#once my friend offered me a warhead. like the candy. and i was like oh no thanks :) and he was like are you sure? and i looked at him and | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

thran-duils · 3 years

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My Turn (PA P.2)

Title: My Turn (Performance Art, Part Two) Summary: Fem!Reader x Ransom Drysdale. The reader is married to Ransom; a picture of their life and flashback to when they met. If she had been here by her own choice and her own choice alone, things may be better for her. Ransom is devious though and is able to tangle her into his web. Words: 2,651 Warnings (for the fic in entirety): Dub-con, dub-con smut, body shaming, coercion, emotional abuse, loveless relationship Author’s Note: This was supposed to be a one shot but here we are.

Part One || Masterpost (mobile) || Fanfic masterpost

“You are always so much more relaxed when Ransom isn’t here,” Harlan remarked lightly, his fingers tapping on the table lightly.

You looked over your shoulder from the stove at him, caught off guard by the comment. He was sitting there, his gaze prodding. Marta was at the small kitchen table with him as well, looking as uncomfortable as you with the random comment.

When he noticed the startled look on your face, he gave you a gentle smile. “I’m not accusing you, Y/N. No need to be on edge. Just… making an observation.”

Unsure of what to say, you looked away trying to conjure up anything that would not be taken too seriously.

“He can be intense sometimes,” you offered up, stirring the soup in the pot.

Once a month at least, you made a point to visit Harlan on your own – well, now with Oliver. He was sleeping in one of the guest rooms upstairs that still held one of the cribs from when his grandchildren were young. Now, his great-grandson was using it. Fran had taken the baby monitor with her down to the laundry room. She insisted on coddling him as much as she could when you visited. You were cooking dinner as you usually did when you made these visits. You enjoyed Harlan’s company – your grandparents had never been a large part of your life, so it was nice to have one. You cherished his company and his humor. And you enjoyed Marta’s company as well. She was the closest thing you had to a real friend. All the women at the country club were not for you, even though you faked it perfectly whenever you were around them.

‘’Intense’,” Harlan rolled around in his mouth, contemplating on the word choice. “Hmm. Yes, I suppose that is an accurate way to describe it.”

The conversation dropped off from there, silence filling the space. You snuck a look at him and saw he was deep in thought, staring down at his hands.

What an odd thing to say, you thought to yourself.

But Harlan was one to notice something like that.

<><><>

As you walked back from the kitchen with a glass of water, you noticed Harlan was standing in his veranda, overlooking the back yard. Changing course, you walked out of the screen door, catching his attention.

“Anything interesting, birthday boy?” you asked.

“Besides the beautiful sunset?” Harlan asked, smiling and gesturing at the setting sun.

“It is a fine shade of orange,” you commented, coming to stand by him.

He nodded and asked, “How are you enjoying the party so far? And where are my congratulations? I think that’s in order.”

You laughed, “Of course. Congratulations for your 85th birthday. And it is… just beginning. So, so far so good. The cake looks lovely, I saw it in the kitchen. Lemon frosting. Should be tasty. It is one of my favorites.”

“I remembered that,” Harlan said. “You love lemon tarts too. And lemon bars. I am sensing a theme here. We are very much alike in our passion for lemon dessert.”

“Hmm, you’re really going to enjoy part of your gift,” you said, reaching into your pocket for the candies. “I brought these for you.”

He peered into your outstretched hand and let out a throat chortle. You dumped the lemon warheads into his hand, sharing the laugh. Examining them, he said, “I am sure that is what my face will look like when I eat them.”

“Should do it in front of everyone. It’ll look nice in the photos,” you joked.

“I just might,” Harlan said, smiling at you. He slipped them into his pocket and told you, “Thank you, Y/N.” He held out his arm. “Escort me inside?”

You looped arms with him, “Yes, of course.”

<><><>

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Ransom snapped, standing in front of Harlan’s desk. Harlan had called him into the study from the party and informed him he was considering changing his will, expressing his unhappiness with the family.

“Does it sound like I’m kidding?” Harlan asked nonchalantly, only a twitch in his face giving away he was annoyed that Ransom had swore at him. “It is what is best for everyone if they do not shape up.”

