#… haha. ha.

[slocumjoe]

Brief explanation on my interpretation of these guys

Cait; an animal, when cornered, begins to roar. It puffs itself up, feathers and fur raised, teeth bared. An animal with its claws out is an animal afraid. Cait does not want to hurt—but she doesn't want to be hurt. A victor is not a victim—a predator, not prey. She had it beaten into her, and beat it into herself so she'd never forget. The claws are always out, teeth always bared, eyes always flicking across the room. But once she starts recovery, she's free to be herself. Cait slows down. She sleeps in when she feels like it. She eats when she has an appetite. She takes the time to bathe, to brush her hair and teeth. Once the loudest, brightest burning fire in the room, she mellows into a match—the potential of explosion is there, but for now, she's only a little light. Her eyes are no less sharp, but Cait only wants to be left with her friends, and enjoy the peace and quiet she can steal away for them. Her ambitions are small and unimpressive, and she appears more like a cat lazing in a sunbeam than any pit dog.

Curie; well meaning, and sweet, but too smart for her own good and she knows and acts like it. She wants the best for you, but she thinks she knows what that is. Sometimes she does, but Curie often forgets that people are more complicated than the biology that comprises them. Curie is bubbly, and social, but struggles with the idea that her perception of things is just that—her perception. It could be a result of her coding, her nature as a preprogrammed robot with set realities, or it could be a sign of her humanity. It's the critical flaw every human has, after all. Her sense of justice is too strong for her body. Her grief is too strong for her body. She examines each sensation—anger is in her cheeks and chest. Joy is a lightness in her head. Sorrow is a bitter lump in her throat, and cold hands. She wants to help everyone and everything. She knows she can't. She will try, anyway, and no one needs to know if it hurts. There is no other fate for someone so kind.

Danse; He once called the thing in his chest Wrath. Righteous connotations, implied justification and the promise of vengeance. Whatever brought this Wrath will meet it. The Wrath was provoked, summoned, and therefore, the summoner is the hand of their own undoing. Danse doesn't think about how this frees him of accountability. What he does is not his fault. The blood is not on his hands. He's a tool of Wrath—not one man of thousands, free to choose for himself. Danse doesn't respect himself enough to believe in his own judgement. He finds himself a stumbling fool, soft in the heart, fragile outside of his armor. Gentleness comes naturally to him. Such a huge man, and his heart is still too big for his body. He is equal parts intelligent and kind, but a soldier has no need for his own mind, and kindness has no place in war. Danse doesn't trust himself. He doesn't trust that his choices, his ideas for the world, are right. He leaves himself in the hands of the Brotherhood. The responsibility is no longer his.

Deacon; You can't change a soul, and Deacon seethes at this. He is the same man he was all those years ago. It's only his body that he can change. Even then, only by so much. His eyes are recognizable. Silvery blue, tired, and paradoxically, as sharp as they are dull. He never looks like he's fully there with you. Always a few steps into some other reality. Deacon wants to be good. He wants to clear his name. It really is Deacon, but no one needs to know. He is the same man. He lies about what he's done, the things he's seen, but he'll never lie about what matters. So, he will always be Deacon, because the important parts never change. He knows and hates this. The synths are what drive him now—people looking to be themselves, to wear their own face. He gets it more than any other human. Sometimes he wishes he was a synth, just so he didn't have to be Deacon. But he's stuck with himself. He keeps himself company through all the faces he wears, and leaves them when he feels to close to a life he could make for himself. A lie left to settle could grow into a truth. He loathes himself but fundamentally, there is a good man in there. Only a good man can want to be better. But he feels that good man isn't good, that being good is what he has to reach for first. He is stuck in a loop of trying, when he doesn't have to try. Deacon is Deacon, and he doesn't know. He isn't unsalvageable. Just buried so deep under attempts he doesn't need to make. The only forgiveness that can save him is his own.

Gage; if Cait is a pit dog, Gage is a bull. This creature is no gentle thing, those horns are not merely regal. But in other life, he could have sat with his field and his herd. He could have watched the clouds roll on by with the wind, and kept watch on the outskirts of his pasture. A gentle thing, lumbering and quiet, but on guard. Always waiting to gore. Even as he circles his farm, he has kept it this long because there is nothing more dangerous than he. But as it stands, he has found what he thinks is a calling in violence. It doesn't come as naturally to him as the stray dogs he runs with. Meat has no place in his flat teeth. But he runs with them nonetheless and keeps pace. He leads the charge whether they admit it or not. Gage is strength and sharpened bone, but they were never meant to initiate. He is meant to stand his ground. He was meant to protect. But no one saw it coming, the bull with the predators, and surprise is a deathblow. It's easier to hunt than be hunted. You eat what you can get even if it fits wrong in your jaws.

