with excessive blinking

Beware the Ides of March

this isn’t the fic i intended to write today (or ever really) but it’s the fic that happened so

read on ao3

Bellamy doesn’t believe in any higher power, not really. He also doesn’t believe in fate, or coincidence, or any of those other things that people like to blame random happenings on.

But he will admit that if he did actually believe in any of those things, he would be fully convinced that they were laughing at his misfortune at this very minute which. Honestly, he would be too if not for the stab wound in his side. Stab wounds apparently make the whole laughing thing kind of difficult. Who’d’ve known.

“Would you just hold still?” Clarke huffs as she tries to clean the wound.


“You’re incorrigible.”

“And your bedside manner sucks, princess.”

She pinches the soft skin on the inside of his bicep and he yelps, glaring at her balefully.

It’s not like he wants to be here, sitting on the uncomfortable examination table in the ER, shirt off, and paper crinkling noisily beneath him each time he so much as breathes. No one ever wants to be in the ER, leaking blood all over the place because they were fucking stabbed in a mugging gone wrong, not even if the opportunity lends itself to a bout of truly morbid humour.

Just this morning he was telling his sophomores about the Ides of March and now here he is, living his own version of it. Again, he would be laughing except- stab wound.

Clarke is bent over his side, wisps of blonde hair escaping her braid and looking platinum in the harsh fluorescent hospital lighting. Her eyebrows are furrowed as she goes over the cut with antiseptic, and he hisses once more.

“That hurts,” he grunts, and then flinches again when she goes back in with another piece of gauze. Most of the bleeding has stopped, but there’s still a lazy trickle that she has to keep wiping up intermittently.

“Stab wounds tend to do that,” she deadpans.

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

How would bts react if their gf had motor/vocal tics?

Ok so I did some research and I found out some info on this type of thing and I hope that what I write is fairly accurate! For those of you don’t know motor tics are little things that you may do randomly like excessive blinking. Vocal tics might be like random words or noises. 

If I didn’t get this correct I apologize! This is what I got from reading about it. 


At first: 

Jin strikes me as the kind of guy that will straight up ask you about it when he notices it. I don’t think it would bother him; he would just be curious. After explaining it to him I feel like he would not feel a need to bring it up again.

After dating for some time: 

Before he introduces you to his friends and family I feel like he would let them know of the situation to avoid people from reacting awkwardly or maybe asking about it (in what he fears may be in a rude way). He just wants you to be comfortable and not have to feel awkward. 

Originally posted by bangtannoonas


At first:

Suga seems like the type of guy that would not notice right away. If you were talking to each other and he was interested in what you were saying he would just sort of forget everything else. He would be so into you and what you were saying that the little things you did would not matter. Once you point it out I feel he would acknowledge it and maybe ask some questions but then just kind of put it in the back of his mind because he is so into you that it does not bother him. 

After dating for some time:

He’s strikes me as the type to get offended for you. Like you would be meeting some of his friends or something and one of them would be like “hey what’s with the blinking and noises?” and before you could tell them your situation and educate the person Yoongi would be like “liSTEN HERE!1!!!1″ because he does not want you to have to deal with it even though you know that not everybody is aware of the type of disorder (is that the correct terminology?) that you have. But bless him because he cares.

Originally posted by jeonbase


At first:

I feel like he would notice the tics but not say anything in fear of offending you. You could probably tell he was hesitant in asking and just sort of brought it up in conversation to save him from feeling awkward. He would appreciate you telling him and would ask questions and such because he is a curious lil bean. 

After dating for some time: 

When you guys are dating he barely notices it. Maybe if you are nervous or stressed it might show a bit more and I think he would take that as a sign to extra attentive and he would want to make sure that you were happy and would do little things to take the stress away. Lots of aegyo to make you smile. 

Originally posted by pjmjjk

Rap Monster:

At first:

Okay I straight up think that if he noticed it he would already have an idea of what it is or he would research it. Just to make sure he’d ask about it and then would continue to educate himself about it so that he knows what the tics would entail. He would also ask a lot of questions so that he knows what you go through and how you handle it throughout daily life.

After dating for some time:

Knowing Namjoon after being made aware of the situation he would kind of just push it to the side. He’s the type to not really mind and once you guys start dating all he wants to do is make you comfortable. If you wanted to talk about it I’m sure he’d be all for it but if you wanted to just leave it alone I think he would respect that. 

Originally posted by chyogi


At first:

If you met through mutual friends I feel like instead of asking you about it he would ask your friends. He wouldn’t want to be rude or offend you so he avoided talking about it around you. When one of your friends told you about how he asked you thought it was sweet. I think if you brought it up it would alarm him but he would like to know more about what your tics are. 

After dating for some time:

Being together so much would sort of put it in the back of Jimin’s mind. The only time he would notice is when other people would point it out. He would explain what it is and ask them to be kind and to not be rude. He wants you to be happy and comfortable.

Originally posted by bwipsul


At first:

Ok so don’t be mad, but I feel like Tae would sort of like… not mock but maybe copy it without knowing the situation. Like he wouldn’t try to be rude but because he hasn’t ever encountered it before he would take it as you being nervous and he’d think it’s cute (like does that make sense?). If you took offence to that I feel like he would apologize right away and then ask you to explain because he does not want to offend you and he wants to be educated about it. 

After dating for some time:

If he ever saw people doing what he did when he first met you he would explain to them what he knows. I don’t think he would get mad or offended, he would understand that some people don’t know any better and he would want to help them understand and would want you to know that he has your back and that he truly cares. 

Originally posted by mvssmedia


At first:

I feel as if Jungkook is similar to Hoseok in the sense that he would notice but would be too afraid to ask. When you notice I feel as if he would be relieved that you explained it but worried that you thought he disliked you because of it. He would reassure you that he does not mind and just wants to know more about it. 

After dating for some time:

I feel as if he would still notice it after dating for so long, but not in the bad way. He would still ask questions and would still always tell you how much he loves you and how it does not matter to him if you have tics. It doesn’t bother him because he loves you so much and he has so much respect for you and what you go through on a daily basis. 

Originally posted by hohbi


Poppy’s newest video as of

anonymous asked:

Do you think Donald Trump is actually an advocate of free speech?

No; I initially got that impression from him when he’d talk about political correctness. 

Aside from the whole climate change ordeal;

He’s supported the reinstatement of libel laws which allow him to punish journalists who say unfavorable things about him, true or not. There’s been a history of state officials abusing those laws and suing newspapers for libel for reporting things they didn’t want to hear (but were ultimately the truth). By opening up those laws there’s so many loopholes that people can use to their advantage to change the definition of what constitutes as libel. That’s ultimately a threat to our freedom of speech.

