We’re starting a new monthly series highlighting some of the beautiful clasps we come across in our special collections. Feel free to join in, tumblarians, and use #coolclasps so we’ll be sure to see them!
1690s book with filigree silver binding - National Library of Sweden
This binding is an exquisite example of Danish filigree technique from the 1690s.It belongs to the National Library’s Huseby Collection and was once owned by Karren Mogensdotter Skoug. Her name and the year 1692 are engraved on the inside of the clasps. -(x)
fun fact this is loosely based on a real bookshop I once found
somewhere in greenwich idk exactly where it is but if ever find urself around
the area look out for it its v cute and v tiny
works at a bookshop. Dan buys a book one day, and, in a ploy to see Phil, keeps
returning with more and more obscure requests so Phil has to spend more time
searching. After Dan leaves with ‘cactus maintenance: a memoir’, Phil starts to
suspect something’s up.
“Look,” Phil sighs when he catches sight of the book Dan’s
clutching today. “I know there’s a very good chance you keep cacti and you just
wanna maintain them and it’s probably wrong of me to assume otherwise, but-…can
I ask you something?”
Dan gulps, putting the book titled “Cactus Maintenance: A
Memoir” down on the counter.
“Do you actually need half of the books
you come in here for?” he asks softly. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, there’s a
good chance you might actually ride motorcycles, study bricklaying, want to
know more about frogspawn or- you know, wanna look after your cacti, but…” he
shrugs. “I don’t know. It’s just- um, you’re the first person I’ve met that,
you know, buys one book every single day. When do you get time to read them
Graveland’s Books is the kind
of place you’d only come across if you were either very bored, very desperate,
or very lost.
It hides on the tail end of an
alleyway just behind the village market, and the gnarled wooden beams, the glass
oil lanterns lining either side of the aged brickwork and the rusty bronze bell
hanging above the door would fool anyone into thinking they’d just stepped out
of 2016 and into the 18th century. If it wasn’t for the mobile phone
shop sitting directly opposite, of course.
It’s not big in size, with a
staff room and an office the size of a postage stamp upstairs and just about
enough room to fit two free standing bookshelves in the middle of the shop, but
books spill into every single crack. Stacks and stacks of fiction and history
and travel and biographies narrow the aisles between the shelves, and it’s all
too easy to trip over a random pile of books in the middle of the floor when
you’re not concentrating properly.
But, for a job running along
the sidelines of university, Phil enjoys it. He’d certainly rather spend his
time flicking through a story about a cursed mushroom than stack supermarket
shelves and deal with obnoxious co-workers, anyway.
sup nerds i decided to collide all of the masterposts and masterposts of masterposts into one giant ass masterpost because why the fuck not here we goooo (EDIT: Some of the links didn’t work, so i had to link them to the post on my blog!!)
◇ a small self indulgent jimin scenario…….. I should be completing requests rn but I’ve had this idea since literally forever soooooo
◇ slightly based off the song dreams by bastille and gabrielle aplin, obviously not as dark as that song is but that one line in the song inspired this whole thing lmao
The slip of paper in your hands feels awfully small as you peer up at the shop in front of you. Jimin’s Emporium of Lost Dreams is written in your friend’s familiar scrawl, the address scribbled right underneath it. 3PM — don’t be late! Love, Taehyung.
By far, the best and worst gift that you had received for your birthday was a session — an appointment — at Jimin’s Emporium of Lost Dreams. Taehyung swore that after he had visited the quaint, duck egg blue shop a few years ago, he hadn’t had a nightmare since — and with the sudden influx of stress-induced nightmares that plagued your nights, he had been thoughtful enough to set an appointment for you.
It was a good gift, admittedly, because the nightmares really were bothering you. More often than not, you’d awake at some unholy time in a cold sweat and with tear-filled eyes, flashes of failure and disappointment the only thing on your mind.
On the other hand, you didn’t fancy somebody prying in your head and witnessing some very personal dreams. It was embarrassing to say the least, and the fact that this Jimin would be buying them off of you and replacing them by dreamless sleep was even more unsettling.
You bite your lip, inspecting the exterior of the shop. It was small, old but well-kept; duck egg blue walls with a sign with a curving font spelling out Jimin’s Emporium of Lost Dreams. Pastel flowers in white ceramic plant pots stood beside the white painted door, twisting and climbing up the door frame. It was pretty, you’d give it that — it was a shame that to any mortal passing, they’d simply see a run-down, abandoned shop front.
You could just walk away right now, if you wanted to. Your heart sure as hell wants to, but your brain is much more logical. Besides, Taehyung paid for this! You couldn’t have him wasting his money…
So you shove the piece of paper into the pocket of your jeans, heaving a nervous sigh as you finally harness enough willpower to begin the trek to the front door.
The bell above the door sounds ten times louder than it actually was when you push open the door and step inside, revealing a high ceilings and walls upon walls of shelves filled with bottles of all shapes and sizes.
The interior is strangely cozy. It’s much bigger than it looks on the outside, a large circular desk setup in the centre which is obviously the front desk, and an iron spiral staircase at the back that led to what you assume is the second floor.
The place smells of old books and sunlight, and the silence soothes your nerves almost instantly as you walk further into the shop, peering around curiously for any sign of life. Hm. No-one.
Your curiosity gets the best of you, and you find yourself strolling leisurely along the tall walls, inspecting each bottle that you come across — some, swirling gently and pearlescent, beautiful shades of pastel blue and pink — others forming ominous pictures and twisting violently, murky yellow and green.
One in particular catches your eye; light, light pink in colour, glittery and iridescent. The strange liquid takes the shape of the tall, slim bottle it’s kept in, and the way the liquid swirls and tumbles gently is hypnotizing. You reach a hand out to touch it—
“Hello, there,” a voice greets softly, the source coming from just inches to your right. You yelp, jerking away from both the bottle and the man who had spoken, a hand on your heart.
“I didn’t mean to startle you!” The man rushes, brows raised. He’s a tiny bit taller than you, with chubby cheeks and bubblegum hair and coffee eyes. His clothes consist of a set of pale blue and peach warlock robes, and if it weren’t for the shock you had just gotten you would be blushing at the very sight of him. “I’m Jimin — welcome to my emporium!”
“_-_____,” you muster up as he bustles around, fiddling with something under his desk and then conjuring up a brand new glass bottle out of nowhere.
“Beautiful name,” he grins, looking up from where he was rummaging through a wooden box of corks — this time, you feel a familiar heat rise on your cheeks and you’re only glad he’s too preoccupied to notice. “What can I do for you today, _____? Have you any dreams you’d like to sell?”
“I have a session booked,” you say uncertainly, clasping your hands together awkwardly. “By Kim Taehyung?”
“Oh!” Jimin’s eyes widen in recognition as he fishes out a cork and grabs the bottle, too. “I remember. Well, come this way—” He begins to lead you to the iron spiral staircase, beckoning you along with a friendly smile— “Right up here—”
The upstairs is just as pretty and strange as the floor below it, except it’s much more bright. There’s at least one window on each of the four white walls, and again, there are multiple shelves filled with vial and bottles. Apart from the mahogany desk and chair in the room, there’s an examining table pushed into the corner — except this one is covered with patterned sheets and is complete with an embroidered pillow.
“Take a seat,” Jimin urges you, gesturing to the examining table. He himself props himself down on the chair beside the desk, turning it to face you. “So, your friend’s booked you for a Dreamless Sleep session — it’s in the name, really — are you okay with that?”