“So, you’re just going to give your fortune away if everyone doesn’t change to what you want them to be?” Ransom asked, laughing in disbelief.

Harlan shook his head, “No… no, I do not intend to do that. I will leave it to Marta.”

“You’re joking,” Ransom scoffed. “Your Brazilian nurse? Are you insane?”

“No, I’m thinking straight for the first time in a while. And not just Marta. But Oliver too,” Harlan informed him. Ransom straightened at that, his eyes narrowing. Harlan gave him a wry smile, “Now, don’t you go trying to get clever about it either, Ransom. Oliver won’t be able to touch it until he’s 25 years old.” Ransom scoffed again, looking furious. “And to that point as well, Y/N will be in charge of it until then.”

Ransom’s eyes bugged incredulously, and he blurted, “Y/N?” He seemed more offended about this than hearing about Marta.

He shook his head, biting his cheeks. He was supposed to control her, not the other way around.

Stepping towards the desk, he demanded, “Just because she bakes you dinner every once in a while? She gets to have millions of dollars for that?” His voice was rising. “You don’t know what you’re doing. You really have lost your goddamn mind!”

“You do not get to tell me what I am going to do with my will!” Harlan said louder than he intended to.

Leaning forward, Ransom pointed at him threateningly, “I’m warning you—”

“You should be grateful,” Harlan cut him off.

“’Grateful’?” Ransom demanded. “Grateful? What about this should I be grateful about?”

“That your son will be taken care of,” Harlan told him firmly. “I’m only telling you because I do hold a special place for you, Ransom, but you need to do better by her. And consequently, be a father, a real one. Prove to me you love the family you have and grow it with purpose. I don’t plan on sharing this with anyone… they can figure it out after I am gone if things don’t change. You have an opportunity here—"

Ransom barked out a laugh, throwing his hands up. ��I can’t with this. Look, when you’ve got your head screwed back on, I’ll be here to talk. Happy fucking birthday.”

Without another word, he turned on his heel, storming to the door. He threw it open, letting it hit the wall on his way out.

<><><>

Meg was cooing at Oliver, smiling as his eyes followed her. You adjusted him in your arms and asked, “Do you want to hold him?”

“Oh, su—”

“Get your shit,” Ransom ordered you, appearing out of nowhere, startling the two of you. “We’re leaving.”

He looked engulfed in fury and you knew better than to argue with him normally but like this was signing a death wish. But it was Harlan’s birthday, and you could not help yourself.

“But the cake and—”

“You don’t need cake, do you?” Ransom spat vehemently.

Heat quickly game to your cheeks and you closed your mouth, sinking into yourself at his insult. He always knew how to cut you the deepest. Meg though was another story.

“What the hell, you asshole—” she started to spit back at him.

“Shut the fuck up, Meg. Don’t you have some communist bullshit to go read about how you’re going to undermine the government?” Ransom snarled and snapped his fingers at you. “Y/N, what did I just tell you? Stop standing there looking stupid. Get Oliver’s shit and let’s go. I’ll be in the car, don’t make me wait.”

He turned on his heel, swiping his coat off the back of the chair by the door.

You swallowed sharply, trying to hold back tears as you made eye contact with Meg for a moment before averting your gaze, humiliated.

“What the fuck is up his ass?” Meg muttered, staring in anger at where he had disappeared.

You managed a shrug as you began walking towards the door where Oliver’s car seat was waiting. She told you she would get him buckled up if you wanted to go say goodbye to everyone. You shook your head, not trusting yourself to not look like a mess, nervous about how Ransom was going to be for the rest of the night.

The car ride home was unpleasant. He was silent but you could tell he was fuming. And he kept stealing angry glances your way and you could not for the life of you figure out what you had done.

When you did get home, he hit the scotch, making a stiff one as soon as he got through the door practically and you made yourself scarce. You planned to steer clear of him as much as you could knowing his bad mood was only going to be exacerbated by the alcohol.

