#my brain is rotted beyond repair <3< /div> Explore tagged Tumblr posts

[batvvvvv]

haven't been home the past few days but haven't had anything to do while im away so i've just got a fuckton of traditional doodles. heres my fav ones :)

[shadowsbrainrot]

i love getting attention and peer approval through internet likes like yayyyy u like the thing i made and also like please kiss me on the lips immediately

[oubliette-odette]

The Reluctance of Love Pt. 29

Am I actually updating with a new chapter without weeks in between? Shocking!

Orc Male x Half-Elf Male, Fated Mates, Forbidden Love, Slow Burn Part 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23, 24, 25, 26, 27 Content Warnings: violence, light torture All orcish is from orcishdictionary.com, created by Matt Vancil.

“Where is he?”

I heard a voice through the fog in my brain and I winced as the voice echoed and rattled like coins in a metal tin, loud, scattered, and hard against my throbbing skull.

“I said, where the hell is that orc?” There seemed to be a disturbance around me. 

I heard the shouting again and I deigned to open my eyes. I could see my world through a swollen, weeping narrow view and found myself prone on the ground of an uneven, stone floor. Bits of dank, sodden hay were scattered at my feet and around me. I caught the whiff of rot around me. Only a few feet beyond that were cold, metal bars that contained my useless body. What threat I once had was long gone, I was beyond identifying what was working and what was not, only aware that my body didn’t move the way it used to, and when I tried to move, everything reacted in a sequence and spread from one joint to the next until I had to close my eyes and regain my breath, willing myself to not faint.

I blinked through the pain and soon found my eyes locked with the dark, grim face of someone I recognized. There were parts of him that were familiar to me, parts of him I had seen on another’s face, only that one was  more kind and beautiful. This person was angry, furious. At me. 

Duke Hilmar. The name returned to me slowly and I blinked up at him, vacant of any reaction.

“Orc. I’m sure you lie there, satisfied and full of contempt against me,” He began to scream at me. “What did you do to my son?!”

I couldn’t answer. Loving Altan was never something that would be wrong. A weak thrum of affirmation flowed through me. Yes. Loving him was right. Good. The Duke would never understand.

“Unlock this door.” He spat at the one dressed in red beside him. Memories slowly started to seep back in and I remember they were Red Hunters - for some reason they were allied with the Duke. They silently obeyed and the metal door into my cell swung open with great protest. I winced as the sound reverberated in my head.

The Duke’s hands were suddenly on me, pulling me towards him, dragging me up from the ground. I grimaced and bit back the groan of pain, shuddering. 

“You.” He hissed. There was so much contempt and vitriol aimed at me. “You can’t even begin to understand how much you’ve ruined everything for him. For me. I will see you ruined beyond repair and you will never leave this place alive.”

I felt a hand slide to my thigh and press on the wound from the arrow that had shot at me. I rolled my head back and through labored, stuttering breaths, gasped for reprieve.

The Duke only pressed harder. I could only see white, blinded by the intense pain. I let out a yell that left my throat raw. More animal than man, I could not hold back any longer. I pushed against the hands that held me down and shoved them away. I felt them fall back, but I could only concentrate on one thing at a time. I braced my back against the wall, gasping.

“Do not touch me.” I growled. I struggled to stay on my feet, it felt like my body was sending me signals from every point that it needed to shut down, it needed me to stop, but I held my back straight against the cold stone wall and I breathed. In and out. Focused on staying awake - alive - long enough to fight back. 

“You do not scare me, creature.” The Duke was on the ground, but a smile remained on his face. “You’re pathetic.”

“You should be scared.” My voice was low, no more than a rumble in my chest, but it was enough for the Duke’s eyes to flutter for the briefest moment with fear. “Pathetic as I am, I’m still an orc…and we bite.” I don’t know what came over me at that moment, but I managed to quirk a grim smile.

“You will die a slow death, orc.” He said. “I could have given you mercy if you had let my son go.” He rose to his feet and huffed.

“Altan was never under my control.” I said. “But he certainly was scared of the control you forced on him. A dictator for a father is inconceivable in my home.”

“Be silent, orc.” He hissed. “You have no say in our family matters when you have no knowledge on it whatsoever.” He took a step forward and reached for me, but I swung my arm and swatted him away. Yet he reached with his other hand and gripped me around the throat, I flailed beneath him, but he pressed his weight against me, holding me down. “You think it amusing to see me lose to your kind, don’t you? Yet you are not as clever as you think, orc..” He fished into his pockets and pulled out the vial. It dangled in front of me, mocking and taunting me with the one thing that kept me close to my raebukan. “This is how you’ve controlled him, isn’t it?”

I blinked up at him, but said nothing. Was he insane?

His eyes were manic. “I’ve figured it out. It was there the whole time. My son loses himself to obsession over an orc. It made no sense at first, but it’s because you poisoned him. Now you will tell me, what is the antidote?”

I locked my jaw, shaking my head. 

His hand pressed my throat harder, “Tell me! Now!” 

I did not blink away from his mad expression, despite how desperately I wanted him off of me.

“If you will not tell me, then perhaps your own poison will benefit you.” He said. With his teeth, he unstoppered the vial and I watched in mute horror as he brought the vial towards me and pressed it to my tight lips. “Drink up, greenblood.”

No. No. This wasn’t how it was meant to happen. I tried to fight back, but the grip around my neck tightened until I couldn’t breathe. I was forced to gasp and cough for air when he poured the contents down my throat. The liquid was cold on my tongue and my body, having been denied food and water for days, eagerly swallowed the contents of the vial as it cooled and settled into my stomach. I shook and pushed myself away from the Duke, falling back onto the ground and shuddering.

“You don’t know what you’ve done.” I managed to say, just before I felt the chill slowly shift into something different. I could feel the warmth in my gut as it began to increase, expand and spread. 

The Duke stepped back and watched me with open-mouthed delight as he saw me begin to writhe and groan with the returning of the constant burning in my loins. And then I felt the pull, the tug of something that belonged to me that felt like it was far, far away from me. The feeling that I must follow it, or I would forever live in that torment.

The Duke watched on, satisfied, not knowing that what he had done to me had most certainly doomed Altan as well.

Want to be updated on new chapters? DM me to be added to the tag list! I'm so sorry that I missed you guys last chapter!

@eltrolodecadadia

@sizzlinghideoutcoffee

@carjis

[call-sign-shark]

✨ Forget-Me-Not || Ch.3✨

Summary:  Jake calls you in the evening, panicking: Amber is sick and he does not know what to do. — Or how a flower girl will try to heal a heart beyond repair 

Words: 3.1k

Tags: fluff, dad!Jake, like tooth-rotting fluff, domestic situation

Read Part 1 || Part 2

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Psss don't forget to reblog 💚

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The crackling of the fire, dancing in the hearth, is lulling you to sleep. Heavy as lead, your eyelids close as you doze off, comfortably curled in one of the living room’s armchairs. A pleasant smell of chamomile tea and warm brioche floats in the whole house – your Aunt has just removed the cake she has baked from the oven and has put it on the kitchen table.

If heaven is a place, you are convinced it is Aunt Maya’s house.

Your sleepy mind wanders from thought to thought. Did the last client’s wife enjoy the wedding bouquet you made for her? Will you wash your hair tonight or are you feeling too lazy to do that? Despite the myriad of thoughts you have, your brain always comes back to the memory of Jake Seresin kissing you on the beach. The smell of sunscreen, the sun’s warmth on your skin, and the intoxicating taste of his lips… You continuously recall every slightest detail of the date and, each time you do so, a wave of desire lights your soul on fire. When focusing hard enough on the fresh recollection of your last encounter with the handsome pilot, you can still smell the delicate scent of the ocean melted with his masculine and slightly musky perfume. Since that afternoon, Jake and you meet almost every day.

Summer fling or summer love, whatever you call it, it cannot be ignored. This is what Aunt Maya said when you told her about Jake.

You are about to fall into Morpheus’ soft arms when the muffled sound and vibrations of your phone snatch you from sleep, causing you to jolt. 

A quick glance at the clock on the wall: it is 8 PM. Thoughts bump into each other in your skull, for you do not expect any phone call. You blink several times to shoo the fatigue away from your sleepy eyes and grab your phone to look at the screen.

Jake 🌻 

Your brows furrow at his name. Even though you got in the habit of calling each other for hours almost every night, it never happens at this time of the evening. Indeed, Jake makes sure Amber is deeply asleep first before spending time with you. You pick up the phone

“Hello?”

“Poppy, I’m sorry for calling you this late but — but I need you.” Jake’s panicked voice sweeps your smile away. Concerned, you get up from the armchair and start to scurry around the living room. Staying still during a phone call had never been a thing for you.

“Alright. What’s the problem?” You keep your composure, hoping for the calmness in your voice to soothe the aviator.

“It’s Amber.” He pauses and takes a deep breath, but his attempt to keep his cool fails miserably, “She has quite a high fever and I don’t know what to do. I – I tried to call Penny but she doesn’t pick up. I asked Rooster and Shark but they are both fucking clueless and useless. Should I bring her to the hospital? Should I give her meds? I don’t know.” He is talking very quickly, and his words muddle up in a half-incomprehensible soliloquy.

“Jake”

“I mean, I’m scared of giving her the wrong type of meds and worsening the situation. But I can’t stay there, arms crossed, while she is clearly in pain! I mean–”

“Jake, calm down. Focus on my voice.” Your tone is firmer but your words are coated with tenderness. Iron fist in a velvet glove they said. You hear the pilot’s shaky breath on the line: he has closed his eyes and holds on to your voice as he would do with a lifebelt, “Do you want me to come?” 

Another short pause followed by a long and shaky exhale, “Yes please,” he asked.

“Okay, see you soon.” You double-time to the corridor to put your black Dr. Martens on as soon as you hang up. There is no time to waste, you mumble to yourself for the simple thought of Amber and Jake in distress makes you utterly worried. 

