clankitsfanfiction

[clankitsfanfiction]

Roman's No-Fun Night Out, a Succession One-shot

Summary:

“What the fuck are you doing here?!” Roman hisses. “This is my fucking spot!”

Kendall blinks, still startled, but at the very least he stops staring at Roman with eyes fucking as wide as dinner plates. “Fuck you, what the fuck are you doing here? Did you follow me?”

“Why the fuck would I follow you? I don’t fucking care what you do.”

* * *

Roman and Kendall run into each other at a gay bar. It’s not much fun for either of them.

(read this on Archive of Our Own here or below the cut)

Author's Note: Full disclosure: I have only seen the first 4 episodes of Season 1, but this was just begging to be written.

After a long day of work, there are few things Roman likes better than getting fucked. Sure, a bubble bath is good, as is fine wine and cheese, but honestly? A good hard fuck is often what he needs. Working with his family is fucking exhausting, and if he’s going to be exhausted, he wants to at least get an orgasm out of it.

Today wasn’t particularly tough, but that doesn’t really matter, as any night is a good night to head to a gay bar. There’s a place around Adam Clayton Powell that’s pretty good, so he gets dressed up for the night and takes one of the more discrete drivers.

Roman strolls into the Lambda Lounge after being dropped off a few blocks away. This place may be classy, but he still doesn’t need to be fucking dropped off in front like a preschooler. Since he’s looking to get dicked down hard tonight, he doesn’t want to seem like too much of a fucking asshole. Just a big one, rather than an enormous fucking one.

Taking a moment at the door, Roman lets the low jazz fill his ears and scans the room to see if any particular man catches his eye. A few who look like they could give him a good fuck, but no one in particular. Ah well, he has time. He can start with a drink at the bar.

Saddling up to the counter, he tells Rodrigo to serve him his regular. A sound to his right tells him some guy is fucking choking to death, so he turns to see if it’s a sexy stranger he can save and it’s fucking Kendall, here, in his fucking favorite gay bar.

Kendall is just staring at him, pink drink dripping from his chin and onto his white shirt. Good. Roman hopes the thing costs him a fucking fortune.

“What the fuck are you doing here?!” Roman hisses. “This is my fucking spot!”

Kendall blinks, still startled, but at the very least he stops staring at Roman with eyes fucking as wide as dinner plates. “Fuck you, what the fuck are you doing here? Did you follow me?”

“Why the fuck would I follow you? I don’t fucking care what you do.” Rodrigo comes back with his cocktail, a Stay A While, and Roman takes the opportunity to glare fucking daggers at the man. “Why is this fucker here?”

“You see, he came here, and he gave me money for a drink. It’s this hot new trend called a business transaction.” Rodrigo raises an eyebrow on his perfect fucking chiseled face and it disappears into his beautiful dark curly hair. “You two know each other?”

Fucking tall dark and handsome Rodrigo knows fucking well who Roman is and has spent many nights serving him drinks as he complains about his family and looks to get laid. Fucking Rodrigo probably thinks it’s hilarious as shit Kendall happened to wander into Roman’s fucking favorite gay bar. God, he would have slept with Rodrigo ages ago if people sleeping with him didn’t suddenly understand how truly fucked-up he was.

“Fuck you. Get this fuck another, what’s he drinking? A Hughes, judging by the pink puddle on the floor? Get him a damn cocktail. We’re taking a booth table.”  Rodrigo dutifully makes another cocktail as Roman seethes. Fucking Kendall has ripped away his favorite cruising spot. Doesn’t matter if his brother never comes back, now it’ll have his stench all over it.

Finally the drink is done and Kendall wordlessly picks it up and follows him to the side of the room, having apparently decided silence is the best response to Roman’s scowling face. The next few minutes, in fact, are full of light jazz and silence as Roman sips his drink in anger. He even catches eyes with a hunk of meat he’s sure could pound him into tomorrow, but the man’s eyes slide on right by as he notices Kendall sitting across from him, hunched over and clutching his drink like some little frightened chihuahua. Fuck, they need to talk about this so Roman can go chase some tail.

“So! Brother of mine.” Smiling tightly, he flicks the straw wrapper for his drink at Kendall’s face and actually smiles when he hits him dead on. They don’t usually give people straws for cocktails, but Roman always asks for one so they finally stopped trying. Fucking tree-humpers still make sure the straw and wrapper are compostable though. “Mind telling me why you’re poaching my spot?”

Unfortunately, Kendall has gone back to the staring. His brother’s fingers drum against the table like the man is nervous, which makes sense because Kendall is always a fucking tightly wound ball of nerves. God, if anyone needs to get fucked into tomorrow, it’s Kendall.

Holy shit, that’s why Kendall is here! Before Roman can squeal in delight at this realization, Kendall’s finally opened his mouth. “I, uh, wanted to get out. Roman, why are you here? I honestly had no idea you would even show up. Or that you even knew this place existed.”

Wait, back up.

Roman sets his drink down and folds his hands together, resting his chin on top. It’s unbelievable Kendall is this socially inept. Like, honestly.

Pursing his lips and making puppy-dog eyes, he tsks his brother and sighs. “Wow, Kendall. I had no idea you were homophobic.”

Kendall stiffens and scowls. “I’m not—I didn’t even know you were gay! How could I be homophobic?”

“Exactly!” Roman snaps his fingers and downs his drink. “Unbelievable you didn’t know I was gay. So homophobic. You’re paying for my drink, by the way. As repayment for your homophobia.”

“How was I supposed to know you’re gay?! You sleep with women all the time, you had a girlfriend until like last week!”

“Uh, yeah, it’s called a cover story, ding-dong.” Unfortunately, now that his drink is gone, he has nothing to do with his hands. He pulls out his drink straw and tries to bend it into a dick. “Can’t believe you didn’t know. I mean, just look at me.”

Blue dress shirt with no tie, a black suit jacket, black pants, and a white watch. Could he be gayer?

Okay, admittedly, his outfit is only mildly gay, but the important thing is that he looks nice and successfully communicates he’s looking to get fucked rather than do the fucking. Whereas Kendall seems to have literally come here straight after work. Fucking workaholic motherfucker.

The dick-straw is unsuccessful. He flicks the straw’s corpse at Kendall, who barely reacts and doesn’t even bother trying to block it. “Enough about you missing all signs and being so socially inept you couldn’t tell someone was hitting on you if they literally whacked your face with a hammer. You’re here looking to get fucked, right?”

Hands suddenly shaking—holy shit Kendall should be a lot better at hiding his nerves than this, no wonder he’s still not the big boss—Kendall sucks in a few quick breaths as his eyes dart around the room. “I’m, well. Admittedly curious, but not really looking for sex tonight.”

Rolling his eyes, Roman shimmies around the table so he can saddle an arm over his brother’s shoulder. “Oh come on! You’re still not hung up over that Rava chick, right?”

Shoving him off, Kendall tries and fails to move away, as he’s at the edge of his seat. “Yes, Roman, I’m still hung up over my wife and the mother of my children, thank you.”

Roman smirks. “Oh, come on. You wouldn’t have come here if you weren’t looking for some action. And you’re not looking to fuck a guy. Or if you are, well, you can if you want. Good to try it out. But I really do think a dick up your ass will do you some good.” He pats Kendall on the chest. “Really, it’s a remedying experience. And it’ll dislodge the stick you have up there.”

“Fuck you,” he snaps, and Roman nods, satisfied he has successfully distracted Kendall from his gay panic. In reality it’s more likely a bisexual panic, but close enough. Roman’s full gay, but Kendall does seem to actually have some interest in women. Fucking weirdo.

“Good talk, bro! Alright. So. Normally I’d say you have to leave, but now that you know this place exists I’m never coming back here. So unless you have something important to say, I’m going to go ask Rodrigo when he gets off his shift! Any questions?”

His brother squints and takes a sip of his fruity drink. “How long have you been gay?”

Rolling his eyes, Roman shimmies his way back to the other side of the table and stands up so he can brush imaginary dirt off his pants. “First rule of being gay, don’t fucking ask invasive questions—”

“It’s not fucking invasive, I’m your brother—”

“ Second of all, don’t say ‘how long have you been gay,’ implying like it’s being fucking vegan or something—”

“And for the record, I don’t think I am gay, and I’m not really looking to label—”

“Third of all, I’ve been having sex with men since I was like, 17, not that it’s any of your business. Anyways, I’m off! Have fun not getting fucked tonight.”

Strolling up to the bar and ignoring Kendall calling out to him, Roman feels no shame as he finds out Rodrigo gets off his shift in 30 minutes, and his place is just around the corner. He also feels no shame when he blinks up at the man and asks if he’s willing for 30 minutes to be now, because his older brother is going to be a fucking bother if he’s not out of this bar in the next 30 seconds. Maybe he feels a little shame seeing someone start to chat up Kendall, who clearly has no fucking clue how to respond, but his brother is a big boy, and can figure out how to suck dick all by himself.

#succession #succession hbo #roman roy #kendall roy #succession fanfic #succession fanfiction

[clankitsfanfiction]

would anyone want to beta-read a disco elysium harry x kim fic I’m writing...    👉👈 by beta-read I mean I send you a link, you read it, and let me know if anything sucks... message me if interested  🥺

#disco elysium #not a fic #i've literally never had anyone beta-read anything. #but i feel like this fic needs a look-over #please. do not feel afraid to message me. i am a scaredy-cat myself

[clankitsfanfiction]

1. bramble / preview & code

a minimalist about page

features:

round icon, name, description

demographics section with age/ pronouns/ etc.

up to nine links

biography section with scrollbar

notes:

instructions are provided in the code. 

basic coding knowledge is required

feel free to send any questions or problems my way

please reblog if using!

#not a fic #updated my about because the code broke without me touching it so i just found a new once #*one

[clankitsfanfiction]

Don't Let Nora Drink Without Adult Supervision , a Hancock x F!SS  Fanfic

Summary: Nora gets drunk. Hancock has to deal with

(read this on Archive of Our Own here or below the cut)

Chapter 1

Hancock jumps as the door to Bobbie's place slams shut with a loud bang. He spins around, shotgun out and ready for a fight, but lets out a sigh of relief as Nora steps forward into the light.

Well, more like stumbles forwards into the light.

"Hancock!" She giggles, making her way to him, almost falling down in the process. "Daisy told me you might be here." She smiles at him, and suddenly falls forward, so Hancock lunges and manages to catch her unsteady with his arms.

"Nora? How much did you drink?" Because, yeah, Hancock enjoys getting high and being tipsy, but Nora seems drunk. Dangerously drunk. They were supposed to only stop here to get supplies and sleep on an actual bed for once, before heading out early tomorrow morning. But judging by the state Nora is in, Hancock would be surprised if they managed to get out of Goodneighbor by noon tomorrow. He steadies her upright, but lets one of his hands stay on her shoulder, afraid that if he lets go she'll fall down again.

"Hancock... Your eyes are so pretty." She reaches one of her hands upwards, as if she can take one of his eyeballs and keep it as her own. "Like, how?"