Then Trump called for a guest on the Megyn Kelly show to be banned from TV and fined by the FCC (not even making this up) because the guest said “Carly Fiorina cut Trump’s balls off” during one of those primary debates. Like sure what he said might have been unprofessional, but all of this is excessive. He wouldn’t blink an eye if someone said the same thing to one of his detractors. 

His volunteers during his campaign were made to sign a non-disclosure agreement prohibiting them from criticizing (or disparaging) him, his businesses, and the campaign itself in any way during and for an indefinite amount of time after his campaign. xxx

A while ago, he tweeted saying that people who burn the flag should be revoked of their citizenship and get one year in jail. 

Freedom of speech applies on all fronts whether it’s something you agree with or not and Donald Trump doesn’t come across as someone who supports that sentiment.

Go to bed angry : Ashton AU

This is the first thing I’ve written in relation to 5sos and I hope you like it :) If this gets positive feedback then I’ll definitely write more!

Description: Basically you and your boyfriend Ashton get in a fight but he doesn’t want to go to bed angry.

Word count: 1923

“For God’s sake, Y/n, can you at least be mature about this?” Ashton yells as he reaches his hand out to catch the door that you tried slamming shut behind you.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” you snap sarcastically, removing the cardigan from you shoulders and haphazardly draping it over the living room couch. “Should I be more understanding about running into your ex-fiancée at your mother’s wedding?”

“Yes!” Ashton scoffs, also removing his jacket but opting to hang it up neatly by the front door. “I told you a hundred times on the ride home that I didn’t know she would be there! It’s not my fault that my mum invited her!”

“No, that’s not your fault, Ashton,” you lean down to remove one of the heels that’s been killing your feet all night, but keep a firm hold on it in case you have to improvise it as a weapon, “But did you have to sneak off and dance with her while I was in the bathroom?”

“I didn’t sneak off to dance with her!” Ashton forcefully loosens his necktie but doesn’t bother spending the time to take it off because he’s dependent on talking with his hands when he’s angry, “I was dancing with the flower girl when Shelby came up and intervened.”

“You still danced with her!” Your fingers wrap tighter around your shoe. The image of Ashton with his hands on his ex’s hips and her arms around his neck with a song about love playing over the speakers is imprinted into every corner of your mind, and there is no escaping the gut-wrenching feeling of seeing your boyfriend reunite with someone he wanted to marry at one point. “You could have– you should have told her ‘no’!”

“I tried to!” The veins in Ashton’s neck are gradually becoming more prominent.

“That’s not good enough!” you yell.

“Of course it’s not,” Ashton laughs humorlessly and lets his hands fall to his sides, “Nothing’s ever good enough for you!”

“Excuse me?” You take off your other shoe and discard both of them to the side on the floor. “What the hell does that mean?”

“It means,” he starts crossing the room toward you, rolling up the sleeves of his shirt as he does so, “you’re an ungrateful bitch! You expect our relationship to be fucking perfect and when I don’t meet your ridiculous standards, on the rare occasions that I do something you don’t like, you throw a God damn tantrum!”

You remain silent as Ashton continues to release his anger through harsh words and name calling. You two have been in plenty of fights before, but he’s never once stooped low enough to call you a bitch. It stings to hear the word leave his lips– the same lips that showered you with compliments and kisses just this morning before you two even got out of bed to start getting ready for his mother’s wedding, and it breaks your heart to realize the tremendous turn that the day has taken.

You don’t realize that you’ve been backing up until you feel the wall behind you. Ashton’s chest is directly in front of yours, rising and falling more rapidly now that his rant is over. His mouth is close and right in your line of vision, but you don’t feel the familiar desire to kiss him like you usually would.

“I never realized that’s what you think of me,” you say as calmly as a livid person can. You’re tempted to push Ashton away from you but decide to just slide past him instead, not looking in his direction as you make your way toward the staircase.

“Yeah, just walk away, Y/n,” another annoyed laugh resonates from Ashton’s throat, “That’ll solve our problems!”

“Fuck you, Ashton!” You scream from one of the bottom steps.

“No, fuck you!” he retaliates even louder.

“I hope you weren’t planning on sleeping in our bed tonight,” you spit, “Enjoy the couch.”

“I’ll enjoy it more than sleeping near you,” Ashton mumbles under his breath, but you’re still able to catch it. You stomp up the remaining stairs and make it a point to slam the bedroom door once you’re inside. You also lock it, hoping that he’ll somehow hear the click as well.

The bed that you and Ashton normally share feels cold without the extra heat of his body, but you suck it up and crawl under the covers anyway. Sleep definitely isn’t going to come easy tonight– not with your blood still boiling over what started the fight and Ashton’s hurtful words playing on repeat throughout your mind. How could he be such an idiot? You had every reason to get mad at him for dancing with his ex-fiancée. In fact, if the roles were reversed, you know damn well that Ashton would start World War III if he saw one of your formal lovers put their hands on you.

A mixture of emotions create the tears that are now burning the backs of your eyes. You look toward the ceiling, blinking excessively to try to stop them from spilling down your cheeks, but it’s no use. You’re sad, and you’re angry, and you’re afraid that this might be the fight that you and Ashton can’t come back from, and that’s a lot to deal with after such a long and stressful day. So you let yourself cry for the first time in a while, and if you weren’t in so much emotional pain you might think that it feels good to finally let yourself go after portraying a façade for so long.

Your post-argument sobs are the one thing you don’t want Ashton to hear, and that’s why your heart sinks when there’s a small knock at the door.

“Y/n,” Ashton’s voice is soft and muffled by the barrier between you.

“Go away,” you demand hoarsely, the strained sound of your own voice surprising you.

“I’m not going anywhere until you open the door, baby,” he says sweetly. “I’m sorry.”

You sniff loudly and wave your hands in front of your eyes to try to dry them. Although you were hoping for an apology, you weren’t expecting it to come tonight.

Feeling mildly better now that he’s feeling remorse but still not quite in the mood to make up yet, you tell him, “We’ll talk tomorrow.”

“Come on, baby, please,” he begs, “I don’t want us to go to bed angry.”

You exhale a fragile sigh and shake your head, refusing to let him off the hook so easily. You slide further under the blanket and reach over for the switch of lamp beside you to turn out the last remaining light in the room, hoping he saw it go out through the crack under the door, but just in case he missed it you bluntly include, “Goodnight, Ashton” to really deliver your message.

