#it's okay to be uninformed if you never thought to look into something

[uncle-fruity]

I am begging everyone to learn how to shut the fuck up about things you don't understand.

[affableramen]

them apologising for calling you bad names

hurt/comfort, established relationships

(Pantalone, Wriothesley, Neuvillette, Tartaglia, Capitano, Alhaitham, Dottore, Dainsleif, Baizhu)

Pantalone

You avoid him for the rest of the day but eventually in the bed time Pantalone meets you. He enters the bedroom with a grave expression in his eyes, eyeing you sit there on the bed with a book in your hands. Distracting, he thinks, she is distracting herself. 

“You know I didn't utter those words seriously”, Pantalone says, omitting the usual ‘darling’ on his lips. You roll your eyes and shake your head dismissively, showing him apparent unwillingness to chat over the issue any longer.

“Say”, Pantalone leans to the door, his fingers, at this moment of time, bare, scratching the roof edges of his antiquated mansion wall, “Are you deeply offended by my comment? It is but something… trivial.” Seeing no reaction from you Pantalone slowly makes his way to the bed and sits down, his body making an impact to the mattress, that being gently pressed on.

“I should have held my tongue.”

“Your tongue is poisonous”, you say abruptly. Upon hearing this, Pantalone reaches his hand to your hand and takes it in his. 

“Hear me out… Please, darling, I would never honestly speak so ill-mannered of you. It was out of stress. You are not… pathetic. Never have been.”

“Mhm. How about ‘brat’? How about ‘loving me only because I provide for the family?’” 

Pantalone closes his eyes and shakes his head. You can see how his own words inflicted upon you sting. 

“Nonsense! Not a single word I spoke then was truthful.”

“Pantalone, if I ever made you doubt my affections, please do let me know.”

You abruptly put your book on the bedside table and switch the lights off. 

Wriothesley

“Why do you keep insisting on these things? You think I don’t know them?”

“I think you’re simply less educated than me. You should understand, Y/N that in some aspects you may be less intelligent. Stupid even.”

“Less intelligent! Stupid!” 

Wriothesley covers his face and bites his own lip when he realises what unruly language he just used. 

“I didn't mean that-”

“That I’m stupid?” Your patience blows up and you decisively start strutting to the exit door of his office.

“I didn't mean to sound that harshly!” Desperately Wriothesley follows; but to no avail. You already shut your door before his nose.

A few hours after Wriothesley finds you in your two’s favourite café, of course it would be the place where you’d go to reflect on your irritation. 

“Here, your favourites”, he puts the bouquet of vivid red flowers on top of the coffee table, next to your hand, and does it with such carefulness of behaviour you would least expect from him.

You look at him, facing Wriothesley’s eyes at last and as if having your thoughts read the duke says with regret:

“And sorry.”

You take a look at the flowers, your fingers caressing the petals.

“Okay”, you respond quietly. Wriothesley receives approval from you and takes a seat, his attitude nothing but amiable, a far cry from his roughness in the morning.

Neuvillette

“I told you that some matters I unfortunately, willing or not, have to solve on my own. There is no place for you in some of my business, because you’re just one weak-” Neuvillette holds his tongue, realising how personally offensive the words he said sounded. How villainous he suddenly appeared before you.

“Human? Yeah, I know. But me being human doesn't mean I can’t think and analyse, and there’s no way I’d approve the responsibility you’re about to take on yourself. I strictly dissgree.”

“Strictly disagree?” Neuvillette does not believe his ears, for you had always been a quiet amd obedient one, quite agreeable and supportive of his opinions. Yet this time you could not stay silent, seeing how your precious husband puts himself in danger for the hundredth time.

“You are to not take on that mission, are we clear, Neuvillette? And I am not weak, neither am I dumb or uninformed.”

In awe, Neuvillette stands there, looking at you. At last he takes one careful step closer, his hand in his hair, pulling it back as he’s thinking on something with raw intensity.

“If my wife is ready to convince me so much to not do something, if she finds my impulses false, then I will do my best to refrain. Knowing how worried you might be for me, perhaps it would be wise to reject the mission first and utmost.”

You nod, your face grave, uninterested as you turn away from him and walk out of his office. Only then Neuvillette stops you, his wrist tightly on yours. 

“Please, beloved, if you could forgive me for my poor choice of words and underestimating your judgment.”

“It doesn't happen first time, Neuvillette, for being a dragon sovereign makes you incredibly stiff to perceiving others’ opinions. But I’m glad if you do truly believe me now.”

“I do. Please, don't stay furious and frustrated for long.” 

You finally smile, forgiving your dragon husband as you make haste to leave the court, otherwise dramatic Fontainian society that loves gossiping and tragedy so much, will turn your little banter into a lavish scandal.

Tartaglia

“Peanut, I just said that you can’t fight as hard as I do, I didn't mean it in a bad way.”

“Of course, Ajax. You meant it in the way ‘I’m the coolest, and you are inferior’.”

“No, no, no. It’s a misunderstanding! Hear me out, babygirl…” Tartaglia gently grips the both of your shoulders and stares intimately into your eyes.

“I just wanted… You know, I just meant…” he blushes crazily and his expression radiates sheer embarrassment as he tries to seek excuse to explain himself. “I, uhh… Consider myself a great fighter, and you are exceptionally good, too…”

“Exceptionally good?” 

“Absolutely exceptionally good, babygirl. But I am simply worried, okay? I’m scared”, he rubs your shoulders up and down, as if trying to comfort you, but in honesty it rather comforts himself. “I don’t want you hurt. So you better stay home. Training.”

“Training only, nice. I will never fight real enemies if I am constantly kept hostage in Fatui training camp.”

“You’re just… so fragile. You know what I mean?”

“Uhuh. The Eleventh considers me a weakling. Nice discovery, if you weren't my boyfriend”, you free yourself from his grasp and go about the narrow long corridor of headquarters. “I thought you would trust in me and my power a tiny bit more.”

Ajax follows you immediately, his steps agile and steady as his hand gently takes yours.

“You may come with me next time. But tomorrow, I want you safe. Okay? And please… I’d never call you weak… Never.”

“Mm…” you gently caress his gloved hand with your thumb, almost failing to see him in the dim light, but feeling his erratic breath caused by quick talking.

Capitano

“I can’t let you do this, woman. You are acting immature. You have always been a bit naïve, but this is where you should start obeying me”, Capitano says with a harsh, yet genteel aura around him.

“And my love for you, Capitano, is also naïve?”

At that moment Capitano drops his expressionless, emotionless act and looks at you with horrified glint in his eyes. He wants to comfort you, to apologise for his words but realises that was once said cannot be taken back. Oh how he wishes he would hold his tongue for a little while longer!

“I didn't mean that, woman. You know that I would never-”

He shuts his eyes for a second, a storm of overwhelming thoughts crosses his mind over and over while you are standing before him, patiently waiting for an answer and expecting your husband to provide you with a proper one.

“You are weak… no not weak; you are frail. You need protection. And I want to protect you, but I may not be able to do it in Natlan. Not when I am wounded myself.”

“Oh, believe me, Capitano, I can and will protect myself. And you know what, big guy? I don't even need your permission to come with you anymore. You will accept me, because I am your wife, and I will be by your side. Especially, when you are wounded.”

Capitano raises his hand to caress your cheek with his knuckles, light-weight.

“You are going to get yourself in trouble, love.”

“I know my limits, and I can clearly see that my husband needs me, even though he won't ever admit it.”

The raven-haired tall gracious man with impeccably sharp aura around him speaks with emotion:

“But if you get hurt, I won’t ever be able to forgive myself.”

You stand on your tiptoes and cup his cheeks.

“Oh, Capitano, I will take care of myself just to spare you the trouble.”

Dottore

“You’re a dork, I don’t even have pity for your stupidity. You got this chemical burn deserved.”

“Said who? You’re the one treating it right now, Doctor”, you respond with a tiny smug smirk, watching how carefully and gently Dottore is working on your palm. The burn is not too big, but painful enough to prevent you from completing your tasks for today.

Dottore reveals his teeth, groaning at you, his self highly dissatisfied and frustrated. He smoothly applies a herbal-smelling ointment and covers your hand with tight bandages.

“I insist you staying home tomorrow. I will speak with Pierro and describe him the accident.”

“Surely you don't have to go to such lengths for me only, Dottore. You know, I could speak with the Jester myself.”

Dottore stabs the knife with which he had been cutting the bandages, into the desk.

“NO, he won’t even speak to you. He is very uneasy to find”, he lets out a long held sigh. “Besides, brat, I think I made it clear you need to rest at home.” He glares at you with his poisonous ruby eyes. “Primarily, in your bed.”

“If the doctor says so”, you shrug, too exhausted to argue and too grateful for his help to deny him of this small favour. “I do not mind staying in my bed for a little while.”

Once the treatment has come to an end, Dottore once again checks your hand; quickly, lightly, without a single unnecessary touch or glance. 

“Sorry for calling you a dork. I didn't mean it wholeheartedly”, he clears throat. “Though I still think your ass is highly careless.”

“I will work on it, hopefully my curiosity doesn't lead me to any other injuries”, you wave to him upon leaving the lab. “Can’t have my doctor worry too much.”

“Remember to look closer what you touch in my lab next time, silly creature.”

Dainsleif

“I think you’re forgetting how difficult it is to fight Abyss alone. I can’t believe you disobeyed me again and went seeking for abyssal hounds. This is infuriating, Y/N. I have never seen a woman act so stupidly and rashly before”, Dainsleif says roughly, through gritted teeth. His expression is grave and ominous.

“I feel strong desire to take your Vision away and lock you home until you learn to respect my rules.”

“Your ‘rules’?” You raise your eyebrow, looking at Dainsleif no less infuriated and frustrated than he is currently. “You think if you’re older than me, I have to act like your little puppet on strings who does everything that is ordered? Hell no, Dainsleif. We won’t have it this way.”

“FOOL!” He yells, his arm grabbing you tightly and pressing you against a wall. “You could have gotten yourself killed! You could have been hurt! You don’t know the thoughts running through my mind when I imagine you hurt; I want to burn the whole world for you.”

“Let me go, Dain. Please, this is uncalled for, you know that, right?” As you gently ask him Dainsleif slowly, but hesitantly releases your arm and takes a step back, closing his hands behind his back.

“I ask you once again to refrain from getting yourself harmed by the hand of Abyss.”

“Did you just call me a fool? I thought you were better than that.”

“For that ruthless language, I apologise. However I need your obedience when it comes to survival matters.”

Slowly, you walk over to look into Dainsleif’s eyes.

“I understand your tragedy wholeheartedly and I sincerely respect your wish to protect me, but you need to understand that my fighting skills are not low anymore, I can be efficient and agile.”

Dainsleif’s head hangs down, you see that he is contemplating something in the depth of his heart.

“I see”, his hand reaches out to you, even though he is not looking in your direction. Dainself intertwines his fingers with yours and speaks, much quieter and softer words:

“I’m sorry for calling you a fool. That was uncalled for”, his hand gives you a light but worried squeeze. “Just… be careful, Y/N.”

Alhaitham 

“You’re acting like a child. Your opinions are too dreamy, irrational and irrelevant”, Alhaitham speaks briefly as he opens his book and hides his sharp gaze somewhere in the middle of the paragraphs.

Having acknowledged his disregard to you with pain in your heart you throw your arms around and ask him with bright feeling which is contradicting his own manner of speaking.

“Speak about irrelevance! You are the embodiment of irrationality yourself, for guilting me into thinking that you actually care for me.”

Alhaitham stays still for a moment but a tense squeeze he gives the book in his fingers raises even more contradictory emotions between you. 

“I knew you are a difficult person to get intimately acquainted with, but your actions proved that you had at least a bit of attraction towards me. If not, then your choice of words and manner of speaking to personally me was too extreme. If not, and you are dreaded by the mere thought of me being intimately honest with you, spit it out. I don’t want you to play the romance where it no really belongs. I don’t want you to like me out of pity.”

“But I don’t”, Alhaitham finally closes the book and removes from his seat. “Your opinions and decisions make me question whether or not we are compatible enough.”

“That is because you are thinking too rationally.”

“And you are thinking too irrationally.”

“You were the one to touch my hand and hug me in a very personal way. And if I am not mistaken, you are the man who never touches anyone and is dreaded by a mere thought of being pulled out from your serenity.”

Alhaitham then shivers slightly, his body mannerisms betraying distress and frustration that is not by a long shot defined in his eyes. 

“I’m sorry for calling you these words. These are bad words, I should not be disrespecting you so”, he looks away, giving his lip a strong bite whereas finally giving you a relief: “I always thought and I still think that you are a perfect companion for me, but our opinions are very unlike.”

“So you think two people cannot get accustomed to living with each other if they have different choice of words or thinking! Alhaitham, this is laughable.”

“The only laughable thing right now is that I desperately want to hug you”, without further hesitation he pulls you into his arms, an embrace filled with warmth and dedication, while his fingers gently stroke your back. “I apologise, my love.”

Baizhu

“You are being too nosy and impatient, sweetheart. I asked you to not ask me specifics of my contracts and yet here you are - interrogating me like some sort of criminal. I am feeling pressured and most frustrated!” He throws his arms around. “Darling, if you could give me some space, I would finish what I started with no further delay.”

“Am I violating your space by simply caring for your well-being? Baizhu, your contract has gone way too far; your help to people robs you of your own happiness, can you not see it?”

“I will be most contented if you simply leave me to finish my work. I would be happy if you simply encouraged me, but I’d be even more grateful if you stopped asking me so many questions.”

You know perfectly well what it’s like to sacrifice yourself for other people’s sake however you could not any longer bear seeing your love life being disrupted by Baizhu constantly feeling sick and suffering. You want nothing more than him to feel safe, secure and well, but instead this curious pharmacist only risks more and more his life in exchange of knowledge and improvement.

Though, Baizhu did recognise your words as a simple statement of care, he only admitted it in a few days. While you were helping him sort his things out in the pharmacy, Baizhu dropped his formal act and gently touched your hand.

“Darling?”

You stopped sorting at once when you heard what he declared:

“I’m sorry, I was so rude to you speaking about my health.”

You turn to face him and notice the sincerest apology in his snake eyes.