He gently uses her other hand to lower hers before she tries to touch his eyes. "Well, thank you, missy." He says in his raspy voice, as low and as soft as he can manage. Currently, Nora is acting like a little child, and he fears that if he spooks her she'll react like a radstag does if you try to approach it's young. He moves his hand from her shoulder to her back, gently pressing her in the direction of the door. "Nora, why don't we bunker down and-"

"Why are you here?" Nora blurts out, a frown suddenly appearing on her face. "What business could you possibly have in Bobbi's old place?" She pulls her wrist out of Hancock's other hand, which he hadn't noticed was still holding on to her. "There's nothing here for you." She says, suddenly spiteful. "Or..." her voice turns gooey, although he can still hear the anger behind it. "Were you two in looove?" She draws the o out, an obliviously fake grin plastered on her face.

Hancock stops. "As much as I admire a gal with a bit of fight in her, no." He says dryly. As much as he loves Nora (and he's not going to tell her he does, at least not in that way, never in a million years), she seems a bit too drunk for him to handle right now. He presses on her back again, this time with more force, and she obeys, moving obediently towards the door.

"Good." She says, a real smile back on her face, and Hancock has to admit it's cute, no matter how dopey it is. "Because that would really ruin my plans." Hancock freezes, but Nora keeps going, and stumbles back out the door into the outside world.

"Wait. What?" Hancock shakes his head, desperately trying to make sense of what Nora says. He sighs when he hears a thud from behind the door, presumbily because Nora has fallen down. "I'm never letting Nora drink by herself again." He then precedes to walk outside and help Nora up, sighing as she giggles and clutches his coat jacket.

"Hold this." he says dryly to Daisy, before preceding to hand her Nora's hand. Daisy blinks at him.

"Well, I suppose I owe her one for cleaning out the Boston Library for me." She takes Nora's hand, who smiles warmly at Daisy.

"Oh Daisy, you flatter me!" Daisy turns to ask Hancock how this happened, but he's already striding towards the Third Rail, determined to find out how much Nora drunk tonight.

Luckily, the bar is nearly empty, with the only patrons either too high or too drunk to notice their mayor. "Charlie!" Hancock snaps. He's been growing increasingly frustrated with Nora's state. She seems out of it, and he doesn't like that. He needs her here, to ground him, to keep him steady. Not that he's ever steady, of course, but she helps. He needs her a lot more than she knows, and it took long enough for him to figure it out. "How much did Nora drink tonight?"

Whitechapel Charlie's eyes blink at him. "What, you want a whole bloody list, do you? Well, she started out with one or two nuka colas, but then had a couple of beers. I don't know, why? Oh, and by the way, she didn't pay!" He gets progressively more angry as he speaks. "She just wandered on out of here before I could stop her, saying something about needing to woo someone. Decided to let her sleep it off and get my caps tomorrow."

Hancock drags a hand across his rough face. "Put it on my tab." This of course meant everything Nora had had was on the house, and Hancock was sure if Charlie could he would be scowling at him. But Hancock didn't care. Nora's actions were getting increasingly confusing. She had left to 'woo' someone? But apparently she went straight to him. What the hell was going on here? Had someone put her up to this? Or... was the person she was trying to woo Hancock? Was she actually interested in him?

Hancock leaves the bar a lot less angry but a lot more confused.

When he returns to Daisy and Nora, Daisy's keeping Nora entertained by reading to her from a book. Nora's enjoying it rather a lot, and as Hancock grabs her hand to tug her towards the state building, he thinks he sees a fleeting look of disappointment on Daisy's face. It's rare anyone else enjoys stories, let out one from a book. "So, where are you taking her?" Daisy asks, raising an eyebrow as Nora stares up at the night sky in wonder, even though Hancock would say it looks hideous.

"The old state house. I want to keep an eye on her, and since I have a place I might as well use it. I need to talk to her when she wakes up." Hancock pulls Nora in that direction, and although Daisy says a reply, he doesn't hear her.

Fahrenheit asks no questions, just raises an eyebrow and leaves them alone as Hancock sets Nora down on a couch. He grabs a blanket from somewhere and puts it on her, feeling rather like someone taking care of a sick person or a father putting a child to bed. Nora's smiling broadly at him, and although he hasn't liked dealing with this whole fiasco, he has to admit he likes the fact that it all seems to suggest that Nora may or may not like Hancock in a way that's more than just friendly. He smiles as he turns away, thinking maybe some good can come out of this. He's about to walk over to the couch opposite and take some mentats in an attempt to help lure him into sleep, since he's rather confident a drunk Nora won't be able to get up without making a racket. But just as he's sat himself down on the other couch, Nora opens her mouth.

"Hancock, do you love me?" He stiffens, afraid that somehow in her drunk state she's caught on to him. But when he looks at her, she's still smiling, although the rest of her face suggests she's being serious.

"Yeah, I reckon I suppose I do." He's purposely vague about what type of love. "Why do you ask?" He takes off his hat in preparations to sleep, and lets it drop to the floor.

"Well, you see, I love you too, but it would be preeety awkward if I said I was in love with you and you didn't love me back, so I just had to check. I'm glad you feel the same way." And with that, she clonks out, leaving Hancock alone with the realization that she not only said that she loved him, but was in love with him.

Chapter 2

Hancock’s never been in this situation before in his life, and he hopes he’ll never have to be in it again.

It has now been several hours since Nora kind of confessed her love for him, and he only managed to fall asleep by using a crapload of chems. Now he’s awake and luckily Nora is still sleeping, since Hancock fears what will happen when she wakes.

Hancock sits up on the couch and looks at the other one where Nora is sleeping with drool dripping from her mouth and a hand on the thin blanket he put on her last night. Despite his anxiety, Hancock manages a smile and takes a moment to consider the best case scenario; Nora remembers what she said last night and they have a talk about their relationship that ends with them being lovers. Worst case scenario? Nora doesn’t remember anything she said and Hancock never brings it up, so things continue how they are now. Or it all could have been a cruel prank someone at the bar convinced her to do, and honestly? Hancock would prefer the first option.  

Sighing, Hancock stands and walks over to her. Should let her sleep, or wake her up? He’s not what someone is supposed to do in this situation.

Before he can saying anything, Nora murmurs something in her sleep— or maybe not her sleep, because her eyes are slowly drifting open. Quickly taking a couple steps back, Hancock nearly trips over the coffee table in his haste to make sure it doesn’t look like he was creepily standing over Nora, because he wasn’t. Retrieving his hat to don it, Hancock clears his throat loudly.

Blinking a couple times, Nora licks her lips and squints at the ceiling. “Hancock, did I get drunk last night?”

“You sure did, sister.”

“Fuck.” Nora covers her face with her hand and uses the other one to prop herself up. “Did I say anything?”

And there it is. Does she know what she said? Is she aware she seemingly confessed her love to him? If he wanted to, he could say that nothing happened and she most likely would go along with it, thinking he didn’t want to embarrass Nora because, well, she might think he doesn’t love her. But that’s not true , he does love her and he is in love with her— but if she doesn’t remember what she said, or it wasn’t real (and it has to have been real, because Nora wouldn’t be that cruel), how would she react if Hancock brought it up?

He’s been silent for too long, and he can feel Nora staring through the cracks in her fingers. He settles for the neutral option. “You said a lot of things, sister. Hard to tell what you might be referring to.”

She turns away from him, and in that moment Hancock knows she knows.

“I’m sorry.” she whispers. “I didn’t mean to lay— something like that on you. I know you don’t—”

“I don’t what?” His heart’s pounding but Nora’s staring at him in shock from the couch and he finds the courage to take a couple steps closer. “Because believe me, if there’s one thing I know, it’s that I’m definitely in love with Nora Smith.” Her full name feels weird in his mouth, but everything's out in the open, and after last night Hancock has nothing to lose. Her mouth is agape, and it’s a couple seconds before she snaps her jaw shut only to wince in pain.

“Am I still dreaming?” So it’s true.

“I hope not.”

Hancock’s smile is so wide he feels like his teeth might fall out and even though Nora is avoiding his eyes he’s so happy because Nora loves him back. “John, you better be serious.”

“Never been more serious in my life.” She turns to him, and even though there’s heavy bags under her eyes her smile looks genuine and Hancock is amazed that she’s looking at him like that. How could so much change in one night? It’s overwhelming and a little scary, but also brilliant.

But Nora’s still has a hangover, because a couple seconds later she lays back down and groans. “Hancock, you got any cures for a hangover?”

“All I can suggest is a puff of jet. But, uh, you mind if I give you a little something else?”

“What?”

“A kiss.”

He sees her smile and even though her eyes are currently closed, she gestures for him to come over. “Alright, John, if you’ll think it’ll help.”

#fallout 4 #fallout 4 fanfiction #john hancock #john hancock x sole survivor #john hancock x female sole survivor #this thing is OLD #haven't looked at it in ages #I do not remember the writing being good BUT OH WELL

[clankitsfanfiction]

Untraditional, a Hancock x M!SS A/B/O Oneshot.

Summary: So it wouldn’t be right to say that Nate feared a relationship with the omega John Hancock. It was just… they were both omegas. Don’t get Nate wrong, it’s not like he’s never heard of omega-omega pairs before, but he’s never heard of those pairs being monogamous (not that people need to be, that’s just what Nate would want).

(read this on Archive of Our Own here or below the cut)

It had become a bit of a habit, as Nate lay on whatever he was using as a bed for the night, to think of his past. Nate had been used to getting a lot of looks in his day-to-day life. After all, there were few things stranger than seeing a bonded male omega as tall and as well-built as he was. Still, it had been worse when he was in the army. Sure, there were one or two other omegas who were soldiers as well, but few and far between.

The thing that made it really untraditional was the fact he was bonded to a female alpha.

Somehow the idea that female aphas were a rarity had spread through the United States until almost every time Nora went out she was guaranteed to turn heads. Female alphas weren’t actually rare, although in the not-so-distant past they rarely had kids because the stuck-up patriarchal males who headed society didn’t want someone who would challenge them, and much less someone considered the lesser primary gender. So, as things were, whenever he and Nora went out in public they got stares. Not necessarily impolite stares, just curious ones. A female alpha and a male omega were a rare pair.

Both of them absolutely hated it.

That was one of the advantages of the Commonwealth. No one gave Nate a second look. It had taken him a little while to get used to, the fact that no alpha gave him so much as a second glance for the most part. Since Nate was now unbonded (a side effect of his long storage in cryostasis most likely), in his first few days of the post-apocalyptic world he was terrified of getting jumped. He’d heard stories of the time periods back when no unbonded omegas went out past sundown because the chances of getting forcefully raped and subsequently, bonded, were almost indisputable.

After his first week or so though, it became clear that the tribes of the Commonwealth were much more civil than the days of the past, and possibly Nate’s time period.

So it wouldn’t be right to say that Nate feared a relationship with the omega John Hancock. It was just… they were both omegas. Don’t get Nate wrong, it’s not like he’s never heard of omega-omega pairs before, but he’s never heard of those pairs being monogamous (not that people need to be, that’s just what Nate would want).

