#hhha ha…. of course of fucking course this would happen to me

[galariangengar]

💭

#hhha ha…. of course of fucking course this would happen to me #welp just found out on Instagram that the guy I had a crush on my last year of college and even made moves on #he posted on his Instagram story today of a Polaroid of him and a girl with a heart emoji…. guess that’s his new girlfriend 🙃… #I mean yea it took me some time but I did eventually get over him #but mostly cuz the pandemic started half way through our final semester of college #but I did dm him before we started spring break basically asking him out to coffee which still to this day he never saw… #and i could live with the fact that I did try/I got the guts/encouragement to make some moves on him #tbh I still did kinda like him this whole time but knew I shouldn’t bother trying #and also I haven’t been doing well in several aspects for the past couple years since graduating & pandemic #… it hurts… it does hurt seeing him with a girl… but… idk… #I’ll need a day or two to get over it #ha… I’m crying a little but it’s cuz of all the other stressful shit going on and that is what pushed me to the edge… #jazz uses curse! 💜

[purkinje-effect]

The Anatomy of Melancholy, 53

Table of Contents. Second Instar, Chapter 20. Go to previous. Go to next. ...Or maybe not broken enough. TW: mental snap, description of sources of disfigurement and injuries.

____________________________

By the time ‘Choly had crossed the base grounds, G-7 had likely stood idle outside his rowhouse for upwards of half an hour. His new uniform hung gingerly in one of its tendril pincers, in two garment bags. Wheezing hard, he snatched it from the Mister Gutsy and thanked it with a pat on its tendril, then slouched up the porch stairs. Before he even got on the porch, the front door flew open, and Angel came out to try to help him inside.

“Oh, dear, Mister Carey, do forgive me--” He swatted the air angrily at it. “Mister Hawthorne refused to wait a moment longer, and I promised both you and Miss Francis that I wouldn’t leave him alone--”

“JACOB!” Snarling, he mounted the stairs, his head running hot. “What the FUCK was so important that you couldn’t wait on me fifteen GODDAMN minutes! Angel is my fucking WHEELCHAIR--”

Standing stupid in the doorway to his bedroom, ‘Choly stopped in his tracks. Dressed again in his longshoreman’s garb, Sticks sat on the end of the bed with the Vault 111 jumpsuit slung across his lap. The ghoul’s face was all screwed up in what could either have been a smile or a grimace. He sniveled, not looking up to ‘Choly.

“What kind of sick fucking joke is this?” Sticks’s voice cracked, rough enough to nearly sound underwater. Transfixed on the blood stains, his fingers tangled up in the stab hole in the front of the otherwise royal blue bodysuit. “I was right. You are haunting my stupid ass.”

‘Choly hung up the garment bags in the open closet and sat beside him to catch his breath. Unsure what to say, he sat wheezing for some time.

“Jesus Christ,” Sticks continued at a hush with a broken pitch bottomless glare, the grimace falling slack. “Those glasses. If it’s 2077 all over again, why am I still like this--?”

“Hey. Hey, stay with me.” ‘Choly tried to put a hand on Sticks’s, but the ghoul withdrew it and let his attention knot back up in the vault suit. “I got attacked by bloodbugs on the way up Route 3. One of them got me, just under the collarbone. Would have got me through the heart, if it hadn’t been for the surgical corset. If Angel hadn’t had its Nanny tendril and programming, it wouldn’t have been able to administer the Stimpaks it did. I-- You think I got shot in the chest, don’t you?” A weak, defeated laugh escaped him. He loosed his necktie and began to unbutton his dress shirt. “I can show you the scar it left. And I know Angel would hate to produce it, but I did keep the thing’s proboscis. A sort of trophy. Angel! Bring the bloodbug proboscis, will you?”

When Sticks was uninterested in entertaining the spectacle of ‘Choly’s scars, 'Choly got up from the bed and went into the open closet to change into his new uniform. He discarded the service uniform in the floor and put his Pip-Boy atop the chest of drawers, and stood there in his undershirt and underwear by the time Angel approached with the requested object. At first the robot offered it to its owner, but he urged it to hand the foot-long hollow structure to the ghoul instead. It also offered the deathclaw’s paw with tacit displeasure.

“Please tell me we’re not taking these with us,” it complained. “You really must rethink what you keep from the awful beasts that attack you.”