“I just want the nightmares to be finished with,” you murmur, trying not to think too hard about them. Instead, you focus on how Jimin reaches into his desk and retrieves a small vial of a plum coloured liquid, pushing off of his chair and crossing the room until he stands in front of you.
“I have to put you to sleep to get started — this will do the job almost instantly, so get comfy,” he teases gently, handing you the bottle. “Be warned, though: it may not taste the best.”
You let out a nervous laugh, adjusting your position on the table before you unscrew the cork with shaky hands. You don’t give yourself another second to doubt your choice before you down the potion and your vision fades to black.
It was always sad to see someone come into the shop looking for a dreamless sleep. Quite frankly, Jimin found it disheartening that one wouldn’t want to dream — dreams were where anything was possible!
But of course, the customer was always right, and Jimin knew everyone had their own reason for wanting to sleep without dreams and nightmares.
So when you came into his shop on a Wednesday afternoon with your sundress and folded arms and flickering eyes, Jimin was fully prepared to give you what you wanted. He could tell that the nightmares that you had experienced had taken a toll on you, and he wanted nothing more than to make you happy again.
He put you to sleep and began to look for the nightmare trapped in the confines of your mind, hidden in the depths of your dreams and waiting for their turn to strike. When he finds it, he extracts it like he’s done million of times before, the silky strands of pure black floating into the bottle he had prepared.
And he’s about to wake you up — really, he is — but he sees you turn in your sleep, brows turned up in relief when no nightmare materialises in your dreamland, and his heart skips a beat.
The pink potion he had caught you ogling at earlier may be expensive — happy dreams are very desirable, after all — but he thinks it might just be worth it, especially when he’s inserted the dream into your mind and he sees you smile.
If you're still doing the prompts, Tony to Bucky: "Do you just kiss me without even thinking about it?" Love your writing, dear!
So this got a little long and super fluffy. Older Tony and Bucky, after they have been together for several years.
“Do you kiss me without thinking about it?” Tony asked suddenly, and Bucky looked up from his book.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean like….” Tony tapped his pencil on his desk. “Like earlier you walked in and kissed me and kept right on walking. You didn’t even think about it.”
“And that’s…” Bucky put his book down and clasped his hands loosely on his lap. “That’s a bad thing?”
“I dunno.” Tony shrugged. “It just used to be that you couldn’t stop at just one kiss, or couldn’t kiss me at all without making it a super long one. Now you just kiss me and go. Is it because Kissing me is boring now?”
“Are you being serious?” Bucky finally stood and crossed the room, kneeling by Tonys feet. “Honey, of course I’m not bored of kissing you.”
“But you did it without even noticing!” Tony argued and his dark eyes were definitely hurt.
“Sweet thing.” Bucky pushed his legs apart so he could press closer. “Do you know what else I do without noticing?”
“What?” Tony asked softly and Bucky wove his right hand through Tonys hair, wrapping his left arm around his hips and urging to the edge of the chair.
“I don’t think about blinking either, but I still do it. I don’t think about breathing, but it’s completely necessary. And I don’t think about my heart beating–” he moved Tonys hand to his chest. “–but I’d die without it. Kissing you is the same way. I might not notice it all the time, after all these years together it might be a habit, but it’s necessary and vital to me. Like my heartbeat. Like breathing.”
“You’re dumb.” Tony said, but he was sniffling and tears were pooling in his eyes. “Kisses aren’t like heartbeats.”
“Yours are, Tony.” Bucky whispered, and leaned in until their mouths touched, until their lips sealed together, their tongues slipping and sliding and curling together. Bucky swiped his thumb over Tonys cheek to catch a tear.
“See, honey? My breathing is speeding up and my heart is racing and it’s because of you, because of your kisses.”
“You’re dumb.” Tony repeated and Bucky smiled before taking his lips in another hard kiss.
So here is my waaaaaaay overdue/late CSSV gift for @themmaswan. I’m sorry it took me so long to get your gift posted, and that I wasn’t the most diligent Valentine. And I’m sorry this gift isn’t anything super spectacular (as much as I tried, the idea I wanted to write just didn’t want to come together), but I really hope you enjoy it. It’s a little flangsty thing because apparently the only thing that wanted to come to me for this fic was sadness with a bit fluff.
She caught the first glimpses of it the night he moved in - starting with their bed, of all things.
Emma bounded up the stairs. “Okay, dad’s on sheriff duty for the rest of the night.” She kept her attention focused on her phone, typing out a text to Henry as made her way towards the bedroom. “And I ordered us some pizza. Should make for a good ‘move in’ night, finally…”
She stopped short just inside the doorway as she pocketed her phone. Killian was standing, staring at the bed, a well worn book clasped tightly in his hand. His lone chest of trinkets sat open on the dresser behind him.
Less Serious Warnings:I never post my writing for a reason so read at your own risk :P
Notes: Highschool freshman Losers. Also a very upset/scared/angry Eddie and upset Richie may be a bit OOC.
The nice thing about coming out of the closet to a group called The Losers Club is that you’re already a loser. You’re already welcomed for your differences, maybe teased, but always welcomed.
Eddie was still nervous though when he came out to them after already telling Bev. He figured feelings and shit were easy for girls to sort out, so maybe she could give him some advice. She had been unsurprisingly welcoming and compassionate about it. In fact, when he told her, she quietly waited for him to go on, like there would be something more that would justify the fear Eddie felt.
It’s nice to still be able to sit knee to knee with Bill when they’re on his couch watching movies, to be able to hop on Stan’s back an demand a piggie back ride because he doesn’t feel like walking through the mud, to be able to meet up with Mike alone if the other losers are busy (they all see each other in school, but Mike is still homeschooled and it’s not fair for him to not see his friends), or to be able to still wrestle with Richie without any of them being weird about it. Though he does have to laugh because Ben believes that suddenly he has a friend who wants to listen to NKOTB with him and that is most certainly not the case. He just tells Ben to keep his shitty music away from him.
Physical closeness had never been a problem between the gang. They could easily sleep in a heap of one another when they went camping, Billy almost could always plop on Stan’s lap with little to no retaliation, and Richie was never fearful of being a little more hands on dragging the boys around by the hand or standing in any of their personal space. It’s why it was once so easy for Henry and his goons to say things like “your fag friends.”
The not so nice thing? When your friends forget that they’re not the only ones on the planet who can see them. It’s how Eddie winds up in the bathroom washing some dirt and blood from new wounds he received while the new Henry’s of this world showed up to “teach him a lesson” for being gay. He didn’t even do anything. Stupid fucking Richie platonically (he thinks?) kissed his cheek and the wrong people just happened to see it. He hisses when he brings a warm paper towel to his face, the same spot Richie had kissed, was now marked by a small cut from some upper classman’s ring when his fist cracked into his face. Why couldn’t they just have punched Richie? Hell Eddie would have cheered them on. Ok well not really.
When all of his new wounds have been washed and cleaned properly, Eddie kneels down to grab his backpack. He’s positive he has a handful of band aids left in there somewhere, but he doesn’t make it that far before he feels a rough kick against his back, sending him down to the ground and Eddie yells in surprise and brief pain. He’s quick to roll onto his back to see the attacker and to no surprise, it’s Belch and Victor who have only gotten worse since the deaths of Patrick and Henry. Whatever redeeming qualities they had washed away when they blamed the losers for the loss of their two friends. The Losers always had targets on their backs during, before and after Henry’s reign of terror. When Eddie hears Victor sneer, “They really shouldn’t let /him/ in here anymore.,” Eddie figures his target on his back has gotten substantially larger.