“I just wish you’d understand that my worry for you is not intended to make you uncomfortable or distressed.”

“I do understand it now. I will try my best to not bring you suffering from seeing me suffer. I cannot reject what I had started, but I will seek ways to heal both me and you from this torture.”

The gentle confession ends with Baizhu rubbing his thumb against the top of your hand. 

[jaeyunverse]

chapstick challenge

pairing: lee heeseung x fem!reader

genres: fluff, suggestive

wc: 1163

warnings: making out

summary: the chapstick challenge is just an excuse for you to get heeseung to kiss you. thankfully, he’s more than happy to oblige.

note: i don’t have the motivation to write but i didn’t wanna let the blog die either so here’s another repost :)

masterlist

“Heeseung!” you popped cheerfully and poked his cheek with your pencil. “Can I ask you something?”

The boy looked at you suspiciously. “What do you want?”

“Do I always have to want something from you?” you asked, your bottom lip jutting out in a pout.

“You’re being weirdly nice and unnecessarily upbeat at 8:30 in the morning so—” he shrugged— “yes.”

“Okay, yeah, I do want something,” you deadpanned, dropping your charade immediately. Heeseung rolled his eyes and you shoved his shoulder playfully in response. “But you have to promise you won’t say no.”

“No.”

“Boo!” you complained. “You’re such a party pooper!”

Refraining the urge to roll his eyes again, Heeseung reminded you, “The last time you made me promise to not say no, we ended up in the goddamn police station.”

“That’s on you for running too slow.”

“You forgot to pick up the bag with the fucking spray paints, Y/N!” he exclaimed incredulously. “They’re expensive!”

“I didn’t mind ditching the bag if it meant our parents remained uninformed about what happened that night!”

Letting out a long sigh of exasperation, Heeseung said, “Just tell me. The free period will be over soon.”

“Okay,” you declared and dragged your chair closer to his desk. Gesturing for him to come closer, you whispered in his ear, “It’s a TikTok challenge.”

The disappointment on Heeseung’s face could not have been more evident. “I thought you had something interesting to tell me. This was so lame.”

“C’mon!” you urged. “I swear it’ll be fun!”

“You know I’m not into TikTok.”

“Are you opposed to the idea of kissing me too?”

“Oh.” His demeanour changed immediately and he leaned towards you with a curious expression on his face. “Tell me more.”

“You’re such a dork,” you teased.

“I’m down for anything that involves kissing you,” he admitted shamelessly and shrugged. “Maybe this will finally persuade you to be my girlfriend. What’s the challenge?”

You snorted. You and Heeseung were definitely more than friends, but you weren’t exactly dating either. He wanted the two of you to be together, but you weren’t inclined to get involved with him—he was moving to another country for college in a few months.

It was already hard for you to come to terms with the fact as a friend. You weren’t sure you’d be able to cope if you began dating him.

Heeseung tried to convince you that you could make a long-distance relationship work, but you knew better than that. It wasn’t realistic—the timezones weren’t compatible at all and you were both way too career oriented to be able to commit to someone who lived on the other side of the world.

So, you just flirted with each other without ever putting a label on whatever you were. A few platonic makeout sessions here and there, a few not-a-real-date dates to make memories, but never girlfriend and boyfriend.

“I apply a bunch of different chapstick flavours and you try to guess them.”

Heeseung grinned mischievously. “Oh, I love what you have in mind.”

“Meet me at our usual spot during lunch break?” you asked, your lips mirroring his contagious smile.

“Can’t wait.”

“Will we be recording the challenge?”

You raised an eyebrow and looked at Heeseung over your shoulder. Tightening your grip on his hand as you tugged him along faster, you said, “I wasn’t planning to. Do you want to?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “I’ll just get self-conscious.”

You laughed. “Are you saying you’re camera shy?”

“I’m saying I would rather focus on the challenge!” he exclaimed, the tips of his ears turning red with embarrassment.

“Relax.” You chucked and let go of his hand. “I’m just messing with you. We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”

Fetching an eye mask from the pocket of your hoodie, you handed it to Heeseung and told him to put it on. He did, and you uncapped the first chapstick.

After putting it on, you grabbed his tie and pulled him closer. His arm immediately wrapped around your waist, his hand finding its way to your jaw and cupping it gently.

Then, his mouth was on yours. You were a little surprised by how easily he was handling you even though he couldn’t see anything. It made you realise just how well he knew you—how much you’d gotten used to being with each other.

Heeseung tilted his head to the side for better access and ran his tongue over your bottom lip, sucking on it to get a better taste of the flavour you had applied.

“Strawberry,” he guessed without bothering to break the kiss.

You hummed. “You’re good at this.”

He smiled against your mouth and kissed the corner of your lip before pulling away. Removing the eye mask, he asked, “At guessing flavours or at making out?”

“Guessing flavours,” you said with a smirk and slung your arms around his neck. “I’m gonna need to conduct more experiments to reach a conclusion on that regard.”

“Oh, yeah?” he teased, running his thumb up and down the curve of your waist. “Go ahead and apply a second flavour then.”

You did, and this time, Heeseung wasn’t sweet nor gentle. He pretty much had you pinned against the wall, your fingers weaving through his hair and tugging at the strands.

The kiss was deeper and messier, as if the boy couldn’t get enough of you. Could never get enough of you.

His tongue forced its way into your mouth and you knew he wasn’t holding back anymore. He nibbled on your bottom lip, sucking and licking till you lost sense of everything else but him.

Out of breath, you broke the kiss, but Heeseung, it seemed, was nowhere near done. He placed his lips on your neck, allowing you to get some much needed oxygen into your system.

“That’s not where the chapstick is,” you whispered. You wanted his mouth back on yours. Now.

“Chocolate,” he muttered, sucking hard on the underside of your jaw. You hissed in both pleasure and pain. “It’s chocolate.”

Panting, he detached his lips from your skin and leaned against the wall next to you. You glanced at him and noticed that his tie had come loose.

Not only that, but part of his shirt had also somehow untucked itself and his hair was sticking in all directions. What you loved the most about his dishevelled appearance, though, were his swollen lips.

“Bingo,” you confirmed, resisting the urge to pull him against you again. “It was chocolate.”

Heeseung smirked. “Do I get a reward for passing the challenge?”

You didn’t answer immediately, instead fixing your uniform and hair. He watched you intently with dark eyes.

On your way out of the alley between the two secluded buildings at the back of your school, you said, “Why don’t you meet me back here after class and find out?”

The mischievous glint in Heeseung’s eyes was all the answer you needed.

[houserautha]

Truth Be Told

Summary: When you ask your dagger a question, it vibrates to communicate yes. And Feyd has a lot of questions.

Pairings: Feyd-Rautha x F!Reader

Word Count: 2.1k

Warnings: MDNI, dubious consent, dirty talk, inappropriate use of a dagger, male and female orgasms, some blood

A/N: I recently read “Bound to the Shadow Prince” by Ruby Dixon. (Great smutty monster romance novel). I was anticipating a scene with a magical dagger that never happened so I decided to write it with Feyd🥰

Does he want to kill me?

Shiver.

Will he kill me?

Nothing.

The dagger, grasped in your sweaty palm, doesn’t respond. This hardly does anything to calm your nerves. Remembering that it’s specific about phrasing, you ask, Will he kill me before the day is over?

Your breath hitches in anticipation.

Nothing.

Okay, so your betrothed wants to kill you, but at least he won’t today. As long as you ask every day, surely you could survive this courtship — or know when to make a run for it. You thought your sister was a fool when she gifted you this dagger. Technology, magic, whatever powered it, was strictly prohibited. But upon her insistence you took it with you to Giedi Prime and now you’re grateful that you did.

It’s a modicum of comfort in such a harsh place.

Your thoughts of home are interrupted by the sound of footsteps coming from the opposite direction. You’ve only just slipped the dagger down the front of your corset when none other than Feyd-Rautha turns the corner.

He doesn’t look surprised to see you, as if he somehow arranged for this to happen; you, on the other hand, had been trying to avoid him. A series of scenarios play through your head in which you walk past him, all of them ending rather tragically. Instead, you stay rooted to the spot.

Feyd-Rautha sidles casually down the hall, boots ringing out with each step. You hate how furiously your heart pounds when he’s near. It would be one thing if you were just afraid of him. He certainly warranted such a reaction. But there was a small, traitorous part of you that was thrilled to be in his presence, ensnared in his dark gaze. He had a habit of looking at you as if you were the only one in the room, the center of his attention — a dangerous thing to be, indeed.

And you liked it.

“You look frightened,” Feyd-Rautha rasps. His voice glides down your back like cold water.

You lift your chin. “You’re mistaking fear for distrust.”

“Distrust, of me?”

“What are you doing?” You ask, ignoring him. It takes tremendous effort not to roll your eyes at his feigned offense. “I thought you were entertaining diplomats.”

Feyd-Rautha rolls his tongue inside his cheek. “I was.”

There’s something about his blunt, uninformative reply that ignites an ember of anger inside you. “And now you’re here to pester me.”

“Is that right?”

“What else?” You snap.

Feyd-Rautha steps closer. He eclipses the rest of the corridor, a portrait of dark and light, pale skin and armor as black as night. His voice rumbles like thunder over you. “You’ve been avoiding me.”

“No, I haven’t.”

“Hm. Is that why you’ve been darting out of every room I walk into? Freeze when you see me?” Feyd-Rautha’s gaze slips over you in a pointed manner. Your cheeks burn.

“What does it matter to you if I do?”

“Cowardice is unbecoming of you.”

“And pride is unbecoming of you,” you hiss back, “to think I care about you enough to leave whenever I notice you.”

In a surge of movement, faster than you can even process, Feyd-Rautha has cornered you against the wall, forearm pressed to your throat. Panic swells in your chest. Is he trying to scare me?

Between your breasts, the dagger shivers.

Reflexively, without thinking, your hand flutters there. Feyd-Rautha hones in on this, is close enough to you to probably sense the displacement of air. His eyes narrow. Within the span of a few thunderous heartbeats he reaches down your corset, and you cry out as he dips between your breasts and retrieves the dagger.

“What is this?”

“It’s nothing,” you tell him.

“A weapon?” He appraises it, then you. “You think you can hide this from me?”

In his hand the dagger shivers.

You curse out loud.

“Where did you get this?” Feyd-Rautha demands. The blade of the dagger replaces his forearm at your throat.

“It’s mine,” you growl, “give it back.”

The next time you correspond with your sister, you’re going to yell at her for not telling you it responds to other people.

“Where. Did. You. Get. This.”

You hold your tongue. A snarl tears through his chest and he leans his weight into the dagger, drawing blood, warm and thick. It slides down your throat and pools into the divot at the bottom. You keep your silence even though pain explodes at the site of the incision, white hot and searing.

“You wish to disavow the laws of our Emperor by bringing this onto my planet? Into my home?”

Shiver.

An inkling of anger vanishes from his face, something much worse taking its place. The intensity of the blade lessens. “It’s aware. How? What technology is this?”

“I-I don’t know,” you say finally. Your fingers itch at your side — you just want it back. “All I know is that it will answer yes or no to your questions.”

Feyd-Rautha considers this.

You wrap your hand around Feyd-Rautha’s, the one holding the dagger, to prove your point. “I have three eyes.” Nothing. “I’m wearing an emerald dress.” It shivers. The vibration shoots up your arm, and it’s only then that you realize that you’re still touching him.

A flicker of amusement dances in his expression as you quickly remove your hand.

“Interesting,” Feyd-Rautha mumbles.

“Now that you know, I’d like it back.”

A ripple of tension rolls between you, a storm on the horizon. In way of reply, Feyd-Rautha drags the tip of the dagger down the column of your throat, fixated on its progress.

It steals the air from your lungs. “Please.”

“I don’t think so,” Feyd-Rautha distantly says, as if lost in thought. The dagger slips over the swell of your breasts and rests on the edge of your corset, prompting shivers to break out across your skin. All it takes is a single slice for him to cut through the material.

Without the support, your breasts fall free. And while you’re still covered by the lightweight chemise underneath, your hardened nipples betray your arousal. Feyd-Rautha traces around each one with the blade, then flicks them.

“My suspicions about your true feelings are quite evident,” he says, slow and unhurried, “though I would be loathe not to confirm them myself.”

His dark eyes lock on yours. “Does she think of me?”

Shiver. The blade, pressed to one taut nipple, sends a pulse straight to your core. You squirm, trying to evade him — his touch, his questions — but he keeps you securely in place. “Often?” He asks, to which the blade shudders again.

“Please, stop —”

“Oh, but I’ve only just started.”

The coolness of the dagger cuts through the thin material of the chemise. It’s almost painful how aroused you are, every inch of your body alive, aware, buzzing with anticipation. Feyd-Rautha leans in closer. “Does she think of me when she’s touching herself?”

Shiver.

You grit out between clenched teeth, “That’s enough.”

Torturously, Feyd-Rautha offers no amount of relief. A torrent of questions follow. Does she touch herself every night? Does she say my name? Does she dream about what it might be like for me to fuck her?

Each time the blade betrays you, shuddering over and over again in quick succession. The sensation on your nipple is overwhelming, crashing into you with unexpected ferocity. It’s not only the nature of his questions that elicit such response, but the sharpness of the blade, his hips ground into yours and the presence of his cock against your thigh.

Hazily, you wonder if he’s enjoying this because he’s twisted or because he’s aroused by you too. There’s no way of knowing if the blade validates this line of thought, not with the steady stream of questions that Feyd-Rautha is whispering, a man possessed. Is she wet right now, just at my touch? At the sight of me? If I reach between her legs, will I find her cunt aching for my fingers?

You whimper. Whatever tether there is between your nipples and your cunt, it’s been pulled tight. He’s right and you hate it. You are wet, uncomfortably so, desperate for friction. And you aren’t able to disguise your delight when he takes the blade down your navel, free hand gathering your skirts and pushing them aside to expose you to him. His plush lips form a wicked smile.

“So wet, just for me,” Feyd-Rautha rasps. He palms himself through his pants, admiring you all the while. You writhe impatiently.

“You can’t wait, can you?” The blade shivers. A wave of ecstasy sweeps over you as he touches it to the inside of your thigh.

