This started as a Beetlejuice blog but we lost the plot somewhere along the way. Gay disaster. Current obsession: Fallout CEO of Jewish Viktor; Levihan; banner of my Levihan kids by Sammachuart
Hey all here you can find all my delicious Viktor x reader fics in one spot finally as well as my headcanon posts for Jewish Viktor, etc, and my Fallout fics
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First, this is my ao3: my x reader stuff is not posted here but for my Jinx and Viktor mutuals you can find all of those AUs there as well as my Mileven long form fics and Danganronpa fics and Bob's Burgers works as always don't like don't read applies here let's be mature adults about this thank you <3
Fallout Fics:
Cigarettes and (a denial) of Feelings, a Courier x Mr. House fic: The Courier is struggling to settle into her new life at the Lucky 38 after her adventures in the Mojave when Mr. House sends her to investigate a newcomer to the Strip. Will befriending this stranger help her come to terms to her feelings for her employer? Read part one here
💬 0 🔁 0 ❤️ 5 · Cigarettes and (Denial of) Feelings: A Courier x House Fic Part 1
Summary: The Courier is struggling to settle into her ne
Summary: “Grief is a funny thing. You never get over a person, not really. Your life just sort of….moves around the memory of them."
or,,,Veronica and the Courier have a brief moment of respite in the desert.
Read it here:
💬 0 🔁 3 ❤️ 9 · under these stars: A Fallout New Vegas fic · Summary: “Grief is a funny thing. You never get over a person, not really. You
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you're the way to my heart: A Courier/Boone fic (part 1)
Summary:
“I can’t stay away from you, Courier,” Boone murmured in her ear.
“I don’t want you to,” she replied. “I know you told me I should keep my distance, but–honestly, fuck that.”
“You still should. But I can’t stop you.”
Rating: Mature
💬 0 🔁 3 ❤️ 9 · you're the way to my heart: part 1 (A Courier/Boone fic) · Summary:
“I can’t stay away from you, Courier,” Boone murmured
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now i can't quit the taste of your mouth: A Hancock/Sole Survivor fic
Summary:
“You always know what I need before I say a damn thing,” she said, cigarette in one hand as she took another swallow of whiskey.
‘S what friends are for, sunshine,” he replied.
She leaned in, so close that their foreheads were practically touching; Hancock could smell the booze on her breath. “Is that what we are?” A tricky smile. “Friends?”
Rating: Explicit
Chapter 1:
💬 2 🔁 2 ❤️ 19 · now i can't quit the taste of your mouth: A Hancock x Sole Survivor Fanfic (Chapter 1) ·
Summary:
“You always know what
Chapter 2:
💬 2 🔁 0 ❤️ 14 · now i can't quit the taste of your mouth: A Hancock/Sole Survivor Fic (Chapter 2) · Summary:
“You always know what I need
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Viktor x reader fics:
Coffee and Cigarettes, a Viktor x Fem!Reader Fic: You never expected to end up in a rehab like this, a disgraced Academy student with more than a few secrets. You also never expected to meet such a cute but troubled fellow student here, either.
Chapter One:
💬 5 🔁 4 ❤️ 68 · Coffee and Cigarettes: A Viktor x f!Reader Rehab AU ·
TWs: mentions of drug use (future, not this chapter) mentions of a
After Hours, A Viktor x Fem!Reader fic: Standing on the freezing streets of Piltover, you're having a hell of a shift bringing in customers for drinks. You see a pair of Academy students headed your way--one is eager enough but the other is much more of a challenge and you like a challenge. (Incomplete) For @astudyincontrasts
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Skin of My Teeth, Viktor x Fem!Reader: Viktor finds his lab assistant unwell and is doing his damndest to take care of her. Unbeknowndest to him, his tough as nails mechanically minded assistant has been harboring a crush on him for quite some time and this is no ordinary flu. TW/CW for implied drug use and addiction (In progress; in complete)
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
For A Sweet New Year: Viktor x Fem!Reader (Oneshot, NSFW)
You attempt to bake bread in a way that's traditional for Viktor's people as a surprise when you're invited to meet his family for the first time. It doesn't go as planned, and when Viktor arrives to pick you up he finds a mess and the two of you get distracted. The horny Rosh Hashanna fic no one asked for. Fic
Salty Sweet: Viktor x Fem!Reader (Oneshot, SFW)
You are set up on a blind date by Jayce's sister, no matter how many times you tell her you have no time in your busy academic life for dating. Both Talis' are determined to prove you and Viktor wrong, and you hate that they just may be right. Read it here.