Eddie scrambles to get up, but Belch kicks him back down again and leaves his boots pressing down into Eddie’s chest. “Who told you you could move?” He asks and his voice is dripping with hate. Eddie swallows nervously and eyes bolt to the bathroom door in hopes someone will come in. Though anyone who did would surely know better than to cross Victor and Belch unless it happened to be one of his friends. If only Bev would use the men’s room She’d kick their asses. Victor’s attention follows Eddie’s eyes to the door and thankfully misinterprets the look as waiting for his friends rather than just anyone or seeing an escape route. Had he even considered the idea of Eddie managing to squirm away he would have blocked the door.
At least an escape is still open.
“What? Waiting to be saved by some prince charming, fag?” Victor seethes when he pulls a pocket knife from his jeans. They both have one now, like it’s some kind of tribute to their fallen friends.
Eddie’s eyes widen at the sight of glistening silver. “A-anyone would do, really.” Eddie quips, desperately trying to pull Belch’s foot off of him with no luck. It’s only when Victor steps forward and kneels down to him with the blade pressed daringly close to skin below his jaw that Eddie reaches for his back pack by his side and grabs the first thing he feels. He doesn’t think twice before cracking his history textbook right into Victor’s temple.
The blonde boy falls over gripping his head with a hiss of pain and when Belch reaches down to grab him, Eddie fumbles for his inhaler. It’s real, but no medicine is actually in it, mostly water. Eddie still frequently has panic attacks that escalate to the point where he believes his inhaler is needed. While he’s working on mentally accepting that he doesn’t have asthma, his body still calms with the placebo effect of the inhaler, so he finds it’s actually still useful. And hopefully its placebo effect is useful for him now too.
He plunges down on the button and sprays the content in Belch’s eyes and the large boy screams and presses hands to his eyes. Eddie scrambles to his feet and grabs his bag, quickly bolting for the door, and once it’s there and he’s got it open and the hallway is the freedom behind him, he shouts back, with a hint of a laugh in his voice, “It’s water, you fucking baby!” What a sight that must have been for anyone behind him. Two of the school’s largest bullies brought in pain and screaming while little Eddie Kaspbrak is victoriously leaving the room.
He’s never minded Richie’s playful antics before, but after today’s trouble, when he sees the boy waiting for him by his locker with Bill, he feels how annoyed he really is. Bill looks uneasy as he glances to the clock hanging high in the hallway, while Richie looks like he’s telling some epic tale because his hands are flying everywhere. When Bill spots Eddie the color in his face drains and he pushes past the kids in the hallway to go over to the small kid, like he might need help getting to his locker. Fortunately nothing is broken and he can walk just fine. Just sore. “W-what happened to y-you?” His eyes roam everywhere like he doesn’t know where to start. From the bruises and cuts, to the dirt stains and grass on his shirt.
Richie follows right behind Bill when he spots what has Bill looking so worried and the moment he’s near, Eddie blows up. “Don’t you fucking come near me!” He points at Richie threateningly and there’s fire in those big eyes. But Richie also sees the fear and that has him taken back.
“Woah, woah.” Bill moves between them, looking down at Eddie in surprise, though he’s sure Eddie would never actually hurt Richie. “What h-happened?”
Eddie pushes past Bill and Richie to head back to his locker where he grabs whatever books he needs for the night. Richie stays quiet for once and just watches while Bill is still waiting for an answer. Eddie shows no sign of addressing them so Richie steps forward and lightly jabs Eddie in the side where he’s usually ticklish. Too fired up, Eddie retaliates and slams his locker door closed. “Don’t fucking touch me! The next time you think it’s ok to touch me I swear to God I will-”
Once he starts getting hyped up, Bill steps in and puts two hands on Eddie’s shoulders, holding him firmly in place. “Calm d-down.” His eyes are soft and pleading and Eddie tries to focus on that rather than how much he wants to slam Richie’s head into his locker and repeatedly close the door on it. “B-breathe.” He instructs and Eddie does as told while Richie watches with mixed emotions, eyes flickering from the ground then back to Eddie while he nudges at the dirty tiled floor of the school hallway.
“You want to tell me what I did wrong or do you plan on wearing that dress and having this tea party forever?” Eddie tenses and Bill drops his head in a defeated manner but holds Eddie in place. Richie means it playfully as always, but it’s not the time.
“Everything, Richie. Fucking everything you do is wrong!” That seems to have Richie taken back when there isn’t an ounce of humor in Eddie’s voice. Usually they banter back and forth and it’s the highlight of Richie’s days.
Stan is the next one to show up, hands clasping his book bag straps close to him while he slows his walk when he hears and feels the tension. He shifts his eyes among the group, but they linger on Bill while he silently asks what is happening. Bill responds with a shrug of his small shoulders and a deep frown. “I’m usually all for Richie mobs…but-” He’s cut off and he looks over to the boy he mentioned when he begins to talk.
“Eds, come o-” He starts sounding exhausted like there’s no time for Eddie to be playing drama.
“Don’t.” Eddie warns again and Bill has to actually hold the small boy back now and he looks like he just might cry, but of course, he doesn’t. But he really does look like he’s about to burst into tears. He gestures to what he can of his injuries while being held back by Bill and his voice cracks when he cries, “This is all your fault.”
Stan leans over to examine the cuts and bruises. While not anything to go to the hopital over, unless you’re Eddie’s mother, it’s enough to look like most of Eddie’s skin would be tender. So he straightens his posture and defensively looks back to Richie. “What on Earth did you do?”
Richie’s mouth falls open and closed a few times and he puts his hands up to his chest in defense of himself. “Me?! I didn’t do anything!”
“Well /that/,” Stan points back to Eddie, feeling protective over the smaller boy, especially when it comes to Richie related things, “Doesn’t look like nothing.”
Bill looks back to Eddie and examines the cut on his cheek, gently brushing a thumb over it making Eddie jump and step back from him. It’s Bill’s turn to be taken back, but he stands up straight and regards Eddie with a frown. “Eddie.” He says his name softly, encouraging him to talk.
“Some stupid goons saw that-that kiss you gave me-” He looks mortified even mentioning it and he points to his cheek in case Richie forgot where, and Stan narrows his eyes at Richie and folds his arms while shooting him death glares. “And this is what happened! Then Victor and Belch pinned me in the bathroom-” At that all of the boys snap their direct attention to Eddie knowing nothing good comes from a run in with those two, especially if they are alone. Richie is starting to look horribly remorseful. “-And Belch kept me down on the ground and Victor-he-he-put that knife to my throat and it’s all because you don’t fucking think!”
Eddie is fuming and Bill can see that clear as day, but he sighs and tries to offer Richie some aid. “He d-didn’t mean to get you h-hurt, Eddie, you know that.” He struggles to say so much at once, but it’s all understood. It doesn’t help Richie’s case as Eddie is still looking at him with so much anger, fear and hurt. Those large brown eyes are filled with thick tears.
“Yeah?” Eddie snaps his head at Bill looking unimpressed by his words. “Well the next time he wants to do something stupid like that, HE can take the punches. HE can get cornered in the bathroom. And HE can have a knife pulled on him.”
The group goes silent because while it is true that Richie never thinks of repercussions, he would never do anything to purposefully get Eddie hurt. In fact, he might be the most protective over Eddie since they are very close, even if Eddie doesn’t need a protector. And that’s not even considering the monumental crush Richie has on their small friend.