“Where are you going, Poppy?” Aunt Maya’s voice said from the kitchen. The lovely old woman is cutting brioche slices and spreading butter on them. She does not even look at you, far too absorbed in his task.

“A friend of mine’s got a problem with his daughter. Gotta help him.” You reply, half distracted by the search for Aunt Maya’s car key. 

“Left pocket of my purple jacket.” She declares. You freeze – How the hell does she know what you are looking for? You turn your head towards the kitchen's open door expecting to see Aunt Maya’s silhouette standing there but she is not. The lovely old woman’s lips stretch in a faint but cunning smile, for she can easily imagine your surprise.  You squint your eyes and look into the pocket of the said jacket:  she is right, the car key is here. The palm of your hand tightens around the car key as you shake your head, amused. Sometimes you wonder if Aunt Maya is the daughter of a witch they couldn’t burn.  After all, she had a black cat, was a good cook, she knew plants and their effects by heart ... Yeah, Aunt Maya might be an actual witch.

“Thanks! I don’t know when I’ll be back home.” 

“Keep me informed, dear.”  She states, her voice emphasizing your nickname to make sure you won't forget to send her messages. You are about to grab the door handle when Aunt Maya’s voice echoes a second time, just before you leave, “Poppy?”

“Yeaaah?”

“ Be careful not to wound yourself with the shards of a broken heart. They can be really sharp.” 

“Uhu!” You agree without really listening to what she has just said, for you are too impatient to leave. The door slams at your departure, plunging the house into silence. 

Aunt Maya gently shakes her head, wishing you would not learn it the hard way. 

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The car engine stops purring as soon as you turned the ignition key and slip it into one of your pockets. You grab the bag on the passenger seat and rest it on your lap for you to quickly roam through the stuff you have brought. You check if you have not forgotten anything.  Ibuprofen, soft body sponges, a light Lion King blanket, and plenty of food-- You did not know what Amber likes to eat so you basically bought everything that children of her age love alongside a bunch of fresh fruits. Realizing the weight of the bag, you suddenly feel ridiculous. Isn't it a bit too much? At this point, you are even afraid of Jake's reaction; you don't want him to think you know children better than him nor you want him to believe you meddle too much in his and his daughter’s life.

You are about to leave the car when a familiar floral smell makes you stop in mid-motion. Frowning, you glance over your shoulder to take a look at the backseat. Your Y/EC eyes are welcomed by the tiny white bells of several sprigs of Lily-in-the-Valley, tied with a white silk ribbon. What are these flowers doing here? At first, you thought Aunt Maya may have forgotten them, but you quickly give up the idea for the old woman would never forget flowers in the back of her car. In fact, she was the kind of passionate soul who would have taken care of the bouquet even before taking care of herself. Looking at them a little closer, you notice a small note.

"Carried away by a soft summer breeze,  the sweet and green fragrance of my nodding blooms promises the return of happiness." 

A soft smile enlightens your face as you recognized the handwriting. Aunt Maya is definitely a witch. You reached for the flowers and smell their delicate spring-like scent. If you already bring a whole minimarket in your bag, you might as well take the Lilies-of-the-Valley with you.

"Damn it," you grumble as you are making your way to the door while trying not to damage the flowers or drop the bag's content all over the ground. Fortunately enough, Jake is already at the door, one of his shoulders leaning against the wooden frame. He has heard the sound of your engine from inside the house.

"Let me help you," He said while already unburdening you from the bag. Somehow, he is well aware that you are strong enough to carry it by yourself, but he feels bad for making you come to his house in the midst of the evening, so he tries to make up for it. Despite his anxiety, the sight of the adorable flowers bouquet in your two delicate hands brought a genuine smile to his face. He has never told you but each time you bring him flowers, the fortress he had built around his heart shatters a bit more. 

Jake’s house is a typical beachfront house, whose prevailing material is maple wood. Far from being pompous, his home is more like a cozy nest than a fancy and luxurious residence. The living room is spacious, with an open kitchen. The man makes a good living, but he likes simple things. Growing in Texas often humbled him. Jake puts down the groceries on the kitchen table. Then, he grabs a glass, pours water in it, and sets it on the counter for you to put the lilies in. A faint and exhausted smirk is etched on his thin lips, but you know the last thing he wishes at this moment is to smile. He is just being polite. You put the bouquet in the glass and take a deep breath.

“Alright, where is Amber?”

“In her bedroom”, Jake turned around to face you and leaned against the kitchen table, half-sitting on it. His strong and calloused hands are gripping its edge, “She is trying to sleep but she can’t,” his formal smile slowly fades away from his good-looking face, “When she came back from school she told me she wasn’t feeling well. Headache and stuffy nose. I obviously thought she had caught a cold but one hour ago she started shaking like a leaf and crying. I took her temperature and, dear God, she was burning.” While talking, the aviator had brought a trembling hand on his neck to rub it in a nervous reflex. The kitchen’s light reflects on Jake’s tanned skin and underlines the dark bags he had under his sea-green eyes. To be honest, this is the first time you realize how tired he must be. Hardworking naval aviator, divorced man, single dad, and sports aficionado, you wonder how he can do it all without breaking down.

You take a step closer and gently press your cold hand on his warm arm, remaining silent. You want him to know that you are here for him, but you are afraid of not finding the right words. The contrast between your body temperature wakes up a firework of sensations in your stomach. Jake’s muscles relax as if your simple touch has the power to heal his wounds.

“I usually call Penny when I don’t know what to do but I’ve forgotten she and Amelia are spending a few days sailing with their boat.” His voice, coated with fear a short time ago, is quieter. You crack a soft smile.

“So you thought calling Rooster and Shark was a good idea?”

“I freaked out, but I quickly remembered they suck with kids. They panicked even more than I did. Plus, they are having a short road trip together so they can’t even come,” He pauses and lets out a long sigh, “I am an awful dad. Not even able to know what to do when my own daughter is sick.” Sadness glows in his emerald eyes.

“Don’t beat yourself, Jake. You are scared because you love her to death, and that’s far from being a flaw.” You gently lay your small hand on his cheek, enjoying the raspy sensation of his stubble beard against the delicate flesh of your fingertips. Jake would usually be clean shaved, so seeing him with beard amuses you: it suits him well. But what doesn’t anyway? Lulled by your voice, the pilot closes his eyes and lets out a long sigh. He does not know how but you always manage to find the words to calm him down. The exact words and tone — at this point he suspects you to be some kind of witch. Less than ten minutes has passed, and his anxiety already decreased because of your reassuring presence.

“But”

“Hush. Can you show me where Amber’s bedroom is?” Your fingers run one last time on his cheek in a sweet caress before you back up and rummage through the groceries bag to grab what you needed, “You know, I would not worry if I were you. Kids can have a sudden high fever but it usually does not last long. You told me she caught a cold, well it can possibly come from he–”

“Dad, my head hurts!” Said a tired and squeaky voice coming from behind you. Jake and you turn around as one, only to find little Amber standing on the last step of the staircase dressed in a pale pink fluffy pajama. She is rubbing her eyes and sobbing, unable to express her discomfort by other means than crying from her ten little years old. You looked at her, an expression of pure sadness sweeping away your smile. Seeing the bubbly little Amber sobbing breaks your heart.

“Oh, sweetheart.” Jake does not wait any further and immediately walks to his daughter to carry her in his arms. As soon as her dad grabs her, the young girl clings to him like a baby koala, “Don’t worry, Poppy and I are going to take care of you.” He says softly, gently lulling her by stroking her back. As loving the sight of the two is, something disturbs you: Amber is dressed far too much for someone with a high fever.

“Is Poppy gonna stay with me too?” Amber’s little voice asks before she glances at you, curiously. To be true, she missed having a feminine figure in her life, even though she cannot really word it – nor she wants to. Having you around soothes her even more. Jake looks at you, his emerald eyes waiting for your answer as attentively as Amber.

“Of course, I’m gonna stay. And we’ll fight the fever together, little cheetah?”

Little cheetah. Amber lets out a tired chuckle at the pet name, for she immediately understands you call her like that because, when you first met, she ran to you. She laughs, and it is everything. Watching the little blonde girl’s joy makes your heart sparkle. Without further ado, you join the pair and pressed one hand on Jake’s lower back while the other is busy carrying a sponge, a blanket, and a banana, “I’ve got an idea since you cannot sleep. What if we all watch the movie you want?”

“Can we watch the Lion King?” She asks, her face half hidden in her father’s neck. The aviator cannot help but snort, amused. He swears he knows every line of the movie by heart, but that comes with the joy of having kids. 

“Of course, we can watch it, that’s also one of my favorite movies. By the way, look what I brought.” You show her the blanket you’ve bought for her: it was a huge and comfy black blanket with the movie logo – a lion face – on it. Amber’s eyes widen at such a sight, her sea-green iris enlightened with excitement.

“Is it for me?!” Amber beams.

Jake lowkey clenches his jaws, trying hard not to let his heart fall for you, even though he is afraid it’s already too late. His inner voice whispers in his ear, telling if that it would not mind if you would stay in their life forever. 

“But first, Dad’s gonna dress you with something lighter. Aren’t you, dad?” 

“Hm?” Snatched from his thoughts, Jake looks at his daughter, then at you, and blinks several times until his mind connects with what you just said, “But she’s sick. She needs to wear something warm.”

“Nope, she has a high fever, and wearing something too warm can increase her body temperature. She’ll feel better with a lighter pajama.” You raise a brow and the pilot falls silent. He stares at you for a short while, completely wrecked by the thought of you being a caring mom for his daughter. After the bloody war, he fought against his ex-wife to gain Amber’s custody back, Seresin swore to never let another woman step into his and his daughter’s life. And here she was,  looking at you with complicity even her own biological mother never had with her. 

“Alright, we’ll be there in five minutes.” He finally says, managing to come back to his senses by God knows what kind of miracle. As the father and his daughter disappear upstairs, you decide to make the living room the coziest place possible, already comfortable in this household.