Winterblessed: Viktor xFem!Reader (Oneshot, SFW)
Written for @therealtendercrisps Secret Santa exchange for @shimmerforall prompt was Viktor and reader dancing awkwardly in the snow
Read it here
Kindling the Light: Viktor x Fem! Reader (Oneshot SFW)
A gift fic for my beloved @astudyincontrasts prompt was Viktor and his S/O enjoying a cozy Chanukah celebration at home together. Read it here
Headcanon Posts and Misc Viktor Meta:
Moodboard for gyaru!reader in After Hours
Ask box prompt for a match making Jinx and Viktor fic that turned into my Chem Baron AU
Art of Jinx and Viktor in Vik's lab from the Burlesque AU
Jayce x reader 1920s headcanons for a friend's b-day as well as more Jewish Viktor headcanons in this post
I know this is really niche, so some people might not get it lol. If you go into Cliffs (the owner of the Dinky the Dinosaur gift shop) motel room, you’ll find a whole bunch of Dinky Dino toys everywhere. Some are even posed in roller skates I think. Anyway I saw this scene in Arrested Development and thought it fit perfectly.
every day i am thankful to ancient humans for the domestication of the cat. fucking genius idea. agriculture was a good one too btw but you really outdid yourselves with the cat thing
older! f / o who just croons at you, warm hands cupping your face as they hold you close onto their body. “I know, doll,” they murmur through your tears, despite the split knuckles that drip drip drip onto the floor. ooogbhhh older! loving but protective f / o….
@/insomniiyac over on twt drew my Courier Six for me! Yua means the world to me and I was so pleased with how this turned out! I write so much fic about her that it was so cool to see her brought to life 🥺
Inspired by The Stupendiums "THE HOUSE ALWAYS WINS | 2023 REMASTER | Fallout: New Vegas Rap!"
https://youtu.be/sr3W3XVXVB0?si=Fu3Z1cW0MIoMlYWk
This song is what introduced me to Mr. House. I’d been wanting to play the game for ages, and this year I finally got around to playing New Vegas. It turned out that Mr. House was an even more amazing character than I’d imagined, and I realized that the lyrics of this song paint a remarkably sharp portrait of him!
you're the way to my heart (part 2): A Courier/Boone fic
Summary:
“I can’t stay away from you, Courier,” Boone murmured in her ear.
“I don’t want you to,” she replied. “I know you told me I should keep my distance, but–honestly, fuck that.”
“You still should. But I can’t stop you.”
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Rating: Mature
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A/N: thanks so much for all the love on the first part of this! I hope you enjoy the second!
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So many different ways to self destruct, and she took a little sample here, a little sample there. Going as long as she possibly could without food, until the hunger pangs receded into the background, living off of fumes and audacity, her world receding into pinpricks of light and darkness, dizzy with it. Getting into fights with Freeside thugs and not even bothering with weapons, knuckles bruised and bloody, returning to the Lucky 38 with gashes and bruises, dirt smeared on her face. Sleeping in doorways, stinking of whiskey and vodka, refusing offers of company. She knew she was sinking into her lowest form, her objectives forgotten, wanting nothing more than to disappear. She had wanted to help, but everything was pulling her in a thousand different directions, and she had nowhere else to go but sink to the bottom.
Sitting on a dirty mattress in an abandoned building in Freeside, surrounded by broken glass and still maybe not definitely drunk, she fiddled with her Pip-Boy, her to-do list a thousand yards long. Squeezing her eyes shut, she leaned back, and gave in to the hopelessness of it all. Meet with Caesar. Figure out what, exactly, was going on with the Omertàs. Meet with the others of the Three Families. Negotiate with the Great Khans out in Red Rock Canyon. Somehow coax the Boomers out of hiding. Kill House. Maybe she should just kill herself.
“There she is.” Boone’s voice.
The Courier opened her eyes and sat up. Arcade and Boone stood in the cramped space, towering over her.
“Wow,” she remarked. “Did you two stop sniping at each other long enough to go looking for me? I’m flattered.”
The pair notoriously bickered like an old married couple, from everything to whose turn it was to do the dishes to the bigger picture stuff, like politics.