“That’s….” Stan pauses to think, looking between the two boys. Eddie is shaken with rage and Richie is stunned into silence, adjusting his glasses and trying to act like none of that just absolutely destroyed him. “Not really fair, Eddie…” He finishes and looks back to his friend. “Your anger is misplaced.” Bill nods furiously in agreement.
Richie shakes his hands and waves what Stan is saying off and steps forward to ask what’s weighing on his mind. “You wouldn’t really want that for me…would you, Eds?” He’d never lift a finger to hurt him and to hear that Eddie is so willingly ok with the idea of Richie being physically assaulted hurts. A lot. Probably more than Eddie’s actual wounds. Had he been there either time he would have done his best to either keep Eddie safe or make sure they shared the beating. Hell, if Eddie had told him or went to him the first time he got hurt Richie would have been glued to his side the whole rest of the day. He’d gladly take all the kicks, punches and cuts for Eddie, but not just because Eddie’s looking at him like he’s the worst person on the planet right now.
Eddie blinks his eyes repeatedly and shakes his head in disbelief like Richie said something stupid yet again. “Do you want that for me? To get hurt and f-fucking attacked?” He redirects the question and instead of sounding like he is made up of all anger, a bit of hurt escapes his tone this time like he desperately needs Richie to understand this and the other boys exchange solemn looks.
"Of course not, Eddie.” Richie answers, voice soft and apologetic.
"Then fuck off and leave me alone.” Eddie furiously wipes his shoulder against his cheek to wipe away a stray tear and slams his locker door closed befor he storms off leaving a stunned Stan and Bill and heartbroken Richie behind.
EXO Fanfiction: Fantasy AU Main pairing - Female Reader x Kim Jongdae/Chen A mysterious group move into your apartment building and you find yourself drawn to them, one in particular… but is it safe? Who are they really?
He stood at the side of the roof top, staring at the city sprawling below him. He sighed, and let his frustration brim over. In the sky, the clouds of his mood began to boil on the horizon.
He thought this trip was meant to be liberating, but why did he feel more trapped?
He grit his teeth, trying not to let out a yell. Closing his eyes with a shaky breath, he felt a bolt of lightening rip out in the sky. He sighed, unclenching his fists, but just as he was about to turn to leave, a giggle pierced its way into his ears. He froze.
Request: hey there :) Can I request an imagine with Peter Parker? Maybe he broke up with her bc he wants to protect her but later he sees her at the avengers tower bc she has powers too? So he understands she can protect herself and tries to win her back? I hope you accept that thx <3
Summary: Peter becomes concerned for your safety after Vulture recognizes his identity after Homecoming. Even though he’s in jail, Peter is convinced that his only way to protect you is to break your heart. Until he realizes that you were never a princess in need of saving in the first place.
Warnings: HEARTBREAK, slight swearing but there is fluff.
Words: 2,281(Woahhhhh that’s kinda long…)
A/N: I’m not sure if I like this or not…Also-Peter is too much for my heart right now bye.
Peter was practically losing his mind. The days following the Homecoming dance were nothing but spectacular, Tony Stark had finally gave him a spot on the Avengers and Peter was ecstatic. That week went by in a blur, his mind was clouded with happiness, but nothing could amount to how he felt when you smiled at him. Your bright face lit up when you saw him, only for your eyes to fill with concern as you examined his injuries from his latest patrol.
Peter had been avoiding you since Homecoming. He knew that with his identity no longer kept from a villain who definitely wanted him dead, could mean your life on the line as well as his. He couldn’t stand having your blood on his hands, or anyone else for that matter, but he didn’t know what else to do than to just keep his distance from you. He loved you, more than you would ever know, or he could admit…You being put in danger for the sake of a relationship together was not enough to risk your life.
“Peter, what happened to you?” Your hand flew up to his face when you met him in the hallway; your fingers lightly touched the purple bruises on his skin, your thumb smoothing over a cut on his bottom lip. He took your hand in his and smiled softly at you, only wincing slightly at the small shot of pain that was sent to his heart. His brown eyes softened when he met (y/e/c) ones and leaned in slightly to kiss your forehead.
“I’m fine, (y/n). Flash just uh-um, he took a few good hits on me.” You furrowed your eyebrows, not fully believing him. “Is that why you didn’t meet me for coffee yesterday afternoon, you were busy with Flash?” You took your hand from his, looking him dead in the eye, “You know, I can let some things slide, but that’s the third time, Peter. I’m starting to think that you don’t even like me anymore.”
Peter’s eyes widened at how quickly the conversation turned, almost giving him mental whiplash. He looked at you as you began to walk away from him. His heart aching at he distance being put between the two of you, both physically and emotionally. He knew what was coming, he just couldn’t face it. You were his princess, and he didn’t want to lose you like this…But to keep you safe, he would do anything.
The next day you sat in the cafeteria with your head full of questions and doubts as you expressed your concerns to Michelle.
“I don’t know what’s wrong with him. In our relationship, we’ve only ever gone on two dates. TWO! Aren’t we supposed to, I don’t know, be at least kissing by now?” You questioned MJ as the two of you sat down the table from Peter and Ned. The two were conversing themselves, almost having the same discussion, Ned looking over at your every so often with pity in his eyes. MJ peered from over the top of her book, smirking at you smugly as she chuckled.
“You guys haven’t kissed yet?” She let out a quick breath of a laugh before returning to her book, not catching your blush as you push a piece of (y/h/c) hair behind your ear. You stumbled on your words, looking towards Peter briefly before returning your eyes to the table in front of you, “U-um. U-u-uh, I have-I haven’t had my first kiss yet.” You sat up a little straighter, not entirely making eye contact with the girl in front of you. MJ did a double take before she put down her book quickly.
“Woah, wait. Dude, you haven’t had your first kiss yet? Even I’ve had mine, and I’m me.” She looked at me in disbelief before she continued, “But you’re you, I mean look at you, you’re beautiful!” You only blush as your best friend complimented you. You shook your head lightly, avoiding the conversation and moving back towards Peter.
“Yeah, well, anyways. Like I was about to say, I feel like he’s hiding something from me. I don’t know what he would be hiding, but I just have this gut instinct.” MJ shook her head and laid her book flat, clasping her hands together in front of her while looking at you nonchalantly, “It’s just Peter, don’t worry about it.”
Then, out of the corner of your eye, you see Peter walking up to you with puppy dog eyes. You looked up to meet his sad, brown eyes, and somehow you knew what was coming. You peered around him at Ned, who wouldn’t even look in your direction, nonetheless make eye-contact. You felt tears well up in your eyes as you nodded slowly at Peter, leaving the cafeteria with him, not wanting what was coming next.
You and Peter stood in the hallway, him leaning against a set of locking and you with your arms crossed over your chest, avoiding eye contact. Peter stumbled with his words for a second, trying his best to think of a way to tell you how much he cares about you without revealing too much.
“I-I-I…,” He let out a deep breath as he closed his eyes, standing up straight, “I care about you, so much. But I can’t keep letting you down, so I think…I think it’s-it’s best for us to-to-”
“To b-break up…?” The words left your mouth before they left his, and you felt tears beginning to well up in your eyes. Peter’s eyes were just as close to tears, his hand reaching out to touch your cheek only for you pull away in a sharp turn.
“No. Y-you don’t get to do this t-to me. Y-you’re the o-one who n-n-never showed u-up. I can’t believe you can be so heartless right now,” Your back straightened as you shook your head at him, pointing an accusing finger at the boy, “When everyone else, and I mean everyone, said I could do better…s-said I was out of your league, I-I never listened to them because theonly person I’ve ever wanted was you.” Peter was flabbergasted as he tried to reach out to hold you once more but you pulled away again, harsher than the last time.