“How-- a deathclaw!” The desiccating clump of mostly bone fell in the floor rather into Sticks’s lap. He brandished the proboscis at him like a knife from where he sat. “No. No, there’s no way you’re standing in front of me alive.”

‘Choly was immune to the gesture, too absorbed in getting dressed again.

“You’re convinced I’m a ghost. Is that it? Maybe I am. It would explain a lot.”

‘Choly leaned nearer his reflection in the broken full-length mirror as he fastened the brass snaps of the high-collar charcoal shirt’s wide asymmetrical strapped placket. He adjusted how the piped edge sat around his neck. Already affixed was the colonel’s eagle. He straightened to scrutinize his transformation progress, and could only continue to wonder whether accepting the promotion was a mistake. Leaning against the frame of the closet door to steady himself, the matching slacks came next. He tucked in his shirt, then argued with his ammo case harness to get the belt through the loops and the suspenders in place. He dragged his combat boots over to the bed to sit and lace them up.

“I guess I’m just struggling with the reality,” Sticks admitted quietly, “that despite everything that’s happened to you, you could possibly still be alive. It’s my understanding that the majority of people who got into the vaults didn’t usually last more than a few years, for the variety of evil shit Vault-Tec did. Forgive me for having such a hard time imagining that you survived two centuries in one, and have somehow managed to keep from getting killed by the Commonwealth ever since, having to crash course it all first hand.”

“Didn’t do it alone.” He pointed at Angel, warming to a grin, and it brought him his Pip-Boy. He folded up his right sleeve and put it back on. “I had to repair Angel for a lot of reasons, you know. Damn if it’s not foolhardy as all abandon, though! You know raiders chopped off its one laser attachment, and even though it only had its saw and pincer, it still ran headlong toward that deathclaw to keep it from ripping up the settlers that the raiders had been trying to kill!”

“If I hadn’t done something, Mister Garvey would have had to contend with the monstrosity all on his own,” Angel stated humbly. “The power armor could have only done him so much good against something so large and so angry!”

“Settlers?” Sticks mumbled after a good moment, spacing out. “There’s settlers in Lexington? They’re not raiders?”

“One of them still fancies himself a Minuteman, if that means anything to you of their substance.” When the ghoul couldn’t help a bittersweet smile, ‘Choly chuckled and patted his knee. “All that happened in Concord, actually-- and they’re living in Sanctuary now, believe it or not!”

Any good humor fell right back out of the ghoul.

"You’re kidding me.”

“Serious. I told them the vault isn’t safe--and it’s not--but they’re--” ‘Choly’s mood soured in kind, himself haunted. “The old woman’s living in Jahani’s house. Jh-- Hhha--” He squinted tight, the words difficult as he tried to divorce his sense of self from what he was now wearing. “Why did the Gutsy earlier insist you’re not a civilian? Liv doesn’t seem especially against disclosing high-ranking military intel in front of you.”

“She hasn’t said anything around me I haven’t heard before,” the ghoul shrugged, unsure how to navigate the ghost seeming more distraught than he was. “And Deenwood doesn’t consider me a civilian because it still thinks of the Furriers as off-base reserve troops. And it considers me a Furrier. And a defector, too, I guess, if we’re being honest.”

Still in the fumes of recalling his ties to Jahani, ‘Choly got up from the bed to retrieve his remembrance poppies from the top of the chest of drawers in his closet, and leaned in the door frame to thread them onto the shirt he had on. He watched Sticks expectantly, hoping for elaboration. Sticks scrunched up his mouth to one side and decided to fold up the vault suit like he’d found it.

“I was the reason for the General’s last major meltdown. Fifty years ago, I nicked a Mark V Pip-Boy from the RobCo Towers. Thought if I had sophisticated enough tech, even I could hack my way on base. But I’m sure you remember that I am and always have been rubbish with computers. She caught onto me immediately. She hit Voire with a metric fuckton of Rad-I-Canned, and had me hunted down so she could throw me in a cell on base. Had my hand ripped off me, and she gutted my Pip-Boy and turned it into... this, as a way of guaranteeing that I couldn’t try to use it against her again.” He made a face at his glove prosthesis, and dropped his hands into his lap. “Still not totally sure how I managed to convince her not to experiment on me anymore than she did. But no, ‘Choly. I swear I wasn’t going through your shit. I had to come back here, and get Angel to start packing up so you wouldn’t lose anything important if she doesn’t let us back on base, and I was in here when it started packing up your closet, and--”

“Why don’t you think she’ll let us back on base?”