“Amazing what you can accomplish when you have a shared objective and are, you know, seriously concerned for someone’s well being,” Arcade replied.
She drew her knees up to her chest, the shame making it difficult to breathe. Her antics had left her friends worried, had them searching all over for her while she engaged in all kinds of bullshit that did little to satisfy the aching gnaw in the center of her chest. Would anything make that feeling go away? It felt like pushing aside a boulder, but she stood up, shoving the feeling down.
“Fine. Lead the way.”
Arcade raised his brows, giving Boone a knowing glance. Clearly he had expected more or a fight from her, given her temper, but there was a part of her that was tired of fighting. That wanted to just collapse in a heap for a little while.
The walk back to the Lucky 38 was a silent one, and the Courier stared down at her boots, covered in muck and grime. She found herself wondering what the hell she did to deserve her friends, and in what world they would continue to stick around as she made a mess of things,everything jagged around the edges.
“Six!” Veronica leapt up from her spot on the couch and rushed up to the Courier, then turned to Boone. “Where did you find her?”
“Freeside,” Boone replied.
“If you’re gonna wander for days again, bring one of us, ‘kay?” Her brown eyes were filled with warmth, with concern, and the Courier felt like sinking into the carpet and never emerging again. The only thing she could do was nod.
“Here. Eat.” Arcade pushed a plate of food under her nose. Fried Cram on small rolls of white rice. One of her favorite things to eat, and yet the smell turned her stomach, pinpricks of anxiety shooting up her spine and making her hands sweat.
“I’m not hungry,” she said.
“Bullshit.” He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “You can’t survive on a handful of iguana bits every three days.”
Shit. So he had noticed her habits. She picked up the Cram-and-rice roll, hands trembling, her stomach doing backflips, as though the simple food had fangs and was going to bite her back. Small bites, each one more agonizing than the last. Why was this so hard? She wanted to throw the plate and bolt for the door, never to be seen again. Chew. Swallow. Repeat. Her mouth was impossibly dry, and she reached for a Sunset Sasparilla to make everything more bearable, but the sweet liquid did little to help. Finishing the dreaded thing and pushing aside the plate, letting out the breath she hadn’t realized she had been holding. Heart beating wildly, with all the panic of a wild animal caught in a trap.
Finally, Arcade breaks the silence.
“So, are you going to enlighten us as to what, exactly, happened?”
The Courier peeled back the label on the Sunset Sasparilla bottle. “I…don’t know.”
His blue eyes narrow in on her. “What do you mean, you don’t know?”
“I mean I don’t know!”
The Courier thought of all the times on her travels she had run headlong into danger, had acted before thinking, had done exactly what she had needed to do. Spearheaded hostage negotiations. Charmed people into giving her what she needed to help others. Taken out feral ghouls and radscorpions, fiends and thugs. Now, despite her twenty-two years, she felt like an inexperienced kid.
”It’s just…a fucking lot, sometimes, ok?” Her hand automatically went to the scar on the side of her head, and she rubbed the puckered skin. “I…don’t know if I’m doing the right thing, if I’m fucking it all up and I just…needed to think.”
She felt the warmth of another, fingers brushing against her free hand, and looked down. Boone, his strong, callused fingers tracing hers. Offering the reassurance he didn’t say, wouldn’t say. The way he was always there for her, in all the ways she didn’t know she needed. She looked up at him, and gave him a small smile. Quickly, his touch was withdrawn before anyone else noticed; their secret.
“That’s what you call ‘needing to think’? Getting fucked up and disappearing for days at a time?” Arcade crossed his arms over his chest.
“Lay off her, Arcade,” Veronica said. “Come on, Six. I bet you’ll feel better after a bath.”
The Courier nodded, and got up off the couch, following her friend. And Veronica was right. She did feel better after a bath, scrubbing away the blood and filth of Freeside, slipping into a set of clean clothes. She padded down the hallway, peering into the suite rooms until she came across one of the bedrooms where she spotted a familiar red beret.
Boone sat on the bed, organizing his ammo in his pack. Upon seeing the Courier, he put everything back into the bag.
“Hey.”
She leaned in the doorway, not sure if she should cross the threshold. “Hey.”
“You can come in, if you want.”