The TV echoed from downstairs, he was not watching it quietly. You swore under your breath, as Oliver babbled softly. He had been sleeping so soundly in the car and had woken up to the loud noise downstairs. It took awhile to get him back to sleep and when he finally did, you laid him down gently and left the room as quiet as you possibly could, closing the door. You waited a few seconds and did not hear him cry out, much to your relief.

Going to the bedroom, you got ready for bed, hoping to fall asleep quickly because Oliver had a habit of waking up around 4:00am.

Just as you had turned off your bedside lamp, you heard a creak. Turning, you saw Ransom’s silhouette was in the doorway, illuminated from the hall light. The TV was still on downstairs and you hoped he was only up here to change and would leave again without unleashing any more beratement on you. You still could not figure out what you had done that had made him so upset with you. There was usually something. You wore the wrong type of dress, cooked something he was not in the mood for, came too quickly…

He stalked into the room coming to your side of the bed and the hope he was going to leave you alone was quickly fading. He reached out and turned on your lamp again, staring down at you. You could see he was drunk; you knew the signs in his eyes.

“Are you coming to bed?” you asked him calmly.

His smile was unkind. “Oh, yes. Dear wife. I am coming to bed.” Just as quickly as it had appeared, his smile fell and he ordered you, “Take that stupid thing off.” You stammered and he asked annoyed, “Am I going to have to rip it off of you?”

Quickly, you pulled the nightgown off, sitting naked on the edge of the bed as he undressed himself, kicking his clothes off to the side. He was already getting hard, to your surprise considering how much he must have imbibed by the smell of his breath. Before he even had to ask, you laid back, your fingers at your sex. You tried to relax as your fingers worked, trying to will yourself to start to get wet.

Ransom’s gripped your thighs and yanked you across the bed towards him. “No, on your hands and knees,” he growled, half tossing you over in a fluid motion.

You did the rest of it for him, shook by his aggressiveness. You mourned prematurely for your pussy, knowing you were going to be sore tomorrow; you just knew sitting was going to be uncomfortable.

Behind you, as your fingers sunk into your sex, you could hear Ransom digging around in your bedside table. You only stalled for a second in your rubbing when you heard the unmistakable sound of one of your vibrators. He slapped your hand away and it fell back to the bed for you to rest your head on as he brought the toy to your clit. You moaned, fingers curling up in the comforter.

The pressure was building, and you begged, “Ransom, please…”

He only responded with a hum of approval and then the vibrator was gone. You had a split second to pout before he slapped your swollen pussy. You jolted, wincing at the sharp sting. His cock slipped in, his hand pressing down on the small of your back. His thrusts were deep and steady, groaning at the tightness.

Ransom’s hand clamped down on your jaw, turning your face to look at him forcibly. You gasped in surprise when he spit in your face, burying himself hilt deep. His hand moved up, wiping the spit all over your face roughly.

“You’re gonna cum all over my dick,” he rasped, slowly rolling his hips. You groaned, full of him. “Aren’t you?” You nodded feverishly and he smiled in response. “Can’t fucking help yourself.”

Ransom pulled out, snapping, “On your back.” Your calves rested on his shoulders, his fingers digging into the front of your thighs as he resumed his thrusting, jolting you against the bed. You keened, his cock brushing your g spot so easily in this position.

“Look at you…” he husked. “A dirty little whore. Say it!”

“I’m your dirty little whore,” you gasped back to him.

His eyes practically rolled back into his head. “Yeah, that’s all you are,” Ransom groaned in pleasure. “A filthy little skank. Mine. Mine…”

Trailing off, Ransom bit at his bottom lip as his thrusts became quick and shallow. It was too much, pushing you over the edge, much to his pleasure. You saw stars and your legs quivered and you heard him encourage you, a new slew of degrading names falling from his lips.

Your legs were held up by his hand as he stared down at your pussy, his eyes still hooded with arousal. You could feel his seed inside you – he always finished inside.

“That won’t do,” he murmured. His fingers ran up, wiping the cum dripping out of you and he shoved his fingers back in. “There we go… don’t want to waste a drop. Let’s make sure his little. fucking. favorite,” he grated out every word, his fingers pushing in deep and you clenched around him, biting your bottom lip as your high wore off. He was not being gentle. “Gives us another little bun in the oven to fawn over.”