But he feels the way Hancock’s eyes drink in his body when they meet, and it’s not an unpleasant feeling. And then he gets to know Goodneighbor’s charming mayor and then it’s not just physical attraction Nate feels. He likes Hancock, likes the way he makes him laugh in ways Nora used to make him, likes the way they banter and flirt, likes how the man runs his town and doesn’t take shit from nobody, regardless of their secondary gender. He knows Hancock is interested, and Nate would be lying if he said he wasn’t.

It’d just be so… untraditional.

Then again, Nate’s never been one for tradition.

Shifting around in the bed, Nate smiled into the mangy pillow he’d managed to scrape up and let himself finally drift off.

#john hancock x sole survivor #john hancock x male sole survivor #john hancock #fallout 4 #fallout 4 fanfiction #ah this old thing

[clankitsfanfiction]

Thinking of You, a SU Quentin Frowney/Harold Smiley Oneshot

Summary:  

Quentin thought of Harold almost every single day.

(read this on Archive of Our Own here or below the cut)

Quentin thought of Harold almost every single day.

He thought of how their comedy act had started off as a bet from one of Harold’s friends, that they couldn’t go up on stage during an open mic and do a comedic routine. To their surprise, everyone loved them. And so it began.

For that week, that performed at every single open mic they could find. After that, one of the Comedy Club’s said they could come back every night, if they wanted. They wouldn’t be paid, and most of the time they were only used at the earliest hours as openings for the bigger acts or in the latest of nights when the place was almost completely empty. It wasn’t much, but it was the most fun Quentin had had in years. They started getting tips, and Quentin could point out people who came to their show every night they performed.

But then Harold started to… do the act offstage. He would crack nonstop jokes at Quentin, who would reply in his usual dreary tone. Their act started becoming more and more random, trading lots of the comedy for jokes that made no sense and bad props. Harold clearly had lost any serious interest in Quentin. So, during a break in their usual every night comedy act, Quentin told Harold they were done. He didn’t understand why Harold had looked so upset. It was what he wanted, right?

After that, Quentin threw himself into his work as a writer. He didn’t answer any of Harold’s text or calls, avoided him if they encountered each other while grocery shopping, and changed his lock so the key Harold had to his house wouldn’t work, just in case he tried to stop by. Eventually, Quentin moved away from the town, more depressed than he had ever been, and while he certainly missed Harold, he still felt mistreated and used. When Quentin was better, he would return to Harold, and everything would be the same again.

It would be many years they saw each other again.

Harold only allowed himself to think of Quentin once a month. All other times he kept himself busy. Run all the rides! Manage all the games! Sweep up every spilled carton of popcorn, clean up every toppled drink. By the time Harold would finally get to sleep, he had no time for reminiscing. In the early mornings, before anyone was up, he would read a book, or draw, or have an extra long breakfast, anything to keep himself busy.

But once a month, when Harold would take a day off from managing Funland, he allowed himself to remember.

Remember how big Quentin’s smile had been after their first act, when people cheered and whistled. Remember how bashful he had been when Harold gushed over how well he performed on stage, how he had mumbled “It’s all you. No one pays attention to me.” Remember his soft fingers, the look in his eye when the club invited them back, how touchable his face looked…

It always hurt too much to remember often. How near the end Quentin seemed to be enjoying their act less and less, how Harold was becoming more and more desperate to make Quentin smile, before the curtain finally closed.

So when Steven tells him Mr. Frowney is back in town, the only thing on Harold’s mind is how maybe the curtain can open again.

#su #steven universe #steven universe fanfiction #harold smiley x quentin frowney #harold smiley #quentin frowney #quentin frowney x harold smiley

[clankitsfanfiction]

Hidden Meanings, a SU Quentin Frowney/Harold Smiley Oneshot

Summary:  Four gerberas. Three gardenias. Two yellow roses. One blue rose. One hydrangea.

(or the AU where Mr. Frowney runs a flower shop no one wanted but got anyways)

(read this on Archive of Our Own here or below the cut)

Four gerberas. Three gardenias. Two yellow roses. One blue rose. One hydrangea.

Clearing his throat, Quentin tied the bouquet together and set it in a sky blue vase. Staring at it for a few more seconds, he hesitated before quickly adding one white rose into the mix. It definitely wasn’t his best arrangement. While the colors somewhat complemented each other, the way it was arranged made it look poor and rushed; it would’ve looked nicer had he tied it with a red ribbon, but to be safe he had tied it with a white. Glancing at the clock hanging on the wall to check that it was the slowest part of the day, he picked up the vase and headed for the door, flipping the sign on it to closed as he did so. Pausing to set the vase down carefully on the pavement and locking the door, he steeled himself for the minutes to come.

Walking over to Howard's shop, he glanced inside to confirm that he currently had no customers, Quentin pushed his way inside with the vase in his hands. Howard, who had been facing the looming wall of oddities behind the counter, turned to face him. “Welcome to Mr. Smiley’s Joke- oh hello, Quentin! What are you doing-” his eyes found the vase in Quentin’s hands, and the ginormous smile that had been on his face melted into a look of awe as his voice wavered. “Is that for me?”

Slowly moving forward in uncertainty, he set the vase on the counter and gave a tentative smile. “I knew you wouldn’t be getting flowers today, so I thought I might bring you some.” Howard said nothing, and instead walked out from behind the counter before proceeding to go to his door and flip the sign to closed. Fear rumbled in Quentin’s stomach, but Howard raced towards him and pulled him into a bear hug, successfully lifting Quentin up from the ground.

“Thank you so much, Quentin! I always love your bouquets, but this one is extra beautiful!” Howard set him down and raced towards the bouquet, starting to examine it with ferocity. “This arrangement is so pretty! I know white roses usually mean innocence, but what do the others mean?” he babbled.

Quentin's tongue felt heavy in his mouth, and he quickly searched his mind for a good lie about some of them. “Well, the gerberas symbolize cheerfulness, the gardenias… honor. The yellow roses means friendship and caring, while the blue rose represents harmony, and the hydrangea is gratitude.” He felt bad for lying about some of the meanings, but if Howard knew what some of the flowers stood for he’d surely be disgusted.

“Quentin…” Howard turned to look at him, and Quentin was surprised to see his eyes were wet with tears. “Thank you so much for these flowers. They’re a perfect Valentine’s Day gift for between friends.”

Yes. Friends. Quentin said nothing as Howard pulled him into a hug, this one more heartfelt than the last, so he had no choice but to return it.

#harold smiley #quentin frowney #harold smiley x quentin frowney #su #steven universe #steven universe fanfiction #i posted this thing nearly 4 years ago lmao

[clankitsfanfiction]

Are You Alright?, a Hancock x M!SS Soulmates Oneshot.

Summary: Nate’s soulwords are simple, understandable. On his right wrist, ‘are you alright?’ is written in the same basic font that all soulwords have. He’s always appreciated that his words weren’t something obscure or random, and developed the habit of imagining what will cause those words to be said to him. Will he trip? Will he fall out of a tree?

(read this on Archive of Our Own here or below the cut)

Nate’s soulwords are simple, understandable. On his right wrist, ‘are you alright?’ is written in the same basic font that all soulwords have. He’s always appreciated that his words weren’t something obscure or random, and developed the habit of imagining what will cause those words to be said to him. Will he trip? Will he fall out of a tree?

The first time those are someone’s first words to him is the day he meets his 4th grade teacher. He had been walking to class by himself, because he is now an official big boy, when the classroom door suddenly bursts open and misses his head by a mere couple inches. “Are you alright?” His (presumed) teacher asked. “Oh my gosh, I’m sorry.”

“It’s not you, is it?” Nate had asked, horrified at the prospect his new teacher Mrs. Jacobi was his soulmate. She’d understandably been confused, but that was a relief to Nate, as it meant she was definitely not his soulmate.

Fate was merciful for the following years of his life, as he reached the ripe age of 20 with only two people saying his soulwords to him as their first greeting. Both times his heart beat faster and he barely managed not to stutter as he asked, “Is it you?” Both times, they frowned, and Nate’s heart did a mournful sigh, but he didn’t lose hope. He was, however, focusing on making sure his reply to the words ‘Are you alright’ was unique. He didn’t want to meet his soulmate and find out the words on their wrist were ‘Yes.’

It’s halfway through his sophomore year of college when he hears those words in a new voice again. His arms are weighed down with two textbooks, a cup of coffee, and too many papers to even count. Oversleeping has no benefits. It didn’t help his already bad mood when he tripped on nothing as he rushed across the school grounds, papers spilling over the cement and hot coffee burning his hand. Nate began to cry a little.

“Are you alright?” Someone in front of him had asked. Nate, in a pure fit of despair, forgot his rule.

“No. I’m not.”

The person sighed, and bent down into Nate’s point of view. Despite his current predicament, Nate couldn’t help noticing the woman ahead of him was very pretty. “I’m Nora, and I know this is a really personal question to ask, but are your soulwords ‘are you alright?’ Because I’m getting pretty sick of having to ask someone new if they’re my soulmate every time someone says ‘no.’”

Nate stared at her. “Fuck. That was exactly what I wanted to avoid.”

They started dating two months later, because even though they were supposed to be soulmates, that didn’t necessarily guarantee that they were. But they liked each other, and so they dated, and so five years later they got engaged, and two months later they got married. The ceremony was rushed, not a wedding, just getting everything officiated and all that, because three months later Nate was off to the war.

Sometimes, Nate would trace his soulwords through his armor. Each night, he responded to the question. Usually it was a ‘sure’ or ‘maybe’ but near the end of his tour it was almost always ‘no.’

Finally, Nate got to go back to Nora, back to Shaun, back to his life. Back home. Finally, at least for a short while, the answer was ‘yes.’

Nate tries hard to forget the day the bombs fell, but he can’t. He remembers every second. The taste of coffee in his mouth ( fuck , how long had it been since he’d had coffee?). The plans to go to the park. The fear that started low in his belly the moment Codsworth had called him into the living room. The terror as they raced to the vault, and they made it, they were safe, they were safe, they were safe.

Or so he’d thought.

For the first couple days in the Commonwealth, there’s one big thought in his head. What if I’d picked up Shaun? What if I had carried him to the Vault? I should’ve carried him to the Vault, not Nora. I should’ve been the one to enter a cryo chamber with him. I should’ve been the one who got shot, not Nora. It should’ve been me.

I should be dead.

Nate admits that he’s being dramatic, but he deserves it. His soulmate his dead, his son has been kidnapped, and the world he knew is in ruins. He is definitely, most certainly, not alright.

So that’s what really hurts when he arrives in Goodneighbor. Nick is by his side, so he’s not too worried when a shitstain of a man comes up and starts bothering him. Nate has a wall now, has something to hide behind, has something to keep him safe. He’s not alright, but this man doesn’t know that.

His facade crumbles a little when the man gets  stabbed in front of him, but he quickly hardens his gaze when the ghoul turns to him. Whoever this man is, he’s fearless enough to murder someone in front of a total newcomer, and that’s not the best sign for Nate.

“Are you alright?”