“I’m only t-trying to p-protect you, (y/n).” He explained in a small voice as he finally was able to find your hand, and grasp it in his. He just wanted you, to wipe the tears away, but you all but hated him. But you could never hate Peter Parker, never.
“From what?” You ripped your hand away from his and began backing away, “I’m not some Damsel in Distress, Peter. I’m not some princess in a tower, waiting to be rescued. I can take care of myself…You don’t even know…”
And you were gone, just like that. In a flash, (y/h/c) was out of Peter’s sight.
Weeks passed, turning into months. You had been training with Clint Barton, otherwise known as Hawkeye, non-stop as a way to keep your mind off of Peter. But that was kind of difficult seeing as he was in most of your classes,so you resorted to working on your technique and form almost everyday. You worked yourself to the brink most days, taking your stress and heartbreak out on the target or the punching bag.
What made you somewhat happy was that Peter looked just as wrecked as you, it might sound rude or mean or heartless, but it made your feel slightly better that you two were both distraught form the events that took place two months ago. The two of your went from talking, texting, or interacting in some way every day, to absolutely nothing in a matter of two seconds. You knew you needed him, but not this bad. The relationship didn’t last as long as you thought, but the friendship was something you craved just as much as the loving touches or words of affirmation.
You punch the bag one more time, breathing heavily as you caught the swinging bag with your bound hands. You rested your forehead on it, sweat dripping off your face, remembering the feeling of Peter’s that used to rest in the same place. Clint looked at you as you breathed heavily, eyes closed and cheeks flushed. You reminded him of his daughter might look like when she grew to be your age, full of spirit and a little sass, but all of that seemed to have faded slightly since the break up. You had told Clint all about it, seeing as he was your mentor, and he knew how to pry it out of you with a mint chocolate chip ice cream.
“You okay kid? You look like today was…rough.” Clint walked towards you, coming to stand on the other side of the bag. You looked up at him before wiping the sweat from your forehead and onto your forearm. Today was rough, especially when you had to make that presentation in front of your Chemistry class and Peter decided that it would be a good day to make eye contact with you after two months of no interaction at all. You sighed as you pushed back on the bag, walking towards your water bottle with your hands placed on your hips.
“He looked at me today. And he was wearing that damn tee-shirt with my favorite science pun on it, and-and” And suddenly you were in tears, it was the first time you had cried about the whole situation since that day and it felt really good. You just missed him, all of him, and you couldn’t hold in the hurt anymore.
“I-I care him. So much, C-Clint. And now he’s g-g-gone.” Clint looked at you in pity, walking towards you and laying a hand on your shoulder, pulling you into his chest. And you just cried and cried and cried, until you didn’t think you could cry anymore,”Thanks…”
You mumbled the words out as he pulled away from you and smiled softly, “Anytime kid. But hey, it’ll be okay…If he really cares about you, he’ll be back.” You nodded as you started packing up for the day, you had a long drive back home and it was already five o’clock. But as you and Clint walked out of the training room, the compound seemed weirdly comfortable. Not that it wasn’t usually a comforting place, something just seemed familiar.And when you and Clint rounded the corner, you finally realized why it felt so different.
There stood Peter Parker, with a blue and red suit stuck tight to his toned body. He looked pretty beat up, and Tony seemed to be giving his a stern talking to. Neither one of the two noticed the two colleagues that had entered the living space in the compound, Clint didn’t even realize who it was until he saw the look in your eyes when they landed on the Spiderling.
Tony was the first to catch you staring at his prodigy, actually making the connection in his brain before saying something arrogant. Peter followed Tony’s gaze when he cut his sentence short, meeting your wide eyes before standing abruptly. He stuttered your name out as he finally made his own connection.
“(y/n)…You’re-You’re an Avenger?” Peter asked as he took a few slight steps towards you. You watched his body move in the suit, and hell did he look good. When did Peter get that toned? How is he Spider-Man? When and how did all this happen?
“And…You’re…Spider-Man?” Peter watched your eyes glance over him, making his stand a little taller and prouder. He, in turn, refused to keep his eyes hidden as his eyes made their way from your feet to the top of your head. He could barely keep himself from rushing towards your and grabbing a hold of your waist for a kiss that was long over due.
“I think these two have some catching up to do.” Clint stated as he ushered Tony out of the room, the sound of Tony’s arguments being heard down the hall. You and Peter just stared at each other though, neither of you moving, until Peter took the first step.
“You have some explaining to do.” You said as he was suddenly in front of you, his brown eyes melting you on the spot. You stood your ground though, and thought you would until the very last second.
“I think we both do,” He leaned his face towards you, getting closer and closer with each passing second. God, this was all you wanted. You knew that you shouldn’t take him back so easily but he was making it too damn hard not to, “You know how much I’ve miss you, how much I’ve missed this.”
“I thought you wanted to protect me?” You pondered sarcastically as you yourself leaned closer to the rosy cheeked boy. He smirked sweetly before nodding his head from side to side, “Darling, clearly you don’t need me to protect you. It won’t stop me from wanting to, though.” You blushed at the endearing choice of words.
“I’ve missed you too.” You breath out softly, as his arms hooked around your waist, slightly bending down to get even closer…If that was even possible.
His eyes lit up at your words, and one soft but quick movement, your lips were on his. The pair moving perfectly together, a smile forming on the both of your faces.
“Peter Parker, I do believe that was my first kiss.”
“Was is a good one?”
“Oh yeah, definitely. But can you make the second one better?”
Overheard at the bookstore.
A young boy, clasping a book, on the way to the till with his mother: “I think I’m just going to start reading now.”
His mother: “Maybe just wait until we’re home so you don’t walk into things.”
1. I now find this fight scene between Mason and Jimmy poorly acted and corny. I don’t think I particularly liked it when I first watched it either.
2. Mason is also extremely calm when he tells Tyler the story like it’s the most obvious thing in the world that he ended up killing someone who was supposed to be his friend.
3. And Tyler is also hella calm about the fact that his uncle killed someone and i also love how Mason’s emphasis is on YOU DON’T WANT THE CURSE and not KILLING SOMEONE WILL COMPLETELY MESS YOU UP. IT’S WRONG.
4. OH MY GOD, JEREMY, FIX YOUR HAIR. I thought his hair was fixed. WHY is it like this still?
5. Oh his hair is sort of fixed just that angle was terrible. Did him NO favours.
6. I love the Stefan and Elena hug scene, it’s really cute and it’s like they’re creating a safe space within the safe space of her room and I like their secret code but the dialogue of this scene always annoyed me because it’s clunky exposition about why they have to fake fight and it could’ve been done a lot smoother.
7. Also super cute that Elena keeps her hand on Stefan’s chest throughout this dialogue.
8. And I just booked that she clasps his hands when he explains their secret code.
9. I still don’t get how Liz would be an absentee mom because she works so much when supposedly nothing happened in Mystic Falls in their lifetime until Damon showed up and started murdering everyone.
10. Paul has such broad shoulders *sigh*
11. I find it hilarious that Tyler had more character development in one minute than Damon in an entire season.Jeremy goes over to him to say hi and see how he’s doing since his father’s funeral and Tyler brushes him off and then sighs and has this look like maybe, maybe we don’t have to be a dick today Tyler, and calls Jeremy back to apologize and its a pointed apology, like it’s clearly something new that Tyler is doing and then he thanks Jeremy for being cool during the funeral. Then he’s Tyler again inviting girls over to his house to party because he’s still Tyler.