Hancock; There is a flavor found in the guilt of the privileged that you can't find anywhere else. He was raised wealthy, well off. When he was younger, he watched others starve, die, suffer, and knew it was an aspect of life. It was nothing to mourn. It was inevitable. Between the exile and his revival of Goodneighbor, Hancock feels his biggest crime is not finding his shame sooner. He will say he has no shame, no embarrassment. Hancock lies awake at night thinking of every meal he's eaten when there was enough to spare for everyone else, but they went hungry. He thinks of people beaten in streets and how quickly he turned around. He thinks of how his own survival is selfish when so many good people die. Hancock is anger given flesh. It's not like Cait's; his is a wailing misery, stalking the ruins and knowing what Graveyard he steps in. Hancock feels too much sympathy for him to handle. He has to numb himself or he will lose it. He'll break under the shame of not knowing better sooner. Hancock finds blood on his hands that isn't there. Most of all, he hates how bad it makes him feel. Hancock thinks he has no right to the shame or the pain. There is worse. His disgust at his inactions is not enough. It's isn't enough that he tries to help now. He didn't help then. Hancock doesn't forgive easily.

MacCready; A quiet boy raising a quiet boy of his own. MacCready seeks peace in a way most people can't. He finds sunbeams filtering through windows, plants creeping through concrete, birdsong on the wind. MacCready is the everyday wastelander; too young to see the things he's seen. But he's different. Robert finds enjoyment in the world around him. He entertains himself, takes pride in his skills, and takes pleasure in good company in such a simple way, he feels almost out of time. In other world, he could have been the one crawling out from a Vault. MacCready is haunted like anyone. His ghost doesn't terrify him. Her memory is a comfort. It hurts and always will, but MacCready wanders on. He finds toys for their child and takes interest in them as if he's still a little boy himself. He feels as much, most days. MacCready is often distrusted, but often very beloved, because he is himself. There is no character, no mask, nothing warping the man you speak to. He is a kid trying to take care of his kid, but he'll take a moment to crack jokes at you and talk about something he read in a magazine. For someone so materially greedy, on a personal level, all he wants from anyone is pleasant conversation. It's refreshingly human in a time where even humans seem more like monsters.

Nick; A painful period of one man's life, etched into hardware and frozen forever. The man dies but his pain lives, trapped in the agony of grief and betrayal. If Hancock is anger in flesh, Nick is disgust in a jar. Disgust at the injustice, at the trickery of a mastermind, the wasted life of a fine woman. Disgust at himself, fading away into a bitter old man who failed his city and his love. Valentine was a very good man who took a very dark turn after Jenny. Nick is the moment before he fell off that precipice. If Nick knew who Valentine hardened into, he'd have yet another crisis, another thing to brood over. Nick is so loved by Diamond city because he is an inhuman thing, but so capable of love and tenderness. He is all give, and incapable of take. You can't give him anything in return, and you don't need to. He's a robot very good at comforting. A robot doesn't need comfort. Nick convinces himself of this, as well. But people try. Humans get attached to the inhuman. A child hugs his leg and says they're glad he made it back. A guard throws an arm over his shoulder when he can't save someone and tells him he still did good. People hand him patches of fabric for Ellie to sew into his trench coat. Nick is loved. To be loved is to be known. Nick doesn't even know himself.

Piper; The plight of the angry woman rarely leads to a happy ending. The angry woman has her reasons. She is right. However, there are techniques to achieve results. A battering ram doesn't fix a door, it merely opens the path. Piper sees problems, but her solutions forget the complicated world around her. She wants to fix things. Some things can't be fixed, or the problem isn't actually what she thinks it is, or maybe it's just not the right time. Piper sees a problem, and the simplicity of knowing it has to change is enough for her. She barrels at the betterment of the world and doesn't think about it. She is angry that things are wrong. Piper is a young woman scared out of her mind, for herself, her sister, her community. The people around her beg her to be careful, to slow down, to not burn herself in the attempt to set the evils around her on fire. Piper doesn't realize how reckless she is. She doesn't realize that her life has value beyond fixing everything. A reporters job is to report. It is not to be a savior. Piper speaks the truth, but when nothing changes, she thinks her job isn't done. Her job is to spread the word. Piper thinks it is up to her to act on it. Her work will never be enough for her.