“--Because someone gave away the fact you and I knew each other prewar.” He couldn’t contain a glare toward Angel, who flinched in remorse. “I guarantee she suspects some kind of foul play. The fact she’s following through with your requests at all, as closely and correctly as she has, is suspect to say the least. Either she’s that desperate to keep you doing exactly what she wants you to do, or there’s something really, really wrong.” As ‘Choly fished the knee length white overcoat from the other garment bag and put it on, Sticks motioned for Angel to come back in the room from where it had withdrawn to the hall. “Angel, those are legit insignia things, right? You can scan ‘em and tell he’s Alan Carey? A colonel...?” He shuddered, haunted afresh. “Colonel. Good god almighty it just all comes so natural to you, doesn’t it.”

“Oh, yes, of course they’re genuine,” Angel reported, its ocular lenses combing over the nameplate, ribbon rack, and other various brass and silver insignias which all indicated his rank, branch, and tenure. “Though, I’m not certain as to the significance of this addition to your ribbon rack.”

‘Choly withdrew into the closet to conceal a snivel in adjusting his broad collar and fastening the buckling utility belt of the coat about his waist. It wasn’t that he was wearing a uniform--this was his uniform. He’d only had one commanding function during his last active duty, directing the administration and observation of the enlisted troops upon which Deenwood’s military chemists had experimented. But he wasn’t about to admit in the moment that his rank had never put him on the battlefield, and risk planting doubt in his ability to lead where he would need to.

“Please, do forgive me, gentlemen,” the robot continued, feeling like ‘Choly had been stewing in silence. “I don’t mean anything by it, that I refer to you as I was introduced to you. My programming was scripted before it was commonplace for people to change their last names, or omit using them altogether. I know it’s not just you, Mister Hawthorne, who’s nettled by it. Mister Carey can’t stand it either. Maybe it would be for the best, to permit Miss Francis to reset my imprint matrix.”

“She’s not touching your goddamn grey matter,” ‘Choly snapped, rolling his coat cuff as he had his shirt, and buttoning the first three covered buttons of its front. He slipped on the reinforced black leather gloves from its side pockets, and let out an agonized snarl as he punched out the closet mirror. Glass scattered all over the balding carpet. Breathing ragged, he turned in full posture to glare at Sticks. “And who do you think you are, to suppose what comes naturally to me?”

The ghoul shrank on the bed, unable to form a coherent response to the chemist’s apparent derangement. A knock came at the front door, and Angel excused itself to check on it.

“Was it a bad idea to encourage you into this?”

‘Choly’s head fell askew as his arms crossed his chest, incredulous.

“Too late to hesitate, don’t you think?”

“Miss Olivia is ready for us,” Angel reported, returning to the room. Its tendrils curled against its spherical body, recognizing the tension. “Let’s finish gathering the last of things so we can head out, shall we?”

“A fantastic idea,” ‘Choly agreed a little too sharply, despising the likelihood that, despite the duress and consequence of his transformation, today very will might be the last he’d ever step foot on the Deenwood Compound premises.

Go to Next »»»

#fallout 4 #fo4 #fallout 4 fanfic #fo4 fanfic #sole survivor #ghoul #mister handy #the anatomy of melancholy #melancholy #sticks #angel

[squev-an]

hhakldfa once in a lifetime actual SmmtUU

There was only something that was slightly more distressing than opening their eyes a realizing they were human again.

It was the fact that, after they had realized they had become human again, Zoe tried to distract them from their internal despair by bowing to their wishes and treating them to foods and drinks that they wanted to try before. It was the fact that, after they made out with her after drinking an intoxicating flavor of Mountain Dew, they pressed her onto her bed and began to become intoxicated with her moans instead. It was the fact that, once they both had managed to strip down into only their undergarments, and Squevan was hovering above her in the most ample spot between her legs that Zoe looked up at them with a mischievous grin. And of course, them, being intoxicated in two different ways, allowed her suggest a wager they were sure they would lose.

“You have to let me play with your hair for as long as I like. You can’t touch me in any sort of way the whole time. If you do, you lose, and you have to wear the most embarrassing outfit I pick out for you.” A groan sounded deep in their throat.

“And if I win?”

“Well, then you can fuck me for as long as you like, for as many rounds as you like.” That was a more than tempting bargain. And seeing how aroused Zoe was already, they didn’t think she could possibly play with their hair for so long before relenting and allowing them to ravish her until she could barely remember her own name.