12. “I *know* Damon Salvatore, do you know what he’s done for this town?” Liz, the first time you met Damon he was “dating” your underage daughter and it just so happens that when he comes to town people start dying?
13. “Think about it, when did the vampires attacks start happening?” THANK YOU MASON.
14. Damon’s hair is stupid and Liz is a terrible liar. Can anyone in this town actually lie? Like even Caroline who seems to be the best at it isn’t because she’s extra pushy and talkative when she lies.
15. I wanted to write a thing on this but longing is actually associated with SE quite often, “Uh oh, longing looks are being exchanged” and in the next episode Elena warns against longing gazes and in season 3 I think Damon mentions how they look at each other longingly all the time.
16. “No, I’m saying this isn’t up for discussion right now because we have ears on us” *Caroline and Damon turn away a second too late* ALL OF YOU ARE BAD AT LYING AND POKER FACES.
17. “Relationships are about communication” funny, Damon considering you communicate with Elena by killing her loved ones.
18. This party is also super awkward. Tyler and Jeremy standing and drinking while two girls dance awkwardly in front of them, I don’t believe anyone is having a good time.
19. Also this girl asked for a margarita in the Grill not bourbon or scotch or whatever it is you’re pouring her.
20. “I’m really embarrassed about slutting it up with you that day at the swimming hole, I’m really not like that, I promise” —> Guys, THIS is slut shaming. And also an example of why slut shaming is specific to women. Tyler was doing the exact same thing but the writers didn’t feel the need to have him apologize for his behaviour because he’s a dude and that’s what dudes do but she needs to apologize for exhibiting sexual appetite.
21. Girl whose name I don’t remember starts looking at Jeremy’s drawings of wolves,Tyler looks extremely uncomfortable and suspect and Jeremy is staring at him, not even glancing staring, BAD. LIARS.
22. Also Tyler doesn’t know about vampires yet so he wouldn’t know that Jeremy would be in the loop about supernatural stuff so if he sees a whole bunch of sketches on wolves, Jeremy could just like wolves, Tyler, the fact that he shoves him against the wall and chokes him demanding to know why he’s drawing about wolves is disproportionate and stupid. It would’ve been more interesting if Tyler was just on edge learning about all of this and someone who actually didn’t know about wolves was talking about them or drawing them and he loses his shit.
23. I actually really love that Damon knows Stefan and Elena are having “faux drama” in their relationship because he knows they aren’t that couple.
24. Yeah, Caroline didn’t last like two days lying to Elena.
25. Damon, you’re making a scene in a public place. You’re a fucking mess.
26. Also I find this was an oddly touchy episode for Defan. As in they kept touching each other, shoulders and necks and stuff, which just starts in this episode and kind of only happens as much in this episode.
27. “Curse about what?” TYLER, MY GUY, he ALREADY told you he knows about werewolves, this is just redundant.
28. I remember my friend and I watched this episode and went to the mall to copy Caroline’s wardrobe. I still like it but I’d change the top.
29. I know I’m supposed to be like aw, Damon won’t kill Liz because she’s his friend but like um, no? He abused and terrorized her daughter, proceeds to try and kill her ex husband in the next season and just murders everyone. It’s Damon’s MO to not kill you/hurt you just the people you love.
30. Caroline’s fear of Katherine is the only one that makes sense since Katherine suffocated her with a pillow
31. Also Paul is really great in the scene when he and Elena fight over human blood. His eyes are expressive af.
32. “What you did for Caroline’s mom that’s the Damon who was my friend.” He gets brownie points for not killing her? Seriously, this show reaches.
Altered BOOK, Secret POISON STORAGE. Original book cover from 1600. Intact book clasp. Pages bonded into a solid block & cut. 11 drawers & 1 open compartment. Silver & Stained wood details. Latin poison labels (Rhicinus, datura, belladonna, valerian, etc.). Glass bottle labeled “Statutum est hominibus semel mori” (A man is destined to die once) Hebrews 9:27. Engraving of a standing skeleton, dated “1682” … Once owned by an educated 17th century bible-reading assassin?
Companions react to catching a sad looking SoSu listening to the "Hi Honey" holotape and just kinda running their fingers over their wedding ring that they still wear...
Here we go! See? I promise this blog didn’t transform into a Deacon shrine heheh >.> Here’s some nice hurt/comfort for all of you out there! And by the by, my summer just started, so hopefully this will mean an increase in companion reactions yes? :3 We’ll just have to see! Also, these ended up being kinda romance/pre-romance by accident, so, y’know. It is what it is :)
EDIT: Fixed it :3
Honey…” The room was dark. Sole sat hunched over, legs drawn up and their head
cradled in the corner of the wall. Their Pip Boy lay flat across pressed-in
knees, gently illuminating the curves of their face.
“Hi Honey…” It said for the third time that night. Subdued
gasps shook free some tears still stubbornly clinging to their chin; they made
soft plips on the glass screen where
Deacon had been reading the next room over, contenting
himself with a volume of Proust. His attuned ears pricked to attention at
Sole’s faint cries. He frowned and clasped the book close before leaving the
novel alongside his long forgotten sunglasses. The only things visible in Sole’s
shadow-drenched bedroom were the softly glowing hills of Sole’s cheeks.
He didn’t say a word. He just walked over and sat down
behind them, letting his legs extend against the walls as his thighs rested
against Sole’s hips. Reaching around their closed off shoulders, he clicked off
the Pip Boy. “That’s enough for tonight boss.” He whispered gently against
their ear. Sole let themselves sob a little less softly and turned their face
into Deacon’s neck. The man lovingly carded his calloused fingers through their
hair and pressed a kiss to their temple.
The coolness of Deacon’s lips on their face smoothed over
Sole’s grief, allowing Sole to melt further into his supporting frame. Soon,
Sole’s softly snoring breath caressed Deacon’s clavicles. Giving one more kiss
to their forehead, Deacon carefully lifted Sole up and set them under the billowing
sheets of their bed. He slid in after them and securely took Sole in his arms.
He hoped it was enough to ward off their pain, at least for one night.
Everything between their ears was panic. Sole crushed a hand to their
hyperventilating chest. Raiders, one of them, Sole thought they were all dead,
but one almost sliced Sole’s neck open. They left a thin red line across the
sweep of their throat before Preston put a bullet in the raider. Sole staggered
to the nearest wall, leaning a forearm against the brick structure. Frantically
they fumbled around their wrist and flicked on their PipBoy and
Yes. Yes. Their spouse. Yes, and their baby. Everything was
fine. Everything was fine and they were back in their perfect home with their
perfect spouse and perfect baby and please oh please take me back! Take me
back! Let me not be here! Please God!
Suddenly a pair of rifle-roughened hands gripped Sole’s
arms. “Sole. Sole Look at me. Hey now, don’t cry. Everything’s fine. Just look
at me and take deep breaths.” His hold on Sole was warm on their skin, drawing
them safely back to reality. Sole’s gaze finally focused in on Preston’s
comforting brown eyes. His attention felt like a familiar plush blanket, the
kind that offered security on your stormy nights. His thumb lovingly caressed
Sole’s wet cheek. “There we go. You look much better without tears on your
face.” He told them gently.
Sole let out a strangled sigh and latched their arms around
Preston. “Hold me please.” They begged quietly. The minuteman locked his arms
protectively around his partner.
“Don’t worry babe. I’ve gotcha, always will.” And he sealed
his oath with a kiss to the crown of their hair.