A deep breath and a disappointed “Alright,” are all that’s heard from Ashton’s side, and you relax a little knowing that he won’t press the issue. At least, at first you do. But as you lay on your side in bed, staring at the door you declined to open, you can’t help but feel the weight of Ashton’s compromise caving in on your chest.

“I don’t want us to go to bed angry.”

What if Ashton knows something you don’t? What if he leaves for good? What if a burglar breaks into your house tonight and hurts Ashton for standing in the way of what he wants? What if he goes for a late drive to clear his mind and doesn’t come home? God forbid, what if for some reason Ashton just doesn’t wake up tomorrow, and the last memory you have of him is exchanging “fuck you's” in your living room?

You’re out of bed and on your feet before your mind can come up with anymore cruel scenarios. You don’t want to go to bed angry. Ashton was trying to apologize and you should have let him, and now it’s your turn to say sorry.

The door handle is cold under your damp palms, and when you step out into the hallway you fully expect it to be empty. But instead, Ashton is leaning back against the wall directly across from you, his hooded, hazel eyes already locked on yours. He stands up straighter when he sees you; his arm flinches as if he wants to reach out to you but he’s not sure if he’s allowed to. You’re shocked to see him and your agape mouth shows it. You thought for certain that he would have gone back downstairs by now.

“Ashton,” his name leaves your lips and you hurry to close the distance between the two of you. His arms immediately welcome you into their warmth and you bury your face into the crook of his neck, relief washing through your muscles and allowing them to relax.

“Y/n, I’m so sorry,” he whispers into your hair, leaving a kiss where his breath fanned against, “I didn’t mean any of it– nothing that I said was true. I shouldn’t have yelled at you, and I shouldn’t have danced with Shelby tonight.” He slightly releases his hold so he can lean back far enough to see your pretty face. “I don’t feel anything for her anymore, you know that right?”

Ashton still having feelings for his ex was the first thing that crossed your mind when you saw them together at the wedding, but you avoided bringing that up in the argument because you were scared that he might confirm your suspicion, so hearing him deny it now all on his own is a huge comfort.

You subtly nod.

“Good.” Ashton brings his hands up to gently cup your jaw. “Because I love you so much, Y/n, and I don’t ever want to give you a reason to doubt that.”

The corners of your lips quirk into a small, forgiving smile, and while your mood is lifted you pull Ashton into the first kiss you’ve had since departing from the venue. He eagerly reciprocates the affection, traveling his long fingers from your face to your hair and tucking the strands sweetly behind your ears.

“I love you,” you mumble against his soft skin, forming your lips to his once more before turning around and heading toward the bedroom. You don’t hear Ashton follow, so you look over your shoulder to see what the hold up is.

He’s watching you shyly, his eyes low at first until they shoot up to meet with yours, a doe-like innocence and timid-puppy quality to them. It takes you a second to remember that you exiled him to the couch no more than a few minutes ago, which explains his out-of-character uncertainty.

“Aren’t you coming to bed?” you ask, extending your hand in his direction.

Ashton’s demeanor instantly brightens, and he’s walking toward you with no further hesitation after being granted your permission. He grabs your hand and pulls you into his chest, capturing your mouth with his in a kiss more passionate than anything you’ve felt all day. Your lips part briefly as he bends his knees to pick you up by your thighs, wrapping your legs around his narrow waist while his hands rest firmly on your backside to support your weight. His mouth is on yours again, his tongue begging for entrance, and a fit of giggles escape both of your throats by the time he carries you through the threshold and kicks the door closed behind him.      


Body language

I’m honestly not quite sure how much stock I put in body language analysis. I kind of think it’s only slightly above horoscopes as far as reliability goes, but I thought it would still be interesting to add it here for people who enjoy those things.

I was also really surprised by how constant the eye lines matched with what Phil was saying. I don’t think Phil is good enough of an actor to control his eyes this way, but it may all be a coincidence. Although as I’ve mentioned in the intro to this blog, how many coincidences can there be before you just go, ‘you know, maybe the simpler explanation is that this isn’t fake.’

Anyway, I’m not here to try to convince you that body language is a valid tool to analyse the video, because I’m not entirely sure myself. If you don’t believe in it, you’ll probably still be thinking it’s a load of horsecrap by the end of this post. But for those of you who are into body language analysis, enjoy. :)

Eye lines

There’s a video available… somewhere… which highlights in real time the direction Phil looks in during the video. I can’t post it here though because, copyright.(phantastico note: There’s no video in all internet.) But here are a few highlights.

Everytime he talks about the reasons he made the video, or the reasons he made it the way he did, he looks to his lower left (our lower right), which is an indication of reasoning, justification, self-analysis, and introspection.

He looks to his lower left when he says:

  • you had to go to bed, leaving me for five hours with nothing to do, so I have made this video”
  • “you got me loads of awesome birthday presents and I wanted to repay you, somehow”
  • “and I just thought I’d share some of my favourite memories that I have of us together”

He also looks in that direction when he analyses or justifies his reactions, feelings and thoughts about Dan:

  • “I was clawing at you and biting you, but that was just because I really liked you”
  • “I think that’s when I properly fell in love with you”

He looks to his upper left (our upper right) when he recalls events:

  • “I’ve never had Valentine’s Day with anyone before”
  • “the first time we met”
  • “my heart did that flippy-over thing, and it had never really done that before”
  • “I just thought I’d share some of my favourite memories that I have of us together”
  • “So the first [memory] is on the snowiest day ever”
  • “And you lay down in the snow”
  • “Endless coffee in Starbucks, caramel macchiato, and our Starbucks sofa…”
  • “we went and got some food and then sat on the fountain”
  • “and so many other things that I’m probably forgetting”

And there’s his lower right (our lower left), which is about memories of feelings and physical sensations:

  • “all the cuddles in bed”
  • “and funny times in my bed”
  • “kissing in 3D glasses”
  • “i just wanna say that i love you so much”

And then there’s his upper right, our upper left, which is where people look when they lie, guess or estimate.

Phil never looks in that direction for the entire video.


He also blinks a lot during the video (well… a lot by Phil’s standards). Many people think blinking means lying, but that’s not exactly true, it means nervousness. You can be nervous because you’re lying, but you can also be nervous because you’re making a video love-letter to a guy you’re smitten with and with whom you had previously agreed not to do anything special for Valentine’s Day.

Which kinda covers both our options here.

So the excessive blinking doesn’t mean much, except in one place in the video, when he blinks several times in rapid succession. That usually indicates infactuation and physical attraction (think of the cliche of the woman batting her eyelashes at someone). Phil does it near the end of the video: “and I just wanna say that I love you so much, and I’m so happy to have you in my life, and… [blink, blink, blink] you are the best person in the world.