“Agreed.”

And that was how Squevan ended up bracing themselves above Zoe, slow, loud moans escaping them as she continued to card her fingers through their hair.

“You know, Squevan, your hair is really soft for someone who doesn’t shower, like, at all.”

“Nggh…” It didn’t help that she insisted on chattering away while teasing them like this. If it even counted as teasing. “It… helps that- ahh- that I, mmph, don’t stay h-human for looaaaahng.” Squevan was half convinced that the sheets under their hands were starting to become damp with all the sweat from their palms.

Fuck, it didn’t help that she looked so… enticing with just her bra and panties on.

“It’s really nice. I wish my hair was as soft as yours.”

“Your hair is, fuck, sosoft, too, hhha.” They heard that head massages were supposed to be relaxing, but this was the least relaxing thing they’ve done since… getting murdered.

There were hickies peppered lightly along her neck and breasts.

They wanted to plant their lips back on her body, to mark her more, to listen to her sweet, sweet voice moan and whine just for them. They especially loved how she said their name when in the throes of passion. But that wouldn’t happen until she fucking relented and- oh fuck that felt good.

“Ffffuuuuuck…”

“You really like it when I grip your hair like that, huh?”

“Nnn…”

“It’s not even full on pulling yet.”

“If you pulled, we’d h-haave a mess on our hands. Or rather, in my boxers.”

“Really?” A dangerous glint in her eyes. Oh shit.

“Zoe-” Before they could stop her, she pulled back on their hair, making them scream and buckle onto their elbows, barely keeping their forehead from touching hers. “FUCK!” They breathed deeply through their nose, biting their lip to prevent from coming too early.

They really, really wanted to fuck her now. And kiss that cocky, little smirk off her face.

“Your face is so red.”

“Unnng…”

“Close?” A defiant look.

“No.”

“You look close.”

“I’m not… nnngh, coming… yet.”

Now they REALLY wanted to win.

Just to fuck her senseless into her own mattress. Until she couldn’t remember anything traumatic. Until she couldn’t remember their blood on her hands. Until she couldn’t remember crying every night they were killed. For once, they wanted to end their humanity on a good note. Just for her. Out of everyone, she deserved the world. They couldn’t give it to her but… they could at least offer her a chance of pure bliss.

It was the least they could give her. But goddammit, she was making it so hard.

Harder than their cock even.

Her hands were back to tugging lightly at their hair, deep, guttural groans echoing in her room as her lips smiled teasingly from under him.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. FUCK, they weren’t going to last long if she kept this up.

“Z-Zoe…” They squeezed their eyes tight, trying to keep it together. Who knew they could come just from Zoe touching their hair like this? “Zoe, I’m-”

“Hmm?” They could hear the smile in her voice, and that’s when it clicked. She wanted them to “cream their pants” from hair touching alone. That was her plan from the get-go. Oh Jesus fucking Christ, and they almost allowed her to get away with it.

Their eyes snap open, and just like that, their arms quickly snake under her as they close the distance between them, swallowing the shocked gasp from her lips as they deeply kissed her. Barely catching their breath, they trailed their kisses down her jaw to her neck, relishing the small gasps she made, already feeling her hands moving from their hair to their back. They aimed to have their back covered in scratches by the time they were done with her.

“H-ha, you lose!” An admirable attempt of trying to mask her soft moans. Squevan just smirked against her skin before biting down on her shoulder. The yelp she made quickly turned into a moan as they grinded down. They pulled their face up enjoy the bright blush across her face, before brushing their lips against her cheek.

“Don’t care. You’re still going to be all mine until I decide we’re both thoroughly finished.”

“You cheater.”

“You were the one trying to make me come early. Who’s the real cheater?”

“…both of us?” They grinned and pressed a gentle kiss against her lips, enjoying the brief, tender moment between the two of them. As they pulled away from her, they couldn’t help but study the star-struck eyes she always seemed to look at them with.

(If only they could give her what she really deserved.)

Their hands snaked up to her bra clasp, expertly unclasping it and allowing her to help them take it off. Brushing their lips against her soft breasts (so, so damn soft, like fuck, everything about her was so soft, they loved it), they slowly made a mark kissing their way back up her neck, whispering into her ear.

“Now it’s time I made up for all that lost time, and for holding back the first time, Zoe dear.”

....Eyes Emoji. I approve.