You start cutting fruits and chocolate squares in a bowl, in the company of the spring fragrance coming from the lily-of-the-valley next to you.

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Oh yes, the past can hurt. But from the way I see it, you can either run from it, or learn from it. 

Amber’s eyes were staring at the screen as Rafiki talked to a grown-up Simba, the movie making her forget the discomfort she was feeling lately. With one hand, she picks banana slices and chocolate. With the other, she presses the cold water-soaked sponge you gave her to alleviate the fever against her forehead. At some point, the adorable little blond turns from her dad to lean her head against your shoulder, her eyes – green like wild forests – still focusing on the screen. You glance at her and smile, a wave of tenderness coming through your soul each time you would look at her lovely bratty pout. 

Hey! Where are you going?

I’m going back! 

Jake’s heart races to the rhythm of Hans Zimmer’s This is My Home. He has tried really hard not to look at Amber and you, snuggling together and eating the snacks you had made for her to feel better. His very own soul could not handle it – One more glance is all it can take for him to definitely tear his heart from his ribcage and give it to you, no matter if you destroy it right after. 

But Amber liked you so much. And you’ve been seeing each other almost every day for one full month.  He brings one hand to his forehead, feeling feverish all of sudden. Maybe he has caught Amber’s cold – How can he realize you were the one giving him the fever?

It’s going to be dangerous.

Danger? Haha! I laugh in the face of danger!

His shiny green eyes cannot help but take a quick look at you, but as he gives in he realized he cannot look away anymore. Enchanted by your charming silhouette, Jake drowns in your features. You are beautiful – so beautiful that the flowers you always brought could not compete with your graceful looks. Feeling watched, you frown slightly and check on the blonde pilot. Your eyes meet, and time stops. Boom, boom, it beats faster and faster in his chest. He gathers all his willpower and stretches his arm to rest it on the couch’s back right behind you.

Amber has started to doze off, still snuggled up to you. It seems like she does not want to let you go – Good thing, his father neither.

“Please stay,” Jake whispers, doing his best not to wake his daughter up.

“But it’s going to be dangerous.” You reply, your lovely smile enlightening your face.

“Danger? I laugh in the face of danger.” 

“Of course you do, Seresin.” 

You chuckle.

He falls.

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Taglist: @acarboni21 @child-of-of-the-sunshine @djs8891 @teacupsandtopgun @clancycucumber230 @eddiesgorlie

[shmules]

charles cuevas headcanons bc he is rotting my brain and these have been sitting in my notes app for like 3 weeks. slight drdt chapter 2 spoilers lol

 

he actually has like. curly/wavy hair but he straightens it bc he doesn’t like curl maintenance. his hair is literally fried beyond repair 

he gets really bad motion sickness but won’t admit it bc he’s stubborn

he owns a ton of those corny science shirts

he hates mornings, but pretends he’s a morning person bc his job requires him to get up early. he’s constantly running off of 3-4 hours of sleep and an entire pot of coffee

he’s not too keen on romance, but a couple coworkers have caught his eye before. they were all men LOL

he can’t drive, he insists it’s unnecessary but he’s rlly just afraid of getting into an accident 

he can’t swim either lol.. he used to be able to but then his brother died and his parents stopped taking him

his nails r actually super well-maintained.. not super long but they’re pretty

he took academics veeeery seriously. he’d lose his mind if he ever got below a 95 on an exam or something 

he took hs chemistry class way too seriously.. his poor lab partner always had to listen to him yap on and on about how they were doing it wrong or how the experiment was too easy

he probably homeschooled at some point to focus more on chemistry

he tried to make microwave mac n cheese once when he was like 14 but forgot the water and nearly set his house on fire

he mansplains. he mansplains things all the time to both men and women. he tries so hard to sound smart but he just sounds like a loser lmfao

[msburgundy]

3, 5, 17 (bonus points if the pic involves A Beast)

3. Favorite musical artist / group you started listening to this year?

i listened to a lot of new songs but not a lot of new artists so i'm going to go with.....Timo Lassy

5. TV show of the year?

i'm gonna have to give it to Homeland because not only was that the only new one thing year, but also it rotted my brain beyond repair

17. Post a picture from the end of the year

[elliemarchetti]

Five Ways to Seduce a Male [5/5]

Merry Christmas to everyone involved in this year’s @acotargiftexchange

@aldbooks this is the last gift in my little advent calendar, I hope it’s the proper grand finale you deserve!

Until next time, your hyperactive elf 😘

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

TW: kinda mild, but NSFW in the end (masturbation)

Words: 1.223

5. Express Your Needs

Elain knew she startled everyone when she disappeared from her bedroom and apparently winnowed outside Prythian just to reach for her mate. She hadn’t done it intentionally, but since then Rhysand insisted for the wards around the house to be strengthened, and the priestesses at the library intensified their studies on her condition, or her ability, as Amren claimed she should call it. In general, Elain felt like a freak, constantly monitored by Nuala and Cerridwen and kept so busy by the entire Inner Circle she was too exhausted in the evening to muster the strength to write to Lucien. Besides, it wasn’t like she really knew what to say. She wanted to talk about her days, the stagnant situation at the Night Court and the progresses Nyx was making, and at the same time it would all be a way to ignore what she did when her sister showed up with her husband to take her home. Worn-out from the bath, the conversation with the Queen and her brain’s desperate attempt to understand what just happened, she let them decide for her again, without opposing or siding in favour of her mate, who claimed that if magic led her this far there had to be a reason. He was right, as he’d been all along in his attempts to know her better and get her out of the cocoon of despair caused by Graysen’s rejection, yet falling back into old habits was too easy, especially when she was a vulnerable mess, so the High Lord brought her back to the very place she unconsciously fled, and Elain could’ve sworn there was a lingering smell of ashes and rot on her pillow. To make matters worse, Lucien’s absence threatened to drive her mad, even more after she tasted what it felt like to indulge in his caresses. In her head, she relived the surreal events at the manor so many times she could hardly distinguish what was real and what not. She was sure that if Vassa hadn’t interrupted, she would’ve done something reckless, something she might regret and would’ve complicated things beyond repair, yet the flashbacks of Lucien’s fingers exploring her jaw and stroking her hair never failed to give her a warm feeling between her legs and that was why she asked Feyre to meet where no one else could hear her admit the shameful things her mate made her think. Nesta showed her the waterfalls on a scorching summer afternoon, and Elain enjoyed its cooling splashed and nature’s peaceful song so much she thought her younger sister should see it too, perhaps as inspiration for one of her paintings. The path leading there was well hidden, lonely but not too difficult, and once they reached their destination, the High Lady insisted on taking a swim and teaching her how to stay afloat and hold her breath without getting water up her nose. With her eyes turned to the clear sky and her long golden-brown hair spread like a fan, Elain could only mentally thank the bird-Queen for her words of encouragement. She was right when she told her she couldn’t be ruled by fear, that it was only a feeling she should learn to use at her advantage like everything else. If she hadn’t listened, she would’ve missed that wonderful view, and probably much more of what awaited in the infinite journey her life had become.

“Breathtaking as this place is, I don’t think we’re here just to hang out,” Feyre told her once they were back on the stony shore, the sun kissing their bare skin. She wasn’t wrong, of course, but the fact this was the reality of things didn’t make it any less depressing. Was there going to be a time when they would act like a normal family again? Had they ever been, or had it been too long since mother’s death and the loss of father’s fortune? Had they ever really acted like sisters?

"I'd just like some advice," she admitted, and apprehension made its way on the High Lady’s face. Whatever she thought of the urgency with which she requested the little trip was shadowed by the fear of an irrevocable decision, able to destroy the resilience and sanity of the only friend she had left from her time in the Spring Court. While the possibility was obviously hurtful, she didn’t press her, nor she tried to change her mind, so the relief was truly genuine when she learned Elain wanted nothing more than a safe way to experiment before accepting the bond.

“With a mental link as strong as yours, I have no doubt you’ll come up with plenty ways to let him know you’re interested in a more physical approach,” she teased, and the topic was dropped, yet Elain mulled over those words for a long time, assuming there must be at least a little truth in them. She could’ve asked Rhysand, who probably used his daemati powers for all his life to achieve such feats, but just the idea made her so nervous she avoided her host like the plague, making her retreat often in the solitude of the gardens. A spicy romance Emerie lent her at the end of summer was the turning point, and it gave her a wonderful and not so sensible idea on how to placate those fantasies creeping into her dreams, so vivid and intense she often woke up covered in sweat and with the evidence of her desire on her underwear. After she made sure everyone was long asleep, Elain locked both the windows and the door, and dressed in nothing but her shortest, thinnest nightgown, she slipped under the light blankets, ready to explore her own body as she wished for her mate to do. It was a strange feeling, investigating the depths of pleasure when there was no one to share it with, but above all it seemed almost unnatural that she could set aside her mother’s teachings and the expectations of mortal society, fully embracing her being Fae and all its benefits. With moral and conflicting thoughts, she caressed her breasts, her nipples already turgid with the excitement the whole ordeal gave her. While the now familiar feeling of warmth was growing in her lower abdomen, she moved a hand on her stomach, her nails tickling the sensitive skin of her waist, her mind gradually emptying itself of ponderings and filling up with images of Lucien. Once she reached the centre of her womanhood and the bundle of nerves above, every coherence dissipated from her conscience, her only purpose to reach her mate, to show him, without flaunting it to everyone or making a decision that would irrevocably change her life, what he could have. Her orgasm built up fast and she came like crashing waves, biting her hand to silence her moans, the mating bond saturated with things better left unsaid. Satisfied, and more exhausted than she’d imagined, Elain settled back into the pillow. At some point she must’ve fallen asleep, but her rest was short-lived, for she heard a noisy coming and going from the corridor, whereupon someone knocked on her door. Feyre appeared from the dark, sleepy eyed and with dishevelled hair, but nonetheless amused.