Nate frowns. “No.”

The ghoul seems taken back a little. “You’re not?”

“No. You can’t be them. I already met them. It isn’t fair. It’s not fucking fair ,” Nate spits, venom in his words. His voice catches at the end, a sob stuck in his throat.

The ghoul’s face twists in confusion, though after several long moments his gaze softens until it’s almost gentle. “Ah. You have my words on your wrist,” he says, low enough that the gathering crowd around them can’t hear. Nate doesn’t care about them, though, and his fingers are itching to be holding a gun, to have a sense of security and control. He’s furious, knowing that on this stranger’s arm ‘no’ is written, just as it was on Nora’s.

He doesn’t draw his gun. He doesn’t scowl. He doesn’t even cry, although several tears slip out when Nate isn’t paying attention, because he touches his eyelids and ended up with wet fingertips. Opens his eyes. Manages a tiny smile. “No. I’m not alright.”

#fallout 4 #fallout 4 fanfiction #john hancock #john hancock x sole survivor #john hancock x male sole survivor

[clankitsfanfiction]

to fear is as natural as breathing, a Fallout 4 Oneshot.

Summary: The kicker is, Nate didn’t know if he’d make a good parent. He knew he wouldn’t be bad, and would be better than his own dad in many ways—not that his dad was terrible, mind you, compared to the horror stories he’s heard both in the past and the present—and would provide good, solid, emotional support for Shaun. Or, Nate and his experience with being a dad. 

(read this on Archive of Our Own here or below the cut)

The kicker is, Nate didn’t know if he’d make a good parent. He knew he wouldn’t be bad, and would be better than his own dad in many ways—not that his dad was terrible, mind you, compared to the horror stories he’s heard both in the past and the present—and would provide  good, solid, emotional support for Shaun.

But he was scared. Terrified, even. Nora was scared too, but not in the same way. She was scared of the war and if she was eating too little or too much and yes, if she would be a good mom, but that was simply another drop in the bucket. Nora was strong in the ways Nate was not. You could fight a war with strength and skill, but being a parent required a bit more finesse than that.

Being scared didn’t stop him from being excited. He was so incredibly excited, when the doctor confirmed that yet, Nora was pregnant, and yes, everything seemed fine, and no, Mr. Smith, the fact it took this long was not a bad sign. Nate had always liked working with his hands, so he got the house ready—built a doghouse for that dog he was sure they would have, built and painted a crib, a new table they had no room for, until Nora finally took the tools out of his hands and told him to go lie down, dammit, they didn’t need any more chairs.

Nate does not know much about being a dad. He’s read a few books, and talked to other people, and they have all assured him he will figure it out along the way. So Nate is scared, and excited, and a bit apprehensive, but despite all that, despite the war, he’s happy.  

Then the bombs fall, and he watches as Shaun is, quite literally, ripped from his wife’s arms.

Nate does not know much. He went to college because he was supposed to, because that was what goods kids did, but he never was much for books. He liked things he could touch, listening instead of reading, struggled with concepts that could not be expressed easily. He has never fooled anyone, nor has he tried to, about this level of intelligence. He does not know much, but he knows enough. And what he knows is this:

He will get his son back, or die trying.

***

When he goes into Kellogg’s mind—when he first heard the name, he laughed at the fact his wife’s murderer shared a name with a cereal company—and sees not the baby boy he remembers but instead a kid, a boy with thoughts and feelings, opinions and questions, all he can think of is the fact he missed 10 years of his son’s life. His son is already a person, and he does not know him at all. He cries and cries and cries, and his father does not tell him to stop, and Nick asks no questions but lets Nate sob into his shoulder, and Nate is eternally grateful.

***

The man before him is not his son. He may be by blood, by name, but that does not make him Nate’s son. This man is older than Nate, wiser than Nate, has seen more than Nate ever will due to the fact Nate can not possibly hope to live long in this ravaged world.

This man looks to him with hope, with quiet reverence, and all Nate can feel is disgust that the name he has chosen for himself is Father.

Nate very carefully does not allow himself to think of (Shaun? The synth? Something in between) anything else.

***

When all is said and done, the Institute is gone (Nate thinks Nora would say “Good riddance, about time!” and then go and beat some sense into the raiders ruining society), and Nate has a boy. A ten-year-old boy. His name is Shaun, and he thinks Nate is his dad, and Nate does not know if that is the truth.

This Shaun will never grow old. His body will remain the same, small and weak, susceptible to disease and bruises, no matter how much he plays baseball (though no teams are left) or lifts weights (though Nate has heard of no working gym). He might get stronger, but he will never be fully grown. He thinks Nate has been there all his life, but he has not. Nate never heard his first word, heard him wail and scream, never soothed him, never helped him learn to walk or dropped him off at school (he supposes the current equivalent would be teaching him to use a gun).

He is not sure, but as far as he knows, this boy will never mentally mature either. Nate does not know if he is programmed like the other synths, does not know if he will be able to understand concepts like war and revenge and hate and love beyond the basics. Even if he does, he will be trapped in the body of a ten-year-old, and then Nate gets a headache from thinking about if it would be better or worse if he does not mentally mature.

Nate is scared of being a dad. He has always been scared, and always will be. But he has a son now, and he owes it to him to be a good parent. Nate will have to learn.

#fallout 4 fanfiction

[clankitsfanfiction]

Best Left Forgotten, a TAZ:Balance Oneshot

Summary: Julia's husband has forgotten someone. Or at least, she's pretty sure he has. And if he has, should she try to remind him?Some things, she thinks, are best left forgotten.

(read this on Archive of Our Own here or below the cut

Julia has a suspicion. It started out as a little thing, a moment of confusion when Julia and Magnus were discussing Raven’s Roost. Over time, it has grown bigger and bigger, and while she is sure she knows the answer, she has never been direct, not yet. It is painful to talk about the loss of her home, about her own death, about leaving Magnus behind.

Currently, Magnus is in the front yard, playing with the dogs. His laughter rings clear through the open window, and Julia can see him from where she sits at the table, sipping a glass of lemonade. He’s roughhousing with the dogs on the ground. He speaks to Johann in baby-talk, and the dog barks in return. Magnus laughs again, and Julia grins.

They haven’t been here that long. She, of course, has been here much longer than Magnus, but it seems like the two of them have only been here for a few months. Time is a little weird here, so months might not be the right word, but what can you do.

If he doesn’t know, is it right for her to disturb his peace? To poke and prod at something that was forgotten, something that must have been taken away from him by force? Julia would want to know, but she is not Magnus. She knows her husband well, better than anyone else, but whether or not she should tell him is a question she does not know the answer to.

Julia stands, picking up her glass of lemonade with her. She walks through the door, pausing a second to admire her handiwork, (the door took her four months to make) and approaches her husband.  

Magnus’ smile grows wider when he sees her coming. It always does that, and Julia’s heart always skips a beat. The dogs race toward her, weaving around her legs, and she reaches down to pet them. Magnus stays on the ground, just staring at her as she moves closer.

“Is that for me?” Magnus asks, gesturing towards the glass of lemonade.

She raises an eyebrow. “If you try to drink it while laying down, you’re going to spill it everywhere.”

“Try me.”

Obediently, Julia hands him the cup of lemonade, waiting for the inevitable. She laughs as nearly the entire thing goes down his chin, and takes the glass back from him.

“Delicious!” He says, despite the fact a mouthful at most made it past his lips.

“I’m glad you like it.”

They stand there for a second, grinning at each other like fools, the dogs playing nearby, and Julia loves it so much. She loves her husband more than anything.

She doesn’t want to hurt him, but she does want to see if her suspicion is correct. She’s almost positive it is, which is why she’s willing to ask him directly without any lead up.

“Do you remember Governor Kalen?”

The fact Magnus doesn’t stop grinning is an answer enough. His words only confirm it.

“Who?”

“... It’s not important. Come inside, honey, and let’s get you cleaned up. If you stay down there too long, the dogs are going to lick your face.”

“They do that anyways! And I love them for it.”

Maybe someday she’ll tell him. But today doesn’t need to be that day. For now, they are happy, and that is enough.

Julia helps him up, and together, they rush in, the dogs following close behind.    

#the adventure zone #taz #taz balance #the adventure zone: balance #taz fanfiction #taz b #julia mcdonald

[clankitsfanfiction]

tired., a Fallout 4 Oneshot

Summary: Nate’s really fucking tired, okay?

(read this on Archive of Our Own here or below the cut)

Nate’s really fucking tired, okay?

It’s been three months since his wife died. Three months since his child was stolen. Three months since the world he knew was shattered into pieces and replaced instead with a twisted monstrosity. It’s not all bad. Sure, he has friends, like Nick, and Piper, and John, and Dogmeat! But. Fuck. Nate is tired.

So tired, in fact, that he’s not drooling on a mattress inside of the home him and Nora used to share and is instead sitting on the steps he used to walk up daily smoking a cigarette. Usually Nate finds it hilarious that cigarettes are still around, because, who the fuck is making them? Is someone making cigarettes and then scattering packets around the remains of the cities? How the hell do they still exist?

But not tonight, because Nate is too fucking tired for that shit. He’s tired of having to fight everyday to survive. He’s tired of always being on edge, never truly having the chance to relax because there’s always the chance something’s going to go wrong, and if there’s one thing Nate has learned from his time in the Commonwealth it’s that things will go wrong. He misses waking up and kissing Nora’s forehead, he misses holding Shaun in his arms, he misses coffee. Fuck, everyone he used to know is dead and all Nate can think about is the taste of fucking coffee. Nate’s had to get used to the constant hunger, to never being sure whether or not he’ll have anything to eat tonight, because maybe he’ll lose his pack, or run into some raiders, or meet someone who needs it more then him, or maybe he’ll die. Who knows.

The cigarette is barely helping to still his shaking hands, and fuck, don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry because men don’t cry, it’s weak to cry, you must always be strong, always be-

Nate cries anyways.

#fallout 4 fanfiction #sole survivor

[clankitsfanfiction]

Say My Name, a Hancock x F!SS Soulmates Oneshot

Summary: On that day, Nora died in the vault, but Sol was born.

And Sol, it seemed, had a soulmate. Because when she left that wretched vault, determination and agony clear on her face, she glanced at her covered wrist and paused for a second. She knew it sometimes happened, a person getting a new soulmate when their previous died, and part of her hoped it hadn’t. Part of her hoped that Nate Pewtersmith was still there written in Nate’s print handwriting, and part of her hoped it wasn’t. Swallowing, she slowly pulled back the sleeve of her left arm until she could see what name was written there.

(read this on Archive of Our Own here or below the cut)

Nora threw up as she crawled out of the cryogenic chamber. Nate is dead, and her baby is gone. Shaun’s gone. She’s the only one left. She’s the sole survivor.

On that day, Nora died in the vault, but Sol was born.

And Sol, it seemed, had a soulmate. Because when she left that wretched vault, determination and agony clear on her face, she glanced at her covered wrist and paused for a second. She knew it sometimes happened, a person getting a new soulmate when their previous died, and part of her hoped it hadn’t. Part of her hoped that Nate Pewtersmith was still there written in Nate’s print handwriting, and part of her hoped it wasn’t. Swallowing, she slowly pulled back the sleeve of her left arm until she could see what name was written there.