He probably just had an eyelash under his contact lense or something. Those bastards hurt.


If you’ve seen the video, you may have noticed that there is something that seems a bit… off… with Phil’s voice. That’s because this is Phil’s normal speaking voice. Most vloggers, when they record a video, use a “vlogging" voice. It’s similar to a “radio voice", although usually on the radio the difference between the normal and the performing voice is more drastic.

It’s not a fake voice, per say, it’s usually a heightened version of their normal voice - louder, clearer, faster, with more rhythm, more articulate. It tends to happen naturally (even subconsciously) to people when they get on a stage, real or virtual. If you’re comfortable in your vlogging voice and have honed it well, as Phil undoubtedly has, it will sound extremely natural and may not be noticeable until you break out of it.

If you watch Phil’s older videos you can hear his normal voice occasionally. Hayfever Sucks has a good example of it at 3:20.

(Dan also has a vlogging voice, by the way. You can hear him out of it in University Life at 2:44.)

So yes, Phil is using is normal voice in the video. It’s not really an argument in whether or not the video is a prank, but it does explain why his voice may sound different. It’s not because he’s acting, it’s because he’s using his natural voice.


Phil, bless his heart, is not a very good actor. When he has to read off a script, his voice is very flat, emotionless, and his timing is off — see Becoming YouTube episode 1, College Dropout or the skits at the end of the season 2 episodes of the Super Amazing Project — . He is, however, a very good liar. When he’s not working off a script, he can come across as pretty genuine, like in his Call or Delete.

And it’s obvious in the Valentine’s Day video that he’s not working off a script, because the structure is a bit messy. He lists events in no particular order, there’s a few backs-and-forths in there (”plus, you got me loads of awesome birthday presents“) and some incomplete thoughts (”Endless coffee in Starbucks, caramel macchiato, and our Starbucks sofa…”). That indicates he’s running off the top of his head, with minimal preparations.

So we know he’s not reading off a script, but does that mean he’s being honest, or just lying very well? There’s no way to tell, really. At least not by his tone of voice.

However, the fact that he’s not reading off a script is interesting because of the amount of details in the video. There are many references in there that, if they were included purely to fool shippers, are really, really obscure (3-hour breakfast, cherry, Interrupted by Fireworks, etc.). They are the kind of things that would require a lot of planning and researching. However, if the video is genuine, they’re the kind of things that would easily come to Phil’s mind — less preparation required, he can just turn on the camera and start talking about nice memories he has.

So if the video is fake, Phil clearly put A LOT of work into it. From planning and research to acting, he made it absolutely flawless.

And then he never made it public.

He ostensibly did all that work to prank shippers, but he never shared it with them. That’s a lot of work, ultimately for nothing. Unless, of course, the video wasn’t intended for shippers. If the video wasn’t a prank, then a) it required a lot less work and b) it did reach its intended target — Dan.

anonymous asked:

For the anon asking about autism and Tourette's. I'm diagnosed ADHD and Tourette's, and self-diagnose as autistic. I'm almost always aware of when I'm stimming and why I need to do it, but the tics are the result of neurological misfirings so I can't really tell if I'm doing something like, blinking excessively, until someone else points it out. I can stop or delay tics by thinking about them, but I can't replace the impulse with a stim because they're different in origin. (1/2)

My tics don’t really bother me, but I know if they start to be really noticeable it’s a sign I’m too tired or stressed out or overwhelmed and probably heading towards a meltdown. Also, stims are usually connected to emotions or replacing some other sensation. Tics just are. They’re happening or they aren’t. I know this is mostly personal anecdotes but hope this is somewhat helpful for figuring out the difference between tics and stims. (2/2)

Response to anon asking about stimming and tics.

(Thank you for all the great info!)


New Year’s Eve Ficlet

A companion piece to this christmas fic.  Both rated Mature.

Happy New Year, everyone.  You’ve all been a great part of this one for me.  Thank you.

* * * * * * *

He doesn’t even think to call her until well after ten.  It’s not that he doesn’t like the holiday, or that he doesn’t wish her well, just that he doesn’t know if it’s his place to wish her anything.  He’s been given no rules to follow on this holiday – it doesn’t bring to mind family, or church, or children, or office parties.  The holiday that doesn’t belong to anyone.

This year, it belongs to him and his television.  He’s splayed out on the couch with a tray of bad cookies on his chest, watching a movie, when he thinks of her and convinces himself it’s appropriate, even funny, to call now.  He dials with the intention of blaming this movie forever if he’s wrong.

She answers on the second ring and he hears voices, festivity.  He licks his lips, holds his breath, torn between the anger that she didn’t invite him and the guilt of interrupting.  She assures him quickly that it’s the TV and then they have a moment of silence as his anxiety leaves him.

“I think we’re watching the same thing,” she says and he can hear her smiling.

“Well, it’s this or Dick Clark.  Not a lot of options.”  He doesn’t know why he’s downplaying the serendipity of it, the romance, when he was the one who picked up the phone, he was the one who thought of her as Meg Ryan and Billy Crystal pretended to themselves not to be in love.

“Did you see it in the movie theater?” he asks.

“On a date.”  He can feel his eyes light up, though there’s a scowl in his chest.  He doesn’t know why her whereabouts in July of 1989 should produce either reaction.

“How’d that go?”

“We made out a little in the dark, but we got into an argument afterwards and I never saw him again.”  He lowers the cookie in his hand back to the tray.

“You made out?  In the movie theater?”

She laughs a barely audible hiss of a laugh.  How little you know me, it says, how little you understand, how right Nora Ephron is about the friendship between a man and a woman.

“Scully,” he admonishes, but he’s sat up at attention in the sinking ship of his leather couch.  It’s cold in the apartment tonight and he’s brought in so many extra blankets he might have to throw himself overboard at some point.

“It’s not like we had sex in a playground, Mulder.  It’s the movies, it’s a date, people do it.”

“How far?”

“Oh, stop it.”

“Tell me.”

“I’m not going to tell you that.”

“This is so unfair,” he barks.

“What, like we had some kind of appointment for me to share my darkest secrets?  You called me.”

“This isn’t your darkest secret, Scully.  We have darker secrets in our office than this.”

“He put his hand up my skirt.”