You all but thrust your hips into him, a wanton, greedy thing. Mercifully, Feyd-Rautha grazes the blade to your weeping cunt and then outlines your entrance, more gentle than any man with his reputation should allow. But he finds love in this, does he not? The delicate control that he wields, the certainty of a weapon in his hands. You sense this from him the same way someone can look at a piece of art and know the care the artist put into each brushstroke.

And this realization only entices you more to him, makes the handle of the dagger pressed against your swollen clit that much sweeter.

“You like this, don’t you? You want this. Want my cock, want anything I can give you.”

Shiver after shiver. The blade vibrates over your clit and a cry of pleasure escapes, swallowed by Feyd-Rautha clamping a hand over your mouth. You blink back tears as you silently plead him to continue, the pressure of the blade and the shuddering of your truths, come to light, nearly enough to send you to your knees.

Hatred wrestles with your desperation as Feyd-Rautha breathes more questions into the junction of your neck, like whispering prayers. You’ll take this cock so nicely, won’t you? Won’t you, jewel?

You come at the image of his cock inside you. It’s not hard to imagine, with it currently burying into your thigh. Feyd-Rautha keeps you upright as you buckle under the euphoria of your orgasm, strong and steady in the storm of the aftermath. And you don’t even get to completely descend from the high, either, as he nudges the handle of the blade between your slick folds and into your cunt.

“I’ve almost sated my curiosity,” Feyd-Rautha rasps, “but I have a few more questions for you. Do you think you can handle that?”

The dagger is small, not quite filling you up, but as it quakes in agreement the ridges of it bump against your walls and you jolt. “Don’t make me cover that pretty mouth again.” Feyd-Rautha places a trail of kisses — bites, really, sure to leave bruises — up your neck. He laps up the blood from before, and licks over the incision. “Are you ready, jewel?”

You don’t have to speak. The blade shivers.

His chuckle, dark and dangerous and wonderful, resonates deep inside. You think you’re prepared for the next round of questions, prepared for the splitting answer of your orgasm, but you’re sorely mistaken. Feyd-Rautha pumps the blade into you up to its hilt and then out, over and over, all while eking out questions that keep it shuddering at a toe-curling pace.

But it’s not just my cock that you want, is it? You want my mouth, don’t you? My fingers? Fuck, look at you, you’ll take whatever you can have in your greedy cunt, won’t you? And you’ll call out my name as you come? ‘Cause you’re such a good girl. So good, just for me?

You were already near the ledge but you’ve toppled back over it now. “Feyd,” you gasp out.

Pleasure cleaves you in two and your orgasm tears from you, more colorful and blinding than any you’ve ever had. Stars dance behind your closed eyes. Feyd-Rautha holds the quivering blade at your most sensitive spot as he wrings out your orgasm, murmuring praises, cock twitching against your leg. There’s a warmth there, not from you, but from his own release — and when you finally have the clarity to open your eyes, to face what just happened, you discover that he doesn’t seemed ashamed of this in the least.

Feyd-Rautha just withdraws the dagger from you. He lets your skirts, now wrinkled, drop to the ground. And he holds your gaze as he first sucks your juices from the handle, then licks your blood from the blade. His tongue is long, sinful, and you visually chase it back into his mouth where it disappears behind a satisfied smirk.

“I believe this is yours.”

[trevination]

sink to black from blue (a marlie drabble)

(for those sadly uninformed, marlie is micah foster/charlie torres-moore aka trevor & josh’s greaser characters who are basically our ocs <3) (just scroll the #marlie tag on my blog lmao

inspired by this post! canon universe, post-rumble! shout out to @elisadoreyou & @wassupmygays creating these guys with u have been so fun omg

Micah winced at the alcohol sting. The cut on his temple was nasty, probably could use a stitch or two. The thought was almost funny ‘cause he sure as hell didn’t have enough money to afford stitches. It’d leave a tough scar. Good.

“I said I’m fine, okay? This ain’t my first rumble,”

Charlie’s face was pinched tight, lips pressed in a thin line. He was kneeled in front of the toilet, where Micah was leaned over himself. One hand on Micah’s knee with his thumb rubbing back and forth.

He hissed at the next sting. It did nothing for his bitch of a headache.

The rumble did a number on him, he’ll admit it. He could hold his own fine — more than fine. And he did— but those football Socs could throw a hard punch. It made something rough boil in the pit of his stomach.

“Don’t care. You shouldn’t go out getting all hurt like this.”

It felt like a stab to his pride. He’s been doing this for seventeen years— yearly eighteen. He can handle himself. He don’t need taking care for.

“I fight, Charlie, that’s what I’ve always fucking done. I don’t need a babysitter,” He bit it out in quick barks. Everything felt red and hot.

“That’s not—”

“I’ve done this a million times alone—” He tried to swat the bottle out of Charlie‘s hand, but Charlie pulled away quick. It just made him madder. “And I don’t need someone to fucking lick my wounds for me.”

“That‘s not what I’m trying to do!” Charlie snapped back. Blood rushed in Micah’s ears. He could feel the anger on face through heat and the strain on his scraps. It burned

“It fucking feels like it,”

“I’m trying to help, okay?”

Micah couldn’t even process the sweep of desperation in Charlie’s tone before the dam burst.

“I don’t need help, damn it!” He was too loud, he was gonna wake the kids up. Fuck. “I’ve been out in Tulsa my whole damn life, and y'know who looked out for me? No one. I sure as hell don’t need someone to act like I’m some baby! You weren’t out there fighting with me so you can fuck off trying to help now!”

He knew he didn’t mean the words as soon as he said ‘em. Charlie didn’t need to fight in that rumble. He didn’t think he wanted him to. That night was ‘bout the bloodiest night that he’d seen in a long time. He gets why. Ponyboy and Johnny Cade’s face are still circling the papers every morning, calling for their arrests. Those Socs aren’t letting ‘em go for nothing.

He didn’t want Charlie caught up in that at all.

The blood in his ears and pounding in his head was so loud, Charlie had to squeeze his knees for Micah to realize he’d been talking.

His jaw was set hard and his eyes were so damn sure. But trying to get through a brick wall with words did nothing. Something inside of Micah ached. Was that all he was now?

“I ain’t a fighter, Micah,”

He swallowed hard. He hadn’t met what he said. “I don’t need you to be one, Char. You just—”

“No, look, I— I don’t get this fighting stuff. I wasn’t raised with it, I’ve never fought a fight like— like that shit in my life, okay? That’s not ever in the cards. I’m useless right now and seeing you all beat and bruised makes me feel sick or somethin’. I gotta…” He swallowed thickly and the frustration on his face broke into something raw. His breath trembled. “I gotta do something to help. I can’t fight and I care about you so—”

They both paused at the confession. Charlie’s brown eyes were wide and Micah was sure his were too.

What’s been going on between ‘em hasn’t necessarily been left unaddressed, but it’s been left unspoken. They both know. It’s obvious as hell to the both of ‘em. It hasn’t been spoken not because of fear, but survival.

“I know,” Micah whispered, almost a croak. Hope sparked to life in Charlie’s eyes. “I do, too, I…”

He didn’t know what else to say. He didn’t know what he could say without crossing some unspoken line.

Micah has only focused on the important things— his family and their survival. That’s the whole point of his fighting, his work, his life. He’s never wanted. Not like this. Not in such a selfish, indulgent way that feels like something stabbing through his heart.

Nothing else could be said from him.

Charlie smiled tentatively. There was something fragile in the air.

“Just let me do this.” He whispered. “For me. Seeing you like this all alone makes my heart feel like it was in that rumble, too.”

Charlie’s eyes practically pleaded with his resolve. He wanted to shut the door in his face and gasp through the pain and slip into bed next to his siblings and pretend like nothing hurt until he couldn’t anymore. He was used to being alone. What was one more night?

But another part, something so deeply pushed down, he barely even knew it was there— longed. For Charlie’s smile, his touch and soft hands on his face, his lips on his head, whispered words only the two of them knew. It was a terrible part of him but Charlie didn’t care.

So. Against all his seventeen years of fighting, Micah let his wall break down and he nodded.

“Thank you,” He croaked. He wasn’t going to cry, but the emotion was there all the same.

Charlie’s smile was gentle, so sure, so caring. He could tell Micah all the world would be fine and he’d believe him. He picked the bottle of alcohol up off the floor and raised a hand to Micah’s cheek.

His palm was soft. It just grazed against his face, but for once, Micah let himself lean into the touch until Charlie’s hand cupped his cheek. Charlie rubbed a thumb over his cheekbone. His dark eyes reflected the bathroom lights.

God, Charlie could break open Micah’s every defense and he doesn’t even know if he could put up a good fight.

“Thank you,” Charlie whispered back into Micah’s eyes. His lips parted— and he picked up the wash rag.

[sawyerconfort]

hello!! I was wondering if u could do a Madison Montgomery x fem!reader with prompts 45 and 47? Basically Madison is jealous that reader has been spending a lot of time with Zoe and it really hurts Madison because she’s never been in a secure relationship before.

MADISON!!!!!

Well, let's do it then!

By the way, this is a good example of a request to say that it's okay if the dialogue you requested for has already been released here. I don't mind writing repeated plots, I find it even more fun to show the divergences from one character to another.

So feel free to ask.

You can check out my list of prompts here!

Enjoy!

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

45. "who's jealous?" 47. you're so jealous." | madison montgomery x reader

Madison was about to collapse. You were much more aware of the words and beauty of the new girl, Zoe Benson, than you were of her. Basically, Madison knew she had a crush on you the first time she was at the Academy, but it's not like she could handle that information properly.

It wasn't like her, being in love with someone for real, cultivating feelings and projecting her ideals for the future. She was always a bad girl, a preppy, lonely girl who didn't need anyone. Then you just showed up, both feet in the door, and ended it all.

And now, all you had eyes for was Zoe Benson.

She hadn't expected to have to bring this up so soon with anyone, not even Cordelia, who was the headmistress and had too kind a heart to understand her girls. But when you walked into the room you shared with a grin from ear to ear, Madison let out a huff of air.

"What is it?" you asked, frowning. "What bug bit you this time?"

"It's nothing," she assured, in a deep voice. "And you, what are you doing here at this hour? I thought you were still holed up in the room with Zoe."

You looked at her and cocked your head to the side in confusion.

"Does that bother you?"

"No. Why should I care? It's your life, isn't it? Why should I care about something you do when I have nothing to do with it? What nonsense!"

You had to contain your crooked smile.

"Zoe's with Kyle," you explained. "They're going to be together all night now and I don't feel like hearing moaning across the room."

Madison nodded, lifting her small mirror to apply red lipstick to her lips, clearly ignoring you. You were still smiling, looking at her in disbelief, when it dawned on you and things became clear.

"Damn, you're so jealous…", you told her, laughing. "Damn it, Madison, I can't believe it! Are you jealous of me?"

"Who's jealous?", she asked, in the most uninformed tone possible, showing off her good acting. Or almost good. "Are you crazy, (Y\N)?"

You shrugged. "I'm pretty sure not. You're jealous of me because I'm spending more time with Zoe than you and apparently there's something about it that makes you cross, isn't it?"

Madison turned to you, lipstick halfway across her mouth, paler than if she'd powdered her face.

"You're totally out of your mind," she rolled her eyes.

"No gaslighting, please…", you laughed and sat down behind her, leaning your back against her back so as not to disturb her. "You can admit that you're jealous of me, okay? It doesn't make you any less strong, in fact, it makes you even cuter, if that's possible. And what's more, you know we're best friends and that, if there's anything else going on between us, I would never leave you for someone else, Madison. I've told you that many times, haven't I?"

She looked shocked.

"That's it. You're scared to admit that you love me and that you felt jealous because there was never someone who took it easy, or there was someone who let you be free to be and do whatever you want. That's it."

Madison was still looking at you, now from the corner, from the distance you were, when you simply turned and gave her a peck on the lips, catching her by surprise.

"That's enough being a queen bee with me, okay? It doesn't work anymore," you whispered as you walked away. "And you know what? You're so much prettier than Zoe Benson. Does that make you happier?"

Madison saw you get out of bed and saw you leave the room, but she was so caught up in her thoughts that she just didn't even notice you were away and said, out loud:

"You mean you have feelings for me too?"

You chuckled down the hall and used your powers to conjure a pen and paper. You wrote: "Why? Do you have feelings for me?" and threw it to the door, simply. "Cute!" she heard you yell, even louder, as you walked out of the hallway, and she rolled her eyes.

This was sure to be a topic for weeks to come...

[villain-in-love]

that christmas ask game is so cute … 🍪🌟🕯️ for kiera&thistle 🤍🤍

- @strawberryona

Okay, let's take my happy end AU for these answers, because it's the only way to give proper answers to the Christmas questions. Since I highly doubt that Kiera or Thistle celebrated any holidays while in the dungeon – these two probably even forgot about their own birthdays.

🍪: What's your F/O's favourite Christmas dessert?

Gods, help me... This is quite a tough question for the character with the most uninformative character profile, because he just. doesn't have any preferences. Most characters have their favourite and least favourite foods listed, but Thistle just has "nothing in particular" written in both graphs.

Okay, assuming Kiera presses him to choose his favourite dessert during the winter holidays feast... (Holiday feast that is at Laios's place. Which is the caste. Because he's now the king of Melini, and Thistle and Kiera refuse to leave, so he's now stuck with them as the part of the court. Well, not that he really minds it – these two are weird, but very helpful.)

Hmmm, to me, Thistle seems like someone who would like sweet things, and would rarely complain about something being "too sweet". Maybe he would like something that is not too heavy, perhaps with some kind of fruit filling... You know, I think he might have liked the finnish Joulutorttu - a flaky pastry with jam in it. And perhaps those soft gingerbread cookies covered with chocolate as well.

Meanwhile Kiera is taking at least one portion of every dessert she can get her hands on, but especially the chocolate ones. I think she would have liked the Yule log cake, and would certainly help Thistle in emptying that plate with chocolate gingerbread cookies.

🌟: What Christmas symbols do you think represent your S/I and your F/O? (Like snowflakes, elves, reindeer, snowman, candy cane, etc.)

I imagined Kiera and Thistle dressed as Santa's elves and now I'm dying. They would both hate it.