In the exact same spot where Nate’s name was, there’s now John McDonough written in shaky handwriting that looks like a nine-year-old wrote it. Sol didn’t say anything. Nora might’ve screamed, might’ve cried out into the sky, might’ve even cursed her soulmate and cursed the world for doing this to her. But Sol doesn’t do anything except roll the sleeve back down and march on. There had always been a small chance of meeting your soulmate in her time, and she was lucky enough to to be one of the few who met their soulmate. Surely there was no chance she would be that lucky again.

“And where is your better half?” Codsworth asks, and Sol doesn’t know what to say. Should she say he’s gone? Should she roll up her sleeve and show him the new name? Her mouth is dry, and she takes a couple moments to think of a response.

“He’s… in a better place now.”

The reporter outside of Diamond City has a girl’s name on her wrist. She only glimpses it as she’s shouting into the intercom, and it’s surprising enough that she’s not wearing a wristband to keep the name hidden, but more surprising that it’s a girl. Sure, males got male names and girls got girl names on the wrists, but everyone wore bracelets and it was one of the taboos society just ignored. Sol glances at the guards standing watch, because anyone can see the name if they look, but none of them seem to care, except a couple of them are looking at the reporter with amused expressions. It seems society has finally moved on from something that shouldn’t have even been an issue in the first place.

Sol nearly freaks where she hears that the mayor of Diamond City is Mayor McDonough, but as soon as Sol asks what his first name is and he tells her, she calms down a bit. After all, this man clearly isn’t her soulmate, and anyways, McDonough sounds like a common name. There’s probably lots of people with that last name.

When Sol finally meets Nick and realizes that he’s a robot, she doesn’t really mind. After all, Codsworth is a robot too. But Nick looks… different. Like a human. Does that mean he has a soulmate? After they’ve both introduced themselves, Sol hesitates for a second before speaking her mind. Sure, there’s no name on his wrist, but on his left one most of the fake skin has peeled off.

“Nick… do you have a soulmate? Or did you?”

Nick looked straight ahead as he answered her question. “No. I’m not human, after all. But the guy I’m based off of had one.” He either doesn’t know or doesn’t want her to know the person's name, because he doesn’t say anything after that until they come across Skinny Malone.

When Sol and Nick step into Goodneighbor, she isn’t too surprised when some ass comes up and starts to badger her. What she is surprised to see, however, is that the man’s left wrist is bare. When a person’s soulmate dies, the name is still there, but it’s faded. Instead of being in an inky black, the name would be in a light grey, a constant reminder of how the person they were destined for is gone. Not that there isn’t couples who are happy and love each other but aren’t soul mates, of course. At least that was how it was in the past. People in those relationships often said, “Life is too short to wait around for a person you might never meet.” And Nora understood that, and so does Sol. But this man before her has no name at all. Apparently, this man has no soul mate, unless the nature of the names on people’s wrists have changed and that’s how they look if your soulmate is dead. Sol will have to ask Nick about that…

And then the ghoul walks up. Sol only knows what a ghoul is because of the feral ones her and Nick have seen, and Sol isn’t that surprised when he stabs the man who was hounding her to death. After all, in a couple of minutes she might’ve done the same, except probably with a gun instead. The long frock coat he wears covers up whatever name is on his wrist, but Sol doesn’t care. Nora was never one to pry about who someone’s soulmate was, and neither is Sol. Even though no one now seems to care if you know who their soulmate is, Sol is still cautious and keeps her sleeves rolled down at all times.

After going through Kellogg’s memories, and seeing Nick speak in his voice, Sol tells Nick she needs a little time to herself. And even though it’s true, she stills feels bad when she sees the hurt in his synthetic eyes. She hangs around Goodneighbor a bit longer, chatting it up with the store owner Daisy who says nah, Finn had never had a name as long as she’s known him. And yes, ghouls can have soulmate names, why wouldn’t they be able to? Sure, they look a little funny, but they are still there.

Sol doesn’t really like Bobbi No-Nose, but she offers Sol good money, so Sol goes along with the whole thing until they finally reach the store room and Sol finds out that it’s not the storeroom of Diamond City, but the one belong to Mayor Hancock. There’s no way Sol is going to get on his bad side, simply because she made a mistake of who to join up with. So she hides until the firefight is over, firing a couple shots at Bobbi before Fahrenheit tells her to go talk to Hancock. So she does.

And when Hancock asks to come along, at first she’s going to say no. He seems a bit too dangerous for her liking, and she isn’t sure traveling with someone of his status will help her rebuild the Commonwealth. But then she sees the gleam in his eye, and the way he’s looking hopefully at her, and there’s nothing to say but yes.

It’s several weeks later, and Sol cannot believe that she even considered not letting Hancock join her. Well, now it’s John, and Sol had to smile when she heard that his first name was the same one as her soulmate's, because Sol would be lying if she said she didn’t like him. Sure, they became friends quickly, but over time her thoughts turned a bit more to the romantic side as they laughed together and cleaned up the Commonwealth.

It’s a week after Sol has realized just how much she likes John, and they’re both drunk off their asses in some old pre war house in Sanctuary. Everyone has turned in for the night, even Danse, the paranoid man he is. And before Sol can stop herself, she blurts out a question that she’s sure she shouldn’t ask. “What’s the name of your soulmate?” Because even with all the time they’ve been spending together, his long coat sleeves had shielded whatever name is there from her sight.

John sighs, the happy grin that had been on his face several moments earlier sliding off. “Suppose I should’ve suspected you would’ve been curious…” he paused to stare at the near empty bottle of beer in his hands. “And it’s fine that you’re asking. The name I’ve been ‘blessed’ with is Nora.”

Sol’s heart stops. “Last name?”

“Young. Nora Young.” He says the name with distaste, before shaking his head and scowling at himself. “I don’t mean to sound so distasteful, it’s just that the whole soulmate thing? Seems like a bunch of baloney to me. If you like someone, you should just tell ‘em. Don’t let a name on a wrist stop you.”

“John, what’s your real last name?”

Frowning, he looks at her with a puzzled expression on his face. “Now how’d you know my last name wasn’t Hancock? Sure, there would be no way in hell someone would be named that, but still…” Sol expected him to connect the dots, but he’s still just frowning at her. Apparently, drunk John cannot solve a puzzle to save his life.

Sol clears her throat, unsure of how to say what’s to follow, so instead she takes the bottle of beer out of John’s hand and drains the last couple of mouthfuls left in it. Setting the bottle down, she opens her mouth to speak. “Sol isn’t my birth name.” His eyes widen in surprise, and Sol thinks that there might be a glimmer of hope in there, but she isn’t sure, so she continues. “It was Nora. Nora Young.”

There’s a couple beats of silence in which Sol is sure her heart is going to pound out of her chest, because John is still just staring at her and isn’t say anything. Then, finally, he opens his mouth, and Sol leans forward from across the small table in between them, desperate to hear what he has to say.

And as he kisses her, she relaxes, and she can feel some part of her finally letting go. Sure, she loved Nate, and she still loves him, but he’s gone, and life changes. Life happens, no matter how many times you wish it didn’t. Nate would want her to be happy.

And, for the first time in a long time, she really truly is.

#fallout 4 fanfiction #fallout 4 hancock #fallout 4 john hancock #john hancock #john hancock x sole survivor #john hancock x female sole survivor #i figure i should update this blog for once

[clankitsfanfiction]

Beauty, a One-sided H2-22/F!SS Oneshot

Summary: H2-22 had never known beauty, being made and having lived his life up until recently in the Institute, but he was sure she was the image of it.(Spoilers for Railroad quests Boston After Dark and Memory Interrupted)

(read this on Archive of Our Own here or below the cut)

H2-22 didn’t remember much from living in the Institute, but it’s not like he was trying.

He remembered people in lab coats, and that was about it. He remembered being treated like a tool, a lowly maintenance worker, not worth the time of day to the scientists. He doesn’t even remember meeting another synth, let alone talking to one.  He was to afraid to try to remember anything else, not daring to try to think up what had they had done to him in the Institute. All he knew is suddenly he was outside a small shack that he felt the incredible urge to get as far away from as possible. He had ran, and kept running, and only stopped when people pointed guns at him and told him if he got any closer they would shoot.

He had wandered around a town for almost a full day, everyone to wary of him to even offer him the tiniest morsel. No one asked his name, and later he would find out that was a good thing, for if he had told anyone his designation was H2-22, he probably would’ve died where he stood. Luckily, before someone took pity on him, he was pulled off to the side by someone and asked if he knew anything of the world. He had responded with complete honesty, saying he knew nothing of this world or the people and things that inhabited it. Then they had asked him if he knew his name. He said yes, and told them what it was.

They had taken him out of the town, and H2-22 had nothing better to do than follow them.

They had given him some food and some water, and let him rest before taking him to Bunker Hill.

It was the closest thing to comfort he had ever known.

Then he had met Old Man Stockton, who wasn’t exactly nice either, but he wasn’t at all rude. H2-22 found it a pleasant change from the townspeople who had shunned him, as the person who had handed him over to Stockton seemed only to tolerate him. Stockton wasn’t particularly affectionate towards him either, but he seemed a tiny bit nicer. He was told about what was going on, about how synths were treated in the Commonwealth, and about how the Railroad was an organization dedicated to protecting synths, and seemingly the only one at that. He was told he was supposed to be transferred somewhere else, but the area of where he was to meet the person who would take him away was filled with raiders. So, of course, he was to stay put in a little shack outside of Bunker Hill until someone came along to help them. H2-22 didn’t mind; for once in his miserable life, people were being nice to him. That was enough.

And then Old Man Stockton told him that the church had been cleared out, and that he was going to be moved tonight. So together they had slipped through the abandoned city to the church, carefully avoiding anything that might cause them harm. With the person who had snuffed out any hostiles in the area not there at the moment, he sat down on one of the old pews to await the arrival of the person that was supposed to help him get to Ticonderoga- a place supposedly filled with other runaway synths like him.

It was late in the night, and they had been waiting for several hours. H2-22 almost thought the person wasn’t coming, but then they arrived.

H2-22 had never known beauty, being made and having lived his life up until recently in the Institute, but he was sure she was the image of it.

She was, in all respects, beautiful. She was tall for a women, at least compared to the female scientists he had seen in the Institute. She had soft brown hair that glowed in the moonlight, reminding him of the few flowers he had seen in his short time outside. She was steadily built with some muscle, but she wasn’t completely buff. It was clear she could handle herself in a fight. Her fingers looked light and delicate, although her hands were covered in calluses. Still, he was sure that if he ever had the pleasure of touching her hand, it would be warm and soft, but still firm and full of strength. And her face…

H2-22 hadn’t seen many faces in his life, maybe about 30 total, with about 20 of those being the villagers he met when he first escaped. Yet he was sure, no matter how many faces he saw, hers would be the most beautiful. She was smiling when he first saw her, and although it was dark and he had to squint to see her at first, it lit up her face like she was the sun and her face a field of fresh roses. Not that he had ever seen a rose, mind you. He had only seen a picture of one, and he was rather sure that they didn’t exist anymore. But even if he did seen one, he didn’t think it could even compare to her beauty. Her skin wasn’t as dark has his own, which only had a permanent tan, and was more of an ivory color. Her nose was large and her cheeks donned freckles, probably given to her by her time spent in the sun. That didn’t make her any less beautiful. What really drew him in, however, was her eyes.