All his body parts go into conservation mode, freezing as they preserve energy for survival past this moment of crisis, except his eyelashes, which blink excessively, as if to process the image more quickly and be free of it. She doesn’t cover up the silence, doesn’t try to make him more comfortable, and fair enough since he’s the one who pushed the issue.  He comes to his senses, relaxing a bit as the scene begins, the one he was thinking of to begin with, when Harry and Sally are split-screen, watching the same movie while on the phone in their beds.  Suddenly, he realizes he doesn’t know if she’s in the kitchen, or on her couch or…

“Too bad you don’t have a bed.  Then this would really be cute.”

He’s grateful to have moved past the movie theater thing, though this newer image, he soon finds, is not much easier to handle.  Is she in her satin pajamas?  A big t-shirt like the one she was wearing that first night he asked her to go for a run?  A robe with nothing underneath… she reads his mind again.

“So, Mulder, what do you think?”  He instantly panics, his stomach lurching, his hand frantically adjusting his shorts as if she can see his hard-on through the phone.  

“I don’t – I was – “

“You know, can men and women really be friends?”  She doesn’t have to add the rest, the without sex interfering part of the movie’s hypothesis.  He doesn’t know how to tell her no, no he doesn’t think so, since he’s sitting here picturing a woman he has never intended to seduce in her underwear, picturing a woman who gets spinach stuck in her teeth at lunch in nothing but a robe so sexy he doubts she even owns it, doubts any woman actually owns it.

“Sure, they can be friends,” he lies instead and the inflection of the humming noise she makes tells him she doesn’t quite believe it either.  Last year, he would have expected for her to swear that friendship and sex were separate.  But ten days ago, she took him by the tie and kissed him, really kind of kissed him, at a corny office Christmas party, so he’s not sure what to think.

“So how come no plans?” she asks.

“I never make plans on New Year’s Eve.  Wouldn’t even know where to begin.”

“It always seems like such a setup for disappointment,” she agrees, though he gets the idea that maybe she doesn’t fully believe that either.  She’s humoring him, making believe she shares his melancholy, because that’s the kind of friend she is, even when he’s being an asshole picturing her naked, she’s that kind of friend.  He remembers this part, the friend part, and decides to tell her something he has never told anyone.

“I’d like to have a real one like the one in this movie someday.  You know, girl all dressed up, Auld Lang Syne playing, kiss at midnight.”

“Don’t forget the big speech.”

“I can do a big speech.”

“You do them every morning.  With slides.”

He chuckles.  A minute passes, two, as they both watch the film.  He hears a rustle of bedding he recognizes from crummy hotels across the nation and knows she’s getting tired.  She yawns.  She’ll be hanging up now, any minute, he thinks, and feels sad, the kind of sadness he usually avoids by not making plans on this night, not setting any of those wicked expectations.

“You wanna just stay on till midnight passes?” she asks.  He could almost cry at the gesture of kindness.  

“Sure,” he says, persuading himself of his nonchalance by dusting a crumbled Fig Newton off the couch.  Then they’re both quiet until the credits are rolling and his neck is stiff where it’s crooked around the heavy plastic of the phone.  He thinks maybe she’s fallen asleep but doesn’t want to be the first to hang up…

“Happy New Year, Mulder.”

“Happy New Year.”


It’s easy to forget things out here in the middle of nowhere; that’s what they liked about the house in the first place.  They had a lot to forget then, and they wanted to be forgotten. So it’s no surprise to him that in the time she’s been gone, Scully has forgotten some things - the zip code, where he keeps the toothpicks, the paper clips, or how the soup bowls only fit when they go in a certain way.  What today is.

He does remember what today is. He’s been anticipating it since she decided to stay the night after fucking him on the living room floor.  It’s the anniversary of their first kiss – not counting that mistletoe kiss that one year – the only anniversary they’ve ever really been able to mark.  He’s considered giving her a gift, making dinner like he always did, but to acknowledge the date would mean discussing how long she’s been here (seven nights).  It would mean finding out what this duration of stay means, or more worrisome, that it means nothing.  So he doesn’t mention it, goes about the day like it’s any other day when the woman he loves has come home.  Carefully. Anxiously.  Happily.

She runs errands during the day as she’s done frequently the past week. He would offer to do it for her, but he knows she doesn’t need anything other than to be part of the world.  That was part of the problem the first time around. It’s something they’ll have to address if they - if she – no, he won’t do that to himself, won’t imagine packing up his stuff with her, arguing about condos versus co-ops, planning what to keep, what to get rid of, how to start over together.

She stashes her shopping in the bedroom and they eat a pleasant but uneventful dinner.  She says she’s heading to take a bath and read.  He normally follows her up when he hears the word bath, responding like Pavlov’s dog to the tune of the faucet.  He pads in quietly, slips a hand into the bubbles to watch the slow, expectant smile cross her face without her eyes ever opening. Tonight, he stays and waits ‘til she’s safely out of earshot to put Dick Clark on.  He wants to see the year pass, needs it.  It was a year without her.

He hears her footsteps at ten minutes to twelve, amidst the canned energy of the pre-taped show ramping up and the real energy of Times Square contained only by the confines of the box in his living room.  He taps the remote, but the batteries are low, and it doesn’t respond on the first try, the second, the third.  And anyway, by the third, he’s not even aiming correctly because he’s turned around and found her coming down the steps in a short blue cocktail dress.

Navy blue or maybe it’s green.  Low and heart-shaped on her breasts, ruffled from the hip down.  At first he thinks he’s seen her in it, or seen it in her closet, it seems so familiar.  But it looks nothing like her, nothing like the classy, cap-sleeved black dresses he can so easily picture her in.

“It’s the closest I could find,” she says and he immediately remembers the scene in the movie – Meg Ryan’s pale shoulders, Billy running in, the weight of a happy ending weighing heavy on his shoulders.  There’s no crowd here, no lighting, but Scully is pretty enough to make up for all of that - her hair pulled up messily from the treachery of bath water, her blue eyes rimmed in runny mascara, her cheeks still rosy with heat and maybe more than just that.  She reaches the end of the staircase and bends, slings a pair of satin high heels off her fingers and onto her feet.  “I didn’t want you to hear me coming down.”

He’s on his knees on the couch now, elbow locked and leaning, his jaw nearly thudding the wood planks of the floor.  He turns slowly, a carousel on its last round, following the swing of her hips as her shoes slowly clip-clop to the space between him and the TV.

“I’m not dressed for the occasion,” he says and she glances at the clothes he hasn’t changed out of today – a flannel shirt, a pair of old jeans – and nods. It’s true, Harry only realizes at the last second that he loves Sally; he doesn’t have time to get dressed for it. Mulder wonders how many years Scully has been waiting to do this just to truly catch him by surprise.  