I think I would associate Thistle with the holly tree. Initially, just because I made an association between its pointy leaves and actual thistle flowers. And, certainly, Thistle has a rather prickly personality. Then I looked a bit into symbolism, and got hit with the fact that, when it comes to the Christmas symbols, the pointed leaves symbolize the crown of thorns of the Christ, and red berries - his blood that was spilled for humanity's salvation... And. Well. I guess??? The topic of salvation and sacrifices is certainly here...

Additionally, among other things, holly trees were also associated with immortality and used as a charm for protection, which also fits.

Kiera's symbol is a bit simpler - I think that the star suits her. On a purely aesthetical level, it reminds me of her golden eyes. Further on, I think that an actual star - a giant celestial body that burns so bright you can see it from milliards of kilometres away - fits with Kiera as a bright person full of power and energy, whose reputation precedes her. And like a star, she will keep on shining and burning for centuries.

🕯️: What is your F/O's favourite seasonal scent? (For things like candles, soaps, etc.)

Once again, this guy doesn't have a favourite anything. He probably never even thought about having specific favourite scents. He, frankly, doesn't care.

But once again, if he absolutely had to choose... (Kiera is holding him at the gunpoint) I think that Thistle might enjoy the smell of pine trees in combination with the crisp winter air. Also a smell of fresh baking with a specific blend of spices makes him feel nostalgic.

He would refuse to buy any scented soaps or candles like this, claiming that those suck compared to the real thing, which is impossible to replicate.

[thetangibleghost]

sorry still thinking about this

quote from long, largely irrelevant, article that uses the above interview as a ref + the question it's referencing:

so his son seemed to be okay with it at least? I don't know what their exact relationship was but I know they worked together a little. his absence of stating Nemoys opinion probably means they never talked about it, he disagrees with his father's opinion because he thinks it was uninformed, he doesnt respect his father's opinion, or he just didn't really think about it because of his own personal view of death centers around the living. which is fair.

Nimoy never spoke publicly about it all from what I can find.if he did its buried somewhere in a format that I couldnt find in the like. 20 minute googling sesh lol.

I know he was really money oriented when it came to his likeness being used, like as long as he was getting fairly compensated and it didn't imply that he personally endorsed something? but also I get/got the sense (it's been forever since I deep dived into this stuff) that he didn't have much control anyways. and what he had was more of a comprise. So who really knows what he would've wanted if he did have complete control. The fact that he didn't for so long, and what the fandom became, with fanworks , his co-workers opinions. I'm sure all of this would have influenced not only his personal opinion but also his public one.

There's this idea around death that a lot of people have that the deads wishes are largely irrelevant to the conversation, that they can't wish for anything at all. you respect their wishes and values so far as their influence and that's all. I think most people think this way.

but I guess I've never really thought like that. maybe cause I'm a bit of a death obsessed emo. I'm not going to go into detail about what I think but I do think it matters, what Nimoy would've wanted.

it's not the end of the world or anything. theres worse things. this is either part of some greater plan for the TOS continuation as a hole, or some sort of effort to get people hyped.

I think I need to look more into 876854 and stuff I guess. there's doesn't seem to be a ton of info? it's definitely super high budget. or using a crazy about of slave labor. or both. which is sooooooooo cool. so it's interesting how like. low key its being kept almost? maybe I'm just out of the loop and jumping to conclusions.

basically. there's no way of knowing. but the vibes make me feel like someone knows.

and really star trek is so big now, esp since it got bought by Disney the movies and the shows are completely different projects with different directions and ideas.

[goldenfreddys]

september '04, plymouth county, massachussetts: the first in a series of fatal mistakes.

The office was a stuffy, boxed-in room with big, heavy doors. Loose wires trailed across the floors, stringing here and there from dusty CRT monitors and flickering light fixtures. Jeremy rolled the chair back from the paper-strewn desk and stood up. He was fairly certain this wasn't the right place.

In the left hall, he could see a young girl quietly reciting something to herself as she walked away. He stumbled out of the office to follow her.

Though she didn’t turn to face him, she did slow for a moment to allow him to trail closer behind her. Her hair was in a tight braid, though it seemed by the various flyaways that whoever did it had only halfway figured out how to style the girl’s coily hair. He recognized this instinctually as his mother’s handiwork.

Charlotte continued reciting the same handful of letters to herself, now louder, as she led him to the dining hall.

“E. T. H. E…”

There was a metallic clunk behind the purple velvet curtain that curved out from the wall. Jeremy fixed his eyes on his sister’s back and followed closer behind her. Her pace became more urgent.

“...M. S. A. V. E....”

The stage was empty. The tables were empty. There was no sound but Charlotte, her footsteps and her letters. There was a door by the side of the stage, slightly ajar. Warm light spilled out with the sound of children laughing.

“T. H. E… M.”

She began to run. The door snapped shut.

“You can’t.” a low voice plainly stated.

Jeremy flinched awake, blearily glancing around the room until his eyes settled on the figure in front of him.

“Oh, shit.” He murmured, wiping some drool from his face with his sleeve.

The man in front of him drew back for a second, then cocked his head and leaned back in, “You’re alive?”

It was difficult to decipher if he was angry, bewildered or both. After taking a negligible gander at the man’s face, Jeremy averted his eyes to the name tag: MIKE S.

“I- I uh, I’m… Sorry?”

“You’re sorry for being alive?”

“Well, yes, but that’s- I don’t know if we should go into that one, uh, yet. I mean I’m sorry for,” Jeremy pointed at the desk, “... Falling asleep.”

“You’re not dead. Are you injured?”

“I was- was uh, I was just tired, I think. We just moved, and-and uh, unpacking and stuff. It’s been… Tiring. It uh… Won’t happen again?”

Mike let out a sharp sigh, dropping his shoulders and letting his head fall back as if he was a deflating balloon animal, “Okay, okay. Alright, sure… Right.”

Jeremy stretched, wincing as his back cracked far too audibly for someone his age. Time. He looked at his bare wrist, then started patting his pockets down for his watch- crumpled fiver in case nobody came to pick him up, wallet, keys and last night’s Taco Bell receipt.

“It’s quarter after.” Mike deadpanned.

He always thought that was the worst way to state time; quarter after, half past and such. It seemed convoluted and, worst of all, uninformative.

“Quarter after what?”

“Six o’clock, smartass. That’s AM.” Mike groaned, “Listen, kid. You work tomorrow night? I’ll come in and show you the ropes.”

Jeremy nodded, “I’ll um, go clock out.”

He wordlessly gathered his things and followed Mike out of the office. The residual adrenaline of the nightmare was beginning to taper away into a mundane, ambient sense of dread. The layout of the building was completely different than he'd expected; it was as though someone ran out of money part way through building a maze and had to turn it into a pizzeria instead. One thing he noticed in particular was the sparing use of doors, something he vaguely recalled being referred to as a “modern” design choice by the hiring manager.

Mike stopped abruptly at the end of the hall, “Nothing happened?”

“Not… Really?”

“Sounds pretty fuckin’ miraculous to me. Especially since Chucky never remembers to lock up her shit.”

Mike slowly approached the parts and service door and nudged it open with his foot. After a moment, he reached inside and flicked on the light.

From over his shoulder, Jeremy could see a few animatronics slumped on the floor, though they were evidently worse for wear.

“Everyone’s accounted for… Alright. ” Mike flicked the light off, shut the door and quickly locked it.

The two continued towards the main room, then through another few hallways and corners until they reached the staff room. Jeremy tried to focus on trivial things on the way, like his coworkers odd, almost shambling gait, and the quiet sound of a music box playing somewhere in the corner.

“Do you need a ride home?” Mike leaned against the door frame as he watched Jeremy fumble with the punch clock, “I don’t technically have to start for another hour or so.”

“It’s fine. My um- my girlfriend should be here by now.”

“Mm, run off then. I’ve got shit to do.”

[pocketgalaxies]

okay i have a confession...i never liked ashton...i tried, especially when we found out he has chronic pain and a legitimate reason for being an asshole...but i just can't get on board with him and often roll my eyes at his scenes. and that last convo with laudna made me so frustrated bc it seemed like he was totally emotionally dismissive and wanted to play the "i had it worse" olympics. i've never disliked a cr character before and i don't know what to do about it. any advice? or anything that you particularly like about ashton that could help me get on board a little?

hi anon thanks for asking! unfortunately i can't help you a huge amount because i also! have never liked ashton and have historically had trouble finding reasons to like them. but i will try my best to help

well the first thing i'd say is i don't think you need to find reasons to get on board with ashton. interrogating your feelings about a character is always good to take in the full depth of their behavior, but if you go through that whole process and you STILL don't like them then maybe they just aren't your cup of tea. which is totally valid and acceptable!!! and i know it's not easy to dislike something about a show you love so much, but i'd say just try and sit with that and tell yourself that you're allowed. there are so so many fish in the cr sea and you're far from expected to love each one

that being said if you still want to hear my thoughts here they are! (it got very very long)

i've seen a few people mentioning that ashton might've intentionally started that conversation with laudna because he knew she specifically would be in the position to shoot them down. a sort of self-inflicted scolding, i think. watching the ep, i also got the sense that he was intentionally trying to upset her by bluntly phrasing things to dig into her trauma and i think it makes sense based on what we know about them. maybe he wanted someone to yell at him and tell him he's being weak (in a lot of ways similar to early-c2 caleb's pervasive self-hatred driving him to intentionally seek out places/people with which he is made to feel like shit). or maybe he needed someone else to look him in the eye and tell him "stop hiding and let the people around you help you." maybe they needed a reason to say out loud that they're only with the hells bc they're using them, because that's the only way they can hear themself and how ridiculous and false that sounds. who knows! regardless, i think it's uninformed to say that tal wasn't doing this on purpose. it means something, and it opened up something that will most certainly have some growth and ultimately resolution later

this is kinda separate but we could also get into the details of his word choice, like what did he mean by "i know a loneliness that you don't" was he just talking about a certain kind of loneliness that he perceives to be distinct from the loneliness that many other of the party members have experienced? (worth pointing out that bells hells is a party full of people defined by their loneliness in many ways. food for unrelated thought) is it true that ashton's loneliness is unique to them and no one else in the party? is it even meaningful to put people's loneliness into different boxes? how has loneliness affected the way they distance themself from some people vs. the way they latch protectively onto other people? maybe those questions are of interest to you!

i think ashton is a very meaty character with a lot of complicated stuff going on and tal loves to create characters like this, characters defined by arrogance or a self-aggrandizing belief in their own suffering, or characters who are intentionally and unrelentingly abrasive. they become likable and compelling because of the underlying context and past and often conflicting and changing behavior over time.

it's just that those types of characters will always be a little polarizing, and i personally have a LOT of trouble enjoying tal's characters, because that's just my personal preference. they are complicated and juicy but they historically just do not do it for me. i was very incensed by that conversation with laudna because i am a laudna stan above all else and i thought ashton was being Awful to her, even if i can understand that they knew they were being awful and had reasons to be that way. the important thing is that i recognize it's a double-standard in my own mind and i know that about myself, and i'm not being a willingly narrow-minded jerk to the fans who like ashton and were thrilled by the convo. but i don't have to feel forced to like them and read/reblog meta about how sad they actually are etc etc. you know what i mean?

anyway at the risk of going on a tangent where i complain about that convo for no real reason related to your question, i will stop talking now. hope this helps in some way or another! your feelings are valid and you definitely are not alone in struggling with this character, if the posts and tags i've seen the past few days are any indication. just be nice to people and it will be all good. cr characters are fictional but cr fans are not <3

[firelightfoxes]

i saw a post recently that made me want to state my opinion on something.

i do not hate doodles. in fact, i would say i'm pro doodle. as long as the doodle is bred or acquired ethically, i have 0 problem with them existing.

obviously doodles can have problems much like many other breeds. many. most of them. but that doesn't mean they shouldn't exist! and uninformed/uneducated buyers will unfortunately always be a thing. it doesn't mean that whatever they're buying shouldn't exist.

i don't anymore, but i worked in the animal industry (pet retail, shelter, and veterinary) for about 3 years. i NEVER saw a doodle that was as awful as so many people paint them to be. i'm not saying they don't exist! just anecdotally, i interacted with plenty of doodles that were totally fine. not my cup of tea as far as dogs go, but non problematic. in fact, most of the nervy messes i can remember were purebreds (looking at you schnauzers). that does not mean i think that schnauzers should not exist or that we should witch hunt the people who breed or own them.

in my experience working in rescue, i very rarely saw any dogs that could've been a poodle mix (think curls or furnishings) - and when i did, they wouldn't last more than a day there before getting adopted. people like doodley dogs! i understand this may differ regionally, but where i'm located, we don't have an overpopulation problem of doodles. we DO have a very clear overpopulation of pitbulls and bully breed mixes.

but back to the point. people hate doodles for all sorts of reasons - they're designer dogs, they're a fad, they're bred for money, their coats are bad, etc etc. okay fine, you're entitled to that - but you CAN'T hate doodles for those reasons unless you also hate all the other breeds or mixes (sport mixes!!!) that fall under the above criteria as well. doodles aren't special. they're not different. they're just another type of dog and people like them. popularity isn't a sin. lots of breeds have had their time in the spotlight and yet their owners aren't verbally flogged for having them.

i'm pro rescue and adoption. i'm pro ethical breeding. i have a rescue mutt from a shelter and i have a purebred dog from a breeder. and i believe that doodles fill a niche in a lot of homes that other breeds don't. hence their popularity. if you hate doodles, i think you should really try to think deeply about WHY. like, i'll most likely never own a doodle because they're not what i want in a dog - and if you groomed them and thought they were always annoying and you dislike them - fine! but when you think that every single doodle is the scourge of the earth and people should be ashamed for owning them, you need to sit down and think about that, because chances are you've fallen prey to some sort of anti-doodle propaganda without truly examining the facts.

[askvariance]

casey 💀 (How do they feel about horror movies?)

CASEY: I used to watch them.

NICKLE: What???????????

[Nickle slams their hands on the table loud enough to make Casey jump a little, standing up instinctively. They are staring at them in wide-eyed disbelief.]

CASEY: What?

NICKLE: You liked horror movies??

CASEY: Technically, yes. Like might give the wrong impression, but I did have enough of an interest in them to seek them out.

NICKLE: I thought you hated horror movies! We always skipped them together!

CASEY: I do.