Her eyes were a simple brown, and although it was a lovely color, H2-22 wouldn’t say it was his favorite. He’d have to say it was blue, a deep blue, almost exactly the shade she was wearing. But what was exciting about her eyes is the fact they showed she was alive . They sparkled with interest, and when her companion, a ghoul in a get up H2-22 personally thought was rather ridiculous made a joke, she crinkled her nose and her eyes shone as her whole body shook with laughter. She was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen in his life.

He stood up on instinct as she approached, and barely registered as Old Man Stockton said “This is H2-22. H2, here’s the person I talked to you about.”

Her smile stayed on her face as she greeted him. “Nice to meet you, H2.” And she seemed to genuinely mean it. He realized she was probably waiting for him to respond, and quickly stuttered out a reply.

“Another person actually happy to meet me. This’ll take some getting used to.” He smiled at her, and she smiled back. And so did the ghoul standing to her left. He didn’t take notice of how close they were standing together, and how their elbows were touching, and how when she glanced at him there was fondness in her gaze. He didn’t.

“Remember what I told you, H2.” Stockton interrupted his thought process, and H2-22 turned to look at him. That was right. He was supposed to be quiet. “I’ll fire up at the signal.”

H2-22 took a step back from the women. It was rather weird to call her women or the girl in his head, but he didn’t know what else to call her. Stockton had said the person’s code name was Charmer, and while it certainly fit her, it didn’t seem right. Anyone that beautiful had to have an equally lovely name, and Charmer certainly didn’t fit.

Stockton lit up the lantern he had put in the window, and shook out the burning match with his hand. “And there. Time for me to go. Keep H2 safe. Someone will be here shortly.” And with that, Stockton took his leave, leaving H2-22 behind with the women and her companion.

His eyes widened when she approached him again. He glanced around nervously, unsure of what to say. “From what I’ve been told it’s probably safer if I don’t say anything. I don’t want to put you in any more danger.” And it was true. He had been told be keep quiet, and not to interact with the agent helping transport him. And H2-22 would’ve loved to talk to her about anything. About what her favorite color was. What her favorite food was. Why she joined the Railroad. How she felt about synths. How she felt about ghouls, and if she would be open to a romantic relationship with ghouls. What about with synths? Only out of pure curiosity, of course. But he was a danger to anyone involved with him, and he definitely didn’t want to hurt her.

Her face softened, and H2-22 definitely wanted to see her do that because of something nice he said. Well, supposedly not wanting to talk to someone because it might get them in trouble was nice. Sort of. But he definitely wanted to hear her laugh again. But because of him, and not because of some silly joke that ghoul made. “I appreciate the thought.”

Despite his instructions to keep his mouth closed, he talked to her more. “You guys are all… well, no one’s ever stuck their neck out for me.” He gulped, but continued anyways. Anything was worth talking to this lovely goddess for a few more seconds. “I wanted to thank you. This world is… overwhelming. But people like you make me feel better about coming here.”

“We do all this to give you a better life.” she said softly, and it seemed like there was some regret behind those words. H2-22 didn’t know for what, but he wanted to reach out, to comfort her. He would gladly hold her in his shaky arms and tell her it was all going to be okay. But the ghoul next to her nodded and quietly intertwined his hand with hers, and he was bitterly reminded he would never get that chance.

“You really. You really have no idea how much I appreciate all of this.” His voice wavered. She was kind, so kind. Kinder than Old Man Stockton, and the person who brought him to him. They were still kind, but she was kinder. Kinder than the scientists who had treated him like a tool at the Institute. Kinder than the first people who weren’t scientists that he had ever met. Kinder than H2-22 himself, although that probably wasn't saying much.

Suddenly, her gaze steeled, and she turned back to the open doorway, taking a step out into the cool night air. The ghoul followed her close behind. He was afraid for her, and didn’t want anyone to hurt her. The ghoul, not so much. He didn’t want him to die, per say, but he wouldn’t mind that much if he suddenly went feral.

“Don’t shoot!” A voice called from the outside of the church, and H2-22 nervously peered out a window to see who it was. It was a dark-skinned man, with short black hair. Another new face. He eyed the girl nervously. “Charmer, right? I heard about you. Walked the Freedom Trail, cleared out Switchboard. Glad you joined the team.” His voice was nice, soothing. Not as sweet and gentle as the girl’s, but definitely better than that ghoul’s raspy voice, even though he had only heard it once.

Her face brightened up considerably, although with a sense of pride H2-22 noticed her smile wasn’t as quite as bright for the stranger as it had been for him. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Honor’s all mine.” Well, at least he has one thing right . She stepped back to allow him to step inside, which he did. “Let’s take a look at our friend.” And suddenly, all the attention was on him.

“Hey you. You OK?” He asked with a caring tone.

“A little rattled.” H2-22 admitted, shuffling nervously on his feet. “But I’ve never been better. The other man… He said I shouldn’t talk too much.”  

The man hummed, and H2-22 dimly remembered that his name was High Rise. “He told you right, H2. You’ll need a real name, and a new face, but we’ll get to that.” H2-22 wouldn’t mind a new name, as long as he liked it. He was a bit more attached to his face, but he could give it up. Anything was better than going back to the Institute. High Rise turned back to the girl. “There’s more of them raiders behind me. Afraid we need a little more help.”

She grinned. “More raiders. Not a problem.” H2-22 wondered how she had such bravery. He could barely throw a punch, let alone fire a gun.

High Rise whistled. “You headquarter heavies mean business. We need to get to Ticonderoga Safehouse. My home.” He spared a glance back at H2-22. “A lot of synths crash there until we smuggle them out of the Commonwealth.”

H2-22 reeled a bit. He had known that he was going to be moved somewhere else, someplace that was supposedly safe, but he hadn’t known that it meant he would be moving somewhere else. It didn’t matter, anyway. He barely knew the place. So why was he feeling sadness? He frowned inwardly, and then almost let out a sigh when he looked back the at the women. Of course. But maybe she could visit? Or he could live on the edge, and he could visit her. All H2-22 knew was that after this, he wanted to see her again.

“Nice that you’re willing to do that for us.” H2-22 was pulled back into the conversation.

“Yeah, I’m working off sins for a misspent youth.” He sighed, and H2-22 wondered what he could’ve done, as he had never had the honor of having a youth. “I’ll lead the way.”

And, with that, High Rise had started a slow jog towards his home. The women followed him, and the ghoul followed her, although she did glance at H2-22 with a hint of concern in her gaze, and H2-22 felt touched at the thought she might be worried about him. But they blasted their way to Ticonderoga, with the girl doing most of the fighting, and High Rise and the ghoul only helping out. H2-22 felt proud for some reason, although he knew in reality he had no real reason or right to be.

They stopped outside a rather tall building, and the girl turned to face High Rise.

“And we’re here!” he proclaimed. “All in a night’s work for you agent types, huh?” His tone seemed slightly suggestive, like that maybe she should spend a night with him, and see what else was a night’s work. H2-22 frowned at that thought, and glared at the ghoul when he noticed him narrowing his eyes at High Rise and muttering under his breath. The ghoul shouldn’t worry about the girl’s personal life, it was her own business what or who she got involved with. H2-22 ignored the fact he was doing the same.

‘“Just part of the service.” she said, a true statement which was also turning down any other further advancements High Rise might make. He had liked High Rise at first, but flirting with a total stranger only minutes after meeting each other was weird. It was probably mostly the adrenaline. The adrenaline was definitely the only thing causing the ghoul to rest a hand on her shoulder.

“I think I’m going to like you even more than Glory.” Well, whoever this Glory was, he should try to like her better. No need to insult her. Although he was probably just stating a fact. It would be impossible to meet her and not immediately like her. “If you ever need grub, bullets, or just a power-nap take the elevator up to Ticon. My house is yours.” H2-22 hoped High Rise had taken the hint and was just speaking as a friend. “But right now, I need to take care of H2. Later.” High Rise turned away, and motioned for H2-22 to follow him. H2-22 desperately turned to the girl, hoping to say goodbye, to make plans to see each other again, to shake her hand, anything!

But she was already walking away, leaning into the ghoul’s shoulder, an arm wrapped around his waist.

H2-22 was silent when he entered the elevator, although once the doors slid shut and they started to rise he spoke.

“Is there any chance I’ll meet the gi- Charmer again?” he asked, not daring to look at High Rise, instead choosing to study the walls of the elevator. He had never been in one before.

“No, probably not. Her job’s done, and now that you’re here, we’ve got to get you ready for being taken outside the Commonwealth.” Although he couldn’t see it, he was sure High Rise was looking at him right now. “Why?”

“No particular reason.” He still didn’t look at High Rise. “Just curious.”

High Rise said nothing in response. The elevator was silent for the rest of the trip.

H2-22 was surprised at how much the other synths were like him. Scared, little to no memories, and most of them to shocked to say anything, really. He didn’t make friends, although he didn’t make enemies. Everyone was kind.

When H2-22 first heard about the fact most of the synths were opting to get fake memories, he was wary of it. He wanted to know what he was, to know who he was. He wasn’t ashamed. And he didn’t want to lose his memories of the beautiful girl. But then he remembered how it was the last time he had seen her, how she was leaning into the ghoul, and he said yes.

“Push this button when you’re ready to record your message.” Dr. Amari said. H2-22 liked her, more than he liked most people, at least. She was stern, but not mean. Firm, but kind. If he had had a mother, he would’ve wanted her to be like Dr. Amari.

H2-22 said nothing, and simply nodded. Dr. Amari looked at him, pity clearly in her eyes. “Do you want to be left alone?” she asked, resting a hand on his shoulder.

“No, it’s fine. I’m okay.” He took a deep breath, and pressed the record button. She fell silent, and removed her hand from his shoulder.

“The doctor said I could say goodbye.” He started off, his eyes clouding as he thought of all he wanted to say to her. “I’ve decided .. to have the operation.” he clarified. “I know I’ll lose all my memories. I don’t want you to be sad.” He would never want her to be sad. He knew that the ghoul, whoever he was, made her happy, and that was enough. Knowing she was happy was how he would get through this. “I… I have nightmares.” When he dreamt, he got flashes. Flashes of his time in the Institute, of being made, of screaming as he was put together like a jigsaw puzzle. He didn’t know how many of them were real, and how many of them were terrors created by his own mind. “And this world, the SRB, being hunted. I just can’t handle it. Everyone says I’ll be safer if I start a new life.” It was true. No one told him that there was any benefits of keeping his memories. But there was benefits of giving them up.