“May I know what Lucien Vanserra is doing on my front yard before dawn?”

[honey-hippie-harper]

through the burning shell

Hello it’s been 84 years.

This is fun :): I wrote this as a Christmas present for @obsidianfr3sk (YES DAWNIE KEEP POSTING YOU CHRISTMAS FICS DURING MARCH. YOU GO GIRL) and it’s a sequel to my other fic “through the bleeding shell” where I basically try to save Simon and Hugh from the queerbaiting MM turned them into by adding a certain degree of complexity to their relationship. This is a story about gays, grief and a dead friend + Simon defending Nova bc I don’t roll with Supernova. Hence, I am not morally obligated to obey canon <3

Anyway afgdhjafghsj i don’t think you need to read the first part to understand this, and I hope you like it <3. I don’t want to give much away, but this sort of turned into a collaboration that got out of control and @obsidianfr3sk might write a third part in the future ;)

through the burning shell

“There have been rumors that the public revealing of Agent N is to include a public execution as well.”

Being all together, right there, Simon saw Hugh narrowing his eyes, staring directly at Genissa Clark, formerly Frostbite, now neutralized, along with the rest of her team.

Well.

Almost all of them.

“That’s true.” Hugh started, and Simon couldn’t help but think he shouldn’t have answered. A part of him was getting a pretty bad feeling from this. “For his crimes against humanity, Ace Anarchy has been sentenced to death.”

“Why stop there?” Said Genissa. “I would argue that his accomplices deserve the same fate.”

The same fate.

His brain struggled to make a connection between that sentence and the one Hugh had uttered. At first, he didn’t understand. A couple of fast seconds later, Simon realized that, by saying “fate”, she was referencing something.

She was referencing, more specifically, Ace Anarchy’s sentence.

A death sentence.

Accomplices.

The Anarchists.

“Nightmare deserves the same fate.” Nova deserves the same fate. “Nightmare must die… And I want to be the one to do it.”

Nova must die.

And I want to be the one to do it.

A child killing another child, publicly, with the Renegades’ permission.

A child they had taken under their wing, Genissa Clark that is, killing another child, who had been in Simon’s house, who had touched Adrian’s heart, and who had made bad choices but was still a person. The official version of the events said she had stabbed Max, and Danna claimed she was Nightmare, but they hadn’t taken any declarations or anything, so that story might as well just change.

Simon couldn’t help but feel she didn’t deserve to die.

Maybe because she actually didn’t. It didn’t feel fair.

One thing was sentencing Ace Anarchy, the man who had lifted an entire city, leaving a ridiculously huge number of deaths in the process, who had stolen, broken and burned, who had killed a man (the mayor) and his pregnant wife, who had killed his own brother, sister-in-law and possibly his two nieces...and another, pretty different thing was to allow this 19 year old girl kill a 16 year old one, who had some crimes that could put her into jail for like 3 or 5 years, but weren’t horrible enough to give her a death sentence. She was a minor. She wasn’t yet beyond repair…

And if she was to be executed, then she was still a minor. She didn’t deserve to be humiliated like that. She didn’t deserve her life to be taken away with so little dignity.

Not by Genissa Clark.

Not like that.

And, stars, please, not now.

Not right now.

It was unthinkable, it was barbaric, it was animal, it was almost as if…

A quiet chuckle.

A quiet chuckle that, suddenly, interrupted his train of thought and, with all the pain in his heart, he was able to recognize in a blink.

Evander was chuckling.

Genissa Clark, nonchalantly, was blackmailing them. She was trading her silence for the legal permission to kill someone, in front of a crowded arena. And Evander was chuckling.

Genissa Clark wanted to murder Nova, and Evander was chuckling.

“Is that all it will take to quit their complaining?”

What else did he want?

“Works for me.”

Simon almost flinched to the audacity. To the severity of the implication. To the way he was saying it. So smug. So relaxed, so….Evander it almost made Simon mad.

That was so Evander lately.

Because, lately, Evander didn’t understand anything. Not even because he had a pregnant wife waiting for him at home. There was life inside that woman. Life that had come from him.

How couldn’t he understand?

How could somebody be so cold?

“These are lives we’re discussing.” Simon reminded him, shooting a look in his direction.

“Villains’ lives.” Evander responded. “Nightmare doesn’t deserve mercy any more than Ace Anarchy does. She was the one who neutralized them, so it seems fair to me.”

Villains’ lives were still lives.

Nova was a person.

Nova was...Nightmare, but before Nightmare, she was Nova, and Hugh and him had met her personally. Adrian had met her personally.

And, besides, with this logic, then all the Renegades were to be executed.

After all, Agent N was meant to be used by Renegades. They were the ones who were planning to neutralize people when they felt threatened. But when Nightmare did it, then she immediately deserved the death penalty.

Hugh would understand that. Everyone would understand that, just like Simon did.

They had to understand it.

Hugh had to understand it.

-.-

Yet, he didn’t.

Some time ago, Hugh had pledged to understand. Not directly per se, but he had pledged it in the name of his cause.

He promised he would understand.

And then, when he needed to understand the most, he didn’t.

He said he would.

Then he fucking didn’t.

“How can we run a city, much less an entire world, if we’re busy dealing with every trivial bit of bureaucratic nonsense that comes up?” He said.

“This solves two problems at once.” He said.

And he said that to Adrian’s, their son, face. Their son, who was just trying to help, by questioning how morally correct was to do something like that, just like Tamaya, Kasumi and himself had done, being ignored in the process.

“We need that right now. And we need to be united in this decision.”

“And why’s that, exactly?” Adrian asked. “Do we not want the world to know this is actually a dictatorship?”

In that moment, Simon knew Adrian had never spoken to Hugh like that. He had always been a pretty calm kid, who liked to question their decisions sometimes because, as a Renegade himself, of course he would feel uncomfortable or have doubts sometimes. But never had he called Hugh out. Not in that tone. Not with that entire bottle of venom flowing out of his mouth, melting his teeth, and mixing with his boiling blood.

Simon felt unable to tell him to stop, after his own voice had been ignored, and Hugh pretended Evander was the only one who mattered in the team. And it wasn’t that Evander didn’t matter.

It was just that he was wrong.

Besides, harsh as that sounded, Simon still couldn’t believe that those stinky, rotting, putrid, nauseating words had come from Hugh’s mouth. His Hugh. The man he had decided to marry, because he loved him so, so much, for him had been able to see him even when he was invisible. Literally.

Right in front of his eyes, Hugh morphed into a caricaturesque villain. His hands, which Simon had held so many times, were suddenly covered in both dry and fresh blood, red as an apple, but smelling like death.

Death.

The same death that was living like a parasite inside of his eyes, the only place that other people could harm. And the parasite was traveling through his system, all the way to his brain, spinning it around like a mirrorball, and eating from it like he was nothing.

Hugh’s hands were tied, too, and the strings were made of rope, a material he could easily tear apart, but seemed to have forgotten about that.

He was like a puppet, as the press, as society, and as tons and tons of eyes pulled from the ropes.

And nobody knew how to free him, not even himself.

“Do we not want the world to know this is actually a dictatorship?”

Adrian’s voice haunted him for days. The way in which he said that haunted him for days, and after a while, Simon just accepted he wouldn’t be able to get rid of it. It had become another one of the wounds he carried, open and bleeding, through life. The worst part of it all, was that Simon knew Adrian was right. That, at this point, everyone but Hugh, Evander and Genissa Clark were right.

But if he knew where had they gone wrong, and if he knew he didn’t agree with this monstrosity...why did it hurt so much?

How did you speak to a person who didn’t want to listen?

And, most importantly: Where were you supposed to get the courage to do it from?

 -.-

 Nova had spent seventeen days in Cragmoor Penitentiary when Adrian said he wanted to see her. He had been so mad at her, that it caught Simon off guard.

Not that he wasn’t able to understand it.

Adrian had had a couple of girlfriends and boyfriends throughout his life but, from what Simon could see, Nova was by far the one he had been the most serious about, to the point it almost seemed she was the one who would stay. Simon would’ve wanted to see his partner too, no matter how mad he was at said partner, if he knew they had been sentenced to death.

As fast as they could, knowing they were facing an authority (Adrian had asked them to be with him in the room), the wardens brought her right away, in a matter of minutes.

Through the glass, Simon saw her, on the metal platform, with her arms and legs being held, tightly, by braces, which were equally made of metal. For the look in her eye, Simon could almost hear her desperate begs for her visitor not to be Adrian. Yet, he had been, and he wasn’t alone, which, if anything, only made it worse.

Simon, from his part, was staring at two different glasses at the time. The one that divided them from Nova, and Adrian’s glasses, which revealed the pain he was penetrating Nova’s soul with, and also the rage he was entitled to feel.

But Nova looked small.

She, in fact, looked as small as she actually was.

She was almost a kid. She hadn’t yet started living. Yet, she was locked up here, and would only be taken out to be killed.

Nova’s body was shaking, just like Adrian’s. Her chin was quivering so much it almost seemed like she was cold, and Simon felt a twinge in his stomach. He felt nauseous and dizzy. And so evil and so guilty.

For some reason, he pictured a child, because Nova had been a younger child once, full of joy and innocence.

 He pictured a child. Just like that.

 Maybe she was wearing pigtails, had a gap between two of her teeth, and bruised legs, because she liked to play outside with her friends. Maybe, before she became Nightmare, she had something else to hold on to. Maybe she, like many people out there,  had hoped for the Renegades to come, and when they didn’t do it, something became numb, and cold, and she started freezing to death, just like she would remain freezing, suspended in History, as the interrupted life who was the proof the Renegades had become the one thing they promised they would never be.

And Simon didn’t want to be part of that, yet he was still here.

He was still here, thinking about how fortunate he was that Nova wasn’t staring back at him, but at Adrian instead, as selfish as that might’ve sounded.