Preston; A good man hanging on by a thread. So close to being a monster to the people preying on him and his kin. Preston holds civilians in one arm, and a gun in the next. He has lost much of his mercy, and much of his patience. But he still acts on it. He knows right from wrong even if the wrong seems like it's the only thing that can soothe the fire in his gut. Preston lets people talk about him as if he is a gentle soul, still. As if he's merely a gentle lamb. Preston feels more like a guard dog who can still smell the bloodied wool of all the herds he's failed before. He won't even grace the next pack of wolves with a warning howl. This rage terrifies him, but Preston feels that being scared is how you stay alive, now. If you're not scared, you're not paying attention, you haven't noticed the torches on the hill. He is so angry it makes him sick. Gunshots from Quincy still ring in his ears. He still hears Hollis hit the ground dead. Preston wants to be a good person. He is one. But there is so much fury inside him, that he fears any chance of revenge that he gets will rip that away from him. He just needs one chance, and he'll be a monster like the Commonwealth has never seen before. He'll just be on its side.

X6-88; A robot with human traits, different from other synths. All of them have humanity they hide away, but X6 is exactly what he seems like. There is no internal softness, no tenderness or wanting. He doesn't stare at the sun and ponder his existence. He doesn't count the stars and think about what makes up a soul. Oddly, his disinterest in his humanity is rather human in itself. X6 is not concerned with his rights or his status as a living thing. This frustrates many in the Institute. Synths were made to be adaptable. In many ways, X6 isn't. He's the most inflexible motherfucker they've ever met. There is one way to do things. There is always an answer for a question and if you haven't found it, the question is pointless or you're stupid. Humanity doesn't seem efficient so he doesn't want it. He fascinates many. Most synths will give a long, careful answer about their existence, worded just so they don't get wiped. X6, when asked if he is human, will say no and look vaguely irritated that you could compare him to one. This is not intended. No one programmed in this lack of curiosity. He is so robotic, so one note, that he sticks out like a sore thumb from the other synths. X6 wears his inorganicness like a badge of honor. He is not human. He is better. The Institute argues about him constantly, whether he is an accidental success they didn't know they should strive for, or a black mark against everything they believe.

[disemb0diment]

solar is dead. Jack is fatherless. 👋

[err404r]

the chicks are straight up "digging" me. and by "digging" let's jsut say,, a hole. six feet down

[bluberriemuffin]

ties

dazai x reader, 1.2k words

warnings: pm! dazai, illegal gambling, it’s suggestive for like. a second, bagel knows nothing about gambling, no capitalization, it’s actually super soft so the only real warning is bagel’s maiden voyage into posting bsd fanfiction, @seisitive is the only reason this exists so thank her. or blame her idk

synopsis: you are very frazzled with work and dazai finds this endlessly endearing. happy birthday dazai :)

a day that had you pacing the length of your office before noon was infrequent, considering your profession. infrequency, however, seemed to be a theme as you looked over the documents you’d laid out around your office. the room, containing your desk and the armchair it really shouldn’t fit, starts to spin slowly as you shed your sweater. the room seems smaller than before, and the armchair taunts you as a certain someone- the person who’d gifted you said chair- swings his feet from where he’s perched on your desk. why the hell did he bother, then, you muse.

you contemplate the scene before you as you throw the sweater onto the empty seat. the heat from your constant movement and the stress of the situation is dizzying as you heave a sigh and fix the sleeves of your button down, placing a hand over your face as you shake your head, trying to activate the thoughts like using an aerosol can.

the problem with the records you’d been having was consistent enough to no longer be a mistake, at least a sure marker of incompetence if not malintent. your colleagues couldn’t seem to care enough about the numbers that didn’t add up or the payouts for odds that shouldn’t have been set. for you however, this was another fire to put out.

“the odds were 37 to 1,” you huffed out. “and no one’s told me who’s set them that way.”

“mm,” dazai hums, merely letting you know he’s listening.

you pace back toward him, noticing his tie is crooked. veering off course, you put a hand on his shoulder before buttoning up the top button and readjusting his tie tight to his neck. his hands come up to rest against your hips as his face tilts up to catch yours. noses brushing, you stare at his sole eye, softened only for you, as you let go of his tie and walk out of his arms before turning on your heel to move back toward the desk.

you make it past the desk another time before returning to dazai’s side, hand curling around the tie once more and tugging it back from its loosened state. pausing to sigh, your eyes seem to see through dazai, instead focused somewhere else. dazai pulls on your sleeve. eyes snapping down, you kiss his pout away, practically reflexive as he smiles again.

“they don’t seem concerned at all,” you breathe, dejected. “i’m the only one.”

dazai is uninterested as he leans into your hand and face like a cat waiting to be pet. he makes another noncommittal sound.

tearing yourself away from him, a louder whine from dazai sounds as you walk around the desk to shift through the various papers. you see him move and in the corner of your eye and hear a rustle of fabric before he turns to you, eye focused on your face.