Why was he talking in third person? You did not dare ask.

“You’re going to act happy, Y/N. You’re going to be happy. You’re going to fucking smile. You’re going to fucking love me, adore me. And everyone’s going to believe it,” Ransom snarled at you, his breath ragged. “That fucking clear? No more of this kicked puppy routine you fucking do. Especially when it seems I’m not there. I won’t have it. Not anymore. We are going to have a perfect little family from now on.”

“I—”

“Don’t fucking argue with me,” he said dangerously. “I said, ‘is that clear’? Just nod your head. It’s not that hard, Y/N.” You nodded silently and he clipped, “Good. You better shape up quick. I’m going to fuck you every night until you’re giving me another son.” His fingers slowed, his thumb rubbing your abused clit and you hissed. He smiled at the reaction and he gave it a little pinch, drawing a pathetic whimper out of you. “Yeah, you’re going to do exactly as I tell you. Such a good girl.”

He gave you a rough kiss and husked, “Don’t mistake me being nice to you outside these walls as anything other than it being my turn to put on a show.”

~~~

Tags: @coconutqueen21

#ransom drysdale x reader #ransom drysdale fic #knives out fic #ransom drysdale smut #ransom drysdale #my shit

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andshedoesntevenknowityet · 5 years

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“do it all the time” [Tony Stark x Reader] [fluff]

((not my gif))

Tony Stark x black!female! Reader

Rated T

Warnings: Some language, drinking, and kissing---the works.

Just a songfic to soothe my soul after Endgame. Set before Age of Ultron where the Avengers host a party and you just so happened to be an invitee. Some Tony x Reader. If it bothers you, don't read.

------

Inspired by IDKHOWBUTTHEYFOUNDME’s “Do It All The Time”. Listen while ‘ya read.

------

We’re taking over the world / One kiss at a time

“If we keep this up, we are going to be late,” I tell him, as if he’d ever listen.

He stays nuzzled in the oh-so sensitive crook of my neck. Thirty-minutes later after I completed my look and we were expected at the party and my back’s still against the wall and I'm still attached to the lips of my overly-eager boyfriend.

“Yeah, well there is such a thing as being ‘fashionably late’,” Tony drawls, his grip on me unwavering.

“No, I think we’re just ‘late-late’, now,” I say, a giggle making a ripple in my words.

He sighs, taking a step back and then holding out both of his hands to pull me away from the wall. I immeadiately dash over to the suite’s master bathroom to make sure he didn't take all my make-up with him. I briefly touch up my highlights and then reapply another coat of my even more shimmery lip gloss. That he certainly took off. I waltz back into the bedroom to find Tony busy adjusting one of his cufflinks. It’d be an understatement to say he looked...impeccable. He was decked out in a slick, all-black suit. I can't help but admire the man and I was proud to be the one taking him home at the end of the night.

And then I'm taking your girl / And I'm making her mine

His eyebrow arches when he senses that I'm staring. Along with being handed things, that was also one of his pet peeves. Suffice it to say, I was his one exception.

“You don't look so bad yourself,” he teases, “Look at you---you're glowing,”

Indeed I was. I was adorned in a gold sequin mini dress, hailing from some European brand I couldn't pronounce even if I tried and some metallic, strappy heels that cost me at least one paycheck. My ‘gravity-defying’ hair as Tony so lovingly called my fro was extra-ethereal tonight. It was as if I had a halo.

“What do they think I am to you?” I ask out of nowhere, beaming down at the ground.

“What?”

I simply gaze up at him. He was too smart to not know what I meant. He chooses his words carefully.

“Think I've heard Barton utter the word ‘arm candy’. ‘Side piece’. And some other ones I won't repeat at this time,” he falters, “They’re good people, Y/N. I'm telling you. I don't know why they would even think that. Honest,”

Stopping the city from getting annihilated by aliens was emblematic of that enough. I needed no convincing of that. Instead of becoming enraged by the musings of his friends and leaving, I simply offer an arm.

“How about we prove them wrong?”

No reason why, I’m only doing anything I want to do / Because I do it all the time

...

“Stark, you and your lady of the evening have arrived!” Thor greets with a gusto unmatched to anyone else in the room.