Simon felt he had lost the right to look her in the eye, having been the one who promised her, on several occasions, that she could look into theirs.

With each one of his limbs becoming tense, Simon took a deep breath. His mouth tasted like bile, and his whole body was pounding along with this heart. It felt like one of those times when you were almost a hundred percent sure you were having a heart attack, despite knowing that, if that was the case, you would already be on the floor crying for help.

Next thing he felt was the sudden and strong urge to speak.

He would’ve liked to talk to Nova, but through this glass, she couldn’t hear anything.

Besides, Simon knew that this moment wasn’t about him, or Hugh. They were involved in it. They were carrying it in their backs like a cross, but it wasn’t about them. It was about Nova and Adrian. There was glass between the two. They could press their hands together through it, but they couldn’t touch the other’s skin. They couldn’t feel the air the other breathed in the short distance. They couldn’t kiss. It was scary. It was sad. And it wasn’t awfully familiar.

But it wasn’t about Simon or Hugh.

“Do you need some privacy?” Simon asked, perhaps to both of them, knowing one wouldn’t be able to hear him, even if she tried.

In response, Adrian turned his gaze away from Nova, staring at Simon instead, nodding.

“I think that would be nice.”

Before Simon could say anything else, Hugh reached for his son’s shoulder, and once he touched it, he caressed the fabric, and the skin beneath the fabric, briefly.

“We’ll be in the lobby.”

Adrian nodded again and then, after gulping, he said:

“I love you, okay?”

The weird thing was, he didn’t look them in the eye for much. He did, but he turned his gaze away pretty fast, barely leaving time to process his own words. For that reason, nor Hugh or him responded.

They left right after that, leaving Adrian alone inside the room.

With Nova, but alone.

 -.-

They dropped Adrian at the hospital once they left Cragmoon. There was barely any sound throughout the whole ride, except when Hugh asked if they wanted something from the store, and when they said goodbye to Adrian.

Obviously, Adrian couldn’t get close to Max. Not if he wanted to avoid being neutralized by him, but sometimes, according to Adrian himself, he liked to stay in the waiting room, and help the staff with whatever they needed, for he liked Max to know he came to visit often, and that he wasn’t alone, even if he couldn’t touch, or be in the same room with him. So they just allowed him to stay in the hospital as much as he needed. After all, it’s not like he was hurting anybody.

After that, everything was silent, all the way home, because, instead of driving towards the Headquarters, Hugh drove towards the mansion, leaving Tamaya in charge, under the excuse they would take a two hour break to have lunch together at home. She wasn’t so happy about it, but agreed anyway, because it’s not like Hugh had given her an option in the first place. He had just notified her. At this point, Hugh’s volume was getting the tiniest bit loud.  And Simon wasn’t talking about his voice.

Upon arriving into the house, Hugh threw the keys by the entrance’s table and proceeded to walk all the way towards the living room, to lay on the couch, one arm covering his eyes, without even taking his costume off. He didn’t have a reason to, because they were supposed to be back at the Headquarters in two hours and, besides, the elephant in the room was making it cold. Maybe he felt his armor would protect him from what they were doing, and from what they were still doing.

Sadly, the fabric of Simon’s costume wasn’t as warm. And as he took his mask off and placed it next to keys, he felt nothing but cold wind. He was back again at being Simon, and Simon only, without anything protecting him, in the same room as the husband who rarely ever kissed him anymore.

There was an elephant in the room, and it was killing both of them, though Hugh looked like he was already dead.

Simon tried not to pay attention to him, but when he was crossing to the kitchen, he couldn’t help but ask, in an unintentionally harsh tone:

“Are we going to have lunch or did you just want to make Tamaya more stressed?”

Hugh lowered his arm, staring at him with an arched eyebrow, lifting his neck just a little, to have a clearer view. Simon was starting to feel bad for having snapped at him, but not enough to take it back.

Sometimes you had to do the right thing, and sometimes the right thing was not taking it back.

His husband, from his part, looked rather confused, as if he couldn’t recognize the person in front of him.

“Are you feeling okay?” He asked.

The question caught him off guard.

Was he okay? Simon wasn’t sure, nor did he want to answer. In times like these, Hugh wanted people to answer him what he wanted to hear and, sadly, this time Simon didn’t have any answer he would like.

“Did you take your pills, Si?”

Something inside of his body turned into a tight knot, and Simon turned his gaze towards him, in a violent act. He frowned so deeply he felt his skin itching, and though he knew that, under normal circumstances, he would’ve just interpreted this as a routinary question, this time it wasn’t the case at all. This time it felt like an attack. Like something Hugh had to take back immediately because it was not his place to ask it, that is:  a question he always asked anyway.

But not this time.

Because ,this time, he wasn’t okay.

“Don’t pull the anxiety card on me, Hugh.” Saying that left a bitter, disgusting firm on his mouth, right under his tongue, which was dry. He felt like he had just chewed on a pill.

“The anxie--” Hugh narrowed his eyes, shifting into a sitting position. “I’m not pulling that card on you. I’m just asking a question.”

“Then don’t ask that question.” Simon snapped again, heading towards the kitchen to get a class of water. His feet were making too much noise when in contact with the floor, and his mouth was too dry. It was making him crazy.

It was only then that he realized they still had something else pending, and for some reason that was enough to make him stay. Simon spun on his toes, facing him. Hugh was breathing heavily, and his brows were almost touching each other.

“You didn’t answer my question, though.” He told him, in a dry tone. “Did you want to have lunch with me or did you just think taking a break while Tamaya loses her mind would be fun?”

“If Tamaya didn’t want to be in charge, she would’ve told me, and you know that.”

“Tamaya talks back when she is given a chance to.”

An empty feeling of freedom filled Simon’s body, pushing his way into the hollow all his mixed feelings had been carving at the center of his stomach.

And it wasn’t just about Tamaya, really. It wasn’t just about how lately none of her ideas were taken into consideration. Rather, it was about how nor were Kasumi’s, or his own ideas, when they tried to speak up. It was about how things were getting weirder and weirder as time went by, to the point where Simon would see a very pregnant Tamaya in the hallway, apparently fine, but stating she didn’t know if her water was breaking or if she just really needed to use the restroom (the restroom where she didn’t fit in); it was about how everyone knew damn well that Kasumi wasn’t good at public speaking and that, if anything, it just worsened her selective mutism, and yet many important speeches were given to her; it was about how Simon felt like he was talking to a wall, and how that made him feel, suspect, even, that Hugh was back to being trapped in a closet he was already too big for.

It wasn’t just about that, in conclusion.

It was just the tip of a bigger and more messed up problem.

“Well, if you want Tamaya to go bathe in her Greek goddess shower-pool-whatever that thing is, then fine. I’ll call her, I’ll tell her to take the day off, and we go back to the Headquarters.”

 “That would be great, actually!” Simon laughed sarcastically. “But you know what would be even better?”

“I don’t, Si. You tell me.”

It was a rhetorical question.

The nerve.

“That we would act like a team. That we would stop lollygagging around and take realistic turns to have our breaks, because each one of us have lives, and we’re not the only ones who have needs.” And that was about Kasumi feeling like she couldn’t do it today but having to anyway; it was about Tamaya crying in the BBQ Sunday, explaining to her husband how she wanted her baby to be with her, as a baby bawled into her arms, trying to reach for his father, because she spent so little time at home her youngest son wouldn’t recognize her sometimes; it was about Evander claiming Sandy didn’t feel like being alone with her baby bump today, but showing up at work anyway.

And yes, they had pledged to do this, but they were supposed to be in it together.

“But how should I know?” Simon hissed. “It’s not like we’re a Council or anything.”

The bile was all over his mouth now, and Simon felt possessed. He didn’t know how to stop it, and the words just kept coming, and coming and coming, as Hugh stared, half-startled, half mad.

Simon felt like he was a loaded gun that was ready to kill everything that moved, for a reason and a cause.

All those repressed feelings. All those things he desperately wanted to say but never could. The anxiety. The desperate, insatiable craving for a touch that never came. For a kiss. For anything. For a sign. A sign of whatever. One single sign, that would just let him know Hugh was still here.

“It’s not like you needed the majority of us to agree to sentence that minor to death.” He let it go, and all the air, along with his soul, left Simon’s body. “It’s not like Evander and you needed such thing, did you?”

Hugh’s confusion frown suddenly shifted.

Then, all Simon saw was the embodiment of anger, with his cheeks becoming flushed, and his knuckles becoming yellow.

“So that’s what this is all about.”

There was one word to describe that tone, and that word was condescension.

To Simon, the gut-wrenching feeling of frustration that caused him was indiscriptable, and he didn’t wish it to anybody. He would’ve preferred Hugh to scream at him, or just refuse to answer at all, because he couldn’t take it.

He had had people talking down to him his entire life. He wasn’t willing to keep tolerating that.

And in the moment he stared into Hugh’s blue eyes, Simon knew there was no turning back. Because sometimes the right thing to do was not taking it back.

Others, it was not holding it back.

“No. In fact, it’s not about that.”

“WHAT IS IT, THEN?!”

“YOU TELL ME!” Simon howled, getting one step closer to him, and all the memories started flowing...more likely, overflowing, including that time when he had talked to Kasumi and Tamaya in the living room, just like as if they were teenagers, instead of grown ass people, about how Hugh was leaving, even though he was still right there.

Right there, looking like a corpse.

A blue, stiff corpse.

“Why don’t you ever kiss me anymore?” Simon asked, and his voice sounded way less threatening than he had intended. “Why?”

“Are you really going to pull that card on me?”

“I am going to pull it because I want to know!” Simon barked, pointing at his own chest, which was getting tighter and tighter with every second. “Why don’t you ever touch me anymore? Why am I always invisible to you, even when I’m not? Why are you so fucking cold all the time? Why won’t you tell me what’s wrong?!”

Hugh wheezed, maybe pretending it didn’t make sense, or maybe pretending he hadn’t understood at all. Still smirking, he ran his fingers through his hair, and stared at Simon, scratching his chin, and clicking his tongue.