Cait: “Hi honey…”
“If I hear ya hit the replay button on that thing one more
damn time, I’m going to lose my shite. Give it here, yeah?” Fight-worn hands
easily plucked the PipBoy from around Sole’s wrist. Sole stayed slumped over,
watching the ground with deadened eyes. A few dark spots spattered the concrete
between their feet, well on their way to drying up by then.
Cait dropped a hand roughly on Sole’s shoulder as she sat
beside them. “I can’t imagine how hard this must be on ya. If you ever need to
talk, I’m right here ya know.” She patted Sole’s back a couple of times,
pausing a few moments to think her next statement over. “I… I know you can’t
heal all at once, but maybe take it easy on the wallowing? Believe me, the
longer you draw it out, the worse off you’ll be in the end.”
Sole released a long, shaky breath and curled into Cait’s
side. The woman stiffened reflexively at first, but relaxed and let her arm
slide around Sole’s shoulders, holding them close. A small chuckle huffed
through her nose as Cait leaned down to press a kiss to Sole’s hair.
“It’s okay now love. I gotcha.” She shook Sole playfully,
and their arms wrapped around her waist. They rested like this, sharing the
warmth, until both of them drifted to sleep.
straddled the railing on the Prydwyn, letting their feet dangle above the
Commonwealth. The green glow of their PipBoy mingled with the soft light of the
stars to fall against Sole’s face. Sole stared at their wrist, an empty body
lifting an empty hand to replay an empty message.
Canine teeth worked at the inside of Sole’s gums with barely
restrained grief. They allowed themselves one large breath: audible inhale and
audible exhale. Behind them, boots padded across the catwalk with regimented
tempo. A pair of orange-jumpsuited legs suddenly rested against Sole’s blue-suited
“Soldier, you’ve been out here for hours now. You need to
get some rest for tomorrow.”
The vault-dweller shrugged noncommittally. Danse sighed.
“Fine. At least let me keep you company then.”
Sole made no argument, their spouse’s voice still cooing
softly at their infant child. Danse watched them slump against the cold metal
bars, and working the inside of his lip, he braced Sole’s back with the warm
breadth of his broad hand. He moved it up and down slightly, not entirely sure
if it was a comforting movement, but hoping it helped them nonetheless.
Unexpectedly Sole turned into him, awkwardly folding
themselves against the soldier’s chest. Danse lifted his arms in surprise, but then
reluctantly let them rest lightly around Sole’s waist.
“Thanks Danse.” Sole’s voice was rough from crying. Danse
patted them consolingly.
“No problem soldier. At ease… we’re going to be here a
Piper: “Hi Honey…”
“Wuh-huh?” Piper blinked awake, rubbing her eyes and
sniffling her sleep-dried nose. “Sole, is that you?” She asked groggily. What
time was it? Midnight? Swallowing, Piper swung her legs off of the side of the
bed and meandered downstairs into the living room. As her feet hit the landing
she saw Sole flinch at the creaking floorboards, their eyes glistening at her.
They gripped the PipBoy close to their chest as if they’d been caught stealing.
“Sorry! Didn’t mean to wake you.” Sole apologized.
“Sole? Why is your voice all… gravely? Have you been? Oh… oh
Blue.” Piper’s face crumpled in realization, and she quickly strode over to
Sole. They leaned away from her touch, embarrassed and ashamed. Piper knelt
beside them on the floor. “Look at me Sole. C’mon.” Piper coaxed.
Sole’s lips trembled as they turned their face to face
Piper, eyes still closed. A few deep breaths later, and they managed to crack
their eyes open a little, vision still bleary. Piper pressed her lips together
in a thin, sympathetic smile. She used an inked thumb to wipe away Sole’s
“Need a hug?” She asked. Sole’s head rolled to the side,
face suddenly more remorseful than before, but then they slung themselves into
Piper’s arms, sobbing. “Hey there Blue. I gotcha now.” Piper sighed, turning her
face into Sole’s hair. Quietly she rocked them, waiting until they both fell
asleep, slumped against the couch.
Nick: Sole played
it as quietly as they possibly could.
They had to bite their hand to keep from sobbing. It hurt,
but it would hurt more to forget their spouse, everyday recalling a little less
how they sounded, how they said ‘I love you.’ Sloppy sniffles bypassed Sole’s
defenses, and their eyes clenched around rebelliously forming tears.
Nick walked in from the other room, his keen synthetic
hearing picking up the soft crying. He knelt beside the bed where Sole laid
down with their back facing him. He sighed, a leftover artifact of human
behavior, and sat down beside Sole’s head. With his encapsulated hand he gently
pulls some strands of hair away from the sticky tear-tracks matting them to Sole’s
“Hey there kid. Let’s focus on something less heartbreaking,
yeah?” With his other hand, Nick clicks the power off on the PipBoy. Sole
swallowed some long dried spit and rolled over, their eyes meeting Nick’s in
“I don’t wanna forget them.” Sole admitted, voice left gargling
from the crying. Nick offered them a sympathetic look. Without a word he
scooped them up into an embrace. Sole clutched onto the back of Nick’s trench
coat with shaking hands and pressed their face into his shoulder. He rubbed
their back soothingly.
“It’ll be alright sweetheart. It takes time to heal, and you’ll
always have those memories of your spouse. Even if you forget the specifics of their
voice or their face, you’ll never forget the times you spent together or the
love you felt towards each other.”
Sole nodded into his shoulder and curled in tighter to him.
Nick kissed their hair and kept them close, letting them stay in his arms and
have somewhere safe to sleep. His yellow eyes softly glowed on Sole’s snoozing
face. They seemed more at peace now, and Nick smiled. Good, if anyone deserved
peace in his eyes, it was Sole.
X6-88: “Hi Honey…”
“Sir/ma’am? May I assist you?”
“Huh?!” Sole jumped and looked over their shoulder, eyes
wide and filled with still spilling tears. They sniffled and wiped their nose
quickly, standing up from their spot in the corner in a futile attempt to
appear as if they weren’t just crying.
“I… was that your spouse on the PipBoy?” He asked softly.
Sole swallowed back a second wave of emotion.
“Y-yeah.” They said, voice cracking. X6 paused a moment
before taking off his sunglasses. He put a firm hand on their shoulder and
“My condolences for your loss. However, do not feel as if
you have to grieve in private. I will understand if you need… how do they say
it? A shoulder to cry on.”
With trembling lips, Sole gave X6 a watery smile and wrapped
their arms around the courser. He inhaled sharply through his nose, not really expecting
Sole to take his offer literally. However, he supposed it was the least he
could do for someone so crucial to the Institute… or maybe just… for Sole’s
stared up at the stars with dead eyes, PipBoy laying across their stomach and little
rocks digging into the back of their vault-suit. They’d long since run out of
tears, but Sole still kept pressing the replay button.
“Sole,” MacCready appeared above them and kneeled down to
forcibly turn off the personal device. He frowned at Sole, but when they gave
him a blank gaze, his face softened. He sighed tiredly and sat down beside Sole’s
head. Tentatively, he caught the tip of a few strands of Sole’s hair between
his calloused fingertips. “It might be healthier to leave that one be for a
while. Dwelling on the loss… it makes it harder to heal. Believe me, I know.”
Sole blinked owlishly a few times at the mercenary before
sighing. “I know,” they croaked. “I just miss them so much.”
MacCready’s heart broke for Sole. He knew that same pain
once upon a time. Hell, sometimes he still felt it.
