn’t been half as prepared, he was certain that it would be that way again, unless… Unless they’d planned this.

Preston swallowed hard, waving the unhelpful thought from his mind for the time being.

That’s not a priority now. I don’t care why they were so prepared for our attack, I don’t care about how they knew we were coming, about who was coming, I just need to find Sole.

Preston wasn’t subtle. Gas canisters were tripped over in his rising haste, oil cans and wrenches knocked from shelves as he slammed the heavy doors against the steel walls. Sweat drained down his haggard, injured body, salting his wounds and making his head pound with dehydration, and yet, Preston’s thoughts were only comprised of Sole. Finally, he reached the end of the factory. The final room.

Preston didn’t know if he could do it.

Once he barged through that last pair of doors, that would be it. What if Sole wasn’t there? Where would he go? He’d have to look for them, he couldn't… He couldn’t ever leave them, couldn’t let them fade away, couldn’t go on with his life if he didn’t at least try. But could he really face losing them? What if they were in that next room? What if they were there, but they were…

No. I have to do this. Sole is strong. They’re the strongest person I know. They can’t be gone. Not after everything they’ve lived through.

Before the minuteman could change his mind, he stepped forward, his footsteps hesitant but firm as he slowly pushed one door open.

A blinding wave of heat hit his face as Preston entered, accompanied by the white light of the still-burning forge. There wasn’t chaos, as he half expected, and there wasn’t the silence and stillness that he had feared, that every other room has greeted him with thus far. No, there were three raiders standing ahead of him, all with their backs to the doors he’d come through, all facing one centerpiece in the room, the one kneeling just before the forge.

Sole.

They were on their knees, their eyes tired as the light of the nearby flames danced over the sheen of their glossy, raw flesh. The skin of their arm and shoulder was a mosaic, shades of red, white and brown, angry blisters littering the tortured skin as their eyes glazed over with pain. Though they were facing him, Sole hadn’t noticed Preston’s arrival, and he very nearly blew his own cover in his haste to get to them, as one of the Forged took a step towards their downed body.

Sole whimpered as the power armor-clad leader looked down on them, shifting to kneel awkwardly so he could force their gaze to meet his with a steel-gloved hand.

“I’m gonna ask you one last time. If you can’t give us an honest answer, then we’re throwing you into the forge, ya hear?”

Sole’s jaw clenched and they tore their injured face from his grasp. The Forged leader scoffed, thrusting his armored hand forward and catching the burned side of Sole’s jaw as he smacked them hard.

Preston flinched and ground his teeth together at the sound of Sole’s shriek. Desperately, he cranked his laser musket, releasing a shaky breath as he forced himself to remain in the shadows for the time being, until he could formulate a plan.

But how could he focus on anything but Sole? How could he do anything but rush to their side, how could he sit by, out of sight, and let them suffer alone. For all Sole knew, Preston could be dead, and yet still, their gorgeous eyes flashed with defiance as they fixed the Forged leader with a glare.

God, I love them so much.

Preston cranked again, thankful for the loud crackle of the forge as it masked his weapon preparation and heavy breathing.

“Who fucking sent you?” The leader growled, punctuating each word with a flex of his fingers as he held firm to the singed flesh of Sole’s jaw, further burying the sharp material into their face.

All except Sole’s eyes looked utterly defeated. Their body was matted with sweat and blood. Long, angry burn marks ran up their arm, their shoulder, neck and jaw, blisters littered their flesh, and fresh streams of scarlet began to flow from the new lacerations on their face. But still, they only shook their head, and refused to answer.

They would never put the Finches in danger. Even if it cost them their life.

This was why he loved them. Why he had to save them. Even if it cost him his own life.

Preston cranked his laser musket yet again.

A plan slowly formed in his fatigued mind, and his dark eyes flitted from side to side, sizing up the enemies before him. He took aim at the back of the leader’s unarmored head, prepared to crank the musket one final time before letting the crimson beam fly.

While his gaze honed to a focused point on the leader, another raider stepped into his peripheral vision, and Preston’s finger froze on the trigger. The raider stepped close to Sole, something large and steaming within his hands and just out of Preston's sight.

"Don't wanna talk? That's just fine, then."

The leader nodded his head to the man beside him, and a concrete mug came into Preston’s view as the raider raised it high above the General’s already ravaged arm, and poured molten steel down over their shoulder.

Preston fired his musket before their shriek of agony could drown out the roar of the forge.

His own cry of rage spilled from his throat as his beam landed, singeing the leader’s head and nearly toppling him in the process. The leader tried to steady himself, and pulled his hand away from Sole’s jaw as he tipped to the side, knocking over the man with the concrete mug in his hands.

The raider cried out as the remaining contents of his torture device spilled onto his own skin, and Preston rushed forward, slamming a bloodied shoulder into the only raider that remained on her feet. She cursed at him as he cranked his musket and let another beam fly into her exposed abdomen. Out of the corner of his eye, Preston could see Sole collapse onto their side, the pain from their burns sending them hurling unwillingly into unconsciousness. He brought the end of his musket down on the head of the raider beside him as the leader righted himself, holding one hand up to his wounded scalp as he rounded to face Preston.