“So...Sex.”

Simon’s heart was pounding.

“Yes, sex!” He yelled, shameless. “And kisses, and hugs and my husband! That is what am I asking for!”

“WHAT DO YOU EXPECT ME TO DO?! WE’RE BUSY!”

“WE’RE NOT BUSY NOW!”

“SO YOU WANT TO GET LAID NOW?!”

“I’M NOT GETTING LAID WHILE THINKING ABOUT HOW A CHILD WILL BE EXECUTED BY ANOTHER CHILD BECAUSE I WASN’T ALLOWED TO DO ANYTHING TO STOP IT FROM HAPPENING!”

“SHE TRIED TO KILL ME! SHE TRIED TO KILL MAX!”

“FIRST: AN ATTEMPTED ASSASINATION IS NOT ENOUGH TO GIVE SOMEBODY A DEATH PENALTY, AND, SECOND: THAT’S WHAT GENISSA SAID!”

“ISN’T THAT ENOUGH?!”

“THAT’S NOT ENOUGH!” Simon screamed, covering his ears with hands.

He didn’t know why, specifically, the ears, knowing that, in reality, his eyes were the problem, because every time he closed them, he saw Nova in that chair, like an animal. And he saw Genissa standing in the lobby, playing with them like puppets; he saw Evander’s despicable smirk when he told Genissa to go ahead; he saw Adrian’s furious eyes as he called his own dad a dictator; he saw Hugh.

Mostly, he saw Hugh, and the caricaturesque villain version of him, which Simon despised with every inch of his being.

Then he was back at the beginning. At Nova.

Nova, who had tan skin, pitch black hair and slanted blue eyes. And Nova, who looked familiar when she smiled, because she looked similar to that man who had come to the Headquarters asking for help, whose smile looked similar to the other person who carried their blood.

And Simon couldn’t help but consider it as a real possibility. And if he happened to be right, then they were failing her.

For the second time.

“It’ll never be enough, Hugh.” He declared. “Because she…”

Simon’s internal knots became tighter, to the point they were suffocating him.

“How do we know who this girl is?” he questioned. “How do we know it isn’t her?”

“Her, who? What are you talking about?”

“Her. The one we failed to protect.” Simon felt a tear slipping from his eye, as he became closer and Hugh walked backwards. “Uh? How do we know that? How do we…?”

But something stopped him.

 And that something was Hugh’s eyes, turning grey as chromium.

He was breathing fast. Faster with every second, and where maybe he saw anger, Simon saw nothing but deep, stored pain, flowing out of him like sweat, or like the tears that weren’t there.

There was Hugh’s bleeding shell again, protecting him like he was a small child curled up on the floor, in a ball, through a polarized surface where Simon and him couldn’t touch, and where nothing could hurt him, while everything could at the same time.

There it was.

The despicable, horrid, bleeding shell.

Except this time it wasn’t bleeding. No. No.

This time, the dense, bubbling blood was falling off it, reaching Simon’s feet, and the shell was in flames. Tall, untamable flames, that were burning the roof and everything surrounding them.

The shell was burning, while Hugh was inside of it, and nobody could get him out before he was burned to death.

Why didn’t he let anyone help him?

Why did he insist the flames weren’t there?

Why couldn’t Simon hold his hand?

Why was he so far?

“We didn’t fail to protect her. She died.” Hugh declared, and when Simon saw his lips quivering, he realized they weren’t talking about Nova anymore.

“She didn’t fail. She died. “ Simon saw the silver painting Hugh’s fingertips, as tears started rolling down his face. “She died! SHE DIED, WHEN IT SHOULD’VE BEEN ME, SIMON!”

The bleeding shell was burning, and Simon still couldn’t find his way in.

“IT SHOULD’VE BEEN ME! AND SHE DIED! SHE DIDN’T FAIL TO PROTECT ANYONE! SHE DIED! IT SHOULD’VE BEEN ME! SHE DIED, SIMON! SHE DIED!”

Their eyes met for a couple of second, and the connection vanished after a blink.

“IT’S NOT HER FAULT SHE DIED, IT’S MINE!”

Hugh was sobbing, like a small child, and Simon was too.

“...It’s...it’s mine, Simon. Always has been.”

And they were so far, despite being so close, that they were left with holding themselves tight.

Because there was no way to get into the burning shell, for Hugh, strangely as it sounded, had never said those words out loud, because he thought the picture on the wall behind him, the one with the woman wearing a floral pink dress with their son -who was also hers- sitting on her lap, would hear him and that would make her sad.

Yet, Simon knew she wasn’t sad at the moment.

He knew her well enough to know she would’ve been disappointed, instead.

Anybody would be if they had to see their family kill the one thing they had died trying to protect.

“No.” Simon declared, calmly. “But I’m not going to go and try to convince you otherwise because I know it’s not the right time.”

Hugh started shaking.

“Si…”

“And I won’t be a part of this, either.” Simon declared, firm, still staring at the picture through the corner of his eye, yet still fully focused on Hugh. “From now on, all you’ll get from me is silence in regards to the issue. I’m not willing to be a part of it. I don’t agree with this. I will never agree.”

“You don’t understand.”

“And I’m glad I don’t. In fact, I hope I never do.” Simon wiped his tears with his palm, and before continuing, he tried to find his Hugh one more time.

He was still there.

Simon hadn’t yet given up on him, but he didn’t feel like telling him that at the moment.

For some reason.

“If Adrian wants to see me, tell him I’ll be at Kasumi’s.”

“Simon.” Hugh grabbed him by the wrist, and a simple wave from Simon’s hand was enough to get it off. Way too easy, for a person who happened to have super-strength. “Simon, please. Don’t do this again. Please. SIMON!”

But Simon did it again anyway.

Later, he wondered what Adrian had felt when he abducted Max from the hospital and left a note for them.

He also wondered what everyone else had felt when the real Nightmare showed up.

Not that he was mad at them.

He just wondered what they had felt.

[crushaa]

Explaining the long break and how I got diagnosed with ADHD:

This is a post about mental health. There’s a TLDR at the bottom :) 

“Apply yourself, Cien. If you wanted to pass this class, you would be trying.” 

When I was 15, I got my tonsils out. I got the same kind of statement from a few friends and even family members; “Oh yeah, they used to take EVERYONE’S tonsils out! Even if they didn’t need it, it was the cure to everything. But now everyone’s got ADHD, so that’s the new trend.” 

Around the end of July 2019, I was running out of steam. I still had plenty of creative energy, but I couldn't understand why I wasn't able to work on anything anymore. The truth is that I knew I would hit another music block, and I wouldn't be surprised if anyone else expected it too. My posting history has always been very irregular, even back in high school with long unexplained breaks in between new songs. Knowing it would happen, I felt confident in my ability to tackle it and change my pattern of behavior.

I never thought it would last this long. With each month passing by I began to feel guiltier and guiltier, trying to find out why I couldn't do it. I'd sit in front of an empty FL Studio project for hours, and all my Paint Tool Sai canvases never had more than a few lines.  As the months went on, some pretty dramatic life events took place- various family deaths, 2 near death experiences myself, an abusive doctor. For whatever reason, I just could not recover. 

I used the tragedies as excuses as to why I couldn't do it. It would be reasonable to not be able to do anything. My antidepressants were definitely working for the first time in my life, but why couldn’t I work? I spent the New Year holiday feeling just as guilty and frustrated as ever…. I couldn’t do it anymore. I decided that I was going to go back to my doctors loaded with new theories and ideas as to what could possibly be wrong with me. It never occured to me to tell anyone I couldn’t write more than 2-3 songs in one year when it’s literally my job to write music. 

I began speculating the possibility of another psychiatric disorder, and that made me nervous. Would she think I was lying? Or faking it? I could no longer stand the treatment from the nurse practitioner who had been treating my psychiatric illnesses. I’d always been very uncomfortable with how she treated me, but she’d found the rare genetic disorder I had. I felt that I owed my progress to her and that I should stick it out. But I was still leaving her office in tears at the end of every session. An off color comment, passive aggressive reminders to take my medication, the feeling that I had no say in my own treatment plan… it was too much.  But she was the only one in town who was available to see me. So I went, and I was administered an MMPI by a psychiatrist in that same building. At the end of February, I’d get the results.  

The next appointment with her was the last time she’s ever going to see me. The results of the test had come in as inconclusive, and my world fell apart. She asked what I thought of the results, and I answered truthfully. I told her I was afraid that she saw me as a hypochondriac. 

“Well what if you are?” I didn’t answer. “Well, you are,” she went on with a cocky smile. 

She began to tell me it was my own fault. She told me I had brain damage. But it was fine, because she told me I could be treated for believing I was still sick. 

It affected me deeply, for days I couldn’t stop crying or eat a full meal. The guilt, frustration and embarrassment swallowed me whole; the problem was me. Of course I was making it up. I felt suicidal for the first time in 4 years. There was no point in trying anymore because I as a whole was defective. This world would be better off without a lost cause like me. 

I pulled myself out of this headspace for a while one day, and realized that a HEALTH CARE PROVIDER made me feel this way. 

WHERE WAS THE BRAIN SCAN, BITCH????

 All the guilt, embarrassment, shame- it morphed into a new red hot burning rage. I fired her immediately and revoked any permissions she had. I went to my primary care doctor and asked him to prescribe me my psychiatric medications while I looked for a new psychiatrist, to which he agreed. I asked him for an ADHD test, but he wasn’t comfortable doing it himself. He referred me to a psychiatrist with a 6 month waiting list who then tried to refer me to the abusive nurse practitioner. I set up the six month appointment wait and began to look into doctors in other towns.

On Monday, April 6th, I went to go see a different doctor for something completely unrelated and walked out with an ADHD (Inattentive type) diagnosis. And now less than a week later, everything about my life has changed. 7 long months of executive dysfunction came to an end in the 1 hour it took for the first half-pill to dissolve. Hot damn. 