NICKLE: You ranted about how terrible they are to watch! Like, multiple times!

CASEY: Well, yes! They're a stressful and miserable experience that I do not intend to repeat!

NICKLE: Right, so-

CASEY: I don't know why people even make them! They clearly don't care about making accurate depictions of reality! I would have objections even if I didn't get weeks of nightmares about being murdered!

[Casey paces back and forth, gesturing as they rant. Nickle watches them with obvious relief.]

NICKLE: So you do hate them!

CASEY: Of course I hate them! They're an experience in making yourself anxious and paranoid for no good reason! I struggle to believe that there are people out there who somehow have a baseline level of constant dread low enough to enjoy that, but apparently they exist, because someone keeps making horror movies!

CASEY: Personally, I think I have enough to worry about already! You would too if you thought about it!

NICKLE: Okay! Okay. That's what I thought!

CASEY: Is that information confirming something?

NICKLE: I just cannot picture you ever wanting to watch one! You don't like even mildly scary things in real life, like, at all. And then you said you used to like horror movies and it was like reality bent around me! Like, huh??

CASEY: Oh. Right, sorry.

NICKLE: It's fine! I like learning things about you. Did you seriously used to like watching them?

CASEY: Absolutely not.

NICKLE: Huh?

CASEY: I have never in my life enjoyed watching a horror movie. Just because I made uninformed decisions in the past doesn't mean I didn't have mostly reasonable opinions.

NICKLE: So... you watched them but you didn't like watching them?

CASEY: It was reassuring to get a sense of what ordinary numerals thought could be the worst case scenario. I wanted a frame of reference.

[Nickle bursts out laughing. Casey looks a little embarrassed, scowling and looking away.]

NICKLE: oh my GOD

CASEY: ...I have since revised my opinion on the matter.

NICKLE: No, I mean – holy shit, I didn't think you could pull this one together so it made sense, but yeah! That totally sounds like you! That's exactly why you would put up with watching a horror movie! I didn't even think of that!

[Casey relaxes a little. Nickle beams at them.]

CASEY: I stopped when I realized ordinary numerals have no idea what they're talking about.

NICKLE: Yeah, you're way more of an expert! They should have you as a consultant on things to be scared of!

CASEY: I am not being a horror movie consultant. Absolutely not.

NICKLE: Not even if you could make them a little bit less terrible?

CASEY: My advice is to stop making horror movies. End of statement.

[sixofbows]

I wonder how Calvin’s friends are gonna react to him breaking up with Grace.

is she gonna contact any of them about Spencer or just distance herself?

omg interesting question!! I think my response to this might be mild spoilers? Contains references to Calvin and Grace's breakup conversation that's going to be touched on in Chapter 13/hints of Chapter 13:

Calvin's the type who wouldn't tell anyone about him and Grace splitting up until someone asks to his face, "Where's Grace?" And even then he'll just be like, "It didn't work out". And that would be normal for them; like, Calvin didn't tell any of them that he was literally going take guardianship of another person until they physically ran into Spencer.

I don't think Grace would actually speak much to the group BECAUSE:

Calvin makes it clear that he split with Grace because of Spencer. I think after they broke up, it took everything in Grace not to run straight to Spenny to see if she's okay. Because Grace fears that Spencer is in a vulnerable position with Calvin, and Grace loves Spenny so goddamn much, she wants to protect her so badly :'(

But Spencer is so young, Grace is afraid that her genuine concern would be interpreted as jealousy, pettiness. That barging in like that to warn Spencer to distance herself from Calvin would only force Spenny to run to Calvin faster. Same logic applies to any of Calvin's friends; Spencer's not going to want to listen to well-meaning 30-somethings, not when her dream crush finally "likes her back". Especially when she's seen that Calvin has never hurt her, that he cares for her deeply. Like, has anyone else gotten a tattoo for her? No? Then clearly they don't care as much for her as Calvin does. She's painfully eighteen. All of her thoughts and processes are painfully uninformed.

(This is why it's so important that this story takes place solely from Spencer's POV. This is a story about how we look back on things and realize they take on different shades after the passage of time. We need to see how Spencer sees things, so that we feel the full impact of how she will see those same things later.)

Anyway, Grace opts to send that text instead.

We may not see each other as much anymore, but know that I'm always here if you ever need to talk in a safe space. About anything or anyone, don't be afraid to reach out. You can trust me, remember? Love you so much.

Still a warning, still showing genuine concern, but said in a way that Grace hopes will leave the door open if Spenny ever needs her (concerning anything or anyone), not in a way that Spenny would instantly slam the door in Grace's face (if she directly called out Calvin).

Calvin is very emotionally underdeveloped for his age. His closest confidante is a fucking eighteen year old lol, and even Spenny knows far from everything. He grew up hiding his emotions to avoid setting off his umma, it's spilled over into adulthood. He and Winnie got along really well, they never really argued, their divorce was as amicable as can be. She would still be coming to Friendsgiving if she weren't on a different continent. He handles most conflicts by dipping out, going silent. And this can work well in a lot of situations.

But what if leaving doesn't solve a certain problem?

What if it's something or someone you just can't drop?

[serioussideblog]

I personally don’t feel hateful towards people who post most of those “don’t look away” posts (though the ones that also have anti-Muslim and/or anti-Semitic rhetoric bother me a lot because I hate all the hate out there).

I get what people are trying to do when they post that it’s “not okay to look away”. There are some people who never even try to do anything, never pay attention to news, stay willfully ignorant, and refuse to be informed about anything, and those people (the people with the combination of traits I just described) are often people who either actually believe that mental health is an absence of negative emotions, or people who truly are selfish.

But guilt tripping posts don’t actually work on those who are willfully ignorant, refusing to even try to help, refusing to glance at anything that can be described as “news”, and intentionally uninformed. Those people are not reading your posts.

Know who’s looking at your posts? People with anxiety, depression, high stress levels, OCD, schizophrenia, disabilities that make regulating emotions and recognizing non-literal meanings difficult or impossible, and/or other things going on that make them incredibly vulnerable to being outright triggered by posts that say things like, “don’t look away, your mental health doesn’t matter, you don’t have a right to be comfortable, you should be sad, no blogging about anything else right now, people are suffering and dying, you are a bad person if you avoid this, don’t look away don’t look away don’t look away.”

There are reasons why I am so careful with posts about Gaza. There is a reason this sideblog comes with a warning. And there are reasons that I emphasize doing what you can when you can, rather than encouraging doomscrolling and guilt tripping.

I have anxiety, depression, stress, and autism.

Being autistic can make it hard for me to regulate my emotions. It also makes it hard to interpret non-literal meanings, which is made harder in text because everyone struggles with that to some degree when it comes to textual matters. So when you tell me to “be sad and not look away”, maybe you mean well, but to me that means “be sad and don’t look away”. When you say, “You have no right to be comfortable,” to me, this means, “I have no right to be comfortable.” I’ve seen one post that says they “obviously didn’t mean that you have to stare at the news 24/7 and be sad and uncomfortable all the time” but to me that isn’t obvious. Because to me “don’t look away” really means “don’t look away”. And besides being impractical, this is incredibly distressing.

My anxiety and my depression both make me feel unnecessary guilt already. I already apologize to people who then ask me why I’m sorry, and I don’t know why, all I “know” is that my brain is telling me that I did something wrong, I’m inconveniencing everyone, people are going to get mad, I’m going to get in trouble, nobody likes me, it’s my fault, I screwed up, I’m in the way, I’m upsetting people, I shouldn’t be doing what I’m doing, etc. All I “know” is that I feel guilty. Add in the spiraling, the other negative thoughts and emotions, the “coincidence-finding” that anxiety likes to do, the crying spells, the physical symptoms…yeah, I’m not gonna do too well if you tell me that “it’s morally wrong to look away”.

I have high stress levels. I just recently got out of homelessness and while I haven’t seen a mental health professional about it yet, I think I may have some trauma. I also have stress from other, even more personal matters. And on top of that, I have many of the “normal” stresses that come with being an adult and I am stressed about the events in Gaza. Know what I really don’t need to add onto all of that stress? You posting that “my mental health doesn’t matter”.

All this to say…please stay away from guilt tripping everyone.

i understand feeling guilty. i do all the time. but what i don’t understand—what i have no respect for—is externalizing that, demanding that others join you, saying over and over that “it is morally unacceptable to look away, to take care of yourself, while people suffer.”

i am angry, even hateful, at the people who do this. and i don’t feel guilty for that.

[paleparearchive]

The Jar of Happiness

Millet's 1st initial 3★ story (1/2) ( 1 - 2 )

Location: kitchen (morning) ; Courbet & Millet's room | Characters: Millet, Courbet, Mucha

Mucha: The tea is ready, here.

Millet: Thank you, Mucha-san. It smells nice.

Courbet: Yeah. It's not bad to take a break like this once in a while.

Mucha: Working all the time is tiring. We need time to talk and have a cup of tea like this.

Millet: Yeah, that's true. By the way, to continue where I left off…

Mucha: Ah yes, you saw some young people talking about painting.

Courbet: The Palette Museum's reputation is slowly improving and we're getting more and more customers. In proportion to this, the interest in art in the city as a whole is probably gradually increasing.

Millet: It's a good trend. I wish more people knew how good the arts are!

Mucha: It is certainly good to see a growing interest in art. However, recently there have been people who take advantage of this to commit fraud…

Millet: Fraud…? That sounds kind of dangerous.

Mucha: They are making money by selling fake artworks of no value to the uninformed at high prices.

Courbet: That's a typical scam technique. I don't know how anyone still falls for that stuff…

Millet: There are such scary people in the city... I'll have to be careful. I'll have to tell my parents from the countryside to be careful when they come over.

Mucha: Everyone, please be careful. Scammers use all kinds of tricks to suit their opponents. And the more attention you get from belonging to the Palette Museum, the more likely you are to be noticed.

Courbet: Hmpf. Even if we were noticed, there is no way we artists would fall for such a scam. Right, Millet?

Millet: Yes, of course.

Mucha: Then it should be fine… But you can never be too careful.

Millet: Thanks for the advice. I'll keep that in mind.

—

Millet: Phew, I'm back hooome~

Courbet: Welcome back. You're pretty late.

Millet: It's been a while since I've been in town, so I've been going to a lot of different stores.

Courbet: I see. I thought for sure you were being held up by a scammer.

Millet: Hahaha, no way, that can't happen. I was very careful.

I got something really nice today. Here, look.

Courbet: ! Hey, what's that dirty, ugly jar?

Millet: It's a jar that brings happiness. A kind man sold it to me at a reasonable price.

Courbet: There's a certain level of shadiness… Tell me how you got it.

Millet: Huh? Okay. So… I was walking down the street and a man approached me and led me to a store in a back alley. Then he told me that he had a really good product that would be perfect for me.

Courbet: That's why he recommended this jar…

Millet: Yeah. The guy who sold it to me was very kind. Actually, the price would have been three months' worth of my salary, but he made me pay for one month's salary.

Courbet: …

Millet: Courbet? What's wrong? Your face looks scary…?

Courbet: You idiot!! Have you forgotten what Mucha told you yesterday? That's obviously a scam!

Millet: Huh? He didn't seem like such a bad guy, you know? He even provided me with a proper contract and everything. Besides, I was also attracted to the picture on this jar. I'm sure it will bring me happiness.

Courbet: Scammers are very good at pretending to be good guys! No one is stupid enough to lower the bad guy tag and commit fraud.

Millet: B-But he's the one who sold me something amazing that can bring me happiness at a very reasonable price? I don't think such a nice guy could be a scammer…

Courbet: Sigh, what the hell were you paying attention to when you were shopping… Anyway, show me that contract right now. I'll call that scammer and talk to him.

[danses-with-dogmeat]

Male!Companions react to waking up alone after spending the night with Sole.

Hey all! So, just a heads up, I’m also working on this prompt for the Female!Companions for FO4, and also a bunch of companions from FONV and FO3, but if you have any specific requests or want me to add anyone, just let me know! Sorry this is so damn long, but I hope you all enjoy!

Also, there is a bit of angst in here with some mentions of suicidal thoughts, so just a heads up on that! 

P.S. If you’re one of the lovely folks who has sent me an ask, I am currently working on writing them up and I will definitely get them out as soon as I can, I just really like the prompts y’all gave me and I want to do them justice :)

Danse:  

     Danse sat up with a start, immediately trying to gain his bearings, only to find himself still in the bunker, in his own bed. He let out a shaky breath, still dazed from the heavy sleep that had claimed him. It had been years since he'd slept like that, the last time he recalled sleeping so peacefully was when he was stationed at the Citadel in the Capital Wasteland. Even more than that, he had barely slept at all since discovering his true identity. Danse shook his head, trying to clear it of its sleepy fog, he went to rub his eyes, and he felt his heartbeat increase tenfold as the memories of his night with you came flooding to the forefront of his mind. Even now he felt the heat of a blush rushing to his cheeks. He turned his head, expecting to see your peacefully sleeping form on the mattress beside him. When he didn't, he wasn't sure what to do. Immediately, a slew of emotions and thoughts ran through him, ranging from shame, to panic, to anger, and most of all, hurt. Before he allowed himself to arrive at any premature conclusions, Danse called out for you, looking around the room. Nothing. He stood up, holding the blankets around his waist to conceal himself as he made his way to the hole in the wall that allowed him to peer into the other section of the bunker. Still nothing. The slew of contradicting emotions bubbled up again, leaving him feeling slightly numb. He stood there, just staring, trying to grasp a hold of any clear thought, but they were inadvertently tumbling into his consciousness at an alarming rate. 

All at once, one feeling prevailed over the others, and Danse found himself feeling extraordinarily guilty. Guilty for agreeing to last night, for jeopardizing his friendship with the one person he had left in his life by greedily pushing too far. What right did he have to you and your feelings anyway, when his weren't even real? The pain of being deserted by you was overshadowed by the knowledge that he didn't deserve you in the first place. Even when he thought he was human, he had trouble rationalizing his feelings for you, thinking you deserved better than someone like him. Someone as hard headed, as inexperienced, and emotionally ignorant as he was. But now? Now, he wondered why you even bothered to waste any of your time on him, even just as his partner, when it was proven that he's nothing but a machine. Why had you even suggested last night, when you knew the truth about him? 