It was a decent turn-out. The usually vacant tower was filled with friends and associates alike. There was the ambient chatter that livened the emptiness and for once, everyone felt like they were able to decompress---able to breathe.

The core group was gathered at the bar; being the God of Thunder himself, Steve, Nat, Bruce and Clint, who all look amazing.

“Stark,” Steve greets with a cordial nod, “You're decently late,”

“I thought we had agreed on ‘fashionably’. Didn't we, Y/N?” he clarifies, with firm hand on my hip, “Yeah, ‘fashionably’,”

“Aren't you gonna introduce us?” Natasha beckons, martini-in-hand.

“Ah. People-who-sometimes-partake-in-avenging, Y/N. Y/N, The Avengers,”

I give a shy wave. They all reply indivually and earnestly.

“Do you drink, Y/N?” Bruce inquires, “Because I-I can buy you something if you’d li--”

“First of all, salsa verde, she’s mine so back off and secondly, you can't buy her anything because this is an in-house bar,” Tony retorts, “You act like you've never lived in a penthouse before!”

“Because I’ve never lived in a penthouse before!” Bruce cries out.

Now we’re so young / But we’re probably gonna die

“Do you drink?” Nat asks me, eyes beaming.

I nod, ignoring the boys’ kerfuffle. In one swift move, she swoops her arm behind the bar counter, pulling out a bottle of vodka. I should ask to learn some of her super-spy badassery.

“Oh boy,” Steve smirks to himself as she lays out the shot glasses.

“Who here has stopped a fascist organization from overtaking the country in a single afternoon?”

“Can S.H.I.E.L.D count as that organization?” Tony interjects.

“Ha. Ha,” Nat groans, pouring her and Steve shots.

It’s so fun / We’re so good at selling lies

“Okay, okay. Who here has a suit made of iron and sent a nuclear warhead through a portal to space?” Tony asks, “Just me? Shame,”

Nat begrudgingly pours him his when I seize the moment.

We look so good / And we never even try

“Who here will get this someone with a suit made of armor who sent a nuclear warehead through a through a portal to space all to herself tonight?” I grin, letting the question hang in the air, “Just me? Shame,”

Get your money from a trust fund

I throw my drink back with a victorious whip. Scattered laughter emerges from the group. Even Thor, who isn't the most well-versed in Terran quips, gets a chuckle out of it. As Steve pats me on the back, officially welcoming me to the team, I see Clint murmur something in Tony’s ear to which he smiles. Although I've never had the most advanced hearing, I do like to think I can sort of read lips. And the ones that I believe escaped the rusty archer’s lips were; “I like her”.

Do it all the time.

xxx

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chocolateheal · 5 years

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“Be mine.”

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“Call me.”

“Ur friend.”

Oh, the absurd sayings and ambiguous accuracy of everyone’s admired Valentine candy, Sweethearts.

They’re not that good, honestly, but they’re still my favorite. Especially aback they’ve been sitting out, dry and dried with a appalling crunch. Like accomplished wine, cheese, and peppernuts, these delicate heart-shaped clumps of accustomed amoroso alone get bigger with age.

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As a child, I was an able at dabbling delight indefinitely. I capital to save and acidity appropriate things, so a Christmas bonbon or altogether amusement would anxiously be buried for alternate nibbling or a amusement on a backing day.

The archetypal timeline would aftereffect in me assuredly chief it was time to adore said abstruse stash, alone to appointment treats accomplished their prime. The gum in the average of Blow-Pops was alike harder than usual, the Warheads were adhesive and awkward, the amber had bloomed. Sweethearts are one of the few that account from some advised staling.

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Right, aback to the affair at hand. Appropriate treats. Valentine’s Day! Chocolate. Regardless of your claimed assessment of this holiday, there’s consistently amber to consider.

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In adverse to red clover cake’s canteen of aliment coloring, this block employs the appropriately alarming staining ability of adapted beets. Unfortunately, the root’s beach hues get bleared by copious amounts of aphotic chocolate, consistent in aloof a actual amber cake.

Did I aloof say abominably in commendations to chocolate? Shame on me.