It felt like everyone else in the world was allowed to use the sidewalk to get from place to place, but there was a rule that I had to dodge incoming traffic to get anywhere. Now, I can use the sidewalk too. I am relearning everything that I know. 

I am no longer ashamed that I have the GPA of a baked potato. I know that I am not lazy, I am not stupid, and this was NOT my own fault; I was sick and nobody knew. The signs were there, but how we view ADHD has changed entirely since I was a child! People still called it ADD. So why was it so hard to get diagnosed in this day and age?

The stigma has shifted into something far more dangerous than I’ve ever realized it was. I don’t hear “I have ADHD OO SHINY” jokes anymore, you know? We believe it to be a grossly overdiagnosed behavioral disorder meant to punish children for having a lot of energy. We wave it off, calling it the new tonsil removal surgery trend. Of the three types of ADHD; Predominantly Hyper-Impulsive, Predominantly Inattentive (that’s me!), and Combined Type; a mix of the two, there tends to be more stigmatized attention towards the hyper-impulsive type. We believe in what we see, breaking the first rule of mental illness: Just because you can’t see it doesn’t mean it’s not there. 

This leaves those suffering from both inattentive type and combined type to rot. Attention deficiency itself doesn’t have much of a stigma because it isn’t even seen as having a seat at the ADHD table. This is catastrophic and will continue to destroy lives because people don’t feel hyper enough to even consider that they might have ADHD. In turn, those who are told to try harder, apply themselves, stop procrastinating, and to stop being so lazy do not receive the proper care they need. Those who suffer without treatment get worse over time; they lose confidence in themselves, they don’t start new things in fear of the inability to finish, they break promises to friends and family with the inability to follow through, damaging important relationships beyond repair. 

My confidence has been shattered. I was the artist who failed art class. College was never an option because I knew I’d go straight back to failing every class I took. I feel like I am a burden and the token “lost cause” of my family, the one everybody worries about because I’m not right in the head. I’ve grown to become a reclusive, bashful adult who struggles to make and answer phone calls and emails. ADHD devastated my life in deeper ways than my OCD, my PTSD, my anxiety or depression ever could. 

The number of diagnoses are going up because we can recognize it better. This is not a bad thing- science is evolving to show possible causes of the disorder itself. We know not to smoke while pregnant anymore, we know not to eat and drink high fructose corn syrup, we know not to sit in front of blue light screens all day, and we’ll continue to learn.

As soon as I started my medication, I was able to start taking care of myself and working again. The symptoms of my other mental illnesses began to let up, and I felt like a human being for the first time in my life. I have control over my own emotions- I can walk on the sidewalk with everyone else, I am free. 

However, it’s going to take the rest of my life to unlearn the methods I came up with to perform basic self-care functions. It will take many years to gain confidence in myself, to make phone calls without shaking or to even consider the thought of college, potato grades and all. But my mindset has transformed from “I can’t” to “Maybe I could try,” --a first for me. 

Question everything, don’t settle for the minimum, and don’t stop fighting. Thanks for reading this post. I'm hard at work on Propaganda part 2 and hope to post it on May 31st. See you then :-) 

TLDR: ADHD destroyed my life in ways my depression, anxiety and other mental illnesses never could. The stigma surrounding ADHD is shifting to become more dangerous than it has been in the past.  

We live in a society.

[exobyharu]

PCY - Ch2

Chapter 2: Sometimes, it works that way

(Part 1)...(Part 3)(Part 4)(Part 5)(Part 6)

Summary: Chanyeol vs the world and Chanyeol vs himself, featuring his well-planned attempts at damage-control. You don’t make it too easy for him.

⏰ 11:12 AM 🌏 Hotel (S), City of (L), but you transferred to the 38th floor now 🌤 Sunny, summer morning, and it’s almost as sunny as Chanyeol’s mood 👥 YN, Park Chanyeol, Kim Jongin (mentioned), Kim Junmyeon (mentioned), Chanyeol’s sister (mentioned)

Notes: This is part 2 of my PCY series. Hope some of you like it! He’s much nicer (to you) now, at least at the end (sort of). PCY may have dropped a couple of curse words here and there, but that’s all I have to warn you about. PCY says he’s sorry!

Words: ~1,900

💙💙💙

Chanyeol hated it, that his new composition was turned down yet again, by their over-qualified and impossible-to-please producers at SM Entertainment because, for probably the fourth time this month, it’s about time you stopped making your lack of experience show in your love songs, no matter how heartfelt you think your lyrics are.

He also hated it, that his sister borrowed his Mercedes Benz without permission, and only called to inform him that she had unintentionally defaced it once again by crashing it against a tree – and it’s even the same tree as last time.

Jongin also left a voice message earlier that evening to tell Chanyeol that he had misplaced the keys to the private studio. But it’s okay and there’s no need to panic because the interns and some staff members volunteered to help me look for it. Jongin apologised for always losing and breaking his senior’s belongings and promised that he won’t let anything like that happen again. Newsflash: Chanyeol hated his promises too.

When all of that happened in a span of three hours, along with Baekhyun’s persistent calling and mindless whining as the sweet cherry on top, it was only last night that Chanyeol finally discovered how things would blow up.

There’s a distinction between a bad mood and an ill temper, he would constantly remind himself. There is a limit to what behaviour is acceptable. Unfortunately for him, it seemed that he forgot to give himself the pep talk recently. This was why his adviser’s worst nightmare finally came true: Last night, on the balcony of this suite room, Chanyeol abandoned all caution, emptied himself of patience, and mindlessly acted on his frustrations as if the world owed him a proper outburst.

The rapper was weak on his knees when he remembered how he lost his shit and ended up taking it out on whom he thought was one of their group’s obsessive fans. What made it worse was that you apparently turned out to be an unsuspecting stranger who was not even up to anything remotely intrusive. Chanyeol was certain that whatever transpired from last night’s interaction with you was most probably typed out already, in some group chat or online page and it was only a matter of hours before his phone was ringing to a call from his enraged manager or worse, from Junmyeon, who always preferred to express his brotherly concern by packaging it as a mouthful of obscenities instead.

Much like last night, Chanyeol spent the early hours of the day, collapsed on the suite’s ridiculously oversized bed, pondering and unable to think of answers for his life’s profound existential questions.

How many ex-girlfriends did he need on his badge to write a love song that would pass SM’s extensive quality control? What kind of genius did Jongin have to be in his past life to be so remarkably scatter-brained now? Bench presses were bench presses. How was he going to teach Baekhyun how to cheat on his reps when he, himself, never did? Most importantly, why was his sister such a terrible driver?

The whole process was mostly a one-way conversation with the luxurious finish of his suite room’s coffered ceiling because much like the answers he could not produce for himself, he had to accept that some things in general were simply beyond his control.

He could try to cut down that stupid tree, though. The dumb task was two bumper repairs overdue.

With newfound resolve, he also made sure that he spent the next few hours after his morning shower rehearsing the, albeit extra kind, words that he would use when explaining to his manager, to Junmyeon, or even to the company’s CEO, if you had managed to blow the whole thing out of proportion. When he called for room service to have breakfast delivered, he even inquired about how to send a massive bouquet of flowers to the occupant of the suite room beside his, simply because fuck ups like last night were not allowed to be in Park Chanyeol’s record. Ever.

About a few minutes later, a delicious tray of espresso waffles and sides finally arrived at his doorstep, along with a message that the suite room right beside his had been emptied just last night. It was at this moment upon hearing the hotel staff’s message about the female occupant transferring to another room, that the rotting sensation at the center of his chest returned in an instant. He ended up not eating much of his breakfast and crushing his face against the silk on his pillow seemed to be the best course of action instead.

This is all your fault, so you fix, he thought incoherently, hoping that blaming himself again brought more clarity. He thought back to last night, trying to remember how much he had told you and if it were truly enough to rile you up, prompt you to file a report, and transfer to another room.

He could not even recall if he said a couple of bad words or not.

Pursing his lips as he walked the tightrope in between discouragement and desperation, it did not take long for him to decide to give it a go and call the front desk. Even though he was familiar with hotel policies, and even though it was another item on his endless list of things that he hated, not to mention too much against his principles, it looked like he was willing to overlook the misuse of his VIP status to have his way just this once. It was promising that his phone had not buzzed since he had woken up, but the fact remained that it was now, or later, when irreversible damage was done and Dispatch was already camping out at the hotel lobby downstairs.

So he did as he rehearsed, and it was almost nauseating how it took too little effort to get the details that he wanted. Something in his gut roiled when he had to emphasise his name as if his identity were a badge that can be used to proclaim himself qualified to make such a special request. Your full name, YN YLN, along with other personal details that he did not ask for, were disclosed to him without the need to impose or even lie. 

Nevertheless, he got what he needed and Chanyeol hoped that it was worth the brief moment of shamelessness. Again, he comforted himself that damage-control in itself was a pain in the ass. And even though hating himself for resorting to this method was even more exhausting, it had to be done in order to move forward with his plans of setting things straight.

Press 0, and then after the beep, 3815.

He did not expect it, but it plunged his nerves into a state of panic when he started dialling your room number. Maybe he was afraid of you and what you had to say -  more specifically, about how many of your friends already knew about last night’s exchange. Were you even going to speak to him? Did he even want to speak to you? The compromise was to put the phone down after five rings and send the damn flowers instead.

You answered exactly after four long rings. “Hello?”

“Yah!” he yelled, the couple of rehearsed lines he had prepared, instantly forgotten. “Why’d you move?!” His nerves pretty much took over and Chanyeol knew that he was not angry. It was beyond him if this distinction was not clear to you.

Still, your voice on the other end of the line remained impeccably calm. “Um, may I know who this is?”

“It’s Chanyeol.” In his years of performing in front of cameras and audiences, the rapper had never thought that introducing himself could elicit so much frustration.

You paused. “…I’m sorry?”