He swings his legs out from under him, puts his feet on the floor as she sidles up, her knees between his knees, her bony ankles slightly wobbling against his in the unfamiliar heels.  She lifts his chin.

“Go ahead, make your speech,” she says.

“I didn’t have time to prepare…”

“You had twenty years.”  

“You are everything to me,” he blurts.  She playfully bobs her head from side to side – good start.  “This past seven nights have been so –“

“Eight, now.”  He grins and sputters on, wishing he had his projector and slides to rely on.

“It’s been so amazing.  Please don’t go.”

“I’m all dressed up, I have to go to the party.  You’re going to have to try harder to make me stay.”

He puts his hands around her waist, the funny, shiny material itchy between his fingers, and pulls her closer, kisses the cluster of freckles above her cleavage – this is one of the things Harry would have mentioned had he been in love with Scully instead of Sally.  But Mulder’s already told her about it hundreds of times.  He can’t really think of anything he hasn’t told her a hundred times and silently applauds Harry’s creativity.

“I didn’t mean tonight,” he whispers.  “I meant don’t go ever.”

“Oh,” she says with mock surprise, a teacher hearing about an overambitious science project.  “Then you’re really going to have to try hard.”

He glances at the TV, the clock visible in the upper right hand corner. He has seven minutes, so he gets right to it, slides his hand up the inside of her leg, pushes the stretchy, lacy panties to the side and cups her in the heel of his hand.  Her body tilts forward in it, the carriage of a ferris wheel passing low, letting him climb in.

These seven minutes that have seemed so long every other year from couches and barstools seem positively fleeting with his fingers inside her and his mouth wide around her breast, then narrow around her nipple, the green-blue prom dress scratching the scruff of his chin.  This, he realizes, is how one is supposed to pass those last minutes. He’s been doing it wrong all these years, everyone has.

She comes sooner than he expects, with one minute to go, and he wonders if she was paying attention to time.  He would not be surprised to find out she could calibrate an orgasm that well, not after the things he’s seen, but there are still things he doesn’t know about her, there always will be.  He pulls her dress up back over her breast and the weight of her body sinks against him to wait.

When the countdown begins, his face is between her hands, her chest rising and falling beneath his nose.  The last things he smells this year are his saliva and her bubble bath, popcorn butter and peppermint.  They both listen like this, not moving, as if straining to hear something very quiet, eavesdropping on a revelrous crowd of five hundred thousand.

She kisses him at precisely midnight, with a smile against his teeth when the screaming comes.  She points into the empty air of their old house as Auld Lang Syne begins to play, as if to say her plot is complete, as if to say she’s plotted every New Year’s celebration since that song was written.  He presses his ear to her chest and wraps his arms around her, all of her, a hand around her neck and one around a calf.  He thinks of how much he loves her, how much he has missed her, but also of her tits and the color of her underwear, and he knows even all these years later, he cannot just be her friend.

“Happy New Year, Scully.”

She reads his mind like always, taking off her underwear (black) as she answers the rest of his questions aloud.

“Happy anniversary, Mulder.”

This holiday has always belonged to her, they all have.

anonymous asked:

Lev nsfw HCs? *wiggles eyebrows*


- Lev loves eye contact. He has beautiful eyes that easily seduce you into wanting more

- He’ll quickly grab your shoulders and will pull you onto his lips. He’ll continue to wrap his arms around you and pull you into bed

- He will take it slow to make sure you’re comfortable and to remember/enjoy every moment

- Lev likes it when you straddle him/sit in his lap; his legs are smooth, and they’re good for propping yourself up on/holding onto

- Once you’re in his lap, he’ll begin kissing you all over your face, neck, and chest. He is always so cheerful when he gets to do this, and his charming, gray hair makes him even cuter

- He’ll occasionally stop kissing you and will stare into your eyes while rubbing you back and will brightly smirk at you

- After awhile, all your clothes are off as well as his, and you’re still sitting in his lap, and things are very heated

- You’re riding him, and his hands are gripping your ass. You both are kissing each other desperately, saliva everywhere. He’s rubbing your clit/touching your tip

- He lowkey wants to put a collar around you and pet your ears

- His dick is actually really nice; it’s smooth, the tip is a nice color, it’s very long as well- not too thick, but still a very nice width

- He’s controlling the pace, slamming into you every other thrust but making you moan with each thrust

- He’s really drowning in your touch and scent. He thinks you smell wonderful, like a homey scent, and all he wants to do is explore your mind and body, wanting to feel your smooth skin

- When he’s close, he starts going super fast, wanting you to climax at the same time. He’ll also hold your arms behind your back so he has more control over you and your pleasure

- He may choke you a little bit or he may tease you chest once more

- He pulling out skills are great because he somehow always manages to make you release right as he’s pulling away

- He gets really excited if you like the tip of his dick off afterwards

- Lev always makes sure to cuddle you a whole bunch afterwards. He will lightly kiss your lips, forehead, and nose, and he’ll get you some water as well as find a cat to snuggle with together. If you’re a little sore, he will make you rest and will massage you

- Lev is always giving you plenty of smiles and laugh and never fails to make sure you know he truly loves you

pasqua: ciclica azione dell’uscire dal mio funesto antro per dover salutare famigliari di cui non ricordo né fattezze né nomi per poi tornarmene subito in cameretta a marcire concludendo che: my family should adore me excessively *blink blink*

Damon Salvatore & Elena Gilbert - Straight Bourbon pt.2

Prompt: Part 2 of straight Burbon

Part 1

“Stefan, Elena, this is Y/N, we’re married.”

Damon was never one for thinking things through, this you remembered. He was also not a man of clear, concise words that were required for such a delicate situation, effects of his impulsiveness written across the faces of his brother and his brother’s girlfriend. To your surprise, Stefan’s face turned to recognition almost immediately.
“Y/N?” He asked, stepping forward, towards you and Damon.
“You remember me?” You asked, looking from Damon (who was as shocked as you were) and his younger brother.
“I didn’t- I have no idea. Everything just suddenly-” He began, only to be interrupted by your husband.
“It came back, almost like someone compelled you, right?” He drawled dryly, earning a pointed look from yourself.

“Katherine, I’m guessing?” Stefan replied, raising an eyebrow. You nodded, sighing slightly in response. “I didn’t read about you in any of the diaries I kept.”
“You kept diaries?” You blurted, chuckling slightly at the absurdity of it. Damon laughed, throwing an arm over your shoulder and kissing your temple.
“And I am reminding once more of why we are married.”
You smirked a little, turning your head to kiss his cheek lightly.
“Sorry to interrupt this sickeningly romantic scene but cam I borrow you for a minute, Damon?”
Your husband just rolled his eyes and followed his brother with promises of a swift return, leaving you in the room with his brother’s shocked and human girlfriend.