“y/n,” he tries, voice drawing out the sound to catch your attention. he’d been unhelpful so far, the way he knew you preferred. he had strict instruction from you to keep well out of your business unless it pertained to his work as well. “how much longer are you gonna be?”

your eye twitched. “i’ve only been at this an hour or so,” you looked up at him, hands reaching out to rebutton his shirt. “i’m looking at these until they make sense.” you say under your breath, finishing tying his tie from where it had laid undone on his shoulders.

you looked at your hands. hadn’t you just tied his tie? shaking your head once more, you walk back out into the small space between your desk and the door, taking notes of what transactions were logged with what dates in accordance to the accounts.

dazai laid out on your desk, pushing papers out of the way. he sighed, loudly, which you pointedly ignored. he sighed again, more of a huff as you bent and started sorting pages into subsections of employee and event.

“do you think i’m missing documents?” you asked, brows furrowed in genuine concern. dazai poked his head up to look at you, seemingly assessing the nature of your question; if you wanted a response. he sat up, kicking his legs once more before popping off the desk and kneeling next to you.

hand over your chin, you rearrange the piles. reaching out again, dazai intercepts your hands and brings it to his tie, where you absentmindedly tighten it, still looking at the values on the slips in front of you. he puts your hand on his cheek, holding it to his face as he kisses your palm. with this, you turn your head to him, finding him looking at you. he brings his hand down to his tie, tugging it down and-

“hey!” you startle. “have you- have you been doing that the whole time?”

he laughs, nuzzling into your hand more. “it took you forever to notice,” he says into your palm. “i was wondering if you were going to let me die from deprivation.”

“dramatic,” you complain, taking his collar in your free hand and pulling him into a kiss. he makes a happy noise against your lips and lets go of your hand to pull you closer to him by the waist. he guides you onto his lap, taking your hand and beginning to lead it down. you start to pull back until he veers it to the side, into a blazer pocket, where your hand closes around folded sheets of printer paper.

pulling back, you stare into his eye. he looks rather content for someone who’d just taken years off your life. you push his chest away, getting up and dusting yourself off, wiping your lips while you’re at it to hear his indignant whine. you mutter under your breath that you wished you couldn’t believe this. gathering all the documents and sitting at your desk, you start to piece everything together correctly.

he’s still sitting happily on the floor, waiting for you as you confirm everything was there.

“get out,” your voice is flat and pointed.

“i’ll meet you at the usual place for lunch?” he was gleeful as he got to his feet, taking his coat from underneath your sweater on the chair.

“no, get out,” you repeated, head turned though he could surely hear the smile in your voice.

“too cruel!” he mopes, opening the door. “i’ll see you later, my love.”

the room is quiet again. running your hand over the back of your neck, you come into contact with the silky fabric of his tie. you heave one last sigh, wrapping the tie around your hand. finally, you abandon the documents, picking up your sweater as you follow him, locking the door on your way out.

[souvenir116]

hello I failed my anatomy exam. how's everyone 😸

[mochiwrites]

oooo loving the new au !!! is there anything you wanted to share that you didn’t mention in the fic?

ehehe tysm!!! :D the vault is. very very excited >:3c

BUT ALSO OH MY GOD NONNIE THERE IS SO MUCH I WANT TO SHARE WAILS

I’m so normal about mmau!scarian okay. okay? they are so messy. they’re in love. they can’t let go of the other. AUGH!!!!! I’m crazy excited to write and post more because of everything we have planned. things are going to be Not Good for a while but I need you to trust me. I need you to look me in my eyeballs and believe me when I say trust me.

I’m super excited about everything the vault is doing and you bet I’m going to be so hype when more stuff gets posted <3

[velaversal]

huevember day 9

[wayward-sherlock]

ever grieve and mourn for something that hasn’t happened yet.

[lifetrader]

haha so limited life am i right boys. am i right. hahahaa. am i right. haha. haha. am i right. ha. am i right boys!!! haha.

[murmurmurl]

u have bpd right?? beautiful prince disorder??

I MEAN HAHA WHAT NO I DONT. WHAT MADE U THINK THAT-

[elijah-terry]

i love coming back to work on my fire emblem three houses fanfics after (checks calendar) one year holy fuck

[thebrandywine]

*tosses some angst over the wall*

Leon comes home after all the necessary tests and debriefs after Spain, ready to sleep for a month, and sees Krauser’s dogtags recovered from the helicopter crash on his mantle and the nausea comes back with a vengeance because now there’s nothing to distract him from the fact that Krauser found living with him so untenable that he thought faking his death was the only way out

*pterodactyl screeches away into the horizon*

WOW the fucking issues that would come from that! Woof! Bark!!!

[motto-chanto-itte]

im so normal im so normal about them

(NOT SHIP)

[sweet-tooth4you]

i rlly need this crush to go somewhere. its been months now, its either we're both too scared to say anything, or its all just one-sided

[fealtyfaggot]

Do you guys ever Ache? Sound of the summer tbh

[whenicarusflies]

too tired to exist rn call back later