He simply couldn’t understand it. Why had you allowed him to be with you in such a way? To be with you so intimately? Why had you allowed him to touch you so invasively? Why had you spoken to him so softly, so earnestly? How could your gaze have been so full of admiration, of love? He was a goddamn machine, and you’d let him share a bed with you, make love to you. He didn’t even know what love was, didn’t know if it was possible for him to even feel it; and yet, you’d been more open with him than he had been with anyone before. And he wasn’t even human. He was at a complete and utter loss for any form of explanation or reasoning behind your actions. 

Danse stood alone in the bunker, staring ahead with brows furrowed low at no single thought in particular. It was then that he realized his heart was still beating out of his chest, he took a deep breath, and prepared himself to leave the bunker in search of you. Because, even now, when you were at the center of his feelings of uncertainty, of guilt, of hurt, he still felt the need to seek the counsel of the one person left he could truly trust, the one whose opinions he had sought in the darkest hours of his existence. He needed you. 

More than that, he needed to make sure you were safe. At least that's what he told himself as he dressed, donning his power armor, before he rode the elevator up to the surface, his iron-clad hands clenching tightly as he gripped his laser rifle. 

As Danse arrived at the surface, he noted the sunlight bursting through the lone window of the bunker, indicating how late he'd slept in, and he mentally kicked himself for his irresponsibility. If he had woken at his usual hour, would you have still been beside him? Perhaps he could've spoken to you before you left, encouraged you to hear him out, begged you to stay with him. Even just as a friend, just as a partner. He felt he simply couldn’t cope with the loss of you, of the security that you provided him. 

 Danse shook his head in an attempt to banish these useless thoughts from his mind. He couldn't control the past, he had to keep looking forward. With that, he crossed the threshold out into the Commonwealth.

Danse returned to the bunker a few hours before sundown, feeling utterly at a loss, he'd been everywhere he could reach, everywhere you could've gone in the period of time you had had to get there. He checked every house, farm, settlement… everything in the bunker's vicinity. His limbs felt weak and numb as he approached the entrance to the bunker. He could feel heat rising up in his face as his chest ached. He felt like he needed to hit something. Tears of frustration and dejection threatened to spill over, and he brought a gloved hand up to roughly wipe away the first drop that fell. Though, through the blur of wetness, he spotted a silhouette in the doorway ahead of him.  

     "Where the hell have you been?!" You shouted, running from the bunker and straight into Danse's arms. For a moment, he remained still, unable to reciprocate your relief in his state of utter shock. In the next instance, his rifle fell from his grip and he was wrapping his arms around you, as tightly as he could without injuring you. 

    "I believe I could ask you the same question, soldier." Danse said, willing his voice to remain stable. You pulled away so that you could look up at him, your expression one of confusion,

     "I thought I told you last night. I had to go to Greentop nursery in the morning and talk to the settlers about their mutant problem." He blinked at you in surprise. At least, you thought you had told him, but maybe it had slipped your mind. It didn't surprise you, given last night's activities. 

     "But… Why didn't you wake me?" 

     "Because Danse, I've never seen you sleep in, I wanted you to get some rest for once." 

     "I would have rather been with you." He said quietly. You opened your mouth to speak, but he continued, 

     "It was irresponsible of you to leave me uninformed, you should have woken me. You scared me, Sole. I thought…" he took a quick breath to steady his voice, "I don't know what I thought. I woke up and you were gone, I wasn't sure if you were in danger, or if you were angry with me, or whether or not you even meant to return."

     "Danse, of course I was going to come back, I just didn't expect you to be gone when I did."

     "And for that, I apologize. However, I implore you to understand--"

     "Danse. It's okay, we're both here now, we're both safe. And I don't know about you, but I'm starving. C'mon." You turned towards the bunker and went to make your way inside. Danse stood a moment, watching you walk away. Feeling began slowly returning to his limbs, and for the first time all day, his heartbeat slowed to its normal rate. He reached down to pick up his rifle, a small smile spreading across his lips as he moved to follow you back into the bunker.

Deacon: 

     Deacon opened his eyes, only to immediately close them again, as the bright morning sun showed through the windows of Ticonderoga safehouse, and directly into his retinas. 

“Damn,” He said, reaching over to grab for his shades from beside the mattress. Once they were placed onto his face, he decided it would be safe to open his eyes once again. Deacon groaned as he rolled his shoulders, and sat up, stretching his arms overhead. 

God, he felt good. The tightness of his muscles serving as a reminder of the… ahem, events of last night. Last night, with you. How the hell had that happened? He almost couldn’t believe it. After so many years of being alone, of feeling emotionally inept, and unable to move on. Here you came, seemingly out of some sci-fi novel, with your futuristic, time-traveling backstory, and inhuman good looks, and for some reason, you’d thought he was, of all things, cute. That was the word you had used, he remembered it vividly, and of course he had feigned being annoyed by the use of the word to describe him, but in reality? He adored the fact that you thought so. No one had ever referred to him as such, and the fact that it confirmed you reciprocated the feelings he had for you; that was truly extraordinary. These feelings that he had tried so desperately to bury deep down, where they couldn’t meddle with your friendship, or your professional relationship, or his own crippling fear of being committed to someone again (given how well it went the first time). Now, he barely understood why he had tried so hard to snuff out his emotions if this was one of the possible outcomes of revealing them to you. He never dreamed that you could have returned the affection he had for you. However, if last night was any kind of indicator… yeah, he’d say the two of you had pretty strong feelings indeed. 

At least, that’s what he had thought. Until he turned to you excitedly, looking to see if you had woken yet, and found your spot next to him quite empty. His jaw clenched at the sight, but he took a breath and resolved himself to looking around the safehouse for your belongings. His teeth worried anxiously against the inside of his cheek as he noticed the distinct absence of anything belonging to you. Deacon stood in the middle of the safehouse, bringing his hands up to roughly rub at his face.   

“God dammit.” He said aloud, unable to keep something from escaping him. Deacon liked to think he had a good bit of self control, it came with the job after all, a spy with no sense of restraint and proper judgment didn't live very long. However, you had this way of making him forget everything he thought he knew about himself. There he was last night, doing the one thing he vowed he'd never do again. Falling for someone. Him! Deacon, the immature, sarcastic, dishonest, and unemotional agent of the railroad; and here he was, head over heels for a widowed, pre-war saint like you. What a pair you two would have made. 

I suppose it really was too good to be true. He thought bitterly.

Deacon grabbed his things and set off into the Commonwealth without so much as a glance over his shoulder. He stared dead ahead, refusing to address the pressure he felt in his chest. Trying desperately to maintain his cool and unbothered exterior, to remain the type of person he was before he'd met you. He always knew he could change the way he looked in a day or less, but the way you'd changed his perspective of the world, of his place in it, and his future? He didn't think you could have changed who he'd turned out to be if you had all the time in the world. Deacon was firmly set in his ways, so much so, that even he couldn't change who he was. No matter how much he despised himself at times. But man, had he been wrong, all the disguises in the world couldn't mask the fact that, for the first time in years, Deacon had a priority in his life besides the railroad, and besides himself. And that scared the shit out of him.

 Now he wasn't really sure what to think. If you had simply wanted nothing more than a one-night stand, you could have just told him so. At least then he would’ve been prepared for this shit. For you leaving him, seemingly without a second thought.

The sniper shook his head roughly as he kicked up the dust of the wasteland, his footfalls much heavier than they had any business being. He always had prided himself at being a good judge of character, at being intuitive, but he never would have expected something like this from someone like you. Someone who cared about the happiness of everyone else more than their own well-being, someone who was kind, and selfless, and empathetic, someone who constantly put their own life at risk for the benefit of complete strangers. Sure, he did that occasionally, but his life was worth a hell of a lot less. You were a good person, and always had been. From the moment he saw you, everything he heard about you, all of it pointed to the fact that you, even after all you’d lost, after everything you endured, you were a better person than he could ever hope to be. And now, for you to do this to him? It was completely out of character. Whatever, he thought, if this is all you wanted from me, then fine. It's all you're going to get. 

As he approached the Old North Church, Deacon mentally prepared himself for the possibility that you too would be at the Railroad headquarters. He decided to simply not acknowledge your… ordeal, and act as though nothing had changed. Though, if Deacon was honest (which he rarely ever was), he would rather not have you as his partner anymore. With the way he was feeling-- the way he had once felt about you, it would be too complicated. He didn’t need complicated. The railroad missions provided enough of that. 

He entered HQ quietly, and mulled about, visiting with the others and picking up missions left and right in an effort to acquire enough distractions to keep him out of the church for as long as possible. He figured that way, the likelihood of bumping into you would be decreased enough for him to get a handle on himself before having to face you. But, of course, his plans were all for naught, he realized as you stormed into the catacombs, your glowering eyes falling directly to the bald sniper in the corner of the room; the sniper who was trying desperately to make himself seem distracted as he felt your eyes burning into the back of his head. At least you had the decency to lower your voice as you approached him, 

“Deacon!” You hissed, shouting his name as quietly as one could shout. 

He continued staring at the blackboard, a hand at his chin as he feigned interest in what was written there. 

“What the hell?” You asked, taking another step towards him, close enough that he could feel your hot breath on his cheek. 

“Hmm? Something wrong?” He asked, turning his head towards you while his eyes stayed glued to the board in front of him. You took a step back, and the next thing he knew, you had extended your hand forcefully towards his face, leaving a stinging red mark imprinted on his cheek in its wake. Deacon’s head snapped back towards the blackboard at the power of your blow, his sunglasses barely managing to hang onto his face by the bridge of his nose.  

I’m not sure if I deserved that or not…

He brought his own hand up to rub the spot you had just slapped, finally letting his eyes meet yours from beneath his crooked shades. He nearly gasped at your expression. Your eyebrows were knitted together above your tear-filled eyes, your mouth a straight line as your chin trembled slightly. He’d say you looked sad, but behind your eyes, all he could see was fire. The same fire he’d felt when he saw that you had deserted him that morning. Or, at least, when he thought you’d deserted him. 

Almost without thinking, Deacon grabbed your hand and dragged you back to the more private area of the railroad HQ. Despite your clear vexation with him, you allowed him to lead you to the back of the church catacombs, near the emergency exit. 

“Alright, you finally ready to explain yourself?” You asked, wrenching your hand from his grasp.

“Me? I’m pretty sure it was you who walked out on me, and who just slapped me in the face for asking a simple question.” Your nostrils flared at that and for a moment, Deacon thought you were going to do something violent again. 

“Okay, look, I know I’ve fallen for your lies before, but I think it’s pretty damn ridiculous for you to think that I’ll believe this one. I was there, Deacon! You left me. You took all your shit and left me alone at the safehouse. I don’t care what happened the night before, even if it was awful for you, or awkward for you to see me in that way, or whatever, you still don’t abandon your partner. We agreed to that the moment I became an agent.” 

Deacon’s jaw dropped to his chest at his realization, and your accusation. He had left you? When? How? When was he supposed to find that out?

“Look, Sole, I’m a liar, I’ll give you that. But I’m a good one,” you rolled your eyes at him, a scoff sounding from your throat, “so, I wouldn’t even attempt to lie to you if I could see that you absolutely knew the truth.” 

“God, if you’ve got a point, make it, asshole.”

“Ouchies, no need for name calling there, slappy. I’m just trying to figure out the miscommunication issue we’ve got going on here.” You glared at him, and he was forced to continue. 

“The truth is,” Deacon looked down at the floor as he spoke softly to you, feeling as though the words were being wrenched from his throat, “I only left because I thought you had first. I woke up, and you were gone. Your things were gone. I thought that was it, that you were done with our… partnership. Done with me. And hey, I can’t say I’d blame you. Especially if you’d really think I could just up and leave after spending a night like that with you.”

“Oh.” you whispered, before trying to explain yourself, “I wasn’t-- I didn’t just leave, I mean, I went up to give High Rise the MILA for Tom. I was gone for five minutes, Deacon. I was coming right back.” The two of you stood a moment, as realization washed over you. And a bit of regret, too. And a sprinkle of foolishness. 

Finally, he brought his gaze up to meet your eyes. Hoping his apology was as evident on his face as it was on yours. You brought your hand to his cheek, soothing over the angry red mark that you had left earlier, and Deacon flinched slightly at your touch, his eyes falling once again to the floor. 

“It really only took you five minutes to think that I had left you?” You asked gently, the anger that had once been prevalent in your voice dissolving into concern. Deacon chuckled dryly.

“Haven’t I taught you anything? When you assume the worst, it’s a lot harder to be disappointed.”  

“Yeah, I guess that makes sense. But I bet it makes it all the better when you find out you were wrong.” Deacon smiled weakly at you, shaking his head. 

“Yeah, no. I’m not seeing the appeal in being wrong just yet.” The hand that still rested on his cheek slid to the back of his neck, grasping firmly as you pulled his face towards yours. The pressure of your brow displaced Deacon’s shades as you crashed your lips into his. He toppled backwards against the wall of the catacombs as you pressed more forcefully into him, his arms falling behind him to steady himself against the cold brick, as your unoccupied hand slunk up to his chest, keeping him pinned between you and the wall. You pulled your head back, but kept your hands in place as you murmured, 

“What about now?”

“Hmm?” Deacon’s ginger eyebrows raised above his glasses as his mind went blank. You cocked an eyebrow at him, a smirk forming on your face. 

“Oh, right. I suppose so. Though, I think I’m gonna need a few reminders every once in a while.” 

“Hmm,” you mused, “I think that can be arranged.”

Hancock: 

     The ghoul awoke with a purr, stretching one ruined arm out to blindly search for your sleeping body. He distinctly remembered curling up with you wrapped tight in his embrace before lulling off into the best sleep he's had in years. For the first time in months he didn't have the nagging ache of wishing you were pressed against him as he settled in for the night. The thoughts of you lying so close but so painfully out of reach were finally pushed from his head to make room for the sheer bliss of being able to touch you, to feel your unbelievably soft skin, to breathe in your sweet scent and relish in the closeness of your body against his. 