“I know I’ll be happier.” He would never be truly happy in this mind unless he was the one keeping her, the one she was leaning on. “My only regret is I’ll forgot… Old Man Stockton…. High Rise. And you.” Those were the only people in the world he could call friends. Stockton may have been a bit rough around the edges, but he was still a good person. The time he had spent at Ticonderoga had made him like and appreciate High Rise. And, well, the girl- or Charmer, as everyone else called her- was who she was. Beautiful, funny, intelligent. Everything he wanted, but couldn’t have. “Looking back, there’s only fear. Worse than fear. But I will miss my new… friends.” By now, tears were leaking out of the corner of his eyes, and H2-22 was somewhat relived. He hadn’t been sure if he could cry.

He was startled when Dr. Amari spoke softly. “It’s time, H2.”

He nodded, before turning to face the recorder again, pretending it was her. He wanted to say he loved her, to tell her what he wished they could have, to say he knew she didn’t feel the same way but he hoped she kept her happiness and her ghoul friend with her all the same. Instead, he said one thing, one thing that he hoped summed up it all.

“I… uh… Thanks.” He pressed the stop button, and rose from his seat. Soon, in a couple minutes, he would stop being H2-22 and become someone else. All that would be left of him would be a holotape, and a memory.

But that was okay. H2-22 didn’t mind. It would be nice.

#fallout 4 fanfiction

[clankitsfanfiction]

Someone Like Me, a Hancock x SS Soulmate Oneshot

Summary: Even before he was a ghoul, Hancock had always felt sorry for his soulmate.

(read this on Archive of Our Own here or below the cut)

Even before he was a ghoul, Hancock had always felt sorry for his soulmate.

Who would even want a drifter like him? Who would want someone who can’t bear to look at themselves, who stood by and watched innocent people get murdered?

No one. So when he finally found the radiation drug, the one he knew who ruin him forever, he gave little thought as he inserted it into his arm.

When he first looked at his arm after he was sane (saner) again, he half expected it to not be there, the words his soulmate would first say to him. Of course, he had seen ghouls with their soulmate words before, but still. He half wanted it to be gone.

When he finally threw Vic off the balcony, and said what would become his famous catchphrase, “Of the people, for the people!” He felt just maybe, just maybe, he could be someone worthy to love.

But a couple days later, while getting high with some drifters, it all came bawling out.

“I don’t really think I have a soulmate, ya know? Not really, because no one would love me for who I am, and certainly not my looks. And if I do, I’m never gonna meet them, or I’ll die before they do, or they’ll die. I mean, fate hates me, you feel?” he cried as a random man patted him on the back.

When Hancock strolled in and saw Finn, yet again, threatening a newcomer, he decided it was finally time to put him down. He was sick and tired of Finn, even if the guy was good in a fight, so he strolled on over, interrupting whatever conversation they had been having.

“Whoa, whoa. Time out.” The newcomer glanced at him, and Hancock was impressed by the fact they didn’t flinch from the sight of his ugly mug.

“Someone steps through the gate the first time, they’re a guest. You lay off the extortion crap.” Based on the fact the newcomer seemed actually maybe sort of better than this town’s usual folk, Hancock fumbled with the idea of not killing Finn simply to give a first good impression, but the next words sealed Finn’s fate.

“What d’ you care? They ain’t one of us.”

“No love for your mayor, Finn? I said let ‘em go.” he growled. Better to do it off to the side than in the middle of town.

“You’re soft, Hancock. You keep letting outsiders walk all over us, one day there’ll be a new mayor.” Okay, that’s it.

“Come on, man. This is me we’re talking about. Let me tell you something.” Hancock walked forward and saw Finn frown in confusion. He reached around, put his arm around Finn’s shoulder, and stabbed him like he had just insulted his mother, who did in fact have plenty of right to be insulted.

As Finn kneeled over, Hancock tutted. “Now why’d you have to go and say that, huh? Breaking my heart over here.” He looked up at the person Finn had been bothering, whose face now showed some shock and terror. “You all right, friend?”

With those words, their face turning into a cesspool of different expressions, mainly surprise, wariness, and… happiness?

“It’s you.”

His heart stopped beating for a second, like it did every time he inhaled jet before it started beating faster. Which it also did.

He tore his eyes away from them to glance at the ground. “Are- are you who I think you are? Because let me tell you, someone new has said those words to me before and I was never more disappointed.” he growled out, barely aware that several citizens had gathered around to see what the commotion was about.

Slowly, they rolled up the skin tight sleeve plastered to their right arm, and there, in his own messy script, he saw the words You all right, friend?

Hancock blinked, and maybe he would've been crying if he could of. “Well then. So, ar-”

His words were cut off as they leapt forwards and drew him into a hug.

“I’ve had to wait over 200 years to meet you. I’m not letting you go.”

Stunned for words, he slowly put his arms around them.

“Well now…” he chuckled nervously. “If that’s how you want it to be."

#john hancock #fallout 4 john hancock #john hancock x sole survivor #im posting a bunch of old works now #figure i might as well use this blog

[clankitsfanfiction]

Click here to see my about, here to see my fanfictions, here to go to my Archive of Our Own Page, and here for my main blog. Enjoy!

#about #pinned post

[clankitsfanfiction]

Thought: Indescribable Feeling (Disco Elysium Harry x Kim Oneshot)

Summary: PROBLEM: You've been friends with Kim for a while now. You feel like you know him well, or at least better than most of the people he interacts with. You can recognize the curve of his slight smile, the sparkle in his eye when he’s teasing you, and, of course, you’ve felt the authority his eyebrow holds. You know about his childhood wish to be a pilot, his secret love of science fiction, and just how big of a torque dork he is. You’re privy to the facts he keeps hidden, like how he struggles with showing emotions, how he still feels lonely despite the fact he enjoys isolation, his desire to do good in the world. Still, there's something about him that unsettles you— is it in his glasses, the lilt of his mouth, his knowledgeable eyes? And unsettles isn't really the right word, is it—but what is? What is this feeling when you look at Kim? Maybe if you think about it long enough, you can figure it out.

***

“Kim, how did you know you were... y’know?”He just raises an eyebrow. Of course, for all the times for his deductive reasoning to fail him, it had to be now, when you were asking him about his… sexuality. God, you can barely think the word in your head—how the hell are you supposed to say it out loud?

(read this on Archive of Our Own here or below the cut)

You're sitting in your shitty apartment, at your shitty table, in your shitty chair. The place is a lot cleaner than when you first saw it a month ago. When Kim broke into it with you—meaning when Kim called a locksmith and paid her for you—the place was covered in so much trash you could barely see the stained carpet floor. Half-drunk bottles of alcohol were littered around the place like you’d had a party the night before, different drugs and pills dotting your living room like fairy lights. Honestly, you’re surprised your past self would leave alcohol just lying around like this. You haven’t had a drop since you first woke up in the Whirling Rags, but your hands started itching and your brain started whispering when it noticed how easy it’d be to stuff some pills in your pocket or wrap your lips around the mouth of a bottle. Kim was kind enough to take care of all the narcotics for you, so you dealt with the more regular kinds of trash.

It was a two-day effort, all-in-all, with the first day focusing on just untrashing your place and the second on actually making it clean, scrubbing the floors and such. Kim helped you with all of it—you weren’t cleared back for work yet, and he’d taken a few days off after The Hanged Man. You felt guilty for having him spend some of his precious time off just cleaning you up, but were too much of a sack of shit to tell him he didn’t need to help. You’re pretty sure you did need his help, anyways—you definitely wouldn’t have been emotionally prepared to confront this relic of the past on your own.  

You have a plastic tare in your hands, and your fingers are peeling away at the wrapper surrounding it advertising whatever brand. Damn Capitalists. The little sticky pieces cling to your hands in a pale imitation of what they once were, whole, together. They’re searching desperately for something to hold on to. You’re vaguely reminded of how your past refuses to leave you, despite the fact your amnesia appears to be here to stay. You shake your hand, but the scraps stay on. Awkwardly, you try to pick them off with your left hand, hoping they won’t stick to it. You’re stalling. You're nervous. Of course you are. How could you not be, with what you’ve been thinking about lately?

Kim is sitting across from you, silent, as usual. He’s watching you fail to rid yourself of the stupid plastic remnants with a mildly amused look in his eyes. His own water is near untouched. He’d probably be drinking wine if he was with anyone else. You’re stuck between feeling guilty at denying him one of his few indulgences and feeling so damn grateful that you want to hug him. You two have been making rather pleasant conversations most of the night. You’ve discussed lots of things, like your current cases, his cases, how long it might take for Lena to mail a reply, whether or not Kim will be able to talk his way into transferring the Coupris Kineema to Precinct 41 anytime soon. The current lull in talk is comfortable, natural—a thing of friendship. Kim knows you, knows how you work, how you speak, how you breathe. He knows you have something on your mind, and he'll wait until you're ready to say it. Until then, he’ll sit there, patiently waiting. God, Kim’s so cool.

How well do you know Kim? Sure, you became friends over the course of The Hanged Man investigation, but how well do you really know him? Yes, okay, he joined Precinct 41 because you suggested it, and he’s not your partner anymore (Jean said he’d “put up with too much of your shit to be ousted by the first guy you latched onto after drinking yourself into fucking amnesia”) but you still see each other every day. He’s been your rock ever since you came into existence, but you haven’t been his. You’re like an annoying yappy dog with separation anxiety, except it’s also an alcoholic. Who the fuck wants a depressed acoholic dog following them around?  

See, the thing is, there's this thought in your head. You've had it in there for quite a while, but you've yet to come up with a solution. You don't know what's going on, what's happening in your head and body. You don't understand it. You're not sure if you want to.

See, the thing is, you look at Kim, and there's a drop in your stomach. A punch to the gut. It feels like you've stepped off the edge of a cliff backwards, your eyes pointed helplessly towards the sky as you plummet to the ground. You don't know what's beneath you. You don't know what you're rushing towards.

It's not a bad thing, necessarily. It's a little uncomfortable, a little sad, a little desperate, but also—hopeful? Wistful? Longing, maybe?

Your tongue is thick and heavy in your mouth like a brick weighing down a tarp—how could it not be, with what you're about to ask? Kim is a very private person. It took you ages to work up the confidence to call him your friend outside the privacy of your own mind, and sometimes, you're still not sure he is. He might just be indulging the demands of his superior, or hanging out with you completely due to pity. How could someone so cool be friends with you? Thankfully, you're pretty sure it's only a little bit due to pity (how could anyone look at the sack of shit you are and not pity you) as he does seem to genuinely enjoy your company, for whatever reason.

Kim must have other friends he hangs out with. He’s a little anti-social, but he’s a nice guy, and pleasant to be around. Very amicable. You wonder if he misses anyone from Precinct 57. He must, he was there for what, twenty years? No way he’s completely a lone wolf after that much time. Does he miss them? Does he regret transferring? You’re the one who put the idea out there, so if he does, he must also regret meeting you.