“Come here.” He said gently, more an offer than a demand.
Sole groaned while sitting up, nestling into MacCready’s open arms. He held
them tightly, close to the chest. With one hand he massaged their head
soothingly, and the other secured Sole’s waist. Time moved unnoticed by them
after that, and a warm embrace slipped seamlessly into deep sleep. Neither
MacCready nor Sole had bad dreams that night.
Curie: “Hi Honey…”
“No more Sole please. I cannot bear to see you cry anymore.”
Curie seemed on the verge of tears herself; Sole just looked up at her with
tears still streaming down their face. They hiccupped a couple of times trying
to compose themselves, and Curie flung herself around them in a hug. She hushed
them, cooing desperately and trying to calm them down.
Eventually Sole sobbed themselves weary, and the last wisps
of their energy were exhaled against Curie’s neck. The little scientist
shivered and held them closer, her tiny arms attempting to crush Sole to herself
with all her might.
“Oh my. Such strong emotions! They are taxing no?” She said
shakily, petting Sole’s back with more force than necessary, frantically trying
to calm Sole down. Chuckling through the tears, Sole leaned away and grabbed
Curie by her elbows.
“It’s okay Curie. This is normal.” They reassured her in a
“Oh no! I am doing this wrong, aren’t I?” Curie frowned,
eyebrows drawn up. Sole shook their head.
“No Curie, you were doing just fine… In fact, maybe you could
hold me some more?”
Curie grins widely at them.
“Of course my love. Anything you would ask of me, it is
yours. Here, let me hold you again.” Both Sole and Curie smile at each other.
The hug is everything they needed, and they don’t let go for hours yet.
Bootfalls heralded the ghoul’s arrival. Promptly, Hancock
shut off the PipBoy.
“No.” He said gently. Sole continued to stare at the wrist-device
soullessly, and Hancock fished around in one of his coat’s infinitely deep
pockets. He finally pulled out a canister of Jet, offering it down to Sole.
They looked at it, contemplated, and then slowly pushed the drug away. Hancock
shrugged before joining Sole criss-cross applesauce on the floor.
Neither said anything for a while, the master bedroom of the
mayoral residence resounding with a deadening silence. It was enough to drive
someone insane, and Hancock tossed around the idea of taking a hit himself.
Looking at Sole, he decided against it. Instead, he scooped them up by the
knees and pulled them into his lap.
Sole sighed and nested their face in the crook of the mayor’s
neck. Hancock played with strand of Sole’s hair, feeling the softness between
his gnarled fingers before letting it fall gently back into place. The survivor
found it comforting and nestled deeper into Hancock.
“Thanks.” They said.
“Don’t mention it. You’d do the same for me.”
And even if that wasn’t true, Hancock would do this for them
whimpered at the fourth “Hi Honey…” He circled around his master, stopping to
nuzzle their side. Sole hiccupped and looked down at Dogmeat with bleary vision.
They sobbed a little more intensely, reaching out for comfort, and Dogmeat
quickly huddled up to Sole and lets them wrap their arms around his warm fur. Sole
cried until they fall asleep on Dogmeat, and the hound kept vigil over his
master until they finish resting.
Strong: “Hi Honey…”
“Why human play again? It only make human weak.” Strong
frowned down at Sole who startled at the sound of his voice.
“Crap.” They hiss. “I thought I was being quiet.”
“What? Why human leaking from eyes? Strong never leak from
eyes! Is this weak human thing?” The mutant asked gruffly. Sole clicked off the
PipBoy, shaking their head. They bite their bottom lip before looking up at
“Yeah, it’s a human thing. I’ll finish up soon.” They
reassure him. Strong glares confusedly at Sole.
“Is liquid… Milk of human kindness?”
Sole chuckles breathlessly.
“Not really, but that’s your closest estimate so far. But
yeah, it’s… sort of related. When you… when you’ve shared milk of human
kindness with someone, and they leave you… then you uh… humans leak from their
eyes. Yeah, that about sums it up.”
Strong balks. “Leave? Why other human leave? It make other
human weak! That not helping brother! That bad!” The mutant scrunches up his
nose. Sole sighs at him.
“Sometimes… Sometimes it’s not the other human’s fault.
Sometimes other things, things they can’t control, take the person away.”
Strong frowns again, looking sideways at Sole. He huffs.
“Strong think he understand. Maybe will talk about it later.”
Sole smiles, genuinely this time. “Sure thing Strong.
Codsworth: “Hi honey…”
Sole sniffled, looking up desperately at the stars. They licked their lips free of tears and closed their eyes. The grief was suffocating.
“I miss them too. I can’t imagine how hard this must be.” Sole felt Codsworth delicately lay his metal claw on their shoulder. Despite the cold metal, the gesture was comforting, and Sole leaned their cheek into the robot’s hand.
“It’s hard without them, y’know… Thanks for being here Codsworth. It helps to have someone who understands.” Sole said.
Codworth would’ve smiled gently if he could. Instead he made a softly audible sighing sound.
“I’ll always be here sir/mum. Have been for 200 years, and will gladly be so for 200 more if you desire… You’ve become such a positive force in the Commonwealth. Nate/Nora would’ve been proud. You do their memory honor.”
Sole smiled up at Codsworth. He titled one eye-stalk empathetically, giving their shoulder a comforting squeeze. If there was anyone Sole could count on in this crazy world, it was Codsworth, and they wouldn’t have it any other way.
Thomas/Silver or Thomas&Silver: 373. “You make me feel like I’m not good enough.” :)
Alright, finally, I am done with this! Sorry it took so long. This fit really nicely for my Anchor!verse, so have some Thomas/Silver feels (with some Silverflinthomas at the end because obviously ot3). Thanks for the prompt! <3
You Were The Light That Is Blinding Me
They’ve been in France for one month. It’s early days Silver knows, but Flint and he are still treading careful ground with each other. They pass each other during the day and meet like desperate ships in the night, destined for collision and breaking apart afterward with fresh wreckage splintering between them.
He bears the marks of Flint’s passion on his body during the days, takes Flint’s hands and presses them afresh into his skin in bed, and then on the nights when he’s alone, Silver skims his hand over them, letting his thoughts roam where they may.
This acknowledgment of their desire for each other is still so new, it takes his breath away.
…and then there’s Thomas.
Silver doesn’t know what to do, how to make things better with Thomas.
Ever since they arrived in France and James and Silver first began, truly began, what had been started oh so long ago, Thomas has retreated behind a curtain of polite courtesy. He’s civil but there’s not that explicit warmth that Silver had been so drawn to when he first arrived.
He wants…he doesn’t know what he wants from Thomas. No, that’s a lie, he does. Silver knows precisely what he wants. He’s just not sure whether Thomas wants it too. It seems too fortuitous a thing to have both Flint and Thomas within his grasp. No man could be that lucky, even John Silver who’s carried luck with him most of his days.
For things are what they are, earth and sky, cloud, furrows, undergrowth, stars; it is things alone which transfigure themselves, in no way are they symbols; they are the world we breathe…
Philippe Jaccottet, Landscapes for Absent Figures
We must learn from things; we have everything to learn from them. How to let things make themselves known by themselves, before any translation…
Hélène Cixous, Coming to Writing and Other Essays
Inconspicuously compliant is the thing: the jug and the bench, the footbridge and the plow. But tree and pond, too, brook and hill, are things, each in its own way. Things, each thinging from time to time in its own way, are heron and roe, deer, horse and bull. Things, each thinging and each staying in its own way, are mirror and clasp, book and picture, crown and cross.