She crossed the room and sat next to him. “I’m sorry. For all my bullshit. I’m sorry you and Arcade had to go hunt me down.”
Boone shrugged his shoulders. “You don’t have to apologize to me.”
“I think I kinda do.”
“I get it. The wanting to forget. Wanting to run away from yourself.”
The Courier nodded, picking at a loose thread at the bottom of her shirt. “It doesn’t get easier, does it?”
“Nope, not really.”
She sighed. “So what now?”
“Hell if I know. I think we do a pretty good job picking off those Legion bastards.”
“We do.” She nodded. “Cleaned them the fuck out of Nelson.”
“You did the right thing, then. By letting those hostages go.” He paused. “It seemed like you needed the reminder, that you do good for people.”
Something within her melted, and she hoped it wasn’t showing on her face. “Thanks, Boone. Been kinda…kicked while I’m down lately, even if it is a hell of my own making.”
“Hell is hell, doesn’t matter who is making it.”
She couldn’t argue with that. Frankly, she didn’t want to argue at all–or talk, or think. She moved closer to Boone, until she was practically straddling him, her lips nearly ghosting his. She felt him stiffen, spine straightening, his hands finding a place on her waist.
“Courier…what are you doing?”
She wished she had a sexy answer, something flirty, like when she had seduced Benny. Unfortunately, her mind was completely blank, and a clawing panic settled in her chest. How could she be so capable and sure of herself in some situations, and then fall flat on her face when it mattered most?
“I…don’t know,” she admitted. It was the most honest she could be; she didn’t know if a quick fuck would make anything better or simply make things worse, like kicking a can down the road. Boone did deserve better than just being used to escape, and she still was a mass of contradictions over whatever the fuck they even were. What any of this meant. How to carry herself through this.
With calculated gentleness, Boone removed his hands from her waist, and shifted her out of his space.
“I don’t know isn’t an answer,” he said. “We can pick this back up when you do know what you want.”
With that, he got up, taking his pack with him, and the Courier sank back onto the bed. As it turned out, something could break through her agonizing numbness, and for the first time since Benny put those bullets in her head, she cried.
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The Courier had seen plenty of fucked up shit as she wandered the Mojave. But what she was looking at right now definitely cracked the top five, easily. She stepped into the threshold of the hotel room, and the tang of blood assaulted her senses, followed by the buzzing of flies. The ordinary suite had been transformed into a torture chamber, that sickly-sweet stench of rot sinking into everything. In the center, a table, with the corpse of a young woman posed grotesquely, a camera by her side.
“So the sick fuck was filming them,” Boone muttered, following behind her, and all the Courier could do was nod. Despite what had happened between them, he was still willing to be her traveling companion through the Wasteland, and she swallowed back the initial awkwardness, desperate for their old intimacy.
“Looks like it.” It got worse: the Courier turned over the holotape in her hands. “I don’t even want to listen to whatever fuck shit is on here.”
“Can’t say I blame you.”
She circled the body of the dead girl and sighed. “It looks like she was killed less than a day ago. Fuck.”
Likely she had been alive while the Courier was traipsing around Gomorrah, talking to Troike, and convincing Big Sal to let Troike out of his contract. Her throat locked up tight. Though she had no knowledge of what had been happening, she still felt as though she had personally failed this young woman, clearly only a few years younger than her. Her jaw tightened. She would make this right, even if it was too late for the young woman trapped here.
“Come on,” she said to Boone. “I’ve seen enough.”
Her footsteps were brisk as she walked back to the suites where she had seen Clandon or Landon or whatever the fuck his name was, the lowest form of human. Sure enough, he was there, having a drink, casually swirling the liquor in the crystal glass like there was nothing wrong, nothing at all.
“Why hello,” he said, giving her a cat-like grin, as if he liked what he saw. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
The Courier pulled out the sawed-off shotgun that Cachino had given her to deal with Big Sal and Nero later. “Monsters like you don’t deserve to live,” she snapped.
“I’m afraid I have no idea–”
It was satisfying, seeing his brains and bits of his skull splattered on the wall, liquor spilled on the carpet, glass smashed. He deserved so much worse than a shotgun shell to the head, but she made do with what she had. Putting the shotgun back into her pack, she walked off to the bathroom to wash the gore off her hands, Rex at her heels, panting slightly.