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But above aloof authoritative your affection blessed with the flavor, the capacity are acceptable for your heart, too. I accept to accept analysis that labels aphotic amber antioxidant-rich and mood-elevating, so it would calculation as advantageous appropriate there. For absolute though, the abrade is all whole-grain with a host of benefits, the yogurt provides benign bacilli for gut health, and the nitrates in beets accept been accurate to lower claret burden and access able-bodied performance.

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Amanda Miller writes a cavalcade about bounded foods for The Hutchinson News. She teaches classes at Apron Strings and makes cheese on her family’s dairy acreage abreast Pleasantview. Reach her at [email protected]

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thelordfool · 6 years

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When The Sun Rises - Chapter Six

Determination

“Aber- Courier,” The doctor corrected himself, “do you intend to take up Mr. House on his request?”

“Absolutely! ...Not. You are allowed to call me Aberdeen, you know. I won't get mad.”

“I just wasn't sure, is all.” Arcade reached up to wipe the sleep from his eyes, remembering on contact with his helmet that he wasn't able to. The courier had fashioned them both a way to hang their helmets from their necks, freeing their hands in case of attack, but Arcade was on the paler side and feared sunburn more than he probably should.

“After last night? Pff,” Aberdeen waved a dismissive hand. “Man, you could call yourself my best friend after all that money you won us. How'd you do it? Even my luck isn't that good.” The doctor merely shrugged.

“Couldn't tell you. First time in a while I really cut loose, too. I ought to thank you for that.”

“Nah, don't think of it. You deserved it. We both did.”

“I don't mean to pry, but... I assume your mission went the way you intended it to.”

The courier stopped in his tracks. They had set out of the Strip early that morning, headed south. Before they even could get off the premises of The Tops, someone stopped them – a spy of the Legion. He granted the courier the mark of Caesar, as the leader of the most feared group in the Mojave and outlying regions (save for the former Enclave) wished to speak to Courier Six himself. Aberdeen had intended to go south, anyway, but not out to Cottonwood Cove. He had Primm set in mind, which was very much west of the eastern dock town. Arcade argued with him about it, but Aberdeen shot him down – he had business elsewhere in the region, regardless. Plus, it was just a bit south of Novac. He could get a rest in his own bed, for once. Afterwards, they stopped in at the Silver Rush to pick up some extra microfusion cells and to get Aberdeen's - “What was it called again?” “A LAER. Laser-assisted electrical rifle. Picked it up out in the Big Empty. This one's modified, though.” “What is a Big Empty?” “Sigh.” repaired. It was his main weapon of choice, but it had seen better days. Arcade was basically a kid in a candy shop in that place, giddy as can be. Boy had a thing for energy weapons, it seemed, and the courier took note of that.

“Aberdeen?”

“Sorry. Got lost in thought there. Guess you could say it did,” he picked up the pace again. “We got a long walk ahead of us. Do you mind if we stop in a few places that've caught my eye?”

“I don't see why not.”

“Good. Also, do you mind if I turn on the radio? I hate long periods of silence. Drives me nuts.”

“Again, go right ahead.”

It was mid afternoon by the time they reached the REPCONN headquarters. Aberdeen was stiff from a previous fight with some Fiends earlier, and now there were loads of robots lying in wait ahead of them.

“I know this place, some of the history behind it,” commented Arcade. He prattled on a bit about it as they approached. “What are we here for?”

“Well, I had a... friend, yeah, a friend, who needed some repairs done on an old eyebot.”

“What, like the ones the Enclave used?”

“One and the same. I got the repairs done, but... Something happened to the eyebot, and I'm just wondering if I can find anything I need to get it back in operable shape.” Aberdeen was leaving something out on purpose. The men both had their secrets, and that was fine, but Arcade's suspicion was heightened by this. Did he, too, have connections to the Enclave? No. No way, impossible. Something was... off about this.

“We might be able to take a rest here, too. Granted nothing inside decides to shoot at us. C'mon.”