“You don’t remember last night?!” he yelled again. Immediately, the distant sound of his own voice made him cringe. It was an effort to ignore how it reverberated inside the room. He tried to clarify much more kindly now, but his attempt gloriously failed the moment he started. “It’s Chanyeol! Sexual Fantasies, Park Chanyeol!”

Your sigh that followed was a bit over-dramatic and it looked like he had done it again. “I know, okay?! I mean I know it’s you! You made last night pretty hard to forget, and I don’t mean it the way other girls in your head do. I was just unsure about apologising because you’re the one who explicitly told me to stay out of your way.” You were clearly getting worked up and it was too bad, because so was he.

“And you really thought I meant that?!”

“I still think that, seeing that you wouldn’t stop yelling at me! I only transferred to make the both of us happy, okay?”

“Do I sound happy to you?!” It was not a pleasant feeling to hear you sigh after every sentence because he realised that it was no longer just his reputation on the line. Chanyeol was not called the Happy Virus for nothing and he genuinely felt that he was putting down a lot of people by causing someone else’s distress. Ironically, this infuriated him even more. “You didn’t have to change your room and I’m not happy that you did!”

“Then that makes only me.” Your voice from the other end was dismissive and dripping with contempt. “Looks like your day will suck, Mr. Park, but please, let me enjoy mine.”

“Yah! Don’t put the phone down!”

“Seriously, Chanyeol, what do you want from me?!”

“Just stop hating!”

“I will if you leave me alone!”

“It doesn’t work that way!”

At this point, the conversation became all about talking over the other. It took a few more out of the both of you before Chanyeol realised what an idiot he had been for the past two minutes. Stress had really done a number on him lately.

Relax.

Catching his breath in the brief silence that ensued, he allowed his pride to crumble in the name of ending all this bullshit between the two of you. He was just tired, more than anything else. Releasing the tightness on his throat, he modulated his voice to suit the tone that he would effortlessly use when speaking to a fan – or his mother.

“Just… meet up with me, will you? There’s this café at the top floor.”

“No thanks. I’ve got stuff to do.”

“What stuff?”

“Stuff that’s none of your business, obviously.”

Your answer made him press a hand to his forehead. You mean stuff that’s non-existent, obviously, he thought with a roll of his eyes. What kind of idiot did you think he was? Though it did not look like much on paper, he decided that all the painful overthinking and planning had already gotten him this far and it was impossible for him to take no for an answer.

“Tonight then? I’ll be there by 7.”

“No, Chanyeol. I won’t be there.”

“That’s great! I’ll wait for you.”

And then he hung up the phone too soon, which was his underhanded way of making sure that you did not have the change to decline any further. What he did was almost rude, but Chanyeol promised to make up for his bad manners tonight instead. Even though he would not consider the conversation a step towards the redemption of his ruined first impression, if he got you to show up, he was sure to not waste his chance. Now, all he had to do was figure out what stunt he was going to pull off in order to make up for being a stupid shit last night.

💙💙💙 - to be continued -

[fallout-fallen-knight]

#1-#10 and #12-20 for your courier 😺✨

Oh my gosh this is so many! I’ll try to do the best I can.

1. Faction: Technically she’s aligned with Yes-Man, but she’s Followers all the way. She’s too optimistic and idealistic to be anything else.

2. Preferred Armor: she can use power armor after getting training from Judah Kreger, but after it broke down in the Big MT, she chooses not to. Right now, her “uniform” is Mobius’s Labcoat and the Gannon Power Helmet. I really like how they look together, it gives off a “Rocketeer” vibe. (Sorry for no pictures, I’ll try to get some as soon as she’s out of the Sierra Madre)

3. Weapon type: she’s a pacifist except when absolutely necessary, at which point she uses Energy Weapons.

4. Highest Skills: she’s a talented doctor and scientist, meaning that Medicine and Science are her highest skills. She also has a high speech skill (it was the only way to recruit Arcade), although this often translates to “says endearing things that make people like her” rather than the typical smooth talker. During OWB, she upped her stealth skill in order to better avoid robodogs, nightstalkers, and lobotomites, at least until she got the Stealth Suit. She’s working on Survival and Repair in the Sierra Madre right now. Her lowest are Barter and Guns.

5. SPECIAL: S 6 P 9 E 7 C 6 I 10 A 4 L 6

6. (Important) Perks: Cherchez la Femme, Big Brained, Comprehension, Computer Whiz, Educated, Four Eyes, Good Natured, Swift Learner, Lessons Learned. Obviously that’s not all of them but it’s the ones that matter most to her character.

7. Companions: She’s very close with Arcade, Veronica, and Christine, and loves her pets/robot friends Rex and Ed-E. God gets on her nerves, but she pities him more than anything else. Dean’s a bastard, but he’s a useful bastard, and so she deals with him and tries to stay in his good graces.

8. Relationships: No romantic partners, no. Most women aren’t interested in a gal covered in someone else’s blood, and the ones who would be are usually disinterested when they learn that the other person is still alive. She did harbor a mini-crush on Veronica when they first met, but that stopped cold when they first talked about Christine.

9. Demographics: white lesbian.

10. She was born and raised in Freeside, helping her mother in and around the Old Mormon Fort. They had a small apartment near Mick and Ralph’s.

12. I’m going to modify this question, and answer “How did the courier affect her?”. To that end, I don’t think she ever wanted a bigger life than a Wasteland medic, because a) it suited her and b) she knew she was doing real good in the Mojave. But when she was mistaken for the courier and saw what House was planning, she realized she had to step up and do what had to be done, for the good of the Mojave.

13. How did she deal with Benny: regrettably, she had to abandon him in the Fort, as there was no way for her and Arcade to fight their way out. It’s entirely possible that decision will come back to bite her eventually.

14. NCR/Legion rep: I think by this point she’s certainly a blip on their radars, especially the Legion, considering she visited their leader’s camp. She was stationed at Camp Golf briefly as a medic, but they haven’t connected the dots of her former life to her current. Besides that, her only direct interaction with the NCR thus far has been fixing the solar panels at Helios One and creating a redundancy in case the dam fell. Once she returns from the Sierra Madre, though, she’s going to start forging alliance across the Mojave, and that’s going to get their attention.

15. Freeside Rep: to them, Sophia is a shining example of what a kid from Freeside can grow up to become. The Kings all love her, especially after stopping a war between the gang and the NCR and fixing the King’s robo-dog. Mick and Ralph watched her grow up and always give her discounts on whatever she needs. Even the Garetts and the Van Graffs admire her from afar, and she often buys ammo for her weapons from the Silver Rush. And obviously, she’s in very good graces with the Followers of the Apocalypse.

16. Goodsprings/Novac/Primm Rep: not a lot, honestly. She stopped in and fixed Johnson Nash’s broken down eyebot for him, but other than, she doesn’t visit them very often.

17. Minor faction Rep: she actually hasn’t met any of the factions besides the Khans yet. While recovering at the Old Mormon Fort from her adventures in the Big MT, she discovered that the Followers had helped the Khans in the past, which encouraged her to reforge the alliance. She’s never interacted with the Brotherhood directly, only with its agents: Veronica, Christine, and Father Elijah, which has given her a … mixed reaction. I think she’ll like the Boomers once she gets to know them; they’re good people if a little weaponry-obsessed. The Gangers can rot.

18. NV Strip Rep: House isn’t fond of Sophia, but his opinion doesn’t matter much anymore. After installing Cachino in charge of the Omertas, she’s made sure that they won’t make any trouble with her. The Chairmen vaguely recognize her as “that doll that made Benny wig out and disappear” but don’t really know much beyond that. She knows something is up with the White Gloves, but she can’t figure it out. And the NCR Military Police are a little uneasy about the new faces on all the Securitrons, but they haven’t let it bother them yet.

19. Motives: originally, she just wanted to stop House out of fear that he would use the newly-upgraded Securitrons to take over Freeside. But she quickly realized that a power vacuum on that scale would only lead to the collapse of New Vegas and the surrounding area, allowing either Caesar or the NCR to move in and take over. Her ideal government is a loose syndicate of mutually-cooperating communities, with a newly-assertive Yes Man to defuse situations, using Securitrons if necessary. The NCR is welcome to remain in the Mojave, but they have to leave the greater New Vegas area alone and stop conquering absorbing communities - if they want to make a nation, they have to do it themselves. The Legion can, again, rot.

20. Theme song: I think there’d be a different one for each period of her story. (Note: not all of these are period correct, but I tried to fit the Old West vibe). When she’s just a wasteland medic, I think Ain’t That A Kick In the Head by Dean Martin fits her outlook on life and optimistic personality. From her trip to the Fort to just after assembling the Enclave Remnants, Short Change Hero by the Heavy fits how she’s panicky and suddenly realizes the enormity of her place in the Wasteland, even though she doesn’t want it. Throughout the Big MT, Devil at the Door by the Highlonesome encapsulates how she feels: scared, alone, surrounded by enemies and an expendable pawn for greater beings. But once she gets her brain back from Mobius and realizes the truth of why she was brought to the Big MT, her theme song changes to The World Ender by Lord Huron as she comes back from the brink of death and despair to become an unstoppable juggernaut of revenge, tearing down first the Think Tank, then tracking Elijah and Christine to the Sierra Madre to find out who Elijah is and then kick his ass for putting a bomb collar on her and Christine. If there’s another theme song for post-Dead Money, I haven’t found it yet.

Thanks for all the questions OP! It was really fun to think of answers to all of these.

[snoopyplushies]

oKAY LITERALLY im doing the xyx route now AND WHEN HE CALLED ME DOLL??????? GAYBOY GAYBOY GAYBOY THATS WHAT I AM he makes me feel so mushy and like a silly little brainrotted gayboy<3 -🫀

SOOO TRUE .... me 🤝 you gayboys because of xyx calling us doll ... literally these fictional little men have rotted my brain beyond repair. GOSH now i want to replay it ... grrr....