“So you’re.. You’re Damon’s- You and Damon are..” She began, blinking excessively.
“Married.. Yes.” You continued, frowning slightly.
“How come he didn’t-” She paused, tucking her hair behind her ear, biting her lip. You chuckled, smiling at the shy little human.
“Katherine, I’m sure you’ve heard of her?” You inquired rhetorically. Damon had explained the current situation regarding doppelgängers and how bizarre it was to see someone that theoretically was Katherine but, in reality, was so unlike her too. “She compelled Damon and obviously Stefan too to forget about me.” You paused, skimming over the painful memories. “I’m sure you’ve heard the rest of the story.”

“Where have you been all this time then?” Elena asked, her insecurity drowned in her curiosity of your story.
“I assumed they were both dead by now. I left when she turned me; I thought that I would hurt Damon or his family. I never went back.”
“Until now?”
“Until now.”
“So why did you come back?”
You paused, playing with hem of your sleeve.
“Memories I guess.” You replied lamely. “You’ve asked me many questions, I think it’s only fair I do the same in return.”

You couldn’t help but smile as you spoke, her face practically paling at the idea.
“Is it true that you dated the boy that works at the bar, the one with the blue eyes, before Stefan? I can’t for the life of me remember his name.”
Elena went beet red, destroying all memory of her previous pallor. Before she could answer, Damon walked back in, a small smile lighting up his face.
“Why are you-” You started, stopped by Damon’s lips pressing against your own.
“I just found a picture of you a freaking stunning wedding dress and I intend to make up all the time I lost.”



WARNINGS: none!!

REQUESTED BY @earlnessi & @rosedoesart

The buildings towered over Y/N like looming clouds as she strolled through downtown New York City, on her way to the train station. Everything around her seemed busy - the cars speeding by, the wind in her hair, the hundreds of people that surrounded her, each in the middle of their own stories.

She made her way to a bench inside the station, far enough away from the hectic masses of people running to catch the trains they were inevitably late for. Y/N pulled out a notebook and a muggle pen she’d found in a shop and began to jot down whatever words poured out of her fingers, based on the city around her. Minutes passed, and she began to sense an odd pulling sensation at her neck. She looked down, and her eyes widened when she spotted the small niffler, standing on the bench next to her legs and yanking on the necklace strewn around her neck.

“Excuse me,” she said, quietly, but harshly, “this is mine.” She took hold of the chain and began to pull it back towards her. This somehow urged the creature on, as it used all its strength to pull the necklace off her neck, the metal snapping on the back of her neck. The small, black animal then took off running, the necklace clutched in its tiny claw-like hands.

“Hey!” Y/N called, grabbing her notebook and chasing after the creature. She darted around people, who looked very annoyed, trying to keep her eyes on the pesky little black niffler. 

Just as she almost lost track of it, she collided with a man in a blue coat, who also appeared to be running. Her notebook almost flew out of her hands, but she grasped the pages tightly and continued to chase after the niffler, which she had lost track of. The man she had bumped into seemed to be running in the same direction.

“I am so sorry.” he said, not meeting her eyes as he continued to hurry towards the creature. 

She followed his gaze and saw the niffler again, who squeezed past people’s ankles, still clutching her necklace. “Is that yours? He stole my necklace.” she breathed, still hastily pushing past the commuters.

“Yes, sorry.” the man repeated. “He has quite a fancy for shining objects.”

Before she could respond, the apologetic man suddenly dove towards the ground, managing to gently grasp the creature in his hands. Y/N looked around, wondering if others were as bewildered as her in response to what had just happened. People seemed to disregard him, so she turned her attention back to the wild stranger, who was then standing back up.

“Follow me.” he muttered, holding the niffler in his arms like a baby. Y/N reluctantly followed him to another section of the underground train station, secluded from the craziness of the crowd they had just been in the middle of.

He pried the necklace out of the creature’s claws and dropped it into her hand, the tips of his fingers brushing her palm. 

“Thank you.” Y/N said. “I’m sorry for chasing him, I just - this was my mother’s necklace, and she gave -”

“It’s okay.” he replied, meeting her eyes for just a second. “You don’t have to explain. I’m truly sorry for the inconvenience.”

“It’s really fine.” she said, smiling. She felt much better now that the metal of her mother’s necklace was cold in between her fingers. 

Neither of them spoke as the light-brown haired man emptied the niffler’s pouch, from which fell coins, watches, and more jewelry. 

Y/N couldn’t help but giggle. “So what are you doing with a niffler in the middle of New York City?” 

The man stared at her, clearly surprised at her natural use of the word. He stuttered. “Wha- are you a…”

Y/N simply held up her wand, offering him a smile. 

He smiled back. “I’m here on research. I study magical creatures, and how to care for them, and… things like that.” he said, setting the niffler on his left shoulder, where it began to pull lightly on the ends of his light brown hair.

“Really?” she said. “I’m a research-based writer, and I’m here looking for a project. Would you be interested in having something written about you and your creatures?”

He hesitated, before grinning and saying, “Sure. I’m actually free right now, i-if you wanted to get coffee or something?”

Y/N nodded, mirroring his grin. “I’d love that. Oh, I’m Y/N, by the way.” she said, holding out her hand. 

He shook it, gingerly. “I’m Newt. Newt Scamander.”

“I’m originally from Italy, and since we had no wizarding school there, my parents decided to homeschool me. But once I was done with that, I was sick of staying in one place. I really wanted to travel, and that’s how I ended up here.” Y/N said, taking a sip of her coffee.

Newt listened from across the table, as his niffler fiddled with the spoon sticking out of his coffee mug. The magizoologist was undoubtedly drawn to Y/N, but couldn’t put his finger on a specific reason why. He did know that he could’ve sat there and listened to her talk for hours.

“But tell me about you.” she said, flipping open her notebook. “How did you get into studying magical creatures?”

Newt spoke modestly, but with true admiration. Y/N could tell just by hearing him describe the things he’d seen that he truly loved what he did. It just made her all the more inspired to write.

She noticed the way he didn’t like to hold eye contact for too long. If he did, a pink tint would form in his cheekbones when Y/N would smile.

“Are you sure you want to write about me?” he asked, licking his lips. “I don’t know if there’s much to work with.”

“No, there’s definitely things to work with.” she replied immediately, smiling. “You’re quite interesting, Mr. Scamander.”