That was of course, until this morning. Hancock opened his eyes lazily, his dark gaze sweeping over the mess of bed sheets and pillows that littered the plush mattress. The sight of the disheveled blankets bringing back heated memories of last night. Before his brow furrowed at the realization of the current situation he found himself in. Hancock slowly rose from the bed, his dark eyes searching the surrounding room for any sign of you. He found his trousers, his hat, his coat... but nothing of yours remained where they had been tossed last night. If Hancock had a nose, it would have been curling alongside the rest of his scrunched up face as he thought of you leaving in such a hurry this morning. Hancock felt a pain in his chest and immediately craved a hit of something, anything, to numb the hollow feeling that began spreading through his body. 

     Sunlight shone through the windows of the old state house, the beams of light diffused by the ringlets of smoke rising from the ghoul's mouth as he took yet another hit of jet, trying hard to keep his mind blank, but inevitably failing as his thoughts returned to last night's events. Coming almost in slow motion, he picked apart every movement; every touch, kiss, lick, and caress, nitpicking every action he had made and thinking about what he might've done to warrant your desertion of him. But deep down, he knew that his actions mattered little. You had assured him on numerous occasions that him being a ghoul didn't bother you, but you had never really seen him before. Not in the way you saw him last night. Had never felt his rough skin on yours, had never run your hands up his ravaged body, the softness of your touch only amplifying the harshness of his own leathery flesh. You had never uncovered the gross discoloration of his radiation-ravaged body. But last night, you had finally gotten a good, long look. And here he was, thinking that you of all people could’ve seen past that. You had been able to forgive him for his past, after all. Hadn’t you? But maybe that had been part of it too. Maybe you’d finally realized all that he really was. A reckless and cowardly poor excuse for a man, who spends his life in a haze of delirium rather than facing the pain of being alive. A pain that he had inflicted upon himself to break away from that same self-righteous fog that he’d found himself in in the first place. It’s no wonder you’re gone. Maybe you were never even really here. Maybe you were just another daydream of his, just another hallucination. God, if that was the case, he didn’t even know what he would do. After having you so close, being with you like this? He didn’t really see the point in living without you.  

Hancock sighed heavily at the thought. He didn't know how long he sat simply thinking, his perception of time temporarily altered by the jet, but he had to do something to alleviate this torture, and if chems wouldn't do it... well.... 

  "I need some air," he rasped aloud as he stood and headed for the balcony, donning his coat and hat on his way out. The mayor had to keep up appearances, after all. 

He almost didn't see you as he stepped through the door, the way you leaned out against the rail, eyes closed, a soft, beautiful smile playing at your plush lips. Hancock could've stared at you until the world around him turned to dust, but you moved long before that musing could come to reality. Turning to look at him, your smile brightened further, and Hancock couldn't keep himself from touching you. He grabbed one of your hands in his, using his other to caress your pink-dusted cheek, affirming that you truly were physically there, standing in front of him. 

     "And what were you doing out here all by your lonesome? Trying to give a ghoul a little taste of heartbreak?" You let out a soft laugh, 

     "No, sweetheart," you called him affectionately, leaning into his light touch upon your cheek, "I thought that you would sleep longer. I just wanted to get out and enjoy some sunshine." You turned once again towards the morning sun, the rays highlighting every one of your perfect features. Hancock beamed at the sight of you, before turning and looking out at his city in thought, 

     "Hmm," he mused, "Sunshine, huh?"

MacCready:   

      MacCready had been lying on his back for a while now, staring at the crumbling ceiling of the dingy little room at the hotel Rexford. This certainly hadn’t been his idea of an ideal location for your first time together, but who was he to complain? It was safe, and private, and it had been a damn good night. But he’d been staring at the ceiling for what felt like hours, waiting for you to stir. He’d thought it was odd, given the fact that you always woke up first when the two of you traveled together, but he’d like to think you hadn’t yet stirred because of the way he had exhausted you last night, his chest puffed out at the thought of it and he let out a contented sigh. The thoughts of your night together spilled into his consciousness, and he stretched out his arms in front of him, snickering slightly at the soreness of his body, and suddenly, he couldn’t wait for you any longer. 

 “Geeze, you awake yet, sleepyhead?” MacCready rolled onto his side to face the lump under the covers. He ran his hand over the mattress, over to you, but as he reached the lump beneath the blankets, all he felt was plushness. He withdrew the covers from atop you, only to find… pillows? Just a pillow, and a blanket. MacCready’s body spasmed as he jolted out from under the covers on his side of the bed, his head flying from side to side as he looked for you. 

“Sole?” He cocked an eyebrow at the empty hotel room, and as he noticed your absence, his expression quickly changed from confusion to one of anger. You had left? But why? Had he done something wrong? He didn’t think so… but maybe he just... wasn’t everything you expected from him. Feeling like he’d been punched in the stomach, MacCready climbed from the bed, grabbing his trousers from the floor and stomping around the room in pursuit of the remainder of his clothes, not failing to notice how everything belonging to you was no longer in the room either. Heat rose to MacCready’s face as he pulled on his duster, but he wasn’t sure if it was from embarrassment, or anger, or heartache, or some combination thereof. 

What the heck? He thought, you were the one to suggest doing this, why would you do that if you were just gonna leave me like this? Right when MacCready had thought he’d found the one. The person who could help him move on from Lucy after everything he’d been through. You were perfect, not just for him, but for Duncan too. You were selfless, and kind, compassionate, resourceful, sometimes you were a bit of a sarcastic ass, but he loved that about you. You were a parent and a spouse, just like he had been. You were both lost, and broken when you found each other, just a couple halves that had made each other whole. You were his future... Or so he’d thought. But who was he kidding? You were so out of his league, the two of you weren’t even playing the same damn sport. He should’ve known this would be the outcome. But then, why the heck did you let it go this far? Sure, he was the one who had poured all of his feelings out onto the table, but he didn’t know what he’d expected you to do. He just felt like he would explode if he held them in any longer, especially when the two of you spent so much time together. He saw you every damn day, and all he wanted to do was hold your hand, he wanted to sleep beside you and hold onto you through the night, to have you run your fingers through his hair and tell him that you felt the same way. MacCready never imagined you’d do something like this to him, never thought you’d get his hopes up, dangling the future he'd always dreamed of having right in his face before ruthlessly snatching it away. 

He rolled his eyes at his own ridiculous train of thought and groaned as he bent down to grab his rifle. 

“At least you paid for the room up front.” he mumbled as he placed his hat on his head and made his way to the door.

 MacCready’s footsteps fell heavily onto each stair as he headed down to the lobby, wondering where he’d go from there. He considered going and looking for you, but what was the point? Clearly if you wanted to see him, you wouldn’t have freakin left. Was he really petty enough to seek you out just to tell you how messed up it was that you’d left him the way that you did? Maybe… but he needed a drink first. To the Third Rail it was, then. What was it, 10am? He could drink at 10am. He could do whatever the heck he wanted, especially now that you were gone. 

MacCready reached the bottom of the stairs, looking straight past the small crowd of people that were gathered in the lobby as he made his way to the exit. Just as his hand reached the door, he heard his name being shouted. His body shuddered at the sound of your voice, and he stood stock straight as he decided what to do. One fist clenched as the other hand pushed the door open and he crossed the threshold into Goodneighbor. The door never closed behind him, and he felt an iron grip on his forearm as he tried to head towards the Third Rail. 

“Ow, hey!” He spun to face you, face slightly contorted in his confusion. What was he supposed to think now? He was still angry and hurt, but should he be? Ugh. 

“Wait, Mac. I know how it must’ve looked, but really, it’s just a misunderstanding.” He stared at you, his deep blue eyes clouded with suspicion. He didn’t say a word, not wanting to ruin anything by making false assumptions or accusations. Instead, he waited for you to explain, wrenching his wrist from your grip as he folded his arms over his chest. 

Before you could continue, Rufus came up from behind, asking quietly if he could go through the doors. 

“Come on,” you urged, “let’s get out of the doorway.” You herded MacCready to one of the couches in the lobby, seating yourself next to him. 

“Alright. Explain.” He said, brows still furrowed. You almost snickered at how put-out the sniper seemed. You couldn’t quite tell if it was an act or not, but knowing MacCready… yeah, probably not an act. 

“Rufus was having some trouble with Drinkin’ Buddy.” You told him, “The bot shut down and no one could get him to turn on again. This morning, some sort of warning light started flashing, so he came up and asked if I could help him fix it. I would’ve asked you to come along, but you were still asleep, and I know how you hate being woken up…” You trailed off, waiting for him to say something in response. 

Man, MacCready felt moronic. Why had he been so quick to assume the worst? Okay, maybe not the worst, the worst would’ve been… Well, that’s not important. He shook his head, finally letting himself breathe deeply again. 

“You sure that was it?” He asked, uncertainty coating his tone as he narrowed his eyes at you. 

You leaned forward, smoothing a hand up his chest to the back of his neck as you brought your lips to his. Your fingers fiddled with the hair at the base of his neck and held him to you as your mouth moved against his, trying to answer his question without having to use your words. This was better, anyway. You felt a hand move to your waist as he relaxed into the kiss, his strong grip pulling you nearly into his lap as he returned your fervor. Only when you needed air did you pull back from him, your heartbeat still racing as you watched his gorgeous eyes flutter open. 

“Did that answer your question?” You asked cheekily. He smiled, face still pink from the heat of your kiss. 

“I don’t know, boss, I may still need some more, ah, reassuring.” You snickered at that, and glanced back at Clair’s desk. 

“Any more convincing and we may need that room again. You think if we go now, we won’t have to pay the hotel for a second day?” 

God, I think I’m in love. MacCready thought as he nodded to you, a boyish grin spreading across his lips. At that, both of you scrambled off of the couch, quickly making your way towards the stairs and up to the hotel room.

Nick: 

     The synth didn't sleep, but he didn't mind it. He stayed awake beside you in bed, replaying memories of the night over and over in his mind. Although he wasn't sure how comfortable it could be, he had his arms curled around you, holding you tightly to his synthetic chest while the memories of his favorite night (in either of his lifetimes) were running through his mind. You snored softly in his embrace, utterly at peace, as he gazed affectionately at your soft features. Nick didn't often feel blissful, and he never would've imagined himself in this situation, being completely content with the person he admired, and adored so adamantly, safely wrapped in his arms. He should've known it wouldn't last. 

Without a sound, he felt as you slowly and gently pried his arms off of your body, climbing off of the shared mattress. Nick figured that you would give him an explanation; perhaps once you were out of bed? When you went to go and dress yourself? Before walking through the door? But you were silent throughout, even as he heard the door click shut behind you. Nick closed his eyes tightly, sighing to himself and wondering if the pain in his chest was substantial enough to cause him to short circuit. What had he done wrong? Even if it was nothing, he would understand why you had left. Even at his best, Nick could hardly amount to what any average human could give you, and he could never give you everything you wanted. Everything you needed, and deserved. He wasn't real. So he wouldn't blame you for leaving, hell, if he hadn't been so caught up in his own blissful feelings, he might've encouraged you to go. And he had, before last night had truly begun, he recalled asking you if he was what you really wanted. Then, you had seemed so eager, almost laughing at the thought that he couldn't be enough, after all this time the two of you had spent together, and all your pining over him. These thoughts circled through the synth's mind as he lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. He willed himself to grab a file and get to work, to do something, anything, to distract himself from the pain, but it was as though the weight in his chest was too much to bear. The height of his earlier high only amplifying the depths of his current low. 

     Every attempt to look through a case file was a failure, his yellow eyes roaming the first few lines of writing before his mind drifted off. To thoughts of where you could have gone, whether or not you would come back, and thoughts of last night. At the way you made his pistons fire at triple times their normal rate, the way you made his metal heart flutter in his chest, and the way you had come so beautifully undone in his arms. That was it. The moment he needed to remember for the rest of his days on this ruined earth. At that very moment, nothing else seemed to matter. He was sure he'd been foolish before, thinking you could never care for him in such a way. How foolish he'd felt then... it was nothing compared to now. The synth brought his metallic hands up to his face, the tips of his fingers displacing the worn hat on his head. He imagined tears flowing from beneath the heels of his hands as he dug them into his eye sockets, but of course none came. Would that have been acceptable? If he had been able to shed real tears, like a real human being, would you have stayed after last night? If he had been able-- 

The door to the agency burst open at that moment, interrupting the old detective's thoughts, and sending his head shooting back to see who had busted in so aggressively, his hat flying from its usual place atop his head. 

The fact that the synth couldn't breathe didn't matter in this moment as he huffed a massive sigh of relief at the glorious sight of you, the light of the early morning sun casting a warm glow around your body. 

"Oh doll..." the words escaped him as a smile began to spread across his synthetic lips, "for a moment there, I thought you were an angel." You giggled at that, your flushed smile causing the whirring in his chest to increase exponentially. 

"I can't tell you how glad I am to see you, I was just about to open up a missing person's case on ya." You finally closed the door and made your way to his desk, leaning down to give his cheek a chaste kiss as you smoothed your hand over his chest, stopping to grab at his tie and pull him up towards you. 

"Always the professional, hmm detective?" You smirked at him and he gave you a crooked smile before bringing his good hand up to stroke his thumb over one of your soft cheeks. 

"Although," you continued, teasingly bending down to pick his hat up from the floor, "your uniform doesn’t seem to be up to the usual standards." 

"Oh? Is that what you think?" He said, reaching for the hat before you held it behind your back, a mischievous grin forming on your lips, 

"Sure is. You don't have your hat.”

“Oh? And whose fault is that?” He interjected playfully. 

“And” you continued, “look at this coat, full of rips. It’s practically in shambles." you ran a finger down his side, allowing the tip of your fingernail to catch at the tiny holes littering the worn fabric.  

"Hey now, my coat's always looked like that. You didn't seem to find fault in it when you were cold last night." You shook your head, 

"Nope, I'm sorry Mr. Valentine, it's all in disarray, I'm afraid we'll just have to scrap the whole thing." 

"Well now, if that’s what you were after, you could've just told me, darling. No need to insult--" His sentence remained unfinished as you tightened your grip on his tie, pulling him in for a kiss that was anything but chaste. He had so many questions left unanswered, but for reasons unknown, he couldn't seem to think of a single coherent inquiry to voice to you in this instance. Looks like it will just have to wait until later.