He’s neatly slotted into the C-Wing at Precinct 41. Jean respects him, both as an officer and as a person, perhaps doubly so for being willing to put up with so much of your shit. McLaine and Torson admire how badass and cool he is. Minot appreciates his quiet and reserved nature, as does Pidieu. Even Gottlieb seems to like him, probably because he, unlike most of the other officers, is cautious and tries not to end up with more scars than necessary. And Trant is just a civilian consultant, but they seem to get along well enough. But, again, he must’ve had friends, good friends even, at 57. You feel guilty for dragging him away from them, you greedy bastard. You find something good and precious and you grab it and hold on tight with your big fucking paws. You’re a bastard who will hold on whenever there’s something good in your life until it crumbles due to the pressure you put on it.

No. No, Goddamit, fuck that. Kim chose to transfer. He could’ve brushed off your suggestion, politely smiled at you and declined, but he took it seriously and thought about it and made the final decision. Kim’s a fucking adult, and a Dolores-damn badass, he knows how to take care of himself. He knows how to take care of himself and then some. He took care of you during The Hanged Man case and he’s continuing to take care of you now. He’s someone with intense personal boundaries who’s decided to become friends with a recovering alcoholic and let you cry on his shoulder. Sure, you may have developed an unhealthy amount of dependency on him and his opinion of you, but you’re also recovering for yourself, damn it.

It is unhealthy, though, how much you’re doing it to make Kim proud of you. But you can’t help it. You can’t help how you feel about him.

You should say something. It’s been a little too long for this silence to be comfortable. Besides, you’ve been avoiding the topic you want to ask him about for long enough. You wish you had someone else to ask about this—you think Judit might be able to help, maybe even Jean, but they both knew you before, and you think it’d only hurt all of you if you asked them about it. And it would be unbelievably awkward. It’s going to be awkward enough asking Kim, who only knows your sins through stories instead of personal experience.

You clear your throat. “Kim, how did you know you were... y’know?”

He just raises an eyebrow. Of course, for all the times for his deductive reasoning to fail him, it had to be now, when you were asking him about his… sexuality. God, you can barely think the word in your head—how the hell are you supposed to say it out loud?

Alright, better to just dive in head first. Get it over with. Straight and simple. Or, would that be gay and simple? Non-straight and simple?

God, okay, focus. Asking Kim about sexuality. Go.

“Kim, how did you know you were a homo-sexual?”

His breath doesn’t catch , exactly, and you’re sure you wouldn’t notice if you weren’t looking, but his eyes widen just a fraction, and he leans back just the slightest bit, the chair not even creaking his weight shifts so little. Whatever he was expecting you to ask, it clearly wasn’t that .

He gives himself a moment to think by pulling off his glasses and cleaning them with the cloth that he always keeps handy. You don’t call him out on it—it’s an intensely personal question, after all, and he deserves a second to consider it.

He puts his glasses back on and looks at you. The light catches them in just a way to make his eyes invisible in the gleam. Finally, he gives you a wry grin. “You clearly didn’t stop obsessing about sexuality.”

“See, the thing is, I just sort of tabled the issue for the time being, as we were busy solving a murder and there was other stuff to think about it. But then we solved the murder, and then I had plenty of time to think, but I’ve yet to come up with any conclusions.” You’ve finally gotten all of the plastic off your hands, and drum your newly clean fingers against the table. “Sorry I’m asking you about all of this stuff again. The only other people I really know are you and the others at Precinct 41. And I don’t think I’m on good enough standing to talk to them about it. Sorry,” you add again for good measure.

(You’ve been trying to cut back on the sorries, but it’s hard. Jean has threatened more than once to put a Sorry Jar on your desk, and you think the only reason he hasn’t is because he hasn’t found a jar big enough.)

Kim takes a deep breath. His fingers seem to twitch absentmindedly, and you’re sure if he was less principled, he’d been fiddling with the neck of his jacket or chewing on the side of his cheek, which you’d only seen him done once, when the two of you were interviewing a particularly racist woman in the precinct who had two young children with her.

“I was thirteen, I think.” You struggle not to interrupt—that’s so young! You’re not even sure if you knew you were… whatever you are before, and you had 44 years to figure it out. “There… there was a boy I liked. His name was Daniel. He was a bit of a rebel, skipping class to smoke, and he claimed to own a motorcycle, though I never saw it. I liked him.”

Hm… Well, that’s not particularly helpful. It’s not like you can talk about your own maybe-possibly homo-sexual awakening, since you’re pretty sure it involves—

What does it involve?

Wait, shit, Kim’s about to speak again.

“Harry…” Oh snap! He pulled out your name! He’s only done that, like, five times! “I’m making some assumptions about what you’re struggling with, and I wanted to ask if you’ve ever head of bi-sexuality?”

You rack your brain, but, nope, nada, nothing. No no nopey nope. But bi stands for two, right?

“Don’t think so. But I’m pretty sure bi stands for two, so I’m guessing it has to do with the number two?”  

Kim gives you a small smile, and you struggle not to preen under his approving eyes. “Yes. Bi-sexuality refers to individuals who are attracted to two, or possibly more, genders.” He waits quietly for you to process this.

Oh. Oh. Oh! Bi- sexuality, meaning two, as compared to homo-sexuality, meaning those attracted to the same gender. That was a pretty easy leap, now that you think about it. You should’ve been able to do it on your own.

Bi-sexuality. Attraction to multiple genders. Huh. You’re pretty sure that’s what you are. Feels nice to have some kind of label for yourself. You mouth the words, testing them out in your mouth. Bi-sexual. You wonder how Kim learned about all of this. Though if he’s known he’s a part of the Homo-sexual Underground since he was thirteen, he’s had a lot of time to research this, probably. You wonder if Kim once thought he was bi-sexual. That one is probably a bit too personal, not that that’s stopped you before, but no reason to push.

Wait. Multiple genders? As in, more than two?

“Wait. Multiple genders? As in, more than two?”

Kim reaches across the table and pats your resting left hand. “I think that’s a conversation for another time, hmm?”

Sounds good to you! You’ve had enough learning for tonight.

“Thank you for this, Kim. Really, I mean it. Sorry again about asking.”

He smiles again and leans toward you, letting his gloved palm settle on your shoulder. “No need to apologize, Harry. I’m happy to help educate you on your journey of self-discovery. Though perhaps give me a bit more warning next time. If you’d like, I can lend you some reading materials.”

He lets his hand drop back to his side, but you still feel the heat in your body where his gloved skin touched you. You burn with it. The feeling of his touch has lit some sort of fire in you, and the way he’s looking at you is only fanning the flames.

You barely manage to give a tiny nod in response to his statement, and your hands fly to your tare bottle again, desperate to clutch something and have a weight to ground yourself.

Kim settles back into his chair, content again, and you figure he’s giving you more time to process the new information he’s giving you. A Kim secret about his childhood and a big clue (if not the answer) about your sexuality. God, he’s so cool.

You find it in you to look at Kim again, out of the corner of your eye, and suddenly, finally, the thought clicks in your head. Whatever is going on with you, whatever is happening, you seem to have finally figured it out. At the very least, you’ve put a name to the feeling you have when you stare at him.

When you look at Kim, his dissecting eyes, his thick glasses, his quirked eyebrow, the subtle curve in the corner of his lips that's like a secret little smile just for himself, one you wouldn’t be able to read if you weren’t so attuned to him, the brush of his hair that he keeps oh so neatly managed, his gloves clean of any sign of his smoking, of the one cigarette he allows himself, one of his few vices he indulges in, Dolores Dei, his everything—

It's yearning.

You look at Kim, and you yearn. You yearn to touch the slender fingers that lay beneath his thick leather gloves, to examine his dark eyes up close, to feel his hands on you, to, to, to—

For what, though? What exactly do you yearn for?

That thought will take you at least another eight hours. Or twenty hours. Or whatever.

#disco elysium #disco elysium fanfiction #harry x kim #kim x harry #what's their ship name? i haven't seen it #harry du bois #kim kitsuragi #harry du bois x kim kitsuragi #kim kitsuragi x harry du bois

[clankitsfanfiction]

It's every breath that comes before (A Crown of Candy Oneshot)

Summary: “No, I am not afraid to die It's every breath that comes before”

- This Will End by The Oh Hellos

Lapin is no fool. He is well acquainted with the inner workings of the church and the state, having spent many years reading dusty old tomes and sleepless nights by candlelight. He has spent his life in search of answers, and has found only more questions. He knows what happens to those who go against the Bulb. He knows what happens to those who dare to defy the church.

(read this on Archive of Our Own here or below the cut)

Lapin is no fool. He is well acquainted with the inner workings of the church and the state, having spent many years reading dusty old tomes and sleepless nights by candlelight. He has spent his life in search of answers, and has found only more questions. He knows what happens to those who go against the Bulb. He knows what happens to those who dare to defy the church.

He barely considers his options before casting Fly on Theobald. He obviously will not side with the church, for a countless number of reasons, one them being that he can privately admit that he has grown fond of the Rock family and their friends, though he rarely dares to even concede it to himself. So, a fight it is, then. And Lapin has never been good at fighting. He is not quick, like his brothers and sisters and other siblings, who are light on their feet, as rabbits generally are. He is not strong, like King Amethar or Sir Theobald, whose toughness rivals mountains. He has made his living in being smart of mind and sharp of tongue—he is a silver devil, one who will coax the secrets out of you before you know it’s happened. He can pull answers out of near anyone, with enough time. If only there was enough time.

But it is too late to talk, and all he can do is act quickly, or at least as quick as he can manage it. And so he does, and he may be strong enough to carry one of the princesses up to the second floor, but he is not who they need right now. And so he casts Fly on Theobald, and puts himself in front of Liam.

He knows how this fight will end. He knows that he will only get one turn, and this will have to be it.

Theobald does his job. He gets the princesses and the boy to safety. Lapin goes down soon after.

He does not get a chance to say goodbye, to nod at the princesses and Liam and bow to his King, to apologize to Theobald for being so distant all these years. He has learned to keep his heart close to chest, and that is what he has done, and while he does not exactly regret it, the past few days have made it apparent just how good the man is. He thinks, had things been different, they could’ve been good friends before now, before all of this.

Lapin himself does not claim to be good, not exactly, but he does his best. So, he will have to be content with what they had.

His greatest regret, perhaps, is the death of Preston. It was a cruel thing to do, to kill a boy’s pig like that, and he clutches the soft body to his heaving chest and curses the Bulb for all it’s worth, and curses Liam for his selflessness and trying to help, and sending Preston to his death. He hopes wherever Preston ends up is full of sugarplums and nice boys who will look with him for seeds.

He prays for it to be quick, to be as painless as possible. He looks up as the Pontifex and Sir Keradin loom over him, and utters his final words, an answer to a question he has long since wondered.

“The Bulb cares for no one.”

He wonders if the rest of his compatriots can hear his gasping breaths from outside these confining walls. In his last moments, the Sugarplum Fairy appears to him. He only grumbles a little when he finally goes home.

#a crown of candy #a crown of candy fanfiction #lapin cadbury #YES this is OLD and no one is posting about him anymore #but dammit this is MY fanfiction blog and i get to choose the POSTS