The men entered the facility. A Mr. Handy greeted them, offering them a tour. The corpses of a few Fiends lay in the main lobby area. Guess they declined a the tour in a less-than-friendly fashion. Aberdeen looked over to Arcade. “You wanna give this old rust bucket some purpose?”

“Oh, I'd love to!” His enthusiasm was boundless. The old bot led them through a set of double doors into a room filled display cases and old, err, safety barrels. Nothing interesting, as all the barrels were empty and even the vials of 'plasma' were just colored, slightly irradiated, water. The next room had models of rockets, again, nothing actually interesting to the courier, though Arcade was filled with glee and reading every plaque.

“This is so interesting – much of it is a bunch of pre-war bureaucratic malarkey – but the technology that's since progressed from this point... astounding, how even in the aftermath of a nuclear apocalypse, mankind continues to push forward.”

Though Aberdeen wanted to say something wise in response, he merely gave a light punch to the doctor's shoulder. “Nerd.”

“The geek shall inherit the Earth!” It was said with a smile, even if Arcade's face could not be seen.

“'Blessed are the meek; for they shall inherit the Earth.' Matthew, 5:5.”

“When's the last time you read the Bible?”

“A little too recently.” An odd moment it was, when he came across that Bible cached deep within a desk that had been laying underground for years. He strained to read it in the blood-red light trickling through a crack, an ironic prayer that it would put his mind at ease and he could sleep within that buried building and nothing would come to eat him during his restless dreams.

There was an uncomfortable pause. “It was a nice joke, though,” the courier chuckled. “Guess I just have a bad sense of humor when I'm focused.”

Already the Mr. Handy had progressed to the third room of the tour, and through the doors the courier could see what he wanted: a standard, albeit ancient, eyebot. His heart sank upon approaching it, however. Much like everything else on the tour, it was but a hollow replica of the real thing.

“ED-E might never be repaired,” he murmured to himself. Even if he could, he thought, would it be the same ED-E after he exploded like that? “Fuck!”

“Pardon me, sir,” the Mr. Handy said, “I'll have to ask you to refrain from using such language in the presence of the other rocketeers. Onwards, to the observatory!”

“Aberdeen, it doesn't take a genius to see that something's wrong, here.”

“It's nothing,” he muttered bitterly. “Literally. There's nothing here I can use. It's just a plastic piece of junk.”

“Do you think it'd be worth checking out the rest of the building? You know, in case they have a real one stashed away somewhere?” The courier shook his head, no. “Maybe there's something else in here, then, maybe you can find parts off another robot-”

“Arcade,” the man said softly. “I appreciate what you're trying to do. But unless there's a RobCo around these parts, I don't think I'll have any luck.”

“It'd make sense for there to be one, considering the owner of RobCo. I mean, he even bought REPCONN out. Doesn't make much sense to me.”

“Wait, who's the owner of RobCo?”

Arcade turned to stare at his companion. “I was literally talking about it less than fifteen minutes ago. Were you not listening?”

“...No.” The punch Aberdeen had given the doctor earlier was returned.

“Asshole.”

“Takes one to know one.”

“Don't deflect. Your poor listening skills are a sign of misdirected focus. If you hyper-focus on one thing, then you'll miss out on all the rest. Also, it makes you look like a jerk. Listen to your friends when they talk to you.”

“Okay, okay, I'm sorry, I'll do better to do that from now on.”

“You better.”

Plans changed after that to make headway for the 188 trading post. It was considerably safer than an abandoned building, filled with robots who could mistake the pair for intruders. On the way, Aberdeen listened to how the founder of RobCo was a Robert House, who may very well be the same Mr. House that runs New Vegas now. Or some decedent of the original. Something like that. RobCo had bought out REPCONN to get into the aerospace business, because, why not?

Dusk was starting to settle on the horizon. One thing Arcade noticed was that his companion was the type to stop and smell the roses – if roses grew out here, that was. Figure of speech aside, when there was something worth looking at, Courier Six would pause to stare, removing his helmet to take it in. And the sunsets around here were always worth looking at. It blasted the skies in hues of pink and orange, a deep, dark blue creeping in like capillary action. The clouds were never the same, or often just not there, and on the horizon, buildings melted into mountains.