Preston: 

     Preston felt uneasy. His eyes had opened slowly when he had awoken, his heartbeat had remained consistently calm, dapples of sunlight shone through the holes in the curtains beside the bed, indicating that he had slept through the night. Why did everything feel so… so peaceful? No nightmares, no panic attacks, the usual insomnia Preston tended to face in the wee hours of the morning had never reared its infuriating head. 

Then he remembered. 

It was all because of you. Amazing, incredible, infallible, irresistible you. Heat flooded to his face as a coy smile touched his lips. Suddenly, he felt he had to be near you, he had to see you to believe what his mind told him had happened last night.  

“Mhm, good morning," he sighed, as he turned to face your side of the bed, "how are you-- ?" Preston's eyebrows creased as he noticed your absence, his voice trailing off as he realized his question had no recipient. 

"Sole?" He sat up, rubbing his awakening eyes before glancing around the room of your Sanctuary house. 

"Sole?!" Preston said, louder than the first time. Perhaps you had simply gone to the washroom? Or to the kitchen maybe? Rising from the bed, Preston fetched his trousers from the pile of clothes that rested at the foot of the bed, trying not to dwell too much on the thoughts that it inspired. 

But... only my clothes are here. He reflected, feeling a pang in his chest, before reminding himself that you might want to be clothed, wherever you’d gone, even if it was just in your own house. He released a bit of his anxiety in a quick breath, before heading for the bedroom door, he opened it gingerly, glancing down the hallway before making his way to each of the rooms in search of you. He did so slowly, hesitantly, in fear of what he might find. Or, rather, afraid of what he wouldn't find. 

Preston stood in the empty kitchen, numb, his fear utterly realized. He collapsed into a chair at the kitchen table, afraid to let himself think, but unable to do anything else in his current state. Why, why, why did he have to act on his feelings for you? He just had to tell you how you made him feel, he had to be vulnerable and had to “put himself out there.” He just had to be intimate with you, he had to ruin everything. Why couldn’t he have just been happy with the way things were, with you as his friend? There he was, his life in danger, unable to help the people who needed him most, the Minutemen in complete disarray after having failed those they vowed to protect, and there you were. Here to save their asses, to turn his disaster of a life into one full of hope, full of light, and now, you were gone. You had left because he was an inarticulate, inexperienced, greedy, fool of a man who couldn't keep his mouth shut and just settle for having you as his general, and as his best friend. Why had he needed more? He didn't deserve more, not with you, hell, the whole damn world didn't deserve you, so how did he ever think you could want to be with him? 

But you told me you did. You said you cared about me and-- No. Actions speak louder than words, and your absence after the first night you two had spent together… that spoke volumes. 

Maybe you finally realized that I'm nothing special. Not compared to you. Maybe you realized that, next to you, and without you, I'm nothing at all. Preston balled a fist and pounded it weakly against your worn kitchen table, the dull thud resounding through the empty house. He sighed, sliding the chair back with a groan as he rose to his feet, heading once again to the back of the house. Entering your room without you felt like a crime, but he figured he might as well remove his things, and put on the remainder of his clothes, before leaving.

He stared down at the pile of tousled fabric at the foot of the bed, slowly untangling each individual article, secretly hoping that, if he took long enough, you would eventually make your way back into the room. That you would give him some inconsequential excuse for your absence, and he could forget all of the confusion and uncertainty of the morning. As Preston gingerly began to re-dress himself, thoughts came unbidden to the forefront of his mind. The way your soft, gentle fingers had undone each of the buttons of his shirt, the pressure tickling his neck, then his chest, down his stomach to his naval, your hands wasting no time as they moved upward to push the silky material off over his shoulders. He recalled the feeling of the smooth fabric of his scarf, as it unraveled slowly around his neck, a chill creeping onto the sensitive skin before you had chased it away quickly with the heated touch of your sweet lips. He remembered the breathy gasp that had escaped from you as your hands grasped tightly at the lapels of his coat, his mouth colliding with yours over and over again as his mind screamed for him to stop, to slow down, to ignore the fire blazing beneath his skin. 

This is your general! It had told him, this is your friend, your recently widowed friend, your friend that you desperately need to keep in your life! If you screw this up, how will you ever be able to forgive yourself?

He should have listened to his head then. Why hadn’t he? Preston was sure that, if he had, it would have spared him from the awkward discussion he was bound to have with his superior officer in the near future. It certainly would have saved him the pain he was feeling now. 

At the same time though... Last night had been the best night of Preston’s life. Did he really regret having those memories now? Yes, he had to. After all, what did last night matter if it hadn’t made you happy? 

Preston shook his head, releasing a breath he was sure he’d been holding since he left the kitchen. Pulling up his boots, he grabbed the remainder of his things and left the room, glancing back at the empty bed one last time before placing his hat atop his head and pulling the door shut softly behind him.

The beams of morning sunlight chased away the fog that had settled in the streets of Sanctuary, bits of bright blue sky peeking through the gaps in the clouds. Looks like it’ll be a nice day. He thought somberly, trying desperately to perk himself up, lest he bump into any settlers on his patrol. He wouldn’t want to worry anyone with his troubled expression, and he certainly wasn’t prepared to answer any questions about his current state. Preston started towards the bridge, planning to begin his patrol of the perimeter from there. He was so focused on his destination, he nearly failed to notice the hand waving him down from the side of the street. When he did turn to look, his breath caught in his throat. 

“Sole!” He exclaimed, much too loudly, as he noticed you, nearly dropping his laser musket. A wounded settler was seated on the curb, you were kneeling next to him on one side, wrapping a bandage around his arm, with Sturges standing on the other, an empty stimpak in hand. As soon as he processed what he was seeing, the Minuteman lieutenant tried desperately to compose himself, a blush inadvertently creeping up his cheeks as his eyes met yours. He adjusted his grip on his musket, and cleared his throat, trying to hide his embarrassment.  

“Is everything alright over here?” He asked, making his way over to the group, “What can I do to help, general?” you gave him a small smile, assuring him everything was alright, and finished tending to the settler who, as Preston found out, was a new arrival who’d run into a pack of mongrels on his way to Sanctuary. When they were all certain the settler would be okay, Preston quietly asked the general if they had a moment to talk, much to Sturges’ amusement. 

“I’ll leave you two lovebirds to it, then. And don’t worry, your secret’s safe with me,” Sturges slapped Preston on the back as he passed by, snickering to himself. Preston felt heat rising to his face again and quickly motioned for you to follow him behind the house, hoping to get a little privacy. He took in a sharp breath, before releasing it slowly, and you smiled warmly at him. That’s a good sign, I suppose.

“How are you feeling?” He asked you quietly. Your eyes looked past Preston, almost as though you hadn’t heard him, and he felt a pang in his chest. Turning your head slightly, you glanced to either side, ensuring no one else was looking on, before turning back to him, looking into his eyes as a flush touched your cheeks. 

“If I’m honest?” you started, and Preston’s breath caught in his throat, “I’m a little sore.” you said with a little smile, and Preston felt his knees wobble as his legs nearly gave out in relief.  

“Heh, if I’m honest, me too.” He said, shyly looking down at his feet as he felt heat rise to his cheeks. “So, about that,” he continued, “last night, I mean. Did you, ahem, did you like--”

In an instant, your lips were on his own. The kiss was soft, but forceful, affirming all that Preston was uncertain of. 

“Last night was… amazing, Preston.” You told him after you had pulled away, your hands resting on his shoulders, keeping his body pressed to yours. 

“Then, when you left this morning ... ?”

“Sturges was looking for you when he found the settler on his patrol this morning, but he obviously didn’t find you in your bed, so he came to find me and--”

Preston groaned, an embarrassed smile forcing its way to his lips, 

“He didn't see anything, did he?” You giggled at that,

“No, honey, he didn’t see anything.” You rolled your eyes playfully, before pulling at his shoulders, urging his ear to your lips, “But someone did. And I hear they really liked what they saw. You know who it was?” you whispered. 

“Who?” you heard him breathe.

“Hmm, you really don’t know?” You sneaked a peek at his face, noting the goofy grin that spread all the way to his warm, chocolate eyes, and you couldn’t help but lean further into him. Preston drew an arm around you, his hand on your lower back, keeping you anchored to him, and all apprehension following this morning’s events seemed to be forgotten.  

“You might just have to remind me.” He said cheekily, pulling you into another kiss.

X6-88: 

     The tightness in his chest was the least of the courser's worries as he woke to find himself utterly alone. You were gone, that, he knew. But where-- no, how? How had you woken and readied yourself without also waking him? 

He never should have agreed to last night. Not only was it completely inappropriate, given your future position in the Institute, but it had distracted him from his main duty. The most important mission he'd ever been assigned: to watch over his charge, to keep them safe. To protect you. He had grown distracted, and now you were gone. The future director of the Institute, someone he respected and idolized, a person he cared about, more than anyone he'd ever come across in his existence, was just gone. His loyalty to you was akin to his loyalty to the Institute itself, and that was non-negotiable, unbreakable, hard-wired into him. You had won his devotion on your own, which made it that much more meaningful. And that much more painful when he realized that you might not feel the same loyalty for him. But why would you? And why did he care? He was allowed to feel allegiance towards you without you needing to return it, was he not? But … if you had felt this loyalty for him, you surely wouldn't have left him alone, correct? At least that's what it seemed like, but X6 wasn't particularly knowledgeable when it came to this subject. He didn't know, these thoughts confused him, and normally you were the one to help him make sense of his more... human tendencies and emotions, but clearly in this instance, he was on his own. You had treated him like no one ever had, like a real person, and so he thought he could start acting like one. Feeling like one. But he was wrong. X6 wasn't wrong often, and he hated the feeling. In his current state, every feeling he had was a negative one. He decided to shut it out. These feelings weren't helping him protect you, which was still his mission, reciprocated loyalty or not. Sitting around, contemplating his emotions didn't help him to find you. 

  The courser sat up and climbed off the mattress, grabbing his clothes that he had folded neatly beside the bed last night, noting that only his were present. After you had fallen asleep, X6 had untangled his body from your own as gently as he could, so as not to wake you, and had placed your clothes beside the bed in preparation for the morning. He had retrieved his courser uniform from the floor, with the intent of dressing himself and sitting on watch for the night, but you had stirred, sleepily requesting he return to the space beside you. He remembered hesitating, before folding his coat and placing it on the table beside your own clothes and doing as you had asked. Sliding beneath the covers, he had laid on his side, placing an arm around your waist. He remembered wondering if what he had done was correct, if he was doing this all right, but you had seemed happy, and that was all that mattered to him. So, if he had done nothing wrong, why had you left? Taken your clothes, and your bag, and your gun, and vanished without a trace? And when had he started caring about your happiness? Your health, and your safety, yes, he should certainly care about those, given the nature of his orders. But now he cared about how he made you feel. He wanted you to be happy, and he wanted to be the one to make you feel that way. But why?

X6 shook his head, attempting to clear it, and grabbed his rifle from the top of the dresser. It was distracting thoughts like these that had forced him into his current predicament, he wasn't about to make that mistake again. Placing his shades onto his face, he prepared to head through the door, and out into the wastes to search for you.

  X6 surveyed the surrounding area outside of your home in Sanctuary: the gas station, Abernathy farm, Tenpines bluff, even the inside of Vault 111. Yet, there was no sign of you. He returned to Sanctuary and found your house still empty, the hollowness growing in his chest as he realized that your leaving really had been intentional. Elsewise, he would have stumbled across you, or some sign of you, by now, right? He stood in your old kitchen, his knuckles paled at the death grip he held on the edge of the counter, his jaw clenching as he tried to hold his emotions at bay. 

How could he have agreed to last night? And why would you have presented the idea if you had meant to do this to him in the end? With a groan of frustration, X6 pounded a hand against the countertop, leaving a small indent in the shape of his fist. Not only had you left him, you had done so without warning, without explanation, and now he couldn't find you. He couldn't find you. That's what he did, he was a relentless hunter, a cold pursuant, he completed all of his missions efficiently, he followed Institute protocol, he followed orders. What he didn't do was get wrapped up in human emotions, he didn't throw caution to the wind and give into his most base desires. He was a synth. He didn't yearn, or want, or love. Or at least he hadn't. 

Not until he met you. 

The courser sighed, fists still clenched in frustration. He didn't know what to do, you were his mission, but if you commanded him to leave--? But you never actually had ordered him away... In his eyes, there was only one option for him to consider.

  "Unit X6-88, ready to relay back to the institute. Alone." 

   A flash of blue, and he was back. No one asked him to report in, and he didn't offer. He started straight towards the SRB, wondering what the consequences would be for his behavior. A memory wipe would be the best outcome, especially if... Oh. But if they saw the memories from last night, what would happen to you? 

X6 stopped in his tracks, turning quickly to go up the stairs that ascended to the residential portion of the Institute. Once again, he was at a loss. He didn't want to lose those memories, but more than that, he didn't want anyone else to see them. You were the first person he's ever met that treated him as a human, saw him as one, made him feel like one, and he couldn't bear the thought of what the Institute scientists would say about you, say to you, or do to you, if they saw what you had done with him. The courser looked down at his feet as he walked quickly, moving instinctively towards your quarters. He turned down the hallway, and recoiled at the figure that appeared as your door dragged open. X6’s eyes widened beneath his shades, and he cleared his throat to keep himself from gasping in surprise as your eyes met his. 

"There you are! I was wondering when you would finally turn up, I finished with the meeting hours ago. I was just about to go out and look for you. Don't tell me you slept in this late?" You said with a grin that spread all the way to your glorious eyes. X6 couldn't form words, he just stood gawking at you, his mouth half open, looking like a complete fool. Right, the meeting with Father. How had he forgotten?

"Is everything okay?" You asked, your smile being replaced by an expression of concern. The courser didn't answer, he still couldn't keep his thoughts in order; instead, he stepped forward until his chest pressed against yours, urging you to back into your quarters. You did so rather hesitantly, a confused expression causing your brows to crinkle. When the door had closed behind him, X6 slowly reached out his arms, wrapping them tightly around you, just as you had shown him last night, he pulled you to his chest and held you firmly. The warmth of you, your soft hair and sweet scent calmed his strained nerves, and he finally allowed himself to take a deep breath and close his eyes, just for a moment. As quickly as he'd initiated it, he pulled away from the hug, squaring his shoulders and straightening his posture, 

"I'm glad you're safe, ma'am/sir."