A few days later, Newt showed her the inside of his suitcase.

He’d never shown anyone before, but Y/N felt like the right person. 

She was in a state of pure astonishment. He showed her creatures she couldn’t even have dreamed of - all shapes and sizes and colors and species. She stared in awe at the different habitats Newt had created for them, each exquisitely designed to fit the needs of each creature, perfectly.

“This is amazing.” she said, her accent thick, as Newt watched her take everything in. He had found that he liked looking at her when she wasn’t looking back. It brought him a strong sense of serenity. 

“Thanks.” he mumbled, looking down at his feet. 

It was then he realized how nervous he had come to be around her.

A month later, a collection of essays was published about Newt Scamander and his fantastic beasts. Y/N’s name was printed at the top. It was discussed in pubs and traded in conversation.

After the immediate success of the collection, she thanked him for the opportunity.

He realized that meant he didn’t get to work with her anymore.

So, Newt asked her out on a proper date.

Y/N said yes, indefinitely.

They fell in love. Over cups of tea, strolls in Central Park, late night conversations - they fell for each other, quickly and clumsily. She adored his modesty, his timidness, his sweetness. He admired her perseverance, her sense of humor, her kindness.

She loved the way he excessively blinked when he was flustered. The way he was with the creatures, treating them as if they were his children. The way he always seemed nervous to kiss her, even after they had done it a hundred times. The way he inevitably turned a deep shade of magenta every time she complemented him.

He loved the way she carried a notebook everywhere she went, constantly scribbling in it whenever she got inspiration. The way she wasn’t afraid of any of the beasts, always eager to listen to him go on and on about them. The way she always saw the best in people, no matter the circumstances. The way her fingers fit in between his.

Although Newt would never admit it, he knew that Y/N would change his life, someway or another, ever since that day that she had collided with him in a crowded train station, in the middle of New York City.

i hope you guys liked this one!! (i struggled with it a bit.) i based this off two different requests that i tried to weave together. xx


just a fun little character game. fill in the below categories with 3-5 things that your character can be identified by. repost & tag away !


001. anger
002. boredom
003. frustration
004. excitement


001. please, call me Sherlock
002. what do you want?
003. afghanistan or iraq?


001. navy blue
002. slate grey
003. scarlet red
004. mustard yellow


001. cigarettes
002. rain
003. formaldehyde
004. coffee


001. tailored suits
002. silk dressing gowns (10 different colours)
003. pajamas
004. the fucking hat
005. belstaff coat and scarf


001. textbooks
002. microscope
003. the mantlepiece skull


001. smoking
002. not eating
003. coffee
004. not sleeping
005. heroin && cocaine


001. steepling fingers 
002. blinking excessively
003. tapping fingers on lips / leg 
004. straight back


001. ‘organized’ mess
002. rainy days in london
003. specimen jars
004. bee keeping / entomology 


001. Sonata No. 1 in G Minor – Bach
002. Up The Wolves – Mountain Goats
003. Kemosabe – Everything, Everything
004. Breezeblocks – Alt-J

tagged by: @stillhavespots
tagging: @grcy, @theholmesalone, @mxrstan, @vxctorx​, @hiddenpathologist and anyone else who wants to do it!

Liar, Liar

How good the companions are at lying

Deacon: All right, of course, right off the bat we all know Deacon is the best liar. He lies so much even he doesn’t know what’s a lie anymore, his whole life is a scaffold of lies. MacCready wants to take lessons from him.

Danse: As a fairly honest and moral person, lying doesn’t come easily to him. It makes him uncomfortable and he’ll give it away in how he shifts uneasily and may twist something in his hands in distraction.

Piper: Has become quite good at lying through her teeth while hounding for the perfect scoop - she’s a good enough actor to convince the Children of Atom she saw Atom’s light, after all. But when it comes to personal matters she’s like an open book, and can’t lie to save her life.

Cait: Is kind of the opposite - she’s become quite good at guarding her feelings and lying about how she really is and what’s going on in her head. But she has to be invested in what she’s lying about - if she doesn’t really care, her lies aren’t convincing. When it comes to lying to make someone feel better, she’s very awkward and stiff because it doesn’t feel convincing.

Nick: In his years of experience dealing with people, Nick can lie as smooth as butter, and being highly perceptive he can almost always see through other’s lies. However, he values honesty and avoids lying when he can.

MacCready: Has always been a big talker since he was a kid, and this included his fair share of lies. What always gives him away though is when he tends to look away when he lies, like he can’t quite meet someone in the eye. He curses himself for doing this and tries to practice to get better.

Curie: Is terrible at lying, but not because she doesn’t know how to lie. She knows all the common physical tells of a lie such as excessive blinking, so when she lies she over-exaggerates her counter measures - she’ll stare wide eyed and unblinking while she tells a lie, which can end up being very disconcerting.

Strong: Doesn’t lie. It’s brutally honest or nothing.

Preston: Is very good at one type of lying - lying to protect others. Even after they were devastated in Quincy, Preston constantly reassured his group they would find safety and a new home, even when all he felt like doing was abandoning hope and taking his own life. He is incredibly good at faking hope in the face of adversity, sometimes to his own detriment.

Codsworth: Lying is not in his programming - unless it’s to reassure his master that he’s all right. Above all else Codsworth values maintaining composure, which sometimes means hiding his feelings when he’s distressed. With the struggles of living in the post war Commonwealth, this takes its toll on him, and is usually made obvious through his strained voice and awkward, disassociative manner.

Hancock: With his silver tongue, Hancock can lie easily, but it leaves a bad taste in his mouth. He prefers being up front and to build his connections open faced. After witnessing his brother’s web of lies, he wants to make a change in how he does politics.

X6-88: Since he has been trained to always maintain a carefully neutral demeanor at all times, lying is a walk in the park for him. Unless there’s a tactical reason to lie though, he prefers honesty. It’s more direct and to the point, and he usually doesn’t have any qualms about protecting people’s feelings.

Ada: Thinks that lying only leads to complications and ultimately bad situations. She would rather find a way to reword a truth nicely than to outright lie, even to protect someone else’s feelings. If the odds are poor, she doesn’t believe in giving false hope. But she doesn’t believe in giving up what hope there is, either.

Longfellow: Would rather keep silent than lie. He prefers a method of avoiding certain subjects rather than outright lying about them. If prodded about a subject he’ll just get brusque and say that he doesn’t want to talk about it.

Dogmeat: Dogs can’t lie. Dogmeat is a good boy. He never even steals trash. He has nothing to lie about.