Everything else passed in a blur: Cachino ushering her in to confront Big Sal and Nero; how they had turned on each other, the shoot-out that followed, leaving Cachino as the new boss of Gomorrah, the revelation that Big Sal and Nero had been in league with the Legion all along, fully ready to turn against Mr. House. Cachino had been grateful, pressing some gambling chips into her hands, and she left the casino in a daze, Rex on one side of her, Boone on the other.
Usually, after they’d gone on some adventure or another, the Courier was full of talk, with Boone offering a comment here or there, and the occasional sharp-witted joke.
Tonight, with the bright lights of the Strip bearing down on them, the hookers hawking their wares on the sidewalk, drunken NCR soldiers on leave stumbling by, the Courier felt as though she was in some kind of bizarre alternate reality where nothing felt real. The usual ghostly presence of the Lucky 38 felt even more apt as the party returned to the others. She vaguely recalled spitballing some kind of generic answers to her friends’ questions; returning to her old bad habits and refusing food, opting to go to bed.
Sleep was not the escape she wanted it to be. She tossed and turned, her dreams haunted by images of the dead prostitute, of that torture chamber. Finally, she got up, unable to take a moment longer.
Maybe it was juvenile, maybe it was childish, but she wanted to be held, wanted to be close to one person, and one person only. The Courier knew she was nothing but a bundle of impulses and nerves, so she padded towards his room. She lingered in his doorway, trying to push past the lump in her throat. The last time they were close, in every sense of the word, it had ended with him pulling away. In their travels since, there was a gap that hadn’t been bridged, a gap that she knew was her fault.
She crossed the threshold into his room, where she made out the outline of his body in his bed, covered in blankets. He was tall enough that he couldn’t fully stretch out on the bed, something that struck her as funny, given how short she was.
“Boone.”
“Mmmph.”
“Boone.”
“.....Courier?”
“Yeah. Uh, sorry.”
He sat up in bed, rubbing his eyes. “What’re you doing here?”
“I–couldn’t sleep. Kept getting nightmares.”
“Get a lot of those,” he muttered. “C’mere.”
She crossed the room, and sat on the edge of his bed. Every part of her itched to have his arms wrap around her, to sink into him, but the request died in her throat.
“I just can’t shake the feeling like I didn’t do enough to help at Gomorrah you know?” She babbled, her speech rapid, “And so I just kept tossing and turning and I just didn’t know what to do with myself, and my mind was going in a thousand different directions, and well, then I started thinking about that conversation you and I had where you said I didn’t know what I wanted and–” she took a breath. Boone never interrupted her ramblings. He always waited patiently for her to stop, and then responded. But what came next made her want to rip her skin off, and she was convinced she could only say it because they were both in the dark. “I do know what I want. I want you, Boone. Your friendship is everything to me, and as for everything else…it can stay casual, if that’s what you want. But I want to be clear that I want you around, that I don’t want to use you to forget myself or some other fucked up bullshit. And–and now I’m just fucking running at the mouth so please put me out of my misery.”
He chuckled a little at that. “You did enough. You did what you needed to do.” She nodded. “As for the rest,” he reached over and pressed a kiss to the side of her head, right where the scar was. “We’re okay. Now come to bed.”
That was the first time after one of their trysts where she fell asleep in his arms, and inexplicably, the nightmares were gone.
—
She had needed to clear her head, and when she heard the radio message from the caravan seeking someone with a Pip-Boy, it seemed like a perfect chance. Walking alone to the northern passage, pack down to the barest of essentials, ready to help where she could.
And then the entire party was gone. That left her here, in this camp in the Narrows, looking up at the stars, watching Joshua Graham reading from a thick, well-worn book. His sacred book, the one about his God, that New Canaanite faith.
The Courier couldn’t help but be curious. What moved him to such stillness, such serenity? Could those words be that powerful? They seemed to have an effect on Waking Cloud too–the woman often prayed out loud, for the health and good fortune of the pair when they went out of their tasks in the canyon, for the continued safety of her family, evacuated far beyond the camp. The Courier couldn’t help but admire the older woman, who moved with a measured strength she had yet to master. She was still too impulsive, hot-headed. Waking Cloud charged into fights with a straight-set determination and focus that the Courier hoped she would learn, too.
The Courier remained skeptical of the whole holy book thing, but she couldn’t deny the effect it seemed to have on others.
“Is there something on your mind, Six?” Joshua put one finger in the book to mark his place, and looked at her across the fire.
That he called her Six, like Veronica did, felt like a bit of comfort in this unfamiliar world.
“Oh. Uh. Sorry.” She wasn’t quite sure what she was apologizing for.
“You were watching me read,” he noted.
She looked down at the flames, suddenly feeling very much her twenty-two years. She rubbed the back of her neck. “Yeah. Yeah. I guess I was just curious, that’s all.”
“A curious mind is an important trait to cultivate. Here—I have a spare, if you’d like to take a look.”
The Courier walked around the campfire and took the book Joshua proffered, holding the worn-down leather in her hands. So much reverence and meaning had been assigned to what was just pages and ink. She sat back down, tracing the cracks in the leather with her finger. She knew she should probably start at the beginning, just like any other book, but her more chaotic instincts were taking hold, and she flipped the book open to a random chapter.
Song of Songs, it said.
Give me the kisses of your mouth, for thy love is sweeter than wine.
Upon reading that first sentence, the Courier nearly slammed the book shut once more. If it hadn’t been offensive to the Ghost or the Father of the Caves or whoever Joshua and Daniel and Waking Cloud talked about, she probably would have tossed the book in the dirt. And frankly she didn’t care about pissing off an entity she didn’t believe in, but she didn’t want to disrespect her new friends.
She glanced at the page again.
Give me the kisses of your mouth, for thy love is sweeter than wine.
Her mind immediately flashed to the night before she left for Zion, her last night at the Lucky 38.
A few fingers of whiskey, poured into each glass. He loosened up a bit with the liquor, but was never forthcoming, and she had long stopped expecting him to be. Still, she had gotten him to laugh, and, feeling bold, she had kissed him on the cheek in the kitchen. Though it was only the pair, anyone could have walked in and seen her do so, seen him flush after, which she couldn’t help but find endearing.
She wasn’t drunk, just warm and light, pulling him into the bedroom. He had her against the wall, laying such a kiss on her that she groaned against his mouth, burning deep in her lower half. Wrapping her legs around his waist, he supported her, hands grasping her ass. His kisses moved along her jaw, down her neck–she tilted her head back, veins humming with pleasure at the warmth of his mouth. When his teeth grasped at her earlobe and tugged she gasped, legs tightening their grasp around his waist, hands clawing at his back.
“I can’t stay away from you, Courier,” Boone murmured in her ear.
“I don’t want you to,” she replied. “I know you told me I should keep my distance, but–honestly, fuck that.”
“You still should. But I can’t stop you.”
She kissed him again, slowly this time, slipping her tongue into his mouth, committing every part of him to her memory. She didn’t know how long she would be gone this time, but she needed to hold onto him the way she needed air. When they finally broke apart, foreheads touching, her hands ran down his torso, lingering on his chest, where his heart beat rapidly.
“Good,” she said. “Don’t stop me.”
The Courier jolted herself out of the memory, and continued reading from the book. The story unfolded about a pair of lovers, one searching for the other through orchards and farmland, an ancient city. Something about their longing and yearning made her chest ache. The language was archaic and difficult to parse in places, but she understood all the same.
Stay ye me with dainties, refresh me with apples, for I am love-sick.
He had fucked her against that wall that night, both desperate and grabbing each other, chasing fleeting pleasure. But for her, every touch, every kiss, carried something more, something she dared not name, an extra weight and significance that yes, left her shivering and sighing, but with a strange emptiness after, when Boone parted ways with her to go to his bed.
Sick was an excellent way to describe it, she realized. Around Boone she felt feverish, hands clammy, head spinning, body in free-fall. And after their trysts, when she was alone, her stomach dropped, her throat closed up, something desperate and lonely gnawed in her empty chest. She wanted, and she yearned, damnit, for something she could never have, something he could never give. Something that infected her very bones, the core of her being. And she couldn’t help herself. The feeling seeped out of her fingertips, leaked out of her heart. She saw Boone and her heart turned over in her chest; it felt like a hundred cazadores had taken up residence in her belly.
The Courier thought that love was supposed to fill the cracks in her chest, that aching gnaw that split her down the middle. No one told her it was a bruise.
steam repeatedly notifying you that a friend is booting up a game thats clearly not cooperating feels like ur sitting inside and someone outside keeps trying to rev up a lawnmower