The female raider was out cold, the man was writhing on the ground, trying to kill the pain that stemmed from his burns, and the leader started forward, one metal-clad fist landing on Preston’s jaw as the minuteman cranked his weapon once more. He felt his teeth crack under the contact, and the flesh of his jaw tear as the rough metal met his skin.

Tears sprung to his eyes, but he took aim anyway, bashing the barrel of his musket against the leader’s exposed face, before cranking again, and letting loose a beam aimed straight at the raider’s bloodied nose.

The leader collapsed at Preston’s feet, the metal ground shuddering as his heavy, power armor-clad form toppled to the floor.

Preston was breathing hard, sweat pouring from his battered body, fresh blood streaming down the side of his quickly bruising face. Steam rose from his red-tinged spit as he expelled a ruined tooth from his mouth, and he loaded another fusion cell into his weapon to take out the last raider, the one still rolling in agony on the grated floor.

If the few droplets of molten fire he spilled on himself are causing this kind of suffering, how the hell is Sole even still alive?

He felt his heart leap into his throat at the realization, at the stillness of his partner below.

As soon as the last one was dealt with, Preston fell to his knees by Sole’s side, feeling along the uninjured side of their jaw desperately for a pulse, and sighing deeply in relief as he felt their weak heartbeat pound against his fingertips.

“Thank you.” He choked out, unsure if it was aimed at some deity of fate, or just at Sole for being able to hold on for as long as they did.

They really are the strongest person I’ve ever met.

He tried not to let the guilt hit him as he brought an arm around the side of them that wasn’t ravaged with burns, tried not to think about how much pain they were in, how long it would take them to recover, how these scars would remain etched into their once-perfect skin for the remainder of their lifetime.

How it was all his fault.

"I'm so sorry Sole." He whispered to their unconscious form, pulling them up into his arms as his lips pressed to their burning forehead. "I never should've let this happen."

He stood on trembling legs, stepping carefully around the downed raiders as he moved towards the exit.

"I'll make it better though." He promised, grunting at the pain in his limbs as the pair drew closer to their freedom. "I swear, Sole. I'll make this better."

Preston kept his mind focused on one thought all throughout his journey back to Finch farm. He needed to get Sole to safety, needed to get them to some pain medication, needed to take them somewhere they could rest, somewhere he could really apologize, somewhere he could take care of them and remain by their side until they weren’t in pain anymore. No matter how long it took.

His arm burned and his legs ached, his head pounded and he continually spat out more blood, but Preston hardly noticed his own hardships as he limped to the Finches’ homestead, nearly collapsing in his relief as the farmhouse at last came into his sights.

We made it.

–

Preston sat by his partner’s side from the chair next to their bed, watching their chest slowly rise and fall. Sole’s injuries were cleaned and bandaged, and Preston’s own bleeding was stopped, his wounds dressed as well. Now, he just waited for them to wake. His eyelids were heavy, and every muscle seemed to ache, but he wouldn’t let them wake up alone, he couldn't wait to hear their voice, to see the light in their perfect eyes, he couldn’t...

“Preston?” A small voice asked, pulling him from the sleep that had forcibly overtaken him. Preston’s eyes blinked open at the sound of their weak voice, and he had to swallow back the sob of relief that threatened to leave him.

He had so much to say, to apologize for, to thank them for, had to tell them all over again how much they meant to him, how he could never lose them, he would never let anything hurt them the way they hurt now. Never again, he wanted to say, but the words were all stuck and jumbled in his strained throat.

“Oh my god, Preston, are you alright? What happened to you?” They tried to sit up suddenly, their eyes widening at the sight of their bruised and bandaged Lieutenant.

“Hold on–” he finally managed, but they felt their wounds before he could warn them, hissing at the pain of their tender flesh pressing into the mattress.

“Shit.”

Their head fell back onto the pillow weakly, their brows furrowing in pain as they gritted their teeth.

“Yeah, just take it easy, okay? I’m alright, I’m fine, and you’re… you’re alive, you’re okay. We’re both okay.” One hand unwittingly reached for Sole, his fingers grazing lightly over the unmarred side of their face as his eyes fogged with emotion.

He knew he was saying it for Sole, and he knew it was true. As long as they were both alive, they would be okay. That’s the only thought he could convey to them, but in all honesty, Preston was saying it for himself too.

We’re okay.

He leaned forward, placing a long kiss on their hairline before pulling away, resting his forehead against theirs as the pad of his thumb stroked delicately over the soft skin of their cheek. He inhaled deeply, and slowly let out the breath as he allowed his eyes to close, as he breathed them in, and he felt Sole weakly push into his contact as their own shaky breath left their lips.

“We’re okay.” They whispered, and Preston finally allowed himself the smallest of smiles.

They're okay.

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