The duo briefly wondered, without speaking, if that was what it looked like on impact of an atomic bomb. People were just dying to see it! The courier chastised himself for such dark humor.

“Aberdeen?”

“Hm?”

“How's your eyesight, with that injury?”

He reached up and gently traced over his left eye. He could barely open it, but by the grace of God, it hadn't been actually harmed. The deathclaw that had ruined his once devilishly handsome face had only gotten to swipe across the bridge of his nose, skipping just barely over the eye itself, and up over his brow. Most his eyelid and socket were scarred, making it difficult to lift the lid.

“Not great. My depth perception is off.”

“Not that anyone could tell with the way you were shooting earlier.” He glanced over to see his companion smirking.

“My peripherals, too. Can't tell you how many times afterwards ED-E would sneak up on me.” He had said it casually, without thinking, as if Arcade would know who he was talking about.

“Eddie?”It was pronounced with less of a pause between syllables, the way Six had done it. “Was... that a friend of yours?”

So he didn't hear him in REPCONN.

“...” He was angry. He had slipped. He hated what had happened out in the Divide. He hated thinking about how he ruined so many lives, and then another fell before him to stop it from happening again. It scrambled his brain. The wind-whipped, isolated land, pocketed with craters from detonated warheads. Tunnels seeking to drag him into a poisonous den. Ulysses, taunting him. He was a fool to follow the signs. You can go home, Courier Six! But he wouldn't. Not until he reached the end. And, in the end, the only thing keeping him going was gone, all because he was too cowardly to seek the missiles on the Legion.

“A lover, then,” Gannon concluded with a smug tone. “Didn't take you to be the romantic type.”

“He was not a lover!” The courier stopped and pivoted in his tracks, reaching out to the doctor. “You don't speak of ED-E from here on, cogitesne?!” His fist had closed around the edges of the duster. Despite Arcade's near half foot of height on the courier, he was dwarfened.

The rage radiating off the courier was palpable. Arcade had felt this fear only a few times before. And then, after a rather pregnant pause, his face sofened, but not to one of a joke, or joy, but to that of abject horror.

“Oh... oh, God,” he dropped his companion, stumbling a few steps backwards. “Arcade, God, I'm so sorry, I... I shouldn't have...”

“I overstepped.” The blonde haired man finally spoke, having caught a breath. “I made light of something that was obviously a serious situation. I deserved it.”

“You did not,” the other croaked. Was he... crying? No, but looked like he was about to. “Fuck.”

This time, there was no Mr. Handy to ask him to mind his manners. Arcade didn't mind. This was the first of many lessons the courier would teach him.

“Let's just... get going, alright? You can talk about it when you're ready.” He reached a tentative hand out to touch the shoulder of Aberdeen, but retracted it. “If you're ready,” he corrected himself.

Aberdeen grasped Gannon's hand, surprising the doctor. It was a handshake-type hold, a promise. They nodded to one another, and trekked down the road to the 188.

That night, Aberdeen would not sleep, only lay flat on his back, staring at an endless abyss of stars. Arcade would remember the feel of Aberdeen's hand, the blisters on exposed fingertips, the carefully filed nails, the welcoming and sorry seeping into him, opposite of when it held him at the throat. He would, unlike the other, eventually fall asleep, a light snore rising from his chest.

This is part six of ? of a slow burn Courier Six (Aberdeen)/Arcade Gannon fic. If you like my work, consider buying me a coffee or donating to my PayPal. I’m working on remaking my commissions post, but I do artwork, as well. I... also need a new tablet, so any tips will be going towards getting one!

If you’d like, drop me a kudos on Ao3 or start from the beginning here on tumblr. This fic is un-beta’d and updated frequently. Shoutout to vertiberd on Ao3, whose works I hungrily consumed, as they were fantastic. Also, big shoutout to the Wiki community for giving me ample material to work off of aside from my own memory.

#art blog #asriel writes fanfiction #fnv #fallout new vegas #fanfiction #fanfic #slow burn #slow burn fic #arcade gannon #courier six #this took me so damn